Arabella was not the type of person who gives up easily. It took a lot for her to admit defeat, and that had happened very rarely. Born resilient, she was; it was why she had come out of the sessions at St. Mungoâs mostly unscathed, why she hadnât been a rebellious youth. No, Arabellaâs coping mechanism wasnât whinging or drinking or drugs. It was working, being busy and productive, and it was for this reason that she hadnât given up on the wizarding world. Despite its rejection of her, it was her home, the place she felt most comfortable in. However, it seemed an airtight situation, to her. Sheâd applied to different departments of the Ministry, gone to different wizarding shops with her head full of business ideas, but theyâd all said, with a smile or a sneer or a look of pity, âThank you, Miss Figg, but we donât need you.â She had tried, for a brief while, to integrate completely with the Muggle world; it had been nice, the people pleasant and the work easy, but it wasnât enough. She didnât know how anyone could live knowing this whole other world existed, but not be part of it.
When Dumbledore had approached her, then, it had been easy for her to say yes. Espionage seemed appealing to her. All sheâd known came from Muggle books and movies. Sheâd grown up in a post-war world, and saw the job through romanticised lenses. It was with disappointment, then, that sheâd listened to Dumbledore tell her that she was to do paperwork. She was still enthusiastic about the job, especially considering how much she wanted to help. Sheâd heard of the tragedies going on in the Wizarding World, and the fact that people could do those things made her angry.
With the excitement of it all came the price: sheâd have to live with magic in her flat. Though Arabella had always wanted to do magic, the idea of it in a home space, where she couldnât control it, bothered her. Having it around would be a reminder to her of the very thing she couldnât have, and she wanted to avoid the huge, negative hole that had occupied most of her childhood life. Still, it was a necessary evil, and one Arabella would have to deal with. No one needed to know of the insecurities that plagued her; she needed to be useful, and that was all that mattered. Joining the Order was the right decision, she told herself, and she resolved not to regret it.
She waited for the man who was supposed to set up the wards at her flat. His name was Alastor Moody, the letter had said; what the letter had not said was a different matter altogether. He was an Auror, her research had told her, and a good one at that. For Dumbledore to send him over, he had to have earned a lot of trust; Arabella knew that the headmaster wanted to keep her a secret for her own safety. He wouldnât leave just anyone in charge. She was, therefore, just a little nervous, and her fingers itched to do something. While waiting for Moody to arrive, she occupied herself with making tea and sandwiches. She knew it wasnât a personal call, but something about preparing the food calmed her down, and who didnât like free refreshments?
Arabella had been sitting on her small sofa, petting Hadrian absentmindedly, when she heard a knock on the door. Hadrian left her lap at once, and she could see his fur rise a little. âCalm down, boy. Itâs a friend.â She opened the door with a small smile on her face. âHello. Iâm pretty sure youâre who I think you are, but for clarification, could you please tell me exactly what the Bumblebee sent you here for?â If he were really Moody, he would know that Dumbledoreâs last name was another word for a bumblebee, wouldnât he? She wouldnât be able to let him in unless he proved to be who he was.
While she was saying all this, Arabella was looking him over. He looked, in a word, grizzled. He wasnât old, at least, not by her standards, but there was something about the look in his eye that said heâd seen a lot. He seemed spry but a little on edge, as if he were waiting for something to spring from the bushes at any moment. Hadrian prowled around the man, sniffing him a little, before settling at Arabellaâs feet. Hadrian had been alright with the man, which Arabella noted. It was a point in his favour because she knew Kneazles, even half-Kneazles, were perceptive and protective enough to go mad if someone had bad intentions toward their owner. Though she awaited his answer, she was more than a little sure that the man in front of her right now was Alastor Moody.
