Petunia Dursley was riveted by her new friend's stories, and Arabella Figg was happy to find an audience that considered them as fantastic as she did. "So this Mrs. Skower has a product that will remove the stain from anything?"

"Yes, dear. It's truly amazing. Why, my friend Argus swears by it. He's the first ever nonmagical caretaker of Hogwarts."

Petunia hid her expression on the pretext of straightening the tea cozy, trying not to wince at the school's name, but old habits died hard. Vernon had died ten months ago, and it had only been three weeks since she had accepted Arabella's confession. The woman had known about Harry for years, it seemed. It was nice not having to make up an unpleasant-sounding school for her nephew, especially because he seemed to be her race's last hope for survival and she had been duly attempting to treat him a little more kindly.

Petunia smiled. "I wish I had your casual attitude about magic."

Arabella was puzzled. "Didn't you grow up with a magical sister? I was always begging mine for favors over the holidays."

"Yes, actually I was, too."

"Well, then, didn't you learn what was standard in the magical world?"

Petunia sighed, remembering. "Initially, I did. Then I met Vernon and… his attitude toward magic was less than friendly. That's a story for another day."

Arabella seemed to sense her need to get off the subject. "Well, actually, I envy your ability to fit into muggle life. I've been going to this support group for the past few years on and off, and the leader says living without magic is much easier than becoming dependent. I should take you along sometime to a meeting; you'd brighten everyone up!"

"Will this Argus be there?"

Arabella shrugged. "Sadly, no. He's a squib in denial. Last I heard, he was subscribing to this Kwikspell course scam, insisting he has untapped powers."

Petunia tried to hide her burning ears as she recalled subscribing to said scam at fourteen. "He sounds like rather a sad case," she mumbled sheepishly.

"Oh, he takes most of it out on the students," she assured the other woman, helping herself to a slice of lemon and a few lumps of sugar. "Every so often he demands Dumbledore allow him to hang them up by their ankles from the dungeon. All in good fun, of course."

Petunia was shocked. "He doesn't do that now, does he?"

Arabella looked at her appraisingly. "Afraid for your nephew, are you? I can remember when he considered it a treat to stay with dotty, cat-loving Mrs. Figg rather than you!"

Sensing the accusing tone in Mrs. Figg's voice, the widow Dursley backed off. "And I can't apologise enough for those days." Her voice turned more serious still. "What do you think his chances are, realistically?"

"I have no idea. We can only hope. But for all our sakes, he'd better manage."