Arabella Figg was used to being an outcast; she was used to being an afterthought.
She had gotten used to this and over time she learned to let it hurt less every time she was faced with a reminder, and she was often faced with them.
The worst feeling she thought as she lay in bed that night wasn't the fact that she hadn't been told about Dumbledore dying until after the funeral had long past, though that had certainly stung.
It wasn't even the fact that it had been nearly a whole week before word reached her of the downfall of Lord Voldemort at Hogwarts.
The worst reminder of them all was that Harry Potter never once came back to visit her.
She knew of course that there were much more important things that needed to be done following the war, and resigned herself to the fact that as time passed he would try to immerse himself in his new life. Forgetting his old life which sought only to remind him of times of hurt, despair and being unwanted.
She knew he had never really liked coming to visit her, but she had had to make sure that the Dursley's didn't suspect he was having any sort of a decent time. They were the worst sort of muggles, and though she repeatedly tried to fight Harry's case with Dumbledore she was always met with a stone wall.
She knew Harry held no feelings of ill intent or grudge towards her. Still each time she heard of a new accomplishment or a new child she felt that pang in her heart.
Arabella Figg had known Harry Potter long before he returned to the wizarding world. She had watched him grow up. She still remembered the little boy who was too nervous to ask questions, too beat down to be himself. She had watched him grow over the years not only in height but in confidence, in bravery, and in character. She alone in the wizarding world had watched him grow into a man.
She knew part of the reason she missed him was perhaps because not only had she grown attached to him, but also he had been the reason that for once in her life she was important. For once in her life she was not an outcast, not an afterthought, but a key member in the world that so often shunned her.
She had been trusted with watching the boy who would go onto save them all. She knew it was selfish but she couldn't help but be saddened as she lay in bed that night. Not only was she faced with her life being extinguished, but also the hope she didn't realise she had held onto so tightly. The hope of belonging, in some form at least, to that world again.
No, she realised, she would never again be important to that world, nor would she be important to anyone in it. She only hoped that she would at least be remembered.