'Boys will be boys,' Arabella Figg told herself. 'They get dirty and get bruises. That's what boys do. Girls…girls generally like to place nice.'
The little old lady had been walking by the park when she had spotted little three-year-old Violet Potter sitting on the park bench with banged up shins. The little girl's cousin was a few feet away on the swings, being pushed by his mother. The little plump boy giggled as his mother made sound effects. Ms. Figg figured she'd be at home guessing the rest of the day unless she asked the red haired child what happened to her little legs. Gathering her courage, she hobbled over in her little old lady fashion.
"Hello Miss Violet," the graying woman said as she sat down on the bench next to the child.
"Hi," the girl said, looking at her feet. Ms. Figg was the one that babysat her when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon went somewhere with Dudley. She had lots of cats.
"It's a nice day outside, dear," Ms. Figg stated. "Why aren't you playing on the swings with Dudley or going down that big blue slide?" The park wasn't very big but it did have a few swings and a swirling slide that all the children loved.
"Dudley's mean to me. He gives me owwies," Violet said, crossing her arms.
"Is that what happened to your shins?" The elderly woman asked. Petunia had her back to the two of them so they had yet to be noticed.
"No not Dudley."
"Did you fall down and get those owwies then?"
At that the little girl looked up at Ms. Figg. The woman gazed back down into the mismatched eyes: one hazel, one green. "Sorta," the three year old replied. "I guess so."
"What do you mean you guess so, Violet?" The gray haired lady asked. She was quite concerned.
"Uncle felled me down," her bottom lip jutted out like she was going to cry. She huffed but no tears fell. "And auntie pinched me right there," she pointed to a purpling bruise on her shoulder that Ms. Figg hadn't noticed before now. The old woman's eyes grew with worry.
At that moment, Petunia Dursley glanced over her shoulder to check on her niece. Seeing her with the neighbor, she hurriedly picked up her plump son Dudley and strolled over to them. "I'm sorry she's bothering you Ms. Figg," the blonde woman said with her son on her hip. "Come on Violet I think you've had enough trouble for today. Let's go home."
Obediently, the little three-year-old stood up from the bench. She winced as she placed her feet on the ground. This did not escape Arabella Figg's notice, though she kept quiet about it. The trio began walking away, the woman holding her son carefully while the girl walked next to her. 'Not holding hands,' Ms. Figg thought.
Before they walked across the street, Violet turned around. Her hazel and green eyes found the blue of the elder woman. "Tell the Bumble Door!" The red head called. "The Bumble door won't like it!"
Her aunt shushed her and she turned back around. Ms. Figg stayed on the bench with a puzzled look as the family trooped back to their house on Privet Drive. 'Bumble Door sounds an awful lot like Dumbledore,' she thought to herself. The thought of the little girl with bruises telling her to go talk to her boss encouraged her all the more that she needed to meet with the old man. He told her Violet would be safe with her aunt and uncle. Minerva, her old friend, shared her concern and informed her to talk to Dumbledore if anything came up that was disturbing. If the bruises weren't disturbing, then knowing his name sure as hell should be!
She pulled herself together and walked quickly back to her house. Ushering her cats out of the living room, she strode to the fireplace. The old woman's blue eyes were wild as she picked stepped into it and yelled "Dumbledore's office!"