Mrs. Figg was concerned. She hadn't seen little Harry in almost a month. She usually saw him weeding the flower bed, since the boy, even at such a young age, seemed to love to garden. His seventh birthday was coming up. It was prime time for weeding, watering, and trimming the grass. Why hadn't she seen him?
Running her hands through the fur of one of her prized Kneazles, a habit gained from loving to hear them purr and it helped her think things through properly, she finally made a decision. Someone needed to check out where such an actively outdoor child could be. If he had been grounded for some bad behavior, then the punishment should have ended long before now. A month was too much time for anything a six-year-old could have possibly done!
Getting to her knees, she tossed green Floo powder into the fireplace and yelled precisely, "Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!" She didn't like Flooing of any variety, much preferring owl-post, but this could be an emergency.
After all, little boys didn't just disappear for no reason!
"Arabella? To what do I owe the pleasure?" Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's head asked congenially, eyes twinkling merrily even through the fire. Along with his job as Headmaster of Hogwarts for the last several decades, approaching on half a century, he also held the titles of Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot and Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards. With so many proverbial hats to wear, the art of politics was one he had perfected and honed his skill with each interaction until it had become a habit.
Mrs. Figg blushed slightly at what she interpreted to be genuine pleasure in the Headmaster's words and smile. She had always liked the man, even when she was younger, and some of her more esoteric fantasies involved him kissing her breathless before sweeping her off her feet and whisking her away to a comfortable bed for a night of heated lovemaking. They weren't that far away in age after all! It could happen; even if, for the moment, it still only occurred in her dreams.
However, she had a different message to send, and a very concerning one at that. So, she mentally shook off the reminder of her one-sided ruminations, and frowned. "Albus," she always addressed him as such, ever since she had officially graduated from the school and he gave her leave to do so; she hoped it would one day remind him that she was an adult and thus ready for any personal liaisons that he'd care to discuss. Or perhaps just grab her by her shoulders, push her against the nearest surface, and snog her senseless. "I'm worried about little Harry. I haven't seen him in almost a month."
Dumbledore's seemingly expressive eyes dimmed slightly at the news, pondering the implications. "Have you been over to ask about the boy?"
"No. The Dursley's don't like it when I pop by. I was hoping you could come check on him?" That it would give her a chance to admire the man's physical form, even covered up by robes, was not a factor of her request. At all. Of course not. Such would be considered improper.
Albus nodded slightly, "Arabella," she shivered a bit at the inflection he always put in her name, "I'm sure it's nothing." She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued speaking. "However, it'll be good exercise for me. Ease back and I'll step through."
She immediately pulled her head out of the fire, took one step to the left, and waited for the Headmaster to come through her fireplace. A shiver of eager anticipation went down her spine at the thought that the man would be in her house! In her living room!
With a small pulse of green flames, her desire was granted as the Supreme Mugwump appeared in the (outwardly) perfectly ordinary home of one Arabella Figg. He had on one of his everyday robes, a pale, pale blue with zooming golden dots dancing the polka, with a pointed wizard's hat to match perched atop his esteemed head. His long beard was hanging, making one wonder if it might ever grow long enough to tuck into a belt or possibly trip over. In short, he was the epitome of a walking, talking Dursley nightmare. With a twinkling smile and wink to Arabella—who was quite proud at her ability to control herself at such a wonderful man winking at her and pondering what such an action could possibly mean for her future, both immediate and long-term—the elderly, yet still spry, old man made his way out of the squib's home and across the street.
He didn't voice any objection to Arabella following him, however based on her previous words about the family he also wasn't surprised when she refrained from joining him. Thus he was alone when he gave a perfunctory knock on the door of Number 4 Privet Drive. He frowned slightly as he let his magic probe the blood wards surrounding the property and found them… Well, he wasn't quite sure how to phrase it. They were present; yet at the same time they were not nearly what they should have been.
So Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not in the best of possible moods, thinking as he was about what could have caused the blood wards to feel as they did, when Vernon Dursley opened the door. The incredibly large man saw who was present, his face went a shade of puce that was almost impressive, before he abruptly slammed the door; again without greeting nor letting the Headmaster into his home.
The Chancellor of the ICW frowned slightly at the reaction, but he had dealt with difficult people many times before and the expression smoothed away almost instantly. Instead, he calmly pulled out his wand and knocked a second time. When all he received was a shout of "Go away you freak!" through the door, Albus flicked his wand and the door unlocked and opened seemingly on its own, allowing him to step over the threshold easily. Another flick and the door closed.
"Good evening, Mr. Dursley. Mrs. Dursley. I'm here to inquire about your nephew." Albus maintained his polite courtesy, even at the interesting shade of red-purple Vernon Dursley was working himself into.
"You need to leave now! Before I call the police!" Vernon shouted angrily, gesticulating with one imperious finger toward the door.
"Mr. Dursley, I'm sure the police don't need to be bothered for such a simple matter." The Supreme Mugwump had observed the knick-knacks on the coffee table, the pictures on the mantle, the seemingly random items strewn on a bookcase as soon as he'd entered and had drawn the correct conclusion about the couple's societal priorities. He looked up to Petunia, "After all, what would your neighbors think if the police were to take such an interest in your home?" It was a threat- though it certainly wouldn't have sound like one with his cheery tone and twinkling eyes-and the couple took it as such.
"Now don't you threaten me, you godless abomination!"
"There's no need for name calling, Mr. Dursley. I simply wish to speak with your nephew. Is that such an extraordinary request?"
Petunia finally found it within herself to speak. Her tone was tight and angry. "He's not here."
Dumbledore stiffened slightly. Anyone who knew the man well – few though there were- would have understood the warning in the normally energetic man's sudden change of posture. "I'm sure I misheard you. Old age, you know. Where is Harry Potter?"
"He's not here!" she yelled at him.
All pretense of being a kind old man vanished, leaving the man that had vanquished a Dark Lord. "What happened?" His voice was cold and hard, his eyes sharp like ice as he pierced the pair with his gaze alone.
"You people just drop him on our doorstep with only a letter and expect us to take care of the freak? Well, we did take care of him and damn ungrateful freak he was too! Now that he finally vanished, we were grateful your kind finally took him back!" She pointed to the door. "Now get out of my home! I won't stand for it! You freaks telling me how to run my home and probably putting ideas in my poor son's head. I won't stand it! Never again! Get OUT!"
Arabella Figg heard the soft 'pop' of displaced air as Dumbledore apparated into her living room. "Well?" she asked hopefully, hands tightening on the Kneazle in her lap, prompting a soft yowl and clawed protest.
Albus shook his head. "You were right, Arabella." The delighted shiver down her spine at her name was instantly overshadowed by cold horrific dread as he continued. "I'm afraid that Harry Potter is missing."
