Chapter 3
If Mrs. Arabella Figg had expected a warm welcome at Number 4, she was sadly mistaken. She rang the doorbell three times, peering through the peephole the wrong way, but all she could see was what looked like a very long, narrow hallway. Finally, after several minutes of standing in the chilly November air, the door opened just enough for Mrs. Number 4 to poke her scrawny head out and stare at her.
"Er, hello," Mrs. Figg faltered, stepping back slightly at the look on Mrs. Number 4's face. She looked mutinous, as if she simply could not handle another thing that day.
"Yes?" Mrs. Number 4 asked curtly, just short of being impolite. She did not open the door any wider, though Mrs. Figg was trying desperately to see around her without being too noticeable. She saw no sign of the bundle anywhere, though to be fair (and Mrs. Figg was always fair), she really couldn't see much of anything around Mrs. Number 4's horsey face.
"Hello," Mrs. Figg said again, "I'm Mrs. Figg, I live at Number 7, just that way." She waved vaguely in the general direction of her house. Mrs. Number 4 glanced briefly, then looked back at Mrs. Figg, her expression growing even darker. Mrs. Figg really did not want to continue, but she steeled herself and spoke again. "I am ever so sorry to bother you at this very early hour, but, you see, my telephone is out, and I really need to make a quick call to my son, if you don't mind. He was meant to pick me up for an appointment today, but I don't think I'll be able to go, after all. Would it be all right if I came in for a moment?"
Mrs. Number 4 just stared at her, seemingly incredulous that anyone would knock on her door at this hour of the morning and ask to use her telephone. Mrs. Figg really couldn't blame her, but she didn't know what else to do. Of course she had no son, and no appointment, but she had made a promise and she had never been one to skirt a duty.
"It really isn't a good time," Mrs. Number 4 said stiffly, and opened her mouth to continue, but Mrs. Figg spoke over her, leaning forward a bit.
"I know it's so rude of me, and like I said, I would never ask, but it is rather important you know. I would be ever so grateful." Mrs. Figg had learned in her life that sometimes the best way to get what you want is to simply refuse to take no for an answer. She stood there, smiling brightly, even reaching out a hand to open the door. Mrs. Number 4 stared at the hand, then, somewhat dazed, opened the door and stepped back.
"Oh, I suppose, but please do hurry. It's in the kitchen, just past the entrance on the wall." Once Mrs. Figg was in, her eyes began darting in every direction, searching for evidence of the bundle. There was nothing. The floor was spotless, there were no blankets anywhere and there was definitely no baby. Except, of course, for the one in the high chair in the kitchen, who had claimed a spoon and was banging it so hard the china in the nearby cabinet was actually rattling.
Mrs. Figg walked slowly down the hallway, which, now she was inside, she could see was not nearly as long and narrow as it had appeared through the peephole. She supposed that was just the way it had looked because she was looking through it the wrong way. Still trying to take in every detail, she noticed a small door under the stairs, which was locked from the outside with a deadbolt. Mrs. Number 4 saw her glance at it and said quickly,
"We keep the cleaning products in there, you know, so Dudley can't get them. I lock it for his safety." She gave a nervous grin. Mrs. Figg nodded and continued to the kitchen. So the boy's name was Dudley. What an odd name, she thought, but then she supposed she couldn't really judge, as her name was Arabella and she had never met anyone with her name before.
"Hello Dudley," she said kindly to the boy in the chair, who didn't even glance at her. He banged harder and shrieked a rather joyful noise that Mrs. Figg took to be some kind of singing. Although she really didn't know very many children, her and Mr. Figg never having had any before he passed. Mrs. Number 4 followed closely behind her, watching every move. She pointed at the telephone on the wall.
"There's the telephone," she said, jerking her arm up and waving distractedly. Mrs. Figg picked up the receiver and dialed several random digits. It made a buzzing sound in her ear, but she pretended the call had gone through.
"Ernest?" She said into the buzzing, speaking up as if to be heard over the howling child, "Yes, it's Mum. My phone is out, so I'm calling from a neighbor's house." She paused for a moment, pretending to listen. "Oh no, I'm not feeling up to it at all today. Can we go next week instead?" She paused again, listening to the buzzing, while her eyes continued to dart around the kitchen. Oh, Dumbledore would be so upset if she wasn't able to give him any news. Surely the boy was here somewhere? "That's a good lad," she said, making a quick decision. It would be very nervy, but she was here already, wasn't she? "I'll get my telephone sorted and ring you later. All right, 'bye then." She hung up and turned to look at Mrs. Number 4, who had already begun to move towards the hall again.
"Oh, thank you ever so much, I don't know how to…." she trailed off mid-word and clutched her stomach, bending over slightly. "Oh my goodness, I don't suppose I could trouble you to use your loo? Only I think it's an awful emergency." She glanced up.
Mrs. Number 4 looked horrified. She looked quickly around the gleaming kitchen, obviously weighing having Mrs. Figg in the house longer versus cleaning up what was sure to be a terrible mess. She spoke quickly.
"Upstairs, first door on your left." Mrs. Figg rushed out the hallway and up the stairs, Mrs. Number 4 following but hovering at the bottom of the stairs, clearly not wanting to witness the scene.
Mrs. Figg took a few minutes in the bathroom, opening drawers and cabinets. She found a prescription bottle with the name 'Dursley' on it. Was that Mrs. Number 4's name? She supposed it may not be the time to ask. After several minutes, she opened the door very quietly and slipped down the upstairs hall, away from the stairs. She glanced in each of the four bedrooms, but still found no evidence that the bundle had made its way into the house. She was completely flummoxed. She tiptoed back to the bathroom and made much more noise coming out again, heading down the stairs where Mrs. Number 4 (Mrs. Dursley?) was waiting.
"Oh, you are a nice neighbor. I can't begin to tell you how embarrassing this is. Thank you so much for letting me use your phone, and your loo. I really appreciate it." She took Mrs. Dursley's hand in hers and clasped it. Mrs. Dursley looked utterly horrified.
"Er, anytime," she replied weakly, taking her hand back rather forcefully, then opened the door. Just as Mrs. Figg was heading through the landing, she heard a noise. It sounded like a baby's giggle, the noise of a child amusing himself. She turned her head and looked down the hall, but Dudley was still in the kitchen, banging his spoon and wailing his song. The noise had definitely come from the hallway somewhere. Her eye fell on the locked door under the stairs. She glanced at Mrs. Dursley, whose face had turned a nasty scarlet shade. Mrs. Dursley unceremoniously pushed her through the door and slammed it shut in her face without another word.
Mrs. Figg stood for a moment on the stoop, shocked. Then she gathered her wits about her and hurried back to her house. She let herself in the front door and, shooing away Tibbles for the second time that morning, went to her writing desk and pulled out some parchment and a quill.
She wrote a quick note, then rolled up the parchment and sealed it with some sealing wax she had lying next to the ink bottle. She supposed a real witch might have been able to seal it with magic, but Mrs. Figg was a Squib, and she couldn't do magic properly. She took the note to the back door, where a handsome tawny owl sat waiting.
"Take this to Dumbledore, all right?" She said, patting the owl's head slightly, then watching as it took off into the sky. With a sigh of relief that her job, for now, was over, she settled down on the couch and called over Tibbles. He was due for a good scratch.
