~ Five ~
Bell had returned to the castle with the vague idea of visiting her Uncle, who had become a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry many years ago. Since then he had been appointed Head of Gryffindor House, and when Professor Dippet he became Headmaster. Now he was of mature years; his long hair and beard were snowy, silvery white and his skin had the texture of a walnut. Despite being over one hundred years old, Albus Dumbledore had the same zest for life as he had had when his hair had been auburn in colour. Yet Dumbledore had always been so much more than just a Headmaster or even an Uncle to Arabella…
Bell's parents were Jonathan and Arabella Figg. Bell had inherited her name from her mother, as was tradition for the eldest daughters within the Dumbledore family. Tragically when Bell was four years old her parents mysteriously disappeared, without trace, leaving their beloved young daughter behind. Many rumours had circulated at the time; each one completely unconvincing… except for those involving dark magic. Were they murdered by dark wizards? Surely if they had, there would be bodies to find. Dark wizards were unashamed of being caught for heinous crimes, and had no reason to magically hide evidence; they preferred to allow their baneful notoriety to grow. Did they join the Dark forces? Perhaps they had been entranced by the Imperious Curse to do the bidding of Lord Voldemort, a Dark wizard whose blackened reputation was increasing.
Nobody ever discovered the truth about the Figgs. Bell was left in the care of her Uncle Dumbledore, to grow up within the Hogwarts castle walls. Albus Dumbledore became her mentor, her father and her friend rolled in to one. Everything she believed in stemmed from the teachings of this man; Bell had little memory of her parents.
Bell walked in forceful strides along the corridor, passing shining suits of armour and moving portraits of wizards, witches and landscapes. She came to a sudden halt by a part of the stone wall which looked like a blocked opening, guarded by gargoyles.
Bell grimaced.
"Dragon droppings," Bell said reluctantly, blushing slightly as suits of armour chuckled at her. This was the magical password chosen by Dumbledore to open the doorway. Suddenly blocks of enchanted stone were clearing to one side so Bell could pass through. A wooden spiral staircase, moving like a Muggle escalator, led to Dumbledore's domain. Bell swiftly passed upwards.
"It's only me!" She called into the next room. "Are you busy?"
She peeped through the slightly open door, and blushed slightly when she realised her Uncle had a visitor. Uncle Dumbledore wouldn't be pleased that she had rudely interrupted them. The guest was Alastor Moody, an Auror and a good friend of Bell's Uncle, although clearly today he had not come here for a friendly chat. The two wizards looked very grave; Bell had evidently suspended something quite serious.
"I apologise - Mr Moody is here," Bell said meekly, already edging away. "I'm sure you want some privacy. I'll come back later -"
Alastor Moody intimidated Bell greatly, even though she'd known the great Auror all of her life. His skin was riddled with scars and blisters; he looked like a living corpse from some angles. He had a piercing stare that seemed to go right through you and be able to read your thoughts.
"No! No, Miss Figg," Moody uttered gruffly. "I would prefer you stay."
Dumbledore gave him a sceptical glance, but said nothing. Bell crept into the room, and stood nervously next to her Uncle's great mahogany desk.
"I hear you're planning to join the ranks, young Figg?" Moody inquired.
"Yes, sir," Bell beamed with pride. "My entrance exam to Auror college is in almost two months, Sir. On November fifth, my seventeenth birthday."
"A brave but wise career move, Miss Figg," Moody nodded. "Becoming an Auror is the noblest thing a wizard can do. 'Tis a hazardous profession, I grant you, but worthwhile."
Bell's eyes glittered as she nodded. She had the deepest respect for Moody, even if he did frighten her. It was partly him that had inspired her to want to be an Auror. Now that childhood wish had grown into a very real burning desire of ambition.
"I'm the bearer of bad news, as usual, I'm afraid, Miss Figg," Moody explained. "I have explained he situation to your Uncle, and now I think it appropriate to inform you. It'll be practise for when you're doing this job for real; get you thinking the right way. I got called in last night to take on a case around these parts. A young witch named Eleanor Fletcher disappeared mysteriously from Hogsmeade last night. She left for a midnight stroll around the village and never returned."
"I know her," Bell said, her voice quivering. "Her brother Mundungus is a first-year."
"That's right," Moody nodded. "She's a pretty, cheerful young girl, according to her mother. I questioned the parents this morning. She was to be twenty-one nest week; and to be married next spring. Eleanor Fletcher was perfectly content with life. The young lass had no reason to run away. Her family suspects there's dark magic at work. I agree it's a very likely explanation."
"What, that she was abducted by a Dark wizard?"
"Or murdered," Moody said heavily. "I'm in charge of the investigation. I came here to give your Uncle the sorry duty of informing her young brother of the situation. It'll be all over the Daily Prophet front page tomorrow, no doubt."
"I remember young Eleanor well from when she was a student," Dumbledore reminisced. "She was always such a spirited child, so devoted to her family. She was in Hufflepuff, I believe."
"I remember," Bell said. "She was a prefect, wasn't she? Yes - I remember. She was Seeker for the Hufflepuff squad one year. She never actually got the Snitch, and her flying was pretty sloppy, but -"
Bell ceased talking when she noticed her Uncle was hanging his head. He sighed deeply, before uttering quietly, "distressing business, it really is. We must remember, if she has been abducted by a wizard from the Dark side, the likelihood that Miss Fletcher will return unharmed is very slim indeed."
"Yes, we must be realistic in these matters," Moody nodded. "I've seen it all before, there's no denying it. Men, women and children vanishing from off-the-beaten-track places in the night… then two weeks later we find their bloody remains in a ditch, and we know one of the Dark Lord's minions is having a good cackle about it some place… dreadful, dreadful affairs… they always are, naturally…"
Bell stared at her Uncle in horror, but Albus Dumbledore's aged face bore no sign of surprise.
"It's why we need more Aurors to bring the evil scum to justice," Moody growled. "You're doing an honorable thing, Miss Figg… a brave, honorable thing."
It felt like her insides were freezing up with dread. Bloody remains in ditches? Then the murderers have the nerve to laugh? It was horrifying. How would she ever be prepared for such appalling situations?
"Having doubts, young Figg?" Moody chuckled hollowly. "I don't blame you at all. There are times when I can't think why in hell I gave my life to this job. But there are times when I know why. Times when you get there before they do - times when the innocent live because you saved them. I suppose you know young Sirius Black?"
"Yes, I do," Bell replied, wondering where on earth this could be going.
"Sirius Black. He must have been seven or eight years old. That's right - Christmas Day, 1968. His parents had given him this fancy new broom, and against their orders he'd run off to the nearest field to try it out. It was broad daylight, and the little lad was cornered by three Death Eaters. It just so happened that I was passing, and I saved that boy's life. If it wasn't for me and my Auror training, that lad would be deader than the toad guts in your school potion-making kit."
Bell's eyes widened. "My God, he never told any of us that," she breathed.
"Not really an experience you want to remind yourself of," Moody replied knowingly. "Anyway, I have work to do. I trust I have your permission to search the forest for clues, Dumbledore?"
"Of course. Good luck, old friend."
Moody acknowledged him with a nod, and left, closing the door behind him.
"Was there a particular reason why you are here, dear Arabella?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"If there was, I can't think of it now," Bell said vaguely, as she sat in the oak seat Moody had been seated in. "I can't quite believe it. I can't imagine what the Fletchers are going through… Moody would have to talk to them. Ask them questions. They'd probably be stricken with worry, crying, trembling… I could never do that, Uncle. I could never deal with situations like that."
"Don't sell yourself short, my dear," Albus said, smiling benignly. "Yes, it's probably the most difficult occupation you could have chosen for yourself. But you are capable of it. You are a strong person. You have the raw materials of an Auror, and once you have been trained up you will make us all so proud."
Dumbledore continued to speak, but Bell was not listening. The haunting image of Eleanor Fletcher's dead body was distressing her. The immense feeling of self-doubt was overwhelming. She had always considered herself a capable, intelligent, physically-fit person, but now… now she felt feeble and stupid for ever thinking she had what it takes to be an Auror.
