Chapter Two: Arabella

Summary: Second chapter. Forty-seven to go. That about sums it up.

Harry landed with a soft thump in the center of another livingroom. But this one, though somewhat smaller than the Dursley's, somehow seemed more friendly. A thick blue carpet had cushioned his landing a bit, and he had come to a stop just in front of a small, cherry table that sat behind a large, plush tan sofa. Looking about quickly, Harry saw a set of stairs off to his left. To his right a large picture window opened to a shaded yard with several large oak trees.

"All right, Harry?" a solicitous voice asked behind him.

Harry pulled himself to his feet as quickly as he could manage and turned to face Ms. Figg. It hadn't dawned on him until that moment just how foolish what he had done was. He had no idea where he was being taken. He could be anywhere at that moment. But as eager as he had been to leave Privet Drive, he consoled himself, if Voldemort himself had stuck out his hand, Harry would likely still have grabbed it.

"Feeling all right, Dear?" Ms. Figg asked a bit concerned by Harry's lack of response.

Harry still only stood and stare at the old woman in amazement.

"Well now," she stated, looking puzzled, "I've heard of people being a bit disoriented by portkey travel, but you certainly take your time with it, don't you, Dear?"

Harry fought to find his voice, but the first statement out of his mouth seemed to find it's way there by itself.

"You're a witch!" he exclaimed.

Ms. Figg chuckled. "I would hope so, Dear," she giggled. "Or I'd have some explaining to do, wouldn't I?"

"I think you have some explaining to do anyway," Harry stated, but immediately regretted it. If Figg was working for Voldemort, irritating her wasn't going to help things.

But Ms. Figg continued to smile at him pleasantly. "I suppose I do, don't I?"

"But you....you lived practically next door to me!" Harry nearly shouted. Hysteria was quickly seizing hold. "You used to baby-sit me."

"Oh, and such an adorable child you were," Ms. Figg flushed at the memory.

Harry stood staring at her open-mouthed. Nothing was making sense. Surely this couldn't be crazy, old Ms. Figg. Who would practically restrain Harry while she sat with him on her sofa showing him one picture after another of her cats. But she certainly didn't sound half as crazy as she usually did.

"Ah, well," Ms. Figg sighed. "I suppose explanations are in order, but first..."

She quickly pulled out her wand and tapped it lightly on her head.

A small, spiraling light encircled her. To Harry it looked as though someone was peeling an outer shell off of the body before him. When the transfiguration was complete, in front of him now stood a tall, slim, very pretty, brown haired woman of about 35. A pair of bright blue eyes sparkled as they watched his amazed stare.

"Any better?" She asked. "I do hate that costume," she added. "It makes me look so....I don't know...'old'."

"It's certainly a change." Harry agreed.

"So, you have some questions?" she prompted.

Harry was immediately pulled back to his present situation. As well as the potential dangers he was now facing.

"Who are you is a good place to start."

The woman stuck out her hand. "Arabella Figg. Auror."

Harry stared at her. "Your an Auror?"

"Hand's getting tired here, Harry." she commented.

Harry quickly grabbed her hand and shook it.

"And to answer your question, 'yes'. Have been for years. It's one of the reasons I was chosen for this job."

"Job?"

"To look after you. Oh, there were a thousand restrictions placed on me, I'm sorry to say. The worst of them that I couldn't interfere. Not unless some dark force was involved." She snorted lightly. "Can't think of one darker at this moment than that uncle of yours. But.....had to follow the rules. Probably going to lose my job for this. This was a tremendous no-no. Still," she stated angrily, "can't see how anyone can object here." She turned sharply back to Harry. "Surely they couldn't expect me to sit by and let that bastard beat you. I think you've taken more than your fair share from him over the years."

Harry gingerly put a hand self-consciously to his cheek. The mark had started to sting and he was sure the bruise was starting to show as well.

Arabella grabbed his hand and pulled it down. "Here, let me see that," she said comfortingly. "Oh, that's going to need something. Come on," she dragged him with her through the hallway.

"Ms. Figg?" Harry asked as he followed her.

"Oh, Dear, please," Arabella stated as she stopped abruptly and turned to face him, "call me Arabella."

"Ok. Umm....Arabella, can I.... asked you something?"?"

Arabella gave him one of her solicitous smiles. "Why, of course, Dear. You can asked me anything."

"Umm....what was the deal with all the cats?" Harry asked.

Arabella's smile grew deeper at the question. "Oh, well, some of them were mine. But most of them belonged to friends of mine who let me borrow them. They were excellent helping hands in keeping an eye on you a well as very reliable messengers. Not as fast as owls, mind you, but very dependable. I mean, honestly, who looks twice at a cat sitting on a fence?""

"So how many of them were yours?"

Arabella thought for a moment. "Ah....one."

"One!?"

"Well, you see, " Arabella admitted, "I'm not really that fond of cats, Harry. You'll find I'm actually more of a dog person."

Harry gave her a slightly stunned look.

"Now come on," She headed back down the hallway, "let's get something for that cheek."

Within a few minutes Harry found himself seated at a table in a small, cozy kitchen. Arabella had taken some ice and wrapped it in a towel and laid it over his cheek.

"That should help some." she said, staring at him with concern. "Does it feel any better?"

Harry nodded slightly. "Yeah, thanks."

Arabella began to pace the kitchen like an angry tigress, muttering more to herself, Harry felt, than actually talking to him.

"Ohhh, he is not going to like this one bit," She mumbled. "And when he finds out even Dumbledore'll have his hands full restraining him."

"Dumbledore!" Harry asked. "You know Dumbledore?"

Arabella turned back to him, giving him that comforting smile that he was growing to like more and more. "But of course, dear," she replied. "Dumbledore was the one who first approached me with the offer of this job. I guess he felt I was best suited for it."

Harry was about to asked why, but Arabella had gone back to pacing the kitchen, tapping her wand in her hand.

"He needs to be told, no doubt about that," she muttered to herself. "But how best to do it? Can't send an owl...take to long. Can't reach him by threads. Can't apparate there....to many protections around him. Ah well," she said finally with a sigh, "Nothing else for it. Best to be direct, I always say." Arabella stood back and waved her wand at a spot in the center of the kitchen and spoke a few words. Immediately a large, blue-green fire shot up from the floor.

"Sirius!" she called into the fire.