~ Two ~

The midday sun cast a warm, pleasant glow across the Quidditch stadium. There was a full two hours until trials began for the Gryffindor squad, yet Sirius has already been rehearsing his elaborate flying motions for the last three, and he didn't intend to stop now. Perhaps it was a mark of dedication, or perhaps it was to distract him from other things plaguing him.

He had tried to be gentle with her. The problem was Celestina was never too great at taking hints. You always had to be subtle as a brick with her, or you'd never get anywhere…

So he'd been brutal. He hadn't had much choice. Had he?

Sirius circled the stadium in short, jerky actions, as if to take out his tormented feelings on his broomstick. He was angry with Celestina for putting him through this, but he was also furious with himself.

Furious with himself for having second thoughts about the whole stupid mess. Part of him was thinking, hey, maybe old Tina isn't so bad, and it enraged him that he was allowing his mind to be manipulated by that dizzy blond twerp. He was agitated that perhaps behind the big act that had been their ridiculous courtship, there had been feelings. He had to sworn to himself never to fall in love; it caused too many complications in an already perplexing world.

"Fly like that and you'll never make the team, bastard!" yelled a familiar voice from the stands. Sirius cringed. It was Arabella, here to make him suffer even more. Sirius didn't think he could stomach one of their customary confrontations right now. He flew low, landing next to her amongst the Gryffindor seating.

"Leave it out, Bell," Sirius muttered in irritation.

"And why should I do that? You deserve every insult I sling at you," Bell sneered. "How could you be so insensitive? This stupid little incident takes pride of place in Sirius Black's Idiotic Behaviour Hall of Fame. I know Celestina isn't the easiest of people to get along with, but she has feelings. You just went along and stamped on them like the immature obstinate git that you always prove yourself to be."

"I bet she told the whole tragic tale," Sirius bickered. "How I insulted her and yelled at her, breaking her heart with every word. I bet she made it all dramatic and realistic, with waterfalls of tears and flailing arms. You know what she's like, Bell. She's a great actress. She even drew you in, with your heart of steal. I used to believe all that crap, but the truth is she alters the truth in her favour all the time. She might even get so worked up about it she actually believes some of it, but that doesn't transform reality. I tried with all my might to be gentle and do the honourable thing, but she wouldn't let me. I've had enough, Bell. I'm not going to wait around for her to mature so I can finally get on with my life. I admit I was selfish, but do you really blame me?"

"And why am I supposed to believe that this isn't YOU being the great actor, trying to draw me in, hmm?" Bell hissed. "What the hell am I supposed to believe when you two split our circle of friends in two with your pathetic little escapades?"

"You're right, as usual, Bell," Sirius breathed. "Fifty points to Gryffindor for you. There's no reason at all why you should believe me."

"And this is your defence argument?"

"I'm not wasting it on you. You're so stuck in your ways I'd have to brainwash you to get you to listen to a word I say."

"So that's it?" Bell's eyes sparkled with fury. "You're just going to leave Tina to sob her heart out while you try to wash the guilt away with a few laps round the pitch?"

Sirius turned to mount his broom. "Yeah, if that's the way you want to put it."

* * *

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 passed away he had become 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 just 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 alone. 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 ajar door, and pinked briefly 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, and 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 on Monday morning, no doubt."

"I remember young Eleanor well from when she was a student," Dumbledore reminisced dolefully. "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 profoundly 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 this despicable evil 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 with a good heart. 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 too much for her to process more information. 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.