Abigail Figg belonged in Slytherin
Chapter 1: Abigail Figg belonged in Slytherin.
Severus Snape grumbled to himself as he packed his potions bag with clipped, precise movements. Potions Masters did not make house calls, certainly not ones world renowned for their accomplishments such as himself, but the Headmaster had insisted.
Once Albus had heard that Ms.Figg had come down with Dragon Pox, he immediately contacted Severus. It was rare but not unheard of for Squibs to contract wixen diseases, but their lack of a magical core made them more difficult to treat. Many of the usual healing spells could prove fatal without the support of the patient’s internal magic, so squibs were forced to rely upon potions.
“I’m sure you can find some semblance of a bedside manner, my boy…” Severus muttered angrily as he worked, in a passable imitation of the meddling old coot. “Poppy works tirelessly during the school year, she needs the summer to recover…” The potion master rolled his eyes returning to his dower tone, “While my vacation time is fair game it seems!” He flicked the satchel closed with a resounding snap.
Sighing dramatically, he summoned his outer cloak in a swirl of dark fabric left through the floo. As he stepped into Ms. Figgs abode, Snape quickly had to catch himself from tripping over one of her numerous cats. He sneered down at the offending creature, white of course, and scowled down at the cat fur already visibly coating the bottom of his black robes. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he chose to ignore the four pairs of feline eyes watching him with interest in favor of locating their owner.
“Ms. Figg?” he called out into the gloom. The house was poorly lit and furnished with an alarming amount of floral prints but was surprisingly clean for a house with so many cats.
“Just a moment!” an elderly voice answered from a distant part of the house. Severus stood stiffly by the hearth as he waited for the woman to shuffle slowly out of the bedroom. Figg’s steel gray hair was gathered atop her head in a messy bun, loose strands curling to frame deep gray eyes. She leaned heavily on her weathered cane as she joined him in the parlor. “Ah, Severus! It's good to see you. I read the article you published on the wolfsbane potion you invented last spring. I’m astounded you had time in your busy schedule to come help an old woman like me.”
Severus’s posture softened infinitesimally as the elderly woman went out of her way to praise him despite her obvious illness. Her wrinkled cheeks were reddened with fever and her arms were turning scaly with the trademark rash. He stepped forward to ease her down onto the couch. “ Flattery was always more of Lucius’s prerogative, I need no such pandering,” he sniffed.
She tilted her head to look over the top of her spectacles at him, sarcasm dripping from her every word. “Of course not. Such an upstanding young man would need no platitudes to help an old woman in her time of need!”
And of course, you would never manipulate an old coot into pestering me out of my vacation time. A wise lady as yourself knows better than to aggravate their healer in such a way,” he said in a rye tone. “Otherwise you would just have to endure these pox until they passed naturally.”
She laughed, “I doubt such a plan would end well for someone my age.” She shook her head, “That is if this illness was indeed Dragon Pox.”
Severus frowned. “You have reason to suspect this to be something else?” Maybe she suspected poison?
In lew of an answer she pulled two vials from her shall and downed them one after the other. First, her fever-flushed skin faded from red to a more healthy tone, and then the scales forming on her arms shed off leaving unblemished wrinkled arms. She had the audacity to wink at him.
“Just a simple Dragon Armor potion and an overdose of Warming Drought.” A feline smirk twisted her lips, “I needed a reason for that old fool to send you my way. Now be a dear and grab me a quill from the drawer in my desk over there.” She pointed to a weathered writing desk by the window with her cane.
Refusing to show his shock and confusion, Severus schooled his face and crossed his arms. “And why, pray tell, would you need another potioneer when you clearly have access to another?”
Her smirk grew into a full-blown grin. “Why would I need a Potion Master, when I can brew anything that doesn't require a wand myself? After all, Erny never thought my lack of magic should keep me from learning such a useful skill.”
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he have forgotten Ernest Figg, her husband and the Muggleborn potioneer for the Light, before Severus himself decided to change sides? Ernest had been killed by the Lestrange brothers mere months before Severus made the most important decision of his life. Mr. Figg had been a masters-level potioneer with a Muggle masters in chemistry before he had been tortured and killed by the death eaters. Arabella had only survived because they decided a Squib would be a fun “toy” to play with. Their sadistic games bought enough time for Potter and Black to arrive before they got bored and finished her off. She had been in St. Mungos for most of the remaining war. The lingering damage from the experience still made her appear much older than she really was and probably shortened her life expectancy by at least ten years.
She indicated the desk again and Severus raised an eyebrow. Allowing his curiosity to win this round, he walked over to the slightly battered oak writing desk and opened the central drawer. There was indeed a fine white quill with black spots and a silver nib. But what drew his eye was the slip of parchment below with one word written in a neat scrawl. FIDELITUS.
Severus frowned but followed through with the pretext of bringing Figg the quill. “I wish to get right to the point. Why did you go to such lengths to bring me here today?” he demanded.
Arabella Figg smiled mischievously, “I’m sure a smart young man like yourself is full of rare talents, Severus. I simply can’t tell you which one of your skills would be most useful right now.”
Of course, the Fidelitus Charm was a powerful geas that prohibited the speech of those it was cast upon. It was such a powerful spell that only a few wizards were known to be able to perform the spell this century. It should have even stopped any actions the bearer of the curse took to try and reveal the secrets they were bound to protect. The fact that she was able to give him enough hints as to what was going on to get him this far, was astounding. She had to be referring to his Legilimency skill, but even that would have some safeguards in place against it. Then again, Squibs would not have the magic for the spell to use to defend their thoughts.
Now more than ever, he was sure that if Arabella Figg had been born a full witch there would be no doubt that she would have been sorted into Slytherin. “For legality sake, I will need your consent to take this any further,” Severus drawled.
The old woman’s kindly face turned cold, “I think the legality of the situation has long since passed, but you have my consent nonetheless.”
Snape raised a brow at the comment but did not question further. He would know soon enough what she meant. Silently he met her eyes and wordlessly cast the spell.
***
It was as he expected. At first, he felt the pull of the geas, like swimming through taffy, but without the bearer’s magic to support it, it snapped with an application of a little more force on his part.
He suddenly found himself standing over Abigail Figg in the garden as she watched the Dursleys load three suitcases into the boot of their van. Severus watched as she crept closer to the fence with curiosity. He could feel her anger radiating through the memory. He frowned and looked up at the grating whine coming from a whale of a boy across the street, “But father! Three isn’t nearly enough! What if I find more toys in Paris?”
A woman he was shocked to recognize as Petunia, Lilly’s sister, came round the van to lovingly pat the greedy boy’s cheek, “Then we’ll buy you another there sweetums. The sweepstakes we entered gave us five tickets but didn’t cover the extra baggage. Besides Piers and Dennis get to come with you! Won’t that be fun?”
Why would Arabella Figg be living next to Lilly’s hateful sister? And what would it have to do with the Fidelius Charm?
No. It couldn't be…
He watched as Petunia's engorged husband charged through the front door dragging another, much smaller boy, bellowing at the top of his lungs. “This house better be spotless when we return, BOY! I’ll have no funny business while we’re gone, YOU HEAR!”
“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” said the stick-thin child, holding his abused arm gingerly. His head was tipped down to stare at his shoes, but that didn’t hide the darkening bruise over his left eye.
“Hurry up and load the trunks so we can pick up Dudley’s friends! You’ve already made us late by burning the toast! If I had more time I’d teach you a real lesson boy!”
Cringing, the child hurried to load the heavy trunks that were nearly as long as the boy was tall. Once the luggage was loaded, the boy was gasping with the effort and his arms shook as he strained to close the trunk over the cargo.
The man huffed in exasperation and shoved the boy out of the way. He fell hard on the rough pavement, sprawling in the street. The man did not even notice as he used his considerable weight to cram the boot shut, and the car sank low to the ground as the family loaded in. They drove off in a huff of petrol smoke, giving the child barely enough time to get out of the way.
As the fumes cleared Abigail was able to see the rake-thin boy standing on the curb looking at his hole, worn trainers with his blackened eye, and his now bloodied nose as his relative drove off without even saying goodbye.
Enough was enough…