Arabella laughed in a rather undignified manner that included a snort she hadn’t banked on. She covered her nose and mouth for a moment, before dropping her hand, straightening up and attempting to look a little more dignified. “I’m Arabella Figg, we meet in the 70’s,” she explained, in a bit of awe at his age and reality. She wanted to just blab all about the Order and what they’d done to help the world, and how he actually survived and thrived afterwards. Well, thrived as much as you could in that pub. Not that Arabella could talk, she’d started collecting cats.
She folded her arms, still looking at him with her mouth a little open and looking utterly pleased. Meeting someone who was, well, alive in her own time was new. She’d met those who had died, and for a while she had started to worry that this was death, that she’d only meet the ghosts of her past and never see that life had a way to keep going. The children of the future were strangers to her. Her future held no babies and no husbands and she had accepted that, but it hadn’t stop a pain from forming in her knowledge that she was utterly alone and any movements she made in this world would vanish the moment her eyes opened in her own.
But this, that day, could be a delight to him. “We- has anyone talked to you about the future? We work together, in the late 70’s and early 80’s.”