“Yes, it is, we were in the war together,” she said, not thinking about things like the weight of her last name. The Figg family had always been pure and purist, but minor; upper middle class and trying hard to make it to fully upper. Her brother, Orlando, had been cruel and harsh to everyone around him, which he had learned from their elderly father, Gibson Figg. “Well, not together. I wasn’t fighting, I couldn’t, I was mostly doing research and passing information from my family along,” Arabella said, incapable still to see what she’d done in the war are overly important. Honestly, she’d mostly been protected by Caradoc and Fabian and given books to translate.
Horrible books, books with dark magic seeping from every page and explanations that helped people understand what they were fighting against better. But it didn’t stop Arabella from wanting to forget every blood dripped word of it.
“I’m sorry, I must be wasting your time,” Arabella said after a moment, as if saying how useless she’d been in the war (to her own point of view) had reminded her that she was mostly in the way. Unable to do magic, unable to do more than read a book and tell you what someone had written in another language. Resigned to a life of merely being under the blimp of the radar, and while she told herself that she was alright with this, she was used to this… somehow she had thought winning the war would make her feel more worth while. Instead, it had only made her go back to muggle life.