The moon was getting thinner every night. Harry often had trouble sleeping, and liked to sit on the window seat in his room, staring at the waning moon and stroking Tibbles's soft fur, reading his spell books until the cat's rhythmic purring lulled him to sleep. He read a lot of his textbooks at Mrs. Figg's house; given the choice between learning about the antics of Uric the Oddball and gazing at several decades' worth of photos of Mrs. Figg's feline companions, Harry would much rather further his magical education.

Now it was the night of the new moon, about two weeks into his sojourn. While sitting on the window seat writing a note to Hermione Granger, Harry thought he heard sounds coming from downstairs. Curious, Harry decided to investigate. Out of habit, he grabbed his wand from his trunk for protection. Tibbles had fallen asleep on the window seat, so Harry crept downstairs alone.

Mrs. Figg's snoring hardly penetrated the silence of the first floor. Harry moved as silently as he could down the hallway and into the kitchen. The noises were coming from the cellar.

Harry stopped a few feet away and listened intently. There were soft sounds drifting through the door, like someone was moving around. A prowler? He hesitated. Could this be a trap from Voldemort, to lure him into some mad old lady's cellar to murder him? He did doubt it, but tried to steel himself for whatever ills were stirring below his feet.

Now that he had his wand out, he could magically unlock the door. The Ministry might send a warning, but Harry hoped that a peek into Mrs. Figg's secret would be worth the trouble.

He approached the door warily, trying to remember the unlocking spell. Alohomora, he thought to himself, and moved to touch the doorknob with the tip of his wand.

Suddenly, before he could utter the magic word, a shrill, piercing whistling exploded in his ears. Harry clapped his hands over his ears in pain. The whistling noise sounded oddly familiar. He looked round for a teakettle, but the stovetop was empty, so the kettle couldn't be making the sound, and anyways Harry doubted that Mrs. Figg boiled water in the middle of the night. It seemed to be coming from atop the refrigerator, but Harry wasn't tall enough to reach.

Then the kitchen was doused in light.

"POTTER!" shouted Mrs. Figg, her hair in curlers. "What do you think you're doing?"

Harry could find no answer for this. "What's that sound?" he yelled, conscious that soon the entire neighbourhood would be awake. Surely enough, several windows and doors banged open as neighbours came out to protest the disturbance.

Mrs. Figg reached into the pocket of her nightgown. Harry was stunned to see that she was holding-a wand. She pointed it at the fridge, which immediately fell silent. Then she waved her wand at the neighbours and murmured "Obliviate", and the clamouring of the Muggles ceased.

Mrs. Figg then pulled a chair up to the fridge and took something down from the top. Harry gasped when he recognized a deluxe Sneakoscope, a magical gadget. But-only wizards used such objects.

"Mrs. Figg!" exclaimed Harry in disbelief. "A wand- but you're not- I don't- "

Mrs. Figg held up her hand and Harry stopped spluttering. When she spoke her tone was icy. "You were trying to get into the cellar."

Harry stared at the floor. "Yes. I wanted to see what was down there."

Mrs. Figg frowned. "I thought I could keep it from you. I obviously misjudged your curiosity, Potter. I haven't dealt with teenagers in-oh, ages."

Harry looked at her. "Why didn't you tell me you're a witch?"

Mrs. Figg sighed and motioned for him to sit at the table. "My name is Arabella Figg. Yes, I am a witch. I moved into this Muggle neighbourhood soon after you did."

Harry was puzzled. "Why?"

"To watch out for you, of course. It was at the request of Albus Dumbledore. I've been keeping you out of major trouble since you were a little baby."

"How do you know Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "Did you go to Hogwarts?"

"Naturally. I even taught there."

"What?"

"I taught your father James," reminisced Mrs. Figg. "Good lad. He did quite well in my class, as I recall. Your mother was very capable, too. Ninety-seven and a half percent on her sixth-year final exam. And so charming, both of them."

"What did you teach?"

"Potions. And then Defense Against the Dark Arts, for two years right before I retired."

"Did you teach Snape?" asked Harry, fascinated.

"Severus Snape? Yes, he was in your father's year. A bit cool towards people, but Severus got a hundred and sixteen percent on his seventh year final exam. He was my best student. And he turned out all right in the end."

"No he didn't," Harry said before he could stop himself. "He's horrible!"

Mrs. Figg looked at him sternly. "Severus Snape is a good man. And I think you'd best be off to bed, as it's too late to be up."

Rising, Harry remembered the original purpose of his quest. "Mrs. Figg! There was something making noise in your cellar. It sounded like somebody moving! You ought to go look-"

"You were dreaming," said Mrs. Figg shortly. "You heard nothing."

At that very moment the sound of someone in the cellar clearing their throat reached their ears. Mrs. Figg sighed in exasperation. Harry moved towards the door, but she barred his way.

"It's very late. Go to bed, Potter."

"But-"

"Go before I force a Sleeping Draught down your throat," warned Mrs. Figg, then relented. "I'll show you in the morning."

Back in his room, Harry found Tibbles II awake and having a staring contest with Hedwig, who was installed inside her cage. Feeling very tired, Harry slipped between the flower-patterned sheets and fell asleep.