Laughter from downstairs roused Harry the next morning. He crossed off a
day on his chart, got dressed, and went down. At the foot of the stairs,
before the entrance to the kitchen, he found all five cats pacing, as if
displeased. Harry leaned over to pet Tibbles' head. "Who's in there?" he
whispered, but Tibbles obviously couldn't answer. Harry followed the
sounds of mirth into the kitchen and discovered, to his surprise-
"Professor Lupin!"
Remus J. Lupin, a tall man with greying fair hair, sat at the table with Mrs. Figg. Both were wearing wizard robes, though Lupin's were rather shabby. But the man himself looked very healthy, Harry was pleased to observe.
"Harry!" said Lupin pleasantly, setting down his teacup to shake Harry's hand. "How have you been? You know, you probably don't need to call me Professor anymore, seeing as I resigned two years ago."
"Sorry Prof- er, Mr. Lupin," said Harry. "What are you doing here?"
"Bella volunteered to put me up for a little while," answered Lupin.
Harry was perplexed. "Why don't you stay at your house?"
"I ran out of potion and I possess neither the skills nor the ingredients to make it myself."
"Oh! Your werewolf potion." He thought of the full moon two weeks before, of the lights on late at Mrs. Figg's house, coincidentally the very night before Harry moved in. Harry deduced that Lupin must have been here then. "Was it you then, making noise downstairs last night?"
Lupin smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"No, not me," said Harry, "but the cats don't seem to like you much."
Mrs. Figg began fixing the cats' breakfasts, but stayed in her seat and talked while she pointed her wand all over the kitchen. "My cats aren't too fond of canines. Smart ones, they are, they know what poor Lupin is even if he doesn't look like it now."
Lupin smiled mildly at her while five bowls of cat food whooshed over his head. "Poor Lupin indeed! I'd say poor cats, but fortunately they hadn't found a way into the cellar while I was in werewolf form. As a wolf I'd eat any kind of meat, you realize. But some other occupants of this house have been rather curious!" He winked at Harry. "I was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak, I saw you trying to peek through the other day."
"Sorry," said Harry as he sat down at the table. "I just wanted to find out what was down there."
"I thought you mightn't suspect anything," Mrs. Figg said to Harry, who smiled sheepishly.
"He's a precocious boy, Bella," chuckled Lupin merrily. With a flick of his wand, a plate of blueberry pancakes appeared in front of Harry. "You can't underestimate him."
* * *
The rest of Harry's stay was much more bearable. It was even enjoyable. As the moon waxed gibbous Lupin became less healthier-looking, but Mrs. Figg made a large reserve of Wolfsbane potion available to him. The foul- smelling concoction was kept in a large vat on the stove and its stench replaced the boiled-cabbage odour as the prominent smell in the house.
Lupin spent his time entertaining Harry. He fascinated Harry with stories of his own education at Hogwarts and of James Potter's outrageous antics. On cloudy days when no one was outside Lupin would take Harry and their brooms to a deserted football field close by and teach Harry Seeker moves, all of which had been taught to Lupin himself by Harry's father James. Harry greatly appreciated being able to practise his old Quidditch manoeuvres and enjoyed learning new ones.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Figg began bewitching everything in sight. She seemed relieved that Harry finally knew about her being a witch and about Lupin hiding in her cellar, and felt that she could behave as she wanted now, casting spells like it was going out of style. "I'm making up for all those years you couldn't see my skills," she told Harry.
Harry also seized this opportunity for some much-needed magic practice. At first he worried that he'd get in trouble with the Ministry, but Mrs. Figg said she had contacts in the Department of Law Enforcement and that she would pull some strings so that he could practise with her. So it was that Harry was never bothered by the Ministry, "so long as you're under this roof," Mrs. Figg cautioned. "I've convinced them to amend the zoning bylaws so that my house is temporarily inside a magic-safe sector. But outside the house, you're on your own."
Harry's extra reading during those sleepless nights came in handy now that application of his knowledge was called for. His Charms and Transfiguration skills were much out of form, but with time and practice Harry improved. Transfiguration was something that Harry enjoyed, because he thought it was interesting and challenging. But the subject Harry most wanted to revise was Potions, so that he could show up Professor Snape when he returned to Hogwarts.
As it turned out, Mrs. Figg was a fantastic Potions teacher. She had her own small laboratory and a cabinet full of ingredients, including many items Harry had never even heard of and was sure he didn't want to know how they were retrieved, like hairs from the end of a Chimaera's tail, Lobalug venom, and Mooncalf dung. Mrs. Figg would not let Harry use those valuable materials, but she provided indispensable advice and constructive criticism during his trial experiments with more ordinary ingredients.
Lupin and the cats halfheartedly volunteered themselves as test subjects, and Snowball the thirty-five-year-old cat spent three days frolicking as a six-month-old kitten as a result of a successful Rejuvenation Formula while Harry frantically looked up the counter-potion. In time, after Snowball had been restored to her real age and several other fiascoes had been resolved, Harry learned how to blend an infusion of fluxweed with the precise amount of mermaids' tears to create the ideal Ramphorhynchus Brew, and about how an inexact number of rat tails in a Proteus Potion could create a fire hot enough to boil the blood of anyone standing within ten feet of the cauldron.
Harry worked hard to memorize the effects of ingredients and studied until he could understand the mathematics behind the formulas. And gradually, he began to improve. Years of being overshadowed by Hermione Granger in the classroom had left him with a large inferiority complex when it came to schoolwork; but finally here was proof that he was intelligent too. In Potions he was quick to pick up new concepts, and he was a hard worker. Mrs. Figg and Lupin praised him to the skies and Harry felt at last that he could be a good student in his own right.
Additionally, Harry's nightmares stopped, and for the first time in weeks he was able to sleep soundly every night. When she found out that he was having trouble sleeping, Mrs. Figg made Harry drink a glass of warm milk every evening before going to bed, and Harry was surprised to discover that this actually did work: scarcely would the milk pass down his throat before he felt his eyelids droop with fatigue. Harry did not question this miraculous cure; he simply accepted it as a display of more of Mrs. Figg's hidden wisdom.
Three of the cats, Snowball, Loyola, and Tigris, all still avoided Lupin, but Leon and Tibbles II began to accept him-at least the latter two could tolerate being in the same room as him. Mrs. Figg also let Harry in on the secret to Tibbles II's odd appearance.
"He's not actually a cat," she confessed when Harry commented on Tibbles' unusually broad ears and strange fur patterns. "Tibbles is a Kneazle. Have you learned about those yet in Care of Magical Creatures, Potter?" Harry shook his head and Mrs. Figg snorted. "They're falling behind at that school. Very well, here's your first Kneazle lesson. They do look a lot like cats. This specimen was bought from a magical marketplace in Bangladesh not unlike London's Diagon Alley, as a gift to me from my husband. Of course, since I was going to treat Tibbles as a regular cat, it meant that Muggles like your dreadful Uncle Vernon might see him and notice the subtle differences between him and the other cats. So I had to take an MPOAT, a Magical Pet Owner Aptitude Test at the Ministry, from the Department for Magical Creatures. It was quite easy. It was just for getting a license to own and train Tibbles."
"Train him? Can Tibbles do tricks?" Harry asked, looking at the Kneazle skeptically.
"Of course not!" said Mrs. Figg, sounding highly insulted. "No, I've been training him for better things. He's highly loyal, you know, and if we took him out even as far as Normandy, he could probably lead us back here, or to whatever I trained him to find."
"A bit like a homing pigeon?" asked Harry, thinking of the Muggle-trained birds.
"Rather like a homing Kneazle," commented Lupin.
Harry patted Tibbles' head, and the creature immediately went into euphoric purring.
"He likes you," said Mrs. Figg, pleased. "Maybe you should get a Kneazle, Potter."
Harry shook his head. "An owl's enough trouble. Uncle Vernon would probably go bats if I brought in a magical cat."
"All the more reason to get one," said Mrs. Figg mischievously.
"Professor Lupin!"
Remus J. Lupin, a tall man with greying fair hair, sat at the table with Mrs. Figg. Both were wearing wizard robes, though Lupin's were rather shabby. But the man himself looked very healthy, Harry was pleased to observe.
"Harry!" said Lupin pleasantly, setting down his teacup to shake Harry's hand. "How have you been? You know, you probably don't need to call me Professor anymore, seeing as I resigned two years ago."
"Sorry Prof- er, Mr. Lupin," said Harry. "What are you doing here?"
"Bella volunteered to put me up for a little while," answered Lupin.
Harry was perplexed. "Why don't you stay at your house?"
"I ran out of potion and I possess neither the skills nor the ingredients to make it myself."
"Oh! Your werewolf potion." He thought of the full moon two weeks before, of the lights on late at Mrs. Figg's house, coincidentally the very night before Harry moved in. Harry deduced that Lupin must have been here then. "Was it you then, making noise downstairs last night?"
Lupin smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry if I frightened you."
"No, not me," said Harry, "but the cats don't seem to like you much."
Mrs. Figg began fixing the cats' breakfasts, but stayed in her seat and talked while she pointed her wand all over the kitchen. "My cats aren't too fond of canines. Smart ones, they are, they know what poor Lupin is even if he doesn't look like it now."
Lupin smiled mildly at her while five bowls of cat food whooshed over his head. "Poor Lupin indeed! I'd say poor cats, but fortunately they hadn't found a way into the cellar while I was in werewolf form. As a wolf I'd eat any kind of meat, you realize. But some other occupants of this house have been rather curious!" He winked at Harry. "I was hiding under an Invisibility Cloak, I saw you trying to peek through the other day."
"Sorry," said Harry as he sat down at the table. "I just wanted to find out what was down there."
"I thought you mightn't suspect anything," Mrs. Figg said to Harry, who smiled sheepishly.
"He's a precocious boy, Bella," chuckled Lupin merrily. With a flick of his wand, a plate of blueberry pancakes appeared in front of Harry. "You can't underestimate him."
* * *
The rest of Harry's stay was much more bearable. It was even enjoyable. As the moon waxed gibbous Lupin became less healthier-looking, but Mrs. Figg made a large reserve of Wolfsbane potion available to him. The foul- smelling concoction was kept in a large vat on the stove and its stench replaced the boiled-cabbage odour as the prominent smell in the house.
Lupin spent his time entertaining Harry. He fascinated Harry with stories of his own education at Hogwarts and of James Potter's outrageous antics. On cloudy days when no one was outside Lupin would take Harry and their brooms to a deserted football field close by and teach Harry Seeker moves, all of which had been taught to Lupin himself by Harry's father James. Harry greatly appreciated being able to practise his old Quidditch manoeuvres and enjoyed learning new ones.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Figg began bewitching everything in sight. She seemed relieved that Harry finally knew about her being a witch and about Lupin hiding in her cellar, and felt that she could behave as she wanted now, casting spells like it was going out of style. "I'm making up for all those years you couldn't see my skills," she told Harry.
Harry also seized this opportunity for some much-needed magic practice. At first he worried that he'd get in trouble with the Ministry, but Mrs. Figg said she had contacts in the Department of Law Enforcement and that she would pull some strings so that he could practise with her. So it was that Harry was never bothered by the Ministry, "so long as you're under this roof," Mrs. Figg cautioned. "I've convinced them to amend the zoning bylaws so that my house is temporarily inside a magic-safe sector. But outside the house, you're on your own."
Harry's extra reading during those sleepless nights came in handy now that application of his knowledge was called for. His Charms and Transfiguration skills were much out of form, but with time and practice Harry improved. Transfiguration was something that Harry enjoyed, because he thought it was interesting and challenging. But the subject Harry most wanted to revise was Potions, so that he could show up Professor Snape when he returned to Hogwarts.
As it turned out, Mrs. Figg was a fantastic Potions teacher. She had her own small laboratory and a cabinet full of ingredients, including many items Harry had never even heard of and was sure he didn't want to know how they were retrieved, like hairs from the end of a Chimaera's tail, Lobalug venom, and Mooncalf dung. Mrs. Figg would not let Harry use those valuable materials, but she provided indispensable advice and constructive criticism during his trial experiments with more ordinary ingredients.
Lupin and the cats halfheartedly volunteered themselves as test subjects, and Snowball the thirty-five-year-old cat spent three days frolicking as a six-month-old kitten as a result of a successful Rejuvenation Formula while Harry frantically looked up the counter-potion. In time, after Snowball had been restored to her real age and several other fiascoes had been resolved, Harry learned how to blend an infusion of fluxweed with the precise amount of mermaids' tears to create the ideal Ramphorhynchus Brew, and about how an inexact number of rat tails in a Proteus Potion could create a fire hot enough to boil the blood of anyone standing within ten feet of the cauldron.
Harry worked hard to memorize the effects of ingredients and studied until he could understand the mathematics behind the formulas. And gradually, he began to improve. Years of being overshadowed by Hermione Granger in the classroom had left him with a large inferiority complex when it came to schoolwork; but finally here was proof that he was intelligent too. In Potions he was quick to pick up new concepts, and he was a hard worker. Mrs. Figg and Lupin praised him to the skies and Harry felt at last that he could be a good student in his own right.
Additionally, Harry's nightmares stopped, and for the first time in weeks he was able to sleep soundly every night. When she found out that he was having trouble sleeping, Mrs. Figg made Harry drink a glass of warm milk every evening before going to bed, and Harry was surprised to discover that this actually did work: scarcely would the milk pass down his throat before he felt his eyelids droop with fatigue. Harry did not question this miraculous cure; he simply accepted it as a display of more of Mrs. Figg's hidden wisdom.
Three of the cats, Snowball, Loyola, and Tigris, all still avoided Lupin, but Leon and Tibbles II began to accept him-at least the latter two could tolerate being in the same room as him. Mrs. Figg also let Harry in on the secret to Tibbles II's odd appearance.
"He's not actually a cat," she confessed when Harry commented on Tibbles' unusually broad ears and strange fur patterns. "Tibbles is a Kneazle. Have you learned about those yet in Care of Magical Creatures, Potter?" Harry shook his head and Mrs. Figg snorted. "They're falling behind at that school. Very well, here's your first Kneazle lesson. They do look a lot like cats. This specimen was bought from a magical marketplace in Bangladesh not unlike London's Diagon Alley, as a gift to me from my husband. Of course, since I was going to treat Tibbles as a regular cat, it meant that Muggles like your dreadful Uncle Vernon might see him and notice the subtle differences between him and the other cats. So I had to take an MPOAT, a Magical Pet Owner Aptitude Test at the Ministry, from the Department for Magical Creatures. It was quite easy. It was just for getting a license to own and train Tibbles."
"Train him? Can Tibbles do tricks?" Harry asked, looking at the Kneazle skeptically.
"Of course not!" said Mrs. Figg, sounding highly insulted. "No, I've been training him for better things. He's highly loyal, you know, and if we took him out even as far as Normandy, he could probably lead us back here, or to whatever I trained him to find."
"A bit like a homing pigeon?" asked Harry, thinking of the Muggle-trained birds.
"Rather like a homing Kneazle," commented Lupin.
Harry patted Tibbles' head, and the creature immediately went into euphoric purring.
"He likes you," said Mrs. Figg, pleased. "Maybe you should get a Kneazle, Potter."
Harry shook his head. "An owl's enough trouble. Uncle Vernon would probably go bats if I brought in a magical cat."
"All the more reason to get one," said Mrs. Figg mischievously.
