During all the excitement in October, Quidditch matches had been cancelled or postponed, and the issue of the theft of Ron's- or rather Maldora's- Feather-Light broomstick had been at the back of everyone's minds; but in November the school tentatively attempted to return life to something resembling normalcy by restarting the Quidditch matches.

Thus Ron, already wracked with worry and anguish, now had the added burden of finding another racing broom to ride. Begging his parents didn't work, raiding the broom shed yieled nothing, and Harry and Hermione had no suggestions. Ron despaired. He would be removed from the team, excised from his last chance at distinction. Overwhelmed by gloom, he gave up.

But Professor Figg had come through for him once before, and she did it again. One Thursday evening she vanished, and Professor McGonagall would not say where her friend had gone, but only walked about looking anxious; but Friday morning Professor Figg was back. She called them to her office after breakfast. She was not there when they arrived, but a moment afterward she limped in and laid the Nimbus Feather-Light, polished and magnificent, on the desk. Ron picked it up and stared at it.

"This isn't-" he stammered. "This isn't the one she took, is it?"

Professor Figg nodded wearily. "I happened to- run into Maldora Lestrange this weekend and took it back from her."

"Why are you limping?" Harry demanded, remembering his promise to Sirius to watch out for Arabella Figg.

"It was an unpleasant run-in," she said flatly, pullling herself behind her desk and sitting down. Harry noticed a fresh, nasty-looking scar on her neck, and a fading blue bruise on her cheek under her left eye.

"A duel?" he said in astonishment.

"You duelled Maldora Lestrange to get a broom?" Hermione said incredulously.

"Wow, thanks!" said Ron.

"It wasn't just the broom," Professor Figg said. "The Lestranges and I, as you obviously know, have unfinished business."

"Namely, you felt compelled to chase after them like a madwoman," Harry said, feeling inexplicably belligerent.

Professor Figg looked at him sharply. "What do you want me to do, Potter?" she asked. "Wait here for them to come kill me?"

"Dumbledore can protect you!" Harry said, and then, carried away by his anger, continued, "The Or-"

"Stop!" Professor Figg interrupted shrilly, rising painfully. Her dark blue eyes were narrowed at Harry. "Don't say it!"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, and stubbornly persisted, "But Dumbledore can-"

"Professor Dumbledore can't stop me from going after them," Professor Figg snapped, "and you can't expect me to sit here, twiddling my thumbs and waiting for the axe to fall."

They stared at each for a few seconds, the presence of Hermione and Ron completely forgotten. Then Harry backed off.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But- I promised I wouldn't let you risk your life."

"But you can't stop me," Professor Figg said gently. "And I'm a grown witch, Potter, I can take care of myself."

Harry nodded finally. "Snuffles said you never failed to catch your Death Eaters."

Professor Figg grinned. "I caught them once, I can do it again. Go on now. Enjoy yourself, Weasley."

"Thanks, Professor," Ron said, still fingering the broomstick in awe, as they left.

When they were gone, Arabella Figg sat down heavily, and put her head in her hands and wept.

Last Wednesday night Severus Snape had been called to a midnight meeting of the Death Eaters. He had returned at 3 a.m., eyes glassy, and stumbled straight to his room in the dungeons. Bella and Dumbledore had been in the Entrance Hall to receive him, but he had shaken his head when he'd seen them and gasped, "Only let me sleep!"

In the morning he had regained his composure. The meeting had taken place inside a vast, dark building, the exterior of which he hadn't seen. His position there was in jeopardy, he said, omitting to tell Dumbledore that his cover had already broken. But he was a good actor, and every word was spoken believably. He was not allowed to give the Order of the Pheonix many details or much truth, but he had told Bella that Maldora and Derrick Lestrange had both flown in on broomsticks instead of Apparating. Derrick rode a Firebolt, and Maldora the prized Feather-Light. She had told everyone she'd stolen it from Hogwarts in the middle of the night and escaped unseen. Snape knew she was lying to boost her reputation, but he hadn't been able to refute the claim because when she looked at him, the threat of divulgence was in her ice-blue eyes. He didn't tell this last part to Bella, of course; he only told her that Maldora had been bragging about the theft of the Feather-Light.

That was what had set her off. When she'd heard of Maldora's boasts, Bella had felt a white rage overcome her. The broom had belonged to her daughter Solange, so a witch named Maldora should not have it. When Solange had faked her own death she had left no will, so everything reverted to her parents; therefore the Feather-Light broom was rightfully Bella Figg's, and she was going to get it back.

She'd walked out of Hogwarts the following evening with only her wand and Quintius Croaker's Invisibility Cloak, not knowing where she was going or what she would do to get there. She didn't have a clue to Maldora's whereabouts, but she thought that after all these years of hunting Maldora she could fairly guess.

Her intuition took her to a shabby, rundown little shack in a London rookery. Solange had adored elegance and luxury, and knowing that, Bella had caught Maldora Lestrange at a royal gala over a decade ago. Bella was one of the few witches who could say she had Obliviated the Queen's memory.

Knowing how much Solange had hated squalour, a poverty-stricken neighbourhood like this would be the last place Maldora would live. And yet Bella guessed, correctly as it turned out, that she would be here; because while a rookery, filled with murderers, pickpockets, and whorehouses, was exactly where the vile Maldora Lestrange belonged, it was precisely the last place anyone would think to look for her.

Except for Bella Figg, who'd known her far too long. Certainly Bella didn't understand Maldora's emotions, but she knew how her mind worked. Maldora had chosen the dirtiest, most dilapidated, crime-ridden slum in Muggle London as her hiding place. Bella marched through the ramshackle tenements, safely concealed under the Invisibility Cloak, and sought out the house number 9, which had always been Maldora's favourite number. She watched the house for an hour. Finally two cloaked figures emerged. One raised a wand and muttered a few words. Then they both Disapparated. Bella took her courage in hand and walked up to the house.

The Muggle burglars who might approach the house would suddenly think of a better place to rob and run off. That trick didn't work on Bella Figg, and neither did any of the magic barriers and booby-traps set up all round the house. She shattered each magic ward and skirted every snare till she reached the back door. Peering through the windows on either side of the door, she saw nothing but the scarce possessions of the impoverished Muggles who would normally live in that shack. But she could feel the magic exuding from the house, like the putridity a Dementor radiated.

She unlocked the door magically and gained entry. Inside everything was faded and dull, like what she had seen through the windows. Bella knew that Maldora would choose to hide in a rookery, in a slum, but she would never play by the rules of the rookery; no, she would lavish her humble hovel with luxuries, using magic to secretly decorate her home. It was a trick she had taught Solange herself, when the girl had been ten or eleven.

The house was empty. She raised her wand and cried, "Deliquescus!" The dull surroundings suddenly melted away to reveal an opulence rivaled only by a royal palace. Bella grinned.

In the corner was a white and gilt broom cupboard, but she knew the Feather-Light would not be in there. She hunted quietly through the house and found a library, full of mint-condition books. Then she saw it- Medicamenti Facile by Arabella Figg, the book she had written about curative potions. She took it down from the shelf, and it fell open to the page where a bookmark had been stuck- but the bookmark was shaped like a broomstick. Bella took out the bookmark and shook it out, and it expanded to full size. She had found the Nimbus Feather-Light.

A noise at the front door startled her. She shoved the book back on the shelf and ran to the back door. She had her hand on the doorknob when there was a gasp from behind her.

"No!" said Maldora Lestrange, drawing back her hood. "Not you!"

Bella turned and smiled sweetly. "Maldora. You're looking well."

"Maldora, who's there?" Derrick Lestrange came up behind his wife and spotted Bella. "How did you get in here?"

"What's more important is, how am I getting out," said Bella. "So long." She Disapparated with the Nimbus Feather-Light.

That weekend Gryffindor's Quidditch team beat Hufflepuff, 230-50. Ron Weasley scored 60 points.