Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs. Figg, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she’d ever owned.
And somehow this Mrs Figg is a squib whose job it was to keep an eye on Harry? And for some reason she can't have been nice to him or made his stay pleasant?
