    Most of what Harry knew about the world had been the product of the frequent visits he’d had with Mrs Figg, an old lady who lived a few doors down and looked after him for the Dursley’s when they went out without him. Books on all sorts of subjects had been left around the house, and Harry had devoured them. He’d never told the Dursley’s about it, never revealed the extent of his knowledge for fear that it would be taken away from him. It was something that had been constant in his life – if he liked it, it was taken from him. Usually by Dudley, but also by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. It was obvious to him that he would never breathe a word of his fortune to his aunt and uncle.