"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, butit's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewersas far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in totell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've hada downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebratingBonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I canpromise a wet night tonight."Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all overBritain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks allover the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups oftea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He clearedhis throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heardfrom your sister lately, have you?"As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. Afterall, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?""Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shootingstars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in towntoday...""So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to dowith... you know... her crowd."Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursleywondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "otter." Hedecided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could,"Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?""I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?""Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me.""Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes,I quite agree."He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairsto bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley creptto the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. Thecat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though itwere waiting for something.
Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do withthe Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related toa pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quicklybut Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. Hislast, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if thePotters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near himand Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petuniathought about them and their kind.... He couldn't see how he andPetunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on --he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them....
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, butthe cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It wassitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the farcorner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car doorslammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. Infact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appearedso suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped outof the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. Hewas tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hairand beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. Hewas wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground,and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright,and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was verylong and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. Thisman's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had justarrived in a street where everything from his name to his bootswas unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking forsomething. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, becausehe looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him fromthe other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the catseemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemedto be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it upin the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out witha little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered intodarkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the onlylights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in thedistance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyonelooked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley,they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down onthe pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside hiscloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he satdown on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but aftera moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead hewas smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing squareglasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had aroundits eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her blackhair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly.""You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day,"said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must havepassed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she saidimpatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, butno -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. Itwas on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys'
dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shootingstars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound tonotice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that wasDedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.""You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've hadprecious little to celebrate for eleven years.""I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that'sno reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless,out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggleclothes, swapping rumors."She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as thoughhoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so shewent on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-Whoseems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about usall. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?""It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to bethankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?""A what?""A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of""No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as thoughshe didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say,even if You-Know-Who has gone -""My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself cancall him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for elevenyears I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his propername: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore,who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It allgets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have neverseen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.
"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, soundinghalf exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyoneknows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort,was frightened of.""You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powersI will never have.""Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them.""It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since MadamPomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said,"The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. Youknow what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About whatfinally stopped him?"It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point shewas most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting ona cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman hadshe fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. Itwas plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not goingto believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore,however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last nightVoldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find thePotters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are --that they're -- dead. "Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want tobelieve it... Oh, Albus..."Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "Iknow... I know..." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That'snot all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But-- he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why,or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter,Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone.
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's -- it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After allhe's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a littleboy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... buthow in the name of heaven did Harry survive?""We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbedat her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniffas he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was avery odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, littleplanets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense toDumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said,"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here,by the way?""Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you'regoing to tell me why you're here, of all places?""I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're theonly family he has left now.""You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who livehere?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointingat number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching themall day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. Andthey've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way upthe street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!""It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "Hisaunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he'solder. I've written them a letter.""A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting backdown on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain allthis in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll befamous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was knownas Harry Potter day in the future -- there will be books writtenabout Harry -- every child in our world will know his name!""Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over thetop of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy'shead. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something hewon't even remember! CarA you see how much better off he'll be,growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind,swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. Buthow is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenlyas though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing him.""You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something asimportant as this?"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," saidProfessor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's notcareless. He does tend to -- what was that?" |