Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did if it got out that they were related to a pair of well, he didnt think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind He couldnt see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. He yawned and turned over. It couldnt affect them
How very wrong he was.
Mr Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didnt so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently youd have thought hed just popped out of the ground. The cats tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen in Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This mans name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didnt seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, I should have known.
He had found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldnt be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didnt look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall.
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
How did you know it
was me? she asked.
My dear Professor, Ive never seen a cat sit so stiffly.
Youd be stiff if youd been sitting on a brick wall all day, said Professor McGonagall.
All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
Oh yes, everyones celebrating, all right, she said impatiently. Youd think theyd be a bit more careful, but no even the Muggles have noticed somethings going on. It was on their news. She jerked her head back at the Dursleys dark living-room window. I heard it. Flocks of owls shooting stars Well, theyre not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent Ill bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.
You cant blame them, said Dumbledore gently. Weve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.
I know that, said Professor McGonagall irritably. But thats no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours.
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didnt, so she went on: A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?
It certainly seems so, said Dumbledore. We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?
A what?
A sherbet lemon. Theyre a kind of Muggle sweet Im rather fond of.
No, thank you, said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didnt think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone