•°THE BOY WHO LIVED 2°•

He’d forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of

them next to the baker’s. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn’t know

why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too,

and he couldn’t see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them,

clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they

were saying.

“The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard” – “yes, their son, Harry –“

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whis-

perers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his

secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn’t such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure his nephew was called Harry. He’d never even seen the boy. It

might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs.

Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn’t

blame her – if he’d had a sister like that... but all the same, those people in

cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when

he left the building at five o’clock, he was still so worried that he walked

straight into someone just outside the door.

“Sorry,” he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was

a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn’t seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground.

On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, “Don’t be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing couldupset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even

Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!”

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete

stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was.

He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was

imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn’t

approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw –and it didn’t improve his mood – was the tabby cat he’d spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same

one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

“Shoo!” said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn’t move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat

behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let

himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to

his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all

about Mrs. Next Door’s problems with her daughter and how Dudley had

learned a new word (“Won’t!”). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When

Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch

the last report on the evening news:

“And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation’s

owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally

hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds

of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts

are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping

pattern.” The newscaster allowed himself a grin. “Most mysterious. And

now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

“Well, Ted,” said the weatherman, “I don’t know about that, but it’s not

only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as

Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead

of the rain I promised yesterday, they’ve had a downpour of shooting stars!

Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early – it’s not until

next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight.”

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain?

Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place?

And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was

no good. He’d have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Er – Petunia, dear – you haven’t heard from your sister lately, have you?”

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all,

they normally pretended she didn’t have a sister.

“No,” she said sharply. “Why?”

“Funny stuff on the news,” Mr. Dursley mumbled. “Owls... shooting

stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today...”

“So?” snapped Mrs. Dursley.

“Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know...

her crowd.”

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered

whether he dared tell her he’d heard the name “Potter.” He decided 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 upstairs to bed.

While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom

window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It

was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

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

didn’t think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Durs-

ley 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 couldn’t see how he and Petunia 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.

_______________________________________

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