Ch 1. continue of 1st chapter

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.

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 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.

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 didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on 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 you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the

ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on 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 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 very long and crooked, as though it had been

broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize 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

realize 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 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 on 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 wouldn't 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 toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't 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, 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 have passed a

dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently.

"You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles

have noticed something's 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, they're not completely stupid. They

were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet

that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious

little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's 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 rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping

he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A

fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-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 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 though she 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 can call him

by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I

have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name:

Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was

unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so

confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason

to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.

"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half

exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're

the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I 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 Madam Pomfrey

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. You know what

everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally

stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most

anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard

wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed

Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that

whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to 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 night Voldemort

turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. 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 to believe it...

Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I

know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not 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 all he's

done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy?

It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how 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 dabbed at her

eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a

golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch.

It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving

around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, 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're going to

tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family

he has left now."

"You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who live here?" cried

Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.

"Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't

find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw

him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets.

Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and

uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've

written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on

the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a

letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a

legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day

in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child

in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his

half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous

before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won'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. But how is the boy

getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she

thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as

this?"

I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor

McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does

tend to -- what was that?"

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