M R and Mrs Dursley who lived at number four Privet Drive were proud to say they were normal people, thank goodness. They cannot be expected to be involved in anything magical or mysterious, for they do not believe in such nonsense at all. Mr Dursley is a director of Grunnings, the company that manufactures drills. He was a big, fat man, almost without a neck, although he had a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin, blonde, her neck was twice the length of a normal neck. For him this was profitable, because his hobby was craning his neck over the fences, peeking at the neighbors. The Dursleys had a little boy named Dudley and in their opinion, there was no other child in the world as wonderful as
Dudley.
The Dursleys have everything they could ever want, but they also have a secret, and their biggest fear is that someone will find out about this secret. They thought they would definitely not be able to stand it if anyone found out about the Potter family. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley’s sister, but they had not seen each other for years. Mrs. Dursley even pretended she didn’t have a sibling, because her sister and her useless husband weren’t worthy of being relatives of the Dursley family at all. Mr and Mrs Dursley shuddered to think what their neighbors would say if the Potters showed up on their street. Family
The Dursleys knew that the Potters also had a little boy, but they had never seen him. This kid was another good reason why they didn’t want to be around the Potters. They didn’t want Dudley hanging out with a kid like that.
When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the overcast Tuesday morning that our story begins, there was no sign in the cloudy sky outside that mysterious and strange things were about to happen across the land. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked up his very boring tie to wear to work, and Mrs Dursley gossiped happily as she struggled with a screaming Dudley and sat the boy in his high chair.
None of them saw a large tawny owl fly past the window.
At half past nine Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, kissed Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley, but failed, because now Dudley was acting up and throwing his cereal against the wall. “You kids,” smiled Mr. Dursley as he got into his car and backed out of the garage of house number four.
It was at the corner of the street that he first noticed something strange
—a cat reading a map. For a moment Mr Dursley didn’t realize what he had seen – then he turned to look again. There was a she-cat standing at the end of Privet Drive, but there didn’t appear to be a map at all. Apparently it was just his imagination. It must be a trick of the light. Mr Dursley blinked and looked at the cat. The cat looked back at him. As Mr Dursley turned the corner and continued driving, he looked at the cat in his rearview mirror. The cat is now reading the street sign that says Privet Drive— no, not reading but looking at the street sign, cats can’t read maps or street signs. Mr Dursley shook his head and tried to forget about the cat. As he drove into town, all he thought about was the large drill order he would get that day.
But just before entering the city, the drill was pushed out of his mind by something else. While stuck in traffic as usual, he saw many people dressed strangely. People wearing robes. Mr. Dursley couldn’t stand the sight of people dressed in strange clothes—makeup
today’s young people! He thought these bloon robes were in fashion. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a group of strange people standing quite close. They were whispering tensely. Mr Dursley was very annoyed to see that two of them were not young at all. The one wearing the emerald green robe was even older than him! Too late indeed! But then it occurred to him that they might have dressed up like that on purpose—they must have been raising funds for some reason—yes, that must have been it. The vehicles started to move, and a few minutes later Mr Dursley arrived at Grunnings car park, his mind once again filled with drills.
Mr Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. Otherwise, it may be difficult for him to concentrate on drill that morning. He did not see the owls milling about during the day, although other people on the street did. The people stared and pointed as the owls fluttered incessantly. Most of them had never seen an owl, even at night. But Mr Dursley spent a normal morning, without the disturbance of owls. He shouted at five different people. He had several important telephone conversations and shouted several more times. Her heart was happy, until lunch time, when she decided to stretch her legs and walk to the cake shop across the street.
He had completely forgotten about the people in robes, until he passed another group next to the cake shop. He glared angrily at them. He didn’t know why, but they made him uneasy. This group was also whispering tensely and he didn’t see any of the collection boxes at all. As he passed them again on his way back to the office, he heard some of the words they said.
”The Potter family, that’s right, that’s what I heard…” “… yes, their son, Harry…”
Mr Dursley stopped immediately. Fear struck him. He turned to look at the whispering people, as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t.
He quickly crossed the street, rushed upstairs to his office, sternly told his secretary not to disturb him, grabbed
phone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back and stroked his mustache while thinking… no, he was stupid. Potter is not an uncommon name. He was sure there were many people named Potter who had children named Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure his nephew was named Harry. He had never even seen the child. Who knows, his name is Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley. He always became anxious when his sister’s name was mentioned. Mr. Dursley didn’t blame him—if he himself had a brother like that… but, those people who wore robes…
It was difficult for him to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left his office at five in the afternoon, he was still so anxious that he bumped into the person at the door.
“Sorry,” he muttered, when the old man he bumped into staggered, almost falling. It was a moment later before Mr Dursley realized that the man was wearing a purple robe. He didn’t seem at all angry about being hit almost to the ground. Instead, he grinned widely and said in a high-pitched voice that made passers-by turn around, “Don’t apologize, sir, because nothing can make me angry today! Rejoice, because You-Know-Who is gone at last! Even Muggles like you should celebrate this very, very happy day!”
And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the waist, and left.
Mr Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had just been hugged by a complete stranger. As far as he remembered he was also called a Muggle, who knows what that meant. He got confused. He rushed to his car and went home, hoping that it had all been his imagination. This is something that has never happened before, because he is a person who doesn’t like to fantasize.
When his car pulled into the yard of house number four, the first thing he saw—and this didn’t make him any less relieved—was the female cat he had seen this morning. The cat is now sitting on the wall of his yard. Mr Dursley was sure it was the same cat. He has the same markings around both eyes.
”Shuh!” Mr. Dursley throws him out.
The cat didn’t move. Instead he glared at Mr Dursley. Is this normal cat behavior? thought Mr Dursley. While trying to calm down
himself, he entered the house. He was still determined not to say anything to his wife.
Mrs Dursley spent a normal and enjoyable day. At dinner he told Mr Dursley about the neighbor’s mother who was having problems with her daughter and that Dudley was already able to speak new sentences (“No way!”). Mr Dursley tried to act normal. When Dudley had been put to bed, Mr Dursley went into the living room to hear the latest news on the evening news.
“And finally, bird watchers from all over are reporting that owls across the country are acting very strange today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are rarely seen during the day, hundreds of people have seen them flying in all directions since sunrise. Experts cannot explain why the owls change their sleep patterns.” The news anchor smiled. “How strange. And now, we’re joined by Jim McGuffin who will provide the weather forecast. It’s going to rain owls again tonight, Jim?”
“Well, Ted,” said the weatherman, “I don’t know about that, but the owls aren’t the only ones acting strange today. Viewers from as far away as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee took turns calling me to tell me that instead of the rain I had predicted yesterday, what they were getting were shooting stars! Maybe people are celebrating Bon-fire Night early—even though the fireworks aren’t supposed to be until next week, viewers! But tonight you can be sure it will rain!”
Mr Dursley sank into his armchair. Shooting stars all over England? Owls flying around during the day? Mysterious people in robes everywhere? And whispers, whispers about the Potter family…
Mrs Dursley entered the living room carrying two cups of tea. It’s useless. He had to say something to his wife. Mr Dursley cleared his throat frantically. “Um—Dear Petunia—what news has there been from your sister lately?”
As he expected, Mrs Dursley looked shocked and angry. Well, usually they pretend he doesn’t have a younger sibling.
“Nothing,” he answered curtly. “So what?”
“There was strange news just now,” muttered Mr Dursley. “Owls… shooting stars… and there are a lot of strange-looking people on the street today.”
” So ?” Mrs Dursley said.
“Well, I was just thinking… maybe… it had something to do with… you know… the group. ”
Mrs Dursley sipped her tea with pouted lips. Mr Dursley considered whether he would dare tell his wife that he had heard Potter’s name mentioned. He decided not to dare. Instead he said as casually as he could: “Their child – about Dudley’s age, right?”
“I think so,” said Mrs. Dursley stiffly. “What’s his name? Howard, right?”
”Harry. Bad name and code, I think.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr Dursley, his heart sinking. “Yes, I agree.”
He didn’t mention the matter again when they went up to the bedroom. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered out into the front yard. The cat is still there. He was staring at the street, as if waiting for something.
Is this just his imagination? Could all this have something to do with the Potter family? If that’s true… if it gets leaked that they are still related as a couple… well, he won’t be able to stand it.
The Dursleys climbed into bed. Mrs Dursley soon fell asleep, but Mr Dursley did not. He thought of all the possibilities. His final, sobering thought before he fell asleep was that, even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come to the Dursleys’ place. They knew what he and Mrs Dursley thought about them and their kind… Mr Dursley didn’t see how he and Petunia could be involved with who knew what was going on. He yawned and turned around. None of that will affect them…
How wrong he was.
Mr Dursley might be sleeping, albeit not soundly, but the cat on the wall outside showed no signs of sleep at all. He sat still as a statue, his eyes staring unblinkingly at the corner of Privet Drive in the distance. When a car door was smashed in the next street, he remained unmoved. Likewise when there are two owls hovering above him. The cat only moved before midnight.
A man appeared around the corner the cat was watching. His appearance was so sudden and soundless, that you would have thought he had just appeared out of the ground. The cat’s tail moved and its eyes narrowed.
There had never been anyone like this on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by his white hair and beard long enough to be tucked into his belt. She wore a long, street-sweeping purple robe and buckled boots with high heels. His eyes were bright blue and gleaming behind his half-moon glasses and his nose was long and crooked, as if it had been broken at least twice. This man’s name is Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn’t seem to realize that he had just arrived on a street where everything from his name to his shoes was unwanted. He was busy checking his robes, looking for something. But he seemed aware that he was being watched, because suddenly he looked up at the cat, who was still looking at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, seeing this cat he looked amused.
He tsked and muttered, “I should have known.”
He had found what he was looking for in the inner pocket. It turned out to be a silver lighter. He opened it, lifted it into the air, then lit it. The nearest street light went out with a soft pop. When he turned it on again, the next light went out. Twelve times he turned on the lamp extinguisher, until the only light remaining was two tiny beams in the distance, namely the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone were to look out of the window now, not even the sharp-eyed Mrs Dursley would see what was happening on the pavement. Dumbledore tucked the Lamp-Extinguisher into his robes again and walked towards house number four. Once there he sat next to the cat. Dumbledore didn’t look at him, but after a moment he engaged him in conversation.
“It’s unexpected that we meet here, Professor McGonagall.”
He turned to smile at the she-cat, but she was gone. Instead of a cat, he smiled at a rather stern-looking woman wearing square glasses, exactly the shape of a circle
cat’s eyes The woman also wore a robe, the color of which was emerald green. Her black hair was tightly coiled. He looked confused.
“How did you know the cat was me?” he asked.
“Professor, I have never seen a cat sitting so stiffly.” “You’ll get stiff if you’ve been sitting on a brick wall all day,” he said
Profesor McGonagall.
“All day? Even though you should be able to celebrate this happy day? I passed at least a dozen parties and celebrations on my way here.”
Professor McGonagall snorted angrily.
“Oh yes, everyone is celebrating,” he said impatiently. “You’d think they’d be more careful, but no – even the Muggles felt something was going on. It was broadcast on their news.” He jerked his head towards the dark window of the Dursleys’ living room. ”I heard it. A troupe of owls… shooting stars… Well, they’re not stupid. This oddity caught their attention. A shooting star in Kent—I’ll bet it’s Dedalus Diggle. He’s been less calculating than ever.”
“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. “We’ve had nothing to really celebrate in these eleven years.”
“I know,” said Professor McGonagall irritably. “But that is no reason for us to forget ourselves. People are so careless, roaming the streets in broad daylight, not even wearing Muggle clothes, swapping gossip.”
He glanced sharply at Dumbledore, as if expecting him to tell him something, but he didn’t, so he continued: “It would be great if the day You-Know-Who finally disappears, the Muggles finally find out about us. Do you think he’s really gone, Dumbledore?”
“It seems so,” said Dumbledore. “We have much to be grateful for. Would you like orange candy?”
“What?”
”Orange candy. My favorite Muggle sweets.”
“No, thank you,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, as if she didn’t think this was the time for orange candy. “Like I said, even if You-Know-Who is gone…”
“My dear Professor, surely a wise man like you can name him? All that ‘You-Know-Who’ nonsense—for eleven years I’ve been trying to persuade people to call him by his true name: Voldemort .” Professor McGonagall winced, but Dumbledore, who was unwrapping two orange candies, didn’t seem to notice. ”So it’s very confusing if we always say ‘You-Know-Who’. I see no reason we should be afraid to mention Voldemort’s name.”
“I know,” said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half amazed. “But you are different. Everyone knows you’re the only one afraid of You-Know—oh, all right, Voldemort .”
“You flatter me,” replied Dumbledore calmly. “Voldemort has powers I will never have.”
“Just because you’re too—well , noble to use it.”
“Luckily it’s dark now. I haven’t been this red since Madam Pomfrey said she liked my new earmuffs.”
Professor McGonagall looked hard at Dumbledore and said: “Those owls are nothing compared to what the rumors suggest. You know what everyone says? About the reason why he disappeared? About what finally stopped him?”
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she had been dying to discuss, the reason why she had sat waiting on the cold hard wall all day, because neither as a cat nor as a woman had she ever looked at Dumbledore as intently as she did now. It was clear that whatever “everyone” said, he would not believe it until Dumbledore told him it was true. But Dumbledore instead chose another orange candy and didn’t answer.
“What they’re saying ,” he continued, “is that last night Voldemort appeared in Godric’s Hollow. He had come looking for the Potters. According to rumors, Lily and James Potter are—already—they’re dead .”
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall yelped in surprise.
“Lily and James… I can’t believe it… I don’t want to believe it… Oh, Albus…”
Dumbledore reached out and stroked Professor McGonagall’s shoulder. “I know… I know…” he said sadly.
Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she continued: “That’s not all. They said he tried to kill the Potters’ son, Harry. But—he couldn’t. He did not succeed in killing the little boy. No one knows why or how, but they say, that when he failed to kill Harry Potter, Voldemort’s power died out—and that’s why he disappeared.”
Dumbledore nodded silently.
“So—so it’s true ?” Professor McGonagall stuttered. “After all he’s done… all the people he’s killed… he couldn’t kill a child that was practically a baby? It’s surprising… considering all the efforts to stop his lunge… but how could Harry survive?”
“We can only guess,” said Dumbledore. “We may never know.”
Professor McGonagall pulled out a silk handkerchief and wiped her eyes behind her glasses. Dumbledore sucked his nose hard as he took a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it. The clock was very old. There are twelve hands, but no numbers. Instead, small planets move around the edges. But Dumbledore must have interpreted it, because he put the watch back in his pocket and said: “Hagrid is late. I guess he was the one who told you that I would be here, right?”
“Yes,” answered Professor McGonagall. “And I don’t think you’re going to tell me why you’re here?”
“I came to take Harry to his aunt and uncle. They are the only family left now.”
“You don’t—you don’t mean the people who live here ?” shouted Professor McGonagall as she jumped to her feet and pointed at house number four. “Dumbledore—don’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You will never find two people who are as different from us as they are. And they had a child—I saw this child kicking his mother all the way, screaming for candy. Harry Potter will live here?”
“This is the best place for him,” said Dumbledore firmly. “His aunts and uncles will be able to explain everything to him when he’s older. I have written to them.”
“Letter?” Professor McGonagall repeated wearily, sitting back down on the wall. “Jesus, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand Harry! He will be famous—become a legend—I wouldn’t be surprised if in the future today will be Harry Potter Day—there will be books written about Harry—every child in our world will know his name!”
“That’s exactly what it is,” said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the half-moon lenses of his glasses. “All of that could make any child arrogant. Already famous before he could walk and talk! Famous for something he doesn’t even remember! Can’t you see, it would be much better for him if he grew up away from all that, until he was ready to accept it.”
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed hard, and then said: “Yes—yes, you’re right, of course. But how did the child get here, Dumbledore?” Suddenly he looked at Dumbledore’s robes, as if he thought that Dumbledore might be hiding the child under his robes.
“Hagrid will take him.”
“You think it would be wise to entrust something as important as this to Hagrid?”
“I would trust Hagrid with my life,” said Dumbledore. “I don’t mean to say his heart isn’t in the right place
That’s true,” said Professor McGonagall sullenly, “but you can’t pretend you don’t know he’s being careless. He tends to… what is that?”
A low roar broke the silence around them. The roar grew louder and louder as they looked down the street, looking for headlights. The sound grew like a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and an enormous motorbike fell from the sky, landing on the road in front of them.
The big motorbike was still nothing compared to the man sitting on it. He was almost twice as tall as an adult man and five times as wide. His size was unbelievable, and he was so wild
—His long, thick, black hair was matted and his thick beard hid most of his face. His hands were as big as trash can lids and his feet in leather boots were like small dolphins. His big, muscular arms hugged the bundle of blankets.
“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, relieved. “Finally. And where did you get that motorbike?”
“Borrow it, Professor Dumbledore,” answered the giant, as he carefully got off the motorbike. “Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I got him, sir.”
“There’s no trouble, right?”
“No, sir—the house was nearly destroyed, but I managed to get him before the Muggles arrived. He fell asleep when we flew over Bristol.”
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent over the bundle of blankets. Inside was a baby boy, sleeping soundly. Behind a tuft of jet black hair above his forehead they could see a strangely shaped wound, like a lightning bolt.
”Is that…?” whispered Professor McGonagall.
“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “The scars won’t go away forever.” “Can’t you do something, Dumbledore?”
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars sometimes have a purpose. I myself have a scar above my left knee which is in the form of a map of the London Underground railway lines. Well, give him the boy, Hagrid. We’d better get it sorted soon.”
Dumbledore carried Harry and turned towards the Dursleys’ house.
“May—may I say good-bye to him, Sir?” asked Hagrid.
He lowered his big, shaggy head and gave the baby a kiss that must have been itchy from the friction of his whiskers. Then suddenly Hagrid howled like a wounded dog.
”Shhh!” sighed Professor McGonagall. “You’ll wake up the Muggles!”
“M-sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, speckled handkerchief and burying his face in it. “But I t-
I couldn’t stand it—Lily and James were dead—and poor Harry had to live with a Muggle…”
“Yes, yes, it’s very sad, but control yourself, Hagrid. “Otherwise we’ll be found out,” whispered Professor McGonagall, stroking Hagrid’s arm very carefully, while Dumbledore stepped over the low courtyard wall and made his way to the front door. He carefully laid Harry down in front of the door. He took a letter from inside his robes and tucked it under Harry’s blanket. After that he returned to join the other two people. For a full minute the three of them stared at the small package. Hagrid’s shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked repeatedly, and the usual glint in Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to have gone out.
“Well,” said Dumbledore at last, “it is. There is no point in us staying here. We better go and join the celebration.”
“Yeah,” said Hagrid nasally. “I’ll return Sirius’ motorbike.
Malam, Profesor McGonagall… Profesor Dumbledore.”
While wiping the tears that were flowing continuously with the sleeve of his jacket, Hagrid jumped on his motorbike and started it. Accompanied by a roar, the motorbike lifted into the sky and drove off into the darkness of the night.
“We will meet again soon, Professor McGonagall,” said Dumbledore, nodding to him. In response, Professor McGonagall blew her nose.
Dumbledore turned and walked away. At a corner he stopped and took out his silver Lamp-Extinguisher. He shot once, and twelve balls of light simultaneously shot towards the street lamps, so that Privet Drive was suddenly bright and he could see a she-cat sneaking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could also still see the bundle of blankets in front of the door of house number four.
“Hope all is well, Harry,” he muttered. He turned on his heel and with a flick of his cloak, he was gone.
A gentle breeze blew through the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which were lined up silently and orderly under the dark sky. In a place as peaceful as this, you would never have thought that such amazing things would happen. Harry Potter rolled over in his blankets without waking. With one
Her little hand held the letter beside her, she continued to sleep. Without realizing that he was special, without realizing that he was famous, without realizing that in a few hours he would wake up to Mrs Dursley’s scream as she opened the front door to put in the bottles of milk, or that he would spend the next few weeks being pushed around and pinched by his cousin, Dudley…. He could not have known that at this very moment, people gathering in secret across the land, were all raising glasses and saying under their breath, “To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!”
