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He
did
n'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
did
n'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
could
n't
see
how
he
and
Petunia
could
get
mixed
up
in
anything
that
might
be
going
on
--
he
yawned
and
turned
over
--
it
could
n'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
did
n'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
did
n'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
would
n'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
did
n't
look
at
it
,
but
after
a
moment
he
spoke
to
it
.
"
Fancy
seeing
you
here
,
Professor
McGonagall
.
"
