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 could upset 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.