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