he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he'd be about Dudley's age now,

wouldn't he?"

 

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

 

"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"

 

"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

 

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

 

He didn'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 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