them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and

Petunia thought about them and their kind.... He couldn't see how he and Petunia

could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned

over -- it couldn'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 didn'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.