A man appeared out of nowhere on the corner the cat had been watching, he had appeared so silently it was as if he had appeared out of thin air. The cat that had been watching the corner the man has shown up on, narrowed its eyes and its tail twitched just a bit. This man was quite peculiar, nothing like him has ever been seen on Privet Drive, which was quite an ordinary street, where nothing strange ever happened.
The man himself was tall, thin, and looked quite old, judging by the silver hair and beard he had, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt that was tightened around a long robe, a purple cloak that swept on the ground covering said robe, as well as high-heeled buckled boots.
His eyes were blue, they were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked as if it had been broken at least two times. The man in question was named Albus Dumbledore. And as it seemed, Albus Dumbledore hadn't even realized that he had arrived in a street where everything to his name down to his boots was unwelcomed, though of course, he didn't, as he was busy rummaging in his cloak, as if he was looking for something. But, one thing he did seem to notice was that he was being watched, because he soon looked up from his cloak and straight at the tabby cat, who was still staring at him from the other end of the street.
All he did was let out a chuckle and muttered, "I should have known."
He then went back to searching for the object he needed, before finding it in his inside pocket, and pulling it out. It had the appearance of a silver cigarette lighter, but as soon as he flicked it open, held it into the air, and clicked it, you could tell it was everything but a normal lighter. The nearest street lamp had gone out after he had done this, going out with a pop. He then clicked it again – the next lamp flickered into darkness. He clicked the Put-Outer twelve times before the only light left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which was the tabby cat's eyes, which were still watching him.
Since it was now dark, if anyone were to look out of his or her window now, even the beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore then slipped the Put-Outer back into the inside pocket of his cloak, before setting off down the street towards number four, where he then sat down on the wall next to the cat. He hadn't even glanced at it, but a moment later he spoke.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He then turned to look towards the tabby and smiled, but the cat was nowhere to be seen, instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses that matched the same markings the cat had around its eyes. The woman was also wearing a cloak as well, an emerald green one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun, and she looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" She asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently.
"You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-Who seems to have disappeared, at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?" "It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.
"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring."But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true.
Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – dead. "
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son and daughter, Harry, and Alice. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill the twins. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry and Alice Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why he's gone."
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's – it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all, he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a pair of twins? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry and Alice survive?"
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch.
It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring Harry and Alice to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."
"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry and Alice Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "Their aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous – legends – I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry and Alice Potter day in the future – there will be books written about Harry and Alice – every child in our world will know their name!"
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy or girl's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes – yes, you're right, of course. But how are the boy and girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might possibly hiding Harry and Alice underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing them."
"You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to – what was that?"
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew louder as if it was getting closer, they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
If you had thought the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and was at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild – long tangles of bushy black hair and beard covered most of his face, almost hiding it, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. And in his vast, muscular arms he was holding two bundles of blankets.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir – the house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. The boy fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol, but the girl seems ter be wide awake."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. The one of the left, inside of it, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep, and on the right, a baby girl, greens eyes wide looking at the two of them. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning, and on the side of the little girl's neck was the same scar, same shape and all.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give them here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took both Harry and Alice into his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.
"Could I – could I say goodbye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss, before also giving Alice a whiskery kiss on her forehead. Before, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it – Lily an' James dead – an' poor little Harry an' Alice off ter live with Muggles -"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and Alice gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it between Harry and Alice's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar, it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry, Alice," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.