When he drove past it on Monday morning, Mr Vernon Dursley was only briefly concerned about the old-fashioned police box which had suddenly appeared, apparently overnight, on the corner of Privet Drive.
On the one hand, it was out of the ordinary, and Mr Dursley disapproved of anything out of the ordinary.
On the other hand, it was clearly something to do with the police. Police meant respectability, and Mr Dursley strongly approved of respectability.
So he promptly put it out of his mind and continued on his way to work, preparing himself mentally for another busy, productive day of eating biscuits and making himself unpleasant to junior staff.
The police box was still there when Harry Potter trudged slowly past it on his way home from school that afternoon, but he barely registered its presence. Home, he was thinking bitterly, was really the least suitable word to describe the place he was currently forced to live. Almost anywhere would be better. A cave full of monsters. The bottom of a ditch. Well, they couldn't be that much worse. But he supposed at least he was fed, sort of, and clothed, sort of, and had a place to sleep, even if it was in a cupboard. Harry did sometimes wonder - well, often, actually - how different life would have been if his parents hadn't died, and he wasn't forced to live with his cold, unwelcoming aunt and uncle and horrible cousin. But there was no point in thinking about that. This was his life and it wasn't about to change in a hurry.
He didn't know he was being observed.
The observer observed a thin boy with untidy black hair and glasses, who looked slightly younger than his nine years. He wore trousers which were a bit too short and a jacket which had seen better days. He looked thoroughly fed up.
Harry looked even more fed up a moment later when a gang of boys, including his cousin Dudley, rounded the corner and immediately started shouting and jeering at him. Harry had had this all day at school and suddenly felt he couldn't take it any more. He stopped dead and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing himself somewhere, anywhere else. Moments later, he opened them to find himself, to his great confusion, crouched behind a tall hedge in a nearby garden.
"Where'd he go?" Dudley looked round, baffled. "What's that stupid box doing there?"
He peered round the back of the police box to see if Harry was hiding behind it. No sign of him.
"He must have gone inside it!"
The boys all laughed loudly and started chanting again – "Pot-ter, Pot-ter, Pot-ter!"
Harry crouched down lower behind the hedge, peering through a gap to see what was going on.
Dudley rattled the police box door, then sprang back in alarm as a tall man flung the door open, slammed it behind him and glared down at Dudley.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Dudley shrank back. "S-s-sorry, s-s-sir." He glanced round nervously for support but his friends had mysteriously melted away. He looked up at the man, who he assumed to be a plain-clothes police officer. The man had close-cropped dark hair, noticeably big ears and wore a black leather jacket. His expression as he regarded Dudley was furious.
"What's your name, lad? No - don't tell me. I know exactly who you are, Dudley Dursley."
Dudley looked, if possible, even more terrified than before. Behind the hedge, Harry had to clap his hand over his mouth to stop himself from giggling at the expression of abject horror on his face. It was a very rare event for Dudley to have his behaviour challenged in any way. His parents believed he could do no wrong, and the teachers at school always seemed to turn a blind eye to the bullying antics of Dudley and his gang. They chose their victims well - the kids who wouldn't fight back and didn't have parents who would kick up a fuss.
The policeman - presumably that's what he was, though Harry wasn't sure how he knew Dudley - spoke again. He seemed to have a Northern accent. Northern accents were rarely heard in Little Whinging, and this somehow made him even more intimidating to Dudley.
"Now listen to me, Dursley. I know your sort, and I don't like 'em. I've been around a long time, and I'venever tolerated bullies and I never will." He took a menacing step forward. "Leave Harry Potter alone or you'll have me to answer to."
Dudley stared at him, aghast. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. Through the gap in the hedge Harry watched, astounded and delighted.
"Right?" said the man.
Dudley gave a tiny nod.
"Right. Off you go. And think on."
He stood and watched as Dudley scuttled off down the road and let himself into No. 4.
Harry crouched behind the hedge, trying to process what he had just witnessed. The man disappeared out of sight behind the blue box and Harry assumed he had gone inside, but moments later, a tall shadow fell across him. Harry looked up nervously, but the man was smiling, a huge grin that lit up his face. Harry couldn't help smiling weakly back.
"Well, that's got rid of him. Come on, Harry. Out you come."
Harry climbed clumsily to his feet and exited the garden, pulling his rucksack more firmly across his shoulders.
They stood together outside the police box, its door still firmly closed.
"Right, son. That should get your cousin off your back for a bit. Not forever, I shouldn't think, but at least for a while."
"I... thanks." Harry really meant it. It was the first time he could ever remember that somebody had taken his side, tried to look out for his interests. "I... Do I know you?"
"You do now." There was that big grin again. The leather-jacketed man stuck his hand out, and Harry tentatively gave it a shake. "I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you, Harry Potter."
"Er - thanks," said Harry faintly.
The man - a doctor? not a policeman after all? - leaned back against his blue box. "Listen, son. I know your life's rubbish at the moment. I wish I could do more to help you, but I can't - you'll understand why, one day. But keep one thing in mind. Things are going to change for you, Harry, more than you could possibly imagine. More than anybody in Little Whinging could possibly imagine. There's a world out there that's wild and mad and dangerous and beautiful and it's all coming your way. Hold that thought."
He opened the police box door, just wide enough for him to squeeze through, and gave Harry a wave.
"Hang on! Will I see you again?"
"Expect so, yeah. Keep your eyes open." That grin - it looked almost demented now - spread over the Doctor's face again, and he closed the door quite gently behind him.
Harry stared for a few moments, then turned and walked away. An observer - had there been one - would have noted a lightness in his step that hadn't been there earlier. Every few paces he glanced back at the police box, but it stood there solid and immoveable and with its door firmly closed.
As Harry turned towards No. 4 - wondering what sort of reception he would get from Dudley - a strange wheezing, groaning sound shattered the peace of Privet Drive. Looking back, Harry blinked and shook his head slightly, trying to process what he was looking at. The empty space where that blue box had been standing.