Mr.Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninthfloor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drillsthat morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, thoughpeople down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owlafter owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled atfive different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted abit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'dstretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'dforgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them nextto the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but theymade him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't seea single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a largedoughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"ThePotters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry"

Mr.Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as ifhe wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

Hedashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretarynot to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing hishome number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and strokedhis mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such anunusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a soncalled Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was calledHarry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold.There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at anymention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that...but all the same, those people in cloaks...

Hefound it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he leftthe building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straightinto someone just outside the door.

"Sorry,"he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few secondsbefore Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn'tseem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, hisface split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersbystare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today!Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself shouldbe celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

Andthe old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr. Dursleystood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He alsothought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurriedto his car and set off for home, hoping4 he was imagining things, which he hadnever hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

Ashe pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and itdidn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It wasnow sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had thesame markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!"said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himselftogether, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mentionanything to his wife. 

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