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JUSTAROUND THE far corner of Privet Drive, a cat sat on a wall, as still as a statue, with its eyes fixed unblinkingly. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door suddenly slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat even 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 the unfamiliar 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 just long enough to tuck into his belt.
Additionally, the old man wore long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His light blue eyes were bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles. He had a very long and crooked nose, as though it had been broken at least twice, somehow. That man's name was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something.
After a few seconds, Albus Dumbledore found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp immediately went out with a little *pop*
Dumbledore clicked the lighter again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the cat's eyes watching him.
If anybody managed to look out of their window, they wouldn't have been able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.
Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he noticed the cat, which was still staring at him. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He stood in front of it, and, after a briefly silent moment, he spoke to it.
"I should have known that you would be here," said the old man, to the cat, "Professor McGonagall."
After a second, the cat had gone. Instead, Dumbledore was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her grey hair was drawn into a tight bun.
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," said the old woman. "How did you know it was me?"
"My dear Professor," said Dumbledore, with an amused look, "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, much to the surprise of Dumbledore. "All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." He recalled.
