Hairy Potter and the Philosopher's Hair Gel

Chapter Two

Vermin 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's perfectly groomed whiskers 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 stylish, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tie into a ponytail. 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 sunglasses and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albfur Dumblebeard.

Albfur Dumblebeard didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his Las Vegas showgirl boots were unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his man purse looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He 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 went out with a little pop. He clicked it 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 eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumblebeard slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McBunaball."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a  hardcore goth woman who was wearing  glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a ginormous bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat with such wonky whiskers."

"Your whiskers would be wonky if you'd had to shave on brick wall with no mirror," said Professor McBunaball, straightening her sleek moustache in a disgruntled manner.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McBunaball tightened her very tight bun 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 Mullets 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 moustaches.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting moustaches down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Wigalus Wiggle. He never had much sense. You can tell by his purple top hat. It covers up his hair."

"You can't blame them," said Dumblebeard gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McBunaball irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our hair. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even sporting the boring hairstyles Mullets wear, swapping rumours."