potter twins

the twins that lived

I don't own harry potter it belongs to JK Rolling. I just own Rose. I hope you enjoy the story.

A man appeared on the corner a 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 it's eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, and thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt.

He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything frome his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, 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. Dumbledore slipped the put-outer back inside his cloak and set off down the the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't  look, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McConnell."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking women who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around it's eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. 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 siting on a brick wall all day," Said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have 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 stuped. 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 no 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 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 they very day you-know-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?"