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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proudto say that they were perfectly3 normal, thank you very much. Theywere the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strangeor mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, whichmade drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, althoughhe did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blondeand had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in veryuseful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences,spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudleyand in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had asecret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discoverit. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out aboutthe Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn'tmet for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn'thave a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husbandwere as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shudderedto think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in thestreet. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too,but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reasonfor keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing witha child like that.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesdayour story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside tosuggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happeningall over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his mostboring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as shewrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
None of them noticed a large, tawny4 owl2 flutter past the window.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase5, peckedMrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye butmissed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing hiscereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he leftthe house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the firstsign of something peculiar6 -- a cat reading a map. For a second,Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen -- then he jerked hishead around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing7 on thecorner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. Whatcould he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick ofthe light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It staredback. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, hewatched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign thatsaid Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't readmaps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put thecat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothingexcept a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mindby something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, hecouldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangelydressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bearpeople who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on youngpeople! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed hisfingers on the steering8 wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle9 of theseweirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedlytogether. Mr. Dursley was enraged10 to see that a couple of themweren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was,and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then itstruck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt11 -- thesepeople were obviously collecting for something... yes, that wouldbe it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursleyarrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his officeon the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder toconcentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls12 swoop13 ingpast in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; theypointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Mostof 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 callsand shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime,when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road tobuy himself a bun from the bakery.
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passeda group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as hepassed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch werewhispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collectingtin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnutin a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying."The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, theirson, Harry"Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked backat the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, butthought better of it.
He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office,snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone,and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changedhis mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache,thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusualname. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had ason called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephewwas called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have beenHarvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley;she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn'tblame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all the same,those people in cloaks...He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoonand when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still soworried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.
"Sorry," he grunted14, as the tiny old man stumbled and almostfell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the manwas wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at beingalmost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split intoa wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersbystare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset metoday! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggleslike yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle andwalked off.Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged bya complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle,whatever that was. He was rattled15. He hurried to his car and setoff for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had neverhoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thinghe saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'dspotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He wassure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes."Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It justgave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursleywondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into thehouse. He was still determined16 not to mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him overdinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter andhow Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley triedto act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into theliving room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that thenation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Althoughowls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight,there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in everydirection since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owlshave suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowedhimself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffinwith the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
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