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 old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to truck in to his belt. 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 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 from 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, "should have known."
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a sliver 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 time 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. Dumbledor 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 McGonagall."
He turned to a smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, Too, was wearing a cloak, and 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 sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall
"All day? When you could 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 Dursley's dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... well, They're not completely stupid. 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 Dumbledor gently. "We've had precious little to 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 the 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 the 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 a for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Whos' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people o call him by his proper name: Voldemoret," Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore Calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too – well – noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked m new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "the owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are –that they're –dead." Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
(Now skip a bit because it still does take a while to copy chapters word, for word, letter for letter.)
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel.
However before he can disappear there is a shout from a man. He has red hair, which is hard to see in the darkness, and you could tell it was just starting to go back. "Wait Professor Dumbledore, you can't let them have Harry." He says panting
Dumbledore's eyes are twinkling "And may I ask why? I mean we should probably leave here before the Muggles catch on, as Professor McGonagall has so kindly pointed out,"
Finally catching his breath. "No you see Harry belongs with us. I had made a deal with James before you found out they where a target, Harry was promised to Marry my daughter, we just decided not to announce it yet due to the danger that they where under,"
This stops the group of three; Hagrid and McGonagall look at him in shock while Dumbledore smiles at him, a twinkle in his eyes. "Well then I do believe that something might be arranged" Then all four of them disappear in to the night, along with a baby boy and a letter.
#####################################%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&))(((
Hey most of the chapter belongs to J.K. Rowling, just the little bit at the end I wrote, but from this point on I own most of the words written. Though it will follow the basic plot line of the series. All that I ask is that you review
Nothing like this 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 long enough to truck in to his belt. 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 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 from 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, "should have known."
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a sliver 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 time 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. Dumbledor 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 McGonagall."
He turned to a smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, Too, was wearing a cloak, and 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 sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall
"All day? When you could 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 Dursley's dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... well, They're not completely stupid. 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 Dumbledor gently. "We've had precious little to 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 the 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 the 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 a for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Whos' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people o call him by his proper name: Voldemoret," Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore Calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too – well – noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked m new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "the owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer
"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are –that they're –dead." Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
(Now skip a bit because it still does take a while to copy chapters word, for word, letter for letter.)
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel.
However before he can disappear there is a shout from a man. He has red hair, which is hard to see in the darkness, and you could tell it was just starting to go back. "Wait Professor Dumbledore, you can't let them have Harry." He says panting
Dumbledore's eyes are twinkling "And may I ask why? I mean we should probably leave here before the Muggles catch on, as Professor McGonagall has so kindly pointed out,"
Finally catching his breath. "No you see Harry belongs with us. I had made a deal with James before you found out they where a target, Harry was promised to Marry my daughter, we just decided not to announce it yet due to the danger that they where under,"
This stops the group of three; Hagrid and McGonagall look at him in shock while Dumbledore smiles at him, a twinkle in his eyes. "Well then I do believe that something might be arranged" Then all four of them disappear in to the night, along with a baby boy and a letter.
#####################################%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&))(((
Hey most of the chapter belongs to J.K. Rowling, just the little bit at the end I wrote, but from this point on I own most of the words written. Though it will follow the basic plot line of the series. All that I ask is that you review