Chapter 398 The Boy Who Lived

Mr. Dursley sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he had not sat like that, he might have found it more difficult to concentrate on the rig this morning. He did not see the flocks of owls flying across the sky in broad daylight, but the people on the street did; they stared in amazement, pointing and staring at the owls flying overhead one after another. Most of them had never seen an owl even at night. Mr. Dursley was in a normal morning, and was not bothered by the owls. He shouted at five people in succession, and made several important telephone calls, shouting even louder. He was in a good mood, and at lunchtime he thought he would stretch his legs and buy a bun from the bakery across the street.

He would have forgotten them long ago if he had not run into the cloaked men near the bakery. He glared at them as he passed them. He could not tell why, but he felt uncomfortable with them. They were chattering and talking, but he did not see a collection box. As he walked back with a large pancake in his bag, he passed them and heard their words in fragments:

"Mr. and Mrs. Potter, yes, that is what I heard..."

"...Yes, their son, Harry..."

He suddenly stopped, terrified, and looked back at the whispering crowd, as if he wanted to hear what they were saying, but then changed his mind.

He rushed across the street, returned to his office, and sternly told his secretary not to disturb him. Then he grabbed the phone and was about to call home when he changed his mind. He put the phone down, stroked his beard, and thought... No, he was too stupid. Potter was not a rare surname. There must be many people with the surname Potter and sons named Harry. Thinking of this, he was not even sure if his nephew was Harry Potter. He had never even seen the child. Maybe his name was Harvey, or Harold. There was no need to worry his wife. She was always upset whenever her sister was mentioned. He did not blame her. What if he had a sister like that? But anyway, these cloaked people... That afternoon, he found it difficult to concentrate on the drilling rig. At five o'clock, he walked out of the office building, still worried, and bumped into a man standing at the door.

The little old man stumbled and almost fell. "I'm sorry." Mr. Dursley muttered. After a few seconds, he realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He was almost knocked to the ground, but he didn't seem angry at all. Instead, a bright smile appeared on his face. "You don't have to apologize, honorable sir, because there is nothing to make me angry today! I'm so happy because the 'You-Know-Who' is finally gone! Even a Muggle like you should celebrate this happy day!" His voice was shrill and harsh, which made passers-by look sideways.

The old man said, put his arm around Mr. Dursley's waist, and walked away.

Mr. Dursley stood there, rooted to the spot. He had just been hugged by a complete stranger. He was also thinking about being called a "Muggle" and what that meant. His mind was in a state of confusion and he ran to his car to drive home. He hoped that this was all just an illusion, that he had never imagined anything, because he didn't agree with illusions at all. As he pulled into drive 4, the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he had seen that morning, which did not make him feel any better. The cat was sitting on the wall of his garden. He was sure that this was the same cat as the one that morning: the markings around the eyes were exactly the same.

"Go...go!" Mr. Dursley shouted.

The cat didn't move, but just glared at him. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley was doubtful. He calmed himself down and then went into the house. He still decided not to say a word to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had a good day, and everything was normal. At the dinner table, Mrs. Dursley told him about the conflict between the mother and daughter in the neighbor's house, and said that Dudley had learned a new word ("never"). Mr. Dursley also tried his best to act normal. After putting Dudley to bed, he went to the living room and heard the last report of the evening news: "Finally, according to bird watchers from all over the country, owls behaved abnormally today. Normally, they hunt at night and rarely show up during the day, but today, owls flew everywhere at sunrise. Experts can't explain why owls have changed their sleeping habits." The news announcer grinned when he said this, "It's amazing. Now I'll hand the microphone over to Jim McGoo to ask him about the weather. Jim, will it rain owls tonight?"

"Oh, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that. It's not just the owls that are behaving strangely today. Telephone calls have been coming in from all over the country, from Kent, Yorkshire, Dundee and so on, saying that we had predicted rain yesterday, but it wasn't rain but shooting stars! Perhaps people are bringing forward Bonfire Night, which was supposed to be held a week later, my friends! But I assure you, it will rain tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat in his armchair, stunned. There were meteor showers all over Britain... Owls were flying everywhere in broad daylight... There were strange people in cloaks everywhere... There were also some rumors, rumors about the Potter family... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room with two cups of tea. The situation was not good. He should reveal something to her. He was uneasy and cleared his throat, "Um... Petunia, dear... Have you heard from your sister recently?"

Mrs. Dursley was, as expected, very surprised and very angry; after all, they usually said they had no such sister.

"No," she snapped. "What's wrong?"

"Something a little odd in the news today," muttered Mr. Dursley. "Flocks of owls... meteor showers... lots of odd-looking people in town today..."

"So what?" said Mrs. Dursley, her face pale.

"Oh, I was thinking... maybe... it has something to do with... you know... her group of people..."

Mrs. Dursley pursed her lips and took a sip of her tea. Mr. Dursley wondered if he should be bold enough to tell her about hearing the name "Harry." He decided not to be too hasty. So he changed the subject as casually as possible: "Their son. He should be about Dudley's age now, right?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley dryly.

"What was his name? Howard?"

"Harry is a common and unpleasant name, if you ask me."