Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you\'d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn\'t hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their GREatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn\'t think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley\'s sister, but they hadn\'t met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn\'t have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn\'t want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the 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 first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn\'t realize what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn\'t a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn\'t read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn\'t help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn\'t bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren\'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 it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn\'t, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn\'t see the owls swoop ing past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and 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 to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
He\'d forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker\'s. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn\'t know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn\'t see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
"The Potters, that\'s right, that\'s what I heard yes, their son, Harry"
Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought 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 changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn\'t such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn\'t even sure his nephew was called Harry. He\'d never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn\'t blame 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 afternoon and when he left the building at five o\'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.
"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn\'t seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don\'t be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"
And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn\'t approve of imagination.
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -and it didn\'t improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he\'d spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn\'t move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door\'s problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won\'t!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation\'s owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don\'t know about that, but it\'s not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they\'ve had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it\'s not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He\'d have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven\'t heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn\'t have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he\'d heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn\'t dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -- he\'d be about Dudley\'s age now, wouldn\'t he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What\'s his name again? Howard, isn\'t it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."
He didn\'t say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.
Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn\'t think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about
them and their kind.... He couldn\'t see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn\'t affect them....
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley 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 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 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 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, "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 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 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 had around its 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 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 Dursleys\' 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 Dumbledore 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 YouKnow-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?"
"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-Who\' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." 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 my 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\'s 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.
Professor McGonagall\'s voice trembled as she went on. "That\'s not all. They\'re saying he tried to kill the Potter\'s son, Harry. But -- he couldn\'t. He couldn\'t kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they\'re saying that when he couldn\'t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort\'s power somehow broke -- and that\'s why he\'s gone.
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It\'s -- it\'s true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he\'s done... all the people he\'s killed... he couldn\'t kill a little boy? It\'s just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid\'s late. I suppose it was he who told you I\'d be here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don\'t suppose you\'re going to tell me why you\'re here, of all places?"
"I\'ve come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They\'re the only family he has left now."
"You don\'t mean -- you can\'t mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can\'t. I\'ve been watching them all day. You couldn\'t find two people who are less like us. And they\'ve got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"
"It\'s the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he\'s older. I\'ve written them a letter."
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He\'ll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn\'t be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future -- there will be books written about Harry -- every child in our world will know his name!"
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy\'s head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won\'t even remember! CarA you see how much better off he\'ll be, growing up away from all that until he\'s ready to take it?"
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you\'re right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"Hagrid\'s bringing him."
"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I\'m not saying his heart isn\'t in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can\'t pretend he\'s not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I\'ve got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin\' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin\' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He\'ll have that scar forever."
"Couldn\'t you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn\'t. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we\'d better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys\' house.
"Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you\'ll wake the Muggles!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can\'t stand it -- Lily an\' James dead -- an\' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -"
"Yes, yes, it\'s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we\'ll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry\'s blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid\'s shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore\'s eyes seemed to have gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that\'s that. We\'ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I\'ll be takin\' Sirius his bike back. G\'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.
Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours\' time by Mrs. Dursley\'s scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn\'t know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"
第一章幸存的男孩
住在四号普里怀特街的杜斯利先生及夫人，非常骄傲地宣称自己是十分正常的
人。但是他们最不希望见到的就是任何奇怪或神秘故事中的人物，因为他们对此总
是嗤之以鼻。
杜斯利先生是一家叫作格朗宁斯的钻机工厂的老板。他非常肥壮、结实，几乎
肥到没有颈根，但却有一把大胡子。杜斯利夫人则非常苗条，一头金发。她的颈根
有常人的两倍那么长，这使得她整天伸长脖子透过花园围栏去偷窥邻居家的动静变
得非常容易。杜斯利夫妇有个儿子叫做达德里。在他们眼中，这世界上再没有比达
德里更棒的男孩了。
杜斯利一家几乎有他们想要的一切东西。但是他们也有一个秘密，而且他们最
大的担心就是有一天别人会发现这个秘密。如果有人知道关于波特一家的事，他们
就会认为自己无法保守这个秘密了。波特夫人是杜斯利夫人的妹妹，但是她们已经
有很多年没有见面了、事实上，杜斯利夫人假装她从来没有什么妹妹，因为她的妹
妹和那不中用的妹夫没有一丝一毫杜斯利家族的风范。一想到波特一家的到来会招
致邻居的议论，杜斯利一家就会浑身发抖。杜斯利一家知道波特夫妇也有一个儿子，
只是未曾谋面。这个小男孩也成了杜斯利一家避开波特一家的借口，因为他们不希
望听话的达德里与这种小孩混在一起。
当杜斯利先生和夫人在灰暗阴沉的星期二早晨醒来时，我们的故事便开始了。
虽然外面阴云密布的天空并不能预示着今天一定会有什么离奇古怪的事情发生。
杜斯利先生一边哼着小曲一边拿出他最差的领带准备去上班，杜斯利夫人则一
边口中叨念着一边把依依呀呀的达德里放到高椅子上去。
没有一个人注意到这时有一只巨大的褐色的猫头鹰从窗外掠过。八点半时，杜
斯利先生拿起他的公文包去上班。临行前，在杜斯刊夫人的面颊上吻了一下算是告
别。他本来要在达德里脸上也亲一口的，但是因为达德里正在发脾气并且把麦片往
墙上扔，便只好作罢。“小淘气！”杜斯利先生呵呵大笑地走出门口钻进他的车，
倒着车驶出了四号车道。
当他驶到街的拐角处时，他发现了第一件不寻常的事情——一只猫在看地图。
开始时杜斯利先生并没有感到有什么不妥。到他意识到并猛地转过头去看时，
只见那只肥嘟嘟的猫还蹲在那里，可是地图却没有了。天哪，杜斯利先生想，我怎
么可能有这种想法呢？
刚才我一定是眼花了。杜斯利先生眨了眨眼，又看了那只猫一眼。
那只猫回了他一眼。正在杜斯利先生驶进拐角准备上另一条路时，他又在后视
镜里看了一眼那只猫，现在那只猫正在读着“普里怀特街”的路牌——不，它只是
朝路牌看而已，猫是不可能会认识任何地图或路牌的。杜斯利先生浑身一抖，想极
力摆脱关于那只猫的任何想法。在接下来的路程里，杜斯利想的全都是关于他如何
希望得到一大笔钻机的订单之类的事情。
就快要到镇上的时候，关于钻机的想法又被其他事情代替了。
像往常一样，杜斯利先生的车被卡在塞车长龙中动弹不得，他不曾注意到好像
有很多穿着奇怪的人走来走去。他们都穿着披风。杜斯列先生最看不惯穿得稀奇古
怪的人——都是年轻人投酷的玩意！他想这也许是某种新的款式吧。他的手指不耐
烦地敲击着方向盘，并目又看了看近处一群衣着古怪的人。他们在兴奋地小声谈论
着什么，什斯利突然变得很生气，因为他发现他们并不都是年轻小伙子，其中一个
穿着祖母绿披风的人居然比他年纪都大，搞什么鬼！
但接着杜斯利先生又不生气了，可能这是一出表演吧——这群人很明显在收集
某样东西。是的，肯定是这样。车龙开始移动起来，不久，杜斯利先生就到了格朗
宁斯工厂停车场。他的注意力又回到钻机上来了。
杜斯利先生喜欢在他九楼的办公室里背靠着墙坐着。如果不这样做的话，他会
觉得整个上午都无法集中精神做事。他从来没在大白天见过猫头鹰飞过，但是有人
在街上看到了。他们回头指着，目瞪口呆地看着一只接一只的猫头鹰从头顶飞过。
还好，杜斯利先生那天早上没见着一只猫头鹰，一切都很正常。他冲五个不同
的人发了脾气。他打了几个重要的电话并在电话里嚷了一通。直到午饭时他的心情
都还不错，那时他想到自己应该活动活动筋骨了，于是走到面包店给自己买了一个
面包圈。
他几乎都快忘掉那些穿着被风的人了。但是当他走过面包店隔壁时，那群人又
出现了。杜斯利先生生气地瞪了他们一眼。他不知道为什么自己要这样做，可能是
那群人让他觉得不妥。那群人还在低声兴奋地谈话，可是这次杜斯利先生没再看到
一只募款箱。在他拿着面包往回走又经过他们时，他依稀听到一些他们谈话的内容。
“波特一家，没错，我听到的就是这个名字。”
“一定的，他们的儿子，哈利——”
杜斯利先生僵住了。害怕紧紧地攫住了他。他回过头看着那群人想跟他们说些
什么，可是又不知道说什么好。
他冲过马路，小跑回到办公室。嘱咐他的秘书不要打搅他，然后抓起电话就往
家里打。打着打着，他突然改变主意了。他放下电话，抚弄了一下自己的胡子，陷
入沉思。不，他太傻了。波特不过是个普通的名字。他肯定不只一个人叫波特并且
他的儿子叫做哈利。想到这里，他甚至无法肯定他的侄儿是不是叫哈利。毕竟他从
来没见过他。可能他叫哈维尔，又或者叫哈罗德，没有必要再去烦太太了，她一提
到她妹妹就要叹气。这也不能怪她，如果杜斯利有个妹妹像她……不管怎么样，那
些穿着被风的人……
他觉得整个下午都很难集中精力干活。当他五点钟离开办公室时，甚至担心自
己一出门就会撞到什么人似的。
“对不起。”他咕哝着，面前站着一个踉踉跄跄的几乎要跌倒的矮老头。几秒
钟后，杜斯利先生才发觉这个人穿着一件紫色的披风。他看上去对几乎被撞倒在地
毫不介意。相反，他咧开嘴笑，并且用一种让旁人侧目的尖嗓子说话，“不要觉得
抱歉，先生，今天没有任何事会惹恼我。只有开心！你知道最后谁离开了吗？像你
这样的马格人都应该重视这个开心的日子！”
这个老人给了杜斯利先生一个只到腰间的拥抱，然后走开了。
杜斯利先生定在了原地。他被一个陌生人拥抱，并且居然被叫作马格人，他被
惹火了。他迅速地钻进车内往家赶，希望这一切不过是幻觉——而在这以前他是从
来不相信有幻觉存在的。
当地驰入四号驰车道时，映入眼帘的第一件东西——这丝毫没有让他心情好转
——是他早上看到的那只猫。那只猫现在正在他的花园围墙上。他可以肯定是同一
只猫，因为它们的眼睛周围有着一样的花纹。
“嘘！”杜斯利先生嚷道。
那只猫没动。它又是冷冷地看了他一眼。这是一只猫的行为吗？杜斯利先生觉
得很迷惑。为了试着让自己振作起来，他走进了房子。他仍然决定对妻子只字不提
今天的事。
杜斯利夫人则过得十分惬意、舒适。晚饭时她与丈夫谈起邻居与她儿子的不和
以及达德里怎样学会了一个新单词“不许！”。杜斯利先生试图像平常一样答话。
在把达德里哄上床后，他正好有时间看到晚间新闻的最后一条新闻：“各地的
鸟类学家均报道全国各地猫头鹰有异常动向。通常猫头鹰在夜间捕食而且白天从不
出现，但是这次却有许多地方见到这种鸟在日出后出现。专家们暂时难以解释猫头
鹰突然间改变它们睡眠习惯的原因……真是非常奇怪。现在由吉姆。麦高菲来报告
天气。
吉姆，今晚会有更多猫头鹰出现吗？“
“泰德，”天气预报员说道，“这我倒不清楚。但是今天行为异常的不只是猫
头鹰。还有肯特郡、约克郡和丹地的人们打电话告诉我并没有出现我昨天预报的阵
雨，反而下了一场流星雨，可能人们在提前庆祝髯火节吧——但是髯火节下个星期
才到啊！不管怎么样，今晚会有雨，我敢肯定。”
杜斯利先生呆在了沙发里。流星雨遍布英国？猫头鹰在白天行动？身穿披风的
神秘人处处可见？还有传闻，关于波特一家的传闻……
杜斯利夫人端着两杯咖啡走进卧室。不行，他必须告诉她一些事情。他清了清
嗓子，“嗯，帕尤妮亚，你很久没有收到你妹妹的来信了，是吧？”
已如他预料的，杜斯利夫人看上去又震惊又生气。毕竟，她通常会当自己从来
没有妹妹。
“没有。”她生硬地说：“怎么了？”
“今天的新闻多可笑，”杜斯利先生含糊地说，“猫头鹰……流星雨……还有
许多长相滑稽的人在镇上……”
“那又怎样？”杜斯利夫人打断了他的话。
“我只是觉得……可能……这与她的……家庭有关。”
杜斯利夫人呷了一口茶，杜斯利先生不知道自己是否还敢告诉她他听到了“波
特”这个名字。他尽量使自己好像是很随意地说出：“他们的儿子——应该差不多
有达德里这么大了，是吧？”
“我想是吧。”杜斯利夫人生硬地说。
“他叫什么名字？是豪伍吗？”
“哈利。如果你问起，我要说这是个难听又普通的名字。”
“哦，是吗？”杜斯利先生说，他的心猛地一沉。“没错，我赞成。”
他们上楼去睡觉时杜斯利先生再没有就这件事讲一个字。当杜斯利夫人洗澡时，
他蹑手蹑脚地走到卧室窗口往下面的花园看。那只猫居然还在！它望看街拐角处，
好像在等谁。
他又在想象了？所有的事会不会都跟波特家有关呢？如果是这样的话……如果
他们真的有联系——他简直不敢往下想。
杜斯利夫妇上了床。杜斯利夫人很快便睡着了，但是杜斯利先生却睡不着，翻
来覆去地想着。在他入睡前最后一个稍微安慰的想法是：即便整件事与波特家有关，
也并不意味着一定会牵扯到他和他太太。波特家非常清楚他和帕尤妮亚是怎样看待
他们的……他觉得他和帕尤妮亚不可能与将来可能发生的事有任何关联。他打了一
个呵欠并翻了一个身。不让波特影响到他们的……他真是大错特错。
杜斯利先生可能已经忐忑不安地进入了梦乡，可是外面那只在墙上的猫却毫无
睡意。它一动不动地坐在那里，眼睛一下也不眨地盯着普里怀特街的拐角处。即使
有汽车车门砰地一声关上，两只猫头鹰从头顶飞过，它也不动一下。实际上，直到
将近午夜它都没动。
这时一个男人出现在猫一直盯住的拐角处，他出现如此突然又无声无息，以至
你会认为他是从地下冒出来的，那只猫动了一下尾巴，眯起了双眼。
这个人从未在普里怀特街出现过。他又高又瘦，从他那银白色的头发以及长到
可以塞进皮带的胡子，可以看出他已经很老了。他穿着长袍，一件拖到地的紫色披
风以及一双高跟、带扣的靴于。他耶双半月形眼镜底下的蓝色眼睛炯炯有神。他的
鼻子又长又弯，好像被至少扁过两次。这个男人的名字是艾伯斯。丹伯多。
艾伯斯。丹伯多没有意识到他的到来是如此的不受欢迎。他急急忙忙地翻着披
风找东西。但是他好像并不知道自己被人盯住，这时他猛一抬头，看到一只猫在街
的另一头远远地盯着他。不知道为什么，他觉得这场面很好笑。他边笑边喃喃自语
：“我应该早就知道的。”
他发现他要找的东西原来在口袋里。这是一只银色的打火机。
他打开它，高高举起来“咔嚓”一声点着，最近的街灯扑的一下灭了。他再点
一次，下一盏街灯也灭了。他一共点了十二次，直到最后整条街只剩下远处两盏绿
豆大小的灯，原来是那只猫的两只眼睛。如果有任何人此时往窗外看，即使是眼睛
圆得像珠子似的杜斯利夫人，她也无法看清楚人行道上有什么东西，丹伯多把打火
机收好，径直走到四号门，坐到了墙上那只猫旁边。他没看那只猫，但不久他说话
了：“很高兴见到你，麦康娜教授。”
他转过身去对它微笑，但是那只猫不见了。他在向一个长相严肃的女人微笑，
那个女人戴的眼镜的形状与那只猫眼睛周围的花纹一模一样。她也拿着一件绿色的
披风，她乌黑的头发被紧紧地扎成一束。她看上去很生气。
“你知道我的名字？”她问道。
“亲爱的教授，我从未见过一只猫坐得这么老实的。”
“你也会这样坐的，如果你是成天坐在一面砖石墙上。”麦康娜教授说。
“整天？你应该去庆祝才是。我今天来的时候一路上不知道有多少派对和大餐
呢。”
麦康娜教授不高兴地哼了一声。
“没错，每个人都在庆祝。”她不耐烦地说。“你一定认为他们已经很小心了，
不是的——即使是马格人都意识到有事发生了，他们还报导出来了。”她回头去看
杜斯利夫妇黑呼呼的窗口。“我听到了，成群的猫头鹰……流星雨……他们真是太
愚蠢了。人们肯定会注意到的。肯特郡的流星雨——我敢打赌是丹德拉斯。迪哥干
的。
他从来就爱干没意义的事。“”你不能怪他们。“丹伯多缓缓地说。”我们已
经几年没有好好庆祝过了。“
“我知道。”麦康娜教授有点儿生气。“但是没理由搞到连命都丢掉。他们真
是太粗心了，包括穿着马格衣服的人，居然大白天在大街上说长道短。”
她斜眼膘了丹伯多一眼，好像希望他能说点什么，但是他没开口，于是她继续
说：“最好是这样，在‘那个人’消失的那一天，马格人就知道关于我们的所有事
情。我想他是真的离开了，是吗？”
“一定是的。”丹伯多说。“我们要感激的太多了。你想要来一杯冻柠檬汁吗？”
“一杯什么？”
“一杯冻柠檬汁。这是我非常喜欢的一种马格甜品。”
“不用了，”麦康娜教授冷冷地回答，好像她认为还没到喝什么柠檬汁的时候。
“就我看，即使是‘那个人’已经离开了……”
“亲爱的教授，像你这样聪明的人都会这样称呼他吗？‘那个人’这算什么名
字——十一年来我一直试着说服人们称呼他的真名：福尔得摩特。”麦康娜教授有
点理亏。但正在剥柠檬的艾伯斯。
丹伯多好像没留意到。“如果我们老是叫‘那个人’就会搞得很混乱。直呼福
尔得摩特的名字没有什么好害怕的。”
“我知道你没有。”麦康娜教授说，听上去半生气半羡慕似的。
“但是你不同。每个人都知道你是‘那个人——’不对，福尔得摩特——唯一
害怕的人。”
“真是抬举我了。”丹伯多冷静地说，“福尔得摩特拥有我没有的力量。”
“只是因为你不屑于去用它们罢了。”
“还好这是晚上。自从波姆弗雷夫人称赞我的御寒耳罩以来，找就从未脸红过
了。”
麦康娜教授看了丹伯多一眼说道：“猫头鹰在今天的新闻中根本算不了什么。
你知道人们怎么说吗？关于他为什么失踪以及是什么制止了他？“
很显然麦康娜教授已经谈论到点子上来了，这也是她一整天坐在冰冷僵硬的墙
上的真正原因。无论是作为一只猫还是作为一个女人她都从来没有像这样盯过丹伯
多。不管别人怎么说，她都不会相信，除非这话是由丹伯多中日说出。可是丹怕多
只是拿起了另一只柠檬，一言不发。
“他们说，”她接着说，“昨天晚上福尔得摩特在哥里克山谷出现了。他是去
找波特一家。流言说莉莉和杰姆斯。波特——他们——他们死了。”
丹伯多垂下头去。麦康娜教授则便咽地说。
“莉莉和杰姆斯……我不相信……我不愿意相信……喔，艾伯斯。”
丹伯多伸出手去拍她的肩膀，“我知道了……我知道了……”
他沉重地说。
麦康娜教授的声音颤抖地接着说。“我还没有说完。他们说他想要杀死波特的
儿子哈利。但是他杀不了那个小男孩，没有人知道其中的原因，但是人们说如果他
杀不了哈利。波特，福尔得摩特的力量就会消失——这也是他离开的原因。”
丹怕多皱着眉点了一下头。
“这是——这是真的吗？”麦康娜教授给结巴巴地说。“毕竟他杀死过……他
杀死过那么多人……他居然杀不死一个小男孩？太奇怪了……在所有制止他的事情
中……但是现在哈利还活着吗？”
“我们只能猜测。”丹伯多说，“我们可能永远不会知道。”麦康娜教授掏出
她的蕾丝手绢擦了擦镜片后的眼睛。丹伯多深深吸了一口气，并从口袋里掏出一只
金表来看。这只表非常奇怪。它有十二根针却一个数字也没有，倒是有一些行星在
表的边缘旋转。这对丹伯多来说肯定代表着什么，因为他把表放回口袋后说，“哈
格力迟到了。我猜是他告诉你我会在这里的，是吧？”
“没错，”麦康娜教授说，“我想你并不打算告诉我为什么你会在这里的，是
吗？”
“我是来送哈利到他的姨丈家里的。这是他唯一剩下的亲戚了。”
“你的意思是——你是说住在这里的这户人家？”麦康娜教授大叫道，跳起来
指着四号门。“丹伯多，你一定是弄错了。我整天都注意着他们。这两个人与我们
简直有着天壤之别。他们也有个儿子——一我看到那个小孩子一路上都在跟他的妈
妈，哭喊着要糖果。哈利。波特要住在这种地方！”
“这是他最好的归宿，”丹伯多坚决地说。“他的姨丈和姨妈可以在他长大后
向他解释所有事情，我已经写了一封信给他们。”
“一封信？”麦康娜教授教授重复说，坐回到了墙上去。“丹伯多，你真的认
为你可以在一封信里解释所有事情吗？人们永远无法理解他！他会变得很出名，成
为一个传奇。如果将来的人们把现在命名为波特时代我都不会感到惊讶——将会有
关于波特的书出版发行——全世界的每个小孩都会知道他！”
“一点没错。”丹伯多一边说，一边从他的半月形眼镜看上去。
“每个男孩都会为之疯狂。在他还不会走路和说话之前就变得出名，出名是因
为一些根本不记得的东西？你知道他会多么有钱吗？当然要他长大之后他才可能明
白这些。”
麦康娜教授张大了嘴巴，然后又改变主意说道：“没错，你说的一点没错。但
是，丹伯多，那个男孩怎么来这里呢？”她突然间盯住他的披风，好像认为他可能
把波特藏在了那下面。
“哈格力会带他来的。”
“你觉得把这么重要的事情托付给哈格力，是明智之举吗？”
“我可以用我的生命担保。”丹伯多说。
“我并不是说他没有一副好心肠。”麦康娜教授埋怨地说。“但是你不能否认
他太粗心。他经常——那是什么？”
一阵低沉的隆隆声打破了周围的寂静。当他们朝街上望去希望找到到蛛丝马迹
时，那声音越变越大，最后成了一阵轰鸣声，而且是从他们头顶上发出来的。他们
抬头一看，只见空中一架巨大的飞行摩托车缓缓地降落在他们面前的空地上。
如果这架飞行摩托车算是巨型的话，那么它跟里面的人比起来简直算不了什么。
这个人几乎有常人的两倍那么高，5 倍那么宽。
他看上去简直不符合常人的想象，而且十分野蛮——长长的像灌木丛似的黑发
和胡子遮住了他的大半个脸。他的手有垃圾桶盖那么大，他的那双穿在皮靴里的脚
就像两只小海豚。他的巨大的、肌肉发达的手臂上抱着一团毛毯包住的东西。
“哈格力，”丹伯多说话了，他的声音听上去像是松了一口气。
“你来了，你从哪里搞来这样一辆飞行摩托车的？”
“我借的，丹伯多教授。”巨人说话了，一边说一边小心翼翼地下了车。“年
轻的布莱克爵士借给我的。我已经接到他了。”
“路上还顺利吧？”
“不完全是。我到时房子几乎全被摧毁了，好在我赶在马格人之前救出了他。
我们飞过布里斯多的时候他睡得可香了。“
丹伯多和麦康娜教授俯下身去看那一团毛毯。毛毯里面，一个男婴正甜甜地睡
着。在他前额一簇漆黑的头发底下他们看到一道形状奇特的疤痕，好像一道闪电似
的。
“这就是……”麦康娜教授小声问道。
“是的。”丹伯多说。“他将永远保留那道疤痕。”
“难道你不能想想法子消掉它吗，丹伯多？”
“就算我想到了，我也不会做的。那道疤痕是很有用的。我左膝上有一块伦敦
地铁地图。把他给我，哈格力——我们还是快点结束我们的任务吧。”
丹伯多接过小哈利，径直向杜斯利家走去。
“我可以——我可以同他道别吗？”哈格力问。
他弯下他巨大的，毛茸茸的脸，给了哈利一个扎人的、带有威士忌酒味的亲吻。
接着他像一只受伤的拘一样哀号了一声。
“嘘！”麦康娜教授轻声地说，“你会把马格人吵醒的！”
“对——对不起！”哈格力呜咽着，掏出一块巨大的肮脏的手绢把自己整个脸
部埋了进去。“我——我只是忍不住——莉莉和杰姆斯都死了——可怜的小哈利必
须同马格人生活在一起——”
“没错，这的确让人伤心。可是你要小心，哈格力，不然我们会被发现的。”
麦康娜教授低声说道，然后拍了拍哈格力的手臂。
此时丹伯多正走过花园围墙，向正门走去。他轻轻地把哈利放在台阶上后，从
披风里掏出一封信塞在裹着哈利的毛毯内便转身回来。
他们三人注视着那团毛毯足足有一分钟。哈格力的肩头不停地抖动着，麦康娜
教授生气地瞪着他，丹伯多的眼中则好像马上就会有泪水夺眶而出。
“好了，”丹伯多最后说道，“事情办完了，我们可以走了，说不定我们还赶
得上庆祝活动呢！”
“没错，”哈格力轻声地说。“我先要把爵士的车还给他。晚安，丹伯多教授、
麦康娜教授。”
用短外衣的袖子擦干眼睛后，哈格力跳上飞行摩托车并发动它，只听见一声轰
鸣，车子升入空中并且很快地消失在夜色中。
“希望我们后会有期，麦康娜教授。”丹伯多说，一边点头示意。麦康娜教授
抽动了一下鼻子算是回应。
丹伯多转身走向街道。走到拐角时，他掏出那只银色的打火机只点了一下，那
十二盏街灯便全部亮起来，照得整条普里怀特街像白昼一样。这时，他看见一只胖
胖的猫消失在街道另一头的拐角处。那团毛毯也好好地放在四号门的台阶上。
“哈利，祝你好运。”他低声说，接着他跺了一下脚踉，一抖地的披风，便转
眼间消失了。
微风轻抚着幽静、整洁的普里怀特街，离奇的事情正是在这种环境下发生的。
哈利。波特在毛毯里打了个转身，但并没有醒过来，他的小手旁边还放着那封
信。
他只是这样睡着，并不知道自己原来这样特殊，这么有名。他也不知道几小时
后他就会被杜斯利夫人的尖叫惊醒，几个星期后他将被他的表兄达德里又捏又掐…
…他不知道正在那时，全国的巫师正秘密聚集在一起，举起手中的酒杯默默地说道
：“为哈利。波特干杯！”
