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 swooping 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.

　　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。