𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝗼𝐰; Harry Potter

(E) 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

☺︎︎⌫❦☀︎︎𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝗼 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝗼𝐰☀︎︎❦⌫☺︎︎

☠︎︎Prologue
1981..

OUTSIDE OF number four, Privet Drive, there was a cat, it's eyes fixed unblinkingly on the fat corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slapped 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 cats tail twitched and it's 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 suck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue yes 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 mans name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street were 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 as 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 their window now, even beady-eyes 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 still 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, alright," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed somethings going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I hear 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."