𝘒𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 •°𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘛𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘴

[48]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

'Harry!! Wake up!!' Sara shook her brother's shoulders until the boy's eyes flung open and he growled in frustration.

'What?'

'There!' she pointed out of the window; at that precise moment, the street-lamp outside the window went out. Harry pressed his nose against the window instead and squinted down at the pavement. A tall figure in a long, billowing cloak was walking up the garden path.

'Oh Harry, Dumbledore's here! And you haven't packed!' the redheaded cried in alarm and began shoving Harry's things in his trunk, the boy soon joining her.

Even as they lobbed a set of robes, two spellbooks, and a packet of crisps across the room, the doorbell rang. Downstairs in the living room his Uncle Vernon shouted, 'Who the blazes is calling at this lime of night?'

Sara froze with a brass telescope in her hands. They had completely forgotten to warn the Dursleys that Dumbledore might be coming. Harry clambered over the trunk and wrenched open their bedroom door in time for them to hear a deep voice say, 'Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay the twins have told you I would be coming for them?'

'Sh-,' Sara began, and followed Harry quickly in the hall and downstairs.

There in the doorway stood a tall, thin man with waist-length silver hair and beard. Half-moon spectacles were perched on his crooked nose, and he was wearing a long black traveling cloak and a pointed hat.

Vernon Dursley, whose mustache was quite as bushy as Dumbledore's, though black, and who was wearing a puce dressing gown, was staring at the visitor as though he could not believe his tiny eyes.

'Judging by your look of stunned disbelief,  neither Sara, nor Harry did not warn you that I was coming,' said Dumbledore pleasantly. 'However, let us assume that you have invited me warmly into your house. It is unwise to linger overlong on doorsteps in these troubled times.'

He stepped smartly over the threshold and closed the front door behind him.

'It is a long time since my last visit,' said Dumbledore, peering down his crooked nose at Uncle Vernon. 'I must say, your agapanthus are flourishing.'

Sara raised a brow in amusement and stifled the chuckle that was threatening to come out.

'Ah, good evening Sara, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up at him through his half-moon glasses with a most satisfied expression. 'Excellent, excellent.'

These words seemed to rouse Uncle Vernon. It was clear that as far as he was concerned, any man who could look at Harry or Sara and say 'excellent' was a man with whom he could never see eye to eye.

'So,' the old man began, eyeing the pair of trousers that were in Harry's hands. 'You haven't packed yet?'

'I did sir, but Harry—' Sara started.

'He was doubtful that I would come up, oh well then,' Dumbledore said and with a swish of his hand, the telescope that Sara held an the pair of trousers flew upstairs and the redhead heard how the trunk packed itself. Then there was a silent pop! and Sara was sure their trunks and Hedwig's cage were sent to the Weasleys.