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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.