The boy who Lived page 2
•But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were obviously collecting for some-thing . . . yes, that would be it.•
"No i don't think so." Colorado says with a smile. "if i'm being honest they look like wizard's who are not trying to blend in with muggles." loui says with a small smile and misty eyes like he's thinking of his past."what's a muggle?" florida asked curiously."a muggle is a non-magical person. i'm half muggle myself." loui explains to his friend.everyone understood
•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 swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped over-head. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.•
"owl's oh i love owl's !" cdc says with a huge grin on his face."i did not know you liked owl's." gov remarked writing it down on a page of his notebook labeled bday ideas."yes i love owl watching."cdc says claiming himself down,
•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 likes to yell." alaska says covering his ears."i agree with you." hawaii says covering her ears as well.
•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 say-ing. “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 Pot-ter 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