Based on the works of J.K. Rowling
Five-year old Harry Potter struggled madly against
his wide, towering Uncle Vernon at the door to a men's wear shop in London.
Uncle Dursley was attempting, unsuccessfully, to shove a too-small, smelly baseball
cap over Harry's unkempt black hair. The hat scraped miserably against the tender-looking
pink scar that was etched on Harry's forehead.
"Ow!" cried Harry. "Gerroff!"
"STAY - RUDDY - STILL!" bellowed Uncle Vernon,
as young Harry ducked beneath his arm and wheeled in another direction.
"Don't, Dad!" whined Harry's pudgy blond cousin,
Dudley, who was elbowing them both repeatedly. "I don't want him wearing my
"I - know - son - " panted Uncle Vernon. "But
- we can't - have - anymore of those - PEOPLE - staring at that - blasted -
SCAR!" With the last word, Uncle Vernon finally managed to wedge the cap down
over his nephew's unhappy head, where it covered not only his scar, but his
ears and eyebrows, banging his glasses halfway down his nose.
Harry winced, and felt his ears pinching. He
reached up to rip the thing from his head, but both his hands were caught by
one of his uncle's large, sweaty ones.
"And don't take it off!" he barked at Harry.
"Or I'll throw you in the street and you can find your own way back to Privet
Harry was just old enough to be alarmed by this
threat. He knew his uncle was serious. After all, the Dursleys didn't care much
for Harry - they'd made a point of treating him badly ever since his parents
had died in a car accident four years before, leaving him in the Dursleys' care.
Even at the age of five, Harry was made to sleep in a dark, spidery cupboard
underneath their stairs, and to wear Dudley's repulsive hand-me-down clothing.
Even though it was a lousy life with the Dursleys,
Harry thought it would probably be worse without any house at all. He therefore
took his hands down and stopped fighting, trying to ignore the numbness in his
ears and forehead, where the hat pressed into his skin.
"Good," growled Uncle Vernon. "Now don't make
any trouble, boy. Dudley and I need to be fitted for sports coats. You just
sit in a chair and keep your mouth shut."
Harry thought that the only sports coats that
would fit the Dursleys would have to be tent-sized. He scowled under his hat
brim, where his uncle couldn't see, but he nodded. He'd sit in a chair and keep
his mouth shut. There wasn't anything else to do, anyway.
"Good," growled his uncle a second time. "Now
come on, Dudley, let's get started. Where's your mother?" Uncle Vernon looked
around impatiently for his wife. "PETUNIA!" he shouted into the street.
"Mum went to the toy shop," said Dudley, pointing
along the way with a fat finger. "I told her I want a new soaker gun today,
and she had to go and get it right now!"
Beneath the hat brim, Harry's scowl evaporated.
A toy shop? He followed his cousin's finger along the sidewalk and saw a bright,
bubbly looking sign. He hadn't learned to read very much yet, so the name of
the shop was unclear - but by the looks of it, it was definitely full of toys.
He glanced sideways at his uncle and cousin, who had turned to the door of the
men's wear shop, and were going in. They were no longer paying close attention
"Go get in a chair," barked Uncle Vernon over
"Okay," said Harry, pretending to follow right
behind them. But at the last second, he pivoted, shot back out the door, and
ran toward the bubbly looking sign. He forgot that he might be thrown into the
street. He forgot that he was wearing a silly looking cap. He forgot that he
would probably run directly into his Aunt Petunia, who would punish him on the
spot. He was going to play with the toys, and nobody was going to stop him.
Harry had very little experience with toys.
Dudley had every single good one that had ever come out - in fact, he had so
many that they filled two rooms - but Harry was forbidden even to touch them.
This was his chance to get his hands on something fun. Even if he couldn't buy
anything, he could play around for a few minutes, which was better than nothing.
With a last look behind him to be sure that
no one had followed, Harry sprinted into the shop. The moment his feet crossed
the threshold, he broke into a wide grin and would probably have started to
laugh at all the wonderful things he saw around him – had it not been for a
great, jarring thud that sent him to the floor.
Harry had smacked, full-body, into a slightly
older boy. Both of them toppled to the ground, taking an enormous stack of glow-in-the-dark
spaceships with them. The spaceships fell in every direction, clattering to
the floor and skidding off down the aisles as Harry and the other boy rubbed
their heads and grimaced. Harry pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, looking
anxiously from side to side for his Aunt Petunia. If she should see him in here,
knocking things down -
"That'll be a huge bump!" said the other boy
happily, pushing back his bright red hair and feeling his head where he had
hit it against Harry's.
"Sorry," said Harry, scrambling to his feet.
"S'all right! It'll look nice and scary, and
Mum'll know I'm me!" the red-haired boy assured him, grinning from ear to freckled
Harry had no idea what he was talking about
- how could his mum not know him? - until another boy came around the toppled
spaceships at a full run, and pulled the first boy to his feet. Harry blinked
and stared, thinking he was seeing double. This boy was identical to the first,
except that he did not have a large, egg-shaped bruise rising up above his eye.
"Whoa!" said the second boy, surveying the fallen
stack of toys. "You've made a heaping mess! Better run for it before the store
clerk catches you!"
The twin boys chortled and headed toward the
entrance of the store. But just an instant later, they jumped backwards as if
they'd been electrocuted, and looked both ways for somewhere else to run. A
rather short, plump, motherish woman had appeared in the entryway, and pushed
it wide open. Harry thought she would have been a delightful looking person
were it not for the unmistakable anger in her eyes.
"FRED! GEORGE!" she shrieked. "WHAT HAVE YOU
Harry, who was in no hurry to draw attention
to himself in case his Aunt Petunia was right nearby, ducked behind a display
of fluffy, stuffed bears. Feeling some concern for the fate of the red-haired
twins, he peeked around at them - and was surprised to find that they did not
look in the least afraid of their furious mother. In fact, they both sighed
resignedly, as though this was a situation they were quite used to.
"It wasn't us!"
"I just ran into somebody, not my fault at all,
Mum - "
"And then I came 'round the corner -"
"Haven't done anything wrong! Can't blame us!"
The two boys looked quite satisfied with this
explanation, and proceeded to walk toward the door with an air of total innocence.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!" Their mother reached out
both her hands and grabbed each of her sons by an arm. "Don't try that with
me! You haven't done anything wrong? I TOLD you to stay in the chairs by the
dressing room. Did you?"
"No," said the boys together, stifling snorts
of laughter. Harry couldn't help but smile at their humor. Their mother, however,
"Your father just needs a Muggle coat so he
can attend his conference without making a spectacle of himself - one tiny trip
out into London and you both disappear - it is difficult ENOUGH to do all this
without having to go running after the two of you!"
Harry frowned slightly. A Muggle coat? What
The twin boys hung their heads, but Harry could
see they were still laughing and poking one another in the ribs.
"It is NOT FUNNY!" cried their mother, looking
extremely harassed. "I suppose you don't like coming to London with us? Maybe
you'd rather we left you at home next summer, and put Percy in charge?" Both
boys froze. This was clearly the worst of all possible threats.
"But he's only nine!" wailed one of the twins.
"Not Percy!" cried the other.
"Oh, yes," continued their mother, pressing
her advantage. "Percy would keep an eye on you! Cause one more bit of trouble,"
she warned her sons, "and you won't come back to London until it's your own
turn to go to Hogwarts. I've had enough to do in Diagon Alley today for Bill
and Charlie without having to go chasing down the street -"
"We're really, really sorry, Mum!" howled the
two boys together, sounding far more afraid of being left home alone with Percy
than they sounded sorry about running off to the toy shop. Harry grinned behind
the teddy bear display, wondering where on earth Diagon Alley was, and what
it meant to go to Hogwarts.
"Well, you should be sorry!" huffed their mother.
But she was beginning to look and sound as pleasant as Harry had guessed she
might be, as she ushered her twin sons through the door to the street. "Come
along back with me, then. I know you must be getting bored, dears, but we're
almost through now, and then it'll just be a minute by Floo Powder 'til we're
The door shut with a bang and the tinkling of
door bells. Harry shook his head sharply. He thought he'd heard the woman say....
Floo Powder. But rather than puzzle over it, he shrugged. He didn't have much
longer to explore, and there were aisles full of toys all around him. Harry
wheeled around and went down the first row he came to, checking first to be
sure that his Aunt Petunia was nowhere in sight.
It was an aisle filled with boxed board games,
still in their plastic wrappers, shining and perfectly stacked along the shelves.
Harry tried to read a few of the names, but gave up after a moment - the only
one he could manage was "Life". He frowned. This was a boring sort of aisle.
He wanted to get to the planes and things - and there, at the end of the aisle
was a whole shelf full of them! The shelf was directly behind a small girl his
own age. She was sitting on the floor in front of it with her elbows on her
knees, leaning toward one of the many boxes and looking at it intently.
"Thcrabble," she was whispering to herself.
"Uthe the tile letterth to form wordth - each letter hath a point value - the
perthon with the highest thcore ith the winner."
Harry looked down at her. Clearly she could
read the boxes without any trouble and in doing so she was blocking up the whole
aisle. "'Scuse me," he said to her. "I'm trying to get at the planes."
The little girl looked up at him and smiled.
There was a huge gap where her front teeth should have been, and her brown braids
ended in bushy tufts. "Thure," she said easily, and stood up. She was just about
his height. She hoisted up the Scrabble box, which was far too heavy for her
little arms, and showed it to him. "Have you ever played thith? It'th Thcrabble.
It lookth fun, doethn't it? You can make wordth and get pointh. I think I'd
be good at it. I know a lot of wordth."
She lisped all this very quickly, and Harry
stared at her. "Er - no," he said. "I never played that."
"Oh, well, neither have I. But I will, I think.
I'm going to athk Mum if I can get it. I'd like to thee if I can learn more
wordth before I start in thchool." She smiled at him again, and the tip of her
tongue poked through the gap in her teeth. "Do you thtart in thchool thith year?"
Harry nodded shortly and glanced over the girl's
shoulder. He didn't want to push her out of the way, but he didn't have much
time, and he was starting to feel desperate. The airplanes were right there.
He didn't want to stand around talking about Scrabble, or school, but he didn't
have any idea how to get by her.
"Look -" he began. But he didn't have to finish.
"Hermione!" came a woman's voice from across
the store. The little girl turned her head toward the voice, and Harry assumed
it must be her mother. "Sweetheart, come here, I've found a doll I think you'll
The little girl sighed. "A doll?" she repeated,
looking down at the box in her arms as though Scrabble were much better than
Harry perked up at her distress. This was a
perfect way out. "Go tell your mum that!" he encouraged. "Take Scrabble over
there and show her!"
The girl beamed at Harry. "That'th true, I will!"
"Hermione!" came the woman's voice, a tad worriedly
"Coming, Mum!" the girl called back. Flashing
her toothless grin at Harry once more, she hefted the Scrabble box tightly in
her arms, spun around to join her mother, and came to an abrupt, smacking halt.
She had ploughed directly into a boy of the
same age, but taller than the two of them, who had the same bright red hair
that Harry had seen earlier on the twin boys. He had come around the corner
at a top-speed run, and had been looking backwards over his shoulder. But this
didn't stop him from taking offense at being run into.
"Hey, watch out!" he snapped, rubbing his freckled
arms where the little girl had slammed them with the Scrabble box. "Look where
The girl looked insulted. "Why don't YOU look
where YOU’RE going?" she asked defensively. "I wath jutht going 'round the corner.
YOU were the one running and not looking, tho it'th really YOUR fault, ithn't
The boy with the freckles rolled his eyes. "Oy,
shut it," he said, and pushed past the girl toward the shelf where Harry was
now standing. "I'm trying to play and you're blocking up the planes."
"Well, I wath trying to play, too!" said the
girl hotly, tossing her little braids. "I wath reading about Thcrabble, wathn't
I?" She looked at Harry for support.
"Scrabble!" snorted the red-haired boy. "What’s
that? I never heard of it."
"It’th a word game," retorted
"A word – well, I don't call that playing."
And Harry, who personally agreed with this, nodded his head.
The little girl stamped her foot at them. "Honethtly!"
she lisped at them huffily.
"HERMIONE!" came her mother's voice for the
third time, now sounding impatient.
"Coming!" cried the girl again. She flashed
her eyes angrily at the two boys, then turned away from them with her nose in
the air. "Goodbye," she said loftily. And then she stomped around the
corner with the Scrabble box.
To Harry's great amusement, the red-haired boy
made a terrible face after the girl. Then he grinned. "You playing with the
planes, too?" he asked.
"That all right?" asked Harry, hopefully.
"'Course," said the boy. "Planes are the greatest.
I never get to play with them."
Harry sympathized completely. "Me either," he
said, thinking of all his cousin Dudley's planes, and how he was never allowed
to do so much as pick them up.
The other boy wrinkled his freckled nose. "Yeah,
you can only find them in Muggle shops, and my Mum and Dad hardly ever go."
Harry frowned. That word again. "Muggle?" he
repeated, carefully pronouncing the word.
"Yeah, you know," said the other boy casually,
picking up a large, black plane and swooping it through the air and making a
whooshing noise. "Muggles. People who -" but then he stopped abruptly and laughed.
"If you don't know, then you probably are one. Dad says that's a rule." He whooshed
the plane in his hand once more. "C'mon, have one," he said, handing Harry a
red plane with gold wings. Forgetting about Muggles for the second time, Harry
began to fly his plane in circles around the black one.
The two boys were entirely caught up for several
minutes, and Harry was enjoying himself completely. He would have liked to sit
and play awhile longer, but something occurred to him that gave him a bad feeling
in the pit of his stomach. The twins he had seen earlier - they looked awfully
like the boy he was playing with right now. He wondered if -
"D'you have brothers?" he asked the boy tentatively.
"Five of them," said the boy with a small sigh.
"Two are over there somewhere." He waved his hand carelessly in the direction
of the front of the store, continuing to fly his plane.
But Harry landed his plane with a crash. "They're
not over there, though," he said, a note of panic creeping into his voice.
The red-haired boy's plane froze in the air.
"What d'you mean?" he demanded.
"I mean, I saw two boys get dragged out of here
by their mum - and they had the same hair you have."
"Were they - twins?" The boy's skin had gone
pale behind his freckles.
Harry nodded, and the other boy swallowed hard.
"They LEFT me?" he said in horror.
"They didn't mean it," Harry said quickly, "They
got dragged out! Your mum was mad at them, and she took them back to the coat
"Where's that?" wailed the boy. "I dunno my
way 'round London - it's my first time coming to Diagon Alley with everybody!"
He looked positively panicked.
Harry thought fast. "Well, I know where the
coat shop is - my uncle's there getting a coat, too - want to go back there
and see if we can find them?"
The freckled boy nodded tensely and dropped
his plane on the ground. With a longing look back at the toys, Harry set his
face, and led the way out of the shop. He was so busy hoping that they would
find the other boy's mother that he forgot to worry about Aunt Petunia, and
foolishly headed straight down the soaker gun aisle.
"YOU!!!" came a loud, angry gasp from the end
of the aisle. It was Aunt Petunia, carrying a just-purchased soaker gun, and
heading at Harry full steam. She looked incredibly unpleasant. "What are you
doing in here!?" she shrilled at him. "You were supposed to stay with your uncle,
you horrid child!"
Harry flinched and stepped back. He was in serious
trouble now. But the other boy, Harry noticed, had balled his freckled fists
and edged slightly in front of him. "Is that how my mum was yelling?" he asked
in an undertone.
"No," said Harry. "She was a lot nicer about
it." He sighed heavily as Aunt Petunia grabbed his shirtfront and began dragging
him toward the exit. The red-haired boy followed quickly behind them, though
Harry rather wished he wouldn't. He didn't want anybody hearing Aunt Petunia's
"UNGRATEFUL! How DARE you wander off! ALWAYS
making trouble! Your uncle will give you a good thrashing! NEVER bringing you
with us again! Leaving you with Mrs. Figg! That is FINAL!"
Harry cringed. They were now passing the front
counter, and a number of people were staring at him - including the little girl
with the bushy braids. Her look was mostly sympathetic, but she couldn't help
tutting her tongue reprovingly through the gap in her teeth, just once.
"Know-it-all," muttered the red-haired boy.
Harry glanced around to see that he had made another horrible face at the girl.
She merely gave him a maddeningly grown-up sort of look, then whirled back to
the counter and ignored them.
"Mum, can we go to the book-thop nextht? Pleathe
can we?" were the last words Harry heard out of the little girl as his Aunt
Petunia threw open the door and wrenched him through it.
Seconds later, it seemed, Harry was inside the
men's clothing store, standing before his Uncle Vernon, who was so enraged that
veins threatened to pop in his temples.
"WHERE - HAVE - YOU - BEEN???" he bellowed,
red in the face.
At the same moment, from across the shop, Harry
heard a familiar woman's voice cry out, "What do you MEAN, you LEFT him?! Where
is your brother?"
The red-haired boy breathed a sigh of relief.
"That's Mum," he said happily to Harry. But the fact that he had spoken to Harry
caused Uncle Vernon's face to go from its usual blustery red to an unnatural
shade of purple.
"Who's that there?" he barked, pointing over
Harry's shoulder at the freckled boy. "You haven't GOT any friends!"
But Harry didn't answer him. Instead he turned
and whispered, "Go on, don't get caught with me, you'll just get in trouble."
The red-haired boy nodded.
"Yeah, I have to go," he whispered back, "Mum's
all worried." But before he went, he shot a very dirty look at Uncle Vernon
that pleased Harry greatly. Harry watched wistfully as the boy headed across
the shop toward his large, red-headed family.
"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION!" Uncle Vernon was back
to his usual bellow. "YOU'D RUDDY WELL ANSWER! WHERE - WERE - YOU??"
Harry flushed. Now everyone in this shop was
staring at him, too. "Toy shop," he barely muttered.
"Well I hope you enjoyed it," hissed Aunt Petunia.
"It's the last time you'll ever see one."
"When we get home," whined Dudley, grabbing
at his mother's packages in search of his new soaker gun, "you should lock him
in the closet all summer. I'm sick of him."
"I will," snarled Uncle Vernon at Harry. "Now
SIT!" he barked, and pointed toward a chair.
Harry sat reluctantly, feeling gloomy. Now he
had no one to play with. He gazed enviously across the store at the red-haired
boy, who had joined a happy, chattering crowd of people - Harry counted two
parents, six brothers and one tiny redheaded girl. The girl was peering back
at him curiously. Harry watched as she wrinkled her little nose in concentration
and stepped toward him.
Just then, something hit Harry in the head so
hard that it knocked both his baseball cap and his glasses to the floor, and
he hollered in pain. Dudley had batted him with the new soaker gun, for no apparent
reason. Harry dove to avoid a second blow, and fumbled for his glasses. When
he had them on, he looked up swiftly for Dudley, but found only the little redheaded
girl. To his surprise, she was pointing at his forehead in amazement, with one
tiny hand clapped over her mouth.
"Ron!" she piped breathlessly, taking her hand
down for a moment. "Ron, Ron, come look! It's - "
But she didn't get to finish. At exactly the
same moment that the red-haired boy came to see what his sister was pointing
at, Uncle Vernon crammed the baseball cap back down on Harry's head with a furious
and painful swat. He dragged Harry to the front of the store, past the boy and
past his sister, who was still bobbing excitedly on her toes and looking up
at him with awe.
"See you," said Harry weakly, to the boy.
"'Bye," the boy returned, looking dubiously
at Uncle Vernon.
"Ron! I know who that is! It's -" Harry heard
the little girl still piping anxiously, but her brother cut her off.
"C'mon, Ginny. We're going back to the Burrow."
"But, Ron, that's-"
"Hush up!" said her brother impatiently, pulling
her toward their family, who were now going out of the shop. Harry exchanged
a final, friendly look with the boy before he yanked his little sister through
"Oh, please listen to me!" cried the tiny girl
as the door swung shut. "Ron, that was Harry Potter!"
"Oh, come off it," were the last words Harry
heard from the red-haired boy, before his family went past the windows, and
out of sight.
Harry was stunned. Had that girl known his name?
It had certainly sounded like his name - but how was that possible? And why
had she been pointing at his scar? Come to think of it, Uncle Vernon was always
trying to cover his scar, because people had done that before. It was such a
perplexing event that he was even willing to risk asking Aunt Petunia about
"Er," he began cautiously at his aunt's elbow,
"I think that girl knew who I was."
"What!?" Petunia Dursley looked horrified. "Who?
Where?" She looked in every direction at once, her head swiveling rapidly on
her long neck.
"She's gone," Harry said, "but she pointed at
my forehead and I think she said my name."
"IMPOSSIBLE!!" shrieked his aunt, now looking
truly frightened. "Nobody knows who you are! You're nothing! You're no one!"
Still whipping her head from side to side as if she feared being attacked at
any second, Aunt Petunia began to tug on her husband's sleeve. "Vernon," she
whispered, "We have to go now. The boy's been.... spotted."
Uncle Vernon went pale. "HURRY UP!" he barked
at the sales clerk, who hurriedly wrote out a receipt and held it out. Uncle
Vernon snatched it, grabbed Harry by the back of the neck, and propelled him
from the shop in a violent hurry. Harry struggled against his hand, but it wasn't
any good. In a moment, he had been thrown headfirst into the backseat of the
Dursleys' car, and the door slammed rapidly behind him, just missing his feet.
Harry barely had time to sit up before Uncle Vernon had started the car, and
pulled away from the curb with a great loud screech.
Confused and angry, Harry yanked the too-tight
baseball cap from over his hair and ears, and pressed his sore forehead against
the cool glass of the car window. He stared miserably out at London, as the
store-fronts flashed past. He'd probably never come back here again - he'd never
get a plane to fly, or friends to play with - he'd never get away from the Dursleys.
The car passed a bookshop and Harry saw the
girl with the braids standing outside the window with her mother. She caught
eyes with him as they drove by, and she waved a little anxiously, glancing at
his Aunt Petunia. Harry shrugged and smiled. She smiled back broadly, tongue
poking through her teeth. This cheered Harry up a great deal, but it didn't
last - Uncle Vernon noticed what was happening in the rear-view mirror, turned
around, and smashed Harry's black bangs down with one sweaty palm, plastering
his hair over the scar on his forehead.
"It's that or the hat," he snarled. "Don't touch
A minute later, the Dursleys' car passed a crowd
of redheads who were gathered by a brick wall. Uncle Vernon hit the brakes sharply.
They had come to a red light. Thankful for the pause, Harry watched as the motherish
woman corralled her seven children into a sort of line - and then their father
looked both ways, and took out something that looked like a long, thin stick.
What was it? Harry waved frantically, trying to catch the attention of the freckled
boy. When he did, the boy waved back with a grin, then pointed to Uncle Dursley
and contorted his face horribly. Harry laughed out loud.
"SHUT UP!" hollered Dudley, beside him, who
was watching this exchange. He reached across the seat and grabbed Harry's neck
from behind. Harry was forced to turn away from the red-haired boy in order
to fight against his cousin. He wrenched his neck out of Dudley's grip and smacked
out at him with both hands.
"Don't you DARE strike my Dudley!" shrieked
Aunt Petunia, reaching around the seat and swatting Harry back to his window.
"Diddy, darling, are you all right?" The scuffle was ended as quickly as it
began, but it was too late for Harry. By the time he turned back to the window,
the red-haired family had vanished from sight. All nine of them were gone. Harry
couldn't imagine where they could have got off to - all he saw there now was
a brick wall - but it didn't matter. He heaved a sigh. It had been nice for
a moment, laughing with that freckled boy. Now he was going back to the Dursleys',
where nothing was ever any fun.
He glanced over at Dudley unhappily, looked
back at the brick wall - and nearly jumped out of his skin. He could have sworn
- but no, it was impossible - that someone had just come - through it.
And that same someone was looking right at him, with an expression Harry couldn't
read. It made his heart thump strangely.
It was an older man, with half-moon spectacles
and long, silvery hair and beard. Harry knew this man - he was sure of it, though
he couldn't exactly say why. The man was looking at him intently. His blue eyes
were grave, but kind, and his face wore the barest hint of a smile. Harry smiled
back, and the man's face broke into a full, twinkling beam behind his beard.
Harry, who couldn't remember ever having been smiled at like that, felt a warmth
swell up in his chest. Suddenly he felt much better about everything, even though
Dudley was poking him continually in the back with the nozzle of the soaker
The light turned green at that moment, and the
Dursleys' car lurched through the intersection. Uncle Vernon, apparently still
very keen to get out of London, was muttering "Those PEOPLE, those ruddy PEOPLE,"
again and again under his breath. But Harry didn't care what Uncle Vernon was
saying. He had turned fully around in his seat to watch the silver-bearded man
as the car drove away. He pressed his hands to the window.
Harry knew it didn't make sense, but somehow
he felt enormously comforted by the presence of the older man, and the man seemed
to sense it, because he didn't break eye-contact even for a second. Harry had
the oddest idea that he had met this man before, and would meet him again. But
for now, he was content to lay his forehead against the back window as the car
went forward, watching the man become smaller and smaller, his hair glinting
silver in the late city sun. And, just as he was becoming too small to see clearly,
Harry thought he saw the man wink and touch his forehead.
Astonished, Harry reached up and touched his
own forehead. His scar was still covered by his thick, black bangs. Yet somehow,
the man had known....hadn't he?
Now it was very difficult to see the bearded
man- and suddenly Harry couldn't see him at all. It seemed he had... slipped
back through the brick wall. Harry gaped.
Because that, of course, was impossible.