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‘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.’