The Chosen one and the Knight

»»---->Year 1 - Chapter 1<----««

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly
normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything
strange or mysterious because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy
man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin
and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she
spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys
had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was
that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about
the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact,
Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing
husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the
neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a
small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping
the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was
nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be
happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for
work and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high
chair.
None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and
tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and
throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of
number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat
reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen - then he jerked his head
around to look again. A tabby cat was standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a
map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr.
Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up
the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no,
looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put
the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills
he was hoping to get that day.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else.

As he sat in the
usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely
dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny
clothes - the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos
standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to
see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and
wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was
probably some silly stunt -these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that
would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings
parking lot, his mind back on drills.