As a matter of fact, Harry had not packed at all.
It was too good to be true to be rescued from the Dursleys after only two weeks.
So he could not shake off the suspicion that something had gone wrong — that his letter to Dumbledore had been sent elsewhere, that Dumbledore had been delayed and could not come for him, or that the letter had not been from Dumbledore at all, but had been a joke, a prank, or a trap.
Harry would not have been able to bear it if he had happily packed, only to be disappointed and have to take things out of the box again, one by one.
The only thing he could do about the possible trip was to keep his white owl, Hedwig, securely in a cage.
The minute hand of the clock pointed to twelve, and almost at the same moment the street lights outside the window went out.
The sudden darkness woke Harry like an alarm bell.
He straightened his spectacles quickly, removed his cheek from the glass, and put his nose to the window, squinting down at the pavement below.
A tall figure in a long cloak was coming up the garden path.
Harry jumped up as if he had been shocked and knocked over a chair.
He began to grab whatever he could reach from the floor and throw it into the trunk.
He had just flung a robe, two magic books, and a packet of biscuits across the room when the doorbell rang.
Uncle Vernon's voice came from the drawing-room. "What the devil, who's knocking at the door at this hour?"
Harry froze, brass binoculars in one hand and sneakers in the other.
He had completely forgotten to tell the Dursleys that Dumbledore might come, and now, feeling both nervous and amused, he hurried over the trunk and opened the bedroom door in time to hear a deep voice say, "Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley.
I'm sure Harry told you I was coming for him, didn't he? "
Harry rushed down the stairs two at a time, and stopped short of the bottom. Long experience had taught him to keep his distance from his uncle at all times, so that his uncle's arm could not reach him.
In the doorway stood a tall, thin man with silvery hair and a beard down to his waist.
He wore a pair of half-moon spectacles on his aquiline nose, a black traveling cloak, and a pointed hat.
Vernon Dursley's beard was almost as bushy as Dumbledore's, but it was black. He wore a purple-brown dressing gown and was staring at the newcomer, as if he could not believe what he saw with his small eyes.
"Judging by your look of surprise and disbelief, Harry didn't tell you I was coming."
Dumbledore said amiably, "But let's assume that you have warmly invited me into your home.
It's not wise to linger at the door for too long. "
He stepped nimbly over the threshold and closed the door behind him.
"It's been a long time since I last came."
Dumbledore looked at Uncle Vernon from his aquiline nose. "I must admit that your lotus flowers are blooming."
Mr. Dursley did not say anything, but Harry was sure that he would soon recover and speak — after all, the blood vessels in his temples were throbbing so hard that they were about to explode.
But something about Dumbledore seemed to make him breathless for a moment. Perhaps it was Dumbledore's striking Wizard temperament, or perhaps it was just that even Uncle Vernon could feel that it was difficult for him to show off in front of this man.
"Ah, good evening, Harry."
Dumbledore looked at Harry from behind his half-moon spectacles with a very satisfied expression on his face. "Very good, very good."
That seemed to wake Uncle Vernon up. It was clear to him that anyone who could look Harry in the eye and say, "That's great," would never be on the same page.
"I didn't mean to be rude —"
He said, with impertinence in every syllable.
"— and yet we often meet with unexpected rudeness."
Dumbledore finished for him.
"You'd better not say anything, my dear fellow. Ah, this must be Penny."
The kitchen door opened, and there stood Harry's aunt, wearing rubber gloves and a housecoat over her dressing-gown. She was clearly, as usual, wiping down the whole kitchen surface before bed.
Now her long, horse-like face was full of horror.
"Albus Dumbledore."
Dumbledore, seeing that Vernon did not introduce him, said, "Of course, we met by letter."
Harry thought it was a funny way of reminding Penny that Dumbledore had sent her a howler letter, but Aunt Petunia did not dispute the idea.
"This must be your son, Dudley?"
Dudley poked his head out of the drawing-room doorway, and his great blond head poked out of the collar of his striped pajamas as if it were not part of his body.
His mouth was wide open with surprise and fear.
Dumbledore waited for a moment, as if to hear what the Dursleys had to say. Seeing that they continued to remain silent, he smiled.
"Can we assume that you have invited me into your drawing-room?"
When Dumbledore passed by Dudley, Dudley dodged aside in a hurry.
Harry jumped down the last few stairs and followed Dumbledore into the drawing-room, still clutching his binoculars and sneakers.
Dumbledore sat down in the armchair nearest the fireplace, and surveyed everything in the room with good-natured interest, though he did not seem at all in harmony with his surroundings.
"Shall we go, sir?" asked Harry anxiously.
"Yes, of course, but there are a few things we need to discuss first."
Said Dumbledore. "I think we'd better not talk about these things outside, so I'll have to disturb your aunt and uncle a little longer."
"What, you?"
Uncle Vernon also entered the drawing-room, Penny beside him, and Dudley behind them, trembling.
"Yes," said Dumbledore shortly. "That's right."
He pulled out his wand so quickly that Harry did not see it clearly.
With a gentle wave of the wand, the sofa rushed forward and hit the knees of the three Dursleys.
They lost their footing and all fell on the sofa in a heap.
With another gentle wave of the wand, the sofa swished back to its original place.
"We'll be more comfortable too," said Dumbledore cheerfully.
He put the wand back in his pocket, and Harry saw that his hand was dry and blackened, as if the flesh had been burnt away.
"Sir — how did that happen?"
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