"Harry Potter 1 - Sorcerer's Stone" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rowling J. K)

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 Potter 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. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point
in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her
sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that... but all
the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and
when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that
he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It
was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a
violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the
ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in
a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir,
for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at
last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy,
happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete
stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that
was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping
he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he
didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw --
and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that
morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the
same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a
stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying
to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still
determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all
about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had
learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When
Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to
catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's
owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally