His letters told me little of his day-to-day life, which I guessed to be fru s
tratingly dull for such a brilliant wizard. Immersed in my own experiences, it was with horror that I heard, toward the end of my year's travels, that another tra
g edy had struck the Dumbledores: the death of his si
s ter, Ariana.
Though Ariana had been in poor health for a long time, the blow, coming so soon after the loss of their mother, had a pr o
found effect on both of her brothers. All those closest to Albus Ц and I count m y
self one of that lucky number Ц agree that Ariana's death, and A l
bus's fee l
ing of personal responsibility for it (though, of course, he was guiltless), left their mark upon him forevermore.
I returned home to find a young man who had e x perienced a much older person's su
f fering. Albus was more reserved than b e
fore, and much less light-hearted. To add to his mi s
ery, the loss of Ariana had led, not to a renewed closeness between Albus and Abe r
forth, but to an estrangement. (In time this would lift Ц in later years they reestablished, if not a close rel
a
tionship, then certainly a cordial one.) However, he rarely spoke of his parents or of Ariana from then on, and his friends learned not to mention them.
Other quills will describe the triumphs of the fo l lowing years. Dumbledore's innumerable contrib
u tions to the store of Wizar d
ing knowledge, including his discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, will benefit ge n
erations to come, as will the wisdom he displayed in the many judgments while Chief Wa r
lock of the Wizengamot. They say, still, that no Wi z
arding duel ever matched that b e
tween Dumbledore and Grindelwald in 1945. Those who witnessed it have written of the terror and the awe they felt as they watched these two e x
traordinary wizards to battle. Dumbledore's tr i
umph, and its consequences for the Wizarding world, are considered a turning point in magical history to match the introduction of the Inte r
national Statute of Secrecy or the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Albus Dumbledore was never proud or vain; he could find something to value in anyone, however a p
parently insignificant or wretched, and I believe that his early losses e n dowed him with great humanity and symp
a thy. I shall miss his friendship more than I can say, but my loss is nothing compared to the Wi
z arding world's. That he was the most i n
spiring and best loved of all Hogwarts hea d
masters cannot be in question. He died as he lived: working a l ways for the

greater good and, to his last hour, as willing to stretch out a hand to a small boy with dragon pox as he was on the day I met him.
Harry finished reading, but continued to gaze at the picture accompanying the obituary. Dumbledore was wearing his fami l
iar, kindly smile, but as he peered over the top of his half-moon spectacles, he gave the i m
pression, even in newsprint, of X-raying Harry, whose sadness mingled with a sense of h u
miliation.
He had thought he knew Dumbledore quite well, but ever since reading this obituary he had been forced to recognize that he had barely known him at all. Never once had he imagined Dumbledore's chil
d hood or youth; it was as though he had sprung into being as Harry had known him, ve
n erable and silver-haired and old. The idea of a teenage Du
m bledore was simply odd, like trying to ima g
ine a stupid Hermione or a friendly Blast-Ended Skrewt.
He had never thought to ask Dumbledore about his past. No doubt it would have felt strange, impert i
nent even, but after all it had been common know l edge that Dumbl
e dore had taken part in that legendary duel with Grinde
l wald, and Harry had not thought to ask Du m
bledore what that had been like, nor about any of his other famous achiev e
ments. No, they had always discussed Harry, Harry's past, Harry's future, Harry's plans… and it seemed to Harry now, despite the fact that his future was so dangerous and so unce
r tain, that he had missed irreplaceable oppo r
tunities when he had failed to ask Dumbl e
dore more about himself, even though the only personal question he had ever asked his headmaster was also the only one he suspected that Dumbledore had not answered ho n
estly:
"What do you see when you look in the mi r
ror?"
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
After several minutes' thought, Harry tore the obituary out of the Prophet, folded it carefully, and tucked it inside the first volume of Practical Defe
n sive Magic and its Use against the Dark Arts
. Then he threw the rest of the newspaper onto the rubbish pile and turned to face the room. It was much tidier. The only things left out of place were today's
Daily Prophet , still lying on the bed, and on top of it, the piece of broken mirror.
Harry moved across the room, slid the mirror fragment off today's Prophet , and unfolded the new
s paper
. He had merely glanced at the headline when he had taken the rolled-up paper from the delivery owl early that morning and thrown it aside, after noting that it said nothing about Vold e
mort. Harry was sure that the Ministry was leaning on the Prophet
to su p
press news about Voldemort. It was only now, ther e fore, that he saw what he had missed.
Across the bottom half of the front page a smaller headline was set over a picture of Dumbledore stri d
ing along, looking ha r ried:
DUMBLEDORE Ц THE TRUTH AT LAST?
Coming next week, the shocking story of the flawed genius considered by many to be the greatest wizard of his generation. Stri p
ing away the popular image of serene, silver-bearded wi s
dom, Rita Skeeter reveals the disturbed chil d
hood, the lawless youth, the life-long feuds, and the guilty secrets that Du m
bledore carried to his grave, WHY was the man tipped to be the Minister of Magic content to remain a mere hea d
master? WHAT was the real purpose of the secret o r ganization known as the Order of the Phoenix? HOW di
d Dumbledore really meet his end?
The answers to these and many more questions are explored in the explosive new b i ography,
The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore , by Rita Skeeter, e
x clusively inte r
viewed by Berry Braithwaite, page 13, inside.
Harry ripped open the paper and found page thi r teen. The article was topped with a picture sho
w ing another familiar face: a woman wearing jeweled glasses with elab
o rately curled blonde hair, her teeth bared in what was clearly supposed to be a winning smile, wiggling h
er fingers up at him. Doing his best to ignore this nauseating image, Harry read on.
In person, Rita Skeeter is much warmer and softer than her famously ferocious quill-portraits might su g
gest. Greeting me in the hallway of her cozy home, she leads me straight into the kitchen for a cup of tea, a slice of pound cake and, it goes without sa y
ing, a steaming vat of freshest gossip.
"Well, of course, Dumbledore is a biographer's dream," says Skeeter. "Such a long, full life. I'm sure my book will be the first of very, very many."
Skeeter was certainly quick off the mark. Her nine-hundred-page book was co m
pleted in a mere four weeks after Dumbledore's myster i ous death in June. I ask her how she managed this s
u perfast feat.
"Oh, when you've been a journalist as long as I have, working to a deadline is se c
ond nature. I knew that the Wizarding world was clamoring for the full story and I wanted to be the first to meet that need."
I mention the recent, widely publicized remarks of Elphias Doge, Special Adv i sor to the
Wizengamot and longstanding friend of Albus Du m
bledore's, that "Skeeter's book contains less fact than a Chocolate Frog card."
Skeeter throws back her head and laughs.
"Darling Dodgy! I remember interviewing him a few years back about merpeople rights, bless him. Completely gaga, seemed to think we were sitting at the bottom of Lake Windermere, kept telling me to watch out for trout."
And yet Elphias Doge's accusations of inacc u
racy have been echoed in many places. Does Skeeter really feel that four short weeks have been enough to gain a full picture of Dumbledore's long and extrao r
dinary life?
"Oh, my dear," beams Skeeter, rapping me affe c
tionately across the knuckles, "you know as well as I do how much inform a
tion can be generated by a fat bag of Galleons, a refusal to hear the word 'no,' and a nice sharp Quick-Quotes Quill! People were que u
ing to dish the dirt on Dumbl e
dore anyway. Not everyone thought he was so wonderful, you know Ц he trod on an awful lot of impo r
tant toes. But old Dodgy Doge can get off his high hippogriff, because I've had a c
cess to a source most journalists would swap their wands for, one who has never spoken in pu b
lic before and who was close to Dumbledore during the most turbulent and disturbing phase of his youth."
The advance publicity for Skeeter's bio g
raphy has certainly suggested that there will be shocks in store for those who believe Dumbl e
dore to have led a blameless life. What were the biggest surprises she unco v ered, I ask?
"Now, come off it. Betty, I'm not gi v ing away all t
he highlights before anybody's bought the book!" laughs Skeeter. "But I can promise that anybody who still thinks Du m
bledore was white as his beard is in for a rude awakening! Let's just say that nobody hea r
ing him rage against You-Know-Who would have drea
med that he dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth! And for a wizard who spent his later years pleading for tolerance, he wasn't exactly broad-minded when he was younger! Yes, Albus Dumbl
e dore had an e x
tremely murky past, not to mention that very fishy family, which he worked so hard to keep hushed up."
I ask whether Skeeter is referring to Dumbl e dore's brother, Aberforth, whose convi
c tion by the Wizengamot for misuse of magic caused a minor scandal fifteen years ago.
"Oh, Aberforth is just the tip of the dung heap,” laughs Skeeter. "No, no, I'm tal k
ing about much worse than a brother with a fondness for fi d dling about with goats, worse even than the Mu
g gle-maiming father Ц Dumbledore couldn't keep either of them quiet anyway, they were both charged b
y the Wizengamot. No, it's the mother and the sister that intrigued me, and a little digging uncovered a
positive nest of na s tiness Ц
but, as I say, you'll have to wait for chapters nine to twelve for full details. All I can say now is, it's no wo n
der Dumbledore never talked about how his nose got broken."
Family skeletons notwithstanding, does Skeeter deny the brilliance that led to Dumbledore's many magical discoveries?
"He had brains," she concedes, "although many now question whether he could really take full credit for all of his supposed achievements. As I r e
veal in chapter sixteen, Ivor Dillonsby claims he had already discovered eight uses of dragon's blood when Du m
bledore 'borrowed' his papers."
But the importance of some of Dumbledore's achievements cannot, I venture, be d e
nied. What of his famous defeat of Grinde l wald?
"Oh, now, I'm glad you mentioned Grinde l wald," says Skeeter with such a tant
a lizing smile. "I'm afraid those who go dewy-eyed over Dumbledore's spectac
u lar victory must brace themselves for a bombshell Ц or perhaps a Dungbomb. Very dirty business i
n deed. All I'll say is, don't be so sure that there really was a spe
c tacular duel of legend. After they've read my book, people may be forced to co
n clude that Grindelwald simply conjured a white han
d kerchief from the end of his wand and came qu i
etly!"
Skeeter refuses to give any more away on this i n triguing subject, so we turn instead to the relatio
n ship that will undoubtedly fa s
cinate her readers more than any other.
"Oh yes," says Skeeter, nodding briskly, "I d e vote an entire chapter to the whole Potter-Dumbledore r
e lationship. It's been called u n
healthy, even sinister. Again, your readers will have to buy my book for the whole story, but there is no question that Dumbledore took an unnatural interest in Po
t ter from the word go. Whether that was really in the boy's best inte
r ests Ц well, we'll see. It's certainly an open s
e cret that Potter has had a most troubled adole
s cence."
I ask whether Skeeter is still in touch with Harry Potter, whom she so famously inte r
viewed last year: a breakthrough piece in which Potter spoke e x clusively of his convi
c tion that You-Know-Who had returned.
"Oh, yes, we've developed a closer bond," says Skeeter. "Poor Potter has few real friends, and we met at one of the most testing moments of his life Ц the Triwizard Tournament. I am prob
a bly one of the only people alive who can say that they know the real Harry Potter."
Which leads us neatly to the many r u mors still circulating about Dumbledore's final hours. Does Skee
ter believe that Potter was there when Dumbl e dore died?
"Well, I don't want to say too much Ц it's all in the book Ц but eyewitnesses inside Ho g
warts castle saw Potter running away from the scene moments a f ter Dumbledore fell, jumped, or was pushed. Potter
later gave evidence against Severus Snape, a man against whom he has a notorious grudge. Is ever y
thing as it seems? That is for the Wizarding community to d e cide Ц once they've read my book."
On that intriguing note, I take my leave. There can be no doubt that Skeeter has quilled an instant bestseller. Dumbledore's legion of admirers, mea n
while, may well be trembling at what is soon to emerge about their hero.
Harry reached the bottom of the article, but co n tinued to stare blankly at the page. R
e vulsion and fury rose in him like vomit; he balled up the newsp
a per and threw it, with all his force, at the wall, where it joined the rest of the rubbish heaped around his ove
r flowing bin.
He began to stride blindly around the room, ope n ing empty drawers and picking up books only to r
e place them on the same piles, barely conscious of what he was doing, as random phrases from Rita's a
r ticle echoed in his head:
An entire chapter to the whole Po t ter-Dumbledore relationship ... It's been called u
n healthy, even sinister
... He dabbled in the Dark Arts himself in his youth ... I've had access to a source most journalists would swap their wands for...
"Lies!" Harry bellowed, and through the wi n
dow he saw the next-door neighbor, who had paused to restart his lawn mower, look up nervously.
Harry sat down hard on the bed. The broken bit of mirror danced away from him; he picked it up and turned it over in his fingers, thinking, thinking of Dumbledore and the lies with which Rita Skeeter was defaming him ...
A flash of brightest blue. Harry froze, his cut fi n ger slipping on the jagged edge of the mi
r
ror again. He had imagined it, he must have done. He glanced over his shoulder, but the wall was a sickly peach color of Aunt P e
tunia's choosing: There was nothing blue there for the mirror to r e
flect. He peered into the mirror fragment again, and saw nothing but his own bright green eye loo k
ing back at him.
He had imagined it, there was no other explan a
tion; imagined it, because he had been thinking of his dead headmaster. If anything was certain, it was that the bright blue eyes of Albus Du m
bledore would never pierce him again.

Chapter Three
The Dursleys Departing
The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice roared, “Oh! You!”
Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt when his uncle was calling, neve r
theless, he did not immediately r e
spond. He was still at the narrow fragment in which, for a split second, he had thought he saw DumbledoreТ s eye. It was not u n
til his uncle bellowed, “BOY!” that Harry got slowly out of bed and headed for the bedroom door, pausing to add the piece of broken mirror to the ruc
k sack filled with things he would be taking with him.
“You took you time!” roared Vernon Dursley when Harry appeared at the top of the stairs, “Get down here. I want a word!”
Harry strolled downstairs, his hands deep in his pants pockets. When he searched the living room he found all three Dursleys. They were dressed for pac k
ing; Uncle Vernon in an old ripped-up jacket and Dudley, HarryТ s, large, blond, muscular cousin, in his leather jacket.
“Yes?” asked Harry.
“Sit down!” said Uncle Vernon. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Please!” added Uncle Vernon, wincing slightly as though the word was sharp in his throat. Harry sat. He though he knew what was
coming. His uncle began to pace up and down, Aunt Petunia and Dudley, following his movement with anxious e x
pressions. F i nally, his large purple face crumpled with co
n centration. Uncle Vernon stopped in front of Harry and spoke.
"I've changed my mind,” he said.
"What a surprise," said Harry.
"Don't you take that toneЧ " began Aunt Petunia in a shrill voice, but Vernon Dursley waved her down
"It's all a lot of claptrap,” said Uncle Vernon, glaring at Harry with piggy little eyes. "I've decided I don't believe a word of it. WeТ re staying put, weТ re not going an
y where.”
Harry looked up at his uncle and felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement. Vernon Dursley had been changing his mind every twenty four hours for the past four weeks, packing and unpacking and r
e packing the car with every change of heart. HarryТ s favorite moment had been the one when U
n
cle Vernon, unaware the Dudley had added his dumbbells to his case since the last time it been repacked, had attempted to hoist it back into the boot and co l
lapsed with a yelp of pain and much swearing.
“According to you,” Vernon Dursley said, now resuming his pacing up and down the living room, “we Ц Petunia, Dudley, and I Ц are in danger. From Ц from Ц “
“Some of С my lotТ right?” said Harry
“Well I donТ t believe it,” repeated U n
cle Vernon, coming to a halt in front of Harry again. "I was awake half the night thinking it all over, and I believe it's a plot to get the house."
"The house?" repeated Harry. "What house?"
"This house!" shrieked Uncle Vernon, the vein his forehead starting to pulse. " Our
house! House prices are skyrocketing around here! You want us out of the way and
then you're going to do a bit of hocus pocus and b e fore we know it the deeds will be in your name and Ц "

“Are you out of your mind?" demanded Harry. "A plot to get this house? Are you act u ally as stupid as you look?"

"Don't you dare --!" squealed Aunt Petunia, but again Vernon waved her down. Slights on his pe r
sonal appearance were it seemed as nothing to the danger he had spo t ted.
"Just in case you've forgotten," said Harry, "I've already got a house my godfather left me one. So why would I want this one? All the happy memories?"
There was silence. Harry thought he had rather impressed his uncle with this a r gument.
"You claim," said Uncle Vernon, starting to pace yet again, "that this Lord Thing Ц "
"Ч Voldemort," said Harry imp a tiently, "and we've been through this about a hundred times a
l ready. This isn't a claim, it's fact. Du m
bledore told you last year, and Kingsley and Mr. Weasley Ц "
Vernon Dursley hunched his shoulders angrily, and Harry guessed that his uncle was attempting to ward off recollections of the u n
announced visit, a few days into Harry's summer hol i
days, of two fully grown wizards. The arrival on the doorstep of Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley had come as a most u
n pleasant shock to the Dursleys. Harry had to admit, however that as Mr. Weasley had once d
e molished half of the living room, his rea p
pearance could not have been expected to d e
light Uncle Vernon.
"Ч Kingsley and Mr. Weasley e x plained it all as well," Harry pressed on remorselessly, "Once I'm se
v enteen, the prote c
tive charm that keeps me safe will break, and that exposes you as well as me. The Order is sure Voldemort will target you, whether to torture you to try a
nd find out where I am, or because he thinks by holding you hostage I'd come and try to re s cue you."
Uncle Vernon's and Harry's eyes met. Harry was sure that in that instant they were both wondering the same thing. Then Uncle Vernon walked on and Harry resumed, "You've got to go into hiding and the Order wants to help. You're being offered serious pr
o tection, the best there is."
Uncle Vernon said nothing but continued to pace up and down. Outside the sun hung low over the privet hedges. The next door neighbor's lawn mower stalled again.
"I thought there was a Ministry of Magic?" asked Vernon Dursley abruptly.
"There is," said Harry, surprised. "Well, then, why can't they protect us? It seems to me that, as i n
nocent victims, guilty of nothing more than harboring a marked man, we ought to qualify for government pr o tection!"

Harry laughed; he could not help himself. It was so very typical of his uncle to put his hopes in the e s
tablishment, even within this world that he despised and mistrusted. "You heard what Mr. Weasley and Kingsley said," Harry replied.
"We think the Ministry has been infi l trated."
Uncle Vernon strode back to the fir e place and back breathing so strongly that his great black mu
s tache rippled his face still purple with concentration.
"All right," he said. Stopping in front of Harry get again. "All right, let's say for the sake of argument we accept this protection. I still don't see why we can't have that Kingsley bloke."
Harry managed not to roll his eyes, but with diff i culty. This question had also been a
d dressed half a dozen times.
"As I've told you," he said through gritted teeth, "Kingsley is protecting the Mug Ц I mean, your Prime Minister."
"Exactly Ц he's the best!" said Uncle Vernon, pointing at the blank television screen. The Dursleys h
ad spotted Kingsley on the news, walking along the Muggle Prime Minister as he visited a hospital. This, and the fact that Kingsley had mastered the knack of dressing like a Muggle, not to mention a certain rea
s su r
ing something in his slow, deep voice, had caused the Dursleys to take to Kingsley in a way that they had certainly not done with any other wizard, a
l though it was true that they had never seen him with earring in.
"Well, he's taken,” said Harry. "But He s tia Jones and Dedalus Diggle are more than up to the job Ц "

"If we'd even seen CVs…" began U n cle Vernon, but Harry lost patience. Getting to his feet, he a
d vanced on his uncle, not pointing at the TV set hi
m self.
"These accidents aren't accidents Ц the crashed and explosions and derailments and whatever else has happened since we last watched the news. People are disappearing and dying and he's behind it Ц Vold
e mort. I've told you this over and over again, he kills Muggles for fun. Even the fogs Ц
they're caused by dementors, and if you can't reme m ber what they are, ask your son!"
Dudley's hands jerked upward to tower his mouth. With his parents' and Harry's eyes upon him, he slowly lowered them again and asked, "There are… more of them?" "More?" laughed Harry. "More than the two that attacked us, yo
u mean? Of course there are hundreds, maybe thousands by this time, seeing as they feed off fear and despairЧ "
"All right, all right blustered," blu s tered Vernon Dursley. "You've made your point Ц "
"I hope so," said Harry, "because once I'm seve n teen, all of them Ц
Death Eaters, elementors, maybe even Inferi Ц which means dead bodies e n chanted by a Dark wizard Ц
will be able to find you and will ce r tainly a
t tack you. And if you remember the last time you tried to outrun wi
z ards, I think you'll agree you need help."
There was a brief silence in which the distant echo of Hagrid smashing down a wooden front door seemed to reverberate through the intervening years. Aunt Petunia was looking at Uncle Vernon; Dudley was staring at Harry. Finally Uncle Vernon blurte
d out, "But what about my work? What about Dudley's school? I don't suppose those things matter to a bunch of layabout wizards Ц "
"Don't you understand?" shouted Harry. " They will torture and kill you like they did my pa r
ents!"
"Dad," said Dudley in a loud voice, "Dad Ц I'm going with these Order people."
"Dudley," said Harry, "for the first time in your life, you're talking sense." He knew the battle was won. If Dudley was frightened enough to accept the Order's help, his parents would accompany him. There could be no que
s tion of being separated from their Duddykins. Harry glanced at the carriage clock on the ma
n telpiece.
"They'll be here in about five minutes, he said, and when one of the Dursleys replied, he left the room. The prospect of partingЧ probably forever Ц from his aunt, uncle, and cousin was one that he was able to conte
m plate quite cheerfully but there was neverth e
less a certain awkwardness in the air. What did you say to one another at the end of si x
teen years' solid dislike?
Back in his bedroom, Harry fiddled ai m lessly with his rucksack then poked a co
u ple of owl nuts through the bats of Hedwig's cage. They fell with dull thuds to the bottom where she ignored them.

"We're leaving soon, really soon," Harry told her. "And then you'll be able to fly again."
The doorbell rang. Harry hesitated, then headed back out of his room and dow n
stairs. It was too much to expect Hestia and Dedalus to cope with the Dursleys on their own.
"Harry Potter!" squeaked an excited voice, the moment Harry had opened the door; a small man in a mauve top hat that was sweeping him a deep bow. "An honor as ever!"
"Thanks, Dedalus," said Harry, bestowing a small and embarrassed smile upon the dark haired Hestia. "It's really good of you to do this… They're through here, my aunt and uncle and cousin…"
"Good day to you, Harry Potter's relatives!" said Dedalus happily striding into the living room. The Dursleys did not look at all happy to be addressed thus; Harry half expected another change of mind. Dudley shrank neared to his m
other at the sight of the witch and wi z ard.
"I see you are packed and ready. Excellent! The plan, as Harry has told you, is a simple one," said Dedalus, pulling an i m
mense pocket watch out of his waistcoat and examining it. "We shall be leaving b e
fore Harry does. Due to the danger of using magic in your house Ц Harry being still underage it could pr o
vide the Mini s try with an excuse to arrest him
Ц we shall be driving, say, ten miles or so before Disapp a
rating to the safe location we have picked out for you. You know how to drive, I take it?" He asked Uncle Vernon politely.
"Know how to Ц ? Of course I ruddy well know how to drive!" spluttered Uncle Vernon.
"Very clever of you, sir, very clever. I perso n ally would be utterly bamboozled by all those buttons and
knobs," said Dedalus. He was clearly under the i m
pression that he was flattering Vernon Dursley, who was visibly losing confidence in the plan with every word Dedalus spoke.
"Can't even drive," he muttered under his breath, his mustache rippling indignantly, but fortunately ne i
ther Dedalus nor Hestia seemed to hear him.
"You, Harry," Dedalus continued, "will wait here for your guard. There has been a little change in the arrangements Ц "
“What d'you mean?" said Harry at once. "I thought Mad-Eye was going to come and take me by Side Along-Apparition?"
"Can't do it," said Hestia tersely, "Mad-Eye will explain."
The Dursleys, who had listened to all of this with looks of utter incomprehension on their faces, jumped as a loud voice screeched, " Hurry up!"
Harry looked all around the room before realizing the voice had i s
sued from Ded a lus's pocket watch.
"Quite right, were operating to a very tight schedule," said Dedalus nodding at his watch and tucking it back into his waist coat. "We are attempting to time your departure from the house with your fa
m ily's Disappar i
tion, Harry thus the charm breaks the moment you all head for safety." He turned to the Dursleys, "Well, are we all packed and ready to go?"
None of them answered him. Uncle Vernon was still staring appalled at the bulge in Dedalus's wais t coat pocket.

"Perhaps we should wait outside in the hall, Dedalus," murmured Hestia. She clearly felt that it would be tactless for them to r e
main the room while Harry and the Dursleys exchanged lo v
ing, possibly tearful farewells.
"There's no need," Harry muttered, but Uncle Vernon made any further explanation unne c essary by saying loudly,

"Well, this is good-bye then boy."
He swung his right arm upward to shake Harry's hand, but at the last moment seemed u n able to face it
, and merely closed his fist and began swinging it backward and forward like a metronome.
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