Dreco Malfoy and the Philosepher's stone.

Mr and Mrs Lestrange, 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, beacuse they just didn't held with such nonsense.

Mr Lestrange was the director of a firm called Trimmings, which made drills. He was tall skinny man with hardly any neck, although he did have very large moustache. Mrs Lestrange was thin with black hair 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 neighbors. The Lestranges had a small daughter called Delphine and in their opinion there was no finer girl anywhere.

The Lestranges had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear if anyone found out about the Malfoys. Mrs Malfoy was Mrs Lestrange's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact Mrs Lestrange pretendet she didn't have a sister, beacuse her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unLestrangeish as it was possible to be. The Lestranges shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if thr Malfoys arrived in the street. The Lestranges knew that the Malfoys had a small son, too, but they didn't want Delphine mixing with a child like that.

When Mr and Mrs Lestrange woke up on a dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Lestrange hummed as he picked up the most boring tie for work and Mrs Lestrange gossiped away as she wrestler screaming Delphi into her high chair.

None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

At hall past eight, Mr Lestrange picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Lestrange on the cheek and tried to kiss little Delphi goodbye but missed, beacuse Delphi was was now having a tantrum and throwing her cereal at the walls. "Little tyke" chortled Mr Lestrange 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 something peculiar-a cat reading a map. For a second Mr Lestrange didn't realise what he had seen-then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on a corner of Privet drive, but there was no map in sight. What he could have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr Lestrange blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Lestrange drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign Privet Drive-no looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr Lestrange gave him a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards the town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills that he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of the town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic, he couldn't stop noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangley dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Lestrange could't bear people who dressed in funny chlotes-the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed that was some stupid new fashion. He drummer his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a hurdle of those weirdos standing quite close by. They were wisphering exictedly together. Mr Lestrange was enraged to see that couple of them weren't young at all; why the man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr Lestrange that it was probably some silly stunt- those people are probably collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on, and a few moments later, Mr Lestrange arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.

Mr Lestrange always sat with his back to the window in his office in ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might find it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, thought people down in the street did; they pointed and gaized open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at night-time. Mr Lestrange, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important phonecalls and shouted a bit more. He was in a good mood until lunch-time, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite.

He'd forgotten all about the people in clokes until he passed a group of them next to baker's . He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy as his wife was one of them. This loot were wisphering exictedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in his bag, that he fought a few words of what they were saying. "The Malfoys, that's right, that's what I heard-". "-yes, their son, Dreco-"

Mr Lestrange stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the wispers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the reciver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Malfoy wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Malfoy who had son called Draco. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure his nephew was called Draco. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Drogo. Or Dudo. There was no point in worrying Mrs Lestrange, she always got so upset in any mention of her witch 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 woried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tinny old man strumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Lestrange realised that a man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all uspet at almost knocked at the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wild smile and he said in a squiky voice that made passengers-by stare: "Don't be sorry my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-know-who was gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!

And old man hugged Mr Lestrange around the middle and walked of.

Mr Lestrange stood rooted to the spot. He had also been hugged by a complete stranger. He had also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set of home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had hoped before, he didn't approve on 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 has same markings around its eyes. "Shoo!" said Mr Lestrange loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behabior, Mr Lestrange wondered. Trying to put himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs Lestrange had a nice normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her husband and how Delhine had learnt a new word ("curse!"). Mr Lestrange tried to act normally . When Delphi had been put to bed, he went into the living-room in the time to catch the last report of evening news. "And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that owls have been behaving very unusual today. Altrought owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of owls flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why owls have suddeenfly changed their sleeping pattern." The news reader grinned. "Most mysterius like some kind of sorcery. And now over to Jim McGriffin with the weather. Going to be any more shovers of owls tonight,Jim?"

"Well, Fred," said the eeathernan, " I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire night early-it's not unrt until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr Lestrange sat frozen in his armchair Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying in daylight? Mysterious people in clokes all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Malfoys...

Mr Lestrange came into the living-room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er- Bellatrix, dear- you haven't heard from your sister lately haven't you?"

As he had expected, Mrs Lestrange looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister. "No,"she said sharply. "Why?". "Funny stuff on the news,"Mr Lestrange mumbled. "Owls...shooting stars...and there were a lot of funny looking people in town today..." "So?" snapped Mrs Lestrange. "Well, I just thought...maybe...it was something to do with...you know...her lot."

Mrs Lestrange sipped her tea throught pursed lips. Mr Lestrange wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Malfoy". He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as causally as he could, "Their son-he'd be about Delphi's age now, wouldn't he?". "I suppose so,"said Mrs Lestrange stiffly. "What's his name again? Drogo, isn't it?". "Draco. Nasty, uncommon name, if you ask me.". "Oh, yes,"said Mr Lestrange, his heart sinking horribly."Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs Lestrange was in the bathroom grooming her bushy black hair, Mr Lestrange crept to the bedroom window and peered down into front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Priced Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have to do with the Malfoys? If it did...if it got out that they were related to a pair of-well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Lestranges got into bed. Mrs Lestrange fell asleep quickly but Mr Lestrange lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Malfoys were involved, there were no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Lestrange. The Malfoys knew very well what he and Bella thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Bellatrix could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. It couldn't affect them..

How very wrong he was. Mr Lestrange might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepines. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and it's eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever seen in Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very young. He was wearing old styled sweater and black jeans. He had brown eyes and short jet black hair carefully broomed. He was carrying small bundle of blankets. This man's name was Frank Longbottom.

Frank Longbottom didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his sweater was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his pocket, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, beacuse he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still watching him. For some reason that amused him. He muttered, "I should have know."

He had found what he had been looking for. It seemed to be silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open and pressed it. The nearest street lamp went out with a pop. He clicked it again-the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he did the same and all lamps were out. If anyone looked out of the window now, even Mrs Lestrange, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Frank slipped the Out-puter back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number hour still carefully carrying a baby with blond hair in his hands. He walked towards the cat. "Fancy seeing you here, Minerva.".

He turned a smile at the tabby, but instead he was looking at rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses. "Can I hold him Frank?". He handed her a blonde haired boy. "So, is it true? Lucius and Narcissa are they really gone?". "Yes, when I get there house was burnt down and Dreco was alone. I picked him up and came straight here.". "How are you family doing,Frank?". "Very well, indeed Neville is growing bigger every day.". "So we are gonna let Draco live here then! Those are the worst kind of Muggles I ever seen! And that Bellatrix is here too, you saw the future, you tell a death eather!". "Minerva, this is only family he has. And here he would be safe and lord Voldemort can't find him here.". "You are right Frank."

She placed him on the doorway and Frank placed a letter there too. Professor McGonagall turned to a cat and disappear.

"Good luck, Draco."