CHAPTER ONE
to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore,
however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
“What they’re saying,” she pressed on, “is that last night Vol-
demort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Pot-
ters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that
they’re — dead.”
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
“Lily and James . . . I can’t believe it . . . I didn’t want to believe
it . . . Oh, Albus . . .”
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I
know . . . I know . . .” he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she went on. “That’s
not all. They’re saying he tried to kill the Potters’ son, Harry.
But — he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little boy. No one knows
why, or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harry
Potter, Voldemort’s power somehow broke — and that’s why he’s
gone.”
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
“It’s — it’s true?” faltered Professor McGonagall. “After all he’s
done . . . all the people he’s killed . . . he couldn’t kill a little boy?
It’s just astounding . . . of all the things to stop him . . . but how in
the name of heaven did Harry survive?”
“We can only guess,” said Dumbledore. “We may never know.”
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and
dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great
sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It
was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; in-
stead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have
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