Moody was rummaging in his cloak, his gnarled hands clumsy with cold.

'Got it,' he muttered, raising what looked like a silver cigarette lighter into the air and clicking it.

The nearest streetlamp went out with a pop. He clicked the unlighter again; the next lamp went out; he kept clicking until every lamp in the square was extinguished and the only remaining light came from curtained windows and the sickle moon overhead.

'Borrowed it from Dumbledore,' growled Moody, pocketing the Put-Outer. 'That'll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window, see? Now come on, quick. '

Chapter 3