•°THE BOY WHO LIVED 5°•

“Is that where –?” whispered Professor McGonagall. “Yes,” said Dumb-

ledore. “He’ll have that scar forever.”

“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself

above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well

– give him here, Hagrid – we’d better get this over with.”

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys’

house.

“Could I – could I say good-bye to him, sir?” asked Hagrid. He bent his

great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very

scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a woun-

ded dog.

“Shhh!” hissed Professor McGonagall, “you’ll wake the Muggles!”

“S-s-sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and

burying his face in it. “But I c-c-can’t stand it – Lily an’ James dead – an’

poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –”

found,” Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the

front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his

cloak, tucked it inside Harry’s blankets, and then came back to the other

two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle;

Hagrid’s shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the

twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to have

gone out.

“Well,” said Dumbledore finally, “that’s that. We’ve no business staying

here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, “I’d best get this bike away.

G’night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir.”

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself

onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into

the air and off into the night.

“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” said Dumbledore,

nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he

stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve

balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed

suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the

corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets

on the step of number four.

“Good luck, Harry,” he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish

of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy

under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things

to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up.

One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be wok-

en in a few hours’ time by Mrs. Dursley’s scream as she opened the front

door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks

being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... He couldn’t know that

at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were

holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter – the

boy who lived!”

_______________________________________

its the end of chapter1......chapter 2 will be continue tomorrow....plz support me

like

comment

subscribe 😗😗😗😗😗

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***