CHAPTER ONE
THE BOY WHO LIVED

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley-,

"Where have I heard the name Dursley?" wondered Lily.

-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, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

"Why does this book start with all this nonsense about the most idiotic muggles that I have ever heard of?" asked James.

"Maybe if you let me read on, we'll find out!" snapped Remus.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings which made drills.

"What are drills?" asked Sirius.

"You're taking Muggle Studies! You should know!" cried Lily exasperatedly.

"I only took up Muggle Studies to annoy my parents. Anyway, what are drills?"

"Why don't we read now and I can tell you later?"

He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursley's had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

"There won't be any finer boy anywhere when Prongs starts hating-no, despising Lily and Quidditch!" cried Peter.

"Who on earth names their son Dudley?" asked James.

"Um…. The Dursleys?" suggested Sirius, to which Peter gave a small laugh.

"You know Padfoot, you have an irritating habit of stating the obvious," said Remus and continued reading.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.

"Hey! There is nothing wrong with us Potters! There is only something wrong with them Dursleys!" yelled James angrily.

Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister,-

"I'm related to this woman!" screamed James disbelievingly.

but they hadn't met for several years: in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

"There is nothing wrong with my son!" cried James.

"How do you know he's your son?" asked Lily with a slight smirk.

"Fine then. There is nothing wrong with my relative!" cried James again.

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

"Wait! Now I remember! Vernon Dursley is the name of my sister's fiancé!" cried Lily.

"Which means…" asked James, grinning away.

"I'm married to Potter! Why did I agree to read this stupid book in the first place?" yelled Lily.

Remus resumed reading.

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

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing cereal at the walls.

"Dudley Dursley is the nicest boy on the planet," said Sirius in a voice that suggested the exact opposite of what he said.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley 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 the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map.

For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realise what he had seen -then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight.

What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - No, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs.

"Are muggles always this dumb?" asked Peter.

"Some of them are," replied Lily.

Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town, he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed that this was some stupid new fashion.

"No it isn't," said Remus.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! But then it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt – these people were obviously collecting for something… yes, that would be it.

"No, they're wizards, you dunderhead!" said James.

"Language, James. Language," said Lily.

"Hey! You called me James!"

"Well, I can't keep addressing you by your last name forever if we're going to be married, so I might as well get used to it."

The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park, his mind back on drills.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning.

He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though the people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead.

Most of them had never seen an owl even at night time. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled a five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more.

"Nice guy," said Remus.

He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, 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 cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard -"
"- yes, their son, Harry - "

"Cool! My son is famous!" cried James proudly.

"Yes but what for?" asked Peter.

"Maybe he blew up everything and everyone related to Slytherin," suggested Sirius hopefully.

"That is highly unlikely, Padfoot," said Remus, smiling.

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers 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 dialling his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking...

No, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name.

"No it isn't. I'm the only one in the entire school with the name Potter," said James.

He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that...

"Hey! There is nothing wrong with Lily!" said James, glaring at the book.

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 worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell.

"Must have been difficult for him to say sorry," said Peter.

It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare: "Don't be sorry my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like your self should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"

"Excuse me, but who on earth is You-Know-Who? I'm asking because I don't know who!" cried Peter.

"He's that Voldy – no, Voldermort guy who's all about the purebloods are kings and queens while all the rest are filth policy who's killing muggles and muggleborns," said Sirius. "And the worst of it is that my parents worship him."

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was.

"Non-magic folk," all of them said at the same time.

He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

"Nice guy," said Lily sarcastically.

As he pulled into the driveway at 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 had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.

"It must be Professor McGonagall!" cried James.

"You wanna bet?" asked Sirius.

"Sure. 5 Galleons that it's McGonagall" replied James.

"Deal."

Was this normal cat behaviour, Mr. Dursley wondered? Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word (Shan't).

"Idiots" muttered James.

Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living-room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The news reader allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "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 that I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars!

Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - It's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...Mrs. Dursley 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 - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he expected, Mrs. Dursley 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. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe ... it was something to do with ... you know ... her lot."

"There is nothing wrong with us!" cried Lily indignantly.

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name 'Potter'.

He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son - he'd be about Dudley's age now wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

James glared at the book. "How dare you insult my son's name and my favourite name?" he asked furiously.

Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, 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. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.
Was he imagining things?

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

"How many times have I told you that there is nothing wrong with us Potters?" screamed James, seething with rage. He snatched the book from Remus and tore it apart.

Remus sighed. "Reparo" he said, fixing the book. He then continued reading.

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

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. 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 the 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 its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had been seen in Privet Drive. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt.

He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

"Dumbledore!" cried everyone simultaneously

This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He had found what he was looking for in his inside pocket.

It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.

"Wow! Cool! I want one of those!" said Sirius.

"Sorry Padfoot, I highly doubt that you can get it unless you ask Professor Dumbledore, and then he'll ask you all sorts of questions and we want to keep the books a secret, don't we?" asked Remus.

Everyone nodded.

"But I want it! Daddy, get it for me!" he whined, clutching James's leg.

"No you won't. Now either stop whining, or go to your room," replied James, in a mock scolding voice. Sirius immediately stopped whining while everyone else chuckled.

He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him.

If anyone looked out of their window now, even the beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat.

He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

"Ha! I want my money!" said James. Sirius groaned but handed him 5 Galleons.

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

"Why are they celebrating?" asked Peter.

"Maybe because Harry did blow up everyone and everything related to Slytherin" said Sirius hopefully.

"Not likely. It must have something to do with Voldermort. They mentioned him at the beginning of the chapter, remember?" said James.

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls ... shooting stars ... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"Isn't he the Hufflepuff who got into trouble with Professor Thomas last week for being late for Defence Against the Dark Arts for the fifth time in a row?" asked Peter.

"Yep. That's him alright," said Lily.

You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"He is? Who-Hoo!" cheered James. "But what does that have to do with the book?"

"Maybe your son defeated him," suggested Remus.

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons.

"As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like your self can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort".

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was un-sticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice.

"It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the one You-Know - oh, all right, Voldemort was frightened of"

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

"Isn't this a little too much information?" asked Sirius disgustedly.

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now.

It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead."

"What! The first chapter of the first book and I'm already dead?" cried James, while Lily was frozen in shock.

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 Potter's son, Harry.

"What!" screamed Lily and James in unision. " Over my dead body!" they cried before realising that they were dead.

"Well, I guess that's how we die. We must have been protecting Harry from Voldermort," sighed James.

"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.

"Wow. Professor McGonagall has a soft side!" cried Peter.

Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took out a watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle.

They're the only family he has left now."

"What! Not them! Anybody – even the Malfoys – maybe not the Malfoys – but them!" cried Lily.

"Why isn't he giving Harry to any of you guys?" asked James in outrage.

You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you can't."

I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"Gee, can you explain everything in a letter! Those idiots will never understand him!" yelled Lily in outrage.

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him!

"Wow, I said the same thing as Professor McGonagall," said Lily.

He'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in future - there will be books written about Harry - every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course.

But how is the boy getting here Dumbledore?"

"Yes, how is he going to get there?" asked Peter.

She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing him."

You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

"Cool. I want one," said Sirius excitedly.

"Padfoot -" began James, but Sirius interrupted.

"Hey, all I need is to get a motorbike and tweak it a bit," answered Sirius.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it me."

"Hey! I do get a flying motorcycle!" cried Sirius.

I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we were flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where - ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar for ever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which 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 towards the Dursleys' house.

"Could I - could I say goodbye 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 wounded 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 -"

"Yes, I can't believe it," said Remus.

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be 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.

"That's unusual. Dumbeldore's eyes always twinkle,' said Lily.

"He must be really upset," said Remus.

"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'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on to the motorbike 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 woken 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!"

Just as Remus finished reading the chapter, the portrait hole opened and a fifth year came in. The five of them quickly bundled up the book in their arms.

"What are you doing with all those books?" she asked curiously.

"Studying for N.E.W.Ts," said Remus quickly.

"Okay," said the fifth year and she went up to her dormitory.

"We need to go to somewhere more private," said James. "And I know just the place. The Room of Requirement!"

Just as he said those words, they all disappeared in a flash of gold light and appeared in the Room of Requirement.

"Wait a minute! This isn't supposed to happen!" cried Lily.

"You know about the Room of Requirement?" asked Remus.

"Let me guess. You read about it in a book," said Sirius.

"No," said Lily. "I found it in my second year."

"What! But but! We only found it in our fourth year!" cried Peter, and before Lily could reply, Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black and Evan Rosier appeared in a flash of silver light.

"What on earth are you doing here?" all of them yelled at the same time.

James ran to the door and tried to open the door, but found it locked. To make matters worse, there was no key.

"AAAAAAAAAA!" yelled James. "I am locked in a room with Snivelly, Rodney, Lucy, Red Rose and uh…"

"Trixie?" Sirius asked.

"And Trixie."

"And I am locked in with Potty, Mongrel, Wolfie, Pettididn'tgrew, and Withered Lily," replied Rodolphus.

"You explain the nicknames first," said Remus.

"Alright. Mongrel for Black because Sirius is the Dog Star, Wolfie because of Lupin and Lupus, which means wolf, sounding so alike, Pettididn'tgrew because he is so small, and Lily is a flower that withered. And Potty is so obvious," said Rodolphus. "And now, you explain."

"Okay. Snivellus or Snivelly is what we call Snape. Rodney for Rodolphus, Lucy for Lucius, Trixie for Bellatrix and finally, Red Rose for Rosier."

"What are those books about?" asked Bellatrix.

"Oh, these. They are about the adventures of Harry Potter-"

"Not another Potter!" cried Severus.

"Who also happens to be Lily's and my son."

"Alright. We're leaving! This is all madness!" cried Lucius, but suddenly all their wands disappeared and a voice boomed down from the ceiling.

"NOBODY IS LEAVING THIS ROOM UNTIL YOU FINISH READING ALL THE BOOKS! YOUR WANDS WILL BE RETURNED ONCE YOU REACH YOUR COMMON ROOMS! MEALS WILL ALSO BE PROVIDED!

THIS IS THE ORDER OF SELENA HALLIWELL, THE PERSON WHO SENT YOU THE BOOKS AND BROUGHT ALL OF YOU HERE AND TOOK AWAY YOUR WANDS. IF YOU FIGHT, YOU WILL FIND YOURSELVES PUNISHED SEVERLY.

NO PUN INTENDED SEVERUS."

The Gryffindors laughed at the last sentence.

"Okay. Where is the first book?" asked Evan.

"Here," said James and tossed it to him. Once the Slytherins had finished the first chapter, Lily volunteered to read next.

"The second chapter is called The Vanishing Glass."