CHAPTER ONE
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 Dumble-
dore, 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.
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