Articles 9

“Shhh!” hissed Professor McGonagall, “you’ll wake Muggles!”
“S-s-sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out 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, yes, it’s all very sad, but get grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found,” Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on arm as Dumbledore stepped over low garden wall and walked to front door. He laid Harry gently on doorstep, took letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry’s blankets, and then came back to other two. For full minute three of them stood and looked at little bundle; Hagrid’s shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and 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 celebrations.”
“Yeah,” said Hagrid in 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 onto motorcycle and kicked engine into life; with roar it rose into air and off into 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 street. On corner he stopped and took out 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 tabby cat slinking around corner at other end of street. He could just see bundle of blankets on step of number four.

“Good luck, Harry,” he murmured. He turned on his heel and with swish of his cloak, he was gone.
breeze ruffled neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under inky sky, 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 letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in few hours’ time by Mrs. Dursley’s scream as she opened front door to put out milk bottles, nor that he would spend 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 country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter — boy who lived!”