Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall 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.
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“Is that where -?” Professor McGonagall.
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“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “He’ll have that scar forever.”
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“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?”
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“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can 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 this over with.”
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Dumbledore Harry in his arms and toward the Dursleys’ house.
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“Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?” asked Hagrid. He his great, shaggy head over Harry and him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid out a howl like a wounded dog.
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“Shhh!” Professor McGonagall, “you’ll wake the Muggles!”
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“S-s-sorry,” Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and his face in it. “But I c-c-can’t it — Lily an’ James dead — an’ poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -“
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“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be found,” Professor McGonagall whispered, Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, 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 , Professor McGonagall furiously, and the twinkling light that usually from Dumbledore’s eyes seemed to have gone out.
Question 3 of 3
3. Question
“Well,” said Dumbledore finally, “that’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and the celebrations.”
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“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, “I’ll be takin’ Sirius his bike back. G’night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir.”
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his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid himself onto the motorcycle and the engine into life; with a roar it into the air and off into the night.
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“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” said Dumbledore, to her. Professor McGonagall her nose in reply.
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Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He it once, and twelve balls of light back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive suddenly orange and he could a tabby cat around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
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“Good luck, Harry,” he . He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
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A breeze the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter 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 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 up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!”
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