J.K.Rowling. Harry Potter and the sorcerer's stone
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...bits of old elephantskin, probably.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of
the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as
usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on
the table.
They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the
doormat.
"Get the mail, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Make Harry get it."
"Get the mail, Harry."
"Make Dudley get it."
"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley."
Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to get the mail. Three things
lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was
vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill,
and — a letter for Harry.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant
elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who
would? He had no friends, no other relatives — he didn't belong to the
library, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here
it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the
address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp.
Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax
seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake
surrounding a large letter H.
"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you
doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter. He handed
Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open
the yellow envelope.
Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over
the postcard.
"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk. --."
"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on
the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of
his hand by Uncle Vernon.
"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.
"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter
open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green
faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within
seconds it was the grayish white of old porridge.
"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it
high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first
line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her
throat and made a choking noise.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!"
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and
Dudley were still in the room. Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave
his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.
"I want to read that letter," he said loudly. want to read it," said
Harry furiously, "as it's mine."
"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back
inside its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the
scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen
door behind them. Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight
over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry, his glasses
dangling from one ear, lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack
between door and floor.
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the
address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think
they're watching the house?"
"Watching — spying — might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon
wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we
don't want --"
Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes pacing up and down the
kitchen.
"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an
answer... Yes, that's best... we won't do anything....
"But --"
"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took
him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"
That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something
he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.
"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had squeezed
through the door. "Who's writing to me?"
"No one. it was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon
shortly. "I have burned it."
"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, "it had my cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the
ceiling. He took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile,
which looked quite painful.
"Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been
thinking... you're really getting a bit big for it... we think it might be
nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom.
"Why?" said Harry.
"Don't ask questions!" snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs,
now."
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt
Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where
Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that
wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to
move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the
bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The
month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had
once driven over the next door neighbor's dog; in the corner was Dudley's
first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favorite
program had been canceled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a
parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up
on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves
were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as
though they'd never been touched.
From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, I don't
want him in there... I need that room... make him get out...."
Harry sighed and stretched out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given
anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that
letter than up here without it.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in
shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick
on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his tortoise through the
greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back. Harry was thinking
about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the
hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice
to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his
Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another
one! 'Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive --'"
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt from his seat and ran down the
hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the
ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that
Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. After a minute
of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick,
Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter
clutched in his hand.
"Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom," he wheezed at Harry.
"Dudley — go — just go."
Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved
out
of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first
letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure
they didn't fail. He had a plan.
The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry
turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He
stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.
He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and
get the letters for number four first. His heart hammered as he crept across
the dark hall toward the front door --
Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on
the doormat — something alive!
Lights clicked on upstairs and to his horror Harry realized that the
big, squashy something had been his uncle's face. Uncle Vernon had been
lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure
that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at
Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea.
Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back,
the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see three
letters addressed in green ink.
I want --" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into
pieces before his eyes. Uncle Vernon didnt go to work that day. He stayed at
home and nailed up the mail slot.
"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if
they can't deliver them they'll just give up."
"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."
"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not
like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the
piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him.
On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they
couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door,
slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in
the downstairs bathroom.
Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he
got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and
back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as
he worked, and jumped at small noises.
On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to
Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of
the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia
through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone
calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain
to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.
"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in
amazement.
On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking
tired and rather ill, but happy.
"No post on Sundays," he reminded them cheerfully as he spread
marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today --"
Something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught
him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters
came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but
Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one.
"Out! OUT!"
Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall.
When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces,
Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still
streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.
"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling
great tufts out of his mustache at the same time. I want you all back here
in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No
arguments!"
He looked so dangerous with half his mustache missing that no one dared
argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up
doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling
in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up
while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.
They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where
they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and
drive in the opposite direction for a while. "Shake'em off... shake 'em
off," he would mutter whenever he did this.
They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was
howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd
missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so
long without blowing up an alien on his computer.
Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the
outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and
damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the
windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars and wondering....
They ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for
breakfast the next day. They had just finished when the owner of the hotel
came over to their table.
"'Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an
'undred of these at the front desk."
She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:
Mr. H. Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out
of the way. The woman stared.
"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following
her from the dining room.
Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested
timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what
he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a
forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off
they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a plowed field,
halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking
garage.
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late
that afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside
the car, and disappeared.
It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley
sniveled.
"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I
want to stay somewhere with a television. "
Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday — and you
could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of
television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of
course, his birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had
given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks. Still, you
weren't eleven every day.
Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling. He was also carrying a long,
thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.
"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!"
It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what
looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the
most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there
was no television in there.
"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his
hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"
A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather
wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-gray water below them.
"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"
It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their
necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours
they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way
to the broken-down house.
The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind
whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp
and empty. There were only two rooms.
Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips each and four
bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and
shriveled up.
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.
He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance
of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed,
though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.
As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the
high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the
filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few moldy blankets in the second room
and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon
went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest
bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged
blanket.
The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry
couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his
stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls
of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch,
which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry
he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick
nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the
letter writer was now.
Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the
roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did. Four
minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters
when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.
Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like
that? And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the
rock crumbling into the sea?
One minute to go and he'd be eleven. Thirty seconds... twenty ...
ten... nine — maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him — three...
two... one...
BOOM.
he whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright, staring at the
door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE KEEPER OF THE KEYS
BOOM. They knocked again. Dudley jerked awake. "Where's the cannon?" he
said stupidly.
There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the
room. He was holding a rifle in his hands — now they knew what had been in
the long, thin package he had brought with them.
"Who's there?" he shouted. "I warn you — I'm armed!"
There was a pause. Then --
SMASH!
The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and
with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.
A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost
completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard,
but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the
hair.
The giant squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just
brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily
back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He
turned to look at them all.
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy
journey..."
He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear.
"Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.
Dudley squeaked and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching,
terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.
"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.
Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the
beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.
"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a
lot like yet dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes."
Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.
I demand that you leave at once, sit!" he said. "You are breaking and
entering!"
"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant; he reached
over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent
it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into
a corner of the room.
Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.
"Anyway — Harry," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a
very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at
some point, but it'll taste all right."
From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly
squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large,
sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green
icing.
Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you, but the words
got lost on the way to his mouth, and what he said instead was, "Who are
you?"
The giant chuckled.
"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and
Grounds at Hogwarts."
He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.
"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his hands together.
"I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."
His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and
he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was
doing but when he drew back a second later, there was a roaring fire there.
It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth
wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.
The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and
began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper
kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped
mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before
starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of
sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he
slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker,
Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything
he gives you, Dudley."
The giant chuckled darkly.
"Yet great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don'
worry."
He passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted
anything so wonderful, but he still couldn't take his eyes off the giant.
Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry,
but I still don't really know who you are."
The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand.
"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm
Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course.
"Er — no," said Harry.
Hagrid looked shocked.
"Sorry," Harry said quickly.
"Sony?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank
back into the shadows. "It' s them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't
gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou'
Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yet parents
learned it all?"
"All what?" asked Harry.
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!"
He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut.
The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.
"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy
— this boy! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?"
Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after
all, and his marks weren't bad.
"I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff."
But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your
world. My world. Yer parents' world."
"What world?"
Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.
"DURSLEY!" he boomed.
Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded
like "Mimblewimble." Hagrid stared wildly at Harry.
"But yeh must know about yet mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're
famous. You're famous."
"What? My — my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"
"Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his
hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.
"Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.
Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.
"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there, sit! I forbid you to tell the
boy anything!"
A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious
look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled
with rage.
"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore
left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've
kept it from him all these years?"
"Kept what from me?" said Harry eagerly.
"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in panic.
Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.
"Ah, go boil yet heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry - yer' a
wizard."
There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind
could be heard.
"-- a what?" gasped Harry.
"A wizard, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa,
which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once
yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would
yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."
Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope,
addressed in emerald green to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The
Sea. He pulled out the letter and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme
Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all
necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and he couldn't
decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it
mean, they await my owl?"
"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to
his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet
another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl — a real, live, rather
ruffled-looking owl — a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his
tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry could read upside
down:
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Given Harry his letter. Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.
Weather's horrible. Hope you're Well.
Hagrid
Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its
beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came
back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.
Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it quickly.
"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still
ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.
"He's not going," he said.
Hagrid grunted.
"I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.
"A what?" said Harry, interested.
"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call nonmagic folk like thern.
An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever
laid eyes on."
"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said
Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"
"You knew?" said Harry. "You knew I'm a — a wizard?"
"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How
could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter
just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every
vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I
was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother
and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having
a witch in the family!"
She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed
she had been wanting to say all this for years.
"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and
had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just
as — as — abnormal — and then, if you please, she went and got herself
blown up and we got landed with you!"
Harry had gone very white. As soon as he found his voice he said,
"Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"
"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys
scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James
Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story
when every kid in our world knows his name!" "But why? What happened?" Harry
asked urgently.
The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious.
"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no
idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh,
how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter
tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not
knowin'."
He threw a dirty look at the Dursleys.
"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't
tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it...."
He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It
begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh
don't know his name, everyone in our world knows --"
"Who? "
"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."
"Why not?"
"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is
difficult. See, there was this wizard who went... bad. As bad as you could
go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..."
Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.
"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.
"Nah -can't spell it. All right — Voldemort. " Hagrid shuddered. "Don'
make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago
now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some
just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all
right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly
with strange wizards or witches... terrible things happened. He was takin'
over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o'
the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one
You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus'
then, anyway.
"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew.
Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why
You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before... probably knew they
were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.
"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em
outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you
was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came
ter yer house an' — an' --"
Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew
his nose with a sound like a foghorn.
"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer
people yeh couldn't find — anyway..."
"You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of
the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I
suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it.
Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary
cut. That's what yeh get when a Powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took
care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you,
an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter
kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an'
wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you was
only a baby, an' you lived."
Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story
came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more
clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something
else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.
Hagrid was watching him sadly.
"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought
yeh ter this lot..."
"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon. Harry jumped; he had almost
forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to
have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were
clenched.
"Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something
strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured --
and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying
it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion — asked for all
they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I
expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end --"
But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink
umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword,
he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley -I'm warning you — one more word... "
In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded
giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the
wall and fell silent.
"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down
on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor.
Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.
"But what happened to Vol--, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"
"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter
kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see... he
was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go?
"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough
human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time,
like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours.
Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done if he
was comin' back.
"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers.
Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There
was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it
was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."
Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but
Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt quite sure there had been
a horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his
life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon;
if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads
every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? If he'd once defeated
the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to
kick him around like a football?
"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I
don't think I can be a wizard."
To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled.
"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or
angry?"
Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it... every odd
thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened
when he, Harry, had been upset or angry... chased by Dudley's gang, he had
somehow found himself out of their reach... dreading going to school with
that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back... and the very
last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even
realizing he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?
Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was
positively beaming at him.
"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter, not a wizard — you wait, you'll be
right famous at Hogwarts."
But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight.
"Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed. "He's going to
Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he
needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and --"
"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled
Hagrid. "Stop Lily an' James Potter' s son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His
name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest school of
witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know
himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll
be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled--"
"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!"
yelled Uncle Vernon.
But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled
it over his head, "NEVER," he thundered, "- INSULT- ALBUS- DUMBLEDORE- IN-
FRONT- OF- ME!"
He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at
Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a
sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his
hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back
on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.
Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other
room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind
them.
Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.
"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work
anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a
pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."
He cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows.
"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he
said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was
allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff --
one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job
"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.
"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter
tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an'
everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man,
Dumbledore." "Why were you expelled?"
"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid
loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."
He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry.
"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I
think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."
CHAPTER FIVE
DIAGON ALLEY
Harry woke early the next morning. Although he could tell it was
daylight, he kept his eyes shut tight.
"It was a dream, he told himself firmly. "I dreamed a giant called
Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for wizards. When I open my
eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard."
There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.
And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Harry thought, his heart
sinking. But he still didn't open his eyes. It had been such a good dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up."
He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of
sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed
sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held
in its beak.
Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon
was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open.
The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't
wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's
coat.
"Don't do that."
Harry tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak
fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat.
"Hagrid!" said Harry loudly. "There's an owl
"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.
"What?"
"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."
Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets — bunches of keys,
slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags... finally, Harry
pulled out a handful of strange-looking coins.
"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.
"Knuts?"
"The little bronze ones."
Harry counted out five little bronze coins, and the owl held out his
leg so Harry could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then
he flew off through the open window.
Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched.
"Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy
all yer stuff fer school."
Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had
just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon
inside him had got a puncture.
"Um — Hagrid?"
"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.
"I haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night ...
he won't pay for me to go and learn magic."
"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his
head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"
"But if their house was destroyed --"
"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us
is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I
wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."
"Wizards have banks?"
"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."
Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding.
"Goblins?"
"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never
mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer
anything yeh want ter keep safe — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o'
fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway. Fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business."
Hagrid drew himself up proudly. "He usually gets me ter do important stuff
fer him. Fetchin' you gettin' things from Gringotts — knows he can trust
me, see.
"Got everythin'? Come on, then."
Harry followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now
and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was
still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.
"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.
"Flew," said Hagrid.
"Flew?"
"Yeah — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've
got yeh."
They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, trying to
imagine him flying.
"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry another of
his sideways looks. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh
mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?"
"Of course not," said Harry, eager to see more magic. Hagrid pulled out
the pink umbrella again, tapped it twice on the side of the boat, and they
sped off toward land.
"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry asked.
"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he
spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the highsecurity vaults. And
then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London,
see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out,
even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."
Harry sat and thought about this while Hagrid read his newspaper, the
Daily Prophet. Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be
left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, he'd never had so
many questions in his life.
"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered,
turning the page.
"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop
himself.
"'Course," said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, 0'
course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job.
Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every
morning, askin' fer advice."
"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?"
"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still
witches an' wizards up an' down the country."
"Why?"
"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their
problems. Nah, we're best left alone."
At this moment the boat bumped gently into the harbor wall. Hagrid
folded up his newspaper, and they clambered up the stone steps onto the
street.
Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town
to the station. Harry couldn't blame them. Not only was Hagrid twice as tall
as anyone else, he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things like parking
meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up,
eh?"
"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit as he ran to keep up, "did you say
there are dragons at Gringotts?"
"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon."
"You'd like one?"
"Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."
They had reached the station. There was a train to London in five
minutes' time. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money," as he called
it, gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets.
People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and
sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.
"Still got yer letter, Harry?" he asked as he counted stitches. Harry
took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.
"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need."
Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night
before, and read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
UNIFORM
First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
OTHER EQUIPMENT
wand cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set glass or crystal phials
telescope set
brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN
BROOMSTICKS
"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud.
"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.
Harry had never been to London before. Although Hagrid seemed to know
where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an
ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and
complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.
"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they
climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with
shops.
Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry had to do
was keep close behind him. They passed book shops and music stores,
hamburger restaurants and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could
sell you a magic wand. This was just an ordinary street full of ordinary
people. Could there really be piles of wizard gold buried miles beneath
them? Were there really shops that sold spell books and broomsticks? Might
this not all be some huge joke that the Dursleys had cooked up? If Harry
hadn't known that the Dursleys had no sense of humor, he might have thought
so; yet somehow, even though everything Hagrid had told him so far was
unbelievable, Harry couldn't help trusting him.
"This is it," said Hagrid, coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's
a famous place."
It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out,
Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't
glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the
record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.
In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and Hagrid could
see it. Before he could mention this, Hagrid had steered him inside.
For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby. A few old women were
sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was
smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top...
