the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. 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 was 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 forever."

 

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

 

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come 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 get this over with."

 

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.