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.

 

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy

under the inky sky, the 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 the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was

special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken 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 holding up their glasses and