WutYee/HarryPotter_books_1to7 · Datasets at Hugging Face

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watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve
hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It
must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his
pocket and said, “Hagrid’s late. I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by
the way?”
“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to
tell me why you’re here, of all places?”
“I’ve come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They’re the only family
he has left now.”
“You don’t mean – you can’t mean the people who live here?” cried
Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.
“Dumbledore — you can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find
two people who are less like us. And they’ve got this son — I saw him kicking
his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come
and live here!”
“It’s the best place for him,” said Dumbledore firmly. “His aunt and
uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he’s older. I’ve written
them a letter.”
“A letter?” repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on
the wall. “Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter?
These people will never understand him! He’ll be famous — a legend — I
wouldn’t be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future —
there will be books written about Harry — every child in our world will know
his name!”
“Exactly.” said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his
half-moon glasses. “It would be enough to turn any boy’s head. Famous before
he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won’t even remember! Can you
see how much better off he’ll be, growing up away from all that until he’s ready
to take it?”
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed,
and then said, “Yes — yes, you’re right, of course. But how is the boy getting
here, Dumbledore?” She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might
be hiding Harry underneath it.
“Hagrid’s bringing him.”
“You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as
this?”
“I would trust Hagrid with my life,” said Dumbledore.
“I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,” said Professor
McGonagall grudgingly, “but you can’t pretend he’s not careless. He does tend
to — what was that?”
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew
steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a
headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge
motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it.
He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He
looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black
hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and
his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms
he was holding a bundle of blankets.
“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. “At last. And where did
you get that motorcycle?”
“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” said the giant, climbing
carefully off 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.
“Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?” asked Hagrid. He bent his
great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very
scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded
dog.
“Shhh!” hissed Professor McGonagall, “You’ll wake the Muggles!”
“S-s-sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a 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 a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be
found,” Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as
Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He
laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked 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 shook,
Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the 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 the celebrations.”
“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a 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 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

watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve

hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It

must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his

pocket and said, “Hagrid’s late. I suppose it was he who told you I’d be here, by

the way?”

“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall. “And I don’t suppose you’re going to

tell me why you’re here, of all places?”

“I’ve come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They’re the only family

he has left now.”

“You don’t mean – you can’t mean the people who live here?” cried

Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.

“Dumbledore — you can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t find

two people who are less like us. And they’ve got this son — I saw him kicking

his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come

and live here!”

“It’s the best place for him,” said Dumbledore firmly. “His aunt and

uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he’s older. I’ve written

them a letter.”

“A letter?” repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on

the wall. “Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter?

These people will never understand him! He’ll be famous — a legend — I

wouldn’t be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future —

there will be books written about Harry — every child in our world will know

his name!”

“Exactly.” said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his

half-moon glasses. “It would be enough to turn any boy’s head. Famous before

he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won’t even remember! Can you

see how much better off he’ll be, growing up away from all that until he’s ready

to take it?”

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed,

and then said, “Yes — yes, you’re right, of course. But how is the boy getting

here, Dumbledore?” She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might

be hiding Harry underneath it.

“Hagrid’s bringing him.”

“You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as

this?”

“I would trust Hagrid with my life,” said Dumbledore.

“I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,” said Professor

McGonagall grudgingly, “but you can’t pretend he’s not careless. He does tend

to — what was that?”

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew

steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a

headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge

motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it.

He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He

looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black

hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and

his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms

he was holding a bundle of blankets.

“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. “At last. And where did

you get that motorcycle?”

“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir,” said the giant, climbing

carefully off 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.

“Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?” asked Hagrid. He bent his

great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very

scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded

dog.

“Shhh!” hissed Professor McGonagall, “You’ll wake the Muggles!”

“S-s-sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a 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 a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we’ll be

found,” Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as

Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He

laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked 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 shook,

Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the 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 the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a 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 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