原文版 哈利·波特 1/ Rowling, J.K.
It has been raining for the whole day. I looked out from the window: the sky was gray and everything looked like being covered by fog. I felt everything was damp and my heart was damp too.
For the last 10 years， job listing site CareerBuilder has put out a list it calls “The Most Unbelievable Excuses for Calling in Sick。” Last year an employee said he couldn’t come in because his false teeth flew out the window while he was driving down the highway。 Another claimed that someone had glued her windows and doors shut so she couldn’t get out of her house。 This year the excuses include a worker who said he felt he had to stay at a casino when he had money left after a gambling weekend。 Then there was the employee who said she couldn’t come in because she had woken up in a good mood and didn’t want to ruin it。 I like this one from a past survey： Employee said the ghost in his house kept him up all night。
THE BOY WHO LIVED
The graduation celebration would be hold on tomorrow. Everyone was joyful in class except for me. I was not only upset, but also afraid. I was afraid of every occasion that needs my parents to be present together after they were divorced. I did not want my teachers and classmates to learn that I was living in a single mother family. I always made myself look very happy and sunny no matter how sad I was in my own feeling.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you’d expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn’t hold with such nonsense.
My Dad left us for a lady ten yearsago; to be accurate, I thought that he abandoned my Mom and me. I was hurt so deeply that I even felt much painful than my Mom. In the memory about my childhood, Daddy loved me so much and was very patient to me no matter what I did. I remembered, as I was six years old, I used papers to play game and took lots of papers from his desk; I cut all of papers into pieces. In that evening,when Daddy came back home and found that the papers cut were his disquisition that would be sent to an important conference in his professional field next morning. This disquisition had already been read by an authoritative professor and was got a great acclaim from him. He told my Dad that it would be passed successfully. And if it were passed in the conference, my Dad would get a good chance for his career. At that time, computer was not popularly used, so the whole thesis was written by Dad’s hand. He could not rewrite it in only one night, and, as a result, he lost this precious chance. For a six years old girl, I didn’t understand how damaging it was for my Dad to lose the papers; but from my parents’ serious face, I knew I made a huge mistake, so that I was very afraid. Dad did not blame me; instead, he kissed my forehead as usual time and said, “Little princess, you didn’t do anything wrong, you are still Daddy’s good girl. Have a sweet dream!” Then, I fell asleep immediately and forgot it. It is until I grew up and a similar thing happened to me that I understood what feeling my Dad could have. Even now, some friends and relatives of my family still remember how much dote my Dad did on me, and all of them remember that I was his “littleprincess” until he left.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
My childhood was spent in a family full of blessedness and love. I felt a pride in it and was sentimentally attached to it!That was my whole world!But, since the day when my Daddy left us, my world was destroyed.
This year’s excuses were gathered through a Harris Poll in recent months， among 3，000 workers and 2，000 hiring managers。
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn’t think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley’s sister, but they hadn’t met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn’t have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn’t want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
My sight was back into the room. I stared at the phone, and it was never looked so strange like today. It looked like a black bomb.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
After Dad left us and got married with that lady, I started to hate him and did not want to connect him often, I hated hearing that lady’s voice. I knew he had a stepdaughter. I thought he would not love me any more, he would give his love to other girl, and he would have another “little princess”!
The motto of this story： If you really are sick， don’t come to work and spread your germs around the office。 But if you just want to stay home， go with， “I’m running a fever，” rather than one of these ridiculous excuses。
None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
Oh, tomorrow, what a headachy tomorrow! My finger was hard-shelled, and it seemed to be put in chilly water for a long time when I dialed the phone numbers.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.“Little tyke,” chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four’s drive.
The telephone only rung three times, but I felt like spending twenty minutes to wait. Then somebody picked up the phone; it was my Dad’s stepdaughter!
1。 I just put a casserole in the oven。
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn’t realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn’t a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, looking at the sign; cats couldn’t read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.
“Who is this?” she asked.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn’t help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren’t young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt —these people were obviously collecting for something…yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.
“I want to talk tomyDaddy,” my voice became dry when I heard her.
2。 My plastic surgery needed some “tweaking” to get it just right。
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn’t, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn’t see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he’d stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
“Daddy,somebodywants to talk to you,” I heard she spoke to my Dad. She called “Daddy” tomyDaddy and called me “somebody.” But in my heart, he is my Daddy and he isonlymy Daddy!
He’d for gotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker’s. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn’t know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn’t see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.
After hearing that, my heart was extremely indignant and traumatic! I threw the telephone with a bang and tears in my eyes. Mom came into living room to see what happened when she suddenly heard the twang. I told her that I decided not to let my Dad attend my commencement. At the same time, the phone was ringing. It was my Dad’s call and Mom told him about my decision.
3。 I was sitting in the bathroom and my feet and legs fell asleep。 When I stood up， I fell and broke my ankle。
“The Potters, that’s right, that’s what I heard —”
Next morning, Mom asked me if I had changed my mind and let my Dad attend the commencement, but I said “No.” I made up to make myself look invigorative and amused.
“ — yes, their son, Harry —”
There were a lot of people in campus. Every classmate of mine looked excited. I told them my Dad got an emergent operationfor a patient, so that he would not come (My Dad was a surgeon.) I took photos with my classmates and looked as same happy as them.
4。 I had been at the casino all weekend and still had money left to play with on Monday morning。
Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.
Mom came to me when I was talking with a student, and she whispered to me that Dad was standing under a tree that is far away from where I was standing. I looked the place my Mom showed me. I saw my Dad -- he looked very lonely. My heart became painful and distressed. Ialmost couldn’t help myself to go to him, but when I thought that another girl called him Daddy, I couldn’t stand it. I shut my heart’s door to him again. When Dad found I saw him, he looked suddenly excited and wanted to come to us. Quickly, I moved my vision into other place. In a glance, I saw him stopped walking and stayed there; he looked heartbroken and became old. I felt very cold abruptly, though it was summer. Looking up to the sky, it was gray and cloudy.
He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking…no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn’t such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure his nephew was called Harry. He’d never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn’t blame her — if he’d had a sister like that…but all the same, those people in cloaks.…
Since that day, I have not called my Dad and never answered him any more even he called us for more than four years. But, the picture that he was standing under a tree sadly with gray and cloudy sky above always appeared in my dreams. Every time when I dreamed of it, I woke up from a terrible pain of heart.
5。 I woke up in a good mood and didn’t want to ruin it。
“He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o’clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.
Two years passed. Through these two years, I met my husband and fell in love with him. I was enjoying sweets of love, but I still always awoke from dreams with heartache. I still could not forgive Dad, he forsook us and left us a broken home, in every New Year feast, Mom and I heartrendingly listened to the mirth from neighbors. I still could not forgive Dad, I lost the love from fatherhood since he left, and I lost my whole world. I still could not forgive Dad, for he dedicated his father’s love to his stepdaughter instead of me.
“Sorry,” he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn’t seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, “Don’t be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!”
In a winter midnight of one year later, a sudden outbreak of acute appendicitis made me ache terribly, and I gota bad fever. My Mom was very much scared. She called hospital, and she called Dad too.
6。 I had a “lucky night” and didn’t know where I was。
And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.
I could not clearly remember all scenesabout how I was sent into operating room; but after a few days, my Mom told me that I had always called “Daddy” with cry before I woke up.
Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn’t approve of imagination.
I did not know how long I slept after the operation. When I opened my eyes, I saw that, sitting against a chair by my sickbed, my Dad fell sleep. For a long time, I hadn’t seen him so closely. I got an astoundment that his hair has already become gray, and he was really old and looked pale. How many years hadn’t I seen him? I asked myself. More than seven years, even we were living in the same city! I didn’t know what he was dreaming; but he looked distressed when he was sleeping. Seven years, how was his life going through these seven years? How did he feel my hate, my repulsion and my self-will through these seven years? I felt that my heart was much more painful than the suture on my body. He was almost sixty years old. Seven years, how many seven years could be wasted again for a sixty years old man? How many seven years are in a people’s life?
7。 I got stuck in the blood pressure machine at the grocery store and couldn’t get out。
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw — and it didn’t improve his mood — was the tabby cat he’d spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.
“Daddy9159com金沙网站，!” “Daddy!” I exclaimed over and over again in my heart, and tears rolled down my cheeks. It seemed like that when hearing the call of my heart, my Dad awoke.
“Shoo!” said Mr. Dursley loudly”
“Do you feel very pain?” he asked me with great anxiety when he saw my tears.
8。 I had a gall stone I wanted to heal holistically。
The cat didn’t move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.
In seven years, this was the first time I heard his voice. It sounded old and tired. I couldn’t say even a word, because I was afraid that I would break forth into tears when I spoke.
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door’s problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word (“Won’t!”). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:
“I have always felt sorry to hurt you and your Mom, ” he spoke with tears (this is first time I saw his tears), “I have always expected for your forgiveness!”
9。 I caught my uniform on fire by putting it in the microwave to dry。
“And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation’s owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.” The newscaster allowed himself a grin. “Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to “be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?”
“Child, you are my most precious daughter, you are theonlyone! ”
“Well, Ted,” said the weatherman, “I don’t know about that, but it’s not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they’ve had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it’s not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him. His eyes were shining with expectation. I felt that I went back to childhood. Idolove him, and I always do love him!
10。 I accidentally got on a plane。
Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters.
“Daddy!” I cried, “I’m sorry for everything I did to you.” Like a stream, the tears could not be stopped. The tears brought away all of my hate, distress and the inner haze.
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He’d have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. “Er — Petunia, dear — you haven’t heard from your sister lately, have you?”
Dad kissed my forehead as when I was six years old and said, “Little princess, you didn’t do anything wrong, you are still Daddy’s good girl. Have a sweet dream!” Then, I fell asleep immediately.
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn’t have a sister.
When I woke up from a sweet dream next morning, I saw Dad looked excited and became younger. I looked out from the window of my sickroom: the sky was blue, and there was no cloud.
“No,” she said sharply. “Why?”
Life becomes more beautiful becauseof learning forgiveness, and love becomes nicer because of forgiveness. When sweeping out cloud, you will see a blue sky, as a blue sky is always behind cloud!
“Funny stuff on the news,” Mr. Dursley mumbled. “Owls…shooting stars…and there were a lot of funny-looking“looking people in town today.…”
“So?” snapped Mrs. Dursley.
“Well, I just thought…maybe…it was something to do with…you know…her crowd.”
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he’d heard the name “Potter.” He decided he didn’t dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, “Their son — he’d be about Dudley’s age now, wouldn’t he?”
“I suppose so,” said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
“What’s his name again? Howard, isn’t it?”
“Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me.”
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. “Yes, I quite agree.”
He didn’t say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.
Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did...if it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn’t think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind....He couldn’t see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn’t affect them.…
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn’t so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you’d have thought he’d just popped out of the ground. The cat’s tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man’s name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn’t seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, “I should have known.”
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn’t be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn’t look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
“Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall.”
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“My dear Professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly.”
“You’d be stiff if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day,” said
“All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.”
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
“Oh yes, I’ve celebrating, all right,” she said impatiently. “You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no —even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on. It was on their news.” She jerked her head back at the Dursleys’ dark living-room window. “I heard it. Flocks of owls…shooting stars…Well, they’re not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent — I’ll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.”
“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.”
9159com金沙网站：旁人那三个奇葩的请假理由。“I know that,” said Professor McGonagall irritably. “But that’s no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors.”
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn’t, so she went on. “A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?”
“It certainly seems so,” said Dumbledore. “We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?”
“A lemon drop. They’re a kind of Muggle sweet I’m rather fond of.”
“No, thank you,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn’t think this was the moment for lemon drops. “As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —”
“My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this ‘You-Know-Who’ nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort.” Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. “It all gets so confusing if we keep saying ‘You-Know-Who.’ I have never seen any reason to be frightened“I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort’s name.”
“I know you haven’t, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. “But you’re different. Everyone knows you’re the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of.”
“You flatter me,” said Dumbledore calmly. “Voldemort had powers I will never have.”
“Only because you’re too — well — noble to use them.”
“It’s lucky it’s dark. I haven’t blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs.”
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said “The owls are“nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they’re saying? About why he’s disappeared? About what finally stopped him?”
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever “everyone” was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
“What they’re saying,” she pressed on, “is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric’s Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they’re — dead.”
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
“Lily and James…I can’t believe it…I didn’t want to believe it…Oh, Albus…”
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I know…I know…” he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall’s voice trembled as she went “on. “That’s not all. They’re saying he tried to kill the Potter’s son, Harry. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they’re saying that when he couldn’t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort’s power somehow broke — and that’s why he’s gone.”
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
“It’s — it’s true?” faltered Professor McGonagall. “After all he’s done…all the people he’s killed…he couldn’t kill a little boy? It’s just astounding…of all the things to stop him…but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?”
“We can only guess.” said Dumbledore. “We may never know.”
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden 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“ 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.”
9159com金沙网站：旁人那三个奇葩的请假理由。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 saying in hushed voices: “To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!”