Oliver Night and the Philosopher Stone

The Boy who Lived Part 4

REVIEW

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath he 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; in-stead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it cack in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you we'd be here, by the way?"

END OF REVIEW

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"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"We've come to bring Oliver 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 twelve. "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 a this son --- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Oliver Night 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 and the Potters will be staying her as well to keep an eye on him."

"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 know as Oliver Night Day in the future --- there will be books written about Oliver --- 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't 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 Oliver underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"Oh lovely its been forever since we've seen Hagrid hasn't it James."Lily said happily.

"You think it --- wise --- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

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 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 a baby dolphins. In the vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid its great to see you again." Lily and James rushed up to him and hugged him.

"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 Gabriel Novak 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 ---?" whispering 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 Oliver in his arms and turned toward the Adams house.

"Could I --- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Oliver and gave him a what must have a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh1" 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 --- Jared an' Jacob dead --- an' poor little Oliver 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 Oliver gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked in inside Oliver's blanket, and then came back to the other four. 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 shows 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 celebration."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. 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.

"Good by as well Potters."

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stoped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Private Road glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat and a stag and doe slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number twelve.

"Good luck, Oliver," He mumbled. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Private Road, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Oliver Night 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. Adams 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 Brain and also making a friend who was Harry Potter. . . . 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 Oliver Night ---- the boy who lived!"

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Done for tonight Ill update tomorrow

WORDS -1329

DATE - 12/23/20