Saphira Black and the Philosopher's Stone

Eight~ The News

    Hagrid had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill up the whole hut. I pressed myself against Harry while the Dursleys cowered against the wall.

    "Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy and this girl- this boy and this girl!- knows nothin' abou'- about ANYTHING?"

    "Hey," I muttered, insulted. Harry and I got pretty good marks at school. I was about to say something scathing when Harry shook his head at me. So I settled for saying, "Harry and I know some things. We can, you know, do math and stuff."

    But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. Yer parents' world."

    "What world?" Harry asked.

    Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

    "DURSLEY!" He boomed.

    Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale indeed, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." I would have laughed if the situation weren't so serious. Harry stared wildly at Harry and I.

    "Harry... yeh must've known about yer parents," he said, "I mean they're famous. You're famous."

    "Thanks," I whispered, "and I'm just chopped liver, is that it?" Harry ignored me and asked,

    "What? My- my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

    "Yeh don' know... yeh don' know..." Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair, looking bewildered. "You two don' know what you two are?" he said finally.

    Uncle Vernon suddenly found his voice.

    "Stop!" he commanded, "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy or the girl anything!"

    When Hagrid spoke, every syllable trembled with rage.

    "You never told 'em? Never told 'em what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer 'em? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it! An' you've kept it from 'em fer all these years?"

    "Kept what from us?" I asked eagerly.

    "STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Uncle Vernon shouted, and Aunt Petunia gasped.

    "Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh." Hagrid said. "Harry- yer a wizard. Saphira- yer a witch."

    There was a silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

    "I'm a what?" gasped Harry. "Saphira's a what?"

    "A wizard an' a witch, o' course," said Hagrid, sitting back down on the sofa, "an' thumpin' good'uns, I'd say, once you two've been trained up a bit. Harry, with a mum an' a dad like yours, what else could yeh be? Oh, and fer yer parents, Saphira... smartest bunch I've ever seen. An' I reckon it's about time you two read yer letters."

    Harry and I streatched out our hands to take a yellowish envelope each. Mine said Ms. S. Black, The Floor, Hut-On-The-Rock, The Sea. I pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

~

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Ms. Black,

    We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

    Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

    Questions exploded inside my head like fireworks, and I couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few moments, Harry stammered,

    "What do they mean, they await my owl?"

    "Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled out an owl- a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl- a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry and I could read upside-down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry and Saphira their letters.

Taking them to buy their things tomorrow.

Weather’s horrible. Hope you’re well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as if this were as normal as talking on the telephone.

    Uncle Vernon, looking very ashen-faced but angry, moved into the firelight.

    "They're not going."