Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (Harry Potter, #1)

by J.K. Rowling

The late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn’t speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn’t even notice how much people were gawping at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the sleeping snowy owl on Harry’s lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realised where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves,’ he said. He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow. ‘You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet,’ said Hagrid. Harry wasn’t sure he could explain. He’d just had the best birthday of his life – and yet – he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words. ‘Everyone thinks I’m special,’ he said at last. ‘All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander … but I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol– sorry – I mean, the night my parents died.’ Hagrid leant across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile. ‘Don’ you worry, Harry. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be ye...