"Ah well, that’s it," Dumbledore said finally. "It is pointless to stay here. We might as well rejoin the others to celebrate."
"Yes," said Hagrid in a choked voice. "I am going to go return Sirius’s motorbike to him. Good night, professor MCgonagall, good night, professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his eyes, streaming with tears, with the back of his sleeve, Hagrid straddled the motorbike and started the engine. In a buzz, the motorbike lifted itself into the air and disappeared in the night.
"See you soon, I imagine, professor McGonagall," said Dumlbedore with a nod.
For her whole response, professor McGonagall blew her nose.
Dumbledore did an about-face and departed down the street. He stopped at the corner and took the silver Snuffer back out from his pocket. He activated it only once and a dozen luminous globes went immediately back to their streetlights. Privet Drive was suddenly bathed in an orange light and Dumbledore distinguished the silhouette of a tabby cat which was turning the corner of the street. He also saw the pile of blankets in front of the door of number 4.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured.
He turned around and disappeared with a rustle of his cape.
A breeze shook the well-trimmed hedges of Privet Drive. The street was neat and silent under the inky sky. Never would one have imagined that extraordinary events could unfold in such a place. Harry Potter turned over under his blankets without waking up. His little hand closed on the letter placed beside him and he continued to sleep without knowing that he was an exceptional being, without knowing that he was already famous, without knowing either that in some hours, he would be woken by the cry of Mrs Dursley who would open the door to put out the milk bottles and that for weeks, he would be pricked and pinched by his cousin Dudley… He did not know also that in that very moment, people were assembling in secret all over the country and that they were lifting their glasses and murmuring: “To the health of Harry Potter. The survivor!”