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Good morning, everybody. I hope you're all doing well and you're staying safe and healthy while

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we're in quarantine. So Asiyah and I were discussing earlier this week about book week

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at the school. And so I have decided to read a little bit of one of my favorite books,

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Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Okay, so I have it here on my computer. I wish I had

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the actual book in front of me, but I will just be reading off of my laptop. This is one of my

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favorite books, like I said. I know a lot of you already know about Harry Potter, so I hope that

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you guys will enjoy this. And yeah, like I said, I hope you guys are all staying safe and staying

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healthy and hopefully having a little bit of fun with your families while we fight the coronavirus

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and hopefully are all able to go outside very soon. So without further ado, I am going to read

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a little bit of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, which, by the way, is the first Harry

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Potter book. So this is the very beginning, okay? Chapter one, The Boy Who Lived. Mr. and Mrs.

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Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you

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very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious

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because they just didn't hold with such nonsense. That means they didn't do crazy things. They were

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very normal people, okay? Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which

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made drills. You know, drills, like, not guns, drills. It's for, like, screwing in things.

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He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache.

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mrs dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck which came in

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very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences spying on the neighbors

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the dursleys had a small son called dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere so

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they thought their son was the best they thought he was the best son or the best child in the world

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the Dursleys had everything they wanted but they also had a secret and their greatest fear was that

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somebody would discover it they didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the

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Potters Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister but they hadn't met for several years in fact

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Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister because her sister and her good-for-nothing

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husband were as underly-ish as it was possible to be. So Mrs. Dursley and her sister were not

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similar at all. They did not agree on a lot of things. So that her sister was Harry Potter's

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mother. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the potters arrived in the

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street. The Dursleys knew that the potters had a small son too, but they had never seen him.

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This boy was another good reason for keeping the potters away.

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They didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that, so they wanted to keep Dudley and their son separate.

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When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts,

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there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country.

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mr durstley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and mrs durstley gossiped

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away happily as she wrestled a screaming dudley into his high chair so she was putting him in his

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high chair to eat breakfast none of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window do we

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all know what an owl is it's the big bird it goes and he like looks around like that at half past

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eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley

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goodbye, but missed because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

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Little Tyke laughed Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of

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number four's driveway. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of

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something peculiar, a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had

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seen. Then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the

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corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of?

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It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat.

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It stared back as Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road.

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He watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive.

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No, looking at the sign. Cats don't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake

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and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town, he thought of nothing except a

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large order of drills he was hoping to get that day. But on the edge of town, drills were driven

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out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help

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but notice that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people around. People in cloaks.

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Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes, the get-ups you saw on young

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people. He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering

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wheel, and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing close by. They were whispering

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excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all.

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why that man had to be older than he was and wearing an emerald green cloak so a cloak is

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very long so it goes over your entire body and it goes all the way to the floor the nerve of him

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but then it struck mr dursley that this was probably some silly stunt these people were

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obviously collecting for something yes that had to be it the traffic moved on and a few minutes later

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mr dursley arrived at the grunnings car park his mind back on drills mr dursley always sat with

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his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder

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to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owl swooping past in broad daylight,

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though people down in the street did. They pointed and gazed, open mouth, as owl after owl sped

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overhead so the owls were flying really fast. Most of them had never seen an owl before, even at

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night. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal owl-free morning. He yelled at five different

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people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a little more. He was in a very good

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mood until lunchtime when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself

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a bun from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of

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them next to the bakers. He eyed them angrily as he passed by. He didn't know why, but they made him

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uneasy. They like made him nervous, you know, so he was just like, these people are weird. I don't

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like this. This lot were whispering excitedly too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin.

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It was on his way back past them, clutching a lard donut in a bag, that he caught a few words

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of what they were saying. The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard. Yes, their son Harry.

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Mr. Dursley stopped in his tracks. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he

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wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. He dashed back across the road,

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hurried up to his office snapped at his secretary not to disturb him seized his telephone and hit

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he almost dialed finished dialing his phone number when he changed his mind he put the receiver down

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and stroked his mustache thinking no he was being stupid potter was uh wasn't such an unusual name

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he was sure that there was lots of people called potter who had a son called harry come to think

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of it he wasn't even sure his nephew was called harry he had never even seen the boy it might

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have been Harvey or Harold. There was no point in worrying, Mrs. Dursley. She always got so upset at

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any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her if he'd had a sister like that, but all the same,

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this people in the cloaks. He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon,

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and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight

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into somebody outside the door. Sorry, he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell.

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It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak.

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He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground.

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On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile, and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare,

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Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today.

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Rejoice, for you-know-who has gone at last.

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Even muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day.

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And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle of his waist and walked off.

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mr dursley stood rooted to the spot he had been hugged by a complete stranger he also thought

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he'd been called a muggle whatever that was he was rattled he hurried to his car and set off home

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hoping he was imagining things which he had never hoped before because he didn't approve of

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imagination as he pulled into the driveway of number four the first thing he saw and it didn't

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improve his mood was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning it was now sitting on his garden wall

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He was sure it was the same one.

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It had the same markings around its eyes.

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Shoo, he said loudly.

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But the cat didn't move.

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It gave him a stern look.

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Was this normal cat behavior, he wondered.

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Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house.

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He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

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His wife had had a nice, normal day.

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She told him over dinner all about the Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter

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and how Dudley had learned a new word.

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Mr. Dursley tried to act normal. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went to the living room to

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catch the last report of the evening news. And finally, bird watchers everywhere have reported

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that nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt

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at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of owls all across the

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city. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.

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The newsreader allowed himself to grin.

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Most mysterious.

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And now we're up to Jim McGuffin with the weather.

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Any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?

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Well, Ted, said the weatherman, I don't know about that.

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But it's not only the owls who have been acting oddly today.

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Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that

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instead of rain, I promised yesterday, they had a downpour of shooting stars.

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So stars up in the sky.

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Perhaps people have been celebrating bonfire night early.

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It's not till next week's, folks, but I can promise a lot of rain tonight.

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Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair, shooting stars all over Britain,

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owls flying by daylight, mysterious people in cloaks all over the place,

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and a whisper, a whisper about the potters.

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Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea.

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It was no good.

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He'd have to say something to her.

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He cleared his throat nervously.

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Petunia, dear, you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?

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As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry.

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After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

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No, she said. Why?

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Funny stuff on the news, he mumbled.

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Owls, shooting stars. There were a lot of funny-looking people in town today.

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So, snapped his wife,

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Well, I just thought maybe it was something to do with, you know, her and her friends.

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Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips like this.

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Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name Potter.

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He decided he wasn't going to.

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Instead, he said, as casually as he could,

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their son, he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?

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I suppose so, his wife said.

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What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?

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Harry. Nasty common name, if you ask me.

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Oh, yes, said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking.

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Yes, I quite agree.

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He didn't say another word on the subject, and as they went upstairs to bed,

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Mr. Dursley was in the bathroom.

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Oh, sorry.

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While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down the front garden.

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The cat was still there.

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It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

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Was he imagining things?

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Could all of this have anything to do with the Potters?

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If it did, if it got out that they were related to a pair of, well, he couldn't bear to think about it.

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The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly, but Mr. Dursley lay awake,

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turning all over in his mind. His last comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if

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the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley.

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The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind,

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and they couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on.

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He yawned in turnover. It wouldn't affect them. How very wrong he was.

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Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside

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was showing no sign of being tired. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly

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on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the

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next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat

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moved at all. A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and

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silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its

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eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin,

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and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck

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into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept to the ground, and high-heeled

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buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles, and his

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nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was

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Albus Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street

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where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak

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looking for something but he did seem to realize that he was being watched because he looked up

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suddenly at the cat which was still staring at him from the other end of the street.

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For some reason the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered I should have

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known. He had found what he had been looking for inside his pocket. It seemed to be a silver

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cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it to the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp

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went out with a pop, so the light went out like that. He clicked it again. The next lamp flickered

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in the darkness. Twelve times he clicked the putt-outer until the only lights left on the

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whole street were two little pinpricks from the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching

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him. If anyone looked out their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to

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see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the put-outer back

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inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat on the wall

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next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

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Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall. He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone.

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Instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the

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shape of markings the cat had around its eyes. She too was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her

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black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. How did you know it was me,

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she asked. My dear professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly. You'd be stiff if you'd been

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sitting on a brick wall all day, she said. All day? When you could have been celebrating. I must

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have passed a dozen feasts and parties on the way here. Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right,

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she said. You'd think they'd be a little more careful, but no, even the muggles have noticed

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something's going on. It was on their news. She jerked her head back to the Dursley's dark living

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room window. I heard it. Flocks of owls? Shooting stars? Well, they're not completely stupid. They

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were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent? I'll bet that was Dedula's diggle.

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He never had much sense. You can't blame them, Dumbledore said gently. We've had precious little

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to celebrate for 11 years. I know that, Professor McGonagall said, but there's no reason to lose

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our heads. People are being downright careless out on the streets in broad daylight, not even

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dressed in muggle clothes, swapping rumors. She threw a sharp sideways glance at Dumbledore

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as hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. A fine thing would be

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if, on the very day you-know-who seems to have disappeared at last, the muggles found out about

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us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore. It certainly seems so, he said. We have much to

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be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon? A what? A sherbet lemon. They're kind of

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muggle sweet I'm rather fond of. No thank you, she said coldly, as though she didn't think that

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this was the moment for sherbet lemons. As I say, even if you-know-who has gone, my dear professor,

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surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name. All this you-know-who nonsense.

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For 11 years, I've been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name, Voldemort.

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So that's where I'm going to stop here.

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There's still a lot left in this chapter, so I don't want to go on for too, too long

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because it's almost 20 minutes long, this video.

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But I hope you guys enjoyed me reading.

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I know a lot of it will be a little confusing, so just try to enjoy the video.

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I know some of it might not make a lot of sense for you guys.

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And yeah, I miss you guys a lot.

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I hope you guys are staying safe and staying healthy and that your families are doing okay.

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And I'll see you guys very soon, okay?

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Bye.