Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Book Reading Level

HARRY
POTTER
and the Philosopher's Rock

J.G. ROWLING

This digital edition kickoff published by Pottermore Limited in 2012

First published in print in Great Britain in 1997 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of and © Warner Bros. Ent.

The moral right of the author has been asserted

A CIP catalogue tape of this volume is available from the British Library

ISBN 978-1-78110-007-3

www.pottermore.com

by J.Chiliad. Rowling

The unique online experience built around the Harry Potter books. Share and participate in the stories, showcase your own Potter-related inventiveness and discover even more than about the earth of Harry Potter from the writer herself.

Visit
pottermore.com

for Jessica, who loves stories,

for Anne, who loved them too,

and for Di, who heard this ane beginning.

— Chapter ONE —

The Boy Who Lived

Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number 4, Privet Bulldoze, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, cheers very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, considering they only didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys had a pocket-size son chosen Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, simply they as well had a hush-hush, and their greatest fear was that somebody would detect it. They didn't remember they could deport it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley's sister, only they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, considering her sister and her good-for-naught hubby were as unDursleyish as it was possible to exist. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, only they had never even seen him. This boy was some other skillful reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the boring, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was zippo about the cloudy sky outside to propose that strange and mysterious things would before long be happening all over the land. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his about boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a big tawny owl flutter by the window.

At half past viii, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to buss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was at present having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. 'Niggling tyke,' chortled Mr Dursley every bit he left the firm. He got into his machine and backed out of number four'due south drive.

Information technology was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar – a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realise what he had seen – and so he jerked his head around to expect again. There was a tabby cat continuing on the corner of Privet Bulldoze, merely in that location wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a pull a fast one on of the low-cal. Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the true cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said
Privet Drive
– no,
looking
at the sign; cats couldn't read maps
or
signs. Mr Dursley gave himself a trivial milk shake and put the true cat out of his listen. As he drove towards town he thought of null except a large society of drills he was hoping to get that twenty-four hours.

Simply on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual forenoon traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes – the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-greenish cloak! The nerve of him! But and so it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt – these people were obviously collecting for something … yes, that would exist it. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later on, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings motorcar park, his listen back on drills.

Mr Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning.
He
didn't run across the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open up-mouthed as owl afterward owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at dark-fourth dimension. Mr Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free forenoon. He yelled at five unlike people. He made several important phone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunch-time, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the route to buy himself a bun from the bakery's contrary.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them adjacent to the baker's. He eyed them angrily every bit he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't encounter a single collecting tin can. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he defenseless a few words of what they were saying.

'The Potters, that'southward correct, that's what I heard –'

'– yeah, their son, Harry –'

Mr Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought meliorate of it.

He dashed back beyond the road, hurried upwards to his office, snapped at his secretarial assistant not to disturb him, seized his telephone and had virtually finished dialling his domicile number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking … no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come up to think of it, he wasn't fifty-fifty certain his nephew
was
called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley, she e'er got and then upset at whatever mention of her sister. He didn't arraign her – if
he'd
had a sister similar that … just all the same, those people in cloaks …

He found information technology a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the edifice at v o'clock, he was even so so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

'Sorry,' he grunted, every bit the tiny former man stumbled and almost fell. Information technology was a few seconds before Mr Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at beingness almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face up split up into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky vocalism that made passers-by stare: 'Don't be sad, my love sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for Yous-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles similar yourself should be jubilant, this happy, happy day!'

And the former man hugged Mr Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He likewise thought he had been chosen a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and prepare off home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped earlier, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw – and information technology didn't improve his mood – was the tabby true cat he'd spotted that morning. Information technology was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure information technology was the same one; it had the aforementioned markings around its eyes.

'Shoo!' said Mr Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't motion. It only gave him a stern wait. Was this normal cat behaviour, Mr Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he permit himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs Dursley had had a dainty, normal mean solar day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's bug with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word ('Shan't!'). Mr Dursley tried to deed commonly. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living-room in time to grab the concluding study on the evening news:

'And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls usually hunt at dark and are hardly ever seen in daylight, in that location have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.' The news reader allowed himself a grin. 'Nigh mysterious. And at present, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more than showers of owls tonight, Jim?'

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Book Reading Level

Source: https://full-english-books.net/english-books/full-book-harry-potter-and-the-philosophers-stone-read-online

Byrne Soments

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone Book Reading Level

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