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HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHERS STONE PDF FREE

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"Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large. Harry Potter novels is a series of Harry Potter adventure written by Harry Potter 1 – Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone ———->. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. J.K. Rowling. First, read this text alone. Then, underline all the words that you know. Finally, try to translate this text.


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Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. CHAPTER . normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to. You can Google 'Harry Potter and the [name of book] pdf'. google and type download PDF of Harry Potter and the philosopher's Stone and then Free Books. HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE. 2 sister, but normal, owl - free morning. were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry.

With an OverDrive account, you can save your favorite libraries for at-a-glance information about availability. Find out more about OverDrive accounts. Addressed in green ink on yellowish parchment with a purple seal, they are swiftly confiscated by his grisly aunt and uncle. Then, on Harry's eleventh birthday, a great beetle-eyed giant of a man called Rubeus Hagrid bursts in with some astonishing news: An incredible adventure is about to begin! Rowling is the author of the record-breaking, multi-award-winning Harry Potter novels.

Rowling ebook. Subjects Fantasy Young Adult Fiction. Fantasy Young Adult Fiction. Publication Details Publisher: Pottermore Publishing Publication Date: Harry Potter. Format OverDrive Read Rowling Author J. More about J. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone Embed. But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were obviously collecting for something The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr.

Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills. 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 see the owls swoop ing past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead.

Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people.

He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed.

He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure 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 always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

It was a few seconds before Mr.

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Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!

Dursley around the middle and walked off. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

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

Dursley loudly.

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The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word "Won't!

Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news: Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there 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. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim? Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars!

Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight?

Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister. Dursley mumbled. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter.

Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son — he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he? Dursley stiffly. Howard, isn't it? Nasty, common name, if you ask me.

Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did The Dursleys got into bed. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs.

The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them How very wrong he was. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive.

It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all. A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground.

The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice.

This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

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Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street.

For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it.

The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs.

Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat.

I have did not look at Item, but despues de to moment I have spoke to Item. Instead I have was smiling at to rather severe-looking woman quien was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing to cloak, an emerald one.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Her black hair was drawn into to tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. When you could have been Entering the day by delivering it by delivering it by making a difference? I must have passed to dozen feasts and parties on my way here.

Item was on their news. Flocks of owls Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle.

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