The following is a typed out version of chapter 1 “Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone” by J.K. Rowling. This is not an original piece of work but a one-page excerpt typed out, by hand, for the purpose of commentary and education. I am not trying to “improve” the original text, only learn about writing by altering it for different effects and to learn the techniques that Rowling masters so well.
Chapter one - Original version
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.
Albus Dumbledore didn’t seem to realize that he has 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.”
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. 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. He didn’t look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
“Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall.”
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the car had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
“How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“My dear Professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly.”
“You’d be stiff if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day,” said Professor McGonagall.
“All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.”
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
“Oh yes, everyone’s celebrating, all right, ” she said impatiently.
“You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on. It was on their news.” She jerked her head back at the Dursleys’ dark living-room window. “I heard it. Flocks of owls … shooting stars … Well, they’re not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I’ll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense.”
“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.”
When editing, I wanted to linguistically make the chapter more like me. I noticed, that I would like to make the story less obvious magic-wise, but more descriptive plot-wise. As a fan, I wanted to adjust the characters so they felt more like the characters I got to know throughout the series.
This man was the first of his kind to ever have been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by his silver 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 was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn’t seem to realize that he had arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was too busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he jerked his head up at the cat. For some reason, the sight of the cat made him smile. He muttered with his chuckle, “I should have known...”
“Aha!” he exclaimed, when he found what he was looking for in his pocket. 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. He clicked the Put-Outer, until all twelve street lamps had gone out, and only two tiny pinpricks of light were left in the distance: The bright green eyes of the cat watching him. Even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley would be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement in the pitch black darkness. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off toward number four. The cloak moved like a swirling wave around him, as he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn’t look at the cat, but suddenly he spoke to it.
“What a pleasant evening, don’t you agree, Professor McGonagall?”
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had vanished. Instead he was smiling at a rather serious-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She was also wearing a cloak, an emerald one, with black hair pulled tightly into a bun. However, she looked distinctly ruffled.
“Do you make it a habit to strike up conversation with cats in the dead of night?” she asked.
“That would be a particularly interesting time to engage in such conversations, I believe. But my dear professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit quite that stiffly.”
“You’d be stiff if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day,” said Professor McGonagall.
“All day? Minerva, you could have been celebrating. At least a moment or two? I must have passed through a dozen feasts and parties on my way here.”
Professor McGonagall sniffed and shook her head.
“Oh yes, everyone’s celebrating, all right, ” she said pointedly.
“You’d think they’d be a bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something’s going on.” She jerked her head back at the Dursleys’ dark living-room window. “I heard it on their news. Owls … shooting stars … They’re not oblivious, you know. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I’ll bet it was Dedalus Diggle… ”
“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. “We’ve had so little time to celebrate the last eleven years.”
What I learned: I noticed that in my edits for the entire chapter, I had a tendency to complicate the sentences and particularly use dangling participles and unnecessary -ing forms, so that was to me a very interesting insight as a writer. Because I do know these typical errors, but they were apparently difficult to spot in my own writing. I loved working with this method and will definitely look at incorporating it in my writing process in the future
CREDITS
Rowling, J.K. Chapter one. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Bloomsbury. 1997, page 6-7, edition unknown
I've been working on the edits, which took some time, but I thought I needed to leave it for a bit as well before posting 