Text Leveling System

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

RDQ:	1819	Max Word/Sent	61	Total Words	3383		Diff Words	934
Lex	870	Ave Word/.Sent	10	Hi Freq occurs	2444	72.2%	Hi freq	388	41.5%
AR	4.7	Long Sentences	16.5	Low Freq occurs	209	6.2%	Low freq	144	15.4%

The BOY Who Lived
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were 
proud to say that they were perfectly normal thank 
you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be 
involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just 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 mustache. 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 neighbors. The Dursleys had a small 
son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy 
anywhere.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted but they also had a 
secret and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.]]
They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the 
Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister but they hadn't met 
for several years; in fact Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a 
sister because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as 
unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to 
think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the 
street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son too but 
they had never even seen him. This boy was another good 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 dull gray Tuesday 
our story starts there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to 
suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening 
all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his 
most 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 large tawny owl flutter past the 
window.
At half past eight Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase pecked 
Mrs. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but 
missed because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing 
his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke" chortled Mr. Dursley as he left 
the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's 
drive.
It 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 realize what he had seen - then he jerked his head 
around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner]]
of Privet Drive but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he 
have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. 
Dursley blinked and stared at the 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 little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he 
drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of 
drills he was hoping to get that day.
But on the edge of town drills were driven out of his mind by 
something else. As he sat in the usual morning 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 getups 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-green cloak! The nerve of 
him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some 
silly stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something ... 
yes that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few 
minutes later Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot 
his mind 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 see the owls swooping]]
 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. Mr. 
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.
"The Potters that's right that's what I heard -"
" - yes 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 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 ... 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 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 ... but all 
the same those people in cloaks ...
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.
"Sorry" he grunted as the tiny old man stumbled and almost 
fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. 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!"
And the old 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 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.
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.]]
The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal 
cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself 
together he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to 
mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. 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!"). Mr. 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:
"And finally bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the 
nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. 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." The newscaster 
allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now over to Jim 
McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls 
tonight Jim?"
"Well Ted" said the weatherman "I don't know about that but 
it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. 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."
Mr. 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 ...]]
Mrs. 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. "Er - Petunia dear - you haven't heard 
from your sister lately have you?"
As he had expected Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. 
After all they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No" she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news" Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls ... 
shooting stars ... and there were a lot of funny-looking people 
in town today ... "
"So?"snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well I just thought ... maybe ... it was something to do 
with ... you know ... her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley 
wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." 
He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said as casually as he could 
"Their son - he'd be about Dudley's age now wouldn't he?"
-I suppose so" said Mrs. Dursley stiffly. 
"What's his name again? Howard isn't it?" 
"Harry. Nasty common name if you ask me."
"Oh yes" said Mr. Dursley his heart sinking horribly. "Yes I 
quite agree."
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs 
to bed. 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 ... if it got out that they were related to 
a pair of - well he didn't think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. 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. Dursley. 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.
Mr. 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.]]
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."
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 y 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 cat 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."
"I know that" said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless out on the streets in broad daylight not even dressed in Muggle clothes swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp sideways glance at Dumbledore here as though hoping he was going to tell her something but he didn't so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so" said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No thank you" said Professor McGonagall coldly as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched but Dumbledore who was unsticking two lemon drops seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't" said Professor McGonagall sounding half exasperated half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh all right Voldemort was frightened of."
"You flatter me" said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying she was not going
to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore however was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer. "What they're saying" she pressed on "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead."
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James ... I can't believe it ... I didn't want to believe it ... Oh Albus. . ."
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know ... I know. . ." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son Harry. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why or how but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone."
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done ... all the people he's killed ... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding ... of all the things to stop him ... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"We can only guess" said Dumbledore. "We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead little planets were moving around the edge. It must have

Subjective Criteria

Illustrations: No support

Dialog: Multiple speakers

Dialog: Broken dialogue

Dialog: Unlabeled Speaker

Vocabulary: Many difficult words

Language: Many descriptive words

Sentences: Some Long/Complex

Text structure: Story/Poem

Inferences: Several Implications

Complexity: Several ideas - closely related

Concept: Fanciful

Sequence of Events: Mostly chronological

Features

Character traits

Complex plot

Flashback

Difficult names

Foreign words

Topic

Family

Low Frequency Words

admiring	albus	amuse	angrily	anxious
approve	astounding	beefy	calmly	casually
chortled	cigarette	concentrate	contrary	craning
dedalus	determined	dialing	diggle	distinctly
downpour	downright	drawn	dudley	dudley's
dumbledore	dundee	dursley	dursley's	dursleys
earmuffs	emerald	enraged	excitedly	eyed
faltered	fashion	flinched	four's	gazed
getups	glance	glumly	gossiped	grunnings
grunted	handkerchief	heavily	heeled	hollow
hoping	horribly	imagination	imagining	impatiently
improve	involved	irritably	judging	lighter
madam	markings	mcgonagall	mcgonagall's	mcguffin
mention	mouthed	muggle	muggles	mustache
muttered	mysterious	nation's	neighbors	nephew
nervously	newscaster	nighttime	ninth	noble
noticing	oddly	opinion	passersby	pavement
peculiar	peered	persuade	petunia	phoning
piercing	pinpricks	pomfrey	potter	potter's
precious	privet	pursed	quiver	realize
rejoice	related	ruffled	rummaging	rumor
rumors	secretary	seized	sensible	severe
showers	sideways	sleepiness	sounding	sparkling
spectacles	statue	stern	stiffly	strangely
stunt	suggest	surely	survive	swapping
swept	tabby	tawny	twitched	tyke
unable	unblinkingly	undursleyish	unsticking	unwelcome
viewers	voldemort	voldemort's	watchers	weatherman
whisper	whisperers	wrestled	yawned