There Are Always Loose Ends In Real

Some Wounds Run Too Deep For The Healing.

Madam Pince, Our Librarian, Tells Me That It Is 'pawed About, Dribbled On, And Generally Maltreated' Nearly Everyday - A High Compliment For Any Book.

He Was About To Go Home, About To Return To The Place Where He Had Had A Family. It Was In Godric’s Hollow That, But For Voldemort, He Would Have Grown Up And Spent Every School Holiday. He Could Have Invited Friends To His House. . . . He Might Even Have Had Brothers And Sisters. . . . It Would Have Been His Mother Who Had Made His Seventeenth Birthday Cake. The Life He Had Lost Had Hardly Ever Seemed So Real To Him As At This Moment, When He Knew He Was About To See The Place Where It Had Been Taken From Him.

Malfoy Glanced Around. Harry Knew He Was Checking For Signs Of Teachers. Then He Looked Back At Harry And Said In A Low Voice, "you're Dead, Potter." Harry Raised His Eyebrows. "funny," He Said, "you'd Think I'd Have Stopped Walking Around.

Go On, Have A Pasty," Said Harry, Who Had Never Had Anything To Share Before Or, Indeed, Anyone To Share It With. It Was A Nice Feeling, Sitting There With Ron, Eating Their Way Through All Harry's Pasties, Cakes, And Candies (the Sandwiches Lay Forgotten).