You’ve got to ask it for exactly what you need

refusing to acknowledge its pain or its invitation.

he imagined Voldemort, a hundred yards above them as they spoke, looking for a way to penetrate what Harry visualised as a great, transparent bubble.

to accept that he had not been told everything that he wanted to know, but simply to trust.

‘Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?’

It was like listening to a half-remembered voice.

‘It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers.’

he could not rest while agitating thoughts whirled through his mind:

Tears were sliding down from behind the half-moon spectacles into the long silver beard, and the pride and the gratitude emanating from him filled Harry with the same balm as phoenix song.