Harry glanced out of the corridor windows as they passed; the sun was already sinking over grounds carpeted in deeper snow than had lain over The Burrow garden.

‘He died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me.

Harry had indeed been eyeing the Pensieve with some apprehension. His previous experiences with the odd device that stored and revealed thoughts and memories, though highly instructive, had also been uncomfortable. The last time he had disturbed its contents, he had seen much more than he would have wished.

He felt no curiosity at all about R.A.B.: he doubted that he would ever feel curious again.

all the bones had been removed from his arm by the incurably inept Professor Lockhart

‘Although I think you ought to relax it in favour of your friends, Mr Ronald Weasley and Miss Hermione Granger. Yes,’ he continued, when Harry looked startled, ‘I think they ought to know. You do them a disservice by not confiding something this important to them.’ ‘I didn’t want –’ ‘– to worry or frighten them?’ said Dumbledore, surveying Harry ov

The shock of her desertion may have contributed to his early death – or perhaps he had simply never learned to feed himself.

‘Yes, this is the place,’ said Dumbledore. ‘How can you tell?’ Harry spoke in a whisper. ‘It has known magic,’ said Dumbledore simply.

‘toffee eclairs’