Ah, Harry, How Often This Happens, Even

He Had No Memory Of Ever Being Hugged Like This, As Though By A Mother. The Full Weight Of Everything He Had Seen That Night Seemed To Fall In Upon Him As Mrs. Weasley Held Him To Her. His Mother's Face, His Father's Voice, The Sight Of Cedric, Dead On The Ground All Started Spinning In His Head Until He Could Hardly Bear It, Until He Was Screwing Up His Face Against The Howl Of Misery Fighting To Get Out Of Him.

But You're Dead,' Said Harry. 'oh, Yes,' Said Dumbledore Matter-of-factly. 'then... Am I Dead Too?' 'ah,' Said Dumbledore, Smiling Still More Broadly. 'that Is The Question, Isn't It? On The Whole, Dear Boy, I Think Not.

Yes, It Is Easy To See That Nearly Six Years Of Magical Education Have Not Been Wasted On You, Potter. Ghosts Are Transparent.

Which Came First, The Phoenix Or The Flame?” "...i Think The Answer Is That A Circle Has No Beginning." "well Reasoned.

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.