Or Yet In Wise Old Ravenclaw, If

He Didn't Realize That Love As Powerful As Your Mother's For You Leaves Its Own Mark.

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.

Harry, Cedric, I Suggest You Both Go Up To Bed," Said Dumbledore, Smiling At Both Of Them. "i Am Sure Gryffindor And Hufflepuff Are Waiting To Celebrate With You, And It Would Be A Shame To Deprive Them Of This Excellent Excuse To Make A Great Deal Of Mess And Noise.

Sirius's Gaunt Face Broke Out Into The First True Smile Harry Had Seen Upon It. The Difference It Made Was Startling, As Though A Person Ten Years Younger Were Shining Through The Starved Mask; For A Moment He Was Recognizable As The Man Who Had Laughed At Harry's Parents' Wedding.

Fred, You Next," The Plump Woman Said. "i'm Not Fred, I'm George," Said The Boy. "honestly, Woman, You Call Yourself Our Mother? Can't You Tell I'm George?" "sorry, George, Dear." "only Joking, I Am Fred," Said The Boy And Off He Went.