Given him. Harry laid it aside and felt cautiously around the trunk for the rest, but nothing

more remained of his godfather's last gift except powdered glass, which clung to the

Deepest layer of debris like glittering grit.

Harry sat up and examined the jagged piece on which he had cut himself, seeing

Nothing but his own bright green eye reflected back at him. Then he placed the fragment

on top of that morning's Daily prophet, which lay unread on the bed, and attempted to

Stem the sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of regret and of longing the

Discovery of the broken mirror had occasioned, by attacking the rest of the rubbish in the

Trunk.

It took another hour to empty it completely, throw away the useless items, and

Sort the remainder in piles according to whether or not he would need them from now on.

His school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parchment, quills, and most of his textbooks

Were piled in a corner, to be left behind. He wondered what his aunt and uncle would do

With them; burn them in the dead of night, probably, as if they were evidence of some

Dreadful crime. His Muggle clothing, Invisibility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books,

The photograph album Hagrid had once given him, a stack of letters, and his wand had

been repacked into an old rucksack. In a front pocket were the Marauder's Map and the

Locket with the note signed R.A.B. inside it. The locket was accorded this place of honor

not because it was valuable – in all usual senses it was worthless – but because of what it

Had cost to attain it.

This left a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on his desk beside his snowy owl,

Hedwig: one for each of the days Harry had spent at Privet Drive this summer.

He got up off the floor, stretched, and moved across to his desk. Hedwig made no

Movement as he began to flick through newspapers, throwing them into the rubbish pile

One by one. The owl was asleep or else faking; she was angry with Harry about the

Limited amount of time she was allowed out of her cage at the moment.

As he neared the bottom of the pile of newspapers, Harry slowed down, searching

For one particular issue that he knew had arrived shortly after he had returned to Privet

Drive for the summer; he remembered that there had been a small mention on the front

About the resignation of Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. At

Last he found it. Turning to page ten, he sank into his desk chair and reread the article he

Had been looking for.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED

By Elphias Doge

I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our

Mutual attraction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ourselves to be

Outsiders. I had contracted dragon pox shortly before arriving at school, and while

I was no longer contagious, my pock-marked visage and greenish hue did not

Encourage many to approach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts

Under the burden of unwanted notoriety. Scarcely a year previously, his father,

Percival, had been convicted of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three

Young Muggles.

Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 740