Constrict, it reminded him so forcefully of Hogwarts, of Peeves bellowing rude versions

of carols from inside suits of armor, of the Great Hall’s twelve Christmas trees, of

Dumbledore wearing a bonnet he had won in a cracker, of Ron in a hand-knitted

Sweater. . . .

There was a kissing gate at the entrance to the graveyard. Hermione pushed it

Open as quietly as possible and they edged through it. On either side of the slippery path

To the church doors, the snow lay deep and untouched. They moved off through the snow,

Carving deep trenches behind them as they walked around the building, keeping to the

Shadows beneath the brilliant windows.

Behind the church, row upon row of snowy tombstones protruded from a blanket

Of pale blue that was flecked with dazzling red, gold, and green wherever the reflections

From the stained glass hit the snow. Keeping his hand closed tightly on the wand in his

Jacket pocket, Harry moved toward the nearest grave.

“Look at this, it’s an Abbott, could be some long-lost relation of Hannah’s!”

“Keep your voice down,” Hermione begged him.

They waded deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging dark tracks into the

Snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then

Squinting into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were

Unaccompanied.

“Harry, here!”

Hermione was two rows of tombstones away; he had to wade back to her, his

Heart positively banging in his chest.

“Is it – ?”

“No, but look!”

She pointed to the dark stone. Harry stooped down and saw , upon the frozen,

Lichen-spotted granite, the words Kendra Dumbledore and, a short way down her dates of

birth and death, and Her Daughter Ariana. There was also a quotation:

Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

So Rita Skeeter and Muriel had got some of their facts right. The Dumbledore

Family had indeed lived here, and part of it had died here.

Seeing the grave was worse than hearing about it. Harry could not help thinking

That he and Dumbledore both had deep roots in this graveyard, and that Dumbledore

Ought to have told him so, yet he had never thought to share the connection. They could

Have visited the place together; for a moment Harry imagined coming here with

Dumbledore, of what a bond that would have been, of how much it would have meant to

Him. But it seemed that to Dumbledore, the fact that their families lay side by side in the

Same graveyard had been an unimportant coincidence, irrelevant, perhaps, to the job he

Wanted Harry to do.

Hermione was looking at Harry, and he was glad that his face was hidden in

Shadow. He read the words on the tombstone again. Where your treasure is, there will

Your heart be also. He did not understand what these words meant. Surely Dumbledore

Had chosen them, as the eldest member of the family once his mother had died.

“Are you sure he never mentioned – ?” Hermione began.

“No,” said Harry curtly, then, “let’s keep looking,” and he turned away, wishing

he had not seen the stone: He did not want his excited trepidation tainted with resentment.

“Here!” cried Hermione again a few moments later from out of the darkness. “Oh

no, sorry! I thought it said Potter.”

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 749