When Harry1 woke the following day it was several seconds before he remembered what had happened. Then he hoped childishly, that it had been a dream, that Ron was still there and had never left. Yet by turning his head on his pillow he could see Ron’s deserted2 bunk3. It was like a dead body in the way it seems to draw his eyes. Harry jumped down from his own bed, keeping his eyes averted4 from Ron’s. Hermione, who was already busy in the kitchen, did not wish Harry good morning, but turned her face away quickly as he went by. He’s gone, Harry told himself. He’s gone. He had to keep thinking it as he washed and dressed as though repetition would dull the shock of it. He’s gone and he’s not coming back. And that was the simple truth of it, Harry knew, because their protective enchantments5 meant that it would be impossible, once they vacated this spot, for Ron to find them again. He and Hermione ate breakfast in silence. Hermione’s eyes were puffy and red; she looked as if she had not slept. They packed up their things, Hermione dawdling6. Harry knew why she wanted to spin out their time on the riverbank; several times he saw her look up eagerly, and he was sure she had deluded7 herself into thinking that she heard footsteps through the heavy rain, but no red-haired figure appeared between the trees. Every time Harry imitated her, looked around ( for he could not help hoping a little, himself) and saw nothing but rain-swept woods, another little parcel of fury exploded inside him. He could hear Ron saying, “We thought you knew what you were doing!”, and he resumed packing with a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.
The muddy river beside them was rising rapidly and would soon spill over onto their bank. They had lingered a good hour after they would usually have departed their campsite. Finally having entirely8 repacked the beaded bag three times, Hermione seemed unable to find any more reasons to delay: She and Harry grasped hands and Disapparated, reappearing on a windswept heather-covered hillside. The instant they arrived, Hermione dropped Harry’s hand and walked away from him, finally sitting down on a large rock, her face on her knees, shaking with what he knew were sobs9. He watched her, supposing that he ought to go and comfort her, but something kept him rooted to the spot. Everything inside him felt cold and tight: Again he saw the contemptuous expression on Ron’s face. Harry strode off through the heather, walking in a large circle with the distraught Hermione at its center, casting the spell she usually performed to ensure their protection.
They did not discuss Ron at all over the next few days. Harry was determined10 never to mention his name again and Hermione seemed to know that it was no use forcing the issue, although sometimes at night when she thought he was sleeping, he would hear her crying. Meanwhile Harry had started bringing out the Marauder’s map and examining it by wandlight. He was waiting for the moment when Ron’s labeled dot would reappear in the corridors of Hogwarts, proving that he had returned to the comfortable castle, protected by his status of pureblood. However, Ron did not appear on the map and after a while Harry found himself taking it out simply to stare at Ginny’s name in the girl’s dormitory, wondering whether the intensity12 with which he gazed at it might break into her sleep, that she would somehow know he was thinking about her, hoping that she was all right.
By day, they devoted13 themselves to trying to determine the possible locations of Gryffindor’s sword, but the more they talked about the places in which Dumbledore might have hidden it, the more desperate and far-fetched their speculation14 became. Cudgel his brains though he might, Harry could not remember Dumbledore ever mentioning a place in which he might hide something. There were moments when he did not know whether he was angrier with Ron or with Dumbledore. We thought you knew what you were doing…We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do… We thought you had a real plan!
He could not hide it from himself: Ron had been right. Dumbledore had left him with virtually nothing. They had discovered one Horcrux, but they had no means of destroying it: The others were as unattainable as they had ever been. Hopelessness threatened to engulf15 him. He was staggered now to think of his own presumption16 in accepting his friends’ offers to accompany him on this meandering17, pointless journey. he knew nothing, he had no ideas, and he was constantly, painfully on the alert for any indications that Hermione too was about to tell him that she had had enough. That she was leaving.
They were spending many evenings in near silence and Hermione took to bringing out Phineas Nigellus’s portrait and propping19 it up in a chair, as though he might fill part of the gaping20 hole left by Ron’s departure. Despite his previous assertion that he would never visit them again, Phineas Nigellus did not seem able to resist the chance to find out more about what Harry was up to and consented to reappear, blindfolded21, every few days of so. Harry was even glad to see him, because he was company, albeit22 of a snide and taunting23 kind. They relished24 any news about what was happening at Hogwarts, though Phineas Nigellus was not an ideal informer. He venerated25 Snape, the first Slytherin headmaster since he himself had controlled the school, and they had to be careful not to criticize or ask impertinent questions about Snape, or Phineas Nigellus would instantly leave his painting.
However, he did let drop certain snippets. Snape seemed to be facing a constant, low level of mutiny from a hard core of students. Ginny had been banned from going into Hogsmeade. Snape had reinstated Umbridge’s old decree forbidding gatherings26 of three or more students or any unofficial student societies. From all of these things, Harry deduced that Ginny, and probably Neville and Luna along with her, had been doing their best to continue Dumbledore’s Army. This scant27 news made Harry want to see Ginny so badly it felt like a stomachache; but it also made him think of Ron again, and of Dumbledore, and of Hogwarts itself, which he missed nearly as much as his ex-girlfriend. Indeed, as Phineas Niggellus talked about Snape’s crackdown, Harry experienced a split second of madness when he imagined simply going back to school to join the destabilization of Snape’s regime: Being fed and having a soft bad, and other people being in charge, seemed the most wonderful prospect28 in the world at this moment. But then he remembered that he was Undesirable29 Number One, that there was a ten-thousand Galleon30 price on his head, and that to walk into Hogwarts these days was just as dangerous as walking into the Ministry31 of Magic. Indeed, Phineas Nigellus inadvertently emphasized this fact by slipping in leading questions about Harry and Hermione’s whereabouts. Hermione shoved him back inside the beaded bag every time he did this, and Phineas Nigellus invariably refused to reappear for several days after these unceremonious good-byes.
The weather grew colder and colder. They did not dare remain in any area too long, so rather than staying in the south of England, where a hard ground frost was the worst of their worries, they continued to meander18 up and down the country, braving a mountainside, where sleet32 pounded the tent; a wide, flat marsh33, where the tent was flooded with chill water; and a tiny island in the middle of a Scottish loch, where snow half buried the tent in the night. They had already spotted34 Christmas Trees twinkling from several sitting room windows before there came an evening when Harry resolved to suggest again, what seemed to him the only unexplored avenue left to them. They had just eaten an unusually good meal: Hermione had been to a supermarket under the Invisibility Cloak (scrupulously dropping the money into an open till as she left), and Harry thought that she might be more persuadable than usual on a stomach full of spaghetti Bolognese and tinned pears.
He had also had the foresight36 to suggest that they take a few hours’ break from wearing the Horcrux, which was hanging over the end of the bunk beside him.
“Hermione?”
“Hmm?“ She was curled up in one of the sagging37 armchairs with The Tales of Beedle the Bard38. He could not imagine how much more she could get out of the book, which was not, after all, very long, but evidently she was still deciphering something in it, because Spellman’s Syllabary lay open on the arm of the chair.
Harry cleared his throat. He felt exactly as he had done on the occasion, several years previously39, when he had asked Professor McGonagall whether he could go into Hogsmeade, despite the fact that he had not persuaded the Dursleys to sign his permission slip.
“Hermione, I’ve been thinking, and – ”
“Harry, could you help me with something?”
Apparently40 she had not been listening to him. She leaned forward and held out The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
“Look at that symbol,” she said, pointing to the top of a page. Above what Harry assumed was the title of the story (being unable to read runes, he could not be sure), there was a picture of what looked like a triangular41 eye, its pupil crossed with a vertical42 line.
“I never took Ancient Runes, Hermione.”
“I know that; but it isn’t a rune and it’s not in the syllabary, either. All along I thought it was a picture of an eye, but I don’t think it is! It’s been inked in, look, somebody’s drawn43 it there, it isn’t really part of the book. Think, have you ever seen it before?“
“No… No, wait a moment.” Harry looked closer. “Isn’t it the same symbol Luna’s dad was wearing round his neck?”
“Well, that’s what I thought too!”
“Then it’s Grindelwald’s mark.“
She stared at him, openmouthed.
“What?“
“Krum told me…”
He recounted the story that Viktor Krum had told him at the wedding. Hermione looked astonished.
“Grindelwald’s mark?“
She looked from Harry to the weird44 symbol and back again. “I’ve never heard that Grindelwald had a mark. There’s no mention of it in anything I’ve ever read about him.”
“Well, like I say, Krum reckoned that symbol was carved on a wall at Durmstrang, and Grindelwald put it there.”
She fell back into the old armchair, frowning.
“That’s very odd. If it’s a symbol of Dark Magic, what’s it doing in a book of children’s stories?”
“Yeah, it is weird,” said Harry. “And you’d think Scrimgeour would have recognized it. He was Minister, he ought to have been expert on Dark stuff.”
“I know…. Perhaps he thought it was an eye, just like I did. All the other stories have little pictures over the titles.”
She did not speak, but continued to pore over the strange mark. Harry tried again.
“Hermione?”
“Hmm?”
“I’ve been thinking. I – I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.”
She looked up at him, but her eyes were unfocused, and he was sure she was still thinking about the mysterious mark on the book.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ve been wondering that too. I really think we’ll have to.”
“Did you hear me right?” he asked.
“Of course I did. You want to go to Godric’s Hollow. I agree. I think we should. I mean, I can’t think of anywhere else it could be either. It’ll be dangerous, but the more I think about it, the more likely it seems it’s there.”
“Er – what’s there?“ asked Harry.
At that, she looked just as bewildered as he felt.
“Well, the sword, Harry! Dumbledore must have known you’d want to go back there, and I mean, Godric’s Hollow is Godric Gryffindor’s birthplace – “
“Really? Gryffindor came from Godric’s Hollow?”
“Harry, did you ever even open A History of Magic?“
“Erm,” he said, smiling for what felt like the first time in months: The muscles in his face felt oddly stiff. “I might’ve opened it, you know, when I bought it… just the once….”
“Well, as the village is named after him I’d have thought you might have made the connection,“ said Hermione. She sounded much more like her old self than she had done of late; Harry half expected her to announce that she was off to the library. ”There’s a bit about the village in A History of Magic, wait…“
She opened the beaded bag and rummaged45 for a while, finally extracting her copy of their old school textbook, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot, which she thumbed through until finding the page she wanted.
“‘Upon the signature of the International Statute46 of Secrecy47 in 1689, wizards went into hiding for good. It was natural, perhaps, that they formed their own small communities within a community. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who banded together for mutual48 support and protection. The villages of Tinworsh in Cornwall, Upper Flagley in Yorkshire, and Ottery St. Catchpole on the south coast of England were notable homes to knots of Wizarding families who lived alongside tolerant and sometimes Confunded Muggles. Most celebrated49 of these half-magical dwelling50 places is, perhaps, Godric’s Hollow, the West Country village where the great wizard Godric Gryffindor was born, and where Bowman Wright, Wizarding smith, forged the first Golden Snitch. The graveyard51 is full of the names of ancient magical families, and this accounts, no doubt, for the stories of hauntings that have dogged the little church beside it for many centuries.’“
“You and your parents aren’t mentioned.“ Hermione said, closing the book, ”because Professor Bagshot doesn’t cover anything later than the end of the nineteenth century. But you see? Godric’s Hollow, Godric Gryffindor, Gryffindor’s sword; don’t you think Dumbledore would have expected you to make the connection?“
“Oh yeah…”
Harry did not want to admit that he had not been thinking about the sword at all when he suggested they go to Godric’s Hollow. For him, the lore35 of the village lay in his parents’ graves, the house where he had narrowly escaped death, and in the person of Bathilda Bagshot.
“Remember what Muriel said?” he asked eventually.
“Who?”
“You know,” he hesitated. He did not want to say Ron’s name. “Ginny’s great-aunt. At the wedding. The one who said you had skinny ankles.”
“Oh,” said Hermione. It was a sticky moment: Harry knew that she had sensed Ron’s name in the offing. He rushed on:
“She said Bathilda Bagshot still lived in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Bathilda Bagshot,” murmured Hermione, running her index finger over Bathilda’s embossed name on the front cover of A History of Magic. “Well, I suppose – ”
She gasped52 so dramatically that Harry’s insides turned over; he drew his wand, looking around at the entrance, half expecting to see a hand forcing its way through the entrance flap, but there was nothing there.
“What?” he said, half angry, half relieved. “What did you do that for? I thought you’d seen a Death Eater unzipping the tent, at least – ”
“Harry, what if Bathilda’s got the sword? What if Dumbledore entrusted53 it to her?”
Harry considered this possibility. Bathilda would be an extremely old woman by now, and according to Muriel, she was “gaga.” Was it likely that Dumbledore would have hidden the sword of Gryffindor with her? If so, Harry felt that Dumbledore had left a great deal to chance: Dumbledore had never revealed that he had replaced the sword with a fake, nor had he so much as mentioned a friendship with Bathilda. Now, however, was not the moment to cast doubt on Hermione’s theory, not when she was so surprisingly willing to fall in with Harry’s dearest wish.
“Yeah, he might have done! So, are we going to go to Godric’s Hollow?”
“Yes, but we’ll have to think it through carefully, Harry.” She was sitting up now, and Harry could tell that the prospect of having a plan again had lifted her mood as much as his. “We’ll need to practice Disapparating together under the Invisibility Cloak for a start, and perhaps Disillusionment Charms would be sensible too, unless you think we should go the whole hog11 and use Polyjuice Potion? In that case we’ll need to collect hair from somebody. I actually think we’d better do that, Harry, the thicker our disguises the better….”
Harry let her talk, nodding and agreeing whenever there was a pause, but his mind had left the conversation. For the first time since he had discovered that the sword in Gringotts was a fake, he felt excited.
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. After Hermione had gone to bed that night, Harry quietly extracted his rucksack from Hermione’s beaded bag, and from inside it, the photograph album Hagrid had given him so long ago. For the first time in months, he perused54 the old pictures of his parents, smiling and waving up at him from the images, which were all he had left of them now.
Harry would gladly have set out for Godric’s Hollow the following day, but Hermione had other ideas. Convinced as she was that Voldemort would expect Harry to return to the scene of his parents’ deaths, she was determined that they would set off only after they had ensured that they had the best disguises possible. It was therefore a full week later – once they had surreptitiously obtained hairs from innocent Muggles who were Christmas shopping, and had practiced Apparating and Disapparating while underneath55 the Invisibility Cloak together – that Hermione agreed to make the journey.
They were to Apparate to the village under cover of darkness, so it was late afternoon when they finally swallowed Polyjuice Potion, Harry transforming into a balding, middle-aged56 Muggle man, Hermione into his small and rather mousy wife. The beaded bag containing all of their possessions (apart from the Horcrux, which Harry was wearing around his neck) was tucked into an inside pocket of Hermione’s buttoned-up coat. Harry lowered the Invisibility Cloak over them, then they turned into the suffocating57 darkness once again.
Heart beating in his throat, Harry opened his eyes. They were standing58 hand in hand in a snowy lane under a dark blue sky, in which the night’s first stars were already glimmering59 feebly. Cottages stood on either side of the narrow road, Christmas decorations twinkling in their windows. A short way ahead of them, a glow of golden streetlights indicated the center of the village.
“All this snow!” Hermione whispered beneath the cloak. “Why didn’t we think of snow? After all our precautions, we’ll leave prints! We’ll just have to get rid of them – you go in front, I’ll do it – ”
Harry did not want to enter the village like a pantomime horse, trying to keep themselves concealed60 while magically covering their traces.
“Let’s take off the Cloak,” said Harry, and when she looked frightened, “Oh, come on, we don’t look like us and there’s no one around.”
He stowed the Cloak under his jacket and they made their way forward unhampered, the icy air stinging their faces as they passed more cottages. Any one of them might have been the one in which James and Lily had once lived or where Bathilda lived now. Harry gazed at the front doors, their snow-burdened roofs, and their front porches, wondering whether he remembered any of them, knowing deep inside that it was impossible, that he had been little more than a year old when he had left this place forever. He was not even sure whether he would be able to see the cottage at all; he did not know what happened when the subjects of a Fidelius Charm died. Then the little lane along which they were walking curved to the left and the heart of the village, a small square, was revealed to them.
Strung all around with colored lights, there was what looked like a war memorial in the middle, partly obscured by a windblown Christmas tree. There were several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel-bright across the square.
The snow here had become impacted: It was hard and slippery where people had trodden on it all day. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, their figures briefly61 illuminated62 by streetlamps. They heard a snatch of laughter and pop music as the pub door opened and closed; then they heard a carol start up inside the little church.
“Harry, I think it’s Christmas Eve!” said Hermione.
“Is it?”
He had lost track of the date; they had not seen a newspaper for weeks.
“I’m sure it is,” said Hermione, her eyes upon the church. “They… they’ll be in there, won’t they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it.”
Harry felt a thrill of something that was beyond excitement, more like fear. Now that he was so near, he wondered whether he wanted to see after all. Perhaps Hermione knew how he was feeling, because she reached for his hand and took the lead for the first time, pulling him forward. Halfway63 across the square, however, she stopped dead.
“Harry, look!”
She was pointing at the war memorial. As they had passed it, it had transformed. Instead of an obelisk64 covered in names, there was a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting in his mother’s arms. Snow lay upon all their heads, like fluffy65 white caps.
Harry drew closer, gazing up into his parents’ faces. He had never imagined that there would be a statue…. How strange it was to see himself represented in stone, a happy baby without a scar on his forehead….
“C’mon,” said Harry, when he had looked his fill, and they turned again toward the church. As they crossed the road, he glanced over his shoulder; the statue had turned back into the war memorial.
The singing grew louder as they approached the church. It made Harry’s throat constrict66, it reminded him so forcefully of Hogwarts, of Peeves67 bellowing68 rude versions of carols from inside suits of armor, of the Great Hall’s twelve Christmas trees, of Dumbledore wearing a bonnet69 he had won in a cracker70, 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, carving71 deep trenches72 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 protruded73 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 waded75 deeper and deeper into the graveyard, gouging76 dark tracks into the snow behind them, stooping to peer at the words on old headstones, every now and then squinting77 into the surrounding darkness to make absolutely sure that they were unaccompanied.
“Harry, here!”
Hermione was two rows of tombstones away; he had to wade74 back to her, his heart positively78 banging in his chest.
“Is it –?”
“No, but look!”
She pointed79 to the dark stone. Harry stooped down and saw, upon the frozen, lichen-spotted granite80, the words Kendra Dumbledore and, a short way down her dates of birth and death, and Her Daughter Ariana. There was also a quotation81:
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, irrelevant82, 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 eldest83 member of the family once his mother had died.
“Are you sure he never mentioned –?” Hermione began.
“No,” said Harry curtly84, then, “let’s keep looking,” and he turned away, wishing he had not seen the stone: He did not want his excited trepidation85 tainted86 with resentment87.
“Here!” cried Hermione again a few moments later from out of the darkness. “Oh no, sorry! I thought it said Potter.”
She was rubbing at a crumbling88, mossy stone, gazing down at it, a little frown on her face.
“Harry, come back a moment.”
He did not want to be sidetracked again, and only grudgingly89 made his way back through the snow toward her.
“What?”
“Look at this!”
The grave was extremely old, weathered so that Harry could hardly make out the name. Hermione showed him the symbol beneath it.
“Harry, that’s the mark in the book!”
He peered at the place she indicated: The stone was so worn that it was hard to make out what was engraved90 there, though there did seem to be a triangular mark beneath the nearly illegible91 name.
“Yeah… it could be….”
Hermione lit her wand and pointed it at the name on the headstone.
“It says Ig – Ignotus, I think….”
“I’m going to keep looking for my parents, all right?” Harry told her, a slight edge to his voice, and he set off again, leaving her crouched92 beside the old grave.
Every now and then he recognized a surname that, like Abbott, he had met at Hogwarts. Sometimes there were several generations of the same Wizarding family represented in the graveyard: Harry could tell from the dates that it had either died out, or the current members had moved away from Godric’s Hollow. Deeper and deeper amongst the graves he went, and every time he reached a new headstone he felt a little lurch93 of apprehension94 and anticipation95.
The darkness and the silence seemed to become, all of a sudden, much deeper. Harry looked around, worried, thinking of dementors, then realized that the carols had finished, that the chatter96 and flurry of churchgoers were fading away as they made their way back into the square. Somebody inside the church had just turned off the lights.
Then Hermione’s voice came out of the blackness for the third time, sharp and clear from a few yards away.
“Harry, they’re here… right here.”
And he knew by her tone that it was his mother and father this time: He moved toward her, feeling as if something heavy were pressing on his chest, the same sensation he had had right after Dumbledore had died, a grief that had actually weighed on his heart and lungs.
The headstone was only two rows behind Kendra and Ariana’s. It was made of white marble, just like Dumbledore’s tomb, and this made it easy to read, as it seemed to shine in the dark. Harry did not need to kneel or even approach very close to it to make out the words engraved upon it.
JAMES POTTER LILY POTTER
BORN 27 MARCH 1960 BORN 30 JANUARY 1960
DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981 DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Harry read the words slowly, as though he would have only one chance to take in their meaning, and he read the last of them aloud.
“‘The last enemy that shall be defeated is death’…” A horrible thought came to him, and with a kind of panic. “Isn’t that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?”
“It doesn’t mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, Harry,” said Hermione, her voice gentle. “It means… you know… living beyond death. Living after death.”
But they were not living, thought Harry. They were gone. The empty words could not disguise the fact that his parents’ moldering remains97 lay beneath snow and stone, indifferent, unknowing. And tears came before he could stop them, boiling hot then instantly freezing on his face, and what was the point in wiping them off or pretending? He let them fall, his lips pressed hard together, looking down at the thick snow hiding from his eyes the place where the last of Lily and James lay, bones now, surely, or dust, not knowing or caring that their living son stood so near, his heart still beating, alive because of their sacrifice and close to wishing, at this moment, that he was sleeping under the snow with them.
Hermione had taken his hand again and was gripping it tightly. He could not look at her, but returned the pressure, now taking deep, sharp gulps98 of the night air, trying to steady himself, trying to regain99 control. He should have brought something o give them, and he had not thought of it, and every plant in the graveyard was leafless and frozen. But Hermione raised her wand, moved it in a circle through the air, and a wreath of Christmas roses blossomed before them. Harry caught it and laid it on his parents’ grave.
As soon as he stood up he wanted to leave: He did not think he could stand another moment there. He put his arm around Hermione’s shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned in silence and walked away through the snow, past Dumbledore’s mother and sister, back toward the dark church and the out-of-sight kissing gate.
当哈利第二天醒来的时候用了好几秒钟才回想起来发生了什么。他天真地希望只是做了一场梦，他希望罗恩还在那里，他没有离开。然而当他在枕头上转过头去时，能看到罗恩废弃的床铺，它就像个路上的死尸似的在牵动着他的视线。哈利从自己的床上跳下，尽量不去看罗恩的床。赫敏在厨房里忙碌着，哈利走过去的时候，她没有祝哈利早安，而是很快地别过脸。他已经走了，哈利对自己说，他已经走了！当哈利洗漱穿戴的时候，他禁不住一再地这样想着，似乎重复这样做可以减少这件事对他的打击。罗恩已经走了，没有回来。这就是简单的真相，哈利知道，因为他们一旦离开这个罗恩能够再次找到他们的地点，他们的保护魔法就会失效。他和赫敏在沉默中吃完了早餐。赫敏的眼睛又红又肿：她看起来好像没有睡过。他们整理着自己的东西，赫敏显得心不在焉。哈利知道为什么她在河岸上拖延时间；有好几次他发现她在急切的寻找，而且他很清楚她在用虚幻的希望欺骗自己仿佛听到大雨中有脚步声。但是，那个红色头发的身影并没有在树林间出现。每一次哈利都像她一样，到处寻找（因为他自己也禁不住抱着这渺小的希望），但是除了被雨水冲刷的树木外什么也看不到；另一团小小的愤怒在他心里炸开，他能听见罗恩在说：“我们还以为你知道自己做了些什么！”带着这个重重的心结，他重新开始收拾东西。
他们旁边泥泞的河流水位在迅速地上涨，并且马上就要越过他们所在的河堤。他们比平时去营地的时间多逗留了好几个小时。最后重新给珠绣包完整地打了三次包以后，赫敏再也找不到理由去耽搁了。她和哈利手拉着手幻影显形，出现在一个风吹雨打的长满了石南花的山坡上。他们一到那儿，赫敏就放开了哈利的手，坐在一块大石头上，她的脸贴在膝盖上，不停地颤抖，哈利知道她在哭泣。他看着她，认为应该去安慰她，但是似乎有什么迫使他站在原地。他整个人都觉得寒冷和紧张：他又看到了罗恩脸上那轻蔑的表情。哈利在石南花丛中大步走着，绕着心痛的赫敏转圈，念着她经常用来保证他们安全的魔咒。
在之后的几天里他们没有讨论罗恩。哈利决定再也不提他的名字，而且赫敏看起来也知道再费劲去争论也没什么用。然而，晚上有时候，当她觉得他睡着的时候，他还是会听到她在哭。那几天里，哈利开始拿出活点地图并借着魔杖的光亮查找着。他等待着那代表罗恩的圆点出现在霍格沃茨走廊上的那一刻，以证明他已经回到舒适的城堡，受到他纯血身份的保护。然而罗恩没有出现在地图上，不久之后，哈利突然醒悟过来，发现自己一直盯着在女生宿舍里金妮的名字，他担心自己执着的注视会不会打扰她的睡眠，这样的话她也许会感觉到他在想着她，希望她一切都好。
白天的时候，他们不遗余力地尝试确定格兰芬多之剑可能存在的地点，但是他们越讨论邓布利多可能藏匿它的位置，他们就越感觉绝望和牵强。哈利绞尽脑汁也想不起来邓布利多曾经提到过的他可能藏东西的地方。有些时候他不知道自己在生罗恩的气还是邓布利多的。我们还以为你知道自己做了些什么……我们认为邓布利多跟你说过该做什么……我们认为你有一个真正的计划！
他不能否认：罗恩是对的。邓布利多事实上什么都没留给他。他们已经发现了一个魂器，但是他们没有办法去销毁它：其他的几个也难以找到。绝望笼罩了他。他现在开始动摇了，他假想着考虑接受朋友们的建议，让他们陪伴着自己去进行这次曲折的无意义的旅程。他什么都不知道，他没有主意，并且经常都要痛苦地警惕着赫敏打算告诉他她受够了的迹象，那表示她要走了。
他们近乎沉默地度过了许多个晚上。赫敏把菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯的画像拿了出来，靠在一把椅子上，就好像这能填补罗恩离开所留下的空洞。尽管他早先断言他不会再次去拜访他们，菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯好像没有能力抵抗这种能够让他更多地了解哈利打算做什么的机会；他允许自己隐身出现，并且这些天都是这样。哈利甚至高兴见到他，因为有人来跟他做伴,虽然这个伴儿是个骗子并且不断对他冷嘲热讽。他们需要了解霍格沃茨正在发生的事情，虽然菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯不是一个理想的消息来源。自从斯内普成为第一个控制学校的斯莱特林院长以来，他一直崇拜着他。于是，他们不得不小心地注意不去批评或者提到与斯内普相干的问题，否则菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯会立即离开他的油画。
尽管如此，他还是留下了一个可信的细节：斯内普似乎正被迫面对核心学生发起持续的低层次叛变，金妮被禁止去霍格莫德。斯内普恢复了乌姆里奇的那些可怕的旧法令，禁止三个或三个以上学生聚集在一起，禁止了非正式的学生社团。从所有这些事情中，哈利推断出金妮，大概还有纳威和卢娜，在尽全力继续邓布利多军的活动。这个不充分的消息使他急切的想见金妮，这种感觉使得他不断感到自己的胃在抽搐。但是这也使得他再一次想到罗恩和邓布利多以及霍格沃茨本身，几乎就像怀念他曾经的女朋友一样。事实上，当菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯谈起斯内普的压迫时，哈利想像着能回到学校加入到扰乱斯内普政权的行动中，这使他兴奋起来：有吃有喝，柔软的床铺，其他人都在看管之下。此刻，这些看起来都是世界上最令人惊奇的预想。然而，他随之想起他是最不受欢迎的人，他的脑袋值一万加隆，而且现在进入霍格沃茨和进入魔法部一样危险。的确，菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯常常不经意地强调着。事实上，他慢慢地懒于知道关于哈利和赫敏的行踪的问题。每当他这么做时，赫敏就把他推回到珠绣包里，在这种随便的告别方式实施后的几天里，菲尼亚斯·尼哥拉斯就拒绝再次出现。
天气变得越来越冷。他们没敢在任何地方呆太久，甚至严霜覆盖的英国南部也成了最让他们忧虑的地方。他们继续在国家里来来往往，他们勇敢地面对高山，在那里帐篷被冰雪覆盖；他们勇敢地面对无边的沼泽，在那里帐篷被寒冷的洪水湮没；在苏格兰湖中的一个小岛上，暴雪在夜晚盖过大半个帐篷。在透过许多房子的窗户里都能看到闪闪发光的圣诞树的那个夜晚，哈利下决心再一次提出建议：他觉得他们只剩下一条未调查过的路了。他们刚吃完异常丰盛的晚饭：赫敏穿着隐形衣去了趟超市（她走的时候小心翼翼的把钱扔进了商店里一个开着的钱罐），哈利认为在他们的胃装满意大利番茄牛肉面和罐头梨的时候，她更容易被说服些。
哈利已经就这个建议进行过深谋远虑，他认为他们应该摘下魂器几个小时，它现在正挂在哈利旁边的铺位边上。
“赫敏？”
“嗯?”她捧着《游吟诗人比德的故事》蜷缩在一张松垂了的扶手椅上。他无法想像她能离开这本书中多长时间，必竟这本书不是很长，但是她显然在试图解释一些东西，因为魔法字音表正摊在椅子的扶手上。
哈利清了清嗓子。这使他感觉回到了几年前，那是他在询问麦格教授没有德思礼家的签名能不能去霍格莫德时的场景。
“赫敏，我在想……”
“哈利，你能帮我做点事吗？”很显然她没有听他说话。她探身拿出《游吟诗人比德的故事》。
“看这个符号。”她说，指着这一页的前面。在哈利认为是那是故事的题目（他不会读古代魔文，因此他并不能确定），这是一张看起来像三角形眼睛的图片，瞳孔处有一道垂线。
“我从来没学过古代魔文，赫敏。”
“我知道，但是它不是魔文，而且也不在发音表里。一直以来我认为这是一个眼睛的图片，但我想它不是！这是墨水画的，看，有人画在这的，不是这本书原有的。想想吧，你以前见过它吗？”“不……不，等等。”哈利靠近了看“它不是卢娜的爸爸戴在脖子上的吗？”
“嗯，这也是我所想的！”
“这是格林德沃的标记。”
她盯着他，惊讶的张大嘴。
“什么？”
“克鲁姆告诉我的……”他叙述了一遍维克多尔克鲁姆在婚礼上跟他说的事，赫敏看起来很惊讶。
“格林德沃的标志？”
她的目光离开哈利转到奇怪的标记上之后又转回来。
“我从来没听说过格林德沃有标记。我所读的关于它的东西里都没有提到过。”
“嗯，就像我说的，克鲁姆说这个标记刻在德姆斯特朗的一面墙上，是格林德沃留在那儿的。”她回到了旧扶手椅上，皱着眉头。
“这太奇怪了。如果这是个黑魔法标记，怎么会在一本儿童读物里？”
“是的，它很奇怪。”哈利说。“斯克林杰已经检测过它了。他是魔法部长，应该是个黑魔法物品鉴定的专家。”
“我知道……或许他认为只是个眼睛，就像我以前想的一样。其他所有的故事题目上都有个小图片。”她不说话了，只是凝视这这个奇怪的标记。哈利又一次尝试。
“赫敏？”
“嗯？”
“我在想，我……我应该去高锥克山谷。”
她看着他，但是她的眼睛没有神采，他认为她还在想那本书上的神秘标记。
“是的，”她说“是的，我也觉得是。我真的认为我们应该去那。”
“你听清楚我说什么了吗？”他问。
“当然，你想去高锥克山谷。我同意，我想我们应该，我的意思是，我想不出除那之外的别的地方。虽然那会很危险，但是我越是想它就越觉得它在那。”
“呃……什么在那？”哈利问。
这是……她看起来和他一样地迷惑不解。
“好吧，那把剑，哈利！邓布利多一定知道你要回那去，我的意思是，高锥克山谷是戈德里克·格兰芬多的出生地……”
“真的吗？格兰芬多来自戈德里克峡谷？”“哈利，你究竟有没有翻开过魔法史教材？”
“呃，”他说，这是他在几个月内第一次感觉到美好的事情，这突然到来的感觉使他觉得脸部僵硬，“我打开过，你知道，在我买它的时候……只是一次……”
“好吧，自从这个村庄以他的名字命名后，我还以为你可以把这两者联系起来。”赫敏说。和最近一段时间相比，她的声音更像她以前的了，哈利几乎可以感觉她会宣布她要离开去趟图书馆。“魔法史里面有一点关于这个村庄的记载，等一下……”
她打开珠绣包然后翻了一阵，最后翻出了他们在学校里时的一本老教材，巴希达·巴沙特所著的魔法史，她用拇指快速地翻动着直到找到她想要的那页。
“1689年国际秘密法令的记录表明。巫师永远的隐居了。也许这很自然。但是，他们在社会中建立了一个自己的小团体。许多小村庄和小部落的魔法家庭被吸引，聚集起来互相支持和保护。康沃尔的锡沃斯村，约克郡弗莱格林北部的地区，还有英格兰南部海岸的奥特里·圣卡奇波尔是形成巫师家族的值得注意的几个地点，他们住在麻瓜旁边有时候还宽容地资助这些麻瓜。在这些半魔法的住地中，最有名的也许就是英国西南部的村庄高锥克山谷，伟大巫师戈德里克·格兰芬多的出生地；在那里魔法工匠布朗姆·莱特铸造了第一只金色飞贼。墓地里满是古代魔法家族的名字，毫无疑问，这些闹鬼故事的记录已经在旁边的小教堂流传了许多个世纪。”
“你和你的父母没有被提到。”赫敏说，合上书，“因为巴沙特教授对于晚于19世纪末的事件没有任何记载。但是你看到了吗？高锥克山谷，戈德里克格兰芬多，格兰芬多之剑；你不认为邓布利多希望你把他们联系在一起吗？”
“哦，是的……”
哈利不想承认他提议去戈德里克峡谷的时候根本没有想到格兰芬多之剑。就他而言，他关于这个村庄的认识只来源于他父母的墓地，勉强让他不死的房子和巴希达·巴沙特。
“记得穆莉尔说过吗?”他最后问。
“谁？”
“你知道。”他犹豫道。他不想提到罗恩的名字，“金妮的姨妈，在婚礼上，说你皮包骨头的那个人。”
“哦”，赫敏说，这是一个难捱的片刻：哈利知道她眼看着就已经感觉到了罗恩的名字。他匆忙说：“她说巴希达·巴沙特仍然住在高锥克山谷。”
“巴希达·巴沙特，”赫敏喃喃道，用食指抚摸着被浮雕花纹装饰的魔法史封面巴希达·巴沙特的名字。“嗯，我推测……”
她气喘虚虚的样子使哈利的内心翻了个个。她挥动他的魔杖，看着门口，似乎希望看到有一只手拉开门口的拉链，但是那儿什么也没有。
“什么？”他半生气半放心的问道，“你这是在做什么？我还以为你看到一个食死徒拉开了帐篷的拉链,至少……”
“哈利，巴希达要是把剑拿走了怎么办？要是邓布利多把剑委托给她的话怎么办？”
哈利考虑过这种可能性。巴希达现在是一个很老的女人，并且如穆里尔所说，她很“狂热”。邓布利多有可能让她去藏格兰芬多之剑吗？如果如此，哈利觉得邓布利多留下大量的变数：邓布利多从来没表现出他会在原处放一把假剑，更没有提到过与巴希达的友谊。无论如何，现在不是怀疑赫敏的说法的时候；也是不询问她的想法是何时令人惊奇地与自己相一致的时候。
“是的，他可能会！那么，我们是准备要去高锥克山谷了吗？”
“是的，但是我们必须从头到尾认真想一想，哈利。”她端坐起来，哈利可以肯定，新的计划重新激起了她的热情，正如同他自己一样。“我们需要一起练习在隐形衣里使用幻影显形——作为一个开始。而且幻身咒也可能也同样有意义，除非你认为我们将要彻底使用复方汤剂？如果那样的话我们需要收集某个人的头发。事实上我想我们最好不这样做，哈利，伪装得越多越好……”
哈利让她继续说着，在每一个停顿处点头同意，但他的注意力早已离开了对话。这是他在发现剑在古灵阁是一个假象后，第一次感到兴奋。
要不是伏地魔，他本会在高锥克山谷成长，并度过每一个假期。他本可以邀请他的朋友们去做客……甚至可能会有弟弟或者妹妹……他的十七岁生日蛋糕会由妈妈亲手为他制作。当他发现他要回到那个原本属于他的地方时，他所失去的生活从未有过的如此真实的呈现在他面前。那天晚上在赫敏入睡后，哈利悄悄地从赫敏的珍珠袋中拿出自己的帆布包，最里面是海格很久以前送的影集。几个月来他第一次认真的看父母的旧照片，他们微笑着向他招手，那些已经是他不能再拥有的过去。
如果第二天早上就出发去高锥克山谷，哈利会很高兴。但是赫敏另有想法，她确信伏地魔一定期待着哈利回到他父母的墓地，于是坚持只有在他们伪装得无懈可击后才能启程。因此他们晚了整整一个星期——他们从正在进行圣诞购物的无辜麻瓜身上获取头发，然后一起在隐性衣下练习幻影移形——一切赫敏所坚持的训练。
他们必须在夜幕笼罩了村子之后才能显形，所以他们在黄昏的时候才吞下复方汤剂。哈利变成一个秃头的中年男性麻瓜，赫敏则变成他瘦小的、老鼠似的妻子。赫敏把装着他们全部财产（除了那个魂器，哈利把它戴在脖子上）的珠绣包塞在外套的内口袋里。哈利把隐行衣盖在两个人身上，他们再一次进入令人窒息的黑暗中。
哈利再次睁开眼睛，心脏在嗓子眼里怦怦乱跳。他们正手牵手站在白雪覆盖的乡间小路上，星星在暗蓝的天幕上闪烁着微弱的光芒。村舍分布在窄道两旁，圣诞节饰品在窗口闪烁，前面不远处，金黄色的街灯指向村庄的中心。
“到处都是雪！”赫敏在隐行衣下低声说，“我们为什么没有考虑到雪？采取了那么多防范措施，我们还是会留下脚印！我们必须除掉它们--你先走，我来——”
哈利可不想像表演哑剧的马匹一样进入村庄，他试图在脚印魔法般的消失时隐蔽好他们两个。
“脱下隐形衣吧，”哈利说，看到赫敏惊恐的表情，“噢，脱了吧，我们看起来并不像自己真正的样子，况且这附近也没什么人。”
他把隐形衣收进夹克，开始再没有任何阻碍地前行。冰冷的空气刺痛了他们的脸。他们路过更多的村舍，每一所都可能是詹姆和莉莉曾经住过，或者巴沙特现在居住的地方。哈利盯着这些前门，积雪覆盖的屋顶以及前廊，想着自己是不是能记起一点什么，但内心深处却意识到这不可能，因为他在一岁多一点的时候就永远离开了这里。他甚至不敢肯定自己是否还能看到那座房子，他不知道如果被隐藏起来的整个物件都消失会对赤胆忠心咒有什么影响。这时他们的小路已经弯向左边，在村子中心，一个小型广场呈现在他们眼前。
广场中央看上去像是有一个战争纪念碑，四周装饰着彩灯，一部分隐没在被风吹斜的圣诞树的阴影里。附近有几家商店，一间邮局，一个酒馆和一座小教堂，教堂的彩色玻璃窗发出宝石般灿烂的光芒，照亮了广场。
这里的雪开始变得结实：在人们走了一天后变得坚硬而光滑。村民们在胸前划着十字，他们的轮廓在街灯中显得简单而清晰。哈利和赫敏听到了一阵笑声、流行音乐声以及酒馆大门开关的声音，然后教堂传出了颂歌。
“哈利，我想这是圣诞夜！”赫敏说。
“是吗？”
他已经失去了时间概念，他们已经连续几个星期没有看过一份报纸了。
“我能确定，”赫敏说。她的视线越过教堂，“他们……他们会在那里，不是吗？你的妈妈和爸爸？我能看到教堂后面的墓地。”
哈利一阵颤栗，感觉超越了兴奋，更像是恐惧。现在已是如此接近，他怀疑自己究竟是不是真的想看到。也许赫敏能够理解他的感受，因为她正牵起他的手，拉着他前进，这还是第一次。然而经过广场时，她突然停住了。
“哈利，看！”
赫敏指着那块战争纪念碑。当他们经过时，纪念碑消失了，原来刻满人名的方尖石塔被一组三人雕像所代替：一个男人，头发乱蓬蓬的，带着眼镜；一个长发女人，友好和蔼，美丽优雅；还有一个男婴，坐在她的怀中。他们头上盖满了雪花，像是戴了白色的绒帽。
哈利靠的更近些，凝视着父母的脸。他从来没有想象过这里会有一组雕像……看到自己石质的面容是多么奇怪的一件事——一个额头上没有疤痕的快乐的婴儿。
“走吧，”当他觉得已经得到满足时，哈利说道，然后他们继续走向教堂。当他们穿过大路时，他回头看了看，那组雕像又一次变成了战争纪念碑。
随着他们接近教堂，歌声更加响亮。哈利的喉咙发紧，这歌声让他越发想念霍格沃茨，想念躲在盔甲里皮皮鬼唱的粗鲁的颂歌，想念礼堂里的十二棵圣诞树，想念戴着从彩包爆竹得来的无边女帽的邓布利多，想念穿着手织毛衣的罗恩……
墓地入口处有一个窄门。赫敏尽可能轻地推开它，然后他们侧身穿了过去。两旁通往教堂大门的小路上积雪厚实，从没有人踏上去过。他们穿过雪地，绕着房屋走着，躲在明亮窗户下的阴影里，一路留下深深的脚印。
教堂后面，是一排又一排覆雪的墓碑，透过彩色玻璃，红色金色绿色的光斑打在淡蓝色的雪地上，哈利抓紧上衣口袋里的魔杖，走向最近的一座坟墓。
“看这里，是艾博家族的，可能与汉娜家有些渊源！”
“拜托你小点声。”赫敏低声乞求道。
他们逐渐向墓地深处跋涉，身后留下深暗的足迹，时而停下来看看墓碑上的文字，并不时从眼角瞟一眼周围黑暗的景物，确保没有人跟踪。
“哈利，这里！”
赫敏与他隔着两排墓碑。哈利费力的走向她，心脏在胸腔中激烈的跳动。
“那就是……？”
“不是，但是看这里！”
她指着一块黑色的石头。哈利低下头，看着这块冰冷的、布满青苔的花岗岩，上面刻着她的出生和死亡日期，往下一点是“凯德拉·邓布利多”和“她的女儿阿瑞娜”的字样。还有一行祭文：
你的宝藏在哪里，你的心就在哪里
这么说丽塔·斯基特和穆丽尔确实搞到了一些实事。邓布利多家族确实曾经住在这里，而且一部分家族成员也葬在这里。
亲眼见到这座坟墓比仅仅听说更加糟糕，哈利禁不住想，他和邓布利多的根都同样在这座墓园中，邓布利多本应该告诉他的，虽然他从没想过这层联系。他们本可以一起拜访这里的。有那么一瞬间哈利想象着与邓布利多一起来到这里，这将是怎样一种结合，这对他将有多么大的意义。但是或许对于邓布利多，他们的家族在墓地里并肩而列似乎只是不重要的巧合，也许，跟他交给哈利的任务是毫不相关的。
赫敏看着哈利，而哈利则庆幸自己的脸隐藏在阴影中。他又读了一遍墓碑上的话：
你的宝藏在哪里，你的心就在哪里
他并不理解这些词的意思。但可以肯定，是作为母亲死去后家里最年长成员的邓布利多选择了它作为墓志铭。
“你确定他从来没有提到过－?”赫敏开始说话了。
“我确定。”哈利简略的回答，“我们继续找吧。”然后他转身走开，真心希望自己从来没有看过这块石头：他不想让怨恨来影响自己兴奋的心情。
“这里！”片刻后赫敏再一次在黑暗中尖叫起来。“噢，不，对不起。我以为它指的是波特。”
她在一块长满苔藓的破碎的墓碑上擦拭着，皱着眉头低头研究了一会儿。
“哈利，再回来一下。”
哈利不愿再被牵着鼻子走了，只是勉强穿过雪地向她走去。
“什么东西？”
“看这个！”
这块墓碑实在是很旧了，风化的哈利都认不清上面的名字。赫敏指出下面的符号。
“哈利，这是那本书上的符号！”
哈利凝视着她手指的地方：墓碑太破旧了，旧到让人难以认清那里曾经刻了些什么，尽管在模糊的名字下面，看起来确实有一个三角形标记。
“是的……可能是……”
赫敏点亮魔杖指着墓石上的字。
“那是伊格·伊格诺思，我想是的……”
“我要去找我的父母了，好吧？”哈利有点尖刻地对她说，然后再一次出发，留下赫敏一个人蹲在旧墓碑旁。
他时不时地会找到一些认识的姓氏，比如艾博，曾在霍格沃茨见到过。有时墓园里会同时出现几代巫师家族人员的名字：哈利可以通过日期来辨别这个家族是否已经灭绝，或者当前成员是否已经从高锥克山谷移居到其他地方。他走的越来越远，并且每次他到达一块新墓石时，他总会感到一点忧惧和期盼。
黑暗和寂静似乎是突然之间降临的。哈利担心的向四周看看，怀疑是摄魂怪的侵袭。然后意识到圣诞颂歌已经结束，喋喋不休的谈话者与做礼拜者正渐渐远去，教堂里刚刚熄灭了灯火。
接着赫敏的声音第三次从黑暗中传来，在几码外尖利而清晰。
“哈利，他们在这儿……就在这儿。”
哈利从她的音调里判断出这一次是他的父母：他向她走去，觉得有什么沉重的东西正在挤压着他的胸膛，就像邓布利多刚死去时一样，悲痛真实地重压在心肺上。
这块墓碑仅在凯德拉和阿瑞娜的墓碑两排之后，由白色大理石制成，如同邓布利多的坟墓，这使得墓碑更容易看得清楚，而且它似乎在黑暗中闪闪发亮。
詹姆·波特
生于１９６０．３．２７
卒于１９８１．１０．３１
莉莉·波特
生于１９６０．１．３０
死于１９８１．１０．３１
最后将要被击败的敌人就是死亡
哈利缓慢的读着，好像他只有一次机会理解这些词的意思。然后他大声读出了最后一句话。
“最后将要被击败的敌人就是死亡……”一个可怕的念头突然闪过脑海，带着一丝惊恐，“这会不会是一个食死徒的主意？为什么它们在这儿？”
“这并不是食死徒所谓的战胜死亡，哈利。”赫敏温和的说道。“它的意思是……你知道……生命是可以超越死亡的。有的人，虽死犹生。”
但是他们已经失去了生命，哈利想。他们已经走了。这些空洞的话语并不能掩饰他父母的尸骨正在大雪和石块下渐渐腐烂的事实，这是无关紧要，无需觉察的。还没来得及控制，他滚烫的泪水就已经夺眶而出，立即冻在脸上。擦去或者掩饰又有什么意义呢？他任泪水流下，嘴唇紧抿，看着厚厚的积雪掩盖埋有莉莉和詹姆最后遗骸的地方，那或许只剩骨头，也可能已是尘埃。他们没有理会、也不关心自己活着的儿子就在如此近距离得站着。因为他们的牺牲，哈利的心依然在跳动，他依然活着，但此时此刻，他却希望自己正与他们一起长眠于大雪中。
赫敏已经拿出了魔杖，紧紧握住。哈利没有看她，但也有了紧迫感。他大口大口地吞咽着夜晚的空气，试图镇定下来，控制住自己的情绪。他本应该带些什么给父母，可他从没有想过，而且墓园里的所有植物都凋零冻僵了。然而赫敏举起了魔杖，在空气里划了一个圈，然后一圈圣诞玫瑰在他们面前开放。哈利拿住它，放在父母的坟上。
一旦站起来，他就想离开了：他不认为自己能在那里继续站下去。他把手臂放在赫敏肩头，赫敏搂住他的腰，然后他们一起安静的转身，走过雪地，走过邓布利多的母亲和妹妹的坟墓，返回黑暗的教堂和那扇已经看不见了的窄门。
收听单词发音 |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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enchantments
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| n.魅力( enchantment的名词复数 )；迷人之处；施魔法；着魔 | |
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dawdling
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| adj.闲逛的，懒散的v.混（时间）( dawdle的现在分词 ) | |
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deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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engulf
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| vt.吞没，吞食 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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meandering
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| 蜿蜒的河流，漫步，聊天 | |
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meander
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| n.河流的曲折，漫步，迂回旅行；v.缓慢而弯曲地流动，漫谈 | |
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propping
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| 支撑 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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blindfolded
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| v.（尤指用布）挡住（某人）的视线( blindfold的过去式 )；蒙住（某人）的眼睛；使不理解；蒙骗 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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venerated
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| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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galleon
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| n.大帆船 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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foresight
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| n.先见之明，深谋远虑 | |
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sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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43
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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45
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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46
statute
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| n.成文法，法令，法规；章程，规则，条例 | |
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47
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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48
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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50
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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52
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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53
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perused
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的过去式和过去分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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55
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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constrict
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| v.压缩，收缩，阻塞 | |
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peeves
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| n.麻烦的事物，怨恨，触怒( peeve的名词复数 ) | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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cracker
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| n.（无甜味的）薄脆饼干 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
gouging
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| n.刨削[槽]v.凿( gouge的现在分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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85
trepidation
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| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
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86
tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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grudgingly
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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illegible
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| adj.难以辨认的，字迹模糊的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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96
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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98
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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99
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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