「 my time 」

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[ VOLUME FIVE ]

CHAPTER 132;
my time

[ MAY FIRST, 98' ]


Harry James Potter,










♱

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'Let his flesh not be torn

Let his blood leave no stain

Though they beat him

Let him feel no pain

Let his bones never break

And however they try to destroy him

Let him never die

Let him never die'






        Harry slept badly that night.
Lying awake in the early hours, he thought back to how he had felt the night before they had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and remembered a determination, almost an excitement.

Now he was experiencing jolts of anxiety, nagging doubts: He could not shake off the fear that it was all going to go wrong. He kept telling himself that their plan was good, that Griphook knew what they were facing, that they were well-prepared for all the difficulties they were likely to encounter, yet still he felt uneasy.

It was a relief when six o'clock arrived, and they could slip out of their sleeping bags, dress in the semidarkness, and then creep out into the garden, where they were to meet Hermione and Griphook. The dawn was chilly, but there was little wind now that it was May.

Harry looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky and listened to the sea washing backward and forward against the cliff: He would miss the sound.
Small green shoots were forcing their way up through the red earth of Dobby's grave now; in a year's time, the mound would be covered in flowers. The white stone that bore the elf's name had already acquired a weathered look. He realised now that they could hardly have laid Dobby to rest in a more beautiful place, but Harry ached with sadness to think of leaving him behind.

Looking down on the grave, he wondered yet again how the elf had known where to come to rescue them. His fingers moved absentmindedly to the little pouch still strung around his neck, through which he could feel the jagged mirror fragment in which he had been sure he had seen Dumbledore's eye.

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