There was no waking from his nightmare, no comforting whisper in the dark that he was safe really, that it was all in his imagination; the last and greatest of his protectors had died and he was more alone than he had ever been before.

the Cloak, the true magic of which, of course, is that it can be used to protect and shield others as well as its owner.

His heart was leaping against his ribs like a frantic bird.

‘There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,’ said Voldemort. ‘There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colours of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone,

I do not think Sirius ever saw Kreacher as a being with feelings as acute as a human’

Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words: MAGIC IS MIGHT.

To give Voldemort what appears to be valuable information while withholding the essentials is a job I would entrust to nobody but you.’

You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?’ ‘You dare –’ ‘Yes, I dare,’ said Harry, ‘I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle.

‘That’s right. And they’re breeding. That’s what’s causing all this mist.’