Death Is Just Life's Next Big Adventure.

How Awful It Was, Thought Tessa, Remembering Fats The Toddler, The Way Tiny Ghosts Of Your Living Children Haunted Your Heart; They Could Never Know, And Would Hate It If They Did, How Their Growing Was A Constant Bereavement.

Harry Ran Upstairs To Their Dark Dormitory. He Pulled Out The Cloak And Then His Eyes Fell On The Flute Hagrid Had Given Him For Christmas. He Pocketed It To Use On Fluffy — He Didn’t Feel Much Like Singing.

Professor Snape Was Forcing Them To Research Antidotes. They Took This One Seriously, As He Had Hinted That He Might Be Poisoning One Of Them Before Christmas To See If Their Antidote Worked.

Even The Weather Seemed To Be Celebrating; As June Approached, The Days Became Cloudless And Sultry, And All Anybody Felt Like Doing Was Strolling Onto The Grounds And Flopping Down On The Grass With Several Pints Of Iced Pumpkin Juice, Perhaps Playing A Casual Game Of Gobstones Or Watching The Giant Squid Propel Itself Dreamily Across The Surface Of The Lake.

I Just Wish I’d Asked You Sooner. We Could’ve Had Ages . . . Months . . . Years Maybe. . . .