The Will of Albus Dumbledore

           Hewaswalkingalongamountainroadinthecoolbluelightofdawn.Farbelow,swathedinmist,wastheshadowofasmalltown.Wasthemanhesoughtdownthere,themanheneededsobadlyhecouldthinkoflittleelse,themanwhoheldtheanswer,theanswertohisproblem...?

           "Oi,wakeup."

           Harryopenedhiseyes.HewaslyingagainonthecampbedinRon’sdingyatticroom.Thesunhadnotyetrisenandtheroomwasstillshadowy.Pigwidgeonwasasleepwithhisheadunderhistinywing.ThescaronHarry’sforeheadwasprickling.

           "Youweremutteringinyoursleep."

           "WasI?"

           "Yeah.‘Gregorovitch.’Youkeptsaying‘Gregorovitch.’"

           Harrywasnotwearinghisglasses;Ron’sfaceappearedslightlyblurred.

           "Who’sGregorovitch?"

           "Idunno,doI?Youweretheonesayingit."

           Harryrubbedhisforehead,thinking.Hehadavagueideahehadheardthenamebefore,buthecouldnotthinkwhere.

           "IthinkVoldemort’slookingforhim."

           "Poorbloke,"saidRonfervently.

           Harrysatup,stillrubbinghisscar,nowwideawake.Hetriedtorememberexactlywhathehadseeninthedream,butallthatcamebackwasamountainoushorizonandtheoutlineofthelittlevillagecradledinadeepvalley.

           "Ithinkhe’sabroad."

           "Who,Gregorovitch?"

           "Voldemort.Ithinkhe’ssomewhereabroad,lookingforGregorovitch.Itdidn’tlooklikeanywhereinBritain."

           "Youreckonyouwereseeingintohismindagain?"

           Ronsoundedworried.

           "Domeafavoranddon’ttellHermione,"saidHarry.

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