Godward Godward La Pensierosa

Godward Godward La PensierosaGodward In the TepidariumGodward Under the Blossom that Hangs on the BoughGodward Godward A Souvenir
And he walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright. . . .

　　　And here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters. The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape. He felt again that rush of controlled euphoria, that heady sense of purpose in destruction. He raised the old yew wand: How fitting that this would be its last great act.
left his spectacles on the crooked nose: He felt amused derision. Dumbledore's hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him.
　　　The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long as thin as it had been in . He raised the wand again.

　　　The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. They had