“What we need,” said Dumbledore slowly, and his light blue eyes moved from Harry to Hermione, “is more time.” “But—” Hermione began. And then her eyes became very round. “OH!”

Then they turned aside, leaving the highway and taking to the sweet upland turf again. Going westward a mile or so they came to a dale. It opened southward, leaning back into the slope of round Dol Baran, the last hill of the northern ranges, greenfooted, crowned with heather. The sides of the glen were shaggy with last year’s bracken, among which the tight-curled fronds of spring were just thrusting through the sweet-scented earth.