'Well they say a burnt child loves the fire.' The words sit there on the page and June wonders briefly if he'll recognise them. Surely not. But she can so clearly imagine him in his dorm reading them, legs outstretched, diary on his lap. A moment later, his tidy script appears just beneath hers and her stomach twists in horror. 'They say what fire does not destroy, it hardens.'

"You don't have to destroy a Horcrux. You can heal it." "You speak of remorse," Dumbledore didn't sound impressed. "If I may, I see very little chance of convincing Voldemort to feel empathy for the things he has done –" "Not Voldemort," she interrupted. "Tom." "You are suggesting that we use Voldemort's first Horcrux to reanimate sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle."