Involving a train, a sorting, three flowers, and an important question?.

The sky was open, yawning, like a void it spread out above him. Here and there was the faintest glimmer of a star, a mere smudge of silver against the inky blackness. As he looked up into the darkness, he felt small, insignificant, as though it might swallow him whole.

Of an ochre voice, a silky voice, a question gone unanswered, and the end of innocence.

Mudblood. It was a hated word. Mudblood. A disgusting word, like rat or maggot or cockroach…She bit her lip so hard a bead of blood appeared, fighting back tears like a tigress.