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A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it had grown so strong that even Scabbers poked his nose out of the shelter of Ron’s pocket to sniff hopefully at the air. On Christmas morning, Harry was woken by Ron throwing his pillow at him. “Oi! Presents!”
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” he yelled. And out of the end of his wand burst, not a shapeless cloud of mist, but a blinding, dazzling, silver animal.
“Didn’t make any difference?” said Dumbledore quietly. “It made all the difference in the world, Harry.
“You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that particular Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.”
