As He Followed Bill Back To The

He Read The Letter Again, But Could Not Take In Any More Meaning Than He Had Done The First Time And Was Reduced To Staring At The Handwriting Itself. She Had Made Her G's The Same Way He Did : He Searched Through The Letter For Every One Of Them, And Each Felt Like A Friendly Little Wave Glimpsed From Behind A Veil. The Letter Was An Incredible Treasure, Proof That Lily Potter Had Lived, Really Lived, That Her Warm Hand Had Once Moved Across This Parchment, Tracing Ink Into These Letters, These Words, Words About Him, Harry, Her Son.

But You're Dead,' Said Harry. 'oh, Yes,' Said Dumbledore Matter-of-factly. 'then... Am I Dead Too?' 'ah,' Said Dumbledore, Smiling Still More Broadly. 'that Is The Question, Isn't It? On The Whole, Dear Boy, I Think Not.

The Hook-nosed Teacher Looked Past Quirrell’s Turban Straight Into Harry’s Eyes — And A Sharp, Hot Pain Shot Across The Scar On Harry’s Forehead.

Some Readers And Commentators Really Want To Scrape Your Insides Out To Make Sense Of Your Work. Others Say, There's The Work, It Speaks For Itself. Personally, I Fall Somewhere In The Middle.

For Future Reference, Harry, It Is Raspberry...although Of Course, If I Were A Death Eater, I Would Have Been Sure To Research My Own Jam Preferences Before Impersonating Myself.