Do Not Pity The Dead, Harry.

Chess Was The Only Thing Hermione Ever Lost At, Something Harry And Ron Thought Was Very Good For Her.

Sometimes, If She Simply Remained Quiet, And Let The Inadequacy Of His Excuses Reverberate On The Air, He Became Ashamed And Backtracked.

Harry Felt Winded, As Though He Had Just Walked Into Something Heavy. He Had Last Seen Those Cool Gray Eyes Through Slits In A Death Eater’s Hood, And Last Heard That Man’s Voice Jeering In A Dark Graveyard While Lord Voldemort Tortured Him. He Could Not Believe That Lucius Malfoy Dared Look Him In The Face; He Could Not Believe That He Was Here, In The Ministry Of Magic, Or That Cornelius Fudge Was Talking To Him, When Harry Had Told Fudge Mere Weeks Ago That Malfoy Was A Death Eater.

Hang On. This Lord Voldything's Back You Say?... And Now He's Sending Dismembers After You?... I See. Well That Settles It, You Can Get Out Of This House Boy!

Whatever Money You Might Have, Self-worth Really Lies In Finding Out What You Do Best.