Even You-know-who Can't Split Himself Into Seven.

Yes, There Are Parallels. The Difference Is That I Just Look At [my Son] David And Think That He's Absolutely Perfect, Whereas You Look At The Finished Book And You Think, 'oh, Damn It, I Should Have Changed That.' You're Never Happy. Whereas With A Baby, You're Happy. If You've Got A Perfect Baby, You're Just Grateful.

Harry Moved The Tip Of His Eagle-feather Quill Down The Page, Frowning As He Looked For Something That Would Help Him Write His Essay, “witch Burning In The Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless — Discuss.

I Heard From My Dear Friend Tiberius Ogden, That You Can Produce A Patronus? For A Bonus Point...? Harry Raised His Wand, Looked Directly At Umbridge, And Imagined Her Being Sacked. Expecto Patronum! The Silver Stag Erupted From The End Of His Wand And Cantered The Length Of The Hall.

This Is Night, Diddykins. That's What We Call It When It Goes All Dark Like This.

I Tell You, That Dragon's The Most Horrible Animal I've Ever Met, But The Way Hagrid Goes On About It, You'd Think It Was A Fluffy Little Bunny Rabbit.