I Hope There's Pudding!

No, I'm Fine,' Said Harry, Wondering Why He Kept Telling People This, And Wondering Whether He Had Ever Been Less Fine.

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.

Raindrops The Size Of Bullets Thundered On The Castle Windows For Days On End; The Lake Rose, The Flower Beds Turned Into Muddy Streams, And Hagrid’s Pumpkins Swelled To The Size Of Garden Sheds.

From This Point Forth, We Shall Be Leaving The Firm Foundation Of Fact And Journeying Together Through The Murky Marshes Of Memory Into Thickets Of Wildest Guesswork.

Whoops - My Wand Is A Little Over Excited!