I Think You're Working And Learning Until

The Ministry Has Fallen. Scrimgeour Is Dead. They Are Coming.

He Could Tell At Once That They Carried Different Sorts Of Bubble Bath Mixed With The Water Though It Wasn't Bubble Bath As Harry Had Ever Experienced. One Tap Gushed Pink And Blue Bubbles The Size Of Footballs; Another Poured Ice-white Foam So Thick That Harry Thought It Would Have Supported His Weight If He'd Cared To Test It; A Third Sent Heavily Perfumed Purple Clouds Hovering Over The Surface Of The Water. Harry Amused Himself For A While Turning The Taps On And Off, Particularly Enjoying The Effect Of One Whose Jet Bounced Off The Surface Of The Water In Large Arcs.

I've Only Suffered Writer's Block Badly Once, And That Was During The Writing Of Chamber Of Secrets. I Had My First Burst Of Publicity About The First Book And It Paralysed Me. I Was Scared The Second Book Wouldn't Measure Up, But I Got Through It!

She Kept Asking Herself Whether, If He Had Looked Cleaner, She Might Have Been More Concerned; Whether, On Some Subliminal Level, She Had Confused His Obvious Signs Of Neglect With Street-smartness, Toughness And Resilience.

But You're Dead," Said Harry. "oh Yes," Said Dumbledore Matter-of-factly. "then...i'm Dead Too?" "ah," Said Dumbledore, Smiling Still More Broadly. "that Is The Question, Isn't It? On The Whole, Dear Boy, I Think Not.” They Looked At Each Other, The Old Man Still Beaming. "not?" Repeated Harry. "not," Said Dumbledore. "but…" Harry Raised His Hand Instinctively Toward The Lightning Scar. It Did Not Seem To Be There. "but I Should Have Died—i Didn't Defend Myself! I Meant To Let Him Kill Me!" "and That," Said Dumbledore, "will, I Think, Have Made All The Difference.