Like A Tongue On Frozen Steel, Like

Naturally Shirley Had Known, As They Slid Stock Words And Phrases Back And Forth Between Them Like Beads On An Abacus, That Howard Must Be As Brimful Of Ecstasy As She Was; But To Express These Feelings Out Loud, When The News Of Death Was Still Fresh In The Air, Would Have Been Tantamount To Dancing Naked And Shrieking Obscenities, And Howard And Shirley Were Clothed, Always, In An Invisible Layer Of Decorum That They Never Laid Aside.

There Will Be Books Written About Harry. Every Child In The World Will Know His Name.

Everything Had Shattered. The Fact That It Was All Still There — The Walls And The Chairs And The Children’s Pictures On The Walls — Meant Nothing. Every Atom Of It Had Been Blasted Apart And Reconstituted In An Instant, And Its Appearance Of Permanence And Solidity Was Laughable; It Would Dissolve At A Touch, For Everything Was Suddenly Tissue-thin And Friable.

Of Course Not,” Said Hermione. “everything We Need Is Here On This Paper.

Oh You Is A Bad Elf, Dobby!