My Head Of House Said I Lacked

And Harry, With The Unerring Skill Of The Seeker, Caught The Wand In His Free Hand As Voldemort Fell Backward, Arms Splayed, The Slit Pupils Of The Scarlet Eyes Rolling Upward. Tom Riddle Hit The Floor With A Mundane Finality, His Body Feeble And Shrunken, The White Hands Empty, The Snakelike Face Vacant And Unknowing. Voldemort Was Dead, Killed By His Own Rebounding Curse, And Harry Stood With Two Wands In His Hands, Staring Down At His Enemy's Shell.

Anyone Can Speak Troll. All You Have To Do Is Point And Grunt.

It Is Impossible To Live Without Failing At Something, Unless You Live So Cautiously That You Might Has Well Not Have Lived At All, In Which Case You Have Failed By Default.

Why Do They Have To Move In Packs?" Harry Asked Ron As A Dozen Or So Girls Walked Past Them, Sniggering And Staring At Harry. "how're You Supposed To Get One On Their Own To Ask Them?" "lasso One?" Ron Suggested.

Ron, You Know Full Well Harry And I Were Brought Up By Muggles!” Said Hermione. “we Didn’t Hear Stories Like That When We Were Little, We Heard ‘snow White And The Seven Dwarfs’ And ‘cinderella’ —” “what’s That, An Illness?” Asked Ron.