Time Is Making Fools Of Us Again.

Said Hufflepuff, "i'll Teach The Lot, And Treat Them Just The Same.

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.

Harry Felt Winded, As Though He Had Just Walked Into Something Heavy. He Had Last Seen Those Cool Gray Eyes Through Slits In A Death Eater’s Hood, And Last Heard That Man’s Voice Jeering In A Dark Graveyard While Lord Voldemort Tortured Him. He Could Not Believe That Lucius Malfoy Dared Look Him In The Face; He Could Not Believe That He Was Here, In The Ministry Of Magic, Or That Cornelius Fudge Was Talking To Him, When Harry Had Told Fudge Mere Weeks Ago That Malfoy Was A Death Eater.

The Stories We Love Best Do Live In Us Forever.

It Is Important To Remember That We All Have Magic Inside Us.