Don't Worry. You're Just As Sane As

There Is An Expiry Date On Blaming Your Parents For Steering You In The Wrong Direction; The Moment You Are Old Enough To Take The Wheel, Responsibility Lies With You.

I Just Wondered Where You —” Ron Broke Off, Shrugging. “nothing. I’m Going Back To Bed.” “just Thought You’d Come Nosing Around, Did You?” Harry Shouted. He Knew That Ron Had No Idea What He’d Walked In On, Knew He Hadn’t Done It On Purpose, But He Didn’t Care — At This Moment He Hated Everything About Ron, Right Down To The Several Inches Of Bare Ankle Showing Beneath His Pajama Trousers.

Get Off Me,” Harry Spat, Throwing Pettigrew’s Hands Off Him In Disgust. “i’m Not Doing This For You. I’m Doing It Because — I Don’t Reckon My Dad Would’ve Wanted Them To Become Killers — Just For You.

As Harry And Ron Rounded The Clump Of Trees Behind Which Harry Had First Heard The Dragons Roar, A Witch Leapt Out From Behind Them. It Was Rita Skeeter. She Was Wearing Acid-green Robes Today; The Quick-quotes Quill In Her Hand Blended Perfectly Against Them. "congratulations, Harry!' She Said Beaming At Him. "i Wonder If You Could Give Me A Quick Word? How You Felt Facing That Dragon? How Do You Feel Now About The Fairness Of The Scoring?" "yeah, You Can Have A Word," Said Harry Savagely. "goodbye!

Writing And Cafes Are Strongly Linked In My Brain.