I Sometimes Have A Tendency To Walk

The Fates Have Informed Me That Your Examination In June Will Concern The Orb, And I Am Anxious To Give You Sufficient Practice. Hermione Snorted. "well Honestly... 'the Fates Have Informed Her'... Who Sets The Exam? She Does!

I Know [umbridge] By Reputation And I'm Sure She's No Death Eater-" "she's Foul Enough To Be One..." "yes, But The World Isn't Split Into Good People And Death Eaters.

He Chose The Boy He Thought Most Likely To Be A Danger To Him," Said Dumbledore. And Notice This, Harry. He Chose, Not The Pureblood (which, According To His Creed, Is The Only Kind Of Wizard Worth Being Or Knowing), But The Half-blood, Like Himself. He Saw Himself In You Before He Had Ever Seen You, And In Marking You With That Scar, He Did Not Kill You, As He Intended, But Gave You Powers, And A Future, Which Have Fitted You To Escape Him Not Once, But Four Times So Far — Something That Neither Your Parents, Nor Neville’s Parents, Ever Achieved.

Go On, Have A Pasty," Said Harry, Who Had Never Had Anything To Share Before Or, Indeed, Anyone To Share It With. It Was A Nice Feeling, Sitting There With Ron, Eating Their Way Through All Harry's Pasties, Cakes, And Candies (the Sandwiches Lay Forgotten).

The Elf’s Eyes Found Him, And His Lips Trembled With The Effort To Form Words. ‘harry... Potter...’ And Then With A Little Shudder The Elf Became Quite Still, And His Eyes Were Nothing More Than Great, Glassy Orbs Sprinkled With Light From The Stars They Could Not See.