Imperfect Understanding Is Often More Dangerous Than

Yes, Harry, Blessed As I Am With Extraordinary Brainpower, I Understood Everything You Told Me. I Think You Might Even Consider The Possibility That I Understood More Than You Did.

The Idea Of A Teenage Dumbledore Was Simply Odd, Like Trying To Imagine A Stupid Hermione Or A Friendly Blast-ended Skrewt.

Every Now And Then I Read A Poem That Does Touch Something In Me, But I Never Turn To Poetry For Solace Or Pleasure In The Way That I Throw Myself Into Prose.

He Knew One Thing Only, And It Was Beyond Fear Or Reason: He Was Not Going To Die Crouching Here Like A Child Playing Hide-and-seek; He Was Not Going To Die Kneeling At Voldemort’s Feet . . . He Was Going To Die Upright Like His Father, And He Was Going To Die Trying To Defend Himself, Even If No Defense Was Possible. . . .

Hey, Look — Harry’s Got A Weasley Sweater, Too!” Fred And George Were Wearing Blue Sweaters, One With A Large Yellow F On It, The Other A G. “harry’s Is Better Than Ours, Though,” Said Fred, Holding Up Harry’s Sweater. “she Obviously Makes More Of An Effort If You’re Not Family.