In Dreams, We Enter A World That’s

Training For The Ballet, Potter?" Yelled Malfoy.

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.

He Missed Hogwarts So Much It Was Like Having A Constant Stomachache. He Missed The Castle, With Its Secret Passageways And Ghosts, His Classes, … The Mail Arriving By Owl, Eating Banquets In The Great Hall, Sleeping In His Four-poster Bed In The Tower Dormitory, Visiting The Gamekeeper, Hagrid, In His Cabin Next To The Forbidden Forest In The Grounds, And Especially, Quidditch, The Most Popular Sport In The Wizarding World

They Make A Fuss About Hogsmeade, But I Assure You, Harry, It's Not All It's Cracked Up To Be. All Right, The Sweetshop's Rather Good, And Zonko's Joke Shop's Frankly Dangerous, And Yes, The Shrieking Shack Is Always Worth A Visit, But Really, Harry, Apart From That, You're Not Missing Anything.

Bangs And Smoke Were More Often The Marks Of Ineptitude Than Expertise.