It Was His Own Grief Turned Magically

October Extinguished Itself In A Rush Of Howling Winds And Driving Rain And November Arrived, Cold As Frozen Iron, With Hard Frosts Every Morning And Icy Drafts That Bit At Exposed Hands And Faces.

You Have To Kill A Lot Of Trees Before You Write Anything Good.

Get Up, You Useless Lump, Get Up!

Muggles Have Garden Gnomes, Too, You Know," Harry Told Ron As They Crossed The Lawn. "yeah, I've Seen Those Things They Think Are Gnomes," Said Ron, Bent Double With His Head In A Peony Bush, "like Fat Little Santa Clauses With Fishing Rods.

Shh! Listen! Someone’s Coming! I Think — I Think It Might Be Us!