She's As Nutty As Squirrel Poo.

That Old Berk," Muttered Aberforth, Taking Another Swig Of Mead. "thought The Sun Shone Out Of My Brother's Every Orifice, He Did.

Why Are You Worrying About You-know-who, When You Should Be Worrying About You-no-poo? The Constipation Sensation That's Gripping The Nation!

This Is Not About Money Or Anything Other Than The Pleasure Of Reading For People Who Want To Read It.

And Harry, With The Unerring Skill Of The Seeker, Caught The Wand In His Free Hand As Voldemort Fell Backward, Arms Splayed, The Slit Pupils Of The Scarlet Eyes Rolling Upward. Tom Riddle Hit The Floor With A Mundane Finality, His Body Feeble And Shrunken, The White Hands Empty, The Snakelike Face Vacant And Unknowing. Voldemort Was Dead, Killed By His Own Rebounding Curse, And Harry Stood With Two Wands In His Hands, Staring Down At His Enemy's Shell.

The Forbidden Forest Looked As Though It Had Been Enchanted, Each Tree Smattered With Silver, And Hagrid's Cabin Looked Like An Iced Cake.