That's What They Should Teach Us Here.

Call Him Voldemort, Harry. Always Use The Proper Name For Things. Fear Of A Name Increases Fear Of The Thing Itself.

His Eyes Are As Green As A Fresh Pickled Toad, His Hair Is As Dark As A Blackboard. I Wish He Was Mine, He's Really Divine, The Hero Who Conquered The Dark Lord.

Of All The Trees We Could've Hit, We Had To Get One That Hits Back.

I've Been Writing My Entire Life, And I'll Always Write. But At Times I Have Told Myself That I Don't Necessarily Have To Publish Anything Else.

The Realization Of What Would Happen Next Settled Gradually Over Harry In The Long Minutes, Like Softly Falling Snow. "i've Got To Go Back, Haven't I?" "that Is Up To You." "i've Got A Choice?" "oh Yes." Dumbledore Smiled At Him. "we Are In King's Cross, You Say? I Think That If You Decided Not To Go Back, You Would Be Able To…let's Say…board A Train." "and Where Would It Take Me?" "on," Said Dumbledore Simply.