Would You Like A Cough Drop Dolores?

Gotta Bone Ter Pick With Yeh. I've Heard You've Bin Givin' Out Signed Photos. How Come I Haven't Got One?

Harry Was Speeding Toward The Ground When The Crowd Saw Him Clap His Hand To His Mouth As Though He Was Going To Be Sick-he Hit The Field On All Fours-coughed-and Something Gold Fell Into His Hand. 'i've Got The Snitch!' He Shouted, Waving It Above His Head, And The Game Ended In Complete Confusion. 'he Didn't Catch It, He Nearly Swalloed It,' Flint Was Still Howling Twenty Minutes Later, But It Made No Difference-harry Hadn't Broken Any Rules And Lee Jordan Was Still Happily Shouting The Results-gryffindor Had Won By 170 Points To 60.

What’s Comin’ Will Come, An’ We’ll Meet It When It Does.

These Girls... They're Going To Kill Me, Harry.

I’ll Make Goyle Do Lines, It’ll Kill Him, He Hates Writing,” Said Ron Happily. He Lowered His Voice To Goyle’s Low Grunt And, Screwing Up His Face In A Look Of Pained Concentration, Mimed Writing In Midair. “i... Must... Not... Look... Like... A... Baboon’s... Backside.