Yet, Sadly, Accidental Rudeness Occurs Alarmingly Often.

Such Loyalty Is Admirable, Of Course,” Said Scrimgeour, Who Seemed To Be Restraining His Irritation With Difficulty, “but Dumbledore Is Gone, Harry. He’s Gone.” “he Will Only Be Gone From The School When None Here Are Loyal To Him,” Said Harry, Smiling In Spite Of Himself.

He Read The Letter Again, But Could Not Take In Any More Meaning Than He Had Done The First Time And Was Reduced To Staring At The Handwriting Itself. She Had Made Her G's The Same Way He Did : He Searched Through The Letter For Every One Of Them, And Each Felt Like A Friendly Little Wave Glimpsed From Behind A Veil. The Letter Was An Incredible Treasure, Proof That Lily Potter Had Lived, Really Lived, That Her Warm Hand Had Once Moved Across This Parchment, Tracing Ink Into These Letters, These Words, Words About Him, Harry, Her Son.

And His Knowledge Remained Woefully Incomplete, Harry! That Which Voldemort Does Not Value, He Takes No Trouble To Comprehend. Of House-elves And Children's Tales, Of Love, Loyalty, And Innocence, Voldemort Knows And Understands Nothing. Nothing. That They All Have A Power Beyond His Own, A Power Beyond The Reach Of Any Magic, Is A Truth He Has Never Grasped.

Madam Pince, Our Librarian, Tells Me That It Is 'pawed About, Dribbled On, And Generally Maltreated' Nearly Everyday - A High Compliment For Any Book.

Whatever House I'm In, I Hope She's Not In It.