Bless My Soul,” Whispered The Old Bartender,

The Poor Things Keep Calling In Those – Those Pumbles, I Think They're Called – You Know, The Ones Who Mend Pipes And Things – " "plumbers?" " – Exactly, Yes, But Of Course They're Flummoxed.

There You Go, Harry!” Ron Shouted Over The Noise. “you Weren’t Being Thick After All — You Were Showing Moral Fiber!

Kill Me Then,' Panted Harry, Who Felt No Fear At All, But Only Rage And Contempt. 'kill Me Like You Killed Him, You Coward-' Don't-' Screamed Snape, And His Face Was Suddenly Demented, Inhuman, As Though He Was In As Much Pain As The Yelping, Howling Dog Stuck In The House Behind Them- 'call Me A Coward!

Utiliza El Nombre Correcto Para Las Cosas. El Miedo A Un Nombre Aumenta El Miedo A La Cosa Que Se Nombra.

Everything Had Shattered. The Fact That It Was All Still There — The Walls And The Chairs And The Children’s Pictures On The Walls — Meant Nothing. Every Atom Of It Had Been Blasted Apart And Reconstituted In An Instant, And Its Appearance Of Permanence And Solidity Was Laughable; It Would Dissolve At A Touch, For Everything Was Suddenly Tissue-thin And Friable.