I Just Write What I Wanted To

Cinderella? Snow White? What's That? An Illness?

This Is Night, Diddykins. That's What We Call It When It Goes All Dark Like This.

He Knew One Thing Only, And It Was Beyond Fear Or Reason: He Was Not Going To Die Crouching Here Like A Child Playing Hide-and-seek; He Was Not Going To Die Kneeling At Voldemort’s Feet . . . He Was Going To Die Upright Like His Father, And He Was Going To Die Trying To Defend Himself, Even If No Defense Was Possible. . . .

When We Come Face-to-face With One Down A Dark Alley, We're Going To Be Having A Shufti To See If It's Solid, Aren't We, We're Not Going To Be Asking, 'excuse Me, Are You The Imprint Of A Departed Soul?

Your Great-aunt Muriel Doesn't Agree, I Just Met Her Upstairs While She Was Giving Fleur The Tiara. "she Said 'oh Dear, Is This The Muggle Born?' And Then, 'bad Posture, Skinny Ankles.'" Don't Take It Personally, She's Rude To Everyone," Said Ron. "talking About Muriel?" Inquired George, Reemerging From The Marquee With Fred. "yeah, She's Just Told Me My Ears Are Lopsided. Old Bat.