Without Cunning, There Is No Innovation. Without

Christmas Was Coming. One Morning In Mid-december, Hogwarts Woke To Find Itself Covered In Several Feet Of Snow. The Lake Froze Solid And The Weasley Twins Were Punished For Bewitching Several Snowballs So That They Followed Quirrell Around, Bouncing Off The Back Of His Turban.

He Chanced A Glance At Her. She Was Not Tearful; That Was One Of The Many Wonderful Things About Ginny, She Was Rarely Weepy. He Had Sometimes Thought That Having Six Brothers Must Have Toughened Her Up.

What's That Supposed To Be Anyway?" Said Fred Squinting At Dobby's Painting. "looks Like A Gibbon With Two Black Eyes!" "it's Harry," Said George Pointing At The Back Of The Picture. "says So On The Back." "good Likeness," Said Fred Grinning. Harry Threw His New Homework Diary At Him.

My Readers Have To Work With Me To Create The Experience. They Have To Bring Their Imaginations To The Story. No One Sees A Book In The Same Way, No One Sees The Characters The Same Way. As A Reader You Imagine Them In Your Own Mind. So, Together, As Author And Reader, We Have Both Created The Story.

Does It Hurt?" The Childish Question Had Escaped Harry's Lips Before He Could Stop It. "dying? Not At All," Said Sirius. "quicker And Easier Than Falling Asleep.