I Loved Writing Dumbledore And He Is

As Harry And Ron Rounded The Clump Of Trees Behind Which Harry Had First Heard The Dragons Roar, A Witch Leapt Out From Behind Them. It Was Rita Skeeter. She Was Wearing Acid-green Robes Today; The Quick-quotes Quill In Her Hand Blended Perfectly Against Them. "congratulations, Harry!' She Said Beaming At Him. "i Wonder If You Could Give Me A Quick Word? How You Felt Facing That Dragon? How Do You Feel Now About The Fairness Of The Scoring?" "yeah, You Can Have A Word," Said Harry Savagely. "goodbye!

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. . . .

Fred And George Turned To Each Other And Said Together, "wow, We're Identical!" "i Dunno Though, I Think I'm Still Better Looking," Said Fred, Examining His Reflection In The Kettle.

Mr. And Mrs. Dursley, Of Number Four Privet Drive, Were Proud To Say That They Were Perfectly Normal, Thank You Very Much.

From Now On, I Don't Care If My Tea Leaves Spell 'die, Ron, Die,' I'm Chucking Them In The Bin Where They Belong.