And All Along The Corridor The Statues

You Place Too Much Importance... On The So-called Purity Of Blood! You Fail To Recognize That It Matters Not What Someone Is Born, But What They Grow To Be!

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.

Why Are They All Staring?" Demanded Albus As He And Rose Craned Around To Look At The Other Students. "don’t Let It Worry You," Said Ron. "it’s Me. I’m Extremely Famous.

Odd Words Floated Back To Them Over The Hundreds Of Heads. "nobility Of Spirit"..."intellectual Contribution"..."greatness Of Heart"...it Did Not Mean Very Much. It Had Little To Do With Dumbledore As Harry Had Known Him. He Suddenly Remembered Dumbledore's Idea Of A Few Words, "nitwit," "oddment," "blubber," And "tweak," And Again Had To Suppress A Grin.

Devil’s Snare, Devil’s Snare . . . What Did Professor Sprout Say? — It Likes The Dark And The Damp —” “so Light A Fire!” Harry Choked. “yes — Of Course — But There’s No Wood!” Hermoine Cried, Wringing Her Hands. “have You Gone Mad?” Ron Bellowed. “are You A Witch Or Not?