Even You-know-who Can't Split Himself Into Seven.

A Bag Of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. "you Want To Be Careful With Those," Ron Warned Harry. "when They Say Every Flavor, They Mean Every Flavor - You Know, You Get All The Ordinary Ones Like Chocolate And Peppermint And Marmalade, But Then You Can Get Spinach And Liver And Tripe. George Reckons He Had A Booger-flavored One Once." Ron Picked Up A Green Bean, Looked At It Carefully, And Bit Into A Corner. "bleaaargh - See? Sprouts.

Hermione Drew Herself To Her Full Height; Her Eyes Were Narrowed And Her Hair Seemed To Crackle With Electricity. "no," She Said, Her Voice Quivering With Anger, "but I Will Write To Your Mother.

One Can Never Have Enough Socks

Karkaroff Intends To Flee If The Mark Burns." "does He?" Said Dumbledore Softly, As Fleur Delacour And Roger Davies Came Giggling In From The Grounds. "and Are You Tempted To Join Him?" "no," Said Snape, His Black Eyes On Fleur's And Roger's Retreating Figures. "i Am Not Such A Coward." "no," Agreed Dumbledore. You Are A Braver Man By Far Than Igot Karkaroff. You Know, I Sometimes Think We Sort Too Soon..." He Walked Away, Leaving Snape Looking Stricken.

This Group Had A Kind Of Dark Glamour Within The Castle. They Were A Motley Collection; A Mixture Of The Weak Seeking Protection, The Ambitious Seeking Some Shared Glory, And The Thuggish Gravitating Toward A Leader Who Could Show Them More Refined Forms Of Cruelty.