Be Ruthless About Protecting Writing

Naturally Shirley Had Known, As They Slid Stock Words And Phrases Back And Forth Between Them Like Beads On An Abacus, That Howard Must Be As Brimful Of Ecstasy As She Was; But To Express These Feelings Out Loud, When The News Of Death Was Still Fresh In The Air, Would Have Been Tantamount To Dancing Naked And Shrieking Obscenities, And Howard And Shirley Were Clothed, Always, In An Invisible Layer Of Decorum That They Never Laid Aside.

The World Had Ended, So Why Had The Battle Not Ceased, The Castle Fallen Silent In Horror, And Every Combatant Laid Down Their Arms? Harry's Mind Was In Freefall, Spinning Out Of Control, Unable To Grasp The Impossiblity, Because Fred Weasley Could Not Be Dead, The Evidence Of All His Senses Must Be Lying -

Nasty Temper He's Got, That Sirius Black.

How Do You Feel, Georgie?" Whispered Mrs. Weasley. George's Fingers Groped For The Side Of His Head. "saintlike," He Murmured. "what's Wrong With Him?" Croaked Fred, Looking Terrified. "is His Mind Affected?" "saintlike," Repeated George, Opening His Eyes And Looking Up At His Brother. "you See...i'm Holey, Fred, Geddit?

Who's Kreacher?" "the House-elf Who Lives Here," Said Ron. "nutter. Never Met One Like Him." "he Is Not A Nutter," Said Hermione. "his Life's Ambition Is To Have His Head Cut Off And Stuck Up On A Plaque Like His Mother", Said Ron. "is That Normal, Hermione?