And Put Away Childish Things

Ah, yes, hindsight, always my weapon of choice.

Folklore, myth, you know.” “That’s just fiction that’s old.

Then—Harry’s ear pressed to the door now—a choking sound, and a brittle snap, deadened almost to nothing by the intervening wood. And a thud, that Harry’s imagination was quick to ascribe to a body. And another, meatier chunking sound that had his imagination deciding it didn’t want to play that game anymore.

But what could any of us do? You cannot depose the god who made you.

Harry was perilously on the brink of actually understanding something, and felt that would be profoundly worse than ignorance.

Sometimes there's a place where fiction and reality meet. Folklore, myth, you know.

Sometimes a wardrobe is just a wardrobe. Sometimes books are just books. That's why we call it fiction.