G. Norman Lippert · 459 pages
Rating: (8.3K votes)
“None of us were kidding when we said we wanted to have enough kids to make a Quidditch team, were we?”
“Go for it, Aunt Ginny! Knock him flying! You can always have another kid! One with better manners and less stinky feet!”
“You’ll never make sense of his notes. You just have to listen to his lecture,” Graham whispered
confidentially. “It’s a challenge, but the good news is that he’s been giving the same tests for forty years. The
answers are carved right into the tops of the desks. See?”
“Merlin nodded gravely. “Doing what is right is nearly always simple, Mr. Potter. But it is never easy.”
“How perfectly whimsical. I expect we’ll be roasting marshmallows over the fireplace and singing happy sing-alongs round about midnight, yes? Perhaps someone could point me in the direction of the dormitories.”
“I had an action figure that did that,” Graham nodded. “I tried to use it on my mum, once. Got me in no end of Barney.”
“He made sure to miss Josephina’s lips by a wide mark. A moment later, the lights extinguished and Tabitha cal ed for a ten-minute break while the stage crew refil ed the rain machine. That night, James had the dream one more time, although this time he felt that it was a true dream and not a direct vision into someone else’s reality. It began as always with the flash and whicker of blades and the rattle of old wood. The figure in the dream walked toward the rippling pool and looked in. As always, two faces swam up out of the depths, a young man and a young woman. This time, however, they looked different. He recognized them vaguely as his own long dead grandparents, his dad’s mum and dad. They didn’t seem to be looking at the girl with the long dark hair. Instead, they seemed to be looking directly at James, where he floated in the darkness next to her. Their faces seemed grave and worried, and although they couldn’t speak, they communicated with their eyes : Beware, grandson; watch closely and step lightly. Beware…”
“Rain fell in great sheets, hitting the pavement hard enough to send up a blattering, dirty mist. A small man stood on the corner, under the only working streetlamp, and studied the street.”
“James' first concern had been Ralph, who was indeed travelling over the holiday, staying with his dad at his flat in London. Zane assured them that he'd already been to see Ralph, warning him to keep his wand handy and try to never be alone.”
“She was tough," James said, "but nice. She wanted to talk things out with Slytherin even after he'd tried to kill the lot of us. But she wasn't a pushover. None of them were. They were hardcore. I'll tell you more tomorrow. How'd you all know I'd gone missing?”
“I don't know who this 'everybody' is that you speak of, but I am beginning to suspect that the Hogwarts you believe you know is not the Hogwarts we currently occupy. Now come here.”
“But explanations don’t change anything, do they? They don’t make you feel any better. You either like something or you don’t, and if you don’t like it, then knowing why it happens doesn’t make any difference—it’s still going to happen and you’re still not going to like it, so what’s the point?”
“And there was a time, you know, not so long ago, as recently as my own childhood in fact, when everyone believed in the future and eagerly awaited it or rushed to meet it. But now nearly everyone I know or used to know is trying to slow the speed of the world as the future starts to look more and more like someplace you don't want to be.”
“Slow down. The party won't start until I get there
- Jo, Remember me.
“When you're facing down multiple attackers, you always want to make the first move. It lets them know that you're ready to fight and that you're crazy enough to get the party started. One rule of thumb in fighting is that crazy can often overcome skill and numbers, because, while a trained fighter might actually enjoy going up against another trained fighter, no one really wants to wrestle with crazy. Crazy doesn't know when it's winning. And crazy doesn't know when to stop. If you can't pull off crazy, if, for instance, you're handcuffed in a small van with six armed assailants, stupid is a decent substitute for crazy.”
“I'd had a cold that day and wasn't as powerful as usual, otherwise Alyss would never have done so well," Redd said as, in the alcove, the final image dissolved. She blew at the cloud and it drifted out into the crypt. "Has a malicious ruler ever suffered more? I think not.”
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