Favorite Literary Quotes or Passages

#91
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (cont'd)


"Now, you two - Behave yourselves. If I get one word you've - you've blown up a toilet or -"
"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."
"Great idea though, thanks, Mum."



Harry left the locker room alone some time later, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now - no one could say he was just a famous name any more. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Gryffindors running to lift him onto their shoulders; Ron and Hermione in the distance, jumping up and down, Ron cheering through a heavy nosebleed.



"Sir — Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"
"Obviously, you’ve just done so," Dumbledore smiled. “You may ask me one more thing, however."
"What do you see when you look in the mirror?"
"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."
Harry stared.
"One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn’t get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."



"Don't play," said Hermione at once.
"Say you're ill," said Ron.
"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.
"Really break your leg," said Ron.



"So you mean the Stone's only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?" said Hermione in alarm.
"It'll be gone by next Tuesday," said Ron.



"It bit me!" he said, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief.
"I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."



"I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh?" he said, leering at them. "Oh yes . . . hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me . . . It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out . . . hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed . . ."



"I want Fang," said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.
"All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward," said Hagrid.



"And what if I wave my wand and nothing happens?"
"Throw it away and punch him in the nose," suggested Ron.



"So light a fire!" Harry choked.
"Yes...of course...but there's no wood!" Hermione cried, wringing her hands.
"HAVE YOU GONE MAD!" Ron bellowed. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR NOT!"
 
#92
From the poem "Desiderata," by Max Ehrmann:

"In the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be careful. Strive to be happy."

-- the whole poem is incredible.:smile:
 
#93
From Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J.K. Rowling


"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be -?"
"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."
"Good, good. And Dudley?"
"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"
"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.
"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry. "And you?"
"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not there," said Harry tonelessly.



"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.
"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the week."



Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a sabre-toothed tiger.



It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.
"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."



Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then, she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."



Harry learned quickly not to feel to sorry for the gnomes. He decided to just drop the first one just over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank his razor sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off - until -
"Wow, Harry - that must have been fifty feet!"



"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"
"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed . . . "



Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table so he could bombard him with questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things like plugs and the postal service worked.



"A Study of Hogwarts' Prefects and Their Later Careers," Ron read aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating."



Warlock D. J. Prod of Didsbury says: "My wife used to sneer at my feeble charms, but one month into your fabulous Kwikspell course and I succeeded in turning her into a yak! Thank you, Kwikspell!"



It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn't talking.



"What've we got this afternoon?" said Harry, hastily changing the subject.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione at once.
"Why," demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, "have you outlined all Lockhart's lessons in little hearts?"
Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously.



1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

34. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?



He was a tall and burly sixth year and, at the moment, his eyes were gleaming with a crazed enthusiasm.
 
#94
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (cont'd)



The minutes sailed by. Harry let Lockhart's voice wash over him, occasionally saying, "Mmm" and "Right" and "Yeah." Now and then he caught a phrase like, "Fame's a fickle friend, Harry," or "Celebrity is as celebrity does, remember that."



You look troubled, young Potter," said Nick, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.
"So do you," said Harry.
"Ah," Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, "a matter of no importance.… It's not as though I really wanted to join.… Thought I'd apply, but apparently I 'don't fulfill requirements' -"
In spite of his airy tone, there was a look of great bitterness on his face.
"But you would think, wouldn't you," he erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket, "that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?"
"Oh - yes," said Harry, who was obviously supposed to agree.



"Have you - did you read -?" he sputtered. "No," Harry lied quickly.
Filch's knobbly hands were twisting together.
"If I thought you'd read my private - not that it's mine - for a friend - be that as it may - however -"
Harry was staring at him, alarmed; Filch had never looked madder. His eyes were popping, a tic was going in one of his pouchy cheeks, and the tartan scarf didn't help.
"Very well - go - and don't breathe a word - not that - however, if you didn't read - go now, I have to write up Peeves' report - go -"



Since the disasterous episode of the pixies, Professor Lockhart had not brought live creatures to class. Instead, he read passages from his books to them, and sometimes reenacted some of the more dramatic bits.


"Stand back," said Lockhart, who was rolling up his jade-green sleeves.
"No - don't - " said Harry weakly, but Lockhard was twirling his wand and a second later had directed it straight at Harry's arm.
A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated. He didn't dare look at what was happening. He had shut his eyes, his face turned away from his arm, but his worst fears were realized as the people above him gasped and Collin Creevey began clicking away madly. His arm didn't hurt anymore - nor did it feel remotely like an arm.
"Ah," said Lockhart. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken. There's the thing to bear in mind."



Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones. He had removed them.







Hermione, however, clapped a hand to her forehead. "Harry -- I think I've just understood something! I've got to go to the library!" And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
"What does she understand?" said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
"Loads more than I do." said Ron, shaking his head.
"But why's she got to go to the library?"
"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, shrugging. "When in doubt, go to the library."
 
#95
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (cont'd)


Ginny Weasley, who had sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was distraught, but Harry felt that Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind the statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.



"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his want at you, you do this."
He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it.



Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"
"What? Drop my wand?"



Percy, who hadn't noticed that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read "Pinhead," kept asking them all what they were sniggering at.



Harry suddenly realized who Ginny looked like. She was rocking backward and foreward slightly in her chair, exactly like Dobby did when he was teetering on the edge of revealing forbidden information.




They were almost at King's Cross when Harry remembered something.
"Ginny--what did you see Percy doing, that he didn't want you to tell anyone?"
"Oh that," said Ginny, giggling. "Well--Percy's got a girlfriend."
Fred dropped a stack of books on George's head. "What?"
"It's that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater," said Ginny. "That's who he was writing to all last summer. He's been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upest when she was--you know--attacked. You won't tease him, will you?" she added anxiously.
"Wouldn't dream of it," said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early.
"Definitely not," said George, sniggering.



Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through..."
 
#96
From Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by J.K. Rowling


Harry went down to breakfast the next morning to find the three Dursleys already sitting around the kitchen table. They were watching a brand-new television, a welcome-home-for-the-summer present for Dudley, who had been complaining loudly about the long walk between the fridge and the television in the living room. Dudley had spent most of the summer in the kitchen, his piggy little eyes fixed on the screen and his five chins wobbling as he ate continually.



"No need to tell us he's no good," snorted Uncle Vernon, staring over the top of his newspaper at the prisoner. "Look at the state of him, the filthy layabout! Look at his hair!"
He shot a nasty look sideways at Harry, whose untidy hair had always been a source of great annoyance to Uncle Vernon. Compared to the man on the television, however, whose gaunt face was surrounded by a matted, elbow-length tangle, Harry felt very well groomed indeed.



Aunt Petunia, who was bony and horse-faced, whipped around and peered intently out of the kitchen window. Harry knew Aunt Petunia would simply love to be the one to call the hot line number. She was the nosiest woman in the world and spent most of her life spying on the boring, law-abiding neighbors.



"And thirdly," said Uncle Vernon, his mean little eyes now slits in his great purple face, "we've told Marge you attend St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys."



"Excellent," said Aunt Marge. "I won't have this namby-pamby, wishy-washy nonsense about not hitting people who deserve it. A good thrashing is what's needed in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred. Have you been beaten often?"
"Oh, yeah," said Harry, "loads of times."
Aunt Marge narrowed her eyes.
"I still don't like your tone, boy," she said. "If you can speak of your beatings in that casual way, they clearly aren't hitting you hard enough. Petunia, I'd write if I were you. Make it clear that you approve the use of extreme force in this boy's case."



Harry got through the next three days by forcing himself to think about his Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare whenever Aunt Marge started on him. This worked quite well, though it seemed to give him a glazed look, because Aunt Marge started voicing the opinion that he was mentally subnormal.



"COME BACK IN HERE!" he bellowed. "COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!"
But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon.
"She deserved it," Harry said, breathing very fast. "She deserved what she got. You keep away from me."
He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door.
"I'm going," Harry said. "I've had enough."




"Hang on," blurted Harry. "What about my punishment?"
Fudge blinked.
"Punishment?"
"I broke the law!" Harry said. "The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizadry!"
"Oh, my dear boy, we're not going to punish you for a little thing like that!" cried Fudge, waving his crumpet impatiently. "It was an accident! We don't send people to Azkaban just for blowing up their aunts!"



"Get out of the way," said the manager impatiently, brushing Harry aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, kobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of the Monster Books' cage.
"Hang on," said Harry quickly. "I've already got one of those."
"Have you?" A look of enormous relief spread over the manager's face. "Thank heavens for that. I've been bitten five times already this morning -"



A loud ripping noise rent the air: two of the Monster Books had seized a third and were pulling it apart.
"Stop it! Stop it!" cried the manager, polking the walking stick through the bars and knocking the books apart. "I'm never stocking them again, never! It's been bedlam! I thought we'd seen the worst when we bought two hundred copies of Invisible Book of Invisibility - cost a fortune, and we never found them . . ."



"What about those Monster Books, eh? The assistant nearly cried when we said we wanted two."



"Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy-"
"Marvelous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand in turn. "Absolutely spiffing."
Percy scowled.
"That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley.
"Mum!" said Fred as though he'd only just spotted her and seized her hand too. "How really corking to see you-"




"How're we getting to King's Cross tomorrow, Dad?" asked Fred as they dug into a sumptuous pudding.
"The Ministry's providing a couple of cars," said Mr. Weasley.
Everyone looked up at him.
"Why?" said Percy curiously.
"It's because of you, Perce," said George seriously. "And there'll be little flags on the hoods, with HB on them-"
"-for Humongous Bighead," said Fred.
Everyone except Percy and Mrs. Weasley snorted into their pudding.
 
#97
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (cont'd)


"Sirius Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry . . . you'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble, Harry -"
"I don't go looking for trouble," said Harry, nettled. "Trouble usually finds me."




George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.
"That little git," he said calmly. "He wasn't so cocky last night when the dementors were down our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?"
"Nearly wet himself," said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.



"Right," said Ron as they both opened their books at pages five and six. "What can you see in mine?"
"A load of soggy brown stuff," said Harry. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid.
"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Treelawney cried through the gloom.
"Right, you've got a crooked sort of cross . . . " He consulted Unfogging the Future. "That means you're going to have 'trials and suffering' - sorry about that - but there's a thing that could be the sun . . . hang on . . . that means 'great happiness' . . . so you're going to suffer but be very happy . . . "



"My turn . . . " Ron peered into Harry's teacup, his forehead wrinkled with effort. "There's a blob a bit like a bowler hat," he said. "Maybe you're going to work for the Ministry of Magic . . . "
He turned his teacup the other way up.
"But this way it looks more like an acorn . . . What's that?" He scanned his copy of Unfogging the Future. "'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Excellent, you can lend me some . . . and there's a thing here," he turned the cup again, "that looks like an animal . . . yeah, if that was its head . . . it looks like a hippo . . . no, a sheep."
Professor Treelawney whirled around as Harry let out a snort of laughter.



"Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class, and we were reading tea leaves, and -"
"Ah, of course," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning, "There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"



There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.



Percy had what were possibly the least helpful words of comfort.
"They make a fuss about Hogsmeade, but I assure you, Harry, it's not all it's cracked up to be," he said seriously. "All right, the sweetshop's rather good, and Zonko's Joke Shop's frankly dangerous, and yes, the Shrieking Shack is always worth a visit, but really, Harry, apart from that, you're not missing anything."



The Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat grey pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest of the time thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.



Sir Cadogen, however, was the least of Harry's worries. He was now being closely watched. Teachers found excuses to walk along corridors with him, and Percy Weasley (acting, Harry suspected, on his mother's orders) was tailing him everywhere like an extremely pompous guard dog.
 
#98
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (cont'd)


"D'you know what that -" (he called Snape something that made Hermione say "Ron!") "- is making me do? I've got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without Magic!"



"Where is Wood?" said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn't there.
"Still in the showers," said Fred. "We think he's trying to drown himself."



"Well . . . when we were in our first year, Harry-young, carefree, and innocent-"
Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.



"Bad news, Harry. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She - er - got a bit shirty with me. Told me I'd got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about you staying alive. Just because I told her I didn't care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first." Wood shook his head in disbelief.



"And Potter - do try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night . . . "



"They're off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt's going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year's World Championship -"
"Jordan, would you mind telling us what's going on in the match?" interrupted Professor McGonagall's voice.
"Right you are, Professor - just giving a bit of background information - the Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in auto-brake and -"
"Jordan!"



"Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter's really putting it through its paces now, see it turn - Chang's Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt's precision-balance is really noticeable in these long -"
"JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!"




As though an invisible hand were writing upon it, words appeared on the smooth surface of the map.
"Mr. Moony presents his compliments to Professor Snape, and begs him to keep his abnormally large nose out of other people's business."
Snape froze. Harry stared, dumbstruck, at the message. But the map didn't stop there. More writing was appearing beneath the first.
"Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony, and would like to add that Professor Snape is an ugly git."
It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. And there was more...
"Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that an idiot like that ever became a professor."
Harry closed his eyes in horror. When he'd opened them, the map had had its last word.
"Mr. Wormtail bids Professor Snape good day, and advises him to wash his hair, the slimeball."



"THIRTY-ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING -"
"Jordan, if you can't commentate in an unbiased way -!"
"I'm telling it like it is, Professor!"



"Ha haaa!" yelled Lee Jordan as the Slytherin Beaters lurched away from each other, clutching their heads. "Too bad, boys! You'll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it's Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle - Flint alongside her - poke him in the eye, Angelina! - it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke - oh no - Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood, save -!"



But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the microphone away from him.

 
#99
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (cont'd)


"YOU CHEATING SCUM!" Lee Jordan was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall's reach. "YOU FILTHY, CHEATING, B-"
Professor McGonagall didn't even bother to tell him off. She was actually shaking her finger in Malfoy's direction, her hat had fallen off, and she too was shouting furiously.




"Professor Dumbledore - yesterday, when I was having my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney went very - very strange."
"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. "Er - stranger than usual, you mean?"
 
#100
I LOVE the poem Mirror by Sylvia Plath. I actually understand it unlike a lot of poems and in a way I relate to it.



I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike .
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each
I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
What ever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike .
I am not cruel, only truthful---
The eye of a little god, four cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.
 
#101
From Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K. Rowling



As far as informing the headmaster, Harry had no idea where Dumbledore went during the summer holidays. He amused himself for a moment, picturing Dumbledore, with his long silver beard, full-length wizard's robes, and pointed hat, stretched out on a beach somewhere, rubbing suntan lotion onto his long crooked nose.



Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter.
Even inside his head, the words sounded stupid.



The school nurse has seen what Aunt Petunia's - so sharp when it came to spotting fingerprints on her gleaming walls, and observing the comings and goings of the neighbors - simply refused to see: that far from needing extra nourishment, Dudley had reached roughly the size of a killer whale.



To make Dudley feel better about it all, Aunt Petunia had insisted that the whole family follow the diet too. She now passed a grapefruit quarter to Harry. He noticed that it was a lot smaller than Dudley's. Aunt Petunia seemed to feel that the best way to keep up Dudley's morale was to make sure that he did, at least, get more to eat than Harry.



"So," he said, marching over to the fireplace and turning to face Harry as though he was about to pronounce him under arrest.
"So."
Harry would have dearly loved to say "So what?" but he didn't feel that Uncle Vernon's temper should be tested so early in the morning.



"Look at this," he growled.
He held up the envelope in which Mrs. Weasley's letter had come, and Harry had to fight down a laugh. Every bit of it was covered in stamps except for a square inch on the front, into which Mrs. Weasley had squeezed the Dursleys' address in minute
writing.
"She did put enough stamps on, then." said Harry, trying to sound as though Mrs. Weasley's was a mistake anyone could make.



"Dumpy sort of woman?" he growled finally. "Loads of children with red hair?"
Harry frowned. He thought it was a bit rich of Uncle Vernon to call anyone "dumpy," when his own son, Dudley, had finally achieved what he'd been threatening to do ever since the age of three, and became wider than he was tall.



"Calm down!" Harry said as the small owl flew over his head, twittering madly with what Harry could only assume was pride at having delivered the letter to the right person.




"Damn!" said Mr. Weasley's voice. "What on earth do they want to block up the fireplace for?"
"They've got an electric fireplace."
"Really?" said Mr. Weasley's voice excitedly. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? I must see that . . . "



Mr. Weasley was looking around. He loved everything to do with Muggles. Harry could see him itching to go and examine the television and the video recorder.
"They run off eckleticity, do they?" he said knowledgably. "Ah, yes, I can see the plugs. I collect plugs," he added to Uncle Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad, but there you are."



"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually making things," said Ginny. "We thought they just liked the noise."



"Percy's enjoying work, then?" said Harry, sitting down on one of the beds and watching the Chudley Cannons zooming in and out of the posters on the ceiling.
"Enjoying it?" said Ron darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. According to Mr. Crouch . . . as I was saying to Mr. Crouch . . . Mr. Crouch is of the opinion . . . Mr. Crouch was telling me . . . They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."



The source of the commotion was revealed as they entered the garden, and saw that Bill and Charlie both had their wands out, and were making two battered tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, each attempting to knock the other's out of the air. Fred and George were cheering, Ginny was laughing, and Hermione was hovering near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety.



"I shudder to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from my work for five days."
"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" said Fred.
"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" said Percy, going very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"
"It was," Fred whispered to Harry as they got up from the table. "We sent it."



A tiny boy, no older than two was crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which was swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they drew level with him, his mother came hurrying out of the tent.



There was already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined it, right behind a pair of men who were having a heated argument. One of them was a very old wizard who was wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other was clearly a Ministry wizard; he was holding out a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.
"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious -"
"I bought this in a Muggle shop," said the old wizard stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."
"Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these," said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers.
"I'm not putting them on," said old Archie in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates, thanks."



"You not got that fire started yet?"
"Dad's having fun with the matches," said Fred.
Mr. Weasley was having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Splintered matches littered the ground around him, but he looked as though he was having the time of his life.
"Oops!" he said as he managed to light a match and promptly dropped it in surprise.
 
#102
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (cont'd)


"Mr. Crouch?" said Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. "He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll..."
"Anyone can speak Troll," said Fred dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."



"Mr. Crouch!" said Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow that made him look like a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"
"Oh," said Mr. Crouch, looking over at Percy in mild surprise. "Yes — thank you, Weatherby."
Fred and George choked into their own cups. Percy, very pink around the ears, busied himself with the kettle.



Fon pulled out his Omnioculars and started testing them, staring down the crowd on the other side of the stadium.
"Wild!" he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again ... and again . . . and again . . ."



And as the Veela danced faster and faster, wild, half-formed thoughts started chasing through Harry's dazed mind. He wanted to do something very impressive, right now. Jumping from the box into the stadium seemed like a good idea . . . but would it be good enough?
"Harry, what are you doing?" said Hermione's voice from a long way off.
The music stopped. Harry blinked. He was standing up, and one of his legs was resting on the wall of the box. Next to him, Ron, was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he were about to dive from a springboard.



Farther still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly.
"I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year!" one of them shouted. "I'm a dragon killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures."
"No, you're not!" yelled his friend. "You're a dishwasher at the Leaky Cauldron . . . but I'm a vampire hunter, I've killed about ninety so far -"



A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the veela, now cut in, "I'm about to become the youngest Minister of Magic, I am."



Harry snorted with laughter. He recognized the pimply wizard: His name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus. He turned to tell Ron this, but Ron's face had gone oddly slack, and next second Ron was yelling, "Did I tell you I've invented a broomstick that'll reach Jupiter?"



"You're not by any chance writing out a new order form, are you?" said Mrs. Weasley shrewdly. "You wouldn't be thinking of restarting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, by any chance?"
"Now, Mum," said Fred, looking up at her, a pained look on his face. "If the Hogwarts Express crashed tomorrow, and George and I died, how would you feel to know that the last thing we ever heard from you was an unfounded accusation?"



"Mad-Eye Moody?" said George thoughtfully, spreading marmalade on his toast. "Isn't he that nutter-"
"Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody," said Mrs. Weasley sternly.
"Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn't he?" said Fred quietly as Mrs. Weasley left the room. "Birds of a feather..."



"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they’ve got fur capes as part of their uniforms."
"Ah think of the possibilities," said Ron dreamily. "It would’ve been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident . . . Shame his mother likes him . . ."



"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"
"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"
"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it again by a giant sea monster.



"You're JOKING!" said Fred Weasley loudly.
The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody's arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively.
"I am not joking, Mr. Weasley," he said. "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar . . . "
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.
 
#103
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (cont'd)
(I just realized I have been misspelling Professor Trelawney's last name! It's Trelawney, not Treelawney.)



"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down. Divination, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry's death, which he found extremely annoying.



"Well I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," said Malfoy sarcastically. "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"



"I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth...your dark hair...your mean stature...tragic losses so young in life...I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?"
"No," said Harry, "I was born in July."
Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough.



"Oh Professor look! I think I found an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?"
"It is Uranus, my dear," said Professor Trelawney peering down a the chart.
"Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?" said Ron.



"OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!"
Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret.
"I want to fix that in my memory forever," said Ron, his closed and an uplifted expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret..."



"Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!" said Professor McGonagall weakly. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that!"
"He might've mentioned it, yeah," said Moody, scratching chin unconcernedly . . .



"Next Monday," he said as he scribbled, "I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter." He looked up at Harry. "You know her - just put in loads of misery and she'll lap it up."



"Right," said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first years into the fire. "Okay . . . on Monday, I will be in danger of - er - burns."
"Yeah, you will be," said Ron darkly. "we're seeing the skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, I'll . . . erm . . . "
"Lose a treasured posession," said Harry, who was flicking through Unfogging the Future for ideas.
"Good one," said Ron, copying it down. "Because of . . . erm . . . Mercury. Why don't you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?"
"Yeah . . . cool . . . " said Harry, scribbling it down, "because . . . Venus is in the twelfth house."



"And on Wednesday, I think I'll come off worse in a fight."
"Aaah. I was going to have a fight. Okay, I'll lose a bet."
"Yeah, you'll be betting I'll win my fight . . . ."



They continued to make up predictions (which grew steadily more tragic) for another hour, while the common room around them slowly emptied as people went up to bed.



"Not going to have a very good month, are you?" she said sardonically as Crookshanks curled up in her lap.
"Ah, well, at least I'm forewarned," Ron yawned.
"You seen to be drowning twice," said Hermione.
"Oh, am I?" said Ron peering down at his predictions. "I'd better change one of them to getting trampled by a rampaging Hippogriff."
"Don't you think it's a bit obvious you've made these up?" said Hermione.
"How dare you!" said Ron in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!"
Hermoine raised her eyebrows.
"It's just an expression," said Ron hastily.
Harry laid down his quill, too, having just predicted his own death by decapitation.



Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.



"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" said Hermione indignantly.
Ron gave a loud false cough, which sounded oddly like "Lockhart!"
 
#104
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (cont'd)


"What are you working on?" said Harry.
"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," said Percy smugly. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin - leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year--"
"That'll change the world, that report will," said Ron. "Front page of the Daily Prophet, I expect, cauldron leaks."



"Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or - "
"That's not funny," said Hermione quietly. "That's not funny at all." She looked extremely anxious. "Harry, I've been thinking - you know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"
"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the - "
"Write to Sirius. . . . . "



"Looks like they're having fun, don' they?" Hagrid said happily.
Harry assumed he was talking about the skrewts, because his classmates certainly weren't; every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and moer than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.



Harry imagined picking up his cauldron, and sprinting to the front of the class, and bringing it down on Snape's greasy head -



Attractive blonde Rita Skeeter, forty-three, whose savage quill has punctured many inflated reputation -



An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes -



Tears fill those startlingly green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember.



"I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards' Confrence?"
"Enchantingly nasty," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat -"



"Hey - Harry!"
"Yeah, that's right!" Harry found himself shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, having just about enough. "I've just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I'm just off to do a bit more . . . "



"He's not even good-looking!" she muttered angrily, glaring at Krum's sharp profile. "They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing - "
"Wronski Feint," said Harry, through gritted teeth. Quite apart from liking to get Quidditch terms correct, it caused him another pang to imagine Ron's expression if he could have heard Hermione talking about Wonky-Faints.



He therefore had to endure over an hour of Professor Trelawney, who spent half the lesson telling everyone that the position of Mars with relation to Saturn at that moment meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths. "Well, that's good," said Harry loudly, his temper getting the better of him, "just as long as it's not drawn out. I don't want to suffer."
 
#105
Here is my all time favorite:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think- and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

By Rudyard Kipling
 
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