Dudley Thought For A Moment.

Do You Remember Me Telling You We Are Practicing Non-verbal Spells, Potter?" "yes," Said Harry Stiffly. "yes, Sir." "there's No Need To Call Me "sir" Professor." The Words Had Escaped Him Before He Knew What He Was Saying.

The Poor Things Keep Calling In Those – Those Pumbles, I Think They're Called – You Know, The Ones Who Mend Pipes And Things – " "plumbers?" " – Exactly, Yes, But Of Course They're Flummoxed.

I Will Be Sharing Additional Information I've Been Hoarding For Years About The World Of Harry Potter

I Don't Think About Who The Audience Is For My Books.

Long Ago, When Harry Had Been Left Alone While The Dursley's Went Out To Enjoy Themselves, The Hours Of Solitude Had Been A Rare Treat: Pausing Only To Sneak Something Tasty From The Fridge, He Had Rushed Upstairs To Play On Dudley's Computer, Or Put On The Television And Flicked Through The Channels To His Heart's Content. It Gave Him An Odd Empty Feeling To Remember Those Times; It Was Like Remembering A Younger Brother Whom He Had Lost.