“Are you really talking to a fish right now?”
“Of course I’m talking to you, Paul,” I told him, quite offended by his snarky attitude right after I offered to find him his soul mate, “I always talk to you.”

I decided I would overlook his apparent lying and actually talk about what I came here to talk about, “Alright . . . whatever. Look, I found you so that I could ask you if you wanted to help me prepare the funeral for Paul the Fifteenth.”
“. . . You mean clean the toilet?”
“Yes, exactly.”

“I’m all ears.”
I don’t understand that expression. My ears are very small compared to the rest of my body, thank you very much.

What do guts have to do with anything anyways?

She rolled her eyes, waving her wand at the fallen paper. They disappeared instantly.
“Where’d you send them?”
“Filch’s pocket.”
“Why?”
“So he can throw them away for me.” She shrugged.
“Why didn’t you just send them to a trash can?”

Putting this plan on the right course is like sending Rose’s heart on a one-way trip to heartbreak; city hall is aptly named depression and the streets are flooded with backstabbing and lies.