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Prologue (1991): Dozens of Little Televisions
The sitting room appeared equal parts average and bizarre, as though someone from the middle-ages had decorated with an Ikea catalogue.
The Hex Head Express
“You know Fred and George swear they saw some weed plants in Sprout’s restricted greenhouse. Then again, they were high when they broke in, so take it with a grain of salt.”
Some Sacred Questions, Some Marijuana
Finally, the Sorting concluded. Super-Baby Harry Potter had ended up Gryffindor—to exactly no one’s surprise.
"Your fanged geranium's gone all shriveled! What have you done to it?"
Three Times Charmed
Finally satisfied that Tristan's stereo and music collection didn't contain dark magic, Filch let them on their way.
Behind the Mirror
"The Hufflepuff password is Hufflepuff? Seriously??"
Troll in the Dungeons!
Apparently, there had been a troll. Only not in the dungeons. And Harry Potter, all of eleven years old, had somehow managed to kill it. But he'd also lost about a million House Points from Gryffindor in the process.
Auto-Incantata, or "Self-Spelling" (colloq.) is an act by which a witch or wizard casts a spell on him/herself.
The Big Thing
Nothing was beautiful and everything hurt.
Tristan was confused—he’d been expecting Snape to lecture him about skipping classes, not politely offer tea. Perhaps, thought Tristan, this was some bizarre intimidation tactic. If it was, it was working.
Isobel had never spent much time around muggles before, but was starting to see what Tristan meant about their being magical in their own way.
Recreational Magic Abuse Recovery
Isobel produced a pamphlet she'd nicked off the healer: "How Rec Magic Wrecks: Charming isn't charming when your charms marks get charred."
The Little Things (1992)
“Laurel, seven inches, Dragon Heartstring,” Mr. Ollivander had said. “Rather heavy.”
The Trouble With Laurel
Classes, eat, corridor, sleep. It had become Tristan's mantra--like a song stuck in his head. A distillation of what remained of his life in four words.
“Penelope might still fancy you, and apparently she’s single after all,” Isobel joked.
It was Emily's nature to cry whenever she confronted any strong emotion.
The Disappearing Room
While no expert on the facial expressions of cats, Tristan could have sworn that Mrs. Norris looked triumphant.
Teenage folk wisdom about drink: about as useful as a perforated cauldron.
The Presence of Love
It was hard to work out what Tristan did out of love, and what what he did because he hated himself—maybe all of it, one way or the other.
Ballpoint pen: like a quill, but less annoying.
“That one,” Tristan pointed out the youngest Weasley. “Played some chess. And that one,” he indicated to a manic little witch with a lot of hair, “did something clever with potions. The rest has a lot to do with some special rock.”
Cleaner, More Brilliant
The good times were better than they’d ever been, and the bad times were further between.
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