It was a small, stuffy, defunct room, of mahogany, and deathly enlargements of photographs of departed people done in carbon.

“Why does it happen?”,[…]and “What the Hell should I eat now?!” were some of the questions we pondered on while driving ourselves to the nearest restaurant to (physically) tapao our food… in the rain… while it was all jammed up.

Because of the tighter bend, it's harder to run in an inside lane.

Poor Neville. He really is a Gryffindor, not a Hufflepuff, although he seems Hufflepuffish at times.