Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lop-sided creature, and it was flapping in Harry’s direction.
[…] though Gladnesse, and Griefe, be opposites in Nature; yet they are such Neighbours and Confiners in Arte, that the least touch of a Pensill, will translate a Crying, into a Laughing Face […]
He cocked his hat jauntily.
Her discomfort at the fluttersome part of her when he became a dragon the first time had prevented him from taking that shape again—until she ordered him to do whatever it took to get Motsey back.
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