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‘Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?’
Mr Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend.
The rest of her speech was lost; Harry had got up and hugged her. He tried to put a lot of unsaid things into the hug and perhaps she understood them, because she patted his cheek clumsily when he released her, then waved her wand in a slightly random way, causing half a pack of bacon to flop out of the frying pan on to the floor.
She’s a good-looking girl, but still – French.
hoist up his robes and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his –’
echoing clang and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan.
Simultaneously they walked forwards and hugged, Harry gripping the still sopping back of Ron’s jacket.
‘Is this the moment?’ Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. ‘OI! There’s a war going on here!’
‘Would you like me to do it now?’ asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. ‘Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?’
After all this time?’ ‘Always,’ said Snape.
