It's true facts! :0 You have to grope and get all... Touchy-feely with the Sorting Hat, your chances of getting what you want significantly increases.Haefaciel wrote:That just made my day! Thank you Krievvie!Kriever wrote:
Padfootsmistress;
... You gotta grope the Sorting Hat! It worked for me! ...
Certainly worked out in my favor-- I mean, AHEM! 
inhisxeyes wrote:I'm glad I'm not the only one who thought Dumbledore's death was anti-climactic. I was expecting... more. Not just -longfall-
I'm glad someone else agrees, too. My friends I discuss with tell me I'm 'over-analyzing', but I think it's true.
Dumbledore IS supposed to be a powerful warlock, injured or not! Doesn't he have kinetic shields or something?! [Yeah, fat hope Krievy. What are you doing, mixing sci-fi into this?!] Imagine if he hit the floor and didn't die... And Harry went to his side. It would either be really, really sad for Harry, or...
^--- I know it's corny. But I always fancied this retarded thought...Unofficial Bit of Deathly Hallows... FOR YOUR EYES ONLY. wrote: Dumbledore literally flew down the observatory, landing on the cold, hard grass with an audible thud. Harry screamed his name as he went, apparated beside his fallen headmaster by some exceptional magical feat*.
"Harry..." Dumbledore wheezed, coughing loudly as his own blood started to choke him.
"Professor! You can't die... Not like this!" Harry yelled at him, almost in hysterics, trying to speak straight through his tears as he tried valiantly to sort out the aged man's beard so he could actually talk properly*.
"No... No, Harry. You... You must listen." Dumbledore said, his failing strength apparent in his stead's eyes.
"Don't speak, professor! You'll be fine!" Harry replied adamantly, still in complete denial that the man he so loved and respected was dying in front of his eyes.
"Harry... Come closer." The headmaster said, waving Harry nearer with a weak hand.
The student obliged, leaning in, curious, yet terrified by just how long he had left.
"Closer, Harry..." Once more, the boy obeyed, now so near that he could hear the man's ragged breath.
"Now... You must tell... Slughorn..." Harry drew in a shocked gasp. Slughorn? Talking about Slughorn when he was dying? This wasn't about accidently putting Felix Felictis into Hedwig's drinking perch, was it? Not that the raining mice did any better on that day, but still!
"Harry... Tell Slughorn about the... About the Oak-aged mead in the closet... Behind all the... All the bottles in for the Pensieve... It's very... very... goo.. ood..." Harry could only stare in disbelief as Dumbledore's hands became cold and they dropped to his sides, but not from awe or sadness.
... All the way for a bottle of mead?
Krievvie be naughty! 
/jk
