I’ve taught myself to talk to everyone in their own language. I just need someone to talk to me in mine.
It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things.
google street view is the best, example:
That moment in your childhood when you realize that Diagon Alley is just the word diagonally….
And the Mirror of Erised is just the word desire backwards.
Didn’t even realize. Does that mean Knockturn Alley is nocturnally (dark/night)?
Yes, and Grimmauld Place is a play on grim old place.
And Dumbledore is just a dumb old door