Sometimes when I’m driving home after dark, a street light or two will flicker on and off again. And I find myself smiling, looking, wondering if in some dim shadow is hiding a certain wizard named Dumbledore.

I love books and the places they bring you sometimes, suddenly, in the middle of an ordinary moment of a dull day.

So. The street light flickers back on behind me, orange glow in a winter evening, no one in sight. I feel silly smiling as I drive home and think about how much easier commuting would be if we only have port-keys and floo-powder, but I love being silly in bookish ways.

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