No point making rules against things that are impossible.

James had, of course, heard of television and video games, but having had mostly wizard friends, he’d assumed Muggle children only engaged in those activities when there was absolutely nothing better to do.

You painted all those characters into the paintings all over the school, and every one of them is a portrait of you, but in disguise. That’s how you’ve been watching us. You spread yourself out through all those paintings. And since you are the original artist, nobody else can ever destroy the portraits. It was your way of assuring you could always keep an eye on things, even after death.

Enjoy your ignorance while you can.

Hardly worth the effort, really,” he muttered. “It’s a homunculus lock. Only opens when a predefined set of factors is present. Could be it only opens when a redheaded lass sings the national anthem of Atlantis at three o’clock on a Thursday. Or when the light of the setting sun is reflected from a cracked mirror onto a goat’s eye. Or when Mr. Grey hawks a bogey onto a purple newt. I’ve seen some good homunculus factors in my time, yar.

Well, they’re magical wardrobes, of course, although they don’t lead to any fairy wonderlands.

I know you said your dad and his mates used to do this all the time, but one of them was a girl, remember?′ ‘Yeah, and she didn’t eat seven meals a day, either,’ Zane said. The three of them shuffled down the darkened corridor, crammed under the Invisibility Cloak.

Thought you were making a James Band Joke. Hard to tell with that accent.

Snape replied pointedly, “I learned when not to talk from the master, Albus.

Phew,” Zane muttered as James plopped down next to him and reached for the last piece of toast. “These little waiters of yours may be weird-lookin’ buggers, but they know how to make a good cup of coffee.