An army of little bloody pennants swarm over the hall, shrilling their hatred in a high and spiteful whine. They lick at its timbers like the tongues of devil-dogs, cavorting and sporting in the bright midnight, and when they bite out its hamstrings, its roof crashes to the ground. Sparks explode from it in a roar like a vicious victory cry, tangling with the terrified screams of those crushed by the vanquished timbers. Squinting and stumbling back from the white-hot glare of my heartbreak, I wonder at how clearly these Muggles show themselves by the gifts they bring.