and so even after wrestling the alligator, I still had to recover the DNA sample he had stolen. I knew he had already reached semiintelligence, and I had to find a way to trick him fast before he became any smarter than I was. "You're leaning a little too the left," I pointed out easily. "I think you may have lost one of your shoes." "Qhich one?" he asked, looking down. Ah-HA! Just the stroke of luck I was waiting for. I grabbed the vial and
sIQ must be well over two thousand by now; I imagine he must spend a lot of irate evenings in the swamp reflecting upon how easily he was duped
Words We Haven't Used Yet[18]: peas*ant*ry pease*cod pea*shoot*er peat*moss pea*vey pe*can pec*ca*dil*lo pec*cant pec*ca*ry pec*ca*vi peck*ing*or*der pec*tin 
Harry's capitalization pool was starting to roll over. He knew there was fallout risk. With a quick glance at Ron and Hermione he added a short hedge of soft dollars and stirred in some FASB No. 8. But this was a mistake; the market began churning, and his small-issues exemption began to smoke. He started trying to write down the value when he felt, rather than heard, Snape gliding up from behind. His variance was harsher, less ironic, than usual. "So, Potter," he sneered. "That's your solution? When someone takes a poison pill, you can't always just shove a BARRA analysis down their throat, you know. If this had been a volatile market you'd be in Askaban for having violated Glass-Steagall." Snape looked down his nose at him, his equity balanced. "You're just like your father: arrogant, always at unsystematic risk, overextended, overbought and underfinanced."
This was too much. "My father was not overextended!" Harry shouted, jumping from his stool, portfolio in hand
he pushed it open, sending it creaking open on its ponderous corpulent hinges. Even the malfeasance of his memory, though, could not protect him from surprise at the sight he encountered within. A pallid arachnid, dressed in some kind of papal bustier, turned to face him. This mutant horror, closer to the size of a blimp than an ant, turned with a horrible temporal scream and faced him. It whipped back a corner of its bizarre liturgical negligee and pulled a deadly rune-covered sword from its scabbard. "Hm! No happy shindig today," he thought to himself, the single thought filling the usual vacuum of his mind. The sword swooped down and caught him a glancing blow. The horrific spider laughed with glee, but the cheer caught in its thorax as he rose, unhurt, to his feet. Thank God he was wearing his kevlar