Boarded up the cinema

"Everyone dies," he says.

Despite my horrifically inflamed tonsils, I swallow the over-milked (excessively lactated?) Figaro coffee I bought as pressure / motivation / lifeblood while I do my Philo paper. And I blink at the man in front of me, twiddling with my blueberry muffin (no double meanings here), and looking toward the distance.

"Everyone dies," he repeats.

I bite my lip to stifle a gasp. And a torrent of coffee. Leaning forward so that our noses are almost touching, I say in a panic-stricken whisper:

"You're not talking about Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows are you?"