But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality.

She picked up the book and then walked back past him into the tent, but as she did so, she brushed the top of his head lightly with her hand. He closed his eyes at her touch, and hated himself for wishing that what she said was true: that Dumbledore had really cared.

I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.

I think I'll just go down and have some pudding and wait for it all to turn up - it always does in the end.

Why don't you confer with Mr. Finnigan? As I recall, he has a particular proclivity for pyrotechnics.

Help only comes to those who ask for it.

The owls are gathering; find out why soon.