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 don't think you should be an Auror, Harry," said Luna unexpectedly. Everybody looked at her. "The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They're working to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a mixture of dark magic and gum disease.

What do we want to be prefects for?” said George, looking revolted at the very idea. “It’d take all the fun out of life.

You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you do die, you need not hand it in.

But you're dead," said Harry. "Oh yes," said Dumbledore matter-of-factly. "Then...I'm dead too?" "Ah," said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. "That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.” They looked at each other, the old man still beaming. "Not?" repeated Harry. "Not," said Dumbledore. "But…" Harry raised his hand instinctively toward the lightning scar. It did not seem to be there. "But I should have died—I didn't defend myself! I meant to let him kill me!" "And that," said Dumbledore, "will, I think, have made all the difference.

A tiny little wooden man [was] slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: Reusable Hangman — Spell It Or He’ll Swing!

Dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold.