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 am proud of having done what I've done. Very proud.

You'd better hurry up, they'll be waiting for 'the Chosen Captain' — 'The Boy Who Scored'— whatever they call you these days.

Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!

If ever I expected to come face to face with an angry Christian fundamentalist, it wasn't in FAO Schwarz.

Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him.

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.