Let’s see . . . ah, yes, this is nice and cozy.” It was a broom cupboard.

To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!

Odd words floated back to them over the hundreds of heads. "Nobility of spirit"..."intellectual contribution"..."greatness of heart"...It did not mean very much. It had little to do with Dumbledore as Harry had known him. He suddenly remembered Dumbledore's idea of a few words, "nitwit," "oddment," "blubber," and "tweak," and again had to suppress a grin.

Every hour that passed added to her grief, because it bore her further away from the living man, and because it was a tiny foretaste of the eternity she would have to spend without him.

Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison.

I'm very frustrated by fear of imagination. I don't think that's healthy.

Hogwarts was the first and best home he had known. He and Voldemort and Snape, the abandoned boys, had all found home here.