Trust me," he said. "I know what I'm doing... or at least" -- he strolled confidently to the door -- "Felix does.

Instead (Harry) contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.

He read the letter again, but could not take in any more meaning than he had done the first time and was reduced to staring at the handwriting itself. She had made her g's the same way he did : he searched through the letter for every one of them, and each felt like a friendly little wave glimpsed from behind a veil. The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry, her son.

You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that.

The barman sidled toward them out of a back room. He was a grump-looking old man with a great deal of a long gray hair and a beard. He was tall and thin and looked vaguely familiar to Harry.

Love is the most powerful thing of all and I remember thinking that - God, I'm about to make myself cry but, I remember thinking that when 9/11 happened because those last phone calls were about - the last thing knowingly, that I'm going to say on this earth is "I love you". What's more powerful than that? What's more proof than that? Beyond fear, beyond death.

You could say sorry," suggested Harry bluntly. "What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?" muttered Ron. "What did you have to imitate her for?" "She laughed at my mustache!" "So did I, it was the stupidest thing I've ever seen.