Well — I was lucky once, wasn't I?” said Harry, pointing at his scar. “I might get lucky again.

You should write a book," Ron told Hermione as he cut up his potatoes, "translating mad things girls do so boys can understand them.

In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.

Why would I go looking for someone I know wants to kill me?

It’s so difficult to describe [depression] to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling — that really hollowed-out feeling.

Fred, you next," the plump woman said. "I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?" "Sorry, George, dear." "Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy and off he went.

Montague's just been found in a toilet, Sir.