What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?” “Oh no, Ron,” came Fred’s voice, very sarcastically. “No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up.

Don't be silly, Dawlish. I'm sure you are an excellent Auror, I seem to remember you achieved 'Outstanding' in all your N.E.W.T.s, but if you attempt to — er — 'bring me in' by force, I will have to hurt you.

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

Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect.

Dobby has no master. Dobby is a free elf!

I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo.

I am indebted to the British welfare state; the very one that Mr Cameron would like to replace with charity handouts. When my life hit rock bottom, that safety net, threadbare though it had become under John Major's Government, was there to break the fall. I cannot help feeling, therefore, that it would have been contemptible to scarper for the West Indies at the first sniff of a seven-figure royalty cheque. This, if you like, is my notion of patriotism.