Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.

Being fed, and having a soft bed, and other people being in charge, seemed the most wonderful prospect in the world at that moment.

Harry felt winded, as though he had just walked into something heavy. He had last seen those cool gray eyes through slits in a Death Eater’s hood, and last heard that man’s voice jeering in a dark graveyard while Lord Voldemort tortured him. He could not believe that Lucius Malfoy dared look him in the face; he could not believe that he was here, in the Ministry of Magic, or that Cornelius Fudge was talking to him, when Harry had told Fudge mere weeks ago that Malfoy was a Death Eater.

Ginny, listen... I can’t be involved with you anymore. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together.” “It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?

Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs.

You don't have sex near unicorns. It's an ironclad rule. It's tacky.

When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone’s got? Of course he isn’t. . . . It’ll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.