Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban.

On Harry dug, deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth, subsuming his grief in sweat, denying the pain in his scar.

It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.

Ron," said Hermione in a dignified voice, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.

Here lies Dobby, a free elf.

Always the tone of surpise.

You think I'm a fool?" demanded Harry. "No, I think you're like James," said Lupin, "who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends.