I'm not going to be murdered," Harry said out loud. "That's the spirit, dear," said his mirror sleepily.

All those poor elves I haven’t set free yet, having to stay over during Christmas because there aren’t enough hats!

The best of us must sometimes eat our words.

Her round, mascara-streaked face looked back at him out of the rear window. He forced a grin and a wave before lighting another cigarette, and reflecting that Lucy's idea of sympathty compared unfavourably with some of the interrogation techniques they had used at Guantanamo.

In fact, you couldn't give me anything to make me go back to being a teenager. Never. No, I hated it.

There will always be a easy path and a right path.

It was, he thought, the difference between being dragged into the arena to face a battle to the death and walking into the arena with your head held high. Some people, perhaps, would say that there was little to choose between the two ways, but Dumbledore knew - and so do I, thought Harry, with a rush of fierce pride, and so did my parents - that there was all the difference in the world.