Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart!
The wand chooses the wizard.
He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the back seat - more room to spread out, you see.
Neville kicked aside the broken fragments of his own wand as they walked slowly toward the door. "My gran's going do kill be," said Neville thickly, blood spattering from his nose as he spoke, "dat was by dad's old wand.
A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of.
There. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll get a scar! That's what you want, isn't it?