You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don’t let you off homework today. I assure you that if you do die, you need not hand it in.
Somewhere out in the darkness, a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before: a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt, as he had felt about phoenix song before, that the music was inside him, not without: It was his own grief turned magically to song...
The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid’s cabin looked like an iced cake.
I hope there’s pudding!
Don’t be stupid, it’s a flying house!
And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
Merlin’s pants!
No, I’m fine,? said Harry, wondering why he kept telling people this, and wondering whether he had ever been less fine.
However,? said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, ’you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.
He lay face down, listening to the silence. He was perfectly alone. Nobody was watching. Nobody else was there. He was not perfectly sure that he was there himself.
You don’t know what I’m capable of, you don’t know what I’ve done!
Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good...
She had a way of seeing the beauty in others, even, and perhaps most especially, when that person couldn’t see it in themselves.
Hagrid. You live in a wooden house!
Probably that you’re going to be eaten by a giant marshmallow or something.
All was well.
As he followed Bill back to the others a wry though came to him, born no doubt of the wine he had drunk. He seemed set on course to become just as reckless a godfather to Teddy Lupin as Sirius Black had been to him.
He never seemed to grasp the immense mutability of human nature, nor to appreciate that behind every nondescript face lay a wild and unique hinterland like his own.
It was his own grief turned magically to song.
Would it hurt to die? All those times he had thought it was about to happen and escaped, he had never really thought of the thing itself: his will to live had always been so much stronger than his fear of death.