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— Potter, do something. Tell them I mean no harm.
— I'm sorry, professor. But I must not tell lies.
— Now, you listen to me, all three of you. You're meddling in things that ought not to be meddled in. It's dangerous. What that dog is guarding is strictly between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.
— Nicholas Flamel?
— I shouldn't have said that. I should not have said that...
— You and Black, you're two of a kind. Sentimental children forever whining about how bitterly unfair your lives have been. Well, it may have escaped your notice, but life isn't fair. Your blessed father knew that. In fact, he frequently saw to it.
— My father was a great man.
— Your father was a swine.
— What are you doing down there?
— I fell over.
— What did you fell over for?
— It did not do it on purpose...
— You're not still mad at him, are you?
— I'm always mad at him.
— Why do they affect me so, Professor? I mean, more than everyone else...
— Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They feed on every good feeling, every happy memory, until a person is left with nothing but his worst experiences. You're not weak, Harry. The Dementors affect you most, because there are true horrors in your past. Horrors your classmates can scarcely imagine. You have nothing to be ashamed of.
— Forgive me, Mr. Potter. But your scar is legend. As, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you.
— He was a murderer.
— What a night! Nine raids! Nine!
— Raids?
— Dad works at the Ministry of Magic. In the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.
— The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts...?
— That's when wizards bewitch something to drive Muggles mad. Shrinking door keys, that kind of thing. Dad loves Muggles. Thinks they're fascinating.
— Well now. Who are you?
— Harry, sir. Harry Potter.
— Good Lord, are you really? Ron's told us all about you, of course. When did you get here? So, Harry. You must know all about Muggles. Tell me, what exactly is the function of a parking meter?
— Egypt! Whats it like?
— Brilliant, Loads of old stuff, Like Mummies, Tombs... Even Scrabers enjoyed himself. <...>
— Not flashing that clipping again, Are you Ron?
— I haven't shown anyone!
— No, not a soul! Just Tom. The day maid. The night maid. The cook. That bloke who came to fix the toilet. And that wizard from Belgium!
— And so you did when Professor Snape was teaching Potions. However, Professor Slughorn is perfectly happy to accept N. E. W. T. students with ‘Exceeds Expectations.’
— Really? Well... brilliant. I’ll head there straight away.
— Good. And take Weasley with you. He looks far too happy over there.
— My wand! Look at my wand!
— Be thankful it's not your neck.
— I'm telling you, it's spooky. She knows more about you than you do.
— Who doesn't?
Love blinds. We have both tried to give our sons, not what they needed, but what we needed. We’ve been so busy trying to rewrite our own pasts, we’ve blighted their present.