— 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.
— How did he escape?
— Well, that is the Question, is'nt it! He is the first one that done it.
— Plenty of courage, l see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh, yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?
— Not Slytherin, not Slytherin!
— Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know. lt's all here, in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. No? Well, if you're sure. Better be... Gryffindor!
— This bus. Don't the Muggles ever...
— Them! Don' listen properly, do they? Don' look properly either.
— Never notice nuffink, they don't.
— 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.
— What are you doing down there?
— I fell over.
— What did you fell over for?
— It did not do it on purpose...
— I'm telling you, it's spooky. She knows more about you than you do.
— Who doesn't?
— 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.
— But how would you find them? They could be hidden anywhere, couldn’t they...
— True. But magic, especially Dark magic... leaves traces.
— You're not still mad at him, are you?
— I'm always mad at him.
— Potter, do something. Tell them I mean no harm.
— I'm sorry, professor. But I must not tell lies.
— 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!
— 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...
