It does not to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live.
What happened in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a secret.
So, naturally, the whole school knows.
— Stop moving, both of you. This is Devil's Snare. You have to relax. If you don't, it will only kill you faster.
— Kill us faster?! Oh, now I can relax!
— Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley. Maybe if I were to transfigure Mr. Potter and yourself into a pocketwatch, maybe one of you would be on time.
— We got lost.
— Then perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats.
— 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!
— I'm telling you, it's spooky. She knows more about you than you do.
— Who doesn't?
— How many are there?
— Thirty-six. Counted 'em myself.
— Thirty-six?! But last year last year I got thirty-seven!!
— Yes, well, some of them are quite a bit bigger than last year!
— I don't care how big they are!
— 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...