“It was as if his eye were an ear and a crackle went through it each time he shot a look at the accordion. ...The notes fell, biting and sharp; it seemed the tooth that bit was hollowed with pain. ”

“Papa was a man with silver eyes, not dead ones. Papa was an accordion! But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.”

“The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell’s turban straight into Harry’s eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry’s forehead.”

“Papa was an accordion. But his bellows were all empty. Nothing went in and nothing came out.”

“Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.”

“Papa sat with me tonight. He brought the accordion down and sat close to where Max used to sit. I often look at his fingers and face when he plays. the accordion breathes. There are lines on his cheeks. They look drawn on, and for some reason, when I see them, I want to cry. It is not for any sadness or pride. I just like the way they move and change. Sometimes I think my papa is an accordion. When he looks at me and smiles and breathes, I hear the notes.”