“He was easily six feet tall. The teens’ faces registered shock as he unfurled himself. But instead of trying put the fear of God in the bullies, he whispered in her ear.“You’re going to miss your train.”

“You’re like seven feet tall, aren’t you?”“I am not seven feet tall,” he snapped at her as if she’d really insulted him. “I’m six-eleven.” When she smirked in disbelief, he added, “And three-quarters.”

“Well, duh. He was six feet, six inches tall and built like a brick shithouse.”

“He knew one thing only, and it was beyond fear or reason: He was not going to die crouching here like a child playing hide-and-seek; he was not going to die kneeling at Voldemort’s feet . . . he was going to die upright like his father, and he was going to die trying to defend himself, even if no defense was possible. . . .”

“Finn whispered, "What has a head, thorax, and abdomen, but stands six feet tall?""A snowman?”

“I’m going to come,” he whispered, lips against her ear. “Deep, deep inside you.”