“A tiny little wooden man [was] slowly ascending the steps to a real set of gallows, both perched on a box that read: Reusable Hangman — Spell It Or He’ll Swing!”

“Hagrid. You live in a wooden house!”

“Just because you’re allowed to use magic now you don’t have to whip your wands out for every tiny little thing!”

“Oh, he’ll try, I’m sure. . . . The usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action . . . oh, on the Dark Lord’s orders, of course!”

“Every hour that passed added to her grief, because it bore her further away from the living man, and because it was a tiny foretaste of the eternity she would have to spend without him.”

“Harry, guess what?" said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glittered there.”

“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”She sat down. Ron looked taken aback.“Er — all right.”He cleared his throat.“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow.”He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said the girl. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. I’ve learned all our course books by heart, of course.”