“Accio Firebolt!”

“Accio Brain!”

“Bad news, Harry. I've just been to see Professor McGonagall about the Firebolt. She – er, got a bit shirty with me. Told me I'd got my priorities wrong. Seemed to think I cared more about winning the Cup than I do about staying alive. Just because I told her I didn't care if it threw you off, as long as you caught the Snitch first.”

“Harry lost any sense of where they were: Streetlights above him, yells around him, he was clinging to the sidecar for dear life. Hedwig’s cage, the Firebolt, and his rucksack slipped from beneath his knees —“No — HEDWIG!”The broomstick spun to earth, but he just managed to seize the strap of his rucksack and the top of the cage as the motorbike swung the right way up again. A second’s relief, and then another burst of green light. The owl screeched and fell to the floor of the cage.“No — NO!”The motorbike zoomed forward; Harry glimpsed hooded Death Eaters scattering as Hagrid blasted through their circle.“Hedwig — Hedwig —”But the owl lay motionless and pathetic as a toy on the floor of her cage.”

“The stories we love best do live in us forever.”

“She was dashing back, an enormous old book in her arms.“I never thought to look in here!” she whispered excitedly. “I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading.”“Light?” said Ron.”

“It’s so difficult to describe depression to someone who’s never been there, because it’s not sadness. I know sadness. Sadness is to cry and to feel. But it’s that cold absence of feeling— that really hollowed-out feeling.”