“Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back you say?... and now he's sending dismembers after you?... I see. Well that settles it, YOU CAN GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE BOY!”

“Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy—this boy!—knows nothin' abou'—about ANYTHING?"Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad."I know some things," he said. "I can, you know, do math and stuff.”

“He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the back seat - more room to spread out, you see.”

“The realization of what would happen next settled gradually over Harry in the long minutes, like softly falling snow."I've got to go back, haven't I?""That is up to you.""I've got a choice?""Oh yes." Dumbledore smiled at him. "We are in King's Cross, you say? I think that if you decided not to go back, you would be able to…let's say…board a train.""And where would it take me?""On," said Dumbledore simply.”

“Did you see me disarm Hermione, Harry?""Only once" said Hermione stung. "I got you loads more then you got me—""I did not only get you once, I got you at least three times—""Well if you're counting the one where you tripped over your own feet and knocked the wand out of my hand—”

“Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?""Yes," said Harry. He was looking at the other boys. Both of were thickset and looked like bodyguards."Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelssly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." Ron gave a slight cough, which might have been hiding a snigger. Draco Malfoy looked at him. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."He turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

“Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes. “You’re less like your father than I thought,” he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. “The risk would’ve been what made it fun for James.”“Look —”“Well, I’d better get going . . . I’ll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?”There was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius’s head had been was flickering flame once more.”