“Professor,” Harry gasped. “Your bird — I couldn’t do anything — he just caught fire —”

“Fifty?” Harry gasped.“Fifty points each,” said Professor McGonagall, breathing heavily.“Professor — please —”“You can’t —”“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Potter. I’ve never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students.”

“Goddammit, T-bird, he said. I love that faerie as much as any of us, but I couldn’t watch and do nothing while she becomes your Titanic.”

“Harry was just thinking that all he needed was for Dumbledore's pet bird to die while he was all alone in the office with it, when the bird burst into flames.”

“Lizbeth?" He barks from the balcony. "Guess what I just caught our daughter doing? Experimenting with beastiality-- with a bird! And you can probably guess which daughter.”

“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.”