“Why do they have to move in packs?" Harry asked Ron as a dozen or so girls walked past them, sniggering and staring at Harry."How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?" "Lasso one?" Ron suggested.”

“Harry: This book belongs to Harry Potter. Ron: Shared by Ron Weasley, because his fell apart. Hermione: Why don't you buy a new one then? Ron: Write on your own book, Hermione. Hermione: You bought all those dungbombs on Saturday. You could have bought a new book instead. Ron: Dungbombs rule.”

“Look, why don't you go talk to Ron about all this?" Harry asked."Well, I would, but he's always asleep when I go and see him!" said Lavender fretfully."Is he?" said Harry, surprised, for he had found Ron perfectly alert every time he had been up to the hospital wing.”

“Luna had decorated her bedroom ceiling with five beautifully painted faces: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville. They were not moving as the portraits at Hogwarts moved, but there was a certain magic about them all the same: Harry thought they breathed. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but after examining them for a minute or so, Harry realized that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: friends . . . friends . . . friends . . .”

“Oh, don’t lie, Harry,” she said impatiently. “Ron and Ginny say you’ve been hiding from everyone since you got back from St. Mungo’s.”“They do, do they?” said Harry, glaring at Ron and Ginny. Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.“Well, you have!” she said. “And you won’t look at any of us!”“It’s you lot who won’t look at me!” said Harry angrily.“Maybe you’re taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other,” suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.”

“Instead (Harry) contented himself with scrawling a note to Ron: Let's do it tonight.”