“I don't think he can hurt. Wizards and witches go hand in hand, after all. Didn't you read Harry Potter?" Eden stared at him. "Well, yeah." "I didn't read the books," he continued. "But I did get to see the movies. A previous host was a fan. He even wore dress robes and pretended he'd been sorted into a house. Hufflepuff, if you can believe it. Who liked Hufflepuff best? I mean, seriously.”

“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.”He held out his hand to shake Harry’s, but Harry didn’t take it. “I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” he said coolly.”

“Is it like a Harry Potter thing?" He turned his head then. "A what?""A Harry Potter thing," she said again. "You know, don't say Voldemort's name because you might attract his attention?"He considered it. "You mean the children's book.""I have got to get you to watch more movies," she said. "You'd enjoy these. Yes, I mean the children's book.”

“If I could just get Broom to cooperate, we could fly, Glo said. Then we wouldn't have to worry about traffic. Harry Potter didn't have to worry about traffic.You relize Harry Potter isn't real, right? Of course, but he could be. I mean, maybe not Harry Potter, but someone like him. Who's to say?”

“Ponyboy, listen, don't get tough. You're not like the rest of us and don't try to be..."What was the matter with Two-Bit? I knew as well as he did that if you got tough you didn't get hurt. Get smart and nothing can touch you..."What in the world are you doing?" Two-Bit's voice broke into my thoughts.I looked up at him. "Picking up the glass."He stared at me for a second, then grinned. "You little sonofagun," he said in a relieved voice. I didn't know what he was talking about, so I just went on picking up the glass from the bottle end and put it in a trash can. I didn't want anyone to get a flat tire.”

“What the hell do you want, anyway?"'I just want to help you."Yeah, right. And then he'd sell her a bridge. He didn't know her, had no vested intereset in her--unless he hoped to get laid. Ha! Fat chance. He looked like he was poor, driving that old rattrap car and dressed in faded jeans.She clenched her hands into fists. "I'm not screwing you.""I didn't ask you to." And then, with some sort of warped amusement, he added, "I'm not that easy.”