“Perhaps in body I am not quite as real as you,” he said, then looked alive, making him once again seem real, even though she knew that if she tried to touch him, she could not. “But my thoughts and emotions are as real as yours. My soul, Mia Randall, is as real as yours.”

“You seem to be attracted to trouble," he said."Yeah, she's real pretty," I replied."Your tongue is sharper than mine ever was."I stuck out my tongue and tried to look at the tip of it.”

“Real, she imagined later on, was something else; it had nothing to do with things you could touch. Real was being seen, noticed, acknowledged, and later remembered. Real was people thinking about you when you weren't in the room. If others thought about you, then you must be more than a made-up dream. You need other people to be real, she decided. Otherwise you might just be a speck, an atom, inventing an elaborate story. It seemed like a paradox, but it must be so. She knew other people were real by thinking about them. Her thinking of her parents and her brothers, her school friends, were proof that they were real. They were both outside and in her head. But how could she be sure she was in anyone's head?”

“Was it—was she making a real prediction?'Dumbledore looked mildly impressed.'Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been,' he said thoughtfully. 'Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay raise...”

“She had reason to doubt him; he was real good at planning but real bad at doing.”

“Will you miss him Holly?” he asked suddenly. [...] “No,” she said. “I will not miss him.” But her eyes told the real story.”