Harry Potter, the boy who lived...

Happy 39th Birthday (September 19, 1979)

I don’t want your help! Don’t you understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you. Or he’s going to kill me.

Dronken schrijft de poëet, over zijn leed. 

Adjective: This is a very Snape-y coat. (Dark, long, vaguely menacing.)

I’m only human after all. Don’t put your blame on me.

“Well, Draco?” said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. “Is it? Is it Harry Potter?” “I can’t — I can’t be sure,” said Draco. He seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

If Harry Potter Movies Had Honest Titles.

The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out — “Harry Potter.”

“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. 

For the first time, the watching crowd stirred as the hundreds of people around the walls drew breath as one.

Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry,                                                                                               but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?