J. K. Rowling

If you want to know what a man’s like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals.’

heart doing a kind of drum roll against his ribs

It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.

And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

“Why’re you staring at the hedge?” he said suspiciously.

“I’m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire,” said Harry.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

“You c-can’t—Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic—he said he’ll chuck you out of the house—and you haven’t got anywhere else to go—you haven’t got any friends to take you—”

“Jiggery pokery!” said Harry in a fierce voice. “Hocus pocus—squiggly wiggly—”

“I—don’t—like—spiders,” said Ron tensely.

“Training for the ballet, Potter?”

“Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape,” said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. “He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry—you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

Snape cried: “Expelliarmus!” There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hermione was dancing on tiptoes. “Do you think he’s all right?” she squealed through her fingers.

“Who cares?” said Harry and Ron together.

Peeves broke into song:

“Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, you’re killing off’ students, you think it’s good fun—”