Professor Kettleburn, Our Care Of Magical Creatures

Some People Do Not Seem To Grasp That I Still Have To Sit Down In Peace And Write The Books, Apparently Believing That They Pop Up Like Mushrooms Without My Connivance.

I Think They Ought To Know. You Do Them A Disservice By Not Confiding Something This Important To Them.” “i Didn’t Want —” “— To Worry Or Frighten Them?” Said Dumbledore, Surveying Harry Over The Top Of His Half-moon Spectacles. “or Perhaps, To Confess That You Yourself Are Worried And Frightened? You Need Your Friends, Harry. As You So Rightly Said, Sirius Would Not Have Wanted You To Shut Yourself Away.

He Chose The Boy He Thought Most Likely To Be A Danger To Him," Said Dumbledore. And Notice This, Harry. He Chose, Not The Pureblood (which, According To His Creed, Is The Only Kind Of Wizard Worth Being Or Knowing), But The Half-blood, Like Himself. He Saw Himself In You Before He Had Ever Seen You, And In Marking You With That Scar, He Did Not Kill You, As He Intended, But Gave You Powers, And A Future, Which Have Fitted You To Escape Him Not Once, But Four Times So Far — Something That Neither Your Parents, Nor Neville’s Parents, Ever Achieved.

But You're Dead,' Said Harry. 'oh, Yes,' Said Dumbledore Matter-of-factly. 'then... Am I Dead Too?' 'ah,' Said Dumbledore, Smiling Still More Broadly. 'that Is The Question, Isn't It? On The Whole, Dear Boy, I Think Not.

Whatever House I'm In, I Hope She's Not In It.