Infallible? Me? Come on. He had to be kidding. Only someone clearly off their rocker would put the likes of me up on a pedestal.

James tried to find the words, but nothing came. How in the hell are you supposed to explain to a drunk girl that garden gnomes aren't pets?

It is jarring, then, to find a woman lying in a pool of red in the upstairs bathtub. Disturbing, to see the blood protection of the Boy-Who-Lived slowly and very literally drip down the bathroom drain.

Remus Lupin wrote an essay about Quidditch and sex in his seventh year. Are you brave enough to read it? You'll never see the Snitch the same way again.

"Potter," Lily blurted out desperately, catching sight of him in the corner with his friends. "It was Potter, and it was before we went out."

He still isn’t sure how they got here, sticky and feverish, Lily pressed against the trunk of an old oak tree, his big hands tangled in her hair. It’s two days before end of term and the hottest day of the year.

Neville knew something was not quite right with him. Other wizards his age awaited racing brooms. He awaited his mother’s gum wrappers.

It is a full moon on the night of October thirty-first, nineteen eighty-one, and therefore Remus has the best Halloween costume in most of England.

Another uninnocent, elegant fall into the unmagnificent lives of adults.

"Oh MERLIN. STOP WRIGGLING OR I'LL HEX YOU! This is a rule. There is a KNICKERS RULE!"

"Sometimes I think a curse should rest on me—because I love this war. I know it's smashing and shattering the lives of thousands every moment—and yet—I can't help it—I enjoy every second of it."

(She may or may not blame the eggnog later on, of course. He cannot foresee whether she will, and cannot bring himself to care just yet.)

There's no one else to blame, but it's easier to take out your frustration on Death Eaters, garden gnomes and Alice Longbottom. It's simply more comfortable.

Teddy Lupin never gets too close or feels too much; his godfather's son never does anything else.

One day, Sirius notices how attractive Remus’ girlfriend is.

Six hours stuck in a closet with someone you love -- it's the best kind of hell imaginable.

Algernon sicked up under my bed. Moony and I discussed what we could do with it during breakfast, but by the time I’d run up to preserve it after lunch, the house-elves had already got to it. Another wasted opportunity.

Remus looked out the window skeptically, noting the disrepair of the roof and the dirt crusting the windows. It hardly seemed the sort of house to be in need of a tutor for a young gentleman. More likely to need a carpenter and a good charwoman, Remus thought.