Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

“Some of the books the Ministry’s confiscated Dad’s told me—there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one handed. And—”

All that business with He Who Must Not Be Named!’ He glanced at the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. ‘I know, I know, it’s not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have – but it’s a start, Harry, it’s a start.’

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.

“I know what day it is,” Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.

“Well done,” said Harry. “So you’ve finally learned the days of the week.”

No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

“I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there,” said Harry tonelessly

Harry, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.

“Pass the frying pan.”

“You’ve forgotten the magic word,” said Harry irritably

Ron Weasley was outside Harry’s window.

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