Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Harry Potter, #4)

by J.K. Rowling

“but how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn’t there . . . or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak; maybe she sneaked onto the grounds to watch the second task. . . .”

Malfoy took the opportunity to flash POTTER STINKS across the dungeon at Harry.

“All this press attention seems to have inflated your already overlarge head, Potter,” said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again.

You are a grown man, old enough to register for the AARP, beefing with a kid who probably would've thought skibidi toilet was the funniest thing ever

To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.”

Again, a prehistoric man. Paleolithic era ass man. Homeboy had Jesus in his graduating class

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

“Did Crouch try and get his son off?” Hermione whispered. Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark.

“Must be nice,” Ron said abruptly, when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. “To have so much money you don’t notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing.”

Get his ass, Ron

Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, “I hate being poor.”

Same

It was as though the eighteen-year-old Krum thought he, Harry, was an equal — a real rival —

He's an adult??

“Don’t . . . leave . . . me!” he whispered, his eyes bulging again. “I . . . escaped . . . must warn . . . must tell . . . see Dumbledore . . . my fault . . . all my fault . . . Bertha . . . dead . . . all my fault . . . my son . . . my fault . . . tell Dumbledore . . . Harry Potter . . . the Dark Lord . . . stronger . . . Harry Potter . . .”