Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Harry Potter, #3)

by J.K. Rowling

“I don’t go looking for trouble,” said Harry, nettled. “Trouble usually finds me.”

“Well . . . all right. I’ll try and help. But it’ll have to wait until next term, I’m afraid. I have a lot to do before the holidays. I chose a very inconvenient time to fall ill.”

Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer. “Merry Christmas!” he said happily, raising his tankard. Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.

“Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus,” said Lupin, “which is a kind of anti-dementor — a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor.”

“The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive

Harry and Hermione thought it best to accept their chocolate quietly.

“You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him.