Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (Harry Potter, #1)

by J.K. Rowling

“Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I’ve got him, sir.”

Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

Harry didn’t trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh.

Mr. H. Potter The Cupboard under the Stairs 4 Privet Drive Little Whinging Surrey

‘Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive

Mr. H. Potter Room 17 Railview Hotel

Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea.

Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

“I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”

They were half hoping for a reason to fight Malfoy, but Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

Harry thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him.

“Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”