Andrew

“Malfoy glanced around. Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers. Then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, “You’re dead, Potter.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “Funny,” he said, “you’d think I’d have stopped walking around….”
Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. He felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage.
“You’re going to pay,” said Malfoy in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m going to make you pay for what you did to my father….”
“Well, I’m terrified now,” said Harry sarcastically. “I s’pose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three — what’s the matter?” he said, for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. “He’s your dad’s mate, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?”
“You think you’re such a big man, Potter,” said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him. “You wait. I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison —“
“I thought I just had,” said Harry.
“The dementors have left Azkaban,” said Malfoy quietly. “Dad and the others’ll be out in no time….”
“Yeah, I expect they will,” said Harry. “Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now —“
Malfoy’s hand flew toward his wand, but Harry was too quick for him. He had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s had even entered the pocket of his robes.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

“When Dumbledore addressed him, Lockhart looked over his shoulder to see who he was talking to.
“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said quickly, “there was an accident down in the Chamber of Secrets. Professor Lockhart —“
“Am I a professor?” said Lockhart in mild surprise. “Goodness. I expect I was hopeless, was I?”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

“Expecto Patronum!”
His voice sounded dim and distant…Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand — he couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t work the spell —
There was laughter inside his head, shrill, high-pitched laughter….He could smell the dementor’s putrid, death-cold breath, filling his own lungs, drowning him….The dementor’s icy fingers were closing on his throat — the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head — “Bow to death, Harry….It might even be painless….I would not know….I have never died….”
He was never going to see Ron and Hermione again —
And their faces burst clearly into his mind as he fought for breath —
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”
An enormous silver stag erupted from the tip of Harry’s wand; its antlers caught the dementor in the place where the heart would have been; it was thrown backward, weightless as darkness, and as the stag charged, the dementor swooped away, batlike and defeated.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

“He’d taken pride in making Ketterdam his. He’d laid the traps, set the fires, put his boot to the necks of all those who’d challenged him, and reaped the rewards of his boldness. Most of the opposition had fallen, easy pickings, the occasional challenge almost welcome for the excitement it brought. He’d broken the Barrel to his whim, written the rules of the game to his liking, rewritten them at will.
The problem was that the creatures who had managed to survive the city he’d made were a new kind of misery entirely—Brekker, his Wraith queen, his rotten little court of thugs. A fearless breed, hard-eyed and feral, hungrier for vengeance than gold.
Do you like life, Rollins?
Yes, he did, very much indeed, and he intended to go on living for a good long time.
Pekka would count his money. He would raise his son. He’d find himself a good woman or two or ten. And maybe, in the quiet hours, he’d raise a glass to men like him, to his fellow architects of misfortune who had helped raise Brekker and his crew. He’d drink to the whole sorry lot of them, but mostly to the poor fools who didn’t know what trouble was coming.”
― Leigh Bardugo, Crooked Kingdom