I couldn't help but feel a little smug at the prospect of finding my phone this way. I was going to beat Dad at his own game, using the ability he didn't believe I had.

Ha! Take that, you muggle!

Waking up the next morning was torture. I dragged myself to the bathroom feeling like I'd been thrown against a brick wall. Repeatedly. By the Hulk.

I fell back into the sofa, letting my head thump against the wall. Of course, there would be something else to complicate things. I couldn’t catch a break with a net the size of Texas.

Great, tell me when you've defeated Voldemort for me, will you?

How do you feel, Georgie?" whispered Mrs. Weasley.
George's fingers groped for the side of his head.
"Saintlike," he murmured.
"What's wrong with him?" croaked Fred, looking terrified. "Is his mind affected?"
"Saintlike," repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. "You see...I'm HOLEY, Fred, geddit?

They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practice?”
“No, thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick.” Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he’d said.