I know what you are known as . . . but to me, you will always be Tom Riddle. It is one of the irritating things about old teachers. I am afraid that they never quite forget their charges’ youthful beginnings.

I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to.

There is plenty to be learned even from a bad teacher: what not to do, how not to be.

The — the prophecy . . . the prediction . . . Trelawney . . .”
“Ah, yes. How much did you relay to Lord Voldemort?”
“Everything — everything I heard! That is why — it is for that reason — he thinks it means Lily Evans!”
“The prophecy did not refer to a woman. It spoke of a boy born at the end of July —”
“You know what I mean! He thinks it means her son, he is going to hunt her down — kill them all —”
“If she means so much to you, surely Lord Voldemort will spare her? Could you not ask for mercy for the mother, in exchange for the son?”
“I have — I have asked him —”
“You disgust me.

But I was willing to embrace mortal life again, before chasing immortality.

Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste.