just random collections of things from hp ff I've read:
"Potter," Snape said, with a sort of vicious glee, "I believe your wife is punishment enough for any and all wrongs you've ever done me. Wendell Ivanhoe Potter. Oh, yes."
Harry went pale at the very thought of poor little Wendell Ivanhoe, growing up sad and lonely and bullied, spending his teen years writing horrific angst-ridden poetry about how he was doomed to a life of horrific pain and isolation because his parents had saddled him with such a horrific excuse for a name. It was all rather horrific.
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"And as for you," she said to the grimoire. "I fed you just this morning. If this keeps up, there'll be no room on the shelf for you. And you know what that means."
It hunched its covers.
"Storage."
Suitably cowed, the grimoire lay docile as she re-chained it.
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Wiser is the miser
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Alcohol on one side, Death Eaters on another—that's how Harry liked to spend his evenings.
Harry could deal. Besides, using Harry's connection to the Ministry was probably the Order's way of coping with his perceived defection. Lemons, lemonade. That sort of thing.
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"I'm older and wiser than you," Cedric uttered with all the dignity of a man balancing on a chair's back legs with a bottle of alcohol in one hand and a glass in the other.
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Either way, the OWL results paved the way for a nice selection of NEWT-level classes. Harry's lowest grades were Es for Transfiguration, Arithmancy and History of Magic. Black, who had requested to see his results in a now-rare godfatherly moment, said that Harry took after his mother in studying too much.
Lupin, reading over Black's shoulder, beamed at Harry and congratulated him, which naturally attracted attention and in effect made Harry's results public knowledge.
"Figures," Ron said with dark emphasis, holding his own letter close to his chest and scowling.
Harry thought that this probably added to Ron's impression of Slytherins as evil pillocks.
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Showing Madam Pince his pass—freshly signed by Slughorn—Harry made his way into the Restricted Section. He'd often heard people say that the place was creepy; even Hermione had ventured that opinion, and she loved books. Harry may have thought the same once, but now… well, for one thing, these books knew him now, and he knew them. And secondly, they were used to being around students, unlike some feral tomes in the library at Grimmauld Place.
"Hello to you too," Harry murmured, touching a few books' spines.
Some of them liked being petted. Others, of course, preferred to bite their way through life…
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"Yeah, well," Harry said. "Maybe he's mellowed out." Maybe Voldemort had taken up ballroom dancing.
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"Perhaps it will behoove us to be discreet about Horace's condition," Dumbledore said, his tone mild. Deliberately mild, if Harry was any expert.
"My patient needs the infirmary's resources," Madam Pomfrey said.
"And I shall not argue with your expertise, Poppy," Dumbledore replied. "I merely believe that, in the interests of preserving Horace's health, it might be best to conceal the exact nature of his indisposition from the rest of the school. After all, it will serve Horace better if the perpetrator thinks his plan might yet succeed…" Madam Pomfrey's face adopted an expression that clearly communicated, the things that happen in this school are beyond the pale.
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Harry tagged along, because fuck anyone who tried to exclude him at this point.
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If Padma had claimed he'd been with her, not like he could make her into a liar by denying it now.
Also, it did make things easier; having secured his confession of an illicit tryst, the Aurors didn't seem interested in hearing much else from him.
"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Potter," Emma Savage said, shaking his hand. "We'll keep in touch if there's anything else."
"Of course," Harry said. "Please give my regards to Mr Scrimgeour."
"I would like to speak to you further, Harry, so if you would stop by my office at—oh, let's say eight o'clock, shall we?" Dumbledore suggested.
"Yes, Headmaster."
No rest for the wicked, was that what they said?
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When Dumbledore came by to inspect his work, Harry caught his eyes. He then flicked his gaze Malfoy's way and gave a very brief nod.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said, ostensibly in regard to the potion, but for a moment he looked somewhat more sombre. Message received, then. "I never expected anything less, of course, my boy."
The exchange was quick and innocuous enough that it flew even under Blaise's radar. Harry breathed a little easier as he started to clean up his desk.
He wondered if Dumbledore would hold him back after the lesson to talk, maybe update him about Slughorn, but the Headmaster gave no sign of wanting to converse with Harry beyond praising him for a potion well-brewed. Or a Malfoy well-intimidated, whichever. ,