… and to you, if you have stuck with Harry until the very end.
You have your mother’s eyes.
“That wand’s more trouble than it’s worth,” said Harry. “And quite honestly,“ he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, ”I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”
He pulled out of his dive, his hand in the air, and the stadium exploded. Harry soared above the cloud, an odd ringing in his ears. The tiny golden ball was held tight in his fist, beating its wings hopelessly against his fingers.