He is a boy no longer. He is sixteen now, a man grown. Just look at him. War had melted all the softness from his face and left him hard and lean. He had shaved his beard away, but his auburn hair fell uncut to his shoulders. The recent rains had rusted his mail and left brown stains on the white of his cloak and surcoat. Or perhaps the stains were blood. What should he fear? He was the Young Wolf, King of the Trident and the North.
Sirius: I want you to listen to me very carefully, Harry. You’re not a bad person. You’re a very good person, who bad things have happened to. Besides, the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are.
"It was so daunting with all the cameras around [when I first started filming], and I didn’t realise that people would get you what you wanted – I’d ask, ‘Please may I go and get a bottle of water,’ and they’d go, ‘No, I’ll get it for you,’ and that was very strange. It’s normal now – but I still get my own bottles of water!"
I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We’re in one, or course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards.