On a sweltering summer day like this, an owl flew clumsily in through the window.
On a summer day filled with the chirping of cicadas, under the desk, he secretly hooked his little finger around hers.
"Has anyone ever told you that you seem like summer?"
Scorching, bright, carefree, wild.
"I thought you liked spring more."
I like summer more than spring, more than autumn, more than winter, more than any other season. I like summer more.
Ilza Cuthbert had a deep, surging blue ocean flowing through her veins, along with the fierce passion of summer storms.
"Oh, another Cuthbert child. It's you again."
"I've wanted to ask you this for years: why did you put me in Gryffindor?"
"You might seem like a Ravenclaw, you might treat people like a Hufflepuff, and sometimes you might seem like a Slytherin. But your heart belongs to Gryffindor. You're a passionate girl, and you wouldn't have done those things if you weren't."
Thanks to Ms. Rowling for creating this magical world.
