"With a chuckle, Jack mumbled under his breath to Nick. 'It's like watching the preppy, well-bred versions of you and me trash-talking."

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And now a chill settled over them where they stood, and Harry heard the rasping breath of the dementors that patrolled the outer trees. They would not affect him now. The fact of his own survival burned inside him, a talisman against them, as though his father's stag kept guardian in his heart.

— J. K. Rowling