Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way - all over the place.
→ The boy who lives comes to die
Hey, little train! Wait for me
I was held in chains but now I’m free
I’m hanging in there, don’t you see
In this process of elimination
Harry and Hermione made their way to the back of the room, where there was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree, which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying three foaming tankards of hot butterbeer.
"Merry Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.
Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of him from the inside.
—Prisoner of Azkaban, Chapter 10
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