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Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

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J.K. Rowling

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“You are blinded,” said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, “by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow up to be!”

“INT. DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS CLASS—FOURTEEN YEARS PREVIOUSLY—DAY It is Boggart time. DUMBLEDORE supervises the line of teenagers advancing to try their luck. “Riddikulus”—“Riddikulus”—gusts of hilarity as a shark becomes a flotation device, a zombie’s head turns into a pumpkin, a vampire turns into a buck-toothed rabbit. DUMBLEDORE: All right, Newt. Be brave. 16-YEAR-OLD NEWT moves to the front of the queue. The Boggart turns into a Ministry desk. DUMBLEDORE: Mmm, that’s an unusual one. So Mr. Scamander fears what more than anything else in the world? 16-YEAR-OLD NEWT: Having to work in an office, sir. The class roars with laughter. DUMBLEDORE: Go ahead, Newt. 16-YEAR-OLD NEWT: Riddikulus! NEWT turns the desk into a gamboling wooden dragon and moves aside. DUMBLEDORE: Well done. Good job.”

“DUMBLEDORE conjures NICOLAS FLAMEL’S card from thin air and offers it to NEWT, who eyes it with suspicion. NEWT: What’s that? DUMBLEDORE: It’s an address of a very old acquaintance of mine. A safe house in Paris, reinforced with enchantments. NEWT: Safe house? Why would I need a safe house in Paris? DUMBLEDORE: One hopes you won’t, but should things at some point go terribly wrong, it’s good to have a place to go. You know, for a cup of tea. NEWT: No, no, no—absolutely not.”

“NEWT: That’s all very well, Dumbledore, but, forgive me for asking, why can’t you go? They stop. DUMBLEDORE: I can’t move against Grindelwald. It has to be you. (beat) Well, I don’t blame you, in your shoes I’d probably refuse too. It’s late. Good evening, Newt. DUMBLEDORE Disapparates. NEWT: Oh c’mon! DUMBLEDORE’S empty glove reappears and tucks the business card bearing the address of the safe house into NEWT’S top pocket. NEWT (exasperated): Dumbledore.”

“How was it? NEWT: They’re still convinced that you sent me to New York. DUMBLEDORE: You told them I didn’t? NEWT: Yes. Even though you did. A beat. DUMBLEDORE inscrutable, NEWT wanting answers. NEWT: You told me where to find that trafficked Thunderbird, Dumbledore. You knew that I would take him home and you knew I’d have to take him through a Muggle port. DUMBLEDORE: Well, I’ve always felt an affinity with the great magical birds. There’s a story in my family that a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore who is in desperate need. They say my great-great-grandfather had one, but that it took flight when he died, never to return. NEWT: With all due respect, I don’t believe for a minute that’s why you told me about the Thunderbird.”