Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Harry Potter, #7)

by J.K. Rowling

THE DURSLEYS DEPARTING The sound of the front door slamming echoed up the stairs and a voice yelled, “Oi! You!” Sixteen years of being addressed thus left Harry in no doubt whom

“Er — no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a waste of space, actually, but I’m used to —” “I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself. “Well . . . er . . . thanks, Dudley.”

“Blimey, Dudley,” said Harry over Aunt Petunia’s renewed sobs, “did the dementors blow a different personality into you?” “Dunno,” muttered Dudley. “See you, Harry.” “Yeah . . .” said Harry, taking Dudley’s hand and shaking it. “Maybe. Take care, Big D.”

“You only agreed to try and get back in her good books.” “All’s fair in love and war,” said Ron brightly, “and this is a bit of both.

Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t, but the fact remains he can move faster than Severus Snape confronted with shampoo when he wants to, so don’t count on him being a long way away if you’re planning on taking any risks.

BWAHAHAHAHAY

“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.

“Hogwarts is threatened!” shouted Professor McGonagall. “Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!”

“After all this time?” “Always,” said Snape.

His will to live had always been so much stronger than his fear of death.

Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart?

How neat, how elegant, not to waste any more lives, but to give the dangerous task to the boy who had already been marked for slaughter, and whose death would not be a calamity, but another blow against Voldemort.

Damn

It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.

“You’ll stay with me?” “Until the very end,” said James. “They won’t be able to see you?” asked Harry. “We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.” Harry looked at his mother. “Stay close to me,” he said quietly.

He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone.

It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.

You are the true master of death, because the true master does not seek to run away from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understands that there are far, far worse things in the living world than dying.”

“Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love.

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head, the locket of Regulus Black bouncing on his chest, was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!”

“NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”

“Snape’s Patronus was a doe,” said Harry, “the same as my mother’s, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized,” he said as he saw Voldemort’s nostrils flare, “he asked you to spare her life, didn’t he?”

“Albus Severus,” Harry said quietly, so that nobody but Ginny could hear, and she was tactful enough to pretend to be waving to Rose, who was now on the train, “you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew.”