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

by J.K. Rowling

And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

damn.

Slowly, very slowly, he sat up, and as he did so he felt more alive and more aware of his own living body than ever before. Why had he never appreciated what a miracle he was, brain and nerve and bounding heart? It would all be gone . . . or at least, he would be gone from it. His breath came slow and deep, and his mouth and throat were completely dry, but so were his eyes.

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.