Malfoy Glanced Around. Harry Knew He Was

I Am Not Worried, Harry," Said Dumbledore, His Voice A Little Stronger Despite The Freezing Water. "i Am With You.

Ministry Of Magic (m.o.m) Classification. Xxxxx Known Wizard Killer / Impossible To Train Or Domesticate / Or Anything Hagrid Likes

The Realization Of What Would Happen Next Settled Gradually Over Harry In The Long Minutes, Like Softly Falling Snow. "i've Got To Go Back, Haven't I?" "that Is Up To You." "i've Got A Choice?" "oh Yes." Dumbledore Smiled At Him. "we Are In King's Cross, You Say? I Think That If You Decided Not To Go Back, You Would Be Able To…let's Say…board A Train." "and Where Would It Take Me?" "on," Said Dumbledore Simply.

And Harry, With The Unerring Skill Of The Seeker, Caught The Wand In His Free Hand As Voldemort Fell Backward, Arms Splayed, The Slit Pupils Of The Scarlet Eyes Rolling Upward. Tom Riddle Hit The Floor With A Mundane Finality, His Body Feeble And Shrunken, The White Hands Empty, The Snakelike Face Vacant And Unknowing. Voldemort Was Dead, Killed By His Own Rebounding Curse, And Harry Stood With Two Wands In His Hands, Staring Down At His Enemy's Shell.

It Was As Though They Had Been Plunged Into A Fabulous Dream. This, Thought Harry, Was Surely The Only Way To Travel - Past Swirls And Turrets Of Snowy Cloud, In A Car Full Of Hot, Bright Sunlight, With A Fat Pack Of Toffees In The Glove Compartment.