What's The Worst That Could Happen? Everyone

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.

I Dreamed I Was Buying New Shoes Last Night," Said Ron. "what D'ya Think That's Gonna Mean?" "probably That You're Going To Be Eaten By A Giant Marshmallow Or Something," Said Harry.

He Can Run Faster Than Severus Snape Confronted With Shampoo.

We All Know That The People We Love Are Mortal, We All Know We’re Mortal, We Know It’s Going To End; You Cannot Prepare Yourself For It.

I Cared More About Your Happiness Than Your Knowing The Truth, More For Your Peace Of Mind Than My Plan, More For Your Life Than The Lives That Might Be Lost If The Plan Failed. In Other Words I Acted Exactly As Voldemort Expects We Fools Who Love To Act.