You Have To Be Free To Fail

There,” She Said Softly. “now He Could Be Sleeping.

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.

Do You—do You Think I Want To—do You Think I Give A—i Don't Care What You Have To Say!" Harry Roared. "you Will," Said Dumbledore Sadly. "because You Are Not Nearly As Mad At Me As You Ought To Be. If You Are To Attack Me, As I Know You Are Close To Doing, I Would Like To Have Thoroughly Earned It.

Death Comes For Us All In The End.

I Don't Feel I Owe My Readers Details Of My Family's Private Life.