Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

In the darkness, with nothing but the sound of his own breath and the rushing sea to keep him company, the things that had happened at the Malfoys’ returned to him, the things he had heard came back to him, and understanding blossomed in the darkness. . . .

The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence.

He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives.

He looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.

It’s so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave.

Even You-Know-Who can’t split himself into seven.” Harry caught Hermione’s eye and looked away at once.

Harry’s voice was still saying, “Dobby . . . Dobby . . .” even though he knew that the elf had gone where he could not call him back.

Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favorite shade of b

Harry wondered whether they had fallen asleep holding hands. The idea made him feel strangely lonely.