But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?” “For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!” From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe. She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears. “After all this time?” “Always,” said Snape.

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

Killing rips the soul apart.

Death obsesses me, yes it does. I can't really understand why it doesn't obsess everyone - I think it does really, I'm just a little more out about it.

If you don’t like to read, you haven’t found the right book.

But Snape always seemed to hate me so much.

Writing for me is a kind of compulsion, so I don't think anyone could have made me do it, or prevented me from doing it.