Well?" Ron said finally, looking up at Harry. "How was it?" Harry considered it for a moment. "Wet," he said truthfully. Ron made a noise that might have indicated jubilation or disgust, it was hard to tell. "Because she was crying," Harry continued heavily. "Oh," said Ron, his smile faded slightly. "Are you that bad at kissing?" "Dunno," said Harry, who hadn't considered this, and immediately felt rather worried. "Maybe I am.

Ginny, listen... I can’t be involved with you anymore. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together.” “It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?

'Tell me one last thing,' said Harry. 'Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?' Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. 'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?'

Once again I must ask too much of you, Harry.

There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you-

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces.

Depression isn't just being a bit sad. It's feeling nothing. It's not wanting to be alive anymore.