Killing rips the soul apart.

His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come whether in a month in a year or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.

Those who choose not to empathize enable real monsters, for without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves we collude with it through our apathy.

Call him Voldemort, Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.

Yeah,' said Ron. 'Could've been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?' 'I still haven't ruled it out,' came Hermione's muffled voice from beneath her blankets, but Harry saw Ron smiling slightly as he pulled his maroon pajamas out of his rucksack.

He was slumped in the back, gazing out of the window, as though his parents were two people who had picked him up hitchhiking, connected to him merely by chance and proximity.

Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything.