Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred’s eyes stared without seeing, the ghost of his last laugh still etched upon his face.

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.

Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.

HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.

It gave him an odd, empty feeling to remember those times; it was like remembering a younger brother whom he had lost.

Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

And Dumbledore had known that Harry would not duck out, that he would keep going to the end, even though it was his end, because he had taken trouble to get to know him, hadn’t he?

“How in the name of Merlin’s pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?”

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