I've Got Plenty Of Money, More Money

He Couldn't Know That At This Very Moment, People Meeting Up In Secret All Over The Country Were Holding Up Their Glasses And Saying In Hushed Voices: 'to Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived!

You Do Not Seek To Kill Me, Dumbledore?" Called Voldemort, His Scarlet Eyes Narrowed. "above Such Brutality, Are You?" "we Both Know That There Are Other Ways Of Destroying A Man, Tom," Dumbledore Said Calmly. "merely Taking Your Life Would Not Satisfy Me, I Admit - " "there Is Nothing Worse Than Death, Dumbledore!" Snarled Voldemort. "you Are Quite Wrong," Said Dumbledore, Speaking As Lightly As Though They Were Discussing The Matter Over Drinks. "indeed, Your Failure To Understand That There Are Things Much Worse Than Death Has Always Been Your Greatest Weakness.

And Harry, With The Unerring Skill Of The Seeker, Caught The Wand In His Free Hand As Voldemort Fell Backward, Arms Splayed, The Slit Pupils Of The Scarlet Eyes Rolling Upward. Tom Riddle Hit The Floor With A Mundane Finality, His Body Feeble And Shrunken, The White Hands Empty, The Snakelike Face Vacant And Unknowing. Voldemort Was Dead, Killed By His Own Rebounding Curse, And Harry Stood With Two Wands In His Hands, Staring Down At His Enemy's Shell.

And Without Thinking, Without Planning It, Without Worrying About The Fact That Fifty People Were Watching, Harry Kissed Her.

We Tried To Shut Him In A Pyramid, But Mum Spotted Us.