#hpgf

Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.

“’[Voldemort] said my blood would make him stronger than if he’d used someone else’s,’ Harry told Dumbledore. ‘He said the protection my--my mother left in me--he’d have it too. And he was right--he could touch me without hurting himself, he touched my face.’

"It wasn't your fault, Harry," Mrs. Weasley whispered.  "I told him to take the cup with me," said Harry.  Now the burning feeling was in his throat too. He wished Ron would look away.  Mrs. Weasley set the potion down on the bedside cabinet, bent down, and put her arms around Harry. He had no memory of ever being hugged like this, as though by a mother. The full weight of everything he had seen that night seemed to fall in upon him as Mrs. Weasley held him to her. His mother's face, his father's voice, the sight of Cedric, dead on the ground all started spinning in his head until he could hardly bear it, until he was screwing up his face against the howl of misery fighting to get out of him.

I am what I am, an’ I’m not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,’ my ol’ dad used ter say, ‘there’s some who’ll hold it against you, but they’re not worth botherin’ with.