Ron," Said Hermione In A Dignified Voice,

I Don't Think There's Any Harm At All In Allowing A Kid To Fantasize. In Fact, I Think To Stop People From Fantasizing Is A Very Destructive Thing Indeed.

The Realization Of What Would Happen Next Settled Gradually Over Harry In The Long Minutes, Like Softly Falling Snow. "i've Got To Go Back, Haven't I?" "that Is Up To You." "i've Got A Choice?" "oh Yes." Dumbledore Smiled At Him. "we Are In King's Cross, You Say? I Think That If You Decided Not To Go Back, You Would Be Able To…let's Say…board A Train." "and Where Would It Take Me?" "on," Said Dumbledore Simply.

Destiny Is A Name Often Given In Retrospect To Choices That Had Dramatic Consequences.

It Was, He Thought, The Difference Between Being Dragged Into The Arena To Face A Battle To The Death And Walking Into The Arena With Your Head Held High. Some People, Perhaps, Would Say That There Was Little To Choose Between The Two Ways, But Dumbledore Knew - And So Do I, Thought Harry, With A Rush Of Fierce Pride, And So Did My Parents - That There Was All The Difference In The World.

He Was Going To Be Armed With His Wand - Which, Just Now, Felt Like Nothing More Than A Narrow Strip Of Wood - Against A Fifty-foot-high, Scaly, Spike-ridden, Fire-breathing Dragon.