Death always arrived without warning, but the Grim Reaper had countless scythes, in all shapes and forms. Some were gentle and efficient, a cool breeze knocking at your door on a cool day. Some were cruel, their edges blunt and chipped: a fever that kept returning late at night, a cough that would not stop. And some scythes were wielded by humans-the Killing Curse, the gentlest of the Three Unforgivable Curses. It brought death cleanly and painlessly, and was also one of the spells Dark Wizards particularly favored.
This fellow's magic really is astonishing, but he's still too green. If I had more time, the Cruciatus Curse would be a better choice.
He's going to die anyway, so giving me a little pleasure before he dies would count as putting his life to one last use. These were the thoughts of the witch who had slipped into the train through a ventilation opening in the ceiling as she shouted, "Avada Kedavra."
"..." These were the witch's thoughts as the green light shot straight back along its original path and struck her dead center. She had no time to wonder why the Killing Curse had been reflected, nor any time to move. Just like those whose lives her Killing Curse had taken, she seemed to be struck by some invisible behemoth, tumbling off the ladder beneath the vent and landing in front of Hermione, without the slightest trace of life left in her.
"Oh!" Hermione jumped in fright and hurriedly pulled Ron a step backward. She stumbled a couple of steps before she could take in what had happened. Everything had been so sudden, and so shocking, that she stood frozen for a full five seconds before realizing that the woman who had been up by the ceiling one second and