Harry, you wonderful boy, you brave, brave man.

But you're dead,' said Harry.
'Oh, yes,' said Dumbledore matter-of-factly.
'Then... am I dead too?'
'Ah,' said Dumbledore, smiling still more broadly. 'That is the question, isn't it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.

Only one thing mattered: this was not a Horcrux. Dumbledore had weakened himself by drinking that horrible potion for nothing. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.

But he understood at last what Dumbledore had been trying to tell him. 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.

Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!

Killing is not so easy as the innocent believe.