"Well fuck me."

All pretenses of being a gentleman quickly fade away in the second that you get the life ripped out of you, especially when you unexpectedly get hit with a Killing Curse, just when you're planning to win the bloody Triwizard Tournament.

Well, I suppose "win" isn't quite the right word when you're going to share your victory with Harry Potter. He would have, of course, rightfully gotten all of the glory, while I would have stood back and enjoyed my half of the winnings and sucessfully avoided the spotlight. Things were looking good, at least... you know... until I died.

Even when you've just been informed that you're going to be disposed of, you just don't expect to die. It doesn't quite sink in yet, not until you find yourself hovering a bit and staring straight into your own eyes. That'll shake you up a bit, and like I said, being a gentleman is the last thing on your mind.

And really, every vulgar word you ever thought of all of the sudden comes out of your mouth until you realize no one can hear you.

No one can hear you at all, because you're fucking dead.