In five hours he would be home.

In five minutes he would be with his family.

Harry Potter's lips curled gently at the latter thought, eyes transfixed on the frantic students departing from their families before his window aboard the Hogwart's Express.

//Ron...Hermione...//

As if on cue, the second appeared, sporting a rather fearsome-looking trunk (No doubt with it's own daunting cargo of books, knowing Hermione) levitating behind her as she mapped her way through the crowd.

The girl was obviously preoccupied. Practical, thin mouth set in a familiar line of no-nonsense and severity that only she would be able to soften with the warmth and openness bespoken of in her brown eyes.

Huh. That was odd. Usually Hermione Granger was strutting purposely and ambitiously ahead, no hesitation in the least as to where she belonged or where she was headed. Not this near-reluctance on her part; one that even to the stranger's gaze apparently didn't suit her.

Harry could swear that his minds-eye did a hundred-eighty degree flip as he saw Ron Weasley sneak up on her from behind and grab her shoulders in mock-harm.

That got her attention. Though the boy could only make out faint murmurs from the jet stream of young wizards and witches, he could see the alarm in her face as she jumped slightly off the ground, mouth arching into a perfect 'O' of surprise. He would have chuckled, if he had been able to shake this almost surreal feeling of betrayal he was suddenly possessed by.

Not being able to understand it, and certainly not able to wave it away, he chose instead to ignore it, and hopefully in time, this thing would pass on its own. Perhaps he could freak Trelawney out and try his hand at having "premonitions" this year. That did rouse a giggle of amusement from him.

His fiery-haired friend by now had his arm wrapped companionably about the girl's shoulder, his own baggage trailing obediently behind as well, as they both sauntered toward the train's main entrance.

The Boy Who Lived grinned widely. Time for the reunion he had been waiting for.

 

***

 

"Harry! HARRY! Oh, In Merlin's Name, how you've grown! Your as tall as a bloody beanstalk!" Seamus was as always, speaking freely and without a due.

Ron rolled his eyes, smile etching itself across his face despite Seamus's low level of tact. Dean's greeting ran in much the same way, save he had commented on Harry's lack of baby-fat rather than height.

Neville and the others had yet to find their way through the masses, though it was just a matter of time now before they did. Last boarding calls were being hollered throughout platform nine and three-fourths, the booming voices of the male employees resounding in resolute fashion.

The reunion with his best friends had gone as planned, each year it never disappointed. There had been cries of elation, joyous tears, then crushing hugs amid blubbering mumbles of endearments and regrets for each other’s absence. (Not that it could have been helped) but still, just the same, it was wonderful to hear it come from their emotion-choked throats.

And he had seen, or maybe imagined he'd seen, Ron's gaze flit unconsciously over to Hermione's, eyes warm and embracing, with an underlying message that the boy had yet to distinguish. Not sure he wanted to distinguish.

"Dean, go find Lavender and Neville, they haven't even said 'hello' yet, for pete's sake!" Seamus again, spoke up animatedly.

"Oh, leave them well alone Seam, they're more than likely snogging in one of the compartments! Wouldn't want to disturb them now would you?" Ron leered, a lecherous wink lighting his freckled visage.

Dean chuckled, slapping the Finnigan boy on his back amiably, "Yeah, Seam, you'd probably ask to join." An uproar of mirth coursed through the small group like a wave at that.

Seamus grinned, twinkling orbs of blue peering up innocently at Dean, effectively pronouncing all the more the mischievous undercurrent of his mood, "I do believe you would as well Dean. If I was there, that is. We all here know where your interests lie."

A gasp of mock-alarm came from Dean as he ruffled his counterpart's hair affectionately. "What can I say, I'm a sexy b-"

"Alright Dean, that will be enough. Comparing yourself with a female dog is not at all becoming," the modest Hermione piped in sharply, cheeks flushing crimson.

"Aye, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm irresistible!"

Harry couldn't keep in a snort of disagreement, which erupted in the easy, sober atmosphere like a volcano bursting in a still night. This of course, had everyone clutching his or her sides at his slip, practically rolling on the floor with the hilarity of it all.

And he couldn't help but turn beat-red, his own green eyes glittering madly as everyone cuffed him upside the head, exclaiming between ragged breaths of air that he was a "ruddy smart-aleck git" and that they "didn't know he had it in 'im," or dubbing him "The Boy Who Was An Arse."

By that time Neville and Lavender had wandered in of their own accord, catching the tail end of the conversation the rest were currently absorbed in, and giggled insanely.

"Oh, gods Harry. You can be such an ass. It's a miracle you didn't turn out to be another, walking, talking rendition of Malfoy!" Ron gasped.

"Nah, he's too subtle for that. He doesn't make it obvious to the world that he's an asshole; he just knows it secretly and is selective about choosing his victims. I guess we should consider ourselves lucky," Seamus squealed, tears streaking down his heart-shaped face.

"You make it sound like I'm the one who should be in Slytherin," Harry declared, voice cracking with the strain of keeping a straight face.

"Hell, for all we know you are a Slytherin, hiding beneath the convenience of Gryffindor colors, opting to give weekly information about the Weasley Twin's latest pranks to Snape," Lavender quipped, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, lips turning down in faint disdain at the mention of the Professor's surname.

Hermione shrugged, playing along," I doubt it, Harry's just too noble to go against his rightful house. After all, there was last year when he saved Crookshanks from a fight with Mrs. Norris, or the time he found that pair of underwear Fred and George had stolen from Professor McGonagall and gave it back to he-"

"Okay, okay, I get the point," The Boy Who Lived said flatly, putting on his best 'I-am-not-amused-so-shut-up-now-or-forever-feel-my-hellfire-and-wrath' expression. Not that it held much substance in the midst of the hilarious remembrances he was now reliving, courtesy of his friends.

Ron chuckled, the sound rumbling comfortably through the air, "Alright mate, we'll lay off you now. I'm sure we've got better subjects to rattle off about."

"Indeed we do, uh-hem, getting back to how sexy and provocative I am..." Dean began, cursing tenfold as he was slapped none too gently across the temple by Neville.

And so on it went, the friends retelling their summer stories to each other’s willing ears, and making dry commentary upon either how dull or how ludicrous it seemed they had been.

Though Harry was not one of them.

 

***

 

6:15 a.m. Two hours before boarding the Hogwart's Express

 

Draco Malfoy was irritated.

No. Scratch that, he was damned irritated.

Lucius Malfoy had refused to escort his son back to school. The one day of the year he despised and loathed, and the man had had a "very important business meeting with a former associate."

The Diamond smirked derisively, gray eyes cutting like steel into the back of the driver's skull.

He knew as well as any other who was in or relative to his family what the elder Malfoy got up to. //Most likely visiting some male whore he keeps on the side. He was sure Lucius had such a terribly important reason to blow off his only son. //

He sighed, flustered, the air expelling harshly from his lungs. He would have to pay a visit to Knockturn alley for a new supply of sleeping draughts. His sleep habits had lately taken a turn for the worse and he couldn't understand why.

There would be many a night when the young Prince would bolt from a state of troubled rest, his heart thundering like a rabbit caught in a fox's grasp, and his body covered in a filmy sheen of cool sweat that he would have to shower to remove for his comfort.

And the most bizarre thing was that he had no idea why. Normally he never had nightmares, and if he did, he was fairly good at recalling them. Not this alien-like void in his recollections. This was something unrecognizable to him. The youth had always been possessed of a rather extensive, if not infallible memory, and this was new to him.

It frightened him more than he would ever admit.

The Diamond shook his head ruefully, effectively shutting off that direction of thought.

Bad feelings. He had no use for them.

"Mr. Malfoy, not to pry sir, but how long will ye be need’n ta get yer goods in the Alley, Sir?"

"As long as I wish, Dempsey," Draco replied shortly and silkily.

"Ah, yes sir." Clever. The Servant obviously knew when to stop his inquiries at the risk of reprimand.

The youth watched in vague interest as they pulled up to the curve, in front of Madame Malkin's.

"Well, at least I don't need to be fitted for another wardrobe," He muttered; a bit happy he wouldn't have to go through the tedious chore, and slightly melancholy at what it implied.


The youngest Malfoy hadn't grown even an inch this summer.

His mother may find it lovely that he still maintained a doll-like quality to his appearance, but he found it all rather droll.

At the last thought, his door abruptly opened and Dempsey stood to the side patiently, awaiting his young master's exit.

Stepping out of his temporary haven from the curious eyes of the world, he shrugged and walked into the cobblestone streets. With that, he turned toward the path that would lead him to what some would call the "underworld" of the Wizarding art.

 

***

 

"Mr. Malfoy we're nearing the station, would you prefer me to let you off at the gate or do you wi-"

"No, thank you Dempsey, I'd much rather walk." Draco cut in firmly, clutching his satchel and exiting the vehicle’s door without assistance.

"But Sir, you-"

"I said I'd walk, Damn you!" He was being testy he knew, that crazy witch had put him in a far fouler mood than he was already in, but who cared? The man was just a stupid toady of his sire's anyway.

A resigned, exhausted sigh from the figure before him,"Yes sir, I'll get the rest of the baggage from the trunk."

The Prince of Malfoy Manor waited impatiently, as he watched the protrude little man draped in black walk briskly round to the rear of the car.

"Will ye be needin' anythin' else Sir-"

"No."

Draco Malfoy practically sprinted from his seat in agitation and pushed his way through the thickening cesspool of students, large, finely made baggage lending him a wide girth for the mud bloods and idiots he was acquainted with to curb around.

He was upset. Something inside his subconscious was whispering taunts that gnawed at his innards. As though this thing was a disembodied voice tickling his ear. It was an itch that wouldn't subside.

After he had gotten his Sleeping draught, he didn't hold much more appreciation for the dingy Knockturn Alley, and not having paid much attention to the random passerby in his path, had collided with one, cursing himself mentally for being so lost in his thoughts, and cursing the civilian out loud for being there in the first place.

The Diamond, after brushing his robes off, had glanced up briefly to determine the amount of damage done to his accoster, and had found himself riveted to the spot where he stood, staring dazedly into the penetrating gaze of an old witch.

Her eyes were gray, like his actually, save they were darker, holding many more truths that one couldn't hope to fathom by simply staring.

The hag's hair had been tangled and matted beyond repair, any hope of it's original color or luster gone since the dirt and grime that speckled it lent her head a moldering look.

That had been the second thing he noticed.

The third was her scent. There was an almost acrid tang of a dozen unwashed human bodies and the smell of dung about her person. He swore she must have just rolled around in it. The odor was that strong.

She had smiled. Her toothless mouth crookedly turning up at the left corner, drool creeping down the sides of her lips, like an oil slick. She had kept licking the excess up with the smart swipe of her tongue.

Draco couldn't help but compare the motion with that of a serpent peeking out from under a rock constantly in curiosity.

Her gnarled hands had snaked out, surprisingly quickly, given her age, and had cupped The Prince's face between each palm, thumbs and yellowed fingernails smoothing away the stray wisps of fine hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

"Such a pretty, pretty little thing. Bold too. Ol' Aggie likes 'em bold you know. And look at such finery! Why I always says that most Richies like you never can carry off frivolities like this. But it suits you, oh yes it does. So verra, very pretty."

The Diamond, to say the least, had been too utterly bewildered to speak.

His mouth had hung slack-jawed, eyes glazed heavily with confusion, and the fact that someone had actually dared to touch Draconis Dorien Malfoy, heir of Lucius Dorien Malfoy. It just wasn't done. Never had it been done, and least of all by an old shrew such as this.

 

He had tried in vain to jerk away, but the woman, if you could reasonably call this thing that, wasn't done.

She began humming to herself, one index finger, long and bony, tracing the contours of his face, as though in silent memorization, eyes fixing with a near-motherly tenderness, head tilting to the side and mouth set in a soft curl, no longer grinning as wretchedly as before.

"I see many things, oh yes, Aggie does. Sometimes she doesn't know when they a gonna happen or if they alreada have, but I see's nonetheless. You a goin' ta be against power, little one. Mmmh...Such great power. And black all over. Black all around, all inside. Black all over. Nothin' to do but wait. The red! THE RED! Lovely that, such a noble color. Will save us all, it will. Bloody red. The color of a sweet babe's blood. That will loves you too, it will. And you two shall be pledged. Pledged to the stars! Scribed in the night sky! Doomed, saved. Saved by hate. Hate."

At the last word she began to chuckle, disturbingly, madly. Then came from her decaying mouth a full, uninhibited laughter. Insane glee.

It made the blood leave the youth's face.


Then she gasped, clutching the air with her hand, as though reaching for an unseen foe, and had collapsed in the middle of the street to her knees, rocking back and forth on her heels, not unlike what a small child would do when wounded.

And Draco had stood, shaking, a lone leaf staying against an unmerciful dark wind that was ripping through his soul.

In truth, these words had shaken him. Not because they made sense, no. They hadn't made any sense, but there was...something there that spoke to him.

Out of fear and horror, something that he felt he was getting used to these days, he had backed away from the trembling, pathetic creature on the ground, who was by now, vomiting bitter bile a few inches from his shining black shoes.

Lips quivering, he had hesitantly, and nervously spat in her face. "Fool hag. Mad scum. How dare you sully your betters with such dirt-ridden hands?"

And he had turned away, staring grimly ahead. Though his heart was still very much aware of the shadow-like presence of the mad woman behind him.

As he began to trot away, he heard her laugh, a gurgling sputter of phlegm in the back of her ancient throat.

Not a pleasant sound.

 

***

 

"How can you eat that?" Dean scrunched his nose up in disgust.

Hermione glanced up in mild amusement at the comment and snickered.

"Dean, they're called escargots, and they really are quite delicious. Would you like to try one?"

"Uh, I think I'll pass. Where'd you get them anyway, do your parents just pick them up off the ground, then boil them alive inside the house?"

Harry laughed. He also knew 'Mione's dilemma. Sometimes, muggle ways were beyond the comprehension of his friends who had wizards for parents.

"No Dean, we buy them at a place called the 'grocery store'. They're already prepared. We just heat them up."

Dean was clearly not getting it, or if he had already, he just was in the mood to give the moppy-haired girl a hard time.

"I'd really hate to be your boyfriend Hermione. Merlin's beard, just think of having to kiss her after eating that."

Ron slapped his thigh, chuckling heartily. "Hey lay off Herms, though I can say that I sympathize with you, Dean. No offense 'Mione, but I think I speak for the male species here when I say that kissing anyone who just ate as much garlic-stuffed snails as you did, would not be fun."

At that, the girl blushed nine shades of hell, eyes shining evilly, saying in turn, "Ron Weasley, if you weren't one of my closest friends, I'd give you the finger right now."

The Boy Who Lived sputtered on his butterbeer, choking dangerously, snorting the angry fluid up his nose in his shock.

Ron's brow furrowed at the surprise, whilst Hermione's shoulders shook with quiet glee, slapping her other best friend on the back to give him room to breath.

"What the hell's the finger?" Seamus questioned to the room at large.

"Um, heh, another muggle custom. Kind of like giving someone the evil eye here, just far more...um, unpleasant." Harry managed to croak out, after he had regained his oxygen.

"Not if your Mad-eye Moody," Neville offered.

"True, but even ol' Mad-eye can't begin to say the things using his eyes, like you can say with the finger." Hermione interjected.

The Boy Who Lived blushed harder, choking again, this time on his own tongue.

Seamus snorted, exasperated, "You know, I asked a simple question. What the hell has a finger got to do with anything?"

Lavender sneezed.

An uneasy silence followed for the moment.

Ron was the first to break it, by roaring plaintively, "You people make it sound like it's some kind of secret weapon! We just want to know WHAT THE HELL IS 'THE FINGER'?!"

Hermione pursed her lips, squaring her shoulders off, as though getting ready for a battle, "Fine Ronald, 'The Finger' is a gesture of anger many muggles use when upset at someone, for the cause of their misfortune, or trouble. It means, well...I'm not going to go in any specifics here, but let's just say it puts a rather charming array of profanity and obscenities upon the person's head you direct it at."

Again, another fleeting silence followed the intelligent young girl's short spiel.

Then dumbly and to the point, someone chirped, "Oh."

Murmurs of agreement were heard that supported this.

"Oh."

"Yes"

"OH."

"YES."

Needless to say, it was a rather interesting ride to Hogsmeade station after that.

 

***

 

The Diamond was restless.

He couldn't sleep the way through to Hogsmeade Station as he'd intended, since Pansy Parkinson, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle had insisted on finding their "Slytherin Prince" and had sat with him since then.

Voldemort, if only he could box his ears...if only he could box his ears.

"Oh Crabbe, didn't I tell you? There was this marvelous little article in Teen Witch Magazine about removing that irksome little toe fungus problem you have, if only you'd be able to get a hold of a cop-"

//Why is my torment never-ending?//

Draco had to get out of here. If he didn't there was that small matter of rising potential that his head would explode.

He glanced over to Goyle, who was fascinating in the degree he had dedicated himself to the study of picking his face.

Oh Merlin, he must get out of here.

"Pansy, I'm going to the refreshment booth."

Her blue eyes bulged with happiness, lips pouting with the evidently fake attempt to look seductive, "Oh, that's superb Draky! You are so clever at thinking up ways for us to be together in private."

She emphasized the last, batting her black painted lashes; she really hadn’t a clue as to how pitiful she looked. A dog begging for scraps.

The Prince of Slytherin's eyelid twitched in revulsion.

He really had no idea what it was he had been thinking that night at the Yule Ball a few years ago.

Maybe it was hormones, the primal ape in the back of his mind saying "female, initiate interaction" or perhaps he was just lonely enough to believe that she had been someone he wanted.

Whatever the element in his mental function had been that night, he had kissed Pansy Parkinson. Once. He had found that she tasted like bitter chapstick and salt. He'd never done it again.

Yet here she was, years after the incident, still hanging, still clinging to him like she owned him. As though she believed she possessed him by putting some type of 'down payment' on his soul.

In spite of trying to dissuade her of the idea, simply by being even more of an irrational prat than usual in her presence, it never worked. The Diamond had learned to deal with it as another one of life's shortcomings.

But not this time.

"Did I ask for you to join me Pansy?" He inquired smoothly, flaxen eyebrows raised in characteristic despondence.

She appeared confused for a moment. That was good. "Well, no, you didn't Draky. But that doesn't mean you don'-"

"As a matter of fact, it does mean I don't want you with me Parkinson. I don't know where you keep getting off on the belief that I'm yours or that I belong to you in someway, but I'm growing very exhausted with this. I'm beginning to be sorely tempted to demonstrate to you in front of the entire school just how little of me, if anything, was yours to begin with."

The youth exited the compartment door, sliding it shut behind him before another word could be spoken and glided down the corridor to the rear door of the train.

He belonged to no one.

 

***

 

"I'll just be going out for some air Ron. It's getting pretty sweaty and stuffy in here." The Boy Who Lived threw over his shoulder on his way from leaving the small group's confinement.

Ron didn't seem to listening, as he was immersed completely in a travel-sized game of wizard's chest with Lavender.

"Anyone want to join me?" He queried, not getting much more than a grunt from Seamus, Dean and Neville who were trying without seeming success to sleep and a furtive glance from Hermione who was reading.

He sighed, a little dejected, "Whatever."

Harry trudged over to the rear door of the train, thoughts and expression distant as his hand pulled the latch, opening the door to the whistling of the wind smacking against the metal exterior of the locomotive.

"I wonder what Malfoy's doing right now," he pondered aloud, not expecting an answer.

"I'd imagine he's beside himself with boredom, as you apparently are, Potter."

The boy snapped his head around to his right, heart picking up speed at his unexpected companion's answer. (Did he really just think of Draco Malfoy as a 'companion?')

"I, uh. Sorry Malfoy, didn't see you there." Harry winced.

The fair-headed Prince of Slytherin snickered; voice laced with enough derisive venom so that only a complete fool wouldn't know that there was an insult making it's way to the surface.

Harry steeled himself.

"You are incredibly good at stating the obvious Potter. Stupid questions and declarations are obviously your forte."

The Boy Who Lived was pleasantly surprised. That wasn't nearly as bad as he'd been expecting. Maybe he was losing some of his sensitivity this year, finally.

"After all, idiots like you only come along once each era."

Okay, so perhaps not.

Harry growled, his teeth clenching in annoyance, "Just shut the hell up Malfoy, I didn't come out here to have a conversation with you, I came out here to get some air. Your slimy Slytherin stink was polluting all the oxygen in the train."

Malfoy's calm, stony gray eyes sparked at that. They had become veritable turbulent seas of anger.


He loved watching the Slytherin git get angry. The prat was always a sight to see. Like a ruffled cat trying to maintain composure.


Score one for Harry Potter.

"Fuck off Potter, I don't need your ridiculously childish insults. Mine are far more cunning."

The boy smiled, lips cracking into an easy grin, eyes shining. Yes, it was good to get back to normalcy.

Normalcy was Ron and Hermione bickering, Neville's potions exploding with Snape barking his head off.

Normal was Gryffindor constantly winning quidditch.

Normal was fighting and dueling with Draco Malfoy.

Something that felt ludicrous to admitting that he enjoyed it.

Harry only wondered if Draco did as well.

When his gaze focused again, Malfoy was looking strangely at him. As though he'd never seen him before. That was weird. He'd just have to ignore it.

"So you must have had a nice summer too, eh Draco?"

He had meant it as a joke, knowing that Malfoy would grow upset that he even dared to ask about the great and powerful Slytherin Prince's personal life, but that wasn't the reaction he got.

Draco Malfoy grew as white as a ghost.

His eyes were wide and hazed, holding an almost wild element in their depths, and he suddenly seemed very fragile and glass-like to Harry. As though if you blew on him, he would fall over and break into a thousand shards.

What the hell had he said?

The Boy Who Lived was worried now, his thick black brows turned down in consternation. The shorter boy seemed miles away, desperate to hold on to a shred of reality.

"Hey Draco, what's the matter with you?"

Malfoy abruptly broke out of his daydream, if that's what it was, because he was backing away toward the door now, like an animal cornered.

"Gotta go golden-boy, it's been fun, but I'm tired of listening to your pathetic voice."

And as if he hadn't been there to begin with, he was gone, disappearing down the shaded corridor.

Harry was dumbfounded. Mystified. What in Merlin's name had just happened?

He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in puzzlement. Malfoy was detrimental to your mental health. Ron had always told him that.

"In the words of Seamus, What the fuck?"

 

***

 

"Draco where'd you go? I thought you were out getting something to drink. Not making small talk and winning the hearts of every Slytherin first year that you come across," Blaise Zabini had evidently chose to join their little 'band' and had been filled in as to his whereabouts.

The Diamond pinched his eyes shut in frustration.

"For your information Zabini, I wasn't making good with the first years as usual. I was getting some air. One can only take so much of this cheery little company before wishing to drill one's wand through one's ear canal."

"Oh, that would be unpleasant," Crabbe nodded in blind agreement.

A pause.

"Your an idiot," was all that the Prince could mutter after such an effortless display of stupidity.

His crony just looked on numbly.

The youth sighed.

"Whatever, I'm going to take nap here. If anyone wakes me before Hogsmeade, I won't hesitate in the least to sic my Patronus on you."

With that, The Prince of Slytherin told Zabini to move over to the seat with Pansy, Goyle and Crabbe. He lay down, alone. Ignoring the loud banter from his 'friends' in the seat across from him.

He thought back to what had transpired between him and Potter.

It had been simplistic enough, their usual fighting and verbal sparring, but then Potter had caught him off guard and smiled.

That smile. If he were an honest man, he would have said that it could win awards or large sums of cash.

A smile that was honest in it's purity, one that brightened his entire countenance, allowing his golden skin to take on a glowing hue, and his green eyes to become even more vibrant and turgid, if that was possible.

But he wasn't.

And then, to make things even worse for him, Potter had come off the wall and asked how his summer was.

His fucking summer.

//What was his summer like?//

There was something that had flitted through his mind when Potter had asked him that. Something important, that he should remember, but didn't...

For the first time he was beginning to question the dreams he'd been having. Really question them. For a time, he had wondered in vague curiosity why it was that he couldn't remember them.

Now he began to turn the idea over in his mind, analyzing it for any holes from different angles. Perhaps his subconscious was trying to tell him something...something he had forgotten.

Deliberately forgotten?

He didn't know.

All he knew was that saying it had frightened him would be an understatement. It had shocked him to the core of his being, like a cannon firing off somewhere in the distance shouting, "you really must see now." And it felt like his spirit had reached out toward it and replied, "Yes, I must."

So very much to think about. And there were so many equations to solve.

He would get the chance soon enough. Right now he shouldn't trouble himself anymore with these disturbing thoughts.

However, as he drifted off into a light sleep, he heard the old witch’s laughter again, as well as her insane prophecy that only the truly mad themselves could understand:

//I see many things, oh yes, Aggie does. Sometimes she doesn't know when they a gonna happen or if they alreada have, but I see's nonetheless. You a goin' ta be against power, little one. Mmmh... Such great power. And black all over. Black all around, all inside. Black all over. Nothin' to do but wait. The red! THE RED! Lovely that, such a noble color. Will save us all, it will. Bloody red. The color of a sweet babe's blood. That will loves you too, it will. And you two shall be pledged. Pledged to the stars! Scribed in the night sky! Doomed, saved. Saved by hate. Hate.//

//Hate.//

Harry Potter's face was the last thing he saw.