You're making me blush with all these nice compliments.

The walk back to the common room seemed to go in slow motion, but I needed to get away for a moment.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," I said with my best attempt at a smile. "I'll meet you guys up in the common room?"

"Yeah, sure," said Hermione, eyeing me curiously, but letting it go. Harry and her could tell something was off, but Ron and Neville were pretty oblivious...as usual I supposed.

Once they were out of distance I fast walked down the corridor, going back through the doors to the stairway, heading right, and going back through the door to the seventh floor corridor. Making sure that no one else was around me I went in front of the ugly troll portrait. Taking a deep breath I walked back and forth in front of the portrait, stopping once I saw the familiar wooden doors appeared. I quickly pushed them open, before slamming them shut, and headed back over to the wooden dummy.

The memory came flooding back to me as I put my hand against it.

I was only two or so years old, but somehow I could still remember it. I had been sitting in my living room, my dad doing something in the kitchen, and my mother and grandmother were sitting on the couch. I was playing with paint, rubbing my hands over the smooth wooden canvas my grandmother had brought me. It was magically bewitched so that with one wipe of my hand I could put color on it, but with another wipe the other direction the entire board would be clean. I would just sit there, amused by it for hours.

"Listen to me mother, everything is fine," my mom had snapped as I formed a red dot right in the center of the canvas.

"Are you sure? You can't honestly believe that that one year old boy actually finished him off? You know he will come for Abby," my grandmother said, her voice firm.

"Mother, Dumbledore thinks that she is safe for now. Of course we have our guard up and of course we are watching her like a hawk."

"I'm not sure that Dumbledore is always right about these things, you know? You know Voldemort better than anyone."

"I think Dumbledore knows him better," my mother said back curtly.

My grandmother scoffed. "No, you definitely know him better. He has always been obsessed with you, ever since he figured out what you are."

"He's not interested in me anymore. Voldemort is powerful enough in his own ways," my mother said with a shrug of the shoulder.

"Oh, and you think that will stop him? Please Maria. You know that he won't just stop."

"Mother I know that, but there is no point in frightening that poor child."

I had started to form little yellow pedals around the edge of the red dot in the center, making what I hoped would be an attractive flower. I could sense, even then, that there was tension in the air. I turned to look at my mom and grandmother. They smiled at me warmly, so I turned back to my painting.

"Just promise me, you will tell her one day," my grandmother said, taking my mom's hand into her own.

"Of course I will tell her! If not she'll find out on her own one way or another."

"It would be better if she heard it from you."

My mother sighed. "I know. But maybe he'll forget about Abby," my mom said, hope coming into her body.

"Forget about her?" my grandmother asked skeptically.

"Yes, I mean obviously he is weak now because of Harry, and perhaps, if he does come back, he will end up going after Harry."

My grandmother was silent for a couple of moments. "And your vision?"

"Could be wrong," my mother said stiffly.

"Since when have they ever been wrong? Listen to me Maria he is going to come for Abby because he knows how vital Abby will be to Harry."

"And how would he know that?" my mother asked.

My grandmother stared at her. "You know how he knows."

My mother rolled her eyes. "Okay, but we can handle it."

"Can we?" my grandmother asked.

I could feel my mother staring at her, looking but not really seeing.

"We have to handle it."

My grandmother let out a sigh. "We will handle it." My grandmother reached out and pulled my mother into a hug.

I tried to ignore my mother's silent sobs, but I couldn't help it. In fury at my family's sadness, I ran my hand down the canvas, completely wiping away the flower.


I removed my hand from the wooden dummy that felt so similar to the wooden canvas, the bulls eye so similar to the red dot of my flower.

"Oh mom," I whispered softly. My grandmother and her knew how important I would be. They knew how my abilities were going to help Harry. They knew that if Harry hadn't hurt Voldemort at his house he was going to come and kill me. And they knew above all else that Voldemort wasn't going for Harry first this time, he was going for me.

My mother had seen that I would help Harry, that I would have to take the last step before Harry could really finish him off.

My mother saw me die.

My mother had no idea how to stop it.