Her feet crunched the leaves and twigs of the ground as she sped through the trees. The slapping of her feet was almost as rapid as her heartbeat. She could barely breathe, she was running so fast.

She made one step at exactly the wrong angle. She landed with her foot bent in, and her ankle gave a loud "crack!" as she threw the full weight of her body onto the side of her foot. She practically made a somersault as she toppled to the dirt and shrieked in pain and fear. There was no way she could get away from him now.

She turned towards the way she had come. As his image drew closer in the distance, she mustered up enough courage to pull her wand out of her pocket, ankle throbbing. With shaking hands, she raised her wand to point it at her pursuer. She grimaced at the mere thought of the spell in her head. What am I thinking? she thought. I can't hurt him. I can't even stun him.

The moment she was able to discern his contorted face between the black trees of the Forbidden Forest, he had beaten her to the punch. His eyes fell upon her drawn wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Her wand shot from her hand. It was too dark to see where it had landed. He finally halted just in front of her exhausted and fearful face. She looked up at him with a plea in her eyes. There was nothing he could want with her. She was nothing special. What could he possibly be going to do to her?

"Incarcerous!" he shouted, and silver ropes shot from the tip of his wand and wrapped themselves around her wrists, behind her back. Her legs, however, remained untied. She was thankful as her ankle was in excruciating enough pain as it was. He knelt down and grasped a fistful of her dark hair, wrenching her face in front of his.

"Why?" he said. "Why couldn't you just get away? What kind of a witch are you?"

She thought she saw hatred in his face, and his lip may have twitched in satisfaction that he'd finally cornered her, but his eyes said something different. She almost laughed, though she was terrified.

"You know I couldn't do anything to you," she said. "No matter what you do to me, I could never harm you, Draco."

Again, she thought, headed down the corridor away from the Ravenclaw common room. Why was I ever Sorted into this House?

Abby Hale had, once again, been denied access to the Ravenclaw tower, having failed to correctly answer the eagle's riddle. The first time it happened, in her first year, she had been contented to sit and wait for someone cleverer to come along, answer the riddle, let her in, and help her to learn and grow - unfortunately, however, the next person to enter the common room was a curly-haired seventh year who scorned her dreadfully. She told Abby she'd never make it in Ravenclaw House if she couldn't even answer her first riddle without a Prefect's lead, and she may as well set up a four-poster at the bottom of the spiral staircase. Wishing to avoid such ridicule ever again, even now in her sixth year, she never waited for a correct answer anymore - she changed her plans and decided to work on her homework out on the grounds next to the lake rather than in the cozy common room.

Spring had just begun, and the sun was shining. It was warm, but nowhere near hot. She sat criss-crossed near the edge of the lake and pulled the beginnings of her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay from her bag. Professor Snape always seemed to be in a bad mood after the period before, when the Gryffindors and Slytherins had his class, and often took his anger out on the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs with extra homework. Letting the partially written-on parchment rest on her lap but a moment, she reached for her bag to retrieve her quill and ink.

Spring, however, did not bring with it the absence of wind. A huge gust suddenly swept over the grounds, and took with it Abby's parchment.

Instinctively, Abby sprung up and lurched forward to snatch it from the wind before it could be carried into the lake. She lost her footing.

A huge "splash!" was heard across the grounds, and Abby resurfaced, clutching her parchment, the ink bleeding onto her soaked hand. She cursed at herself. Not only had she been dumb enough to practically dive into the lake, but she had seemed to have forgotten she was a bloody witch - she'd learned the Summoning charm years ago. The parchment - and herself - never had to go near the surface of the water.

She expected roaring laughter, but it seemed not many had noticed. A few looked over in concern, or perhaps expecting some more of the He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named action the Potter boy had been stirring up the past six years. Three boys, however, had emerged from the castle and had neared the lake, witnessing the whole embarrassing scene. Three Slytherin boys.

The middle one, who appeared to be the leader of the three, a tall, slender, silvery-blonde boy, nearly burst with almost maniacal laughter. He could hardly contain himself. Her head snapped in his direction.

As he neared her soaking figure, he jabbed a finger towards the blue and silver tie of her uniform. "A Ravenclaw?" he exclaimed, mockingly. "I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be exceptionally smart?" He laughed again. "Oh, but don't worry. It won't be the first time the hat's wrongly Sorted a stupid git into Ravenclaw - it doesn't particularly care where it puts those too inept for Slytherin." He bellowed with laughter again, and his surly friends echoed him as the three of them began to stalk off, looking satisfied.

Without thinking, Abby whipped her wand our from her robes and pointed it towards the back of the blonde boy's head, enraged.

"Aguamenti!"

She expected just a small trickle of water to shoot from her wand and douse the boy a bit, but the spell's power seemed to be enhanced by the fact that Abby was standing in the lake - or perhaps it was her intense rage. The water around her followed the direction of her wand, lifting up into the air and streamlining towards the three boys. Even some of the water that had soaked into her robes seemed to lift forward. Seconds later, the water settled in puddles on the grass, and the boys were positively soaked.

Watching the back of his head, Abby could see the blonde boy look down at his drenched robes - which appeared to be far more expensive than anyone else's. Letting out a loud growl, the boy whipped around on his heel with a sneer at Abby, pulling out his wand, his friends following sluggishly behind him.

He stomped toward her, stopping inches from her nose. She didn't move an inch, and kept her wand firmly planted at his chest. "How DARE you?" He seethed through clenched teeth. "My father-"

"-Must not be much of anything if he raised a dreadful prat like you," she spat. For a moment, he seemed to be forming a retort in his head, yet, the words never came. He looked more boiling mad than ever at her words. He looked her up and down, seeming to look for something to insult, but the search came up empty. His eyes landed back on hers. A small smirk crossed his face.

"Perhaps I was wrong," he said. Her sneer didn't falter. "Perhaps you wouldn't do so badly in Slytherin." He backed up a few feet, but pointed his wand directly into her face. "But you'll sincerely regret it if you dare speak to me that way again. Best not let that happen." He turned to leave.

"Don't count on it," she spat, and slowly began to pull herself out of the lake, ignoring the staring eyes around her.