The dream, what was it? She had seen it clearly, she had remembered things she forgot when she woke up.
She remembered the feelings, still. Those, you always remember from your dreams, at least for a while.
She felt guilty about something, and then she just felt cold; even feelings wither away during those brief moments
after waking.
Guilt? But she hadn't done anything. And so she shook away the feeling, and was just left
cold. She did not trust dreams; dreams are not foretellers, they do not mean anything. Dreams are just
fragments of images, picked up during the day by your subconscious, that's all.
She believed as much of a dreams' dilly-dally, as she believed Divination to be an accurate science.
And the messenger watched through the eyes of the King, or the other way around.
And it saw a window of opportunity, or the window opened for the King instead.
"Tonight, dear one. Tonight we shall meet. Tonight you'll set the rules for our game."
And he was writing all he saw through the eyes of his messenger, for the King is an expert on writing the scrolls for everything.
And the King was content, and he finished up the scroll he was writing, like this:
"And the King was content, and he finished up the scroll he was writing, like this:
"And the King was content, and he finished up the scroll he was writing, like this:
"And the Kind was content..."
-He was just looking at his photo album, and then he--uh--'cracked'. -hesitated Ron.
-Don't say that!
-C'mon Hermione, you saw it too.
-I know, but don't say it like that; it's not polite.
-I'm not exactly going for politeness here, 'Mione. --She winced at hearing her 'butchered' name-- Harry has
finally gone 'bonkers' this time, and I don't see the reasons to keep this under the mattress, exactly.
-Don't you, really?- Hermione was getting angrier with each remark. She just couldn't believe Ron
would turn his back on his best friend like this; or maybe it was just her, it's just the way he
said things, it wasn't----loyal. It sounded as if he was ready to bail on her--on them, rather; she planned to
help and support Harry through and through.
An orange ball of fuzz sprung up all of a sudden, and chased an imaginary spec across the Common room's floor.
-I say that darn cat of yours-- began Ron.
-Shh, he could hear you!- begged Hermione.
-Look, now you are definitely losing it! Cats are animals, they don't know anything, they just act on instinct.
At this, Hermione just rolled her eyes and looked away, half-looking at her cat Crookshanks, and half staring at an
imaginary infinite, to dwell on her thoughts.
But Ron continued:
-Look at him, even though you feed him right, he still thinks he needs to hunt some mice to eat. I tell you, instincts!
-I thought you said they couldn't think.
-Semantics, OK? You know what I meant!- his ears were of the deepest crimson now, but lucky for him, Hermione did not even
bother to look at him.
Crookshanks chased his imaginary prey into the darkness, behind a sofa, and never got out for the rest of the night.
It was then, that the Messenger saw the Court.