Harry turned fitfully in his half-sleep. Even obvious to his underdeveloped infant psyche, something was wrong. He could feel only a comparative ounce of Lily's anguish, but that was enough to make this infant, pure of mind and soul, writhe within his crib. He had never given up this crib even at a year old because of the security. It smelt of baby powder and his father's cologne and the softness and warmth never changed. Though he could still smell the powder and cologne, it had now lost its security for him. It reeked of death. He cried out in the crib, certain his haven would become his deathbed. One group of sounds replayed in his mind, fitting the soundtrack for the night. "Now I lay me down to sleep..."