"i sat alone in bed til the morning
i'm crying 'they're coming for me'"

"Kill the spare."

The voice was as cold as stone, berating the air with its ancient chill. It sent involuntary shivers into the warm, dark air.

"Avada Kedavra!"

As the words were spoken by an unseen source, a blinding green light penetrated the night air, illuminating the scene. There were gravestones and decorative angels made of stone; it was a Muggle cemetery.

And pain. There was so much pain it seemed that the air was laced with it. It was agonizingly unbearable, like lightning striking the brain. A fiery overload of the senses that left the victim wanting death, if it meant ending the pain.

Then, there was a thump that was just loud enough to be deemed important. Eyes searching in the dimly-lit night, squinting through the unceasing pain.

And there, on the ground, laid a boy. His wand was clutched in his still, pale hand. His gray eyes were open, but they held a blankness that could never belong to anything alive. His handsome face was surprised in death.

Cedric Diggory was dead.

Then, the hopeless pain took over and all was lost.

Isobelle Avery awoke with the memory of dead gray eyes and pain. She sat upright and breathed through gasping pants, her hand clutching at her forehead. But the pain was gone.

She slowly lowered her hand, her heart still racing. The darkness inside her bedroom stared at her mockingly as she tried to calm her breathing. With a shaky hand, Isobelle reached for her wand.

"Lumos," she whispered.

And light was emitted from the tip of her wand, illuminating her bedroom. Isobelle scanned the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary. An irrational fear of the dark would do that; cause unease for no apparent reason. But it was the same purple painted walls that she's had since she was five-years-old that greeted her.

Isobelle sighed, and slowly laid back down on the sweat-stained sheets. It wasn't just a dream; it was real. Cedric Diggory was dead, and he had been for three months now. And the owner of that cold, ancient voice was alive.

These strange dreams —visions, as Isobelle called them— were one of the many downsides of being a Seer. She should be used to it, seeing that she has been a Seer since she was born. But there was no way Isobelle could ever get used to seeing into other's minds.

Especially when it was the mind of Harry Potter.

Her parents were proud of her, proud to say that an Avery was a talented Seer. A special type, they would repeatedly tell their friends, that could see both dreams of others and the future.

But there was nothing to be proud about. It was a curse that no one else seemed to understand. Most students at Hogwarts were terrified of the thought of Isobelle seeing into their dreams. They avoided her, leaving the Slytherin girl to be isolated and friendless.

Isobelle closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would claim her. But all she could see was the green light and Cedric's dead eyes.

"You weren't there," she whispered to herself. "It was just a memory. Nothing you could do."

But maybe there was. After all, Isobelle had been plagued with odd dreams since the start of the Triwizard Tournament last year. Odd dreams with that same green light. And they always had Cedric Diggory in them. She had written it off as a crush on the boy —which she briefly had her Third year— and given it no further thought.

But now he was dead. And, somewhere in the world, Harry Potter was dreaming about the night Cedric died.

It was comforting in a twisted way; Isobelle knew she wasn't the only one laying awake because of the nightmare. It was strange to feel a kinship to a boy she had never been friends with. Strange to think that Isobelle might be the one person who completely understood him.

With heavy eyelids, Isobelle sunk back into sleep. And this time, Harry Potter's mind stayed out of her dreams.