Obsidian

Clear as day, dark as night.

Came from fire, born into light.

Who cared for, its luck or its plight.

A babe as small as a Christmas log laid still in the little sanctuary of its cupboard. At the age of five but no bigger than his cousin at three, the youngling felt as warm as if he was next to the furnace, tending to the cinders like the magical Cinderella in Dudley's colourful comic books. The wind howled as if it was a wolf on the prowl for its prey, and with the snowy blizzard outdoors, it seemed, to Harry, that it could consume anything no less than a blaze through a forest could.

Little Harry could not comprehend why his cupboard, which was the furthest from all heating, felt so warm and cosy today - maybe it was because of his late-night prowl outdoors before he was heaved indoors by Aunt Petunia - the difference in temperature was probably the culprit, not that he was complaining.

The little youngling laid on his small mattress, a small stubby finger waving in the air and pointing to the ceiling of his cupboard as if he was tracing the constellations in the sky. Harry longed to see the stars tonight - alas, the wild blizzard outdoors prevented his (already) impaired eyesight from seeing a single twinkling star in the vast space above him. To Harry, there was always a certain attraction to the night sky - they were dark, mysterious, but still had the capacity to hold a million twinkling stars within - every entity seemingly having some sort of story within. The warmth was pulling Harry downwards, and he could feel himself sinking into his mattress, lower and lower, until his eyelids fluttered to a close.

Meanwhile, in the white snowy ground outdoors, there was a sudden 'pop', which sounded like a freshly opened bottle of firewhiskey, The black, sweeping robes contrasted with the snowy ground, and was billowing in the wind. The dark, obsidian eyes swept across the usually well-mown lawn, which was now covered in a blanket of snow. A prickly 'Welcome' mat sat at the doorstep, seemingly taunting its visitors to approach it and get pricked by its porcupine-like thorns. With brisk steps, the owner of the dark eyes did not hesitate before approaching the threat - he simply waved his wrist and the door swung open, his boots crushing the porcupine in the process.

The man was here on his monthly check- up on the Boy Who Lived. With the stealth of a cat and the skills he possessed as an experienced Potions Master, he was the best choice to keep an eye on the boy. McGonagall made frequent "cat trips" to Privet Drive, but considering how the Dursleys would never allow a cat to stray into their spotless abode, he was then stuck to this task before the boy turned ten.

Familiar with the house as if it was Hogwarts itself, the mysterious man took a sharp right turn after entering the house and sensed a trace of magic within the walls. Casting a silent spell and summoning his Patronus to light the dark corridors, the doe led the way, and he followed. Stopping in front of a musty, old wooden cupboard, he felt a twinge of pity at the youngling's predicament - had the family not moved him into a room more befitting of his age yet? - but his orders were clear. Check on the boy, heal whatever needs healing, and leave without a trace. And so he did.

Harry woke up to a refreshing chill on his skin - it was as if he went for a dip in the creek near the clearing south of Privet Drive, and his eyelids shot open. To his immense surprise, a silvery silhouette of a doe looked back at him, and it reminded him of Bambi's mother, which he had seen in the cartoons Dudley watched. He sat up painstakingly - he still felt quite lethargic - and took a closer look at the animal.

The doe stood at the foot of the mattress, gazing curiously at the boy. Harry reached out a small hand to the doe, and it moved forward, nuzzling his arm. Harry beamed at the touch - the doe felt as smooth as glass, without the cold chill glass in winter sends up your spine.

With the doe circling him, nudging him in various places, the boy giggled, and the doe nudged him in return playfully. It eventually returned to face Harry and settled down on his mattress. Curious, Harry approached it, to be startled by a sudden 'pop', which revealed to be a glass of clear liquid. It was only then that Harry realised how parched he was, and received the glass gratefully, only to stop abruptly at a sniff of herbs. At a closer look, the liquid was more viscous than water, and he looked up in confusion.

The doe inched forward, and nuzzled the cup towards Harry with its nose, looking straight into his eyes. Harry found himself immersed in its eyes - it had dark eyes like the night sky - eyes that had a million stars with a million stories within. A soft grunt brought Harry out of his reverie. Hesitating, he glanced between the doe and the glass, and the doe stomped one of its hooves impatiently. Throwing all caution to the wind, the boy downed the clear liquid down his thirsty throat and finished the glass in one go. He could immediately feel his mind clear up, and the heat dissipating - a chill started to set in, and the bitter aftertaste lingered in his throat.

The gentle animal nuzzled him in the cheek, distracting him. Circling his arms around the gentle animal for comfort, he reached for a hug, delighted when the animal snuggled back. The doe leaned against the boy, and he closed his eyes, content. After what seemed like only a few seconds, another resounding 'pop' startled Harry into opening his eyes once more. In the place of the empty glass prior was a steaming mug of dark liquid, with marshmallows floating at the top. Harry took a whiff and was overjoyed to recognise the smell of hot chocolate. Staring at the doe incredulously, Harry could have sworn there was a faint smile in the doe's obsidian eyes.

As Harry reached for the warm mug, the doe brought his blanket which lay forsaken at a side to him and tucked him in as well as a doe could. Snuggling in with a mug of hot chocolate, Harry drank from the mug which was filled to the brim carefully, and the warmth from the sweet drink seemed to settle in his bones.

All too quickly, Harry realised that he finished the liquid, and gave a sigh of content. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier, and the pull of Dreamland getting stronger. Harry settled down against his (somehow now fluffier) pillows, a smile on his face. He felt a gentle peck on his forehead, and before his eyes fluttered to a close once more, he could almost see little specks of light forming beautiful constellations in the cupboard above him.

Harry would wake up feeling rested in the morning the next day, having has a dreamless and peaceful sleep the night before. He would always remember that dream of having a doe guard over him under the stars, and the constellations would be a sweet yet distant memory. Over the years, the obsidian eyes of the doe would linger in the depths of his mind, and one day he will find them again - this time illuminated by Hogwarts' candles instead of stars, in the Great Hall, in the eyes of Severus Snape.