Harry's entire body froze, like ice crawling up his skin to lock him a cold, unbearable coffin, head falling back to stare at the moon. He had no control of his body. He couldn't see or hear anything beside the rustle of the breeze singing like song and the shine of the moon. She looked angry, somehow. Harry did not want Her ire, but he refused to apologise. Perhaps pride was to one day be his downfall.