For a heartbeat, they sank into each other's eyes until Harry shot up from the sofa. Dumbledore's wand snapped into his hand. Somehow the damning piece of wood had proven quite headstrong, unwilling to be set aside. And whenever Harry was feeling particularly angry or vindictive, it jumped at the occasion. The wand was powerful, so the teenager did not care. Not right now when "It's Blaise. He's starving. She locked him up. He tried to reach me, that's why I've been so hungry. That bitch, of a mother, would rather starve her own son than allow him to join me."