Morgana has spent far too long fighting this war. The chosen one, perhaps can not understand. He has not loved and lost. She can tell by how he looks at her. His eyes are dead. They are those of someone that has been surviving and only that. He fidgets not because he is scared, but because he can not sit still. There probably has never been a time that he has not felt cornered by something. Usually, they are the eyes of someone that she wants to send home, send them to collect themselves. But he looks like he is looking for a purpose and she can offer him that. She would like to offer it to him. The thin boy in front of her was just missing a scar covering his forehead from where his face had been smashed into a table. He needed the glasses and he could be Harry.