"In 1984, on this day, you will die for the first time." His grip releases as he watches her, searching her face. She mimics his own mask of cool indifference. His own tone of steely reserve. And then, she smiles, her mouth twisting upward mockingly. (Just like his own derisive smile.) "It will be a mother’s love that deflects your killing curse. A mother’s love that will seal your fate, the beginning of the end for Lord Voldemort. Isn’t that poetic?"