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A/N: Sorry this one is so short, but research paper isn't going to write itself. And like before, The song mentioned doesn't belong to me. It's from Tim Burtons "Nightmare Before Christmas." I own nothing but the storyline involving Samara. Thanx.

As Samara stared at the spot Harry was just at a few moments before, she started to feel… what’s the word… empty. She was feeling like she had the day before. When she had finally found out what happened to Sirius, before she knew that Harry, his two friends, and Sirius’s old friend would be visiting her, trying to figure her out. Like a jigsaw puzzle, something that needed to be pieced together for completion.

Well, I am a project… a mystery to everyone, including myself.

She went to the cafeteria for her dinner, which she hadn’t done since Sirius left. Everyone turned and looked at her as she sat. The only person unfazed by her presence was Terri, who greeted her as usual. Samara ate in silence, thinking about what she saw from Harry’s past. All that death… made her feel… something unrecognizable. Unnamable.

She walked back to her cell and entered, taking her usual spot on her bed, facing the window. The Worden walked past her cell, stopping momentarily to say, “You’re lucky we didn’t see what you did to young Mr. Potter, or you’d be in The Hole till their next visit.” Samara glanced at her and smiled. The Worden became uncomfortable and left to attend to other matters.

The girl stared out the door, remembering his eyes. Those deep, emerald green eyes of his. They captured her when they locked with her own. She felt something she had never felt before in her life. She felt like there might be someone else out there that knew a fraction of what she was going through, even if it wasn’t exactly like her current situation. She felt that she wasn’t alone.

She heard the voices return. She sighed, hating them. She had started to hear them after she first came to Azkaban, and never knew why. But still, they were familiar, something she had grown accustomed to whenever she was alone. That’s the only time she heard them.

As she sat there, recalling every detail of his face, she realized something that she hadn’t conceived until then. They weren’t just voices, they were singing voices. She tried to listen closer, hear what they were saying, but it was too soft to recognize.

If only I could hear them, maybe I could unlock my own mysteries…

But how soon to that day was it?

Harry sat on the train, looking out the window, unable to get her voice out of his head. Every wandering thought his mind conceived was of her. Her eyes, her lips, her voice, her touch. He shook his head side to side, in hopes to throw off any further images of the haunted girl, but they kept coming back each time his mind drifted. Ron and Hermione were to absorbed in their own conversation about the visit to notice that Harry was not there, mentally speaking.

Ron and Hermione tried to talk to him after they got off the train, but he sped up his pace, steering clear of any other Gryffindor’s on the way. He bumped into Malfoy as he got closer to the front of the group, and for some strange reason, he didn’t mouth off to him. He just stared at him, as if confused of what to do, and stalked off with his goons following close behind him.

Must have been the visit… no way he would act like that any other day.

As they entered the Great Hall for dinner that evening, all the sixth and seventh years that had Wizard Studies were ranting and raving about their projects. Harry ate very little, and still managed a pleasant conversation with Neville and Seamus about their visit with a man named Robert Collins, convicted murderer of children and teenagers.

That must have been a frightful visit… Harry thought gravely. After he was finished, he left the hall, not waiting for his two friends. As he was heading up the stairs, he was stopped by a dreamy voice behind him.

“Harry! Wait up, can I talk to you for a moment?” He turned around to Luna, who was still running to catch up with him. He probably wouldn’t have noticed he was running until he had reached Gryffindor Tower out of breath.

“Yeah, sure Luna. About what?” She stopped in front of him, breathing heavily, hair clinging slightly to her pale face. She waited for a few seconds before she spoke, and he noticed that as she asked him this, her voice had changed. It was no longer dreamy and light, it was serious.

“I heard your visit. I was in the cell across from yours… I mean hers…” She looked at him with the same look he had hoped he would never see coming from her. Pity and sadness. “Are you okay?” He glared at her, tired of being asked if he was okay. Of course he wasn’t okay. Didn’t they see it? Or where they too busy wanting him to save them all to even care?

“Leave me alone Luna, just leave me alone.” And with that, he stormed off to Gryffindor Tower. He slammed the door to the sixth year boy’s dormitory, ran to his bed and fell onto it. He felt tears threatening to fall, but forced them back as he took in a shallow, sharp breath. He once again thought of Samara, and her song. He finally let the tears fall, realizing that they were in fact empty.

He realized that he didn’t want the fame, praise, and glory. The strife and sacrifice. The prophecy, or the death and destruction. He didn’t want the weight of the world on his shoulders anymore.

When will it end? I just want it to be over… He curled up in a ball, and cried himself to sleep, the last two lines of Samara’s haunted song replaying in his head like a broken record.

‘The fame and praise come year after year, does nothing hold these empty tears?’

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