Amber was on the ceiling under a disillusionment charm. Amber was the world's most powerful eight-year-old witch. She was the phoenix witch. The phoenix witch has powers and the knowledge to handle them from birth. When one dies, another is born elsewhere. The headmaster of the Wizarding School in the country where the phoenix witch lives is always in charge of their safe-keeping. Dumbledore had set down a few rules for Amber. Well, just one. She was not allowed to do any magic on him unless he asked for it. Amber agreed whole-heartedly.

On this particular evening, Amber was having an upside-down tea-party on the ceiling of the great hall. Below, (or above, depending how you look at it) she heard some arguing. It was those fourth-years, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. They were so different. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor. A spoiled boy and an orphan. "I wonder what would happen…" she got a mischievous look on her face.

That night, she placed her signature spell over the castle so no one,-except, of course Dumbledore- would notice any difference. The two boys, whom she had been observing earlier, were fast asleep. She cast a spell.