Dealing with Danger
Chapter 16: Prank and Prophecy (Year 3)
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
I didn't write it. It's from the movie "The Wizard of Oz."
Chapter 16: Prank and Prophecy
Remus pushed open the door. "You wanted to see me, Minerva?"
"Yes." Professor McGonagall set aside a stack of parchment. "Sit down."
Should I be worried because I suddenly feel like I’m thirteen again?
Probably.
"What in the world did you think you were doing to my Seeker yesterday?" Professor McGonagall glared at him. "That was incredibly stupid — what if he’d been so startled that he fell? What if he’d fallen prey to the power of suggestion, and reacted to your false dementors the way he would to real ones? What if he had failed to get the Snitch?"
Ah, I think we’ve just come to the point here.
I think you’re right. "You may well be right, Professor," said Remus diplomatically. "I’m very sorry. I’m afraid I let Sirius talk me into testing the spell during the match itself."
Oh, sure, blame your friend.
It always worked before. "But the fact is that Harry did none of those things, as I was sure he wouldn’t. He stayed on his broom, his only reaction to the false dementors was to immediately send a very strong Patronus towards them, and he caught the Snitch. Gryffindor is back in the running for the Quidditch Cup, and I solemnly promise not to play any tricks during the final."
"You had better not, Remus John Lupin." She looked down her nose at him. "Because if you do, I will personally inform my House that it is your fault we have lost the Cup for the eighth year in a row. I doubt they will take quite so kindly to you after that."
Ouch. She’s playing for keeps here.
I noticed. My full name and everything. "You have my word, Professor," said Remus, raising his right hand. "No tricks."
"Good. And you can stop calling me Professor now, I’m not yet so old that I’ll fall for such an obvious trick as that. Your apology is accepted. I think you owe Harry one as well, though you may feel the necessity’s been obviated by the most recent piece of school gossip."
Remus winced. "You mean that rumor about my nickname?"
"Indeed. I was able to trace it back to Mr. Potter and company, so I assume this is his revenge."
"Yes. Not that a story very much like it hasn’t circulated before."
"Peter Pettigrew was responsible for the original, was he not?"
"Probably. But I think it was Severus who started the most disgusting form of it."
"The one claiming the nickname derived from the exact nature of your friendship with Sirius? Don’t look so surprised, Remus, I remember it well. I also remember telling Horace Slughorn that if he couldn’t control the members of his House a little better, I’d do it for him. Why do you think that rumor died such a quick death?"
Remus closed his mouth. "I... suppose I never thought about it," he said frankly. "It didn’t seem quick to me, but I suppose it never does to the subject of the gossip. Though now that I think of it, that story did have a remarkably short life."
"Mostly due to my habit of assigning detentions to anyone caught repeating it." She smiled smugly, then raised an eyebrow at him. "Isn’t there something you should be saying at this point?"
I do believe I’ve been set up.
I don’t think that’s what she wants you to say.
What did I ever do to deserve this? One nagging woman is bad enough, but two... Remus shut the connection on Danger’s yelp of indignation. "Thank you, Minerva," he said, standing up. "If there’s ever anything you want me to do for you..."
"I’ll be sure to let you know." If Minerva had been in her Animagus form at the moment, she would have had one paw on a fish and the other in a pitcher of cream.
Remus exited the office quickly with what dignity was left to him. It is never a good idea, he mused "aloud," to work alongside the same people who taught you as a cocky, stupid adolescent.
What, you mean you’re not still a cocky, stupid adolescent?
I like to think I’ve moved on a little since then. Now Sirius, on the other hand...
xXxXx
Harry waited at the door of the Arithmancy classroom for Hermione to catch up, humming happily to himself. Hogsmeade this weekend, Hogsmeade this weekend...
"The homework doesn’t look too bad," he said, catching two books as they fell out of Hermione’s bag. "Almost like a game, really."
"It is a game," said Hermione, taking the books back from him. "Like a maze, only we can’t see the walls. We have to figure out what numbers on the sheet are the next ones in the sequence. Like figuring out what stones are safe to step on next."
"Jehovah begins with an I," intoned Harry, making Hermione laugh.
Their path up to the Tower led them past Professor McGonagall’s office. As they approached, Harry heard his name and slowed down.
"—safer in the castle?" said Professor McGonagall.
Harry froze, then flattened himself against the wall, conscious of Hermione doing the same.
"Of course they’d be safer," Moony’s voice answered her. "But that’s only if they stay in the castle. You know boys, Minerva. How likely is it that a pair of thirteen-year-olds with a proven track record of misbehavior will stay where you put them, when everyone else of their age can go out and have fun?"
"But if you explain to them, surely..."
"They’ll understand," said Danger, sounding weary. "But only with their minds. Their hearts won’t understand at all, and at this age, they’re still so guided by what they feel and how they look — it’s bad enough, from their point of view, that they have to stay with Remus. How much worse if they’re suddenly forbidden to go at all?"
"Hogsmeade," Hermione breathed. Harry nodded once to show he’d heard.
Professor McGonagall sighed. "I just don’t like it," she said. "With this new sighting — you haven’t told them yet?"
"We haven’t told them," said Moony. "Which isn’t to say they don’t know — they’re astonishingly good at figuring things out, especially things they have no business knowing. Witness the Sorcerer’s Stone in their first year."
"And everyone will know by tomorrow morning, when the Prophet blares it all over the place," added Danger. "Do you think we should tell them before that?"
"Yes, of course. News like this is always better coming from a known source. And the worst of it is, we’re still no closer to finding out how Pettigrew got onto the grounds in October. Knowing he’s still around is not precisely comforting..."
Hermione’s hand slipped, and the books she was holding dropped to the floor, making a noise Harry was sure could be heard everywhere in the castle, including the Owlery six or seven floors above them. "Sorry," she squeaked, just before the door of McGonagall’s office opened.
Danger stepped into the hall and looked them up and down, hands on her hips. "Bite your tongue, Remus," she said over her shoulder. "What you said about them being good at figuring things out."
"I see how they got that way," said Professor McGonagall, appearing behind Danger. "Do you encourage this behavior at home, perchance?"
"We do not." Danger’s glare warned Harry and Hermione that this would not be a good time to bring up the agreements that ruled Pack life. "Your office, Minerva. What do you think?"
"Hmm." Professor McGonagall regarded them for a moment. "Five points each from Gryffindor for listening at doors," she said. "Off with you."
"Just a second," said Danger, holding up her hand. "Come to the office after dinner tonight, all of you. It shouldn’t take long."
"Speaking of taking long, I have class next period," said Moony, appearing behind the two women. "If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I should go and prepare." He nodded to Professor McGonagall, scent-touched Danger, and closed the door behind them as they returned to the office.
Hermione scooped up her books, looking as ashamed of herself as Harry felt. "We’re really sorry, Professor," she said, still staring at the floor.
"I know you are," said Moony, starting off down the hall. Harry and Hermione followed him. "And we should have shut the door, so part of the fault is ours. Five points to Gryffindor for either real contrition or a very good imitation of it."
Harry pulled his lips in and bit down, determined not to laugh at this, or even smile. Hermione had one hand over her mouth.
"And five more points to Gryffindor for excellent self-control," Moony added, glancing back at them.
Harry almost lost it, but swallowed his laughter at the last second. Hermione added her other hand.
Moony stopped and turned around, looking at Hermione in mild concern. "Hermione, are you all right?"
Hermione nodded hard.
"You’re not feeling ill, by any chance?"
Harry’s chest was starting to hurt from the effort of holding his laughter in. Hermione shook her head frantically.
"All right," said Moony, turning away and starting down the hall again. At the base of the stairs, he turned back. "You’re sure?"
Both cubs nodded madly.
"I take my leave, then." Moony swept them an elegant bow, winked at them at the bottom of it, and turned with a flourish to run lightly up the stairs. Harry counted ten after Moony’s heels had vanished before leaning against the nearest wall and letting his laughter out at last.
"He’s so awful," said Hermione weakly a few minutes later, sitting on the floor with her books around her, catching her breath. "But he did give us all the points back, and we don’t really deserve it — we shouldn’t have been listening..."
"But we were," said Harry, picking up his bag again. "And we heard something important."
"We would have heard it tonight in any case," Hermione returned. "You know they try not to keep things from us, unless it wouldn’t help us to know it."
"But that’s the point. They have to decide if it would help us to know it or not." Harry handed Hermione her last book and started down the hall. "One of these days they’re going to make a mistake, Hermione. They’re not going to tell us something that we actually did need to know. They’re not perfect."
"Of course they’re not perfect, but they’ve been doing a pretty good job up to now."
"I never said they weren’t. But it just bothers me that they get to decide what we hear and what we don’t."
"They’re allowed to do that, Harry. I mean, they are our parents." Hermione sighed. "Or the closest things we have, anyway. Do you ever think about that?"
"What it would have been like with my real parents?" Harry shrugged. "Sometimes. More often now, since I started Patronus lessons."
Hermione winced. "That’s right, I’m sorry, I forgot — you hear them. When the dementors come too near."
"Sometimes. Sometimes I hear other things. Never anything good, though. That’s what dementors do."
"I know." Hermione laid her head briefly on his shoulder as they walked. Harry smiled a little and reached around to pull a strand of her hair.
She slapped his hand away. "Watch it. I’ll have claws soon, and then you won’t be able to do that anymore."
"That’s right, you’re almost ready — you only have the head transformation to go now, right?"
"Right. Of course, that’s the hardest one, but I think I can do it. And then I have to write my final incantation, but I have a month or more to do it, the potion can’t possibly be ready before then. It was nice of Letha to make it for us."
Harry laughed. "It’s their way of saying they don’t trust any of us with a cauldron, not even you or Draco."
"Or maybe they’re just trying to save time. Didn’t Padfoot say their potion failed three times before they got it right?"
"Yeah." Harry thought back. "One ate through the cauldron, one exploded, and one curdled because they couldn’t find Wormtail in time — you have ten minutes to drink it, I think, or it goes bad. I don’t know why they didn’t just drink it without him and make another batch for him."
"It wouldn’t have been fair," said Hermione as they arrived at the Fat Lady’s portrait. "Splinters."
"I think that’s one not-fairness I could live with," said Harry, climbing through.
"But that’s looking at it from this end," argued Hermione, following him. "If Wormtail hadn’t been able to change forms, that would have changed everything. Maybe he wouldn’t have been so good of friends with them after that, so he wouldn’t have joined the Order or been a spy. Then your parents would have used somebody else for Secret-Keeper — maybe even Padfoot, like they said they would — and..." She looked around the crowded common room and lowered her voice. "Voldemort might never have found you."
"How would that be so bad?"
"I’m not saying it would be bad, I’m just saying it would be different. Everything would be different. And we have no way of knowing if it would be better or worse than what we have."
Harry looked at her sideways. "If you’re telling me to count my blessings..."
She met his eyes. "We do have an awful lot, Harry. More than we would have had almost any other way. I’m not saying it wasn’t terrible that your parents died, but that’s why we have the Pack. So good things can come out of bad things."
She had a point, but Harry felt that somehow, there was more to it than that.
xXxXx
"Quite honestly, this doesn’t change very much for you," said Remus to the Pride that night. "We suspected Wormtail might still be around here, and now those suspicions are confirmed. You all know what you should and shouldn’t be doing, and we’re trying to keep your lives as easy as possible. If you can help us by staying within the rules, that would be much appreciated."
Draco looked like he wanted to mouth off, but Remus caught his eye, and he kept quiet.
Ha. Who says men can’t give the Look?
Well, father to son, yes, but a competent woman can give the Look to anyone.
Who asked you?
"Has there been any news about Lucius Malfoy, sir?" asked Luna.
"No, none at all. If there is, be sure we’ll tell you."
Odd that she’d ask and not Draco.
He may just not want to, so he asked her to do it for him. It’s happened before.
xXxXx
Harry tossed a bit of parchment into the fire and watched it burn. "So, either they’ve split up, or Lucius is smarter than Wormtail and laying low."
"Gee, Lucius is smarter than Wormtail," said Draco sarcastically. "What a genius you are to figure that one out."
"What’s wrong with you?" asked Meghan.
"What do you think? I’m sick of being a prisoner in the castle, I’m sick of everyone looking at me funny, I’m sick of the whole damned mess! None of this should be happening to me!" He glared around at them. "I’m going upstairs."
The Pride watched him go. "We’re outside almost every day with Quidditch practice, though," said Ginny. "And you have Hogsmeade this weekend. Lucky prats," she added without much real anger. "It’s not as if he’s not allowed to go."
"I know." Hermione frowned, watching Draco climb the stairs. "And people haven’t looked at him funny in weeks. Not because of his father, anyway. They’re starting to look at him on his own account. Is it just me, or has he been acting a little odd lately?"
"He is angrier than usual," said Luna. "It’s like there’s a shadow over him. Maybe we should get him some sun flowers."
"He’d probably just give them to me," said Neville, flexing his writing hand. "Hermione, can you check this for me?"
"I mean the kind that glow like the sun," said Luna. "They grow above the Arctic Circle, in places where the other plants need light when the sun doesn’t come up, so the sun flowers catch it and store it during the summer, and then give it off during the winter. The people there use them for natural headlights on their brooms."
"You think he just misses sunlight?" asked Ron. "I know I do. Is it ever going to stop raining?"
"It’s the beginning of March," said Meghan. "It always rains a lot at the beginning of March."
"I know." Ron sighed gustily. "It’s just depressing."
Hermione frowned, looking at Neville’s paper. "Neville, can you really get that much water out of one water cress plant?"
"Why, how much did I put?" Neville leaned over to look. "A gallon? No, that’s not right — why did I put that? It’s a quart, not a gallon." He reached for his wand and tapped the place, erasing the mistaken word, then wrote in the correct one. "There. Is that everything?"
"A couple of spelling mistakes, I’ve marked them, and a sentence I think is missing a word."
Meghan giggled and began to sing.
You could while away the hours a-conversing with the flowers...
Neville laughed and joined her.
If I only had a brain!
xXxXx
In the dorm, Draco stared out the window at the pounding rain while the fingers of his right hand lost themselves among the lines and angles of runes carved in glass.
I hate this. I hate it all. I just wish it was over.
One way or another, I wish it was over.
xXxXx
"Form?" Harry shook his head. "I didn’t see if it had one. I was too busy trying to get to the Snitch. Did it have one?"
"It did. Why don’t you give it a try and see if you can make it appear now?"
"All right." Harry pulled out his wand and thought hard about that moment when the entire Gryffindor team had descended on him, all of them shouting incoherently and grinning so widely he was sure their faces had hurt for hours after. "Expecto patronum!"
A gleaming silver animal burst from the end of his wand, and Harry didn’t need to think of a happy memory anymore. The smile on his face matched the ones on his teammates’, and the one on Moony’s, as they watched the creature canter around the classroom together.
"Prongs," he whispered, holding out his hand to the silver stag.
xXxXx
The weather finally broke on Friday, improving everyone’s mood tremendously. Draco was actually smiling again by the time everyone left for Hogsmeade on Saturday. After walking around the village for a while, browsing at Dervish and Banges a bit, and having lunch at the Three Broomsticks, Remus and the Pride walked up to the Shrieking Shack.
"What does it look like inside, Professor?" asked Neville curiously. Although he and his gran had never formally been let in on the secret of Remus’ condition, he’d picked it up by osmosis after hanging around with the Pride for so long, and of course Alice and Frank had already known. Neville was greatly looking forward to the Easter holidays, which he’d be spending with his parents in their new home near Ottery St. Catchpole.
"It’s a mess," said Remus frankly. "Torn up, all the furniture destroyed. Probably worse now than it was years ago; since all the predator smells are long gone, it’ll be infested with vermin."
"There was furniture?" asked Ron.
"Oh, yes. Old furnishings from the castle, beaten up past use. The idea was for me to have something other than myself to attack. Later, when the others started coming along, we had plenty of things to play with, and on, and around, and under."
Draco rocked on his feet, staring at the Shack. "I want to throw something," he said. "I want to throw something at it."
"Be my guest." Remus bent down and picked up a palm-sized rock, which he handed ceremoniously to Draco. "Here you are."
Draco grinned, wound up, and threw. The rock slammed hard into the side of the Shack with a hollow thud.
"Move over," said Harry, scooping up a rock of his own. His didn’t make quite so loud a noise, but it was respectable. Ron’s banged off the eaves, making a different sound.
"Amateurs," said Hermione, picking up a smaller rock. "Window, first floor."
She pitched the pebble hard and fast at the tiny window. Glass shattered.
"Make a wish," said Remus, chuckling.
The boys were all staring at Hermione. "I didn’t know you could throw like that," said Ron in amazement. "Why don’t you play Quidditch?"
"Because I don’t like to fly very much."
"I don’t want to throw rocks," announced Meghan. "I want to throw something else. Can I get closer, please, Moony — Professor?"
"There’s no one here to see you."
Meghan was already through the fence. Several feet from the house, she stopped, scooped up a large handful of mud, and slung it. It hit the wall with a sloppy smack and clung there. Giggling, she ran straight up to the house, picked up another handful of mud, and used it to write her initials on the wall — MLB — before erasing them with a third handful. "There," she said, bouncing back to the fence with a cocky grin on her face. "All done."
Remus sighed. "Hold still." He Scourgified her hands and cloak, which had gotten splattered. "Your mother would be horrified."
"That’s why she’s not here," said Meghan brightly.
"Of course."
xXxXx
"Hermione."
"Mmm?"
"Wake up. Please."
"Colleen?" Hermione rubbed her eyes and sat up. "What’s wrong?"
Colleen brushed back her long, tangled brown hair, looking worried. "It’s my birthday."
"Many happy returns," said Hermione, covering a yawn. "Is that a problem?"
"No — but there’s a present here, and I’ve already had them from Mum and Dad, and from my grandparents and my aunts and uncles. And it’s not signed. It just says, ‘From a friend.’"
Hermione was suddenly wide awake. "Like the bracelet you got at Christmas."
Colleen nodded, running her hand over the carved stone snakes on her wrist. "Just like. The handwriting’s the same, too, I checked it."
"Are you worried about it?" Hermione slid out of bed, putting her feet into the slippers Danger’d made her. "There wasn’t anything wrong with the bracelet, was there?"
"No — and I’m not really worried — I just..." Colleen looked at the floor. "I want someone else there when I open it," she confessed quietly. "I thought that would make it... almost like a party. I’m sorry for waking you. I shouldn’t have done it."
"No," said Hermione quickly. "No, don’t think that. I’m glad you woke me, really I am. I..." She looked quickly at the clock, then at Parvati and Lavender, still asleep in their beds. "What do you think about an early breakfast in the common room? We’re allowed, as long as we clean up. We’ll make it just like a party, for the two of us."
Colleen’s smile was incredulous and delighted — and gorgeous. She could be a model. I wonder if she realizes that? The way she walks around, it’s as if she thinks she’s ugly...
Dobby brought them croissants and pumpkin juice, and the girls sat by the fire to eat. After a deliciously crumby interval, Colleen wiped her fingers on her napkin and lifted the lid of the box.
Both girls gasped in delight. A pin in the exact shape of a white lily sat within, every petal and leaf outlined in detail. Colleen lifted it out and stroked it softly. "I love lilies," she murmured. "They’re my favorite flower... but how did he know?"
"Look, there’s a note!" Hermione caught a slip of parchment as it detached from the underside of the pin and held it out to Colleen.
The other girl shook her head. "Will you read it?" she said, still looking at the pin. "Please?"
"All right." Hermione swallowed to clear her throat. "‘Dear Colleen, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being mysterious. Please rest assured, I mean you no harm in the world. I simply think you a fascinating and beautiful girl, and I hope you will accept this token of my esteem as you accepted the bracelet I sent you for Christmas. No obligation attaches to them, and no return is expected for them. I merely hope to be your friend. At this time, for reasons beyond my control, that friendship must be from a distance. Perhaps at some future time, we can meet face-to-face. In hopes of that day, and with wishes for a happy birthday and many more, I sign myself, Your Secret Admirer.’"
Hermione set the parchment down and sighed. "That is so romantic," she said.
"I know." Colleen set the pin back in its box and shut it. "I just wish I had some way to write back to him. He keeps sending me presents, and I don’t have any way to say thank you."
"You could ask the house-elves," suggested Hermione. "They know everything that goes on in the castle."
"Oh, but he wants to stay anonymous," Colleen protested. "He’s gone to all this trouble, who am I to interfere?"
"They don’t have to tell you who he is," Hermione pointed out. "They can take your letter straight to him."
Colleen’s smile dawned on her face again. "I’ll go start writing right away."
xXxXx
Dear Secret Admirer,
Thank you so much for the beautiful presents. How did you know so perfectly what I would like?
I think, if I’m going to accept your presents, that I need to know at least a little more about you. Are you a student here at Hogwarts? Where do you come from? What is your family like? I’ll tell you about me in exchange, though you already seem to know quite a lot.
I’m a third year Gryffindor, and I come from Bath. My family is magical, though we have Muggle ancestry not far back. All my relatives are Ravenclaws — my dad accused my mum of cheating on him when I was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was only half a joke. I tried to talk the Sorting Hat out of it, but it said that this is where I was best suited to be. I don’t know why — I’ve never felt particularly brave.
I have one sister, three years older than me — Ravenclaw, of course — Maggie Lamb, prefect and nearly top of her year. Between you and me, I can’t wait until she leaves. Maybe then the teachers will stop comparing us. Not likely, I know, but I can always dream.
I hope to hear from you soon, and thank you again for the lovely presents. I wear them as often as I can. They make me feel beautiful.
Your friend,
Colleen Lamb
xXxXx
Percy was pacing back and forth in the hallway, muttering to himself, when Ginny tapped him on the elbow. "Relax," she said, smiling. "They’re your friends, remember? We’re all Gryffindors here, all part of the Combat Club, all on the same side, right?"
Percy shook his head, his face tight. "They’re angry with me," he said. "I can’t blame them, really. That was very humiliating, losing to Slytherin and Hufflepuff that way." He refused to use the team names made by conflating the Houses, calling them silly and childish. "Obviously, we just need to practice harder..."
"Percy, don’t you have N.E.W.T.s coming up?"
"Yes, and that’s what makes this doubly difficult, finding enough time to practice around studying and homework and all the other clubs, and my duties as Head Boy..."
"So why don’t you give it up?"
"Give it up?" Percy looked astonished. "Give it up? You mean, quit the Combat Club?"
"Maybe not quit entirely. But let someone else run these last two matches for Gryffindor."
Percy’s eyebrows drew in. "Tell me the truth, Ginny," he said, sitting down with a sigh. "Do they hate me?"
"No, they don’t hate you," said Ginny, hugging her brother. This was a side of him hardly anyone ever got to see. Only she and their mother, as far as she knew, were privy to its secrets. "Percy, would you think any worse of Professor McGonagall if she couldn’t brew a complicated potion?"
"No, of course not. She teaches Transfiguration, not Potions."
"What about Professor Flitwick, if he couldn’t tell you all about the constellations?"
"That’s Professor Sinistra’s job."
"Exactly."
"Exactly?"
How can someone so smart be so dumb? "Percy, leading the Combat Club isn’t your job. Not really. You don’t like it, and you’re not good at it. There’s no shame in giving it up to someone else who’d like it more and be better at it."
Percy’s face set into the lines of his public mask. "Weasleys are not quitters," he said stiffly. "We finish what we start."
"Weasleys are also not stupid," said Ginny pointedly. "What they are is brave. Brave enough to admit they were wrong about things. You thought you could lead the Combat Club, and you were wrong." I hate doing it this way, but it’s time to let the Snitch out of my sleeve. "I nearly got killed because you couldn’t admit you were wrong."
Percy paled and shut his eyes. Ginny swallowed hard against guilt. She knew what she’d just done — reawakened memories of the Chamber of Secrets, which Percy had tried so hard to forget.
But he succeeded too well. He forgot everything he learned. He was all right over the summer, and for a little while at school, but becoming Head Boy put him right back into his old habits. This may be mean, but I think he really needs it...
Percy opened his eyes. "Maybe..." He coughed. "Maybe you’re right."
Ginny hugged him again. "Thank you." Now if we can just get you to say that without it sounding like it’s being pulled out of you by the Cruciatus...
"I’ll go and have a word with Greene, then. He’d do a good job with the group, don’t you think?"
Ginny nodded brightly and watched her brother walk into the room.
Another ten years, and he might even pass for a human.
xXxXx
After stalling on it for three solid weeks, Hermione finally managed to transform her head into that of a cat in the first week of April, and Remus pronounced her ready to take the Animagus potion as soon as it was finished. Harry would have been jealous, except that he was just too busy. Wood had eased up about Quidditch practice to the tune of one night a week, and Harry’s Patronus at the match had released him from those lessons, but one of those nights was devoted to Combat Club practice, and the other to dealing with his ever increasing amounts of homework. He was looking forward to the Easter holidays — he’d still have to do work, but there wouldn’t be anyone adding to the pile while he was doing it.
Everything else in his life was going splendidly. The last Combat Club match had been a complete turnaround from the one before it. With David Greene in charge for Gryffindor and Cedric Diggory for Hufflepuff (since they were out of the running for the Cup, he had time to do this instead), the Gryfflepuffs played very well indeed, taking six of the seven designated "hills," holding four of them against all attacks, and capturing the one the Slytherclaws had originally taken. Their win had been not only assured, but wonderful. Even Percy Weasley, a bandage around one arm, had been seen to smile during the post-fight analysis.
So now we just need to win the Quidditch Cup...
xXxXx
Sirius knocked on Professor McGonagall’s door, swallowing nervously. "I’m a grown man," he muttered. "An Auror in good standing, and a husband and father. I don’t need to be nervous about this."
"Come in!"
"All right, maybe I do." He opened the door. "Good morning, Minerva."
"Sirius. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Her tone was only a very little bit sarcastic.
"I wanted to bring you this." Sirius laid his present on her desk. "Since I know you’re a fan."
Minerva went pale and snatched the hardbound copy of Knowledge and Wisdom off the desk. "How did you know about this?" she demanded.
Sirius swallowed again. "Look inside the front cover," he said lightly.
Minerva gave him a hard look, then flipped it open. Sirius turned his eyes out the window, knowing what she would see there. He’d thought long and hard about what to write.
To Minerva, the best Deputy Headmistress Hogwarts has ever known.
With thanks for all the detentions — they taught me about suffering first-hand.
I couldn’t have done it without you.
"Valentina Jett"
"Detentions?" It was a harsh whisper. "This is your handwriting, Sirius Black, don’t you try to deny it."
"I won’t. It’s mine. But it’s also Valentina Jett’s. See..."
Words failed him as he noticed what Minerva had in her hand. I think I’m about to find out what it feels like to be cursed into the next century. So long, everyone, it was great knowing you...
"Yes, I do see," she said menacingly. "And I think I’ll show you what I think of you, young man. Impersonating a woman — writing romance novels — shame on you, Mr. Black. Shame on you."
Her spell hit him full in the face.
xXxXx
Aletha was in the kitchen when she heard the Floo go off. "So, how did it go?" she called.
"I don’t know." Sirius sounded bemused. "She hit me with a spell and told me to go home. At least it didn’t hurt. I don’t feel any different — do I look any different?"
Aletha looked around the corner. Her eyes widened until she was sure they’d fall out. "Oh. My. Oh my goodness. Oh my Lord." Further words failed her, as she surrendered to a brief wave of laughter. "That is just... hold still," she said when she could talk again. "Stand right there."
"What?" Sirius demanded as she ran to get the camera.
"Remus and Danger will want to see this!" Aletha called over her shoulder. "Just hold still!"
She was planning to fall apart laughing again after she snapped the pictures. It wasn’t every day that Sirius came home in full drag-queen makeup.
xXxXx
Harry and Hermione returned from their last Arithmancy class before the Easter holidays to find Ron sitting alone at the Pride’s usual table. "Where is everyone?" Harry asked, dropping into a chair.
"Around. Ginny and Luna have class, Neville’s off with Meghan, and Draco’s up in the dorm, reading, I think."
"How was Divination?" asked Hermione, sitting down on his other side.
"Trelawney," said Ron with deep meaning in his voice, "is a fruitcake."
"What’s she done now?" asked Harry.
"She asked me to stay after to help her tidy up. There really wasn’t anything to tidy up — we’ve been doing palmistry since term started, what was I supposed to do, dust people’s hands on the way out? She asked me to get some books down off a shelf, but it turned out what she really wanted was to find out if you or Draco have been feeling weird lately. She said she’s been feeling vibrations about you, that danger draws ever nearer to you."
Ron had his hand flung against his brow, his eyes half-shut, and was declaiming in a passionate, albeit wobbly, tone. Harry wondered if he should tell his friend that half the common room was watching him.
"Well, of course Danger draws ever nearer to them," said Hermione in a reasonable tone. "What should she do, leave them alone?"
Harry snickered.
"I don’t think that’s what she meant," said Ron in his normal voice, taking his hand away. Several first years who had been watching made disappointed noises. "Sod off," he snapped at them. Hermione glared at him.
"So Professor Trelawney thinks we’re going to die," said Harry. "Nothing new there."
"Yeah, but then she went really weird. Her eyes rolled up, her mouth went open, and she started making noises like Crookshanks hacking up a hairball."
"Crookshanks does not hack up hairballs," said Hermione.
"Then what was that on my bed last week?"
"He’s marking your bed as his territory. It means he likes you."
"Most animals piss on things to mark them as their territory," Ron retorted. "I don’t want your cat pissing on me, or my bed, or anything of mine."
"Did she say anything?" asked Harry, hoping to avert another squabble between his friend and his sister.
"Who?"
"Professor Trelawney. When she went all weird on you."
Ron nodded. "She said a load of stuff, but I don’t remember half of it. I think she was just trying to scare me, or freak me out."
"Maybe," said Hermione slowly. "Maybe not. You were wearing your pendants, weren’t you, Ron?"
"Why wouldn’t I have been?"
"I have an idea. Do either of you have anything you have to do tonight?"
"Not for an hour at least," said Harry.
"Me neither," agreed Ron. "Why?"
"Because I want to try something. But we need a private place."
Harry looked at the wall by the fireplace.
"Good idea," said Ron, and got up to walk over there nonchalantly, leaning against the wall and staring into the fire. Harry saw his friend’s lips move, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t there anymore...
No, that’s just the stealth mode working. Harry blinked a couple of times, and saw Ron climbing into the chute, with Hermione standing behind him, ready to come down after him. He set his school bag on the floor and followed them.
"It’s something Danger told me once," said Hermione when they were sitting in the library together. "About the pendants, when she was telling me all the different things they do, the gifts from the different Founders. One of the Ravenclaw gifts is that they let us share memories. Kind of like a Pensieve."
"A what?" asked Ron.
"It’s a stone basin," explained Hermione, "and you put thoughts in it. You can take thoughts out of your mind, you know, thoughts and memories. You can put them in a Pensieve and let them mix around, and sometimes they come up with things you wouldn’t have on your own, or not right away. Or you can go back to a moment you experienced before, and look at it again to see if you missed something."
"Weird," said Ron.
"See if you missed something?" asked Harry. "You mean, even if you don’t remember it yourself?"
"Exactly." Hermione beamed. "Because our pendants work a little like that, I thought we could go inside Ron’s memory and see what Professor Trelawney said."
"Go inside my memory?" Ron stared at Hermione. "Won’t that hurt?"
"No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s like watching a movie, except we’ll be in the scene. We don’t hear your thoughts or anything, I don’t think. We just see what happened."
"Why are you so interested in this?" asked Harry.
Hermione twisted a lock of her hair. "I don’t know, really... just a feeling. And something I found out the other day. With all you and Neville have been telling us about Professor Trelawney, Ron, I wanted to find out more about her. And they keep the minutes from old staff meetings in the library, you know."
"No, I didn’t know."
"Now you do. I found the minutes from a meeting back before any of us were born, where Professor Dumbledore suggested removing Divination from the Hogwarts curriculum. A couple of the other professors convinced him to interview one more candidate for the position, and he agreed. By the next month, he had decided to keep Divination, and he’d hired the person he’d interviewed."
"Who did he interview?" asked Ron. "Trelawney?"
Hermione nodded. "Something must have happened," she said certainly. "For Professor Dumbledore to change his mind so fast, and so completely, and about someone like Professor Trelawney — I mean, he’s not stupid..."
"Maybe he just feels sorry for her," suggested Harry. "Because she obviously never made a real prophecy in her life."
"Or maybe she does make real prophecies sometimes," said Hermione. "Maybe she made one during their interview, and Professor Dumbledore decided he wanted to keep her at Hogwarts so she’d be safe, and to make sure that if she ever made another one, he’d know about it instead of Voldemort."
Ron gulped. "I wish you wouldn’t do that," he said.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I wish you wouldn’t do that," he said. "It’s just a name, Ron. A bunch of letters all put together in a funny way. He screwed around with the name his mum gave him and came up with that. What’s so awful about it?"
Ron shook his head. "I don’t know," he said. "It just is. And I think you’re looking at this too hard, Hermione. So he decided to keep Divination — maybe he just changed his mind. People do that."
"There’s something else, though," said Hermione. "I told you this was before we were born, but I didn’t tell you when. It isn’t quite right, even. You were born, Ron, it was the summer of that year. But Harry wasn’t born yet. Nor was I, but that’s not important — do you see what I’m getting at?"
"No," said Harry, then stopped. "Wait. Yes. I think so... yes. I do see." He was tempted to look around for a dementor — the room seemed suddenly darker, and colder, much colder...
"‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,’" whispered Hermione. "‘Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...’"
"No way," said Ron incredulously. "No way — you think Trelawney made that prophecy? That old fraud? She couldn’t prophesy a dragon egg would hatch a dragon and be right!"
"It could be, Ron," said Harry, forcing himself back to calm. "The timing’s right, it could have been her." Knowing this didn’t change anything, he told himself. He’d already known about the prophecy, or part of it, at least — there was more to it, he remembered, more that the Pack-parents weren’t telling him yet, and that wasn’t fair...
But knowing, or suspecting, who had made the prophecy wouldn’t make any difference.
Unless Hermione’s right, and this is another real prophecy Ron saw her make...
"Ron, can we see that memory?" he asked, making up his mind.
"Sure, if you want — I wouldn’t mind seeing what she really said anyway..." Ron pulled out his chain. "You’re sure you won’t see inside my head?" he asked Hermione.
"I think so. Like I said, it’ll be as though we were inside a movie. We’ll see you and Trelawney, but you won’t see us."
Harry felt another cold chill. He had been inside another person’s memory precisely once, and only later had he found out who that person had been, or rather, had become.
But this is Ron, not Tom Riddle. My friend, not my enemy.
"Harry?"
He looked up. Ron was holding out his chain. "You in?"
Harry took the chain and slid it over his head. "Let’s do it," he said.
"Fair enough," said Ron. He looked at Hermione. "How?"
"Get your wand out," said Hermione. "Touch it to the pendants, think hard about that moment with Trelawney, and say, ‘Cadimus in memoriam.’ I think that’s all you have to do."
Ron drew his wand and set its tip against the pendants, his brow wrinkled up in thought. "Say it again?" he asked without looking away.
"Cadimus in memoriam."
"Cadimus in memoriam," Ron repeated carefully.
They had time for two breaths. Then, without warning, the spell took effect. Harry felt himself lifted out of the chair where he sat with a jerk a bit like a Portkey’s, but gentler and much less centralized. Then he was falling through darkness. It was almost like the effects of a dementor, except that he wasn’t at all afraid; he felt safe here, not embraced or coddled, but there was a sense that whatever was around him would die rather than let him come to harm...
He landed softly on his feet in a small, cluttered, circular room, dimly lit with a reddish light, filled with small round tables and chintz-covered chairs, and pervaded — he sneezed — by a sickly sweet odor.
"I think she burns incense," said Ron beside him. "Stinks, doesn’t it?"
"Where do you want these, Professor?" said Ron wearily — from across the room. Harry stared, first at the boy at his side, then at the one across the room. How could Ron be in two places at once?
"It’s all right," Hermione said from his other side. "That’s Ron when this memory happened."
Ron was staring at himself, fascinated. "I’m taller than I thought I was," he said.
"I think it’s just Professor Trelawney," said Hermione. "She could make anybody look tall."
Harry agreed. Professor Trelawney was a small, thin witch, draped in shawls and beads, wearing enormous glasses which magnified her eyes tremendously. Currently, she was walking beside the Ron of memory, her hands fluttering.
"Do be careful with those, my dear, please — there on the table is fine — thank you for getting them down for me, you’re a fine young man, really you are — your friend Harry is very lucky to have you around..."
"Here we go," said the real Ron, sitting down in one of the armchairs.
"How is he, by the way?" Professor Trelawney peered at the memory Ron. "I never have quite got over my disappointment that he chose not to study Divination — it would have been so lovely to have met him... before..." Her lips quivered. "Such a handsome young man, so brave in the face of such danger, drawing ever nearer to him... if I could only warn him... But no matter. How is he?"
"He’s fine," said memory-Ron, setting down the stack of books he’d been carrying. "Just fine. But he’s probably waiting for me, I should go—" He grabbed his bag and made for the hole in the floor which was the exit, but Professor Trelawney detained him with a hand on his arm.
"And what of young Draco Black? How is he holding up against the dreadful strain? I have seen him, and his father, many times in my orb as I gazed within it — the vibrations around them are unusually strong — tell me, does he by any chance have an orb of his own? A ball of glass or crystal, into which he gazes for inspiration and calm?"
"Uh — yeah," said memory-Ron, looking nonplussed. "His cousin gave him something like that for Christmas. I think it’s to help him study."
Professor Trelawney blinked. "Study?" she repeated. "To help him study? My dear boy, mystic vibrations cannot be harnessed for such a mundane function as to assist in study! You must tell him to come to me immediately, before he attempts to crystal-gaze again! He could severely injure himself if he persists in gazing without proper instruction!"
"I’ll tell him, Professor," said memory-Ron, now obviously disturbed. "But I really have to go now, I have... er... another class..."
"Yes, yes, of course," said Professor Trelawney, seating herself in her armchair and fussing with her shawl. "Make sure to pass on my messages, now..."
And then it happened. A loud rasping noise filled the air. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, Hermione gulped audibly, and even Ron, who had seen this before, leaned forward in his chair, fascinated. The Ron of memory froze, one foot on the ladder, as a slack-jawed Professor Trelawney began to speak.
"The impossible will happen."
"Er... sorry?" said memory-Ron, staring at Professor Trelawney. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, her breathing was loud and harsh.
"On the night of the willing return to the long-abandoned prison of youth, the impossible will happen, three times over... souls shall join against the darkness, the faithful three will ride again, and five shall spill their blood upon the ground... revenge and mercy wreak havoc alike, as an ancient lie becomes truth... on that night... the impossible... shall... come... to... pass..."
Memory-Ron’s jaw was hanging as loose as Professor Trelawney’s. He summed up Harry’s feelings perfectly with one word.
"What?"
Professor Trelawney blinked very rapidly and coughed several times. "I’m sorry?" she croaked, and her eyes went wide at the sound of her voice. "Mercy me, what a dreadful sound — I must have a cup of tea to wet my throat — would you like one?"
"Er... no thanks," said memory-Ron, still staring at her. "I — I have to go. Right now." He climbed down the ladder as rapidly as he could.
"I think that’s all we need to see," said Hermione. "Ron? It’s Remigribus. Point it up," she added, nodding to his wand.
Ron aimed his wand at the ceiling. "Remigribus!"
They were falling in reverse, soaring upwards, it was like riding a broom except there was no broom —
Brilliant figure of speech, that. I could write books like Padfoot, make loads of money off them.
Harry shook his head. He was sitting in an armchair in the library of the Hogwarts Den, with Ron and Hermione on either side of him. "Wow," he said.
"Yeah," Ron agreed. "I didn’t remember she said all that. Hermione, can you write it down for us?"
"Already on it." Hermione was at the desk in the corner of the room, scribbling. "Revenge and mercy," she muttered. "Havoc alike... ancient lie becomes truth... impossible shall come to pass. There." She picked up a sheet of parchment and blew on it. "Do you think it’s meant for us?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Dunno," said Ron. "Are prophecies meant for certain people?"
"Well, it depends on who it’s about. So I suppose we should try to figure that out, if we can."
"And maybe what it’s about," said Harry, coming to look over Hermione’s shoulder. "I didn’t like that part about five spilling their blood on the ground or revenge and mercy... what was it again?"
"Wreak havoc alike," Hermione recited. "And you’re right, it doesn’t sound at all good."
"Eight heads are better than three," said Ron, already halfway out the door. "Let’s get everyone else in on this."
"Good idea." Hermione followed him.
Alone for a moment, Harry looked around the room. "I hate prophecies," he said to no one in particular. "I really do."
Then he headed for the red bedroom, to get started on deciphering this latest piece of his future.