Harry Potter and the Crystal Ball

by fiddle-d-d

A mysteryromance of Harry's post-Hogwarts life . . . not only must he and his comrades struggle with evil, but they must also battle their own emotions and obstacles

1. The Very Beginning (Where Else?)

Harry Potter and the Crystal Ball

by Hannah

Okay, obviously all the HP 'stuff' belongs to the brilliant J.K. Rowling, but there are several characters and obviously many events that are my creation . . . so please, don't steal them from me! :0(

I hope you enjoy . . . please review, for my sake! If I don't feel inspired, I don't write, which means no updates . . .

I have written everything up through chapter 13, but I am currently involved in the rather tedious process of revising everything to make it more eloquent and more to my taste. The overall story will be far more than thirteen chapters, and it will take me an extremely lengthy time to revise this much, not to mention write the rest, but alas, such is life . . .

Feel free to e-mail me w/ suggestions and the like at fiddle_d_d@bolt.com . . . I'd appreciate hearing from you! :0)

And now that I've bored you w/ this lengthy introduction, you may begin my novel w/ ~

Chapter One ~ The Very Beginning (Where Else?)

The sky, speckled with stars, was otherwise an impenetrable blanket of darkness. Strong gusts of wind pummeled the wooden planks that made up the small, widely spaced houses of Ginford Drive. In one such weather-beaten and timeworn house, a certain individual sat at an equally poor desk, his eyes glued to a small clock that hung on the dimly lit wall. His eyes followed the second hand on its never-ending round, trying desperately to keep his eyes open. He rubbed his bleary green eyes behind their spectacles, yawning. One more minute, he told himself. Just one more . . .

"Finally!" he exclaimed. "I am now eighteen!"

Harry Potter welcomed the 31 July in such a way each year, yet this time, he felt very much alone. His uncle, aunt, and cousin, the Dursleys, weren't even there (although he wasn't entirely sure he missed them). Even so, his friends, Ron and Hermione, hadn't even sent him cards. He understood how busy they were. Just this summer they had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Each was trying to scrape together a living, and it was very trying, and exhausting.

Harry had unsuccessfully been attempting to find a job. He had searched through the Ministry of Magic, but there were no available jobs. Then, he had turned to Gringotts, the wizarding bank. Unfortunately, the only vacancies were for goblins, which basically ran the place. Harry was unemployed, and he hated to say it, but he was almost without any money left with which to support himself. He was in dire straits.

Harry shuddered away the thought with an enormous yawn. He set about preparing himself to retire for the night. He was just about to hop into bed when a draft came in from the window, the air whistling in a cold, dry, quite unpleasant way.

Harry stumbled to the window, basically blinded by his weariness. He pushed his jet-black hair from his eyes, revealing an oddly shaped, jagged scar. This scar was the result of Voldemort's attempt upon his life, and the way that just about everyone was able to identify the all-famous Harry Potter. Harry pushed his glasses farther up on his nose, and then began the pull the window closed. He took one look out the window, however, and was immediately revived.

"Hedwig!" he shouted.

A small, flapping figure appeared in the distance. It slowly made its way towards Harry's open window, and finally landed on the sill, seemingly exhausted.

Harry gently gathered the snowy white owl in his arms and gently let her down on his bed. She was obviously fatigued, and Harry decided it was best to leave her alone. He diverted his attention to the parcels attached to her talons.

Harry undid the twine that was holding two parcels and two letters to her claws, and carefully reached for the largest box.

Harry recognized the handwriting of his dear friend Ron immediately. He looked suspiciously at the box; it had a number of holes punched in the top of it, and the words HANDLE WITH CARE were stamped upon it.

Harry carefully opened the envelope attached to the side, and unfolded a letter from within it. It read,

Dear Harry,

It is once again your birthday. I wish you well. I do hope you enjoy the enclosed gift. After you have opened the package, you will find more information. Happy birthday, with many more to come!

Your friend,

Ron

Most curious, Harry thought, as he began to open the box. He then heard it: a small squeaking noise. Harry raised an inky eyebrow and continued. The noise came again. Finally he managed to remove the lid from the package. A rat spilled into his lap, with another piece of paper:

Harry—

The many times we have shared with Scabbers, eh? Well, I hope that this rat ends up more loyal than he, and that you also find pleasure in Hermione's gift (we co-conspired).

Ron

"Of course, the weasel!" Harry said aloud, laughing in the process. Scabbers. Didn't that bring back awful memories? Scabbers had been Ron's pet rat, but ended up being an Animagus wizard by the name of Peter Pettigrew. Peter had betrayed Harry's parents to Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard ever to exist. Harry's parents were killed as a result, but Voldemort simply could not kill Harry. He had tried, but through doing so, had lost all of his powers. A weak shadow of what he once had been, he retreated into the forests of a faraway land, waiting until the time that he could regain the powers he had lost.

Harry turned suspicious eyes upon Hermione's gift. It, too, had a letter attached to it.

Dear Harry:

Enclosed is MY gift. I suppose you have already opened Ron's, it being the larger of the two. Really, Harry, you must learn that size is not everything . . .

Anyhow, I believe he made mention of the fact that we put our heads together and decided on two very unlikely gifts for our dearest friend. I do hope you like it, but I'm not sure you will.

Well, it is the thought that counts, but happy birthday anyhow, and I hope all your dreams and wishes come true. You are like my brother, and no matter the distance between us, I will not forget you (nor forget to chide you at times).

Best wishes,

Hermione

Harry sighed and opened the box. It opened more easily than Ron's had. He missed the two of them dearly. Actually, they had not met since they had graduated Hogwarts. He looked down into the box to see a crystal ball.

He laughed. There was no sheet of paper in this box, for he knew the significance. Hermione, as well as Ron and himself, had truly despised Divination, the study of the telling of the future.

He turned to a very full envelope, addressed to him the scrawling handwriting of Sirius Black, his godfather.

Sirius had been imprisoned for twelve dark years in the dreadful prison of Azkaban for murders that he did not commit. Although he hadn't been excused for his crimes, for nobody would believe the truth, that Peter Pettigrew had indeed killed 12 Muggles (non-magical people), as well as himself (supposedly), Harry believed him. That was the important part, because Sirius had been the best friend of Harry's parents.

He slit open the envelope and read:

Dear Harry,

I am pleased to wish you a very happy birthday. As you can see, I did not give you a large present this year. Indeed, it is something that you need far more.

As you may know, I recently got a job in the Ministry, and therefore have knowledge of things of which the public is not generally aware. I have managed to secure an interview for you at Hogwarts for several new subjects they are adding to their list of courses.

Harry, don't try for the Defense Against Dark Arts job, you know everyone says it is cursed.

Enclosed is a ticket on the Hogwarts Express for the 15 August. Term begins on September 1, but the teachers must be selected a week or so beforehand. You know the process of getting on the train.

I have also paid for a ticket on The Knight Bus for August 1 (tomorrow), at any time that is convenient for you. When you reach Diagon Alley, I have also paid for the necessary time slot for you to reside at the Leaky Cauldron.

I hope you enjoy this gift.

Sirius

Harry stared at the letter, stunned. He read it through twice more, just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Indeed, he was not. Could he, Harry, mayhap become a Hogwarts professor?

Harry smiled. Good old Sirius, his trustworthy friend and guardian. Sirius always looked out for Harry. Was he ever thankful!

Harry turned to the last envelope sitting upon his bed. He smiled. It was very large, and a sloppy "To Harry" was written across the front. Then, he looked at the next part and smiled. "From You-Know-Who." He was sure that Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper, had not meant to write that. "You-Know-Who" was another name for Lord Voldemort, as was "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." People were still scared about his rise to power, even if that had occurred many years ago, and most yet refused to call him by his true name.

Harry opened it, and read the contents.

Harry,

I don't have a gift to give you, I hope you don't mind too much. Anyhow, I just wanted to wish you a very happy birthday.

Dumbledore showed me the list of people for the new jobs. Only the most select people get even this far. I saw your name and was very excited. There isn't much competition for you. There was one more famous name on there: Alice Oak. I don't know if you've heard of her; she is famous for her work to preserve the good in magic. She fights against the Dark Arts. I'll bet she gets the job. Nobody knows her Dark Magic like she does (I mean that in a good way, Harry)! You don't want that job anyway—you know what everyone says about it.

Anyhow, I hope that you are enjoying your break, and that you get the job. I will see you on the 25 August!

Your friend,

Hagrid

Harry smiled. Hagrid was such a nice guy.

He yawned again, and remembered how tired he was. Tomorrow, he thought, I will be in Diagon Alley.

He crawled into bed, thinking happy thoughts about his next few weeks. How bright they'd be! With that thought, he fell asleep.

"No, no!" Harry moaned. "No, don't do that!"

Harry was having a horrific dream. Hermione was standing by him, with Ron on her other side, and a terrible tiger was pacing in front of them, its yellow eyes gleaming maliciously. Trees surrounded them, and there was nowhere to run. The feline's hungry eyes were fixed upon Hermione. Suddenly, it leapt at her. She screamed in pain. The forest that was surrounding him swallowed her up. The tiger then stared Ron straight in the eyes. Ron seemed fearful, but his tears were for Hermione as he called out her name. He seemed to almost will the tiger to finish him as well. The tiger then pounced at him, taking him down in a bloody mess of razor-sharp claws and ferocious growls. It then turned upon Harry. He could not run; the fear he felt bubbling up from the pit of his stomach paralyzed him. The tiger leapt upon him, too, but it didn't hurt him. It licked his face instead. And then, a sweet, angelic voice began to sing, and the tiger spoke. It said, "Harry, follow your heart, not your head. Heed not what it tells you at times. You shouldn't always trust me. Learn from me, Harry. We could be great." With that, it vanished.

Harry awoke with a cold start. He knew not what to do, so disturbed was he by the nightmare he had just experienced. Drenched in cold sweat, he looked at his clock, which he had enchanted to make the numbers and hands glow.

4:52

He sighed. He knew, with that awful dream still vivid in his mind, he would never fall back to sleep. He decided he might as well make the journey to Diagon Alley now. Why not?

He packed up the few belongings he would need and walked onto the dusty road that the people residing in his community called a street, although it more closely resembled a poorly traversed path. Harry took out his holly wand and held it out. Suddenly, a large, purple, triple-decked bus came rushing towards him at a breakneck speed. He winced as it screeched to a stop right in front of him, the dust it had churned up coating him.

A young man, probably not much older than 20 or so, stepped out. He stood rigidly as he recited his monologue:

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, an—"

"Hang on!" Harry said. "I know all that. I believe that my name is on some sort of list. Sirius Black paid for me—"

"You're 'Arry Potter!" the man said, jumping out in one nimble motion and beginning to pump Harry's hand fervently. "I met you once, you was prob'ly thirteen, an' you got on this 'ere bus, and told us you was Neville. No, you was 'Arry all along!"

Harry stepped back a bit. "Yes, my name is Harry, but I would like to get to Diagon Alley, if you don't mind. May I . . . step aboard?"

"Of course!" Stan stumbled backwards and fell flat on his posterior. "Yes, come in, Mr. Potter!" he managed to stutter while scrambling clumsily for his footing. Finally managing to stand straight, Harry followed the clumsy youth into the bus.

The driver, Ern, looked at him with his owl-like eyes. They were glowing brightly in the dimly lit bus, and the man had a goofy grin pasted on his face. "Hello. Pleased to meet you again." Ern didn't say much; Harry was thankful for that much.

Stan was about to dump Harry's trunk of belongings on the bed closest to the driver's seat, but Harry interjected. "Could I have a bed—on one of the top decks? Alone?"

Stan looked crestfallen.

"I—love the view," Harry managed to quickly fabricate, in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the rather garrulous attendant.

"Stan smiled once more. "O' course, Mr. Potter, as you wish!"

Harry, too, smiled—out of relief. The last time he had been on the Knight Bus, during his third year at Hogwarts, Stan managed to procure a steady glib of words.

Stan led Harry up a steep, wooden staircase to the second deck. It looked just like the first deck, but was without driver or steward. "'Ere you go, Mr. Potter." Stan bowed out. Finally, Harry was alone.

Harry sat heavily upon the bed and sighed. He was so tired, and so pleased with the prospect of a job, that he felt that he had nothing to do but sleep. He lay down upon the bed and sat up again with a jolt when the bus gave a loud crack and began bumping along a busy highway quite far from his humble country abode.

Harry just then remembered the bus's tendency to jump a hundred miles at a time.

It took only a half-hour to finally arrive in London. Harry didn't manage to fall asleep; on the contrary, he was wide-awake by the time the ride was over. He smiled at Stan as he got off (Yes, I'm sure I can handle the trunk), and stepped out into the crowded streets of London.

Harry looked about him, and soon caught sight of the small, battered looking shop called The Leaky Cauldron. Harry crossed the street and entered the shabby building, which was invisible to Muggles.

Tom, the bartender, recognized him immediately.

"Mr. Potter," he said, stepping out from behind his counter. "I'm so pleased to meet you again. You are to stay in room 3. I have taken the liberty of setting it up. If you would like, you could deposit your trunk and the owl cage right here. I will have it brought to your room. Your owl has already arrived." He smiled.

"Thank you, Tom," Harry said. "I think I will go to the Alley now. I will see you for dinner, alright?"

"That's fine." Tom hobbled back over to his counter, where he poured a cup of "Grungles Gin—the Stuff for the Strong" for a stoop-shouldered man in the corner. It let off a suspicious steam, and Harry suspected it wasn't your average liquor.

Harry stopped momentarily. "Actually, I'm going to go get Hedwig. I want her to deliver a few letters for me."

Harry walked up the stairs two at a time. He threw open his door and began opening and closing desk drawers quite noisily. He finally found a piece of parchment and a quill. He scrawled,

Ron and Hermione:

Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at 5:00 tonight, if you can. We can eat dinner and discuss old times. I'll see you then, I hope!

Harry

Harry thrust the letter into Hedwig's rather ruffled-looking beak, and briskly apologized to the bird. "I'm sorry, girl, but I just don't have time. I must get a few things from the Alley." With that, Harry took back off down the stairs, panting slightly. He looked at the other doors. One of them sparkled with a sign enchanted to change color: Don't worry about the room, Tom. I will clean it up later. Alice. Harry reached the bottom quickly. Tom looked back over at him.

"G'bye, Harry. See you later this evening."

"Yes. I'm expecting two people at five. I should be back, but if I'm not, can you just serve them each a drink or two?"

"Don't you worry, Mr. Potter. I'll fix them up right good." Tom went back to tidying his counter.

Harry was absolutely exhausted. He didn't really want to go to the Alley, but he figured he ought to buy anything he would need for the next day or two at least, and then he could rest at his leisure before securing himself a job as a member of the Hogwarts staff.

Harry stepped out of the doorway and onto the crowded sidewalk. He walked around the corner and to a trashcan standing against the wall. He pulled out his wand and tapped a brick in the wall thrice. A small hole appeared, which slowly opened to a doorway large enough for Harry to enter.

He walked into the magical street and looked about him. The wall closed behind him as he took in the magical shops that lay before him.

Shops full of wizarding goods spanned as far as he could see. Other witches, wizards, and magical beings, all dressed in their festive, colorful garb, crowded the narrow alleyway. He walked down the street, reaching into his pocket to take out a list. He managed to pull it out and began to read as he strolled down the street:

1 pint of lizard hearstones

2 new robes of black linen

1 new pointed hat

1 set of black leather boots

1 set of black leather gloves

1 silver cauldron, size 3

1 silver cauldron, size 4 ½

5 cloaks, various colors

2 vials of pig-snout blood

1 cup of dried vogold leaves

½ a dozen bags of freezewort

He didn't care to think what such an extensive list of goods would cost him. Harry stopped in front of a shop: Petterey's Shop of Miscellaneous Goods. He glanced at his list, looked in through the window, and stepped inside.

The shop was abuzz about him. All sorts of oddly dressed people were bustling around, glancing at rather exorbitantly priced goods. There was one little man who was wearing a bright turquoise cloak and purple hat, a tall, homely woman wearing a short-skirted robe (the newest style in the magical world), and a clerk wearing a bright silver cape that swirled about him in a very silky manner. This man was making his way towards Harry right now.

Harry habitually patted down his black bangs to keep his scar from showing. He hated public attention.

"Good afternoon," the man in the silver cloak said in a voice as silky as his cloak. He had a large wart on the end of his nose. Harry also hated warts.

"Hi," Harry replied shortly, looking his list over once more. "I need two silver cauldrons, please."

"What size might you be looking for, sir?"

"A size three and a size four and one half."

"I see. I will be right back. Wait here momentarily, please."

Harry stood, waiting, as the man bustled off to the window display, which was full of cauldrons. Harry grimaced. Most of them were very . . . extravagant, surely more costly than he could afford at the moment. There was only one person even bothering to look at them—

Harry's breath caught in his throat. She's the most exquisite woman I've ever seen, Harry thought to himself.

He didn't even realize that he was staring rudely at the woman. She was turned sideways, and Harry saw some of the most unusual, most extraordinary features he had ever seen.

Harry himself was quite tall, standing somewhere near five foot eleven inches. Even so, this woman was a mere inch or two shorter than he. She was very thin, with a modest bosom but a well-defined waist. Her skin was as white as parchment, and her lips red and somewhat full. Her miniature rendition of a Grecian nose was perfect, and her eyes . . . they were astounding shades of purple and violet, and small gold flecks seemed to bring them to life with a merry sparkle he had never before seen. The woman's hair was a wonderful shade of gold, and fell past her shoulder blades in long, luxurious tresses. Her robes had a V-neck, and fit her lithe body snugly to her golden belt, which had a wide clasp that was set with rubies. It then swept down in a full silk skirt with a short train in the back. The sleeves were also long and sweeping. The sleeves, neck, and skirt were trimmed with gold braid that shimmered in the bright shop lights.

The woman turned quite suddenly and looked at him, her fine face looking directly into his. Something in her eyes flashed at that moment—was it fear? It lasted only a fraction of a second, for by the time it registered in Harry's mind, it was gone. Her eyes appeared to laugh at him. She turned back to the display of ruby-studded golden cauldrons that she was admiring.

The store clerk was making his way back to Harry as well. The man had a cauldron in each hand. "Will that be all?" he inquired in his oily voice.

"Yes," Harry replied. The man turned away to help a more prospective customer. "But—"

"Yes?" the clerk asked in an exasperated tone. He obviously did not believe Harry to be worth his efforts; he had to admit that he looked somewhat shabby in a pair of threadbare denim pants and a faded shirt.

"Well, I was only wondering . . . who is that blonde lady who is standing at the display case, looking at cauldrons?"

The man gazed at him incredulously. "You don't know?" he asked in an astounded undertone.

"No, I must confess that I don't," Harry replied in a meek voice.

"Well, I don't suppose you would, only the most genteel, up-to-date wizards in England know of her, although I can't see why . . . in every other country, she is the female equivalent of Harry Potter himself . . ."

Harry felt his face flush crimson.

"Then again, I suppose Harry Potter might be the reason that she is rather slow at catching on here . . . someday, everyone will realize that she is a much more talented wizard than he . . . she has defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named on at least a half a dozen occasions herself, you know . . ."

"Yes," Harry interrupted exasperatedly, "But who is she?"

"Oh, her name is Alice Oak," the man replied curtly. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, thank you," Harry replied weakly.

At that moment, the wind let out a vicious howl and a tremendous clap of thunder resounded throughout the store. The oil lamps within the shop flickered and went out.

Immediately, the shoppers panicked. Each person toppled over the next in his attempt to squeeze through the doorway. Harry couldn't move; people were nearly trampling him in their eagerness to get out through the door.

A person spoke from the other side of the room—Harry guessed that he was the manager.

"Everyone, please stay calm. One at a time, please. You'll all get out quickly if you follow such advice."

Apparently, one person had managed to retain a grasp upon logic in the hullabaloo. "Lumos," a musical voice commanded. The blonde woman, Alice, was smiling calmly as the lights rekindled themselves.

The people in the building seemed relieved and headed for the door in a much more orderly fashion, the store once more aglow with the golden light of natural fire, the only kind of lighting in the magical community. The manager made his way from behind his counter, nearly bursting with excitement.

"Miss Oak, I'm so pleased to meet you . . . thank you so much, I could have never have done such myself . . ."

Harry looked on in disgust as the man practically drooled all over the poor woman. She was looking at the shop's owner with a skeptical look on her face as well.

"It was—nothing," she muttered out of the corner of her mouth, rushing to join Harry at the end of the exit line.

The line was slowly making its way out and into the rainy weather. Harry was just about to step outside when the woman behind him muttered "Jumping dragons!" in a slightly exasperated voice.

Harry turned around, facing the woman. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She sighed. "Yes, there is. I forgot my wand . . . would you happen to have yours with you?"

Harry realized that she didn't speak with an English accent; she instead spoke like she was from America. He wasn't used to it. He rather enjoyed the sound of her voice just the same. Perhaps he liked her all the more for her different way of speech.

"But—you . . ."

"I rekindled the lanterns?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, you see, some spells are so simple that one eventually doesn't need one's wand to perform such spells anymore. But the spell I need at the moment . . ."

Harry was fumbling with his jean pockets. "Here you go." Harry handed the woman a rather battered looking wand made of holly. It temporarily escaped his notice that the average witch or wizard cannot use the wand of another member of the magical community. However, she accepted it graciously and muttered something that Harry couldn't hear. Harry was about to step out into the rain when she shouted, "Wait!"

Harry froze in the doorway, the rain splattering upon the back of the ragged yet clean sweater he wore over his shirt. She smiled and said in a clearer, stronger voice this time, "Impervius completium!"

Suddenly, Harry didn't feel the rain anymore. He gazed at his clothes and realized that the water wasn't even touching them anymore. Instead, it dripped slowly from them in small rivulets. He looked at her with a look of stunned stupidity on his face, and she smiled. He realized his mouth was open and she began to laugh as he closed it quickly. It rang pleasantly in his ears as he grappled for a conversation topic. Such was unnecessary; she addressed him instead. "Where are you headed?" she asked him with interest.

"The Leaky Cauldron."

"Wonderful, me too. Let's walk there together." She tossed him his wand; he caught it and tucked it back into one of the pockets in his jeans.

"Well, Mr. Potter, why are you here?"

Harry looked at her in confusion. "How did you know who I was?"

She bit her lips and said, "Well—some people you can just tell who they are, right away. I mean, you're in just about every modern textbook."

Harry was instantly reminded of Hermione, who read interminably and knew everything. "Yes, I suppose so. But I've heard that you're in a fair few yourself . . ."

"And I absolutely hate it." She laughed again, then sighed. "I have a horrid convention that I'm supposed to be at tonight, but I think I'll call in ill." She smiled wickedly, displaying glinting white teeth.

Harry said, "You could join me. I'm having a few friends tonight at the Leaky Cauldron. We could all sit and get to know each other."

She smiled. "Yes, I would enjoy that greatly."

They walked on, not a bit wet, as everyone stared at them. Nobody else knew that charm, apparently. How odd, Harry thought.

"How did you know that spell?" Harry asked the young woman escorting him.

"Well, I know a lot of spells that other people just don't seem to know exist," she replied slowly.

Harry smiled roguishly. "Well, you're in for some competition tonight. Hermione knows a good many spells that other people don't seem to know, also."

Alice smirked. "I don't think your Hermione is any competition for me, though she is also nothing to sneeze at."

"How'd you know that?" Harry asked, open-mouthed once more.

She bit her lip again. "I just—know things," she managed lamely.

It was then that Harry saw her necklace.

It was a small crystal orb strung about her neck on a fine gold chain. It wasn't very large, perhaps the size of a marble. A fine, white mist swirled within it.

"A crystal ball," Harry said, reaching out for it. She flinched slightly at his touch, but Harry didn't notice. They both stopped in the middle of the street as Harry stooped low and admired the necklace. People about them in the crowded street attempted to avoid bumping into them, shooting them unappreciative glances for detaining them from their business.

"Yes, I'm—"

"Are you a Seer?" Harry inquired.

"Well, to some extent." She shrugged. "Depends on your definition of the word 'Seer'."

"Can you tell the future?"

"Yes."

Harry lifted his eyes to hers. "Well then, that settles it. You're a Seer."

She smiled again and forced a small laugh. "All right," she said. "I'm a Seer."

"Okay." Harry straightened himself. Suddenly, a cold voice sneered at Harry. "Hey, Harry, who's the girl?"

Harry would know that voice anywhere: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked at Alice. "I'll be right back," he assured her.

She just smiled in response and nodded shortly.

Harry ambled over to Draco, who was standing on the sidewalk, an umbrella over his head. His silvery-blonde hair wasn't wet, but his pale skin looked damp, and his black robes were soaked. Harry and Draco had been enemies of a sort ever since their first day of attendance at Hogwarts. Harry sensed that this meeting would be no friendlier than those in previous years.

"What's the matter, Potter? Who paid the girl to spend the evening with you? You could have done better. Sure, she's fairly attractive, but somewhat plain in her makeup tastes. Only lipstick. What, is she on a budget, too?"

Harry stared Draco squarely in the eyes. "Don't bother her. She's better than the scum you associate with. Besides, your quarrel is not with her, but with me."

Draco smirked. "Oh yeah? Who the hell is she, anyway? What's her name? Or do you even know, Potter?"

A musical voice at Draco's ear whispered, "Hello to you as well, Mr. Malfoy. My name happens to be Alice Oak. I'm very pleased to meet you."

Draco's already pallid face drained slowly of its color until it was almost as white as that of Alice. "I'm pleased to meet you . . ." he stuttered. "I've heard so much about you . . ."

Alice sighed, rolling her violet eyes. "Unfortunately . . . the scourge of fame: too many creepy individuals have the pleasure of learning all about your life."

That hit home. Draco seemed to realize for the first time that neither Harry nor Alice were at all wet. "What happened, Potter?" Draco sneered once more. "Did the two of you fall into a bucket of tar? I wouldn't doubt it, with your coordination skills. Won't it be cute in the headlines, when everyone knows that Potter and Oak have met. They can fight evil forces together. Won't it be sweet?"

"At least we won't make headlines for illegal substances found under our drawing rooms. Hmmm, Alice, let's go." They walked off, leaving Draco stunned once more. It was a well-known fact that Draco's father had been one of Lord Voledmort's closest confidants. After Voldemort fell from power, Lucius Malfoy denied all involvement in Lord Voldemort's evil plan and managed to convince the Ministry that he had been forced into service. However, many people still doubted his integrity and that of the rest of his family.

Once they were a ways down the street, Harry turned to look at Alice. "You don't wear makeup," he said, suddenly remembering what Malfoy had said.

She looked puzzled. "Yes, so? I don't care to look overdone, and my lips are naturally such an unusual color that I needn't wear lipstick of any sort. I would wear one of those popular witch colors, like green or blue, but my friend Lewena said that that would be an absolute pity, to waste such a naturally beautiful color by covering it up. So, I don't wear anything."

"One last thing . . ."

"Yes?" Alice asked, her eyes querying him.

"Well . . ." he hesitated. A wicked smile spread slowly across his face. "You're the Seer. You know my question. Just answer it."

She smiled as well. "Yes, I am trying for the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts. I've heard that you also hope to secure a position there."

They had reached the wall. Harry turned to her and his expression showed that he was plainly stunned. "How did you know?"

"I'm the Seer," she teased. She then said, "I will see you at five." With that, she disappeared.

"Jumping dragons," Harry said. "She knew how to Apparate the whole time." He shook his head in disbelief as he pulled out his wand and tapped the magical brick in the wall.