I'm so, so, so, so, sorry for making you wait that long. I just haven't had any inspiration at all since the holidays began - about a week ago. I actually wrote this chapter before the holidays, but never uploaded it... I don't know why... *shrug*

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it... XD I'm off to the nearest pizzeria to get some takeaway for dinner. When I come back, there better be some reviews in my inbox *threatens you with a virtual knife*


"Oh, yes," Said Luna, "I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry, you're just as sane as I am."

So he truly was going mad.


Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly as he forced himself not to yawn yet again, praying that if he did, Snape's vulture-like eyes wouldn't fall on him. Potions was, by far, the subject Harry hated most at Hogwarts... and was closely followed by Divination, which was, unfortunately, the subject on his time-table right after potions.

Glancing over at Hermione, who was sitting on his right, he noticed she was already pulling out her cauldron and lighting the fire. Blinking a few times, Harry noticed the class was a flurry of movement. Had he missed Snape's-first-speech-of-the-year?

He always had one, a very well composed speech which usually caused Neville to shake in his seat, and the rest of the Gryffindors to glance at each other anxiously. Perhaps that was why Snape did it... And probably, the git practised it in front of the mirror every night for the whole summer.

Where was the overgrown bat anyway?

"Potter, while you may regard yourself as above us, the rest of us certainly regard you as far below us." The cold and vicious voice of Harry's most hated professor. Raising his eyes slowly, Harry noticed a shadow had covered his workplace, and creating that shadow was Snape.

The bat looked uglier than ever. His nose seemed more crooked, and the hair looked greasier, his robes seemed to flow around him even more - much like a bat. Mentally, Harry snorted, imagining Snape as batman.

"I was under the impression that I..." Snape's lip curled with hatred as his eyes roamed Harry's face, before settling on his eyes, "Demanded you to brew 'The Draught of Peace'." Harry was half-tempted to say 'Well, you were under the wrong impression', but under the table, Hermione stomped on his foot, causing Harry to wince slightly.

Without another word, Harry shot Snape a glare of his own, and slammed his own blackened cauldron onto the small fire. Purposefully ignoring Snape, Harry opened his newly bought book and leafed through the pages until he found the right potion.

Almost an hour later, Harry's eyes were drooping more than ever as he stared down at the black goo his potion had become. The vapour was making him sweat a lot, and he was sure a sheen of seat had appeared on his clammy forehead. The smell wasn't helping much either, although it seemed to be the only thing that kept him properly awake.

Sniffing the area above his cauldron, his brows furrowed in confusion as suddenly and inexplicably, hundreds upon hundreds of smells erupted in his nose, sending him into momentary bliss, as his sleep-deprived mind tried to decipher what each sent was. Almost instantly, after he'd had that thought, a long list of ingredients appeared in his mind, all catalogued alphabetically.

Sucking in a breath, at the sudden influx of information, Harry glanced at the clock hanging above the door and realized he didn't have more than five minutes to finish the potion. Then, turning his attention back to the potion, he recoiled slightly when a long formula of numbers, letters and symbols suddenly seemed to appear in his sight. Blinking with shock Harry realized that it was exactly the same formula printed at the top of the page in his text-book.

And then, he suddenly understood the formula. For some inexplicable reason, he was suddenly aware of everything around him. He was aware of the outcast Slytherin at the back of the classroom picking his nose, Snape hovering over Malfoy's shoulder, Hermione tapping her nose as she thought about her next step... He was aware that Sean was about to dip his quill into the inkwell, he was aware that Neville was tapping out a lullaby with his foot. Hell, he was aware of the summer chill drifting from under the door of the potions classroom.

And then, for the next three and thirty six seconds, he worked like a possessed man... perhaps he was possessed, but for some reason, Harry couldn't bring himself to care. And then, as he slipped the last ingredient of the chopping board and into the cauldron, Harry let the knife in his hand clutter onto the wooden tabletop as he slowly leaned back in his chair, breathing somewhat heavily, half with panic, and half with exertion. That... inspiration... was gone, leaving him suddenly empty and exhausted, as if a part of him was missing.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione muttered quietly, cutting through his thoughts like a knife. Harry nodded distantly as he turned of the fire and poured some of his potion into a vial.

"Yeah, I'm all right." He muttered back with a smile, holding back a snort when he saw Ron's cauldron was spitting out something that resembled fireworks. "I'm always all right."

Hermione looked unconvinced, but didn't pursue the topic as she poured her own potion into a vial, which she set down on the table just as Snape called them all to stop.

Glancing around smugly, Harry noticed many students were still trying to cram more herbs into their potions, their arms flailing about helplessly. Comparing his own potion with Hermione's, he noted smugly that their potions had exactly the same shade of blue and seemed to be steaming a little.

Confusion graced Snape's face briefly as he walked by their table, staring at the two of them for a second longer than necessary, before he walked back to his desk, a collection of thirty vials floating behind him.

The bell rang, and instantly, the class burst into a flurry of movement as everyone tried to gather their things, all simultaneously trying to get their cauldrons to the huge sinks to wash them. Harry though, sat in his seat, frozen, as he stared at Snape who was sitting at his desk, already marking the potions. Even Snape of all people had noticed something wrong.

Was something even wrong with him?

The answer was simple, and Harry winced slightly as he caught himself nodding. Perhaps Luna had been wrong after all, he truly was going mad.

...

There was something wrong with Trelawney, and everyone could see it.

Just the way she walked, the way she moved and spoke seemed off. Like she was ill, or distracted, or threatened... or perhaps all three of them. She kept zeroing on Harry, eyes wide, seemingly even larger, due to her large glasses.

Harry grinned at Ron as he pointed down at the 'Daily Dream' textbook, which explained what each dream meant. Distracting himself while Trelawney was hard, but making fun of divination with Ron sort of helped. "See, Ron - there's your dream." He paused as he cleared his throat, preparing to read the small text out, "Flying, whether it'd be on a broom, or without, signifies that one will soon have a fortunate event with a female."

Ron snorted and grabbed the book from Harry, as if to confirm his prophecy. "What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Harry said wagging his eyebrows, "I think that's rather obvious. An event with a girl."

Ron eyed him, "Since when have you been such a pervert?" He said with a chuckle as Harry grinned back, trying to force the drumming which had started up again, out of his head. His answer was cut short however, as suddenly, Trelawney appeared in front of him, head tilted to the side as she stared at Harry, mouth slightly open.

Then suddenly, with a jerk she became rigid, eyes unfocused as she kept staring at Harry. "Professor?" Harry asked cautiously, remembering the last time this had happened to her. And then her eyes started to roll and she started to shake like a schizophrenic. Harry didn't need to look around to realize that the whole class was staring at them, the lack of noise and that familiar prickling feeling at the back of his neck were enough to reassure him of the fact. And then - Professor Trelawney spoke, her voice harsh and sounding like several voices speaking at once - quite unlike her own voice:

"Wake, wake, wake, Master,

Gallifrey is alive.

Run, run, run, Doctor,

Rassilon has arisen."

The whole room was silent, even as Trelawney straightened herself, blinking rapidly and staring around in confusion as she realized she was being stared at.

"Well?" She said strictly, not really sounding as dreamy as usual, "What are all of staring at? Back to work!"

...

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed since Trelawney had spoken the prophecy. Oh, by now... Harry had absolutely no doubt that her prophecies came true, after all the prophecy she had spoken in his third year, about Pettigrew had been fulfilled.

Nevertheless, the more he mulled it over in his mind, the less he understood it. Who was the Master? The Master as in Voldemort? Or a master of a subject... like potions or transfiguration? Or a master as in a master of a House-Elf?

What was Gallifrey? And the Doctor? A doctor was a profession - someone who made others better - but why would a doctor have anything to do with a prophecy? And what about Rassilon? What was that?

Oddly enough, all the names stroke a familiar chord in Harry, as if he'd heard them a long, long time ago. In another life. He could never picture any of the people the names belonged to... Or rather, he often saw a large amount of faces, all thrown together.

Frowning, he reached out with his hand almost automatically, as he felt for the door of the Room of Requirement.

They, Dumbledore's Army, had started training there just about a week ago, when Hermione had managed to find a considerable amount of people willing to meet up to discuss everything. At first, Harry had felt anxious about teaching others. He didn't really like children that much, to him, they were to innocent. They hadn't seen the horrors outside of the walls of their house and the walls of Hogwarts, they hadn't seen the suffering, or the cruelty. And perhaps, Harry thought sighing to himself, as he pushed the doors open, it is better if they don't know.

Everyone was at Hogsmead, and for once, Harry had decided not to come. He couldn't stand all that cheerfulness, not while the drumming inside his head got worse and worse. He couldn't stand everyone being so cheerful, while he suffered from the horrors he had had to survive. In a way though, he was grateful that he had lived through so much. Sometimes he wished he stayed naive, but he wanted to face the world with open eyes.

He was shaken out of his thoughts, however, when instead of entering the room he'd come used to seeing, he saw a cavernous room, filled to the brim with objects.

Just about five days ago, he'd come to the room during the night, wishing for a peaceful room in which he could relax and enjoy the few hours he had a day without headaches. The Room of Requirement had outdone herself, and had given him a large field.

The grass had been red, a darker colour than blood, and softer than any grass he'd ever touched. Softer even than the Dursley's grass. The sky had been a mixture of colours, some of which Harry didn't even know the name of. And up in that magical sky, two suns shone, lighting up the field, and the majestic mountains Harry could always see on the horizon.

But now, instead of seeing that magnificent place, which Harry had named 'Freya', the Room of Requirement had created a cavernous room, filled to the brim with objects. There were piles and piles of things stacked upon each other, rising so high up into the ceiling, Harry couldn't see some of the things at the top, due to the lack of light. There were a couple of windows, which Harry thought was odd, because technically, the Room of Requirement didn't touch any outer walls of the castle.

Harry slowly stepped forward, careful not to step on anything, and slowly started making his way down the crooked path between the piles of things.


Thank you for reading that incredibly short chapter - and I'm sorry for it's shortness... ...

Anyway, I hope everyone's enjoying their holidays!

Oooh, I have a question! I have a whole plot figured out and stuff... But do you want Jack to come in? This story is going to be with Clara and 11, but... should I throw Jack in?