Chapter 6- Reading the signs

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Sirius couldn't say the years he'd spent learning Divination were completely worthless. After all, he'd made quite a few galleons the previous summer during his brief stint as a fortune-teller. One night in a pub, he'd met a gypsy-looking bloke who had been impressed by his playful reading of an attractive barmaid's palm. Right then and there, Mihai Cioaba invited him to do some travelling. Drunk enough to dare anything, Sirius happily agreed.

Sadly, the unique blend of camaraderie and commerce hadn't lasted over a fortnight. Mihai had been sad to ask him to leave, but his daughter Rosina was casting her eyes his way, and Papa had plans to betroth her to a well-to-do Traveller named Florin.

Those memories became vivid as Sirius looked around the chamber at the top of the Divination Tower. Some of the fabrics and fringe reminded him of the Travellers' Caravans. It was the bright colours. The incense wafting about smelt familiar too.

"May I read your palm, Sirius?" asked Jane Weston.

Jane also reminded him of the Travellers. She was too like Rosina for comfort, giving him doe-eyed looks and always following him around. Since his classmate knew he wasn't hard of hearing, he couldn't pretend not to hear her like he had Rosina. Instead, he nodded after shooting daggers at his worm-brained friend. One smile from Felicity Bingley and Peter eagerly agreed to sit at their table. Sirius regretted the quixotic impulse to take the class to support his roommate. Sighing heavily, he held out his hand.

"Oh! Your skin is smooth. I'd expected it to be rougher."

He shrugged. It had been over a week since his first detention. Did she think one day of grueling manual labour would cause lasting calluses? Perhaps it might have, if he hadn't gone to the infirmary right off. Madam Pomfrey was brusque and frowned over his 'shenanigans', but she'd used the cream usually reserved for staff and handed him a special soap to neutralise the odours of rotted food.

"I should be better at this after years of practise, but I'll do my best. Let's take a look at your lines…"

Jane's cheeks were pink as she bent over his hand. He glanced over at Felicity. There was no such blush on her cheeks as she held his mate's podgy hand. In fact, there was a wrinkle over her dainty nose. Had Peter not washed his hands after lunch? Did he smell of purple onions?

"Why are you smiling? I just told you your Line of Life is short!"

The poor thing sounded distressed. Did she believe in this hocus-pocus? Sirius wished Peter had done the reading. He became increasingly restive while she pored over his hand as if it was the Rosetta stone. Was she afraid he'd never ask her to Hogsmeade if she foretold a dismal future? Since he never planned to, she might as well spit it out.

Jane cried, "Professor! Would you help us please?"

Jeremy Edwards strolled over. The Divination professor had a calm smile girls admired as much as his handsome features and blue eyes. "Tell me where you're having difficulty, Miss Weston."

"His Line of Life is so short…I couldn't help studying the Line of Mercury and the Health Line… I wanted to find evidence that determination and strength enable him to overcome difficult moments, but…I can't find anything!"

The wizard, seemingly unaware of the hush in classroom, stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Have you made a careful study of both hands?"

"No."

Addressing all the students, Edwards said, "It happens from time to time that someone will have one hand with good characteristics and a well defined Line of Life while the other is lacking. Miss Weston has correctly studied Mr. Black's left hand, the one that portends in most cases. Now the right must be studied, for it confirms or mitigates the left's prediction."

He smiled reassuringly at Sirius. "May I?"

"Sure."

Professor Edwards knelt to study the boy's palms. He glanced up and said in a hushed undertone, "I refuse to pronounce dire fates for my students, Mr. Black. Kindly do not refute my words." The man stood and addressed the class, "Mr. Black's Emotional Line is born in the Mount of Jupiter. Therefore, he is highly ambitious and knows instinctively how to take advantage of life's opportunities. Combined with the Life Line, such a portent merely indicates a life that will be ruled by emotions for short periods of time." Shaking his finger, he admonished with a smile, "Watch your temper, Mr. Black."

While the rest of the class laughed and turned their attention back to their own palm readings, Jane said, "I'm so sorry."

Sirius waved a hand airily. "Don't be, although I was startled to hear I've got a temper. I think of myself as such an easy-going bloke."

"Oh you are, you are," she said earnestly.

He tried not to laugh. The girl didn't know him at all. On his other side, Peter snickered. "Easy-going when you get your way."

He gave a bark of laughter. "Is that too much to ask?" Peter's snorting laugh reminded him of the pigs they'd borrowed for the prank and set him off. Only the sound of the professor clearing his throat quieted the boys' mirth.

"See, you laugh at yourself. That proves you're a nice person," declared Jane.

"He laughs at everyone," said Peter. "Does that make Sirius the nicest bloke at Hogwarts?"

"Ha! Good one." Sirius saluted his friend, smiled at Felicity, who was watching with a slight frown- she'd have a permanent wrinkle over her nose soon- and turned to Jane. Treating her like a customer who didn't have enough money to make a prolonged reading worthwhile, he said briskly, "Let's see what your palm reveals."

Her skin was clammy. His brother Regulus always had clammy hands. Sirius had tried to get the boy to play outside, improve his circulation, but Reggie had always tugged his hand away. He hated to get dirty and sweaty. He'd rather read a book on a window seat, watching his brother play pirates with an imaginary crew. Sirius grinned. They'd been the best hearties a captain could have, spreading mayhem across the seven seas, but it would've been nice to have his brother as first mate.

"What do you see that makes you smile like that?"

To cover up his inattention, Sirius traced the line that started between her thumb and index finger and curved around the Mound of Venus with a fingertip. "Your Life Line is well formed. There are no crosses or breaks, not even small ones. Furthermore, not a stain mars your skin. Therefore, your life will be long and filled with serenity and peace."

"Really?"

"It's as good a premonition as any," he answered with a straight face. Sirius kept his composure, fighting the urge to smile at her naive faith in what amounted to no more than fancy superstition. He didn't want her to think he was making fun of her…and he really didn't want Jane to think he was interested in anything more than casual friendship.

At the end of class, the professor asked Sirius to wait when the others began to climb down the ladder. Once they were alone, the wizard shook his head sombrely. "I've never seen Life Lines as short as yours without any other signs to mitigate the negative prognosis. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not dead yet, Professor."

"That's an admirable attitude," Edwards praised before saying, "You have a natural bent toward Divination, Mr. Black, although your scepticism impedes your gift. If you ever become interested in contacting those who have crossed over, let me know."

"Thanks, but I see enough dead people with the ghosts around here."

The professor's smile was one of patient amusement. "I speak of those on the other side of the veil." His gaze was earnest as he continued, "My gift manifested when I was around your age, so if you begin to hear otherworldly voices whispering in the still of night..."

"I'll let you know," Sirius promised before heading toward the ladder. On the way down, he laughed inwardly, thinking, if whispering voices disturb my sleep, I'm going to tell them to shut the hell up.

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Rosmerta had become a rambler. Not the type of person who natters on just to talk- someone who took long, rambling walks. Before now, except for skipping rope, she'd never been keen on exercise. Luckily, her metabolism was high enough to accommodate her appetite, so her first ramble had been for something besides health benefits.

She'd wanted a brief escape. Taking a walk was her way of taking a break from the mounting stress of juggling her father's care with running the pub. It had come as a surprise how much she enjoyed the activity. Once she'd walked through the village and into the forest, the peace and tranquillity of her surroundings had soothed her troubled spirit.

In the weeks since then, Rosmerta had climbed hills to enjoy panoramic views, walked along the banks of lochs, and followed narrow trails into the ancient Forbidden Forest. More and more, however, she'd begun walking the path to Hogwarts. She'd told herself it was a smooth, easy route, that she was nostalgic to see old sights, and she didn't actually walk to the gates themselves. She turned around long before anyone at the school could see her, even with omnioculars. The little voice in the back of her mind thought otherwise.

Hoping a naughty student will be skiving off, are you?

No, of course she didn't hope to run into anyone! She liked her solitude. She did. The only times Rosmerta enjoyed company was during the times she ran into Hamish MacInnes and his Wizard Scout troop on tracks near the village. The boys were so cute, singing cadence as they marched in their uniforms. Hamish had a pleasant voice, and looked quite fanciable in short trousers.

When she shared the opinion with Fiona, the woman listened in disbelief before demanding, "Are you taking the mickey?"

"No," she replied calmly, watching a cherry drink be consumed as if it was 100 proof.

"He's a beanpole. It's inconceivable that he's got anything but stork legs!"

Trying not to laugh, Rosmerta shook her head. "He's rangy, but our Hamish has very nice, muscular legs. Bit of a tan, too."

"Humph. I don't believe you. I've passed his group loads of times and never noticed his legs once."

"Maybe you weren't looking."

Fiona seemed struck by the thought and nodded before her considering expression narrowed. "Does that mean you were looking?"

Hiding a smile, Rosmerta replied lightly, "Only in an impersonal, 'enjoying the scenery' way."

"Oh." Lips curving, Fiona teased, "I get it. You only go for the bad boy on a motorbike type."

Snapping her bar towel at the other woman, she shot back, "I like him off the bike, too." Laughing with a mate about men felt good. It was a welcome change from crying. She heard Fiona ask her favourite question and admitted, "No, I haven't read any book, good or bad, since the one I bought a week ago."

"Over a week ago, and..."

"I stand corrected, and I'll be in tomorrow to spend hard-earned galleons on romance novels," said Rosmerta, to head off a scold. It was amusing to hear Fiona chide others for neglecting to buy a book, but for some reason, she felt too prickly to be on the receiving end.

Later that night, when Dorrie had headed back to her cottage and Rosmerta began casting deep cleaning spells, a memory surfaced. Polishing the wood of the bar, she gazed down at the reflective surface and remembered…

Professor Sprout looked up from the delicate plant she was tending and said, "What fertiliser do you suggest I use? Dragon dung or Bladderwort?"

Rosmerta smiled as she walked further into the greenhouse. "Since that's a Marisko orchid, why not use Norwegian kelp?"

"Ah, so you actually read the book I assigned on the plants of Norway. It's been over a week since you failed to turn in your essay, so I did wonder."

"I finished it, but not on time."

"And I do not accept late work," Sprout said with a kind but firm smile.

"I'm sorry, professor."

Completing her ministrations to the orchid, Sprout set it aside and pulled off her gloves, dark eyes sombre. "I am sorry to see such a promising student fail to live up to her potential. You have become inattentive in class and failed to complete the last three major assignments." Reaching up a hand to adjust her patchwork hat in a gesture that revealed her discomfort, the Head of Hufflepuff warned, "If your performance does not sharply improve during the last few weeks of term, I will be left with no option but to withdraw you from my seventh year class."

It was funny how a word or phrase triggered memories. Fiona's reproach had reminded her of Sprout's. Years had passed, but she still felt regret and shame over disappointing the professor who had always counselled and encouraged her. Heading toward the kitchen to put a kettle on, Rosmerta sighed. She couldn't change the past. All she could do was try not to make the same mistakes in the future. As she engaged the heating charm on the Aga, she thought of a young man who appealed on so many levels and sighed again. It wasn't going to be easy.

"Ros?"

Looking up, although he would only be able to hear her, she called, "Coming, Da!"

Swiftly, she assembled a tea tray and carried it upstairs. Her father was washing his hands in a basin floating over the bed. Rosmerta asked, "Can I help you empty that…or anything else?"

The pitcher that had been pouring water abruptly righted and zoomed over to a table. The dry washbasin followed. "My wand may have broken in the fall, but I am still capable of wandless magic. I don't need you to empty a basin or a bedpan, daughter." Chagrined, she nodded and set the tea tray down on the table beside the bed. He declined a biscuit, but accepted a cup of tea with a slight smile. "How did the till jingle tonight?"

The question evoked images of a little girl awakened by a father's goodnight kiss. Sleepily, she would ask that question. Blinking back happy tears that he remembered, Rosmerta gave the same answer Da used to give, "Like a goblin at Gringotts."

A quiet huff of laughter broke the silence. "How old were you when you realised it was the galleons in their pockets and not the goblins themselves that jingled?"

"Not that old," she demurred.

"You were nine, I believe."

"If you knew, why did you ask?"

Her cheeky tone earned a smile. "I wanted to see if you would admit it." The man's smile faded. "Your motherwas like that. She refused to admit anything that would make her seem less than perfect."

"I admit when I'm wrong, Dad."

He visibly shook off ill humour. "I know you do." After drinking his tea, he said, "I'm not sleepy, so if you want to go over the books…"

She was tired, but didn't want her dad to slip into one of his dark moods. "I'll clear away the tea things and be right back."

Picking up his book on the history of Ogden's Finest, he said wryly, "I'll be waiting."

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Sirius was tired of playing the penitent. Had one trifling episode really merited three weeks of detention? It was a few pigs, for Merlin's sake! If he wasn't sure protesting would get his Hogsmeade Weekend privileges revoked, Sirius would've pleaded his case to the Headmaster.

"Stop your wool-gathering and keep scrubbing."

Contenting himself with the mental image of hitting Filch in the face with a sopping sponge, the boy dutifully began scouring another cauldron.

"That stomach solution smells like what it's supposed to prevent, don't it?"

Only thoughts of walking into the Broomsticks and walking out with a dinner invitation kept Sirius from snidely correcting the Squib's grammar. He continued scrubbing.

"Not feeling queasy, are you? I've heard pure-bloods have delicate constitutions, what with all that intermarrying."

Coming from someone who had probably hatched like a reptile, the accusation of inbreeding didn't sting much. So what if his parents were third cousins? Sirius was grateful they hadn't been first…he didn't need any extra digits.

Filch kicked the cauldron, causing water to soak the front of Sirius' robes. "Speak up, boy, are you pure-bloods inbred or not?"

He really shouldn't answer…but the thought of his mates' faces when he told them the story later made him say, "Well, my father is his own grandpa."

"What?"

Nodding solemnly, Sirius began, "When my father was twenty-three, he married a widow with a grown daughter. My grandfather married her, and became my father's son-in-law, while my father's daughter became his mother, since she was his father's wife."

"But…how…"

"It will all become clear," he assured before continuing, "My father had me, a boy, who became a brother-in-law to my grandfather and an uncle to my dear old dad. This made him sad, because if I was his uncle, then that made him brother to the widow's grown daughter, who naturally was his step-mother."

The caretaker's brow furrowed with the effort to comprehend. "And your father became his own grandpa because…"

"Because my grandfather's wife had a son, who became father's grandchild, since the boy's mother was Dad's daughter."

"So your father's wife was his mother's mother…"

Sirius threw out his hands. "Yes! My father is husband to his own grandmother, so…"

"He's his own grandpa!" Shaking his head in disgust, Filch backed away. "You pure-bloods are even more vile and despicable than I'd thought! Clear this mess and get back to your house."

Once he was alone, Sirius began humming the tune that had tickled him when he'd heard it in a pub. The bloke who performed had been happy to write the lyrics down on back of a menu, explaining he hadn't written them--he thought it was some Yanks from a band called The Grateful Dead. Feeling extremely grateful to be alone, Sirius pulled out his wand and began casting spells as fast as he could. Soon, every cauldron was clean and he was on his way back to Gryffindor.

"Finished with detention already, Black?"

Sirius looked up to see the Head Girl descending the Dungeon steps with a Hufflepuff prefect. He drawled, "Stating the obvious, Evans?"

The redhead's lips turned down. "I suppose you think you're funny."

Directing his charm at the girl who appreciated it, he winked at the Hufflepuff. "I aim to amuse."

She giggled. Evans snapped, "Your aim is off." Pointing imperiously, she ordered, "Return to the house, it's after curfew."

"Yes, ma'am!"

While the girls continued down to patrol the dungeon corridors, Sirius climbed the stairs with a rebellious smirk on his face. He didn't feel like going back to Gryffindor. He was going to take a run and see if Rosmerta was still feeding strays.

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A/N: I had to say "he thought it was some Yanks from a band called The Grateful Dead" because although many people (including me) may have thought that, it was actually some country band Lonzo and Oscar. Thanks to turtlestooth for letting me know! I've heard Sirius described as a contrarian, and while I don't think he's easy to manipulate with reverse psychology, I do think he has a very negative reaction to being told what to do. Can anyone blame him? The amazing readers whose reviews I blame for making me smile so much people think I'm up to no good, lol, are...…♥ 40/16♥ alix33 ♥ armygundamgirl ♥ Carnivalgirl ♥ cupcakeswirl ♥ Distempered ♥ dragonrider HP ♥ ElspethBates ♥ Emmas Padawan♥ FNP ♥ GraceRichie♥ honeymufins ♥ Hurley's Belial ♥ ishandtwofourths ♥ Machiavelli Jr♥ MollyCoddles ♥ NazgulGirl♥ petiteloupegarou ♥ RahNee♥ rt♥ and♥ sunny9847 ♥