"Charms," said professor Flitwick dreamily, "are a spells in a branch of magic that allows for a high versatility in the uses of its spells. Whilst for though other branches of limit are specialise themselves to deal with specific forms of spells or knowledge. Charms often encompass a wide variety of effects and spell types." His large eyes gazed past the students in his Charms class, as if he were witnessing some sort of mysterious truth that laid hidden within the wide classroom.

He had come to enjoy the professor's enthusiastic teaching style, even if over the first weeks of term they had only been studying the theory which underpinned the subject. Even though almost none of the other students seemed to share his opinion, judging by their reactions to explanations of the theory in class.

Perhaps, reading about Charms theory in advance over the summer had been a mistake. The class material was undeniably interesting, but Harry had already started practicing a few of the starting spells of the curriculum in his spare time. It had been exciting to practice some of the beginner spells in their textbook after understanding the theory, particularly after he had managed to get one of his books to levitate with wingardium leviosa after only a few tries. He'd have to start studying from the second year books if he progressed too far, but even that hadn't managed to hamper down his excitement.

Harry couldn't hep but wonder the type of things he could achieve if he was to use certain spells together with some of other branches of magic. What type of things could be done if he used the correct charms with, for example, transfiguration? How much versatility was there, and how useful could they be? How creative could one be with charms?

The thought alone had made his heart race. The material they had been covering had been fascinating, and even classes like Herbology been interesting, if to a degree, and he had the chance to study and learn things he had never been able to read on before. Useful things that went beyond just studying divination, as much as he understood the need for him to focus on it.

A Hufflepuff student groaned from the other side of the room, though didn't quite manage to silence the sound completely. Professor Flitwick didn't notice, and instead turned towards the blackboard and stood on a pile of books in order to start writing notes that Harry half forced himself to focus on. He was too distracted for that, and none of the theory underpinning the interesting subject was quite managing to make him concentrate on professor Flitwick's lecture.

His mind felt fuzzy, weighed down by too many thoughts. Something that wasn't helped by the absence of Stebbins' throughout the week, ever since he had been allowed leave by headmaster Dumbledore to attend his father's funeral, after receiving that letter. This last week had been—

Harry clenched his fists and let out a shaky breath. Turning away from the blackboard to look at the views of the black lake offered through the open windows.

He felt overwhelmed, even though he wasn't finding any problems with the course materials.

He had barely been able to sleep in the past week. He hadn't been able to have a single dreamless night, and most of the dreams he had seen had made him restless with the violence he had seen.

Harry didn't know what to do. There were dark bags under his eyes, and he hadn't been able to pay too much attention in class. Sure, he had been able to take all of the notes he needed and complete the essays he had been given, but he had been too distracted. His mind had been all too fuzzy. Too filled with images of what he had seen all that time back about Stebbins' father.

He couldn't concentrate, not at all, and the thought alone of the fact that he had seen the death of his dorm mate's father was enough to send Harry's heat racing, and it was made only worse by how he hadn't heard anything about what had happened.

Only professor Riddle had seemed to know, having called Stebbins to his office on the very day his dorm mate had received the letter. Judging by the rumors that Avery had been retelling over the week, however, it was clear that not a single one of his housemates knew the specifics of how Stebbins' father had died. Just that he had a week ago.

Aside from hat, he hadn't heard anything else aside from the few rumours that were floating around Slytherin. Nothing. No students talking about Daily Prophet reports, no nothing… There hadn't even been an article about a fight taking place near Diagon Alley, and if it hadn't been for his dream, Harry wouldn't even have known that there had been a fight. Let alone a death.

Professor Flitwick turned again towards the class, and Harry felt his back straighten automatically, the action of the professor somewhat taking him out from his thoughts, though not managing to completely. Harry looked at the now word-covered blackboard and quickly started writing again on the piece of parchment he had brought for the class. Each phrase was written in a roundish that made them easy to read. When the tiny and eccentric professor resumed his lecture he didn't manage to quite keep up with the speed of it, but managed to write everything down with only some slightly incomplete sections.

"This multiplicity means that, as you have already seen through the theory underlying the foundations of Charms, as well as through the implications of it, it is a field of magic that allows for one to truly apply and cast magic creatively." He was speaking near constantly, voice calm and with a certain tint of excitement within it.

"The only one to truly allow for any wizard or witch to achieve with creativity any desired effect or outcome which they wish to see done. Bar, perhaps, ancient runes, though it is a radically different branch of magic than Charms," professor Flitwick continued. "This reflects in how one has to cast a charm, as well as the wandwork involved in doing so."

The worst thing was, that Dumbledore hadn't said a word to Harry about it yet, and it had terrified him. Harry knew that had made sure to recount all of the detail in his dream to Dumbledore, just like he had been told to by his parents at the start of the year. He had agreed with James, after all.

If anyone could have done anything about his dream that would have been Dumbledore… right? So then why had—

Harry's fists clenched some more at the memory. He felt his nails dig in slightly into the palm of his hand, and he immediately felt a turmoil of emotions bubble up inside of him. Stebbins. Stebbins.

He had almost wanted to cry the day he had realized that Stebbins' father had died all the same. He never cried. Hadn't ever since…

His reaction had been clear enough for James to have even approached him at the Slytherin table the day his dorm mate had received the black ministry letter without Harry explaining anything to him. His reaction had been that clear, and the worried way he had been looking at him…

Harry let out a shaky breath, briefly closing his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. He was in class. He was ahead of the class material now, but if he allowed himself to fall behind…

Having said nothing about the dream didn't mean anything… right? It hadn't mattered with some of the other dreams he had seen, right? It couldn't matter, what could he do about it, after all? Just—

Harry leaned back on the chair, quill still moving despite how his hand was starting to cramp. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the professor once again.

None of the words the professor had been saying had managed to register in his mind, even as he had kept copying the notes on the blackboard. Besides him, Severus and Avery were dutifully copying down the professor's every word, whilst Mulciber, sitting behind him, was just barely managing to do the same. The Hufflepuffs on the other side of the class seemed to be in a slightly worse predicament save for a few that didn't have the looks of distraction that others had.

The door to the classroom suddenly was opened with a loud creak, and Harry immediately found himself glancing up as a determined face peaked through the door of the first year Charms class.

"Excuse me, professor Flitwick?" Harry recognised the Gryffindor student immediately. Frank Longbottom. A distinctive badge could be seen on his robes.

The brown-haired Gryffindor was impossible to not recognize, not with his distinctive features. Harry could recognize him from one of the few formal events he had been taken to by his father, he remembered. He had been one of the prefects guiding Gryffindors to their common room, as well as one of the first to have welcomed them into the house throughout the sorting. He seemed nothing short of friendly, though Harry couldn't say that he had ever interacted with him. The only things he knew about the Longbottom heir came through things James, who kept more contact with him despite the age difference, told him.

He didn't seem too weary of interrupting the Charms class.

Professor Flitwick stopped in the middle of his lecture, turning to look at the older student with surprise and a kind smile on his lips before asking him about the reason for the interruption. Mulciber, who had been sitting behind him, sighed with boredom whilst Avery altered his sitting position. Regardless, not a single Slytherin spoke, even as they all gazed at the Gryffindor prefect with curiosity.

The Gryffindor entered the classroom somewhat calmly, and a few seconds of silence followed before he answered Flitwick's question. He seemed somewhat cowered despite his height, Harry noticed, creating the illusion of being shorter than he was. "Professor McGonnagal told me to get Harry Potter from the Charms classroom, sir. She said that he was to go to the Headmaster's office immediately."

Harry's heart froze, could it…? The eyes of the rest of the class turned to look at him, and Severus and Mulciber looked at him with unconcealed worry.

"Thank you Mr. Longbottom," professor Flitwick nodded, before looking expectantly at his class for the mentioned student. "Mr. Potter?"

Harry's necks napped around at the mention of his name, nodding silently before immediately starting to pack his books and notes quickly. He felt his hand tremble as he finished and rose from his seat. His insides were swirling with confusion, unease, and curiosity. He hadn't done anything wrong, at least nothing that would merit seeing the headmaster, so it could only be about the dream he had written to Dumbledore about. Why wait this long, however? A week had already passed since—

"The homework is three inches on versatile and uses of Charms, together with examples of spells. Please don't forget, Mr. Potter." Flitwick called as Harry neared the door.

Harry nodded in silent acknowledgement, feeling the stares of the rest of the class on him before exiting the room with Frank Longbottom. His mind swirling with the potential possibilities and reasons behind the unexpected and late meeting.

They had taken no more than five steps outside of the classroom before Frank Longbottom quickened his pace and started striding down the empty hallway. They soon reached a staircase at the left side of the end of the hallway. It was steep, and Harry knew from past experience that this one went down through several floors, all the way to the second one.

The silence was deafening, and Harry wasn't sure what to think of it. Only the sound of their steps reverberated within the different hallways, and Harry swore he could practically feel the infinite progression of the clack, clack, clacks of their steps almost echoing in his mind. Frank Longbottom didn't say anything to break the silence, and Harry's trepidation and unease started giving way to a more natural curiosity. Questions started burning in his mind, bringing with them a certain boldness that Harry was slightly familiar with.

The prefect could know why he was being called to see the headmaster. Besides that, Harry could still remember the words of Lucius Malfoy, the Slytherin head boy, at the beginning of the year. Any meeting they had to have with the headmaster would always be announced through their head of house and prefects, so why was it a Gryffindor one that had announced it, with the purpose of having the Gryffindor head of house take him to professor Dumbledore's office. Harry gazed up, really gazed up, looked at the Gryffindor prefect, and—

"Professor McGonnagal didn't say why the headmaster wanted to see you, Potter," the Gryffindor prefect suddenly said. He turned to look at Harry briefly, and he was able to tell with just a glance that the Gryffindor prefect was as in the dark as he was.

Harry contained a sigh and looked down at the stone floor of the floors as they advanced through another hall way and turned left. Lucius had been perfectly clear at the beginning of the year. It was professor Riddle that organized and took care of Slytherins who had to meet with the headmaster, as well as of any issue that belonged to the house. He was their head of house, after all, and even if he didn't dislike professor McGonnagal…

"It is the head of each house that takes care of meetings with the headmaster, right?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure he was correct.

Longbottom seemed too top and think about the question, and nodded after a few seconds had gone by. "I am as in the dark as you are, Potter."

Harry nodded, and continued following the Gryffindor prefect as they strode down the hallway. They'd soon get to McGonnagal's office, and after that it'd be a walk to Dumbledore's.

McGonnagal… He had first thought, ever since seeing her on the first day, that she was quite stern and unapproachable. She had definitely looked like it when she had guided them to the Great Hall for the sorting.

She had turned out to be slightly different, at least from what he could tell from Transfiguration lessons. She was stern, yes, though she also was surprisingly kind and approachable. Not just a good teacher, but also fair. Quite different from most of the other teachers, and only professor Riddle stood as a better one in Harry's mind.

Professor Riddle's no-nonsense yet easygoing style of teaching had made the Defence classes immediately stand out. The theory behind the class had been fascinating to learn about, and Harry was sure that the professor was the sort of person that could probably make anything interesting. There were stories, and he didn't doubt them, about the Slytherin head of house being quite strict. He was fair in class, however, and according to what he had overheard from older Slytherins he was nothing but helpful to the students in his house.

He knew that James had a bad feeling about him, despite admitting that he thought he was a great Defence teacher. Having seen how quickly the Slytherin head of house had made sure to meet with Stebbins in his office, however… Harry didn't know what to really think, if he was completely honest. Even though he knew what his twin would think if he were to share his thoughts. His dorm mate had been teary for only a few minutes before being taken by professor Riddle to his office. He still had been afterwards, but Harry had been able to tell how much calmer the other Slytherin had been.

Professor Riddle couldn't be as simple as his parents and brother made him out to be, surely. He was complex, and probably far more than what he knew he imagined. Even despite having seen hints to such a complexity with his slightly basic knowledge of face-reading.

Longbottom came to a sudden halt, and Harry nearly walked into him after the other boy's sudden stop.

They had reached McGonnagal's office. The Gryffindor prefect knocked twice and didn't move until a soft 'come in' was heard from the inside.

A loud creak announced their presence to the Gryffindor head of house as he then opened the door, leading Harry into a bright and warm-looking office. A few bookshelves lined the walls, though none of the furniture looked particularly remarkable or outstanding. There was a somewhat relaxing atmosphere inside of the office, and the warm atmosphere relaxed Harry slightly.

"I've brought Harry Potter, professor McGonnagal," he said with a confident voice. Harry maintained a neutral expression.

The professor smiled kindly and nodded. "Very well, Mr. Longbottom. You may now return to class."

Frank Longbottom nodded, and immediately turned so he could start leaving the room. McGonnagal's eyes followed him, and it was only then, when Harry looked around the warm-looking, that he came to finally notice the other student that was in the office.

Harry's eyes widened. James.

So they were going to talk about the dream he had dreamt, and how Stebbins' father had still died.

McGonnagal looked at both of of them for a few seconds before standing up."Now, gentlemen, I believe Headmaster Dumbledore wanted to talk with both of you," McGonnagal said with that same calm and kind voice. "If you could follow me."

James' snapped around at his head of house, looking surprised, and Harry turned to look back at professor McGonnagal. He clenched his fists, not being able to stop anger as it bubbled inside him.

Why had it taken so long?

OoO

"Ah, Harry, James. Good afternoon, sit down," professor Dumbledore smiled, gesturing towards to chairs in front of his desk. His eyes seemed to be glinting in the midday sun, making the man seem nothing if not genial and kind at a first glance.

Harry nodded, and quickly went to sit down on the chair as James nervously did the same. He immediately glanced up as soon as he had, looking the headmaster's office curiously.

Of all of the teacher's offices Harry had seen so far, even though they admittedly weren't many, Dumbledore's seemed by far the most interesting, even if looking overly cluttered.

It was a large and somewhat beautiful circular room, full of little noises. There were a number of curious silver instruments standing on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting small puffs of smoke. At the centre of the room was an enormous desk, and, sitting on a shelf besides it, an old-looking brown wizard's hat — the Sorting Hat. Close to it was a tall fireplace of marble and stone, a small fire burning within it.

Bright light fell into the room through the many windows of the room, illuminating the shades of red that seemed most common within it. Tall bookshelves stood in the spaces of the circular room without windows, and Harry didn't have a doubt that it probably was an incredible collection. A phoenix was perched on a stand at a side of the room, relatively close to Dumbledore, which James had seemed to be fascinated by the minute they had followed McGonnagal into the office. It was a beautiful bird, Harry had to admit, with bright red, orange, and yellow feathers.

Directly opposite to it, between two particularly large bookshelves, was a tall basin-like recipient that made Harry's eyes widen as he recognized it. A pensive. Almost identical to the illustration he had seen in 'Scrying and Divination: Separating Myth from Reality'. The book hadn't been too detailed as to their use, though Harry thought he understood the basics. They were used to see again whichever memories the user wished to, though were, apparently, quite rare to see.

The walls around the room were covered with the portraits old headmasters and headmistresses, most of whom seemed to be sleeping. One of them was hanging from the wall directly behind the huge desk. Its occupant seemed awake, and was gazing silently at both Harry and James. The name beneath it seemed somewhat worn out, though harry could just barely make it out, 'Armando Dippet'. The man in the painting looked disapproving, at least judging by the way the corners of his mouth were turned, and Harry couldn't help but think that he already knew what the headmaster would talk to them about. The look in his eyes was unmistakable, and seemed to have hints at many different emotions.

Could a painting really do such a thing?

Harry closed his eyes. He couldn't help but feel slightly intimidated, truth be told.

The room, though beautiful and undeniably interesting, seemed almost too bright, too tall. It seemed radically different from the Slytherin common room and dorms, and as he looked around with curiosity, Harry couldn't help but realise just how comfortable he had grown with the Slytherin dungeons and the wide views into the black lake. Just how used he had grown to seeing and relaxing around subdued greens, blacks, and silvers.

The turmoil of emotions that had been distracting him over the morning and throughout the past week had subdued slightly. He would finally know. Finally get to understand why what he had seen had still happened, and why Dumbledore hadn't prevented it.

Even the anger he had felt at McGonnagal's office had subdued slightly. Morphing itself into something closer to curiosity.

There had to be an explanation, something logical, and whatever it was, once Harry knew, he was certain that he'd be able to continue going on through the week calmer than he was. The week wouldn't be as unbearably long as this one had been, and he wouldn't be as sheerly overwhelmed as he had been feeling.

He had been confused at the amount of time it had taken for the headmaster to talk to him. Frustrated at how a week had gone by with nothing being heard. Despite his frustration, however, he couldn't help but lighten up slightly at the sight of the headmaster. He could still remember the words he had told him so long ago, when he had first seen and prophesied Abraxas Malfoy's death. How he had calmed his parents and helped him come to terms with his gift. The reassuring and unassuming way he had looked at Harry even whilst he himself could barely muster a word.

"Don't fear your dreams, no matter what you see or what people may say, Harry, and no matter how great a responsibility it seems. It is our choices, Harry, that show us what we truly are far more than our abilities. What happened to Abraxas had nothing to do with your dream, even if you already knew it would happen."

"Professor Dumbledore, you wanted to see us?" Harry said, doing his best to keep a respectful tone.

His mind went back to the lessons his mother had given him on etiquette. To the grace that he had seen Lucius Malfoy along with other purebloods, in particular, display in their interactions. He didn't want to accidentally insult the headmaster, and he still felt too overwhelmed from the week to be able to act in any other way. Too conscious of the fact that it had been—

"We're not in trouble, aren't we?" came James' sudden voice. He had looked scared at McGonnagal's office, as if he had been awaiting some sort of punishment for something, and still looked nervous now. Worried.

Dumbledore shook his head, smiling. The same kind glint still in his eyes was still in his eyes. "Of course not, there's no need to worry, my boy. Nothing wrong has happened," Dumbledore said. James' expression brightened visibly at the words. "I'm sure you've been enjoying your time at Hogwarts so far?"

"Of course! I—," James openly grinned, seeming to leave his worries behind. "It's been even better than that I imagined." His twin looked a bit bashful, and looked at Harry. His expression was as bright as it could get.

"I," Harry said, muttering. "I've been enjoying the classes so far. There are many things I want to learn. I still can't quite believe I can learn about things like transfiguration and defence".

Dumbledore seemed to beam, "I'm glad you both think so."

The headmaster turned to eye a glass recipient full of a type of sweets that Harry couldn't quite recognise, yet seemed familiar nonetheless. He reached and picked one, immediately unwrapping and eating it. He then looked at James and Harry again. "Lemon drop?" he asked, with that same light and cheerful mood, gesturing towards the pot of sweets.

Harry shook his head, still feeling too weary and tired from the past week to be able to really think about having sweets, though James grinned and quickly reached for one.

"Thank you, sir," his twin said.

Harry couldn't help but notice just how much a simple conversation had calmed James' down. A part of him couldn't help but think that perhaps he shouldn't be. He had seen enough of how his father, or rather, the people his father did business with, to have noticed the strange and dance-like ways they seemed to talk and engage others in.

Even with the limited experience he had had in seeing those sort of things — it had always been James that had been taken out to events, meetings, and parties with his father and mother — the way other pureblood used language had seemed… interesting, to say the least. Even though he had never really given it any thought.

Perhaps Dumbledore's question had been slightly like those?

James looked at Dumbledore curiously, as if he were about to ask something else. When no words came immediately from the headmaster, who seemed to be thinking about something, Harry wasn't able to really help himself.

"If you don't mind me, sir. I…" Harry started saying, though not quite managing to dare himself to finish his sentence.

Dumbledore looked at Harry, and Harry gathered the courage to speak. He wanted, needed to know what had happened.

"It's about the dream, isn't it?" he asked. It couldn't be about anything else. Besides him, Harry felt James' eyes on him. Harry's words seemed to have brought back the worry with which he had been looking at him throughout the week. Reminded him of it.

Dumbledore seemed to deflate slightly and nodded, though still looking cheerful. "Yes, as I'm sure you know, last week your dorm mate's father passed away, much like you dreamt," he started saying. "I apologize for taking so long to talk to you both about the events you heard about. After the events, it took a while before an investigation was conducted and I got to know of what happened that unfortunate day."

Harry's heart fell. "I—, Sir, but people were warned, weren't they? How could that happen?"

Dumbledore looked at Harry with compassion. "They were, just… things still got out of control. Stebbins' father still attacked, and one of the aurors overreacted. I'm afraid that Stebbins' father still got hit by a curse."

Harry stared at the headmaster with shock. How—, what—?

Why?

Hadn't they all been warned?

His heart was racing and his eyes were starting to tear up slightly. Harry could barely hear his own words as his mind was clouded with thoughts and memories of the dream. The way Stebbins' father had died… "But they were all warned, weren't they, sir? It should have been different, it should have—!"

"Harry, my boy, calm down. It wasn't your fault in any way. Knowing about these things doesn't mean anything," Dumbledore said calmly, offering Harry a friendly look.

Harry nodded, though not really thinking about the headmaster's words. James spoke up at his twins' silence.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking," he started saying, "this wasn't reported anywhere, wasn't it? I know it didn't, no other students knew about it. Are we sure it really happened?"

Dumbledore turned to look at James, "I'm afraid it did, my boy, I'm afraid it did." The headmaster's phoenix flapped is wings from a side. "It is precisely because of that that I wanted to talk to you. The situation surrounding his death is quite delicate."

Harry glanced up at the headmaster, "delicate?" Harry paused. Had he been right originally? Should he have— "Was there something wrong that I should have told other people about? Could it have been that?"

Dumbledore offered an apologetic look and shook his head. "Rather the contrary, Harry. You don't need to worry about the reasons, your parents are already aware of them."

"Sir?" Harry's heart was beating even faster as he kept looking at the headmaster.

"It would be best if you didn't say anything at all about what you saw, my boy. Doing so could be quite dangerous for you, as you know, and people would panic if they heard."

Harry's eyes widened, "but, Sir, what if Stebbins—" He paused, trying to gather his words. His mind felt fuzzy and his palms were sweaty. He couldn't think. "Can't I say anything? Even if I see something else? Something I could prevent?"

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry's blood froze. "Harry, my boy. You're too young to understand for now, but know that it would truly be too dangerous. There are people out there that wouldn't hesitate to harm you and your family, and you wouldn't want that, wouldn't you?"

Harry sat speechless as an instruments on Dumbledore's desk emitted a puff of smoke and another one whirred. Fawkes kept flapping his wings, and Harry couldn't help but notice the worried expression of the painting behind Dumbledore's desk before looking down at the floor.

"But what if that means something bad could happen to someone? What if that means that I accidentally—"

"No, Harry, it would be too dangerous. Though things may seem calm now…" Dumbledore paused, and Harry looked up again. "If you see something else in dreams, whatever it is, Harry, just tell me and i'll take care of it. Nothing like this will happen again."

Harry turned to James to seek support, but knew immediately that, no matter how worried he was, his twin would agree with Dumbledore and his parents. That he thought Harry's security came first, and that if they didn't know what was really going on…

He turned to look at the fire. The flames were burning bright and tall, their colour a deep red and yellow. The fire was alive and strong.

Harry sighed, feeling himself break down. What if it still didn't stop things from happening?

He quickly lost himself in thought, and didn't manage say anything else. Dumbledore, Harry assumed, thinking it was all said and done then, allowed them to leave his office in order to return to classes or wait for lunch to start. James departed happily, if a bit pensive, and Harry followed him absentmindedly through the door McGonnagal had led them through when taking them there.

Harry only really spoke again a few minutes after seeing the Gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office set itself back on its place. He stopped walking suddenly, and James immediately turned towards him with a look of worry.

"Harry? Are you okay? You seem…" James asked, muttering. His eyes on Harry's.

Harry looked around uncomfortably, not quite managing to settle his eyes on James' own, and instead focused on the empty hallway behind James. Lunch would likely start soon, and he after what Dumbledore had said… Talking to James would sure help. It always did. He was his strongest and closest friend, he had always helped him, and—

"What do you think, James? Do you think he's right?" Harry suddenly asked. He still felt torn by what Dumbledore had said, by the fact that nothing had changed in the end. He knew that professor Dumbledore was likely right all those years ago when he had told him to not fear his dreams, that he wasn't responsible in any way for them, but…

Harry grimaced. What if he was? What if by saying nothing he was dooming someone to his death?

James broke eye contact, looking lost. "I don't know, Harry," he said with a low voice, sounding slightly insecure. "I think he is, I mean," he continued, "he's Dumbledore, right? The best wizard of our time! The man that defeated Grindelwand! How could he not know?"

Harry looked away from the empty corridor and back at his twin. "I know, but, James," Harry said, pausing to attempt to put all of the thoughts and overwhelming feelings he had suffered through all of the week. "What if he isn't? What if by saying nothing I'm killing someone? I—, I don't know if I could live with that. James, what if Dumbledore's wrong, and the only way to change things is to—"

"No, Harry," James interrupted.

He was frowning, and Harry could tell that he was starting to get angry. The look of worry seemed to remain amidst the anger, however, obvious and clear in twin's face.

"You know it's dangerous, and it isn't just mum and dad saying it! Dumbledore thinks so too! You can't—," James looked slightly desperate. "What if something were to happen to you, Harry? Besides, what you dream isn't caused by you, you're not responsible!"

Harry's eyes dropped, and the same overwhelming feeling he had felt when Dumbledore had said the same things returned in full force.

"I know you're worried, Harry. You hate seeing people suffer, I know you do. But… This is for your own good, you know? Your dreams… We really can't do anything about it. Just trust Dumbledore and—"

Harry felt his calm start to disappear. James didn't understand. He knew that Harry had dreamt of the death of Stebbins' father, but he hadn't seen what Harry had. The fear in the man as he had been confronted, the pain and the screams as he had been—

"James, the father of my dorm mate died. He was murdered, and no one cares about it. Not even the Daily Prophet reported on it," Harry almost shouted. His heart was racing again. "You didn't see how devastated he was. He—, I—!"

"Harry…" James said. His expression softened as he came to see and understand again just how torn and overwhelmed Harry felt. Just how bad the turmoil of feelings that had been burning within him for the last week was.

James seemed about to continue when he suddenly froze as he looked at a point behind Harry with distrust and fear in his eyes. Harry turned around quickly only to be met by the familiar figure and sharp gaze of his Defence teacher.

"I trust everything is okay, Mr. Potter?" Harry's Head of House said, eyes focusing on Harry and James.

Professor Riddle looked calm and composed, as he always did during classes. He was wearing teaching robes of the finest quality, standing and holding himself up in a way that spoke of nothing but charm and collected confidence. His expression and dark eyes betrayed nothing, even whilst looking directly at the both of them.

Besides him, James seemed to be as nervous as he ever humanly could, judging by his muted silence and the way he was staring at their Defence professor. Harry looked up and into the man's eyes, not managing to feel as nervous as his twin even as he spotted that strange red glint in the man's eyes.

"Y—, yes, of course," James stuttered. A few long seconds went by. "We were just talking about what professor Dumbledore told us, but it's all good now."

Professor Riddle smiled in a gentle sort of way, eyes mimicking the smile. "That is good to know, Mr. Potter. I heard raised voices on my way to see headmaster Dumbledore and found myself worried." Nothing in his expression changed.

"Ah, no. Everything is fine, right Harry?" James said whilst turning to look at Harry with pleading eyes.

Harry looked away from the sharp gaze of his Head of House to look at his twin. He was cowering slightly, nervous, and Harry remembered all too suddenly that his twin didn't trust the Slytherin Head of House whatsoever. He turned back to look at professor Riddle, straightening his posture and reminiscing back to the etiquette lessons of his mother.

"We were just having an argument, Sir. I'm sorry if the raised voices caused alarm," Harry said calmly, helped by the fact that he wasn't really scared of the man. He could see the basics of how the man was through his beginner knowledge of face reading, and, at least according to the theory, the lines and features of people didn't often lie. As far as he knew, he hadn't seen yet a reason to really distrust professor Riddle or fear him.

He wanted to understand the situation on his own before deciding what to do and how to definitively act, and for that he would have to learn with what he knew — divination. It would just be a matter of gazing into the surface of water and attempt to see things through scrying.

"Yes, it was just that," James quickly added.

Professor Riddle gazed at them in silence. James shifted, and turned to look in the direction of one of the hallways. His thoughts easy to see. A few seconds went by before the professor spoke again.

The Slytherin Head of House briefly glanced up at the corridor James was looking at, understanding. "Perhaps, Mr. Potter, since your business with the headmaster is concluded, you may want to head to the Great Hall before the the lunch break ends," the he said politely.

James nodded "I—, of course, professor!" He then turned to leave, looking at Harry and gesturing for him to do the same.

"Thank you, professor," Harry said, making sure to politely nod at professor Riddle before he turning away to follow James. His twin was walking away quickly, and Harry had to increase his walking pace in an to attempt to catch up with him. Feeling the sharp eyes of the Defence professor following him as he walked away.

The Gargoyle that hit Dumbledore's office had nearly been left fully behind by the time Harry almost caught up with his twin. He had just passed the portrait of a sleeping wizard when he stopped, suddenly remembering the books that his Head of House had recommended to him already so long ago at Flourish and Blotts.

He had never thanked him for them, had he? No, he didn't think he had, and he ought to do so even if professor Riddle didn't remember the encounter. The books were fascinating, and runes were something radically different to anything he had encountered so far.

Harry looked apologetically at his twin before turning away and walking back towards professor Riddle, who seemed to have been about to walk away and into the headmaster's office. It didn't take long for the Defence professor to hear his approach, and the man was gazing at him with a hint of something akin to curiosity before Harry had even spoken.

"Is there anything you need, Mr. Potter?" professor Riddle asked. Tone polite and courtly.

"Yes, Sir," Harry said, nodding. He paused to briefly gathered his thoughts before continuing. "I realised whilst studying a few days ago that I never thanked you for the books you recommended me at Flourish and Blotts."

Harry immediately knew by the way his Defence teacher's knowing gaze that he remembered. Around them, the hallway remained in complete silence, without a single student even around the area. Giving the impression that classes still were going on despite the bright midday sun.

"There's no need to thank me, Mr. Potter. Though I believe you already did at the store," professor Riddle said, politely and perfectly composed. "Though I take you've been enjoying them?"

Harry felt his cheeks heat slightly at the mistake, but soon forgot about it as his mind went back to the different things he had managed to learn so far on Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. He felt his mood shift and lighten at the thought of the interesting subjects.

"They both are fascinating, Sir," Harry said. "I had never heard or seen anything like them. I've been reading both books after finishing other classwork, though I haven't advanced as much as I would have wished."

The curiosity in professor Riddle immediately became more noticeable. "I think you'll find that both subjects are quite useful, Mr. Potter. Though it is interesting for a student to have an interest during their first year."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Both subjects were so different from the others that he had been able to study at home, so focused and methodical. Arithmancy was radically different from any divination which he had studied, almost mathematical, and Ancient Runes…

"They are different from anything I've had the chance to study before, Sir," Harry said. He was almost as excited to advance in his study of the two subjects as he was in learning how to practice water scrying. He wanted to learn how their use could benefit him.

"I think you'll find that both Arithmancy and Ancient Runes have more applications than many wizards and witches come to realise, Mr. Potter," professor Riddle said.

Harry remained still, silently thinking through the words of his Head of House, not quite knowing what to say. He glanced at the Gargoyle that led to the headmaster's office, and suddenly remembered Dumbledore's words. His bright mood suddenly dropped.

Harry looked down. What would he do if he saw another dream related to someone he knew, a dream of something terrible happening? Was he really to always remain silent?

Professor Riddle seemed to sense his change of mood, and he turned to look at the gargoyle. He had a strange glint in his eyes, and Harry noticed how the strange red glint briefly shone brighter.

"Mr. Potter," professor Riddle suddenly said, making Harry glance back up to look at him.

"Sir?" Harry asked.

The man looked at Harry with sharp eyes. His expression was unreadable. "Remember, if you are ever in need of it, that you can always come to my office. As your Head of House, I am allowed to handle any problem you might find yourself in. Slytherin takes care of its own."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise. It wasn't something he had thought of until now, even though he had heard as much from the Slytherin prefects about their Head of House. The respect with which they all spoke about their Head of House spoke volumes, much like how Avery had spoken about him at the start of the year.

"Of course, Sir.," Harry finally said. He glanced back at the Gargoyle, heart racing.

Perhaps…?

"Professor Riddle, Sir?" Harry suddenly asked, turning to face his Defence professor again and looking straight at him again.

Professor Riddle looked at him quizzically, remaining silent and prompting Harry to continue.

Harry knew the warning that his brother had given him, as well as that of his parents, but asking one question couldn't do any harm, couldn't it?After all, the man had just offered his help if he were to ever need it, and Harry doubted that a single question could give anything away. The last week had been hell, and he had barely been able to concentrate in much of anything. Even now the turmoil of emotions he had felt kept burning inside of him, and—

Yes, one question wouldn't do any harm. Particularly if he was obtuse and secretive about his real question and lied about it. He couldn't risk giving anything away or accidentally making anyone suspicious, but Harry needed to know someone else's opinion. An opinion from someone that wasn't aware of the facts and the sheer extent of Harry's problem with his gift. He wouldn't trust his Head of House with anything, after that. At least not relating to his dreams.

If professor Riddle was untrustworthy, then so long as he kept the details out it would most likely be okay. Harry just had to make sure that his gift was kept hidden away from others.

The morality and correctness about his dreams in this particular situation overwhelmed Harry, and the full implications escaped him. He likely was one of the only people, besides those which had been involved, who knew the full extent of just how much Stebbins' father had suffered.

Harry closed his eyes and gathered courage. "Sir, if someone discovered something bad was going to happen and didn't say anything about it, would they be guilty because of not warning them?" he asked.

Professor Riddle stared at him in silence, as if thinking about the question. "Would they be guilty, Mr. Potter?" he started saying. "Has something happened in your family that is perhaps worrying you?"

Harry felt his heart skip a beat as his Defence professor followed and responded to the lie he had just said. He had believed it, then.

"Not exactly, Sir. It's just something I discovered and have been keeping from my brother," Harry quickly answered. "Nothing wrong has happened," Harry took a deep breath in, not quite knowing what to say. "It's just something I've been thinking about."

Professor Riddle's eyes seemed to soften, even as he continued to pointedly look at him. He smiled in a way that seemed reassuring, though the smile, Harry noticed, was radically different from professor Dumbledore's.

"Have you ever about the myth of Icarus and Daedalus, Mr. Potter?"

Harry frowned, not quite understanding. "It's a legend, isn't it?" he asked. He had only seen its name passingly in a few books, but he didn't know much about it. Only that it was a legend muggles often told, though apparently of magical origins.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter, one from Ancient Greece." professor Riddle started saying. "Daedalus was a great inventor who had been locked up in a tower with his son, Icarus, to prevent the knowledge of an invention to spread to the public."

Harry kept looking at professor Riddle, feeling himself become more absorbed in his words.

"With every escape route being blocked, he fabricated wings for himself and Icarus. Tying feathers together, securing them with string and wax, and making them look like those of a bird," professor Riddle continued. "Daedalus escaped with his son by flight after equipping both himself and his son with the wings. However, there was one thing he warned him of."

"One thing he warned him of?" Harry said, repeating the professor's words.

"There was only one problem with the wings, which Daedalus had to warn Icarus about. They could not fly too high, because the heat of the sun would melt the wax, nor too low, because the sea foam would soak the feathers."

Professor Riddle paused to observe at Harry, allowing a few seconds to go by before continuing. No one had still gotten close to the hallway.

"They had passed a number of cities by the time that Icarus, forgetting his father's warning, began to soar upwards towards the sun. The wax that held the feathers together melted, and they came off. Icarus ended up falling into the sea, and drowned," he finished saying.

Professor Riddle then stopped to stare at Harry for a few seconds, still observing him. "Now, Mr. Potter. Why do you think it is that Icarus fell?"

Harry frowned. "Icarus ignored his father's warning and few too high, Sir"

"Exactly," the Head of House said. "But do you think that, perhaps, he was guilty of not having warned his son enough? Or that, had he not warned him, Icarus wouldn't have dared to soar so high?"

Harry's eyes widened as he finally understood the meaning and purpose behind the other's words. "Icarus could have still fallen even if Daedalus had warned him more," he debated. "Icarus could have ended up dying no matter what Daedalus died."

"Of course, Mr. Potter, Daedalus would have no way of knowing what fate should befall Icarus no matter how many warnings he gave." Professor Riddle smiled at Harry's words, pleased at how Harry followed what he meant. "However, you're missing something that also partly answers your question."

"What is it, Sir?" Harry asked, feeling oddly proud at how the Defence professor had been pleased at his following. His heart was racing, and he was sure he could practically hear its beat.

"Well, Mr. Potter. Had Daedalus hadn't warned Icarus, his son would have likely flown too high or too low almost immediately. Dying before he ever got to fly away from their imprisonment."

Harry stared at his Head of House, not quite managing to say anything as his mind raced through the other's words.

"Daedalus' warning could always be ineffective, but had he not given it Icarus' would have been certainly doomed." Professor Riddle smiled. "Does this answer your question, Mr. Potter?

Harry nodded, and suddenly remembered the easy-going confidence and charm with which his Defence professor had been interacting with Abraxas Malfoy, in his dream from all those years ago.

OoO

A quarter of an hour after dusk the sky held the color of iron shot through with odd streaks of azure. The blue-like light washed into the room through the wide windows that gazed into the black lake together with some odd streaks of rust and dark, the greens and silvers of the elegant baroque room somehow looking anything but. Harry sat on an armchair of dark baroque wood and plush green on a side of the elegant common room, gazing out through the half-tinted glass of the windows. Several schools of fish swam peacefully around amidst the blue light that made it to the bottom of the lake. Far into the depths of which, directly opposite of the common room's windows, sat the merpeople's village.

A light buzz of noise filled the common room. There was a blur of students as they entered or left the common room, with very few of them deciding to sit on the arms chairs littered around the wide room. Giving the wide room a strange, near-empty feeling despite the many students inside.

A copy of the first year Herbology textbook sat atop Harry's lap, forgotten. He hadn't managed to focus on anything after the events of the day and what professor Dumbledore and Riddle had said. Reason why he had chosen to stay at the Common Room rather than immediately go to the library after classes. The light and ambience of the common room was relaxing, even if he usually felt that there were too many people relaxing and working on it, or coming and going from the common room.

The turmoil of emotions had only kept going and burning with feelings of guilt. Too many questions plagued him, far too many to simply settle and accept the headmaster's words. He trusted the headmaster and the word of his parents, but what professor Riddle had said had made sense in a way that had surprised Harry and left him in deep thought.

"The Prophet didn't publish the story, Lucius, didn't you notice?"

Harry's blood froze, and he turned around almost automatically to face the voice, unconsciously straightening as he saw a tall and blond sixth year student he just barely managed to recognize talking to Lucius Malfoy. He had only heard his name in passing — Thorfinn Rowle, he thought — a Slytherin student of the same age as Lucius Malfoy, who was usually seen together with him. Their voices were relatively hushed as they made their way through the Slytherin common room, though loud enough for Harry to just barely manage to overhear amidst the conversations of other students.

They were both heading for the dorms, having just entered the common room. The few Slytherin students inside seemed to make way for them, even as they directed themselves towards the door that led out of the common room. Harry found himself staring at them, briefly wondering about the amount of respect that most of the other Slytherins were looking at them with, as well as the envy and anger that a few others seemed to harbor instead.

Lucius Malfoy.

Harry couldn't say he truly knew much about the now-Malfoy Lord, having only seen him on a number of occasions, before he had stopped going with his father to meet other purebloods. He knew that the white-blond Slytherin ought to have learnt about what Harry had told to his father, Abraxas, all that time back. When Harry had curiously wanted to check why his dream had seemed to include so many real-life details.

The Slytherin Head Boy, however, had never made a move to say anything to Harry, or even so much as approach him. Not even now that Harry had arrived at Hogwarts. Neither had he heard him talk or say anything about Harry.

Harry had to admit that he was curious, if only because he was almost sure that the other boy knew.

"Barely anyone in the school even knows what happened."

Lucius turned around abruptly, sending a look to the sixth year that left no room for questions. He looked impassive, and Harry couldn't detect the faintest sign of emotion on his face even as he all but glared at the other sixth year student. The voice of the sixth year had been quite low, and Harry had just barely managed to hear their words about the buzz of the other students thanks to where he had been sitting down.

The tall student sighed after Lucius remained silent after a few seconds, seemingly deflating. "I'm just saying it's quite strange, Lucius. I know you heard the details already. Attacks are regularly reported, and a death at a place near Diagon Alley means first page." He looked around with an air of uncertainty, "it was political, wasn't it?"

Lucius sent him another pointed look, though not as sharp as his previous one. "You know it was, it's the only explanation." He had a strange look in his eyes, now.

Rowle glanced at Lucius suspiciously. "You can't deny it's strange though, Lucius. The man didn't have a single seat in the Wizengamot, let alone a strong presence in politics."

"Undeniably political all the same, Thorfinn, and you know precisely why," Lucius said firmly.

"Yes," Rowle whispered, looking worried. "Is that true, then? Some sort of target against the Knights of Walpurgis?"

Lucius shot look of alarm at Rowle, and the sixth year immediately quieted down, and Harry looked away as the two of them started to walk by him. More students seemed to have started coming out of the dorm rooms in order to go to the Great Hall, and a slightly chaotic order seemed to have enveloped the common room.

Harry froze once he looked up again only to see the pale-blue of Lucius Malfoy's eyes on him. Remaining frozen in his spot even as the Malfoy heir said nothing. The whispers and voices had started growing louder, and Harry just barely managed to notice the form of one of his dorm mates, Severus, as he came up from the dorms.

Lucius Malfoy started walking away together with the other sixth year student, Rowle, gracefully after a few seconds of looking at Harry, expression unreadable.

He was still staring when he heard the door to the common room open, leading inside a group of third years Harry had unfortunately come to be quite familiar with.

Evan Rosier, together with two of his friends.

Harry heard an incantation he couldn't recognize before he could even react, and he fell onto his knees and then the floor as a sharp pain filled his head.

He barely registered Lucius Malfoy walking away and starting to descend into the dorms area, and instead glanced in the direction the hex had come from. Doing so quickly enough to see Evan Rosier laughing at him. The people around the common room simply stared with expressions that Harry didn't quite manage to recognise, neither doing nor saying anything.

Harry grasped at his head. It was pounding. He didn't know what spell it was or how counter it, and—

He closed his eyes, only opening them again when he felt someone touching his arm.

Severus, he immediately realised.

The unmistakable boy seemed to look worried, though it took Harry a second to realise he was helping him up.

"Come, Harry. I'll take you to the infirmary."

Harry allowed himself to be helped out of the Common Room by Severus, not being able to really think. Around him, and before he left, he slowly became aware of the now-hushed whispers of the students who had been in the common room.