Sorry for the late update. I have a good excuse...if you think socializing is a good excuse. And finishing the chapter after the internet was turned off in my house. And taking time to proofread. But the chapter is here now, from Harry's perspective as promised. As this story is moving along a different track than I originally plotted, I'll need to take a look at the next fifty chapters I had plotted and figure out how much I can salvage. I'll be working on the next chapter and the new chapter outlines in the next couple of weeks. I hope to have the next update up on time.


Harry sat hunched over his History of Magic text, reading the same paragraph for the fourth time that morning. He didn't like it. At dinner the night before they had announced a new club, one that taught a special kind of magic to those that had the affinity for it, and apparently Hermione was going to attend.

It wouldn't have been that bad if it had been any other teacher offering it. But it was Professor Balinor.

Harry couldn't deny that class had been interesting—the professor was a far better teacher than either Quirrell or Lockhart—but he was new and, unlike Professor Lupin, not tied to anyone in particular. The man was a wild card and that had meant trouble too often.

"What are you going to do your project on, Harry?" Ron asked, glancing over his shoulder at the book. "I was going to do mine on the early seers and how they shaped our world. I figured I could ask Professor Trelawney about it."

Hermione answered without looking up. "I was going to do mine about the Statute of Secrecy. It seems stupid to have some big secret if witches and wizards are going to start getting caught on security cameras in a few years."

"That's true," Harry said, looking up from his book. "I hadn't thought of that."

She looked up at him. "You still didn't mention what you were doing your project on."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "That's because I don't know if it will count. It's history, but it's not exactly that old."

"Not all history is old," Hermione pointed out. "You're technically part of history—as the boy who lived—but you're only 13."

"I know. It's just easier to think of history as something that happened a long time ago. Not when there are people alive that still remember it."

"Oh." Understanding dawned on Hermione's face. "You're doing your project on the last wizarding war. On Voldemort."

Harry nodded. "I figured that since he somehow keeps coming back to kill me, I'd better find out a little bit about who he was, who followed him and who fought against him. I want to know a bit more about my parents too, instead of just hearing how much I look like my dad."

"And you can actually talk to people who took part in the war. Like Professor Lupin and the Headmaster," Ron added. "I was going to ask if you would help me with mine, but you'll probably have your hands full."

Hermione started to gather her things. "I need to go. I'll see you both in Divination."

"Wait, aren't you going to walk with us there?" Ron moved to stand, though it was clear to Harry that he hadn't finished his breakfast yet—and Ron never left the table without finishing breakfast.

"I have something I need to do first. I'll just meet you there."

She was gone a moment later and Ron sat down grumbling. "I thought we always go to class together. Why'd she have to go and change that now?"

"Her schedule did look a lot more full than either of ours," Harry put in diplomatically. "Maybe she needed to grab some of the books for the electives she's taking."

"But have you seen some of the classes she's taking? She's scheduled for both Divination with us and Ancient Runes at the same time! She can't be in two places at once!"

"Maybe she has some kind of independent study arrangement with the professors? I somehow doubt that something being physically impossible would stop her from doing anything she really wanted to do—especially if it involves books."

Ron shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth, humming in agreement. Merlin help the one who tried to get between Hermione and her studies.


Harry thought that Professor Trelawney was a little odd before she opened her mouth. She had a pair of truly gigantic spectacles hanging on the end of her nose with lenses that looked like the bottoms of glass bottles. Her tan patterned skirt did not pair well with the magenta patterned blouse—it made her look like a bouquet of flowers that had been hit by a blasting charm. She was small and wiry and, in spite of her attempts to look wise and all-knowing, she came off looking like a skittish rabbit he'd seen once in Aunt Petunia's vegetable patch. It was only the frizzy brown hair, which reminded him so much of Hermione's untamable curls, that made Harry think that the woman knew what she was talking about.

A thought that died the moment she opened her mouth.

"Here in this room, you will see if you possess the Sight," she said dramatically, though the effect of her words was undermined by her leg colliding with the table that held her crystal ball.

Harry could see Ron wilting beside him as he watched the woman hurry to stabilize the table before she continued the lesson. She might not be as much help as he had hoped for his project. In an attempt to lighten Ron's mood, Harry leaned closer and whispered, "How can she see the future if she can't even see the table?"

Ron shook himself slightly and gave him a half-hearted smile. "Yeah. Maybe she knows more about seers than actually making a prophecy."

"Today we shall be reading tea leaves. So finish your tea and trade cups with your partner. Don't forget to consult your books."

Harry looked at the damp tea leaves in Ron's cup. There's a blob attached to a blob and…oh, look, another blob. He looked up at the others around the room who seemed just as confused as he did, turning their cups this way and that and squinting. The pictures in the books were far more obvious than the tea leaves in the cups.

Harry turned the cup again. From that angle, one of the blobs looked like an eye. From another, it looked like the rearing head of a unicorn—though what that meant was not to be found in the book sitting open beside his saucer. And though the image of the eye was clear on the book's cover, the number of meanings that were attached to it—all having to do with various types of sight or seeing—made the symbol rather useless for interpretation.

Frustrated, he looked up at Ron, expecting him to be as confused as he was. But Ron was staring intently into the cup, looking up only to turn the pages of the book. Harry couldn't help but think that Hermione would be proud of the youngest Weasley boy finally showing some concentration on his studies.

"What do you see?" Professor Trelawney asked Ron, causing him to jump.

"Oh, um. There's this wonky cross thing—and that means suffering—then there's this part that could be a sun, which is happiness." Ron cleared his throat, turning pink as he continued. "So you're going to suffer, but you're going to be happy about it. I think."

Professor Trelawney cocked her head. "Here. Let me see it."

Ron obligingly handed her Harry's cup. Trelawney stared into the cup. With a gasp of horror, she clutched the cup in trembling hands and looked up at Harry.

"My dear, I'm afraid you have the Grim."

Someone behind Harry helpfully supplied the definition outlined in the book. The penultimate omen of death. He would have laughed if people weren't looking at him as if they actually believed it. Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban after all, and general consensus was that the man would be coming after him. Perhaps they thought a crazed and zealous follower would succeed where Voldemort himself had failed.

Then Harry did laugh, dry and hysterical, terribly amused by the potential of that truly cruel irony.


"It really isn't funny, Harry," Ron was saying after class was dismissed. "My uncle Bilius saw a Grim once and he died the next day."

"Well, I saw one and I'm still alive." Harry couldn't look at Ron or Hermione, so he just fiddled with the fraying strap of his school bag. He winced when he heard them both stop on the stairs behind him.

"In person?" Ron asked nervously. "Because seeing it in a tea cup and seeing it in person are two very different things."

"Of course he means in person, Ronald!"

Ron flinched at the use of his full first name. Hermione only used it when he said something especially stupid. Harry decided to spare him the lecture she was no doubt formulating as Ron edged away.

"It was there when I got on the Knight Bus," he explained. "It was actually the reason that I accidentally summoned it. But it was gone when I went to look again."

"Are you sure it was a Grim?" Hermione asked, already moving to lead them to the library. "I mean, none of us have seen them before. Or bothered to look them up for any reason. This is the first time it's been an issue."

"Yeah," Harry said sarcastically. "A death omen is just an issue. Sure."

They didn't speak again until they were in the Divination section of the library. Hermione had selected a book called Animal Omens: What They Look Like and What They Mean. She flipped through it until she found the section on the Grim. Then she turned the book around and tapped on the picture at the top of the page.

"There. That's a Grim. Is that what you saw?" she asked.

The picture showed a mangy black dog that looked a bit larger than Harry was tall growling at the camera. Or the cameraman. As the caption so helpfully provided, the man apparently died two days after he took the picture.

"Yeah, that's what I saw."

"And you didn't think to say anything to either of us?" Ron shuddered and closed the book.

"I thought it was just a big black dog. Like Hermione said, it's not like it came up before."

From across the room, Madame Pince pinned them with an icy stare and put a finger to her lips. The trio ducked their heads in apology.

"What did your uncle die of?" Hermione asked, lowering her voice.

"They said it was a heart attack."

"And he was afraid of the Grim. So he must have died of fright. Not the Grim. And Harry's faced things a lot scarier than a big black dog. Like the basilisk last year."

"Besides," said a male voice that they didn't recognize. "It's not like the Grim kills anyone who doesn't deserve it. And I'm certain Mr. Potter didn't deserve it."

Harry looked around, but there were no students nearby. Finally his eyes fell on a portrait hanging on the wall near them. The speaker was a fairly young man—no older than Professor Lupin—standing in front of a door with his arms crossed.

"Sorry. Who are you exactly?" Harry asked. Then realizing the question sounded slightly rude, he added, "I haven't seen you around the castle before."

"That would because I generally stay in my painting and mind my own business. But Grim are very old creatures. It's a miracle that they're still around."

"But who are you?" Ron echoed.

"I'm Mer—Marcus. Marcus Weatherby. If you didn't know what a Grim was, Mr. Potter, why are you interested all of the sudden?"

Harry explained the incident in Divination while Hermione put the book away.

"Hmm. If it makes you feel any better, I've heard it's not uncommon for Professor Trelawney to predict someone's death. But I've never heard of it coming true. You're probably pretty safe." Marcus ran a hand through his hair. "And tessomancy isn't an exact art; no form of divination is, but those tea leaves are just a little bit more finicky. Sometimes the picture is a literal representation of the future, although most textbooks focus more on the interpretive representation of a symbol. It's possible that the symbol of a Grim that your teacher saw only means that you will see that particular Grim again."

"That's it?"

"Which is easier to believe?" Marcus asked. "That you'll see a big black magical dog again or that you're going to die before the end of term. Actually, don't answer that. With your luck, Potter, it could be either."

Harry laughed. With his luck, the Grim would bring Voldemort with it next time.

"Just remember this, Potter. Perspective is everything. Something that looks pretty clear from one angle can be completely obscured by another. Being a painting, I have an advantage of seeing many different perspectives—one I wish I could grant to my living self. He has the unfortunate ability to miss what sitting right in front of him."

"Like what?" Hermione asked, shuffling her books back into her bag.

"Oh, just the important things," Marcus said, smiling. "I'd tell him, but he kind of needs to figure these things out on his own. But you'd better head to lunch before they decide to clear it away. You don't want to hang out in a dusty corner talking to a painting all day."

"No, but it's been interesting talking to you." Harry grabbed his bag and stood up. "I'd like to talk more, if we can."

Marcus covered his mouth as he laughed. "I'm a painting, Harry. It's not like I can go anywhere. But sure, feel free to come by and talk any time. If I'm not out, just knock on my door."

"Come on, Harry," Ron said, already halfway to the door. "We have Defense after lunch!"


Between the death omen in Divination and the boggart in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry was ready to call it a day by the time he sat down at the Gryffindor table that evening. He arranged to meet with Professor Lupin after dinner, but when that was over, he could go up to his bed and collapse. Or work on the Potions essay that was due tomorrow and then collapse. Either way, going to the first meeting of the new club was not on his agenda.

"Are you sure you don't want to go Harry?" Hermione asked as they sat down to dinner. "Ron agreed to go with me; I thought you would find it interesting."

"Maybe. But even if I wanted to go, I have a meeting with Professor Lupin after dinner. And then I have to finish the Potions essay. And with Quidditch, I really just don't have time for another club."

"Alright," she admitted. "I suppose you are really busy."

"And it's just supposed to be some kind of test anyway," Ron grumbled. "I don't know why I agreed to this."

"What kind of test?"

"Probably the same way he tested me," Hermione replied. "I wasn't really expecting anything to happen, but there was this rush and suddenly I was holding a light."

"That's it?" Harry asked. "Did he do something to you to make you produce it?"

"No. He just told me to hold out my hand palm up and say Leoht. It's like lumos but wandless, and it looks like you can touch it—like it's solid."

"That doesn't sound like any of the spells we use."

"It's not. He said it was a different language of power." Hermione sighed and looked at the table. "I haven't been able to look into it much yet, but apparently there were four main languages of power: Latin, which we use today; Ancient Greek; Old English; and Ancient Hebrew. But some scholars say that these are only the European languages of power and that there are other languages of power in Asia, Africa and the Americas, but they can't pinpoint exactly which base languages they are like they can with the others." She blushed sheepishly. "I haven't gotten much farther than that. I've been trying to learn Old English. That's where the spell came from."

"Oh." Harry wasn't about to admit it to Hermione, but he was interested. Extremely interested. He had to wonder if phrases like 'watch your words' or 'be careful what you wish for' came from a time when their language was laced with magic and the things they said could have very real consequences.

But if he mentioned his interest, Hermione would find a way to convince him to come, and he still didn't want to trust Professor Balinor. The man hadn't done anything wrong yet, but he hadn't proven that he could be trusted either. And if both Ron and Hermione were going to join this club, he needed to stay on the outside to pull them out if something bad happened.

After he ate, he waved goodbye to his friends and started heading toward the Defense classroom.

He just told me to hold out my hand palm up and say 'Leoht'. Hermione's words made him want to try it. It was just a light. Nothing would probably happen at all, anyway.

He slipped into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, glad that the desks were still shoved against the wall so he wouldn't trip over anything.

Looking around to make sure that no one was watching—though who would see him in an empty classroom, he didn't know—Harry held out his hand palm up and whispered, "Leoht."

Light flooded the room, spilling from the deceptively small orb that appeared, hovering just above his hand. Though he wanted to snatch his hand away, something stopped him. The light was bright, but nowhere near blinding. He stared at the little orb, which caused strange shadows on the walls.

It looks like a miniature blue sun, Harry thought absently. Then he heard the sound of someone fumbling with the door. As he dropped his hand to his side, the light blinked out, leaving grey spots in his vision.

"Ah, Harry. I thought that might be you." Professor Lupin stood in the doorway. "I suppose you want to know what I stopped you from facing the boggart today."

"I did—I do want to know, but I'm a little tired tonight." Harry was glad that it wasn't a lie. He felt exhaustion pulling at his mind and limbs. Along with a healthy dose of disbelief that the spell had actually worked. "Maybe we can meet tomorrow. It's mostly free because we have Astronomy in the evening."

"I think we can work something out." Lupin smiled knowingly. "Don't stay up too late. I'll see you tomorrow."

Harry left the classroom, trying not to look like he was in a hurry. Hermione didn't say it would be that bright! And yet he had done it. He had proven that he had the special kind of magic Hermione had. He wasn't whether it was a shiver of excitement or fear that filled him, but he knew he'd be asking Ron and Hermione a lot more questions.


I love all of your reviews, and rest assure I read all of them. Feel free to leave suggestions or hypothesize about what will happen in the coming chapters. There are certain things that happen that I don't expect in every chapter I write.