Book Three

Harry Potter, all related characters, and the original Harry Potter narrative are properties of J. K. Rowling.

Chapter 16
The Vision

Kingsley Shacklebolt had spent the week teaching them to recognize persons under the effects of Polyjuice Potion - a difficult task, even if one knew the impostor or the face they wore. Friday's quiz had entailed identifying every known Death Eater, from names and faces down to a three-inch essay on each one's habits and personality.

Harry had given him a half-page apiece. Even Hermione had been impressed at that.

Shacklebolt had also passed out the forms for dueling club, as well as those for the ever-popular war simulator - though the list of safety precautions and banned spells had grown enough to fill a small novel.

Harry decided to skip both, preferring to train in private. All things considered, keeping his abilities secret was probably his best chance at survival. Though the Death Eaters would probably be well aware of that...

Ron and Draco had started arguing again, in the wake of a Ministry raid on the Malfoy family manor.

"What do you expect, Draco? Your old man worked for Riddle!"

Draco glared at the red-haired ruffian. "Past tense, Ron. Father wouldn't put himself at risk like that again."

"You say that like he has a choice," Ron replied, pulling out his Conspiracy Board. "Riddle's got plenty of low-level mooks, plus your aunt - he can brute-force his way in if he has to."

"I'm telling you, my family's not involved!"

"Just one Imperius is all it would take," Ron pressed. "He's always slithering around the Ministry, right? What are the odds he hasn't been put under Riddle's possessed thumb?"

Draco sighed. "Look, we've been over this. The fragments aren't clever enough for that-"

"Based on a sixteen-year-old sample size," Ron interjected. "Not much of a determining factor."

Greg nodded. "With the guile gained through his remaining years, each subsequent fragment of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would most likely have been created with greater capabilities than the last."

"If he even could," Draco retorted. "Look, we don't even know how those copies work. Making predictions on this kind of guesswork gets us nowhere."

"Fair point," admitted Ron. He checked a few connections in his Board. "Though it's probably the original. If he's found a way around that brain damage thing..."

Harry shivered.

"If he had, the Reign of Terror would be happening right now," Draco insisted. "And believe me, I can tell the difference between free and Imperiused. Father is nobody's puppet."

Ron snipped a thin thread out of the Board. "Good to know. That leaves us with either a squeaky-clean Malfoy family - which I doubt," he marked, glancing at Draco, "or Lucius acting without your knowledge."

"Or I might be lying to you," Draco added. "Don't leave that out just because we get along."

Ron sighed, re-threading a handful of pins. "You make this so complicated."

Draco shrugged. "It's tradition."


Trelawney's dreamlike incompetence turned out to be depressingly deep-seated. Even when faced with a direct inquiry, the gawkish old woman kept meandering through metaphor, misinterpretation, and platitudinous proclamations, peppered with the occasional vision of impending doom.

Harry had quickly decided to use Divination as a training ground for his imagination, on the grounds that even if he couldn't make new spells just by wishing really, really hard, a healthy imagination would be better than a sharp knife when the bodies started flying.

That's a bit morbid, isn't it? Harry sighed, looking through his tea leaves for clues to vague and immediate future events. Let's see...

The clumps of sodden vegetation remained prognostically impermeable.

Sausages? Nah. Maybe a bunch of bananas... Harry checked the reference in the back of his Divination textbook. Nothing about bananas here. He sighed again, his eyes unfocusing as Trelawney spouted another string of predictably vague portents over Lavender's swirl of tea leaves. He glanced over at Ron, who was, as usual, seated beside him.

"Anything good today?"

Ron rolled his eyes, slouching away from his own cup of abstract tasseography. "I've got three snakes and a teakettle," he vouchsafed. "Probably going to spin it as 'something important' at Hagrid's this week."

Harry nodded. "Any ideas for bananas and a bicycle?"

From the way Ron's face screwed up in disgust, Harry guessed there weren't any good vague predictions of immediate events in that particular combination. Ron scooted his chair a bit closer, leaning towards Harry's cup. "Bicycle - is that this lump over here?"

"Nah, that's a castle. It's this one."

Ron hmmmed. "You sure that's a bicycle? Looks more like a woman, to me."

Harry squinted at the wobbly lump. Fragile, but it did have a sort of grace to it, he supposed. Yet there were clearly holes in what would be the dress...

"Or maybe a pitchfork," Ron added. "It's all a bit mushy, really."

Harry nodded. "I'm honestly not sure why I even took this class," he confessed.

"You had a feeling it would come in handy, mate," Ron joked, smirking at him. "A premonition, you might say."

"Alright, ha ha," Harry groaned, leaning back in the cushioned chair.

"You saw the future, is what I'm attempting to insinuate," Ron clarified, still smirking up a storm. "You made an accurate prophecy regarding the benefits of this class, and only McGonnagal remembers exactly what you said."

"Er..." Something about that last statement seemed curiously informative. "What?"

Ron shrugged. "Prophets don't usually remember their own prophecies. It's a thing. Read about it."

Harry stared at his friend. "You read about it? You?"

"I read!" Ron replied, rearing back in affront. "I mean, yeah, it's a bad habit I picked up from Hermione, but what's wrong with reading ahead a bit?"

"The whole book?"

Ron hung his head in shameful accomplishment.

"Ron, I thought you knew better," Harry admonished the lad, putting a reassuring hand on the taller boy's shoulder. "Learning is dangerous."

"Which makes us doubly dangerous," Ron grinned, all pretense of humility discarded like the facade it had always been. "But honestly, they don't remember. It's weird."

Trelawney called on him to share his future before Harry could think of a reply.


Harry groaned. He'd gone with the bicycle, hoping some kind of hidden truth would unveil itself, but had ended with a tangled mess of banana-encrusted predictions. Trelawney had pouted a bit at Harry's lack of vision, but given him an Average regardless. Harry worried it was from some misplaced sense of sympathy; the woman tended to predict his death whenever her students' interest lulled.

Ron, meanwhile, had spun a twisted tale of intrigue and mystery, culminating in the discovery of some eldritch secret the likes of which he had dreamed of since childhood. For his vague, yet compelling description of an ordinary Transfiguration class, Trelawney awarded him an Outstanding.

Harry was a bit jealous.

"Now, my children, the ether speaks to me!" Trelawney intoned, spreading her hands through the hanging whorls of scented smoke. "I see... the time for tea has passed."

Ron chuckled at the edge of breath. "The clock said that an hour ago."

"I see..." Trelawney continued, too ensconced in her faux visions to notice. "I see a bright sphere, perhaps a star..." The class grumbled in discontent, having spent far too many late nights on the Astronomy tower already. "No, not a star," Trelawney corrected, flinching from the disapproval of her students. "An orb..." Her eyes snapped open, garishly magnified by her thick spectacles. "Of course! The crystal ball! Be sure to do your readings by Tuesday," she told them, retreating to the stage at the head of the class. "And, Miss Brown, do remember to use the left hand when the laughter strikes."

Lavender Brown blinked, momentarily confused, then smiled at her favorite Professor as the class worked its way out of the tower chamber. Harry ignored the ladder, floating down on his enchanted cushion.

"Show-off," growled Ron, who had given the same enchantment to his shoes. They were flanking Lavender as she climbed down in the conventional manner.

Harry rolled his eyes, echoing a similar expression from Lavender.

"Boys," she huffed, trying to outmatch their speed of descent. Harry slowed obligingly, but curiosity pushed him to inquiry.

"Er," he asked, dropping another foot to catch her eye. "Lavender, right?"

Lavender rolled her eyes again, displaying what was either the cause of her name, or a bit of cosmetic magic. "Obviously."

"Nice eyes. Er, d'you know what Trelawney was on about at the end, there?"

"It's a prophecy, Harry," Lavender retorted, reaching the bottom of the ladder. She seemed to be running low on patience, for some reason. "It's deliberately vague, and won't make sense until it's about to happen."

How delightfully useless, murmured Cynicism.

I thought we got rid of you, Harry replied, forgetting to float forward for a moment. Cynicism didn't respond. "Er, right," he called after Lavender, pushing forward with his leg. "Sorry. It just seemed really odd."

Lavender rolled her eyes at him again.

"I mean, even for Trelawney," Harry stammered, somehow feeling as though he was failing the most important conversation of the day. I hardly even know her! Why is this difficult?

A quick glance behind showed that Ron had gotten himself stuck in midair, hanging from his floating shoes. He nevertheless gave Harry an enthusiastic thumbs-up, grinning at the Boy Who Lived encouragingly.

Odd, thought Harry, turning back to Lavender. "So, er, I, ah." Having run out of pithy remarks, Harry decided to exit the conversation in the most graceful manner he could imagine. "I'm going to go that way," he said, pointing randomly.

Lavender spared him a moment's attention, her eyes widening, and she reached out in panic as Harry floated in the promised direction.

What?

"Harry, no!"

Stone walls appeared on all sides, and Harry realized he'd just jumped out the highest window of the Divination tower. His pillow, sadly, had not joined him.

Ah, darn, this won't end well. Harry turned towards the ground - somehow, he'd chosen a window overlooking the castle courtyard, and the sparse trees were quite lovely from above. Odd, the details you notice when falling to your doom, Harry thought. His wand was already in hand, enchanting his robes to gentle levitation, but he couldn't tell if it would be enough to stop his fall.

There's nobody in the courtyard, Harry realized. We all just got out of class. He wracked his brain for another spell he could use to save himself.

Lavender was screaming.

Go on, Cynicism prodded. Use the secret spell.

Harry hesitated, as the mosaics edging the walkways came into focus. But that-

DO IT!

You realize I tend to resist anything you tell me, Harry admonished the psychotic inner voice. Especially after you used me for murder.

Cynicism howled in frustration, sending a prickling sensation through the base of Harry's neck. We'll both die if you don't, fool!

I have friends, Harry objected.

They can't save you! They don't know how!

Ron's been reading- The ground was dangerously close. Harry could have counted the blades of grass, had he been given a bit more time before impact.

NOW!

Harry clenched his eyes, unleashing the first Secret of Salazar Slytherin.


-are agreed. For my sake, I must remove your memory."

"That's not part of the bargain!"

"Your reward is assured. Do you truly wish to feel the guilt of this alliance?"

"...very well. But I'll need to leave myself a note."


Glittering flecks of gold and silver.

Light, shining in a column, a figure in tattered robes.

Goblins.

A twisted face, eyes filled with loyal insanity.


Dust.

High halls.

An old, broken cabinet.


Shadows.

Frost.

Heat.


Kreacher.

A foolish Elf. It still resists my power.

Wait, who are you?

...Stranger. Kneel to me.

Yipe!