DISCLAIMER: Obviously, I don't own Harry Potter. But it shouldn't be too difficult to impersonate JKR and steal her money . . . right?

(for legal reasons, I feel like I should make a disclaimer for my disclaimer: that was a joke).

A/N: I AM SO SORRY! It's been, like, 4 months since I've last updated. I've been busy with school, and finals are coming up, and I just haven't had a lot of free time. Those aren't excuses, they're explanations (though they do kinda sound like excuses, don't they? Oops). So, I apologize. However, you all might be pleased to know that the intense chapters are coming up quickly and, with summer break so close, I'll be able to update more often! Speaking of intensity . . . well, just wait 'til you read this chapter :)

Additionally—and I have to say this or I'll never forgive myself—IT'S BEEN 1 YEAR SINCE I POSTED THIS STORY! It has been a journey, everyone, and I'm so grateful for all the positive feedback this story has received. Throughout this insane year, I feel like I've really grown as a writer and that's all thanks to this story and you lovely people. Hopefully, the next story in the series will be much better due to this growth and my personal progress will be much more evident. I just want to say, thank you all so much!

Also, I got some PM's about my other fanfic, In a Moment of Need. Just to put this out there, I'm still working on it. This one is my priority, however, and quite frankly, I enjoy writing it more. Blame it on Cass—I love her witty character. Plus, I find developing the dynamic between her and Harry so much fun to write.

Review and enjoy, my fabulous readers (but especially enjoy)!

OoOoO

February was brutal. With detentions every night, the D.A. members upset with her for using wandless magic, and the dreams of the winged lady exhausting her, Cass hit her lowest point in Hogwarts yet. For her, that was really saying something, seeing as how she had already been lied to by her headmaster and whispered about in the hallways. Oh, that was another thing: the rumors. Cass got a slice of what it was like to be Harry the entire month of February, seemingly everyone making comments on her dash across the Quidditch field.

Actions have consequences.

Painful and frustrating, the detentions were awful. Luckily for her, with the sheer amount of detentions Umbridge had given her, the toad couldn't make her use the Blood Quill every day. Cass assumed Umbridge knew using the cursed quill daily would be too obvious, which was rather sick and twisted as it was, but Cass wasn't going to complain. It even got to the point where Cass rolled her sleeves up so that everyone could see the marks on her arm. With Sarah asking a well-placed "Cass, what's that on your arm?" in DADA, Umbridge stopped making Cass use the quill altogether, her fear of being caught obviously outweighing her psychotic tendencies.

Toads have warts.

McGonagall's detentions, though considerably less evil, were quite the experience as well. She armed Cass with a broom, took away her wand, and set her to work on cleaning her entire office, which she had spelled to be much dirtier than usual. That was the first week. The second one was spent in the administrative records room, Cass sorting through piles upon piles of fifty-year-old detentions slips, permission forms, and disciplinary infractions.

Visions have lessons.

The one thing she did enjoy was detentions in the kitchens. Working with the giggly and happy house-elves, Cass didn't feel like she was being punished at all. She suspected Umbridge had never been to the kitchens, else she wouldn't have forced Cass to work in the happy place.

So, February, which Cass liked to think of as a bump in the road of her Hogwarts experience, passed too, her worst month at Hogwarts by a wide margin. But she put it behind her, squared her shoulders, and told herself firmly that she could handle a single bad month. That was the last thought she had before she went to sleep on the second Wednesday of March, the very last day she served detentions. Her dreams that night came as a shock to her core.

The lady strutted through a hallway, moonlight filtering in from the pointed glass ceiling above. Long, dark wings slid silently across the floor behind her, a macabre cloak in the night. Her face filled the Seer's vision: flawless, brown skin the color of creamed coffee, full lips, delicate nose, obsidian orbs for eyes. She gazed upon with much hunger something behind the Seer, and in a swift motion, she plucked a necklace—

Cass screamed and flung out of her bed, pain exploding behind her eyes. Somewhere, seeming a great distance away, Brooke awoke with a startled "Wha?!" Cass didn't register her friend turning on the lights, didn't even feel Brooke shaking her shoulders; her head was splitting open. It had to be. That was the only explanation for the excruciating pain she felt right behind her eyes.

"Pauline! Go get McGonagall or Pomfrey or someone!" Brooke commanded, her voice a great ways away. "Cass, what's wrong? Cass? You're scaring me!" Cass had clutched her head, curling her body into a fetal position. Tears she barely felt squeezed out her closed eyelids; her thoughts were on fire; her head was bursting. Her-head-was-bursting!

"My head—it's coming apart—does it look bad?" she asked blearily after a couple of seconds. The pain was dulling, but it was still sharp enough to make her eyes water. It seemed every beat of her heart was another wave of pain.

"There's nothing wrong with your head, Cass," whispered Brooke softly, trying not to upset Cass's headache any more.

"There . . . isn't?" said Cass, blinking and clenching her hands into tight fists.

"Is she alright?" asked Pauline, clad in her Muggle sweatpants, her braids frizzy from bed.

"Does she look alright?" snapped Brooke.

Cass breathed through her nose, her eyes pinched shut. Getting to her feet wobbly, she stumbled over to the bathroom, Brooke and Pauline trailing behind her nervously.

She looked a mess. Eyes wild and bloodshot, cheeks red, Cass rinsed her face with water, washing away the remaining pain to a dull headache. She winced and teared up, shakily trying to wipe away the drops of salty water with her index finger. After a couple seconds, she gave up, her hands trembling too much to be of any use.

"Should I go get McGonagall?" asked Pauline, for once being helpful.

"No," mumbled Cass weakly. "Not her. I think I'll just go get some pain relief from Madam Pomfrey."

"Should she be walking?" whispered Pauline to Brooke out of the corner of her mouth.

Cass shot her roommate a look. "I'll be fine," she said forcefully.

"Cass, I hate to say this, but I think Pauline's right," said Brooke, indeed looking sour at the thought of agreeing with Pauline. "You were just screaming her head off. What . . . what did you See?"

"Something that didn't want to be Seen," answered Cass, shuddering at the glimpse of the necklace she had gotten before being violently wrenched back into reality. It was silver with blue gems, or maybe purple gems. Or maybe it was gold. Cass realized she had no idea what it looked like, the image was fading from her mind . . .

"I just need some Pain Relief Potion from Madam Pomfrey," she repeated firmly. "I'll explain tomorrow—er, not that I understood what happened."

"Okay," said Brooke, clearly unsure. "Right, then. Do you want me to go with you?"

Cass shrugged. "If you want," she replied, though she really was just going to see the nurse. She kept her voice at a whisper, her head still sensitive and throbbing.

"Right, I'll just get my slippers . . ."

Madam Pomfrey was not pleased to be woken up, however as soon as she saw Cass's state, she set to preparing a vial of Pain Relief Potion. As she retrieved the brew, she asked Cass what had happened.

"I don't know," answered Cass truthfully. "There was this lady and she was walking down the hallway and then she touched . . . something." It had been silver, Cass could remember that much. A chain of some sort? "I don't know what it was. But it gave me a nasty headache and pushed me out. I couldn't See."

"Can you See now?" asked Madam Pomfrey concernedly.

Cass Looked.

And she Saw nothing.

She gasped, a strange panic overcoming her. She tried again—what was for breakfast tomorrow? Nothing. What color would Rose wear her hair? Nothing. What would Madam Pomfrey say five minutes from now? Something—a small, soundless image of Madam Pomfrey's blurry face moving. Then nothing. Cass felt her blood run cold and her mind went to the worst possible explanation—what if she lost her gift?

"I—there's nothing!" she said, her voice bordering on a panicked scream. "I can't—"

A great hall filled with students. Eggs, breakfast sandwiches, and waffles filled their plates.

Flick.

A girl smiled, her hair a vibrant magenta color.

Flicker.

"Do get some sleep, both of you," said a matronly witch in a white bonnet. She shooed two girls out of a hospital room.

Cass fell to her knees, trembling with the overload of images that had just flooded her mind. She had Seen that all in milliseconds, quick flashes of the questions she had so desperately asked only moments before.

"What was that?" she asked Madam Pomfrey, feeling sick.

Brooke and the nurse helped her to her feet and led her over to a hospital bed. Cass sat down gingerly, her senses feeling heightened, her third-eye poised sharp and alert. She felt acutely awake, as though she had dunked her head in cold water.

"I'm not sure," said Madam Pomfrey. "I assume you were just bombarded with—er—visions?"

Cass nodded.

"I thought so. Perhaps whatever you Saw had a temporary effect on you, rendering you Sightless for a few minutes. Then, when the effects had worn off, you were blasted with visions. Has anything like that happened before?"

Cass reached back into her memory, thinking hard. Slowly, she said, "Yeah. The time Trelawney came down from her tower, I was pushed out of Seeing . . . something. It might have been a necklace. But it wasn't as strong as this."

"Perhaps, with both you and Professor Trelawney sharing the visions, the effects were dampened by your combined power?" mused Madam Pomfrey, seeming puzzled. "Oh, here. Take this please, for your headache."

Cass gratefully downed the potion, the cloud of pain clearing away instantly. She smiled at the nurse in thanks.

"I don't suppose you'll be wanting to spend the night here?" said Madam Pomfrey.

"Er, no thanks."

"Right," said Madam Pomfrey wearily. "If that's that, head back to your dormitories. Take this slip, in case you run into any prefects or teachers in the castle."

Brooke took the slip soundlessly, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"Do get some sleep, both of you," Madam Pomfrey added sternly as Cass and Brooke left. Despite herself, Cass gave a small smile at the nurse's words.

OoOoO

"What the hell happened to you?" Ron demanded as Cass sat down at the breakfast table.

She glared at him with a smoldering annoyance. She must look as bad as she felt, then.

"I couldn't sleep last night thinking about how rude you are," she deadpanned, nursing her fatigued headache with a cup of steaming chamomile tea.

"Do you need anything?" Harry asked in concern, his eyes taking in her exhausted state. "I can go get some medicine from Madam Pomfrey or something . . ."

"No, but thanks," said Cass, forcing her lips to smile. She didn't want to worry Harry. "The Daily Prophet, Hermione?"

The bushy-haired girl was engrossed in the newspaper, her eyes troubled. "Cass," she said, not taking her eyes off the paper, "I think you should see this."

Cass looked at Hermione, amused. "Let me guess: a winged lady stole a necklace."

"You had a vision?" asked Hermione, finally looking up.

"Yup," confirmed Cass, popping the 'p'.

"Figures," muttered Ron.

"That's why you're tired?" asked Harry.

Cass nodded. "But something happened. The woman, she took something. Something I wasn't supposed to See—it pushed me away, if that makes any sense."

"It does," said Hermione, peering at the paper. "Look here—the winged lady—the Prophet says the French call her Angenuit—broke into the Louvre to steal the Fléau de Lecteurs. Er, that translates to . . . 'bane of readers', I think. My French is rather limited."

Angenuit, thought Cass, rolling the name around in her mind. Her Latin knowledge that came with casting spells told her it meant something along the lines of 'Angle of Night' or perhaps 'Dark Angel'. It fit with the wings but didn't do much to reassure Cass of her worries.

"Bane of readers?" asked Harry, tapping his finger on the table in thought. "Like, bane of mind-readers? Legilimens? Seers?"

"I'm not sure," said Hermione. "But I'll look it up—"

"—in the library," finished Cass, Harry, and Ron in unison.

Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. "Right, if you guys need me, you know where I'll be."

"Actually, I should be going, too," said Cass. "I told Brooke I'd explain what I Saw this morning—I gave my roommates a right scare last night after seeing the, er, Fléau de Lecteurs."

Harry gave her a funny look. "Your French is awful," he observed, chuckling.

"Ha," said Cass sarcastically. "Au revoir."

"Terrible," said Harry, shaking his head at her pronunciation.

"He's right, you know," said Ron.

"Goodbye!" Cass repeated in English, rolling her eyes and heading over to Brooke.

After explaining things to Brooke, Cass decided she was going to enjoy her Saturday to the fullest. She and Brooke rounded up the rest of their friends to walk around the lake, their special tradition, and then later to the Quidditch pitch, where they flew around for a bit. Cass didn't think first-years were strictly allowed to do that but a quick peek into the future assured her nothing would happen.

Rose, wearing her hair magenta pink, thought it odd for Cass to be receiving visions on someone all the way in France. "Isn't it strange? Do you think that . . . well, what if she's a Dark witch? The French equivalent of You-Know-Who?"

They were all sitting out by the lake under an oak tree, enjoying their Saturday afternoon. Well, minus Cyrene; she was studying with her Ravenclaw friends.

"Don't be silly," said Marcell with a wave of his hand. "You-Know-Who wouldn't waste time and energy on a pretty necklace."

"Don't call him 'You-Know-Who'," said Cass absently. "You know what Hermione and Harry say—'Fear of the name—'"

"Yeah, we know, Cass," said Marcell. "But Hermione and Harry—and you as well, for that matter—didn't grow up in the wizarding world. You don't know how feared his name is."

"Harry grew up in the wizarding world, didn't he?" said Janelle, picking at a flower. "I mean, he is the Boy-Who-Lived."

"No, he grew up with his aunt and uncle in the Muggle world," corrected Cass before realizing she shouldn't know that. Hurriedly, she thought of an excuse. "I thought he did grow up with wizards, but Hermione told me he hadn't in the library once."

"Oh," said Sarah. "But still, the point is, You-Know-Who's actual name is something of a taboo. You just don't say it."

Cass let it go, resigning herself to the fact that fear of Voldemort couldn't be solved by simply using his name. Instead of pressing the matter, she said, "Rose, I really hope you're wrong. You-Know-Who is enough Dark for one lifetime, thank you very much."

"But," said Bello nervously, "you don't really think that—that this Angenuit is another You-Know-Who?"

"Merlin, I hope not," said Brooke with a shudder. "But I say, don't worry about this Angenuit lady. She's France's problem."

"That's rather coldhearted, don't you think?" said Sarah.

"It's not like they're helping us out with Moldy Voldy over here!" defended Brooke.

"It's not like our own Ministry is helping us," Cass pointed out. She paused and then said, "There's something else about this Fléau de Lecteurs thing. It blocks me from having visions. Temporarily," she added, seeing the panic on her friends' faces.

"That's not good," said Rose worriedly.

"Not at all," agreed Cass, her thoughts darkening at the thought of being Sightless. A second later, she blinked several times; not even a year in and she was already dependent on her gift. Now that was not good.

The conversation lapsed into silence for a moment, all of them keeping their anxious thoughts to themselves.

After a while, Brooke muttered, "C'mon, guys, this is ridiculous. Why are we worrying about some mental French lady? We're at Hogwarts, thousands of kilometers away from Paris. Let's go do something."

"Like?" said Sarah, turning her attention away from the lake and to Brooke.

"Cass, you said you had detention in the kitchens? Mind showing us the house-elves?" said Brooke.

"Not at all," said Cass, shrugging. "They're a bit enthusiastic, though."

"Better than you depressing lot," said Brooke, standing up and brushing off her jeans.

Cass forced a bright grin on her face to make a point. "I'd love to go to the kitchens!"

Brooke smirked. "That's the spirit."

The group of friends shared a laugh as they made their way back up to the castle.

OoOoO

"You say your boy wrote to you of a Seer at Hogwarts?" said a high, cold voice. "Elaborate." A pale-skinned, red-eyed man sat on a raised dial, his sharp eyes holding something akin to eagerness.

"Yes, my Lord," said another voice, this one belonging to a man whose hair was once blond but now tinged with an exhausted grey. His face unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, the man continued reverently, "Cassandra McGarther. She's a first-year—I don't know how that's possible—and Draco tells me there are rumors of her Seeing more than the future. She's quite talented. Draco said the first term she stopped a boy from falling off the Astronomy Tower, she repeatedly shocks the people around her with her premonitions—why just last month she stopped Potter from attacking Draco himself, apparently having run all the way from the Quidditch stands to the field to stop the conflict just in time."

"Did she, now?" said the pale man musingly. He smirked to himself, an expression that painted him in a manic view. "The whole school knows about this?"

"Draco's letter leads me to believe that it is common knowledge, but that Umbridge lady does her best to suppress it."

"Ah, well, the Ministry are fools," said the pale man, his finger tapping thoughtfully on his chair that looked like a throne. "Why hasn't Snape informed me of this? He knows too well how useful it would be for us to have a Seer . . . is it possible that he has hidden her on purpose?"

The other man remained silent, too afraid to speak.

The doors to the chamber burst open, revealing a man clad in black clothing. "My Lord, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but—" a flash of red light hit him in the back, and the new man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Behind him, a lady with an odd cloak walked in. The Seer thought for a moment that they looked like wings and then her attention shifted to the necklace—

A force slammed into the Seer, sending her mind soaring away. Frantically, she grasped onto something, her Seer magic floundering. The force of the blow left a mark on her Eyes, her metaphorical ones, and she screamed, temporarily blinded. Her world dark, the Seer pushed against the force, but it was too strong, too powerful, too painful . . .

Cass awoke with a shriek, her mind reeling, retreating back into the safety of her body. Her head stinging with a fury, she half-jumped, half-fell out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom, tears flooding her vision.

"Cass—oof!"

Cass ran into something solid and tumbled backwards, landing on her bum with a muffled yell. She heard Brooke a few feet over cursing colorfully under her breath.

Pressing her fingers to her forehead, Cass mumbled, "Lumos," and a ball of white light appeared on her pointer finger. It sputtered and went out immediately, her wandless magic weak and rushed.

"Are you alright?" demanded Brooke after flicking on her bedside lamp. "Did you See that bane necklace thing?"

Cass nodded, her vision swimming. The next thing she knew, her head was on the ground, the ceiling above her spinning. "Head hurts," she said, her face strained. "Really bad."

"Should I get McGonagall? Or Pomfrey?"

"I don't know," said Cass, shaking her head. "Dunno . . ." Cold water splashed her face and she lurched to a sitting position.

Brooke was standing right beside her, her water bottle upended.

"Sorry, you were blacking out on me," she said in apology.

"S'fine," said Cass, blinking and clearing her head. Like a pathetic little baby, she crawled over to the bathroom, intent on flushing her pain away with sink water. She realized she might not be thinking too clearly.

"Uh, Pauline? Think you could get up and help me?"

"No," came the grumpy answer.

"Lazy arse," muttered Brooke angrily.

"Language," reprimanded Cass softly, turning on the faucet and rinsing her face.

"Well, at least you have the frame of mind to scold me," said Brooke, taking a rag and running it under warm water. She gave it to Cass, who took in gratefully.

"You should go to the nurse," Brooke told her, looking genuinely worried.

"I don't want to walk all the way down there," said Cass, sighing as the warm rag seemed to soak the pain up.

"I can go get her," volunteered Brooke.

Cass shook her head, making her way back to her bed. Brooke plopped down next to her, immediately bundling herself with a blanket.

"I'm alright," said Cass. "I can't very well visit the nurse every time I see the necklace."

"So it was the necklace that brought this on?"

Cass nodded in affirmation.

"Can you See anything?" asked Brooke. Over in her bed, Pauline shushed them, prompting Cass to glare crossly in her direction.

Cass attempted to Look but either her gift decided not to work or the necklace had blinded her again. Thinking over it, she suspected it was the latter. Before she had woken up, her "eyes" had been injured by the magic of the necklace. Cass felt a sense of dread; how would she even heal them? Or would they just heal on their own? What if it was permanent? Dread soon turned to terror and she felt as though she might cry. Instead she shook her head at Brooke.

"Nothing," she said, her voice trembling slightly.

"Bloody necklace," muttered Brooke, her own way of saying she was sorry for Cass.

"Treacle tarts," was all Cass said in reply, and her own version of cursing seemed to sum up the situation.

"Shut up!" screeched Pauline, and then a second later a copy of The Lord of the Rings soared between Cass and Brooke, hitting the floor with a thump.

"I hate her," grumbled Brooke.

"You don't really."

"No, I do."

"I can hear you!"

"Shut up!" said Brooke in a believable imitation of Pauline's voice.

Pauline leapt from her bed and marched over to Cass's bed, irritated anger etched onto her face. "I'm tired, okay?!" she told them before stomping around the bed and snatching her book from the floor. Five seconds later, she had turned off Brooke's lamp and burrowed back into her own bed.

"I'm tired, okay?!" Brooke mocked into the darkness.

Cass snickered before telling Brooke to "shut it before she murders you" and get to sleep. Brooke stole her blanket, apparently too cold to make the trip over to own bed without it, and was asleep only a few short minutes later.

Cass, however, didn't get to sleep at all. After an hour of trying to make out featureless shapes in the darkness, she sighed and got up, wordlessly making her way to the common room.

She was surprised to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione there, each of them snoring over a pile of parchment. Ron, the poor bloke, was sleeping in an awful position for his neck, ink smeared all over his face.

Cass checked the time; it was six in the morning! Had the fifth-years been there all night? Sighing, she shook Harry awake.

"Wha-?" he mumbled incoherently, his chin smudged with ink.

"You lot better get back up to your dorms before the Terror twins come down—Merlin knows what jokes they'd pull on you," whispered Cass.

"Cass?" said Harry blearily, his eyes clearing slightly of sleep.

"Yeah, it's me."

"What are you doing awake? It's . . . hell, it's six in the morning."

"I couldn't sleep," answered Cass truthfully.

"What were you saying about Fred and George?"

"That they would absolutely go to town if they saw three helpless fifth-years sleeping in the common room."

That woke Harry up. Rejuvenated, he shook Ron and Hermione awake hastily.

"Geroff me, mum!" Ron protested, still half asleep. "School's not till September."

Cass snickered, gestured for Harry and Hermione to be quiet, and said, "Ron, the captain of the Chuddley Cannons is here to see you. Something about offering you a scholarship . . . ? Not to worry, dear, I'll tell them you're asleep." Her Mrs. Weasley imitation was good, but certainly not great. Luckily, Ron was asleep, so it hardly mattered.

Sputtering something about tryouts, Ron scrambled to his feet and dashed to the left, promptly running into the wall and smacking his nose.

"OUCH!"

Cass, Harry, and Hermione just about died from laughter. By the time Ron realized what was happening, the three of them were on the ground, wheezing with mirth. Muttering obscenities under his breath, Ron dumped his quills into his backpack and stomped upstairs.

"Do you think we should have told him about the ink all over his face?" asked Hermione, wiping a tear from her eye.

"No, I reckon Seamus and Dean's teasing will alert him," answered Harry, grinning.

Cass and Hermione laughed, the former ignoring how her headache flared.

"Cass, what are you doing up so early? Goodness, it's nearly a quarter after six! I think we must have slept here all night . . ." said Hermione as she neatly packed away her things.

"A vision is why I'm up," answered Cass. "Here, let me tell you both . . ."

By the time she had finished explaining, it was after six-thirty, and a couple seventh-years had come down, intent on getting in some work before class.

"This is bad," said Hermione. "You-Know-Who knew you by name?"

"Yes, Draco's dad, I dunno his name, told him my name." Cass swallowed, tasting bile. It was one thing to know a Dark Lord was after your brother, it was quite another to have him know you by name. The thought of her name in Voldemort's mouth made her want to get sick. Something turned over in her gut—as though someone had stuck there hand in there and stirred things around. Cass was quite sure it was dread. Or panic. Probably both.

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry told her, his gaze on her intensely worried. It looked as though his gut was going through the same thing hers was. "It sounded as though You-Know-Who was suspicious of Snape." He kept his voice at a low whisper.

"Harry's right," said Hermione frettingly. "I know you both hate him—and with good reason—but don't you think Dumbledore ought to know this?"

"Maybe," said Cass stubbornly.

"Cass."

"Oh, alright, I'll tell him later," said Cass, unable to deny the logic of Hermione's advice.

"Good," said Hermione approvingly.

"Right, well, I'm going to go get a few more minutes of sleep," said Harry, yawning widely. "Bloody hell, didn't even finish the Charm's research . . ." he muttered as he walked away. Cass thought she heard something in his tone, some hint that suggested he wasn't really going to sleep; Harry sounded worried enough to never sleep again. She found a similar feeling in herself.

Hermione checked her watch, sighing. "It's nearly seven now, I won't get back to sleep. Do you want to get dressed and head down to the library for a bit? Maybe we can find some more information on the Fléau de Lecteurs . . . "

"Actually, I've just had a better idea," said Cass, grinningly wickedly, needing to take her mind off . . . she didn't even want to think about it. "I think I'll go pay Dumbledore that visit now, maybe it will wake him up . . ."

"How do you plan on getting into his office?" asked Hermione, knowing Cass didn't have an answer to that.

"I'll just Look—oh, right. Treacle tarts."

Hermione gave her a sympathetic look and said, "I'm sorry, Cass. I know it must be hard not having your Sight."

With other people, Cass might have thought they were being funny. But she knew Hermione was never anything but sincere. "It's such a terrible feeling. Almost as if . . ." Cass searched for adequate words for a moment. "As if the necklace was stabbing me in my eyes—not the physical ones, mind you, the spiritual? No, that's not the word. My third-eye? It's as if my third-eye has been hurt, or maybe blinded with light, or maybe both, and I'm left in the dark for a while until it heals." Cass smacked her forehead with her palm. "Only that doesn't make a bit of sense."

"No," said Hermione with a pensive expression. "It makes perfect sense. The necklace wounds you as it pushes you away, and then afterwards you have to wait for it to heal over. Like having a swollen, black eye, only it's not your actual eyes." She nodded, seeming satisfied to finally understand, a feeling Cass shared.

"Yeah," agreed Cass. "Exactly like that." Hermione sure did have a way with words.

"Right, well, I'm sure the library might have something on—er—spiritual cuts," suggested Hermione. "Third-eye wounds? Unsecular abrasions?"

"Unsecular abrasions works, I suppose."

"Right then, let's go."

The library did not have anything on "unsecular abrasions", something Cass could have known had she had her Sight. By eight, the two Gryffindors had found nothing, a truly remarkable thing considering one of them was a research mastermind with full-time access to the restricted section. Honestly, how did Cass ever manage to get by without her Sight? It was actually quite pathetic how much she depended on it.

The rest of the day was similarly frustrating. After visiting Dumbledore to inform him of Voldemort's suspicions—a nasty ordeal in and of itself—Cass was tortured with half-formed, blurry visions that didn't make even a bit of sense. A knot of dread had formed in her stomach; something terrible was going to happen, only Cass couldn't discern what, when, or how it would happen. It was awful knowing something bad would occur but not knowing anything beyond that.

Not knowing how to stop it.

Come evening, Cass's Sight hadn't cleared up, her head was aching something nasty, and she was extremely irate. Picking at her food with a put-off expression on her face, she glanced at the high table and noticed Snape wasn't there. The knot in her gut clenched.

"Cass? What is it?" questioned Brooke, poking at Cass to get her to look at her.

"Uh, Snape isn't here," said Cass confusedly, trying desperately to articulate what exactly was wrong about that.

"And that's a bad thing? Bloody git gave us a Troll grade today," said Brooke with a scoff. "A Troll! What's he playing at? That potion was perfect!" She had been complaining all afternoon about their grade and she obviously wasn't going to stop.

"I can't See anything!" snapped Cass in frustration. "For the love of treacle tarts, I hate that bloody necklace!" She dropped her spoon in anger, spattering tomato soup onto her face. With a groan, she wiped it off.

"Uh, Cass? I know you're frustrated, but I'm thinking that maybe it wasn't a good idea to vent about it all day," said Brooke nervously.

"Why?"

"The twins are looking at you oddly," said Brooke with a gulp. She scooted away from Cass, looking apprehensive.

"Uh-oh," whispered Cass. A second later, the pumpkin pie—her only consolation after the long day—imploded, sending creamy filling into her face and all over her place at the table.

Brooke had the audacity to snicker, though she made an attempt to cover it up.

Around her, the table had gone silent, students clearly shocked the Weasley twins had managed to prank Cass. She clenched her fists and used her napkin to wipe off her face. Brooke was practically dying trying to hold in her laughter. Shooting her friend a nasty look, Cass picked up her tomato soup, stomped over to the Weasley twins, who were both too busy cracking up to notice, and dumped the soup all over their heads. Their shocked sputtering was almost enough to make up for the pumpkin pie in her face.

"MCGARTHER!" hollered McGonagall as she made her way down to the table. "WEASLEYS! MY OFFICE, NOW!"

"No, thanks," said Cass cheekily, and then she stalked out of the Great Hall, too upset to care about the consequences of what she just did.

In the loo, Cass heatedly washed off the pie and watched mutely as the cream washed down the drain. Her face a nasty look of simmering anger, Cass roughly dried the water from her face with a towelette. A few minutes later, she had cooled down enough to admit that talking back to McGonagall had been rather stupid. And dumping soup on the twins heads had been unimaginative, reckless, and . . . well, actually, that had been quite funny. She thought about what Lily would have done and liked to think her mum would have reacted similarly.

The door to the loo banged open and in came McGonagall, looking furious and clutching the hems of her robes tightly.

"Come with me," she commanded, in a tone that left no room for even the slightest disobedience or cheek.

Wordlessly, Cass followed the irate professor out of the bathroom, feeling tired, humiliated, and annoyed. Extremely annoyed. The lividly disappointed McGonagall shot at her just bounced right off her.

Finally in the office, Cass sat down next to the twins, making the point to scoot her chair away from them. Both Fred and George, she noted with satisfaction, were stained red from the soup. It was rather funny.

"I cannot believe the three of you," began McGonagall. "Mr. and Mr. Weasley, you should have never pulled that joke, and Miss McGarther, you should have never retaliated. I cannot believe the nerve of you three! I'd think you all would be intelligent enough to keep your heads down! You all are aware, of course, that the Ministry at Hogwarts doesn't bode well for us, yet you continue to cause trouble. Especially you, Miss McGarther! It seems you inherited more of your father than I thought."

"Proud of it," said Cass challengingly. The twins snickered and she glared at them.

"Right, well there was always one thing your father hated doing, so, since you seem have inherited quite a bit of him, I hope you find the task detestable as well. Because of your actions tonight, you will be helping Mr. Filch with his duties . . ."

For the first time that day, Cass's eyes pricked her Sight snapped into place . . .

A greasy-haired man walked down a hallway that flickered with torchlight, his face impassively blank. Still, he seemed fearful of what awaited him at the end of the hallway.

The pale man sitting on a thronelike chair looked over the greasy-haired man with cold calculation, suspicion clear in his red eyes.

"Lucius has reported something rather troubling to me," said the pale man in a frigid voice. "Or rather, the fact that it was not you who reported it to me is troubling. Tell me, Severus, why wasn't I informed of this Seer at Hogwarts? Why did I come to find out through a letter sent by Lucius's son?"

Severus licked his lips, the only sign of his nervousness. "My Lord, I had not believed the rumors of the girl's ability important enough to trouble you with them."

"You're lying," stated the cold man.

"My Lord, I swear to you, I would have informed—"

"Crucio!"

The bloodred light hit Severus powerfully, forcing the man to his knees and erecting a groan out of him. As the pale man twisted his wand, the groan grew into a bloodcurdling scream. The Seer shrank back from the sound, her heart going out to the man writhing on the ground. Desperately, she tried to touch him, to shield him, but alas, she could not.

"Legilimens!"

The Seer felt rather than saw the pale man enter Severus's mind. Tearing through Severus's mental shields, the pale man yanked information from his mind.

"What is this?" said the pale man to Severus. "WHAT IS THIS? TRAITOR! LIAR! CRUCIO!"

Severus screamed in reaction to the harsh red beam of light.

"This . . . this is impossible," said the pale man, still shifting through Severus's mind. The poor man had no defense against the pale man's power, although the Seer could tell Severus's struggle was pushing back at the pale man. "What else are you hiding, Severus? You've kept the prophecy from me . . . what else are you hiding? I can sense your desperation to keep it from me . . . you must know that you will not win . . . yet you're still trying? Such talent, no one survives this long. What a waste, Severus. You're a waste."

"You won't get it from me," said Severus, a fire in his eyes. "You will not!"

"Yes, I will. There it is—so close—"

The Seer tried once again to lend aid to Severus. Away from her body, she knew not the information the evil man sought to uncover, but she knew its importance. It was absolutely essential that the pale man remain in the dark about this . . . whatever Severus was hiding. The pale man could not know!

Her desperation got her nowhere, her power only that of observance, not interference. Still, she tried lending Severus strength. She was not successful. She wished she was successful.

"What . . .?" muttered the pale man. "Who is this girl you keep from me? What was that—Dumbledore? The Potters? Who—"

And then the pale man went silent, dead silent, his heart seeming to stop in shock. Cruelly, he dug into Severus's mind once more, stabbing into it, and looked over again what he had just seen.

"That is . . . interesting," he said quietly, a smirk forming on his lips. "I would not have thought time travel such as that were possible . . ."

On the ground, Severus sobbed. "I'm sorry, Lily. I've failed your children, I've failed them . . . I've failed you . . ."

"Avada Kedavra," muttered the pale man distractedly, flicking his wand at Severus.

The green light hit.

Severus Snape was no more.

Cass opened her eyes and found complete darkness. With a cry, she fell backwards, her chair toppling with her. She started to scream in terror from her vision.

"Lumos!" muttered a voice—McGonagall's. "Cassandra! What did you See?"

"Bloody lights just whooshed out," said George nervously.

"Kid's got power," commented Fred.

"Not enough to See the pumpkin pie, apparently."

"Weasleys, keep quiet!" barked McGonagall. A flick of the professor's wrist and the lights were back on, invading into Cass's eyes with a distinct sting.

Cass, her eyes wild, scrambled backwards, colliding with the wall and scraping her elbow. Leaning over onto her knees, she got sick. The horrible splattering sound filled the office. Tears flooded down her cheeks, her mind overflowing with images of Snape's death.

She realized someone was holding her hair back and spelling away her vomit. That was McGonagall.

"Breathe, McGarther—boys, fetch the headmaster and Madam Pomfrey! Split up, quickly now!" she commanded over Cass's shoulder, her strict voice seeming a great distance away. Footsteps hurriedly exited the office.

Trembling uncontrollably, Cass choked out, "Snape, where is he? Tell him, he can't go tonight! Please . . ."

McGonagall paled, her black eyebrows standing out in contrast. "He's already left," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Cass choked on a sob.

"Then he knows," she said, her voice tight with terror. "Voldemort knows."

"What? What does he know?"

Cass leaned back against the wall and looked the professor straight in the eye. "Everything."

OoOoO