Chapter 13: Classes and Clairvoyance

The first day of classes dawned wet and dark.

Rain pounded the windows of Gryffindor tower, flashes of lightning streaking across the gray sky.

The dreary weather perfectly matched Harry's mood.

He had woken just before dawn to yet another nightmarish dream. Upon waking, he had found a small red stain on his pillow, dread rising at the sight.

His scar was bleeding again.

He had no idea how to respond to this. Deep down, he knew that he should probably tell someone. It wasn't normal for a scar this old to bleed. It wasn't normal for his dreams to be so violent, so filled with murderous emotions and pain. It wasn't normal to be so attached to a locket and so entranced by its whisperings.

The problem was that he literally couldn't tell anyone.

The locket wouldn't let him speak. Every time he even considered telling someone, its whisperings grew louder, drowning his resolve, forcing him to forget. Its magic had somehow sealed his lips, making it impossible for him to speak of the locket, making it impossible for him to ask for help.

It seemed that Harry had only one option: he would have to bear this pain alone.

Harry aimed a Cleansing Charm at his face and pillow, removing all traces of blood. Without the physical evidence, it was easy to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Harry still had around half an hour before he needed to start getting ready for the day, deciding to use the time to meditate on his Animagus form, desperate to make some progress. He had tried it unsuccessfully nearly every morning at Grimmauld Place, unable to close his eyes without panicking.

He had high hopes for this morning, praying that the familiar dormitory would help him stay calm.

He closed his eyes, trying to let his mind empty of everything that was bothering him, trying to clear his head. As always, he was completely unable to think of nothing. It was impossible, dark thoughts descending faster than he could contain them.

Frustrated, he thought back to yesterday, remembering the tranquil bliss of flight, trying to grasp that feeling.

He remembered the wind rushing in his hair, the blue expanse of sky, the exhilarating speed. He fell into the memory, feeling the smooth wood of the broom under his fingertips, feeling the rush of exhilarating motion. As he fell deeper into his trance, something changed. He wasn't flying on a broom anymore, he was soaring on wings, air rustling through his feathers as he turned in a graceful arc.

A loud snore brought Harry out of his reverie, jerking him back to reality. He silently cursed Ron for ruining his concentration

His annoyance was quickly replaced by excitement, a grin breaking across his face. He was going to be a bird! This was perfect!

He probably should've seen it coming considering how much he liked flying. He still had no earthly idea what kind of bird he was, but this was definitely a step in the right direction.

Harry was practically buzzing with joy as he got ready for the day. There was something about becoming an Animagus that made him feel like a little kid in a candy store.

Noticing that Ron was still sleeping like the dead, he sent a tickling charm toward his friend. Ron turned over, muttering something about Quaffles. Harry put a little bit more power into the charm, grinning as Ron fell out of his bed, laughing hysterically. Once he stopped laughing, Ron glared at Harry before dragging himself to the bathroom.

Harry pulled on his uniform, relishing in the familiarity of the clothing. He didn't understand why other students hated the crisp white button-down, the black trousers, the gray sweater, the tie, and the robe that went over it all. This uniform had been the first nice piece of clothing Harry had ever owned, and he still loved wearing it.

Once Ron and Neville were ready, the three of them headed down to the Common Room, bags slung over their shoulders. Hermione was already there, sitting on one of the sofas, a large book open in her lap.

"Good morning!" she said brightly, closing her book with a snap. "Let's head down to breakfast! I can't wait to see what schedules are like. I've heard that we'll be terribly busy in Fifth Year!"

The four of them set off for the Great Hall, chatting about what classes they hoped to have that day. Neville wanted Herbology, of course, while Hermione was excited for literally everything.

Just as they were walking down the last set of stairs before they reached the Great Hall, Harry suddenly lost his footing, tumbling down the last few steps, landing hard.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, rushing to help him up. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he gasped.

That would leave a few bruises.

"I think that was a Tripping Jinx," Neville said, looking around nervously.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was," Harry replied, trying to ignore the fact that one of his fellow students had just knocked him down the stairs.

He was glad that they'd at least had the decency to wait until the last few steps. He didn't need to end up in the Hospital Wing on the first day of class.

With his body already aching from the fall, Harry followed the others into the Great Hall, feeling distinctly on edge.

Breakfast passed quickly, the buzz of conversation helping Harry forget about whoever had just attacked him.

Before he knew it, McGonagall was walking down the table handing out schedules.

When she handed him his, Harry quickly saw that Hermione had been right: this year would be very busy.

"History of Magic first thing on a Monday morning? Are they trying to kill us?"

Harry couldn't help but agree with Ron's sentiment. Putting History of Magic first thing on a Monday was a recipe for disaster. The entire class would likely be asleep within minutes. Harry had never been more grateful to Remus for getting him the Dicta-Quill.

Harry was happy to see that they wouldn't be seeing Umbridge at all that day, glad to delay that meeting for as long as possible. He was also rather pleased that they had Potions this afternoon, looking forward to applying his new knowledge. If he ignored Snape and concentrated, he knew he could do extremely well.

Once Ron finished his third plate of food, they set off for the History of Magic classroom.

As Harry had predicted, within five minutes of Binns' lecture starting, most of the class had dozed off. Harry, however, had set up his Dicta-Quill and was ignoring Binns completely. He spent the period reading through his Potions text, going over the recipes near the beginning of the book, making notes as he went.

Despite being a double period, the class passed quickly enough. When the bell rang, they headed off to Charms, expecting another lecture about OWLs and responsibility.

After the expected lecture, they set to reviewing Banishing Charms. To make things interesting, Professor Flitwick had designed a challenge for them, acquiring blocks of stone and charming them to increase exponentially in weight. While the rest of the class was practicing the charm at their desks, groups of four would be called to the front to see how many of the blocks they could banish.

Flitwick had charmed ten blocks, ranging in weight from one hundred kilos to one thousand kilos. The average adult wizard had enough raw power to banish about four hundred kilos, making the final stone a long shot for all but the most powerful wizards.

This was the first time in their Hogwarts education that they had done an exercise that measured raw magical power, with good reason. Raw magical potential didn't stop growing until a Wizard hit fifteen. After that, power levels remained stable.

Their professors had taken a lot of time in previous years to explain the essential difference between power and skill. If you had average power, you could still be a great wizard. In the same vein, you could have a ton of magical power, but if you had no skill, you wouldn't be able to control it.

For most Wizards, power wasn't something they thought about. The vast majority of spells could be done by almost any power level. It was only with very difficult magic that power started to matter. Raw magical power was part of the reason why Voldemort was so terrifying. He was hugely powerful and had the skill to back it up, making him incredibly dangerous.

Harry had no idea what to expect from himself. He knew that he could conjure a Corporeal Patronus, something that most adult wizards couldn't do, but he didn't know how that would translate into his raw magical power. He expected he was just slightly above average. He might be able to banish the fourth block, but he doubted he would be able to go much beyond that.

Harry couldn't stop himself from watching as people took their turns banishing the blocks. Most seemed to make it to the fourth or fifth block, running out of power as they tried to banish the sixth. Harry watched as Blaise managed the sixth block, smiling broadly as the stone hit the wall.

To Harry's utter delight, Malfoy only managed the first four, face burning red with humiliation as he stalked back to his desk. Harry could practically hear him planning to tell his father about this.

When it was their turn, Harry made his way to the front of the room with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, noticing that Neville appeared very nervous, looking pale and unsure.

Hermione went first, setting a new class record by banishing the seventh block. Ron was next, managing the sixth. Then it was Neville's turn. Although his wand was shaking the entire time, Neville made it to Hermione's record of seven without showing a sign of strain. When he managed to banish the eighth block, the smile on his face lit up the whole room.

Harry wasn't surprised that his friends were so powerful. Ron came from a family full of extremely powerful wizards, Hermione was brilliant, and Neville was a diamond in the rough in terms of power. He didn't know how to use his strength very well, but he had a lot of it.

Harry didn't think he would even be in the same league as his friends.

He was quite surprised when he managed to make it to the sixth block, magic flowing easily. His shock grew as he made it to the seventh. Then the eighth. Then the ninth.

He could feel the other students watching him, sharp eyes scrutinizing his every move.

There was only one block left.

Harry had no idea what was going on. He'd never expected this.

He'd never thought of himself as powerful before.

He tried to ignore his staring classmates, wishing that they would stop looking at him. He hated being the outlier, the weirdo, the freak.

Part of him had been tempted to just stop after the sixth block, pretending that he'd simply run out of power.

He'd decided to persevere, honoring the promise he'd made to try his best.

He was going to do his best.

Steeling himself, Harry pointed his wand at the tenth block, channeling the full force of his magic through his wand. "Depulso."

The block flew backward, hitting the wall with an almighty crash. It cracked clean down the middle, leaving two perfect halves of stone lying on the ground.

The room was silent for a moment. Then, Professor Flitwick began applauding loudly.

"Oh, Mr. Potter! What an amazing display of raw magic! Marvelous! Just Marvelous!"

Harry thought he might die of embarrassment, cheeks burning. Thankfully, it was at that very moment that the bell rang, signaling that it was time to make the journey to Herbology.

They walked in silence for a few minutes before Ron spoke. "Blimey, Harry!" he exclaimed, wonder clear in his tone. "I didn't know you were that powerful! You might be on par with Dumbledore!"

Harry didn't know how to respond. He certainly didn't feel that powerful.

Hermione, to Harry's surprise, did not share Ron's reaction. "I always expected that Harry would be the most powerful of all of us. Don't give me that look, Harry! You produced a Corporeal Patronus that drove off over one hundred Dementors! That's something that most grown wizards couldn't even dream of doing, and you were thirteen!"

Harry hadn't really thought of it that way. He'd been desperate to save Sirius, desperate for a family. It was that simple.

Although he didn't understand how he could be as powerful as all that, he found himself desperately hoping it was true. If he was going to face Voldemort again, he would need all the power he could get.

Herbology was a peaceful reprieve. After giving them a short speech about the importance of OWLs, Professor Sprout set them off in groups of three to tend to some Chinese Chomping Cabbages. Harry left Ron, Hermione, and Neville to go partner with Blaise and Tracey. The two Slytherins welcomed him easily, and the trio spent an enjoyable hour chatting over the Cabbages.

Harry found the plants fascinating, intrigued by the detailed and intricate veins that ran across the leaves. The Cabbages were an essential ingredient in Skele-Gro which, even though it tasted vile, was an extremely useful Potion.

When the class was over, Harry stayed back to ask Professor Sprout about how sun exposure impacted the potency of Skele-Gro. Professor Sprout seemed overjoyed at his question, prattling on for nearly 20 minutes. Harry found himself taking notes, enthralled by her incredibly in-depth answer.

Finally noticing the time, she shooed him away. "Off you go, Mr. Potter. I'll not have you missing lunch on my account."

Harry thanked her and exited the Greenhouse, surprised to find Blaise and Neville waiting for him.

"Ron was starving, and Hermione got so tired of him complaining that she left with him. They didn't want you to walk back to the castle alone, so I volunteered to stay," Neville explained.

"And I wanted to walk back with you to see how annoyed I can make Malfoy," Blaise said, smirking.

Harry laughed. This was going to be good.

Before the three entered the Great Hall, Blaise draped his arm casually over Harry's shoulder, drawing him close. "Remember to smile, Potter. I don't want the other Gryffindorks to think I'm trying to hurt you."

Harry let out a laugh at the nickname. It might have offended some, but he just thought it was funny.

They did, in fact, get a lot of strange looks as they entered the Great Hall. It must have been an odd sight: Blaise Zabini, quintessential Slytherin, walking into the Great Hall flanked by Neville Longbottom, arm draped around Harry Potter. Malfoy did look furious, but that was not the reaction that caught his attention.

Professor Snape was giving him a very odd look, dark eyes boring into him. For once, he wasn't glaring. Instead, he was looking at Harry like he was a puzzle Snape wanted to solve. Harry thought he might prefer the glaring.

As Blaise bid them goodbye and went to the Slytherin table, Harry could still feel Snape's eyes on his back. He didn't like the feeling. Not at all. He found it difficult to eat with the feel of those eyes on him. Even George, who had come to sit next to him, couldn't make the anxious feeling go away.

Snape made him nervous. Harry knew that it had a lot to do with Uncle Vernon. He just didn't like tall men who enjoyed intimidating him. Of course, Snape had never tried to hit him, but his demeanor reminded Harry far too much of his uncle to be comfortable. Harry knew that was part of why he found it so hard to keep his mouth shut around the man.

Early in his childhood, Harry had realized that even though he couldn't fight his uncle physically, he could use his words against the man. That was the true origin of the famous "Potter sass" as Hermione called it.

It was always hardest in the early parts of the school year when Privet Drive was freshest in his mind. He had to consciously remind himself that Snape wasn't going to punch him in the middle of Potions class.

Giving up on his barely-touched food, Harry decided to head to Divination early. He made his way up to North Tower alone, dismissing the many offers to go with him. He needed to be alone for a bit.

He waited in the comfortable room below the trapdoor, trying to center himself. He was hoping to re-enter the state he had been in that morning, wanting to learn more about his Animagus form.

He wasn't successful. The anxiety in his chest wasn't going away, pulling at his attention, clouding his thoughts.

Harry hated being afraid like this. He hated that he couldn't separate Snape's odd look from the many times his uncle had pretended nothing was wrong only to surprise Harry with violence later.

He hated that he was so weak.

The arrival of the other students shook Harry from his dark thoughts. He made his way up the ladder, trying to calm his raging emotions, trying to stay grounded.

Professor Trelawney was her usual, unusual self, flitting around the classroom like a strange insect.

They were using Crystal Balls that day, giving Harry an opportunity to experiment. He had a theory that Spell Sensing might be able to make Crystal Balls effective even when they normally weren't. He was looking forward to testing the idea.

Sitting in front of his Crystal Ball, Harry focused on extending his magic outward. Slowly but surely, fuzzy shapes began to form in the smoke, swirling images filling the glass ball.

Harry was walking along shelves of glowing spheres, numbered rows flickering past him.

89, 90, 91.

He couldn't control where he was going. He just kept moving forward.

94, 95, 96.

As he stopped in front of row 97, the vision swirled away.

He was on his knees, blood dripping into a pool around him.

Screams filled the air.

They were his own.

Harry snapped back to reality with a gasp. That had been so real.

Ron was staring at him, clearly shocked by his reaction. "You alright, mate? You've been staring at that ball for almost 45 minutes! Did you actually see something?"

Harry nodded, unwilling to say more. He'd just seen the future. A future where he was dripping blood onto the floor and screaming in pain. That wasn't a topic he wanted to share with his best mate. Not now. Probably not ever.

Harry had been lost in the vision for nearly the entire class period, and he soon found himself climbing down the ladder and heading toward Transfiguration.

McGonagall was her normal, stern self, giving them a long speech about the importance of OWLs before setting them to work on Vanishing Spells.

They had never done this spell before and no one was having much success. After half an hour, even Hermione looked frustrated, poking aggressively at her snail. Professor McGonagall had warned that most students took several classes to master this spell, but that had never stopped Hermione before.

Harry, who was also having difficulty with the spell, wondered if Spell Sensing could help him. The skill seemed to be useful in almost all subjects, working to focus and channel the flow of magic. He might as well try it. It certainly couldn't make anything worse. He just hoped it wouldn't hurt the poor snail he was trying to vanish.

Harry reached his magic out toward the snail, finding a steady rhythm of magic flowing from it. Keeping some of his magic focused on the snail, he channeled the rest down through his wand arm. He waited, focusing on matching the rhythm of his magic to that of the snail. He had no idea what he was doing, or why he was doing it, but this seemed intuitive to him.

Finally, his magic seemed to sync with the life force of the snail, rhythms matching perfectly.

Harry was so focused on keeping the connection stable, that he didn't notice Professor McGonagall coming to stand right in front of his desk, eyes sharp as she watched him. Harry concentrated hard on the incantation. "Evanesco."

To his complete surprise, the snail disappeared.

It was only then that he noticed Professor McGonagall standing there, gaping at him. "Mr. Potter! That was some very impressive Transfiguration."

He blushed a bit, shrugging. Professor McGonagall gave him a hard look before bustling up to the front of the room and pulling a rather large rat from a cage. She carried it back over to Harry and plopped it down on his desk. "Try it on this," she said firmly. "Go on."

Harry did his best to ignore the feeling of her staring at him, trying to ignore the prickle of anxiety that came from being watched. He really didn't like all this attention.

For the second time that day he had to remind himself that he'd made a promise to push himself to his limits. He did his best to shake off his embarrassment, trying to replicate the process he'd just done with the snail.

He reached his magic toward the rat, feeling for its inner magic. He knew from Care of Magical Creatures that every living thing contained at least a bit of magic. It was just that most didn't have enough for it to be noticeable. He finally found the rat's magic. It had a rhythm like the snail's had, but it was far more complex, syncopated and fast. It took a much greater effort to get his magic to match the rhythm of the rat, taking him nearly forty-five seconds to manage it.

He focused on maintaining the synchronized rhythm, pointing his wand at the rat. "Evanesco."

Just as the snail had done, the rat completely vanished, leaving not a trace behind.

To Harry's shock, McGonagall broke out into a wide smile. "Well done, Potter! Very, very well done! I think that merits 20 points for Gryffindor." She leaned toward him, lowering her voice so that no one else could hear. "I'm glad you're finally using your full potential, Potter. I expect you to always do so from now on. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry muttered, blushing bright red.

She offered him another small smile, before leaving to observe the other students.

"Blimey, mate," Ron whispered, nudging him with an elbow. "Don't tell me you're becoming the new Hermione."

Harry knew that Ron's comment was meant as a joke, but he suddenly felt very nervous, wondering if Hermione would hate him for outshining her.

As it turned out, his fears were completely unfounded. As soon as they left the classroom, Hermione pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm really proud of you, Harry," she whispered into his shoulder, smile clear in her voice.

They broke apart, both of them grinning as they made their way down to the Dungeons for what was sure to be a very difficult Potions class. Harry was not looking forward to being around Snape. Not after the weird way the man had been looking at him earlier.

They'd just reached the staircase that led to the Dungeons when Harry noticed a tall, Seventh Year Hufflepuff approaching. Harry recognized him right away: Michael McManus. He was a Beater on the Hufflepuff Quidditch Team and had the build to match. He was muscular and bulky with blonde hair and hazel eyes, a Prefect badge pinned to his robes.

Harry remembered that he had been quite good friends with Cedric Diggory.

Harry moved to let the Hufflepuff pass, but McManus had other ideas, slamming his body roughly into Harry's as he walked by, knocking him into the stone wall. Hard. The impact forced the air from Harry's lungs, sending him sprawling to the floor.

McManus didn't acknowledge what he'd just done, ignoring the outraged cries of Harry's friends as he kept walking.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, hurrying to help him up.

Harry reassured her that he was fine. He'd had much worse than this. Of course, that didn't mean that it didn't hurt. He already had bruises from that Tripping Jinx on the stairs. This incident had certainly not helped those bruises feel any better.

Although they had to jog, they made it to Potions just in time, sliding into their seats just as the bell rang. Harry decided to partner with Neville that day, hoping that Snape might focus on him and leave Neville alone.

Just as Harry and Neville had finished setting up their cauldrons, Snape stalked into the classroom, door slamming behind him.

Harry had to try very hard to keep himself from jumping. He hated it when Snape did that.

Like McGonagall, Snape gave them a speech about the importance of OWLs before setting them to work on the day's lesson. They were making the Draught of Peace–a very tricky Potion.

As he began making the Potion, Harry once again found himself using Spell Sensing, letting his magic flow around him.

The Potion had a very distinct sound: hypnotic and rhythmic. Instead of relying on the changing colors to know when to add the ingredients, Harry relied on the music he was hearing. It told him everything. Instead of adding the Syrup of Hellebore until the Potion turned turquoise, Harry could hear when he had added enough. He had stopped adding the syrup and several seconds later, the Potion had indeed turned turquoise.

Harry felt completely calm as he worked. The Potion was singing to him, guiding him. He was completely entranced by it.

When the Potion was done, it was a vibrant turquoise, shimmering silvery vapor rising from it.

It was perfect.

Snape passed by his cauldron, giving it a long look before sweeping away without a word.

Harry let out a sigh of relief. That had never happened before. Snape always had something to say about his Potions, usually providing barbed insults and harsh critiques.

Harry bottled his potion with an odd sense of pride, turning it in along with his summer assignment.

Harry did not enjoy the trip back to Gryffindor tower. His body felt like it had been run over by a Hippogriff. As soon as he made it past the Fat Lady, he collapsed onto one of the couches, wanting very much to sleep.

Unfortunately, he knew that he should really get started on his homework. There was only around an hour before dinner and then he had Quidditch practice. If he didn't get some work done now, he would pay for it later.

Fortunately, because he had done so well in Charms and Transfiguration, he didn't have any work for those classes. He did have an essay for History of Magic, another essay for Potions, and a dream diary for Divination.

He set to work on the Potions essay, losing himself in the process. He'd made it about halfway through the essay when Hermione nudged him with her foot.

"It's time for dinner, Harry," she said. "You definitely need to eat before Quidditch practice."

Harry knew she was right, packing away his things and heading down to the Great Hall.

Dinner passed quickly, filled with hateful looks and harsh whispers. Harry tried to ignore them, but he couldn't shake the ball of anxiety in his chest.

Even Quidditch practice didn't ease the nervous feeling. While the rest of the team worked on drills, Harry was set loose to hunt for the snitch. He caught it over and over again, relishing the feeling of the cold metal in his hand. He was almost able to forget that his body ached. He was almost able to forget that he was exhausted.

When the others left to go back to the castle, Harry stayed in the air, needing to fly for just a while longer.

He desperately wished that he could just stay in the air. He wanted to transform into his Animagus form and stay that way. Forever.

"Harry!" A voice shouted from the dark ground below, echoing up to him. "You need to come down now. It's only 15 minutes to curfew."

Very reluctantly, Harry turned toward the ground. He really didn't want to go back.

When he reached the ground, he wasn't surprised to see that it had been George who had waited for him. He seemed to understand Harry better than anyone sometimes.

"Are you alright? You seemed kinda zoned out up there."

Could he tell George what was going on?

He so wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell George that he was worried because other students were attacking him, that he couldn't even find it in himself to care, that he deserved it.

In the end, he couldn't get the words out, choosing instead to lie. "I'm fine, George," he said. "I just love flying, you know that."

When they made it back to the Common Room, George stayed with him as he finished his homework. They didn't speak to each other. They didn't need to. George seemed to know that just being there was enough.

When Harry finally finished his work, he headed up to bed. He took a quick shower, trying not to focus on the bruises that were already starting to form on his back and shoulder from the collision with McManus. He changed into pajamas and settled into bed, pulling the two-way mirror onto his lap. He cast a Silencing Spell around his curtains, forcing a smile onto his face.

"Sirius Black."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the mirror's surface began to ripple. His godfather's face appeared in the mirror, grinning at him.

"Harry! You called!"

Harry spent the next half an hour telling Sirius about his first few days back. He didn't tell him about his scar. He didn't tell him about McManus.

He didn't want his godfather to worry about him.

When the call ended, Harry sat on his bed, just staring at the closed curtains.

He felt wrong. His mind was spinning in circles, memories tugging at the corners of his consciousness, threatening to drag him down.

He needed a distraction.

Not knowing what else to do, he picked up the locket from its spot under his pillow, examining it more thoroughly than he ever had before. He needed to find out what it really was.

He extended his magic toward the locket, expecting to hear the magic in the same way he had before. That wasn't what happened. Instead, he found his magic being tugged on by the locket, forming a connection he couldn't break.

It was a good thing Harry had remembered to put a Silencing Spell around his bed because it was at that very moment that his scar exploded in pain. It was the worst thing he had ever felt, worse even than the Cruciatus Curse.

He couldn't hold back a scream of agony as he fell back onto his bed, writhing, trying to drop the locket. He couldn't let go of it. As the pain grew to be too much, the edges of Harry's vision began to turn gray. He didn't fight it. He just wanted the pain to stop. It was with that thought that Harry's world went black.