A/N: Hey guys – I know, I'm updating already?! I write in advance and I'm so many chapters ahead that I thought I'd give you a treat and go ahead and upload this one now. Also, check out the author's note at the bottom, it's got some info about something that my fellow authors might be interested in.
The school was suddenly abuzz with nothing but talk of Sirius Black, and the theories on how he had gotten into the castle were growing more and more ridiculous with every passing day.
Winona spent a lot of time sitting alone up in the Astronomy Tower, huddled up in her warmest clothes and staring pointlessly at a blank piece of parchment, trying to force a vision about Black to appear. None ever came.
Dumbledore called her into his office twice, but both times she could do no more than tell him she had nothing to report except a sketch of some kind of fuzzy little animal and a drawing of McGonagall in her Animagus form; neither of which seemed to hold any significance whatsoever.
Professor Lupin was acting strangely, which was alarming to say the least. The last professor to give her weird vibes had ended up having Voldemort on the back of his head, so her hopes weren't very high. But to her relief, he wasn't muttering to himself or wearing any strange clothing – he was just staring at her.
It was only when he thought she wasn't looking, but her abilities gave her a kind of radar; made it easy to feel eyes on the back of her head. Professor Lupin treated her no differently to any of the other students in the class, but there was just something about the way he looked at her. She couldn't put her finger on it, and it was beginning to freak her out.
Minor concerns aside, the first Quidditch match of the year was upon them almost without warning, and as Winona stood at the window in the Common Room and stared out at the howling wind and torrential rain, she felt a ball of dread and despair wind together in her stomach.
"Why the long face?" Lee asked, appearing at her side as he knotted a Gryffindor scarf around his neck.
"I just wish they weren't playing in these conditions," she mumbled, keeping her eyes on the weather.
He snorted like she'd made a joke. "As if Quidditch would ever be cancelled over a little rain."
There was a deafening clap of thunder. A second year squeaked and tripped on the bottom of the staircase. Winona shot Lee a narrow-eyed look, but he waved her away with irritating ease.
"Come on," he said, glancing pointedly at his wrist where she knew no watch sat, "we're late for breakfast."
She rolled her eyes turned to follow him anyway, meeting up with Hope at the portrait hole, the three of them hurrying down towards the Hall. They were just heading through the towering doors when the team, already clad in their scarlet robes, all bustled from the room, some still chewing on the last of their breakfast.
Acting on instinct, Winona caught the twins by the elbows, pulling them to an abrupt stop. "Win?" they asked in confusion, pausing as the rest of the team hurried down towards the pitch.
"Be careful," she warned them, hoping to convey the seriousness she felt in her chest like an anvil pressing on her heart. "Promise me."
They shot each other an assessing look before raising their hands to the foreheads in playful salutes. "You have our word," they assured her cheerfully. Then Fred leant towards her, tapping his cheek impatiently.
Winona rolled her eyes, but even despite the gurgling unease in her belly, she hopped up onto her toes and smacked her lips to his cheek, as per tradition. Holding George's shoulder for balance, she did the same for him.
"There," she said, a tiny bit grumpy.
"Well, now nothing bad can happen to us for sure," Fred told her with a cheesy beam. "But we really do need to get going, Win, or Wood'll skin us alive."
The last thing she wanted to do was release them, but she knew she didn't have a choice, and reluctantly relaxed the vice-like grip she had on their arms. They grinned, winking once more before scurrying off down the hall after the team. "And look after the others too!" she shouted at their retreating figures. "Especially Harry!"
"They'll be fine," Lee rolled his eyes at her in exasperation, growing impatient, but Hope was more supportive, shooting her what was surely meant to be a comforting smile. "Besides, it's only an inter-house Quidditch match," Lee said offhandedly. "Honestly, what's the worst that could happen?"
Winona wanted to sternly remind him about all the injuries of the past, including Harry losing all the bones in his arm and Wood being unconscious for a full week after taking a bludger to the head, but she bit her tongue, swallowing her words and turning to her toast, beginning to layer it with jam.
She hated how pessimistic she'd become. That wasn't a natural part of her personality. She was usually much more happy-go-lucky, content to roll with the punches and see where life took her. It was a recent development, the cynical, melancholy outlook she'd had as of late.
She blamed it completely on the visions. She was seeing flashes of crimson blood and hearing snapshots of tortured screams, she was seeing people dead and beautiful things withering away in front of her eyes. And all she could do was sit back and wait for it all to happen.
The Pitch was packed with people, all of them huddled under large umbrellas and shivering with every gust of bone-chilling wind. The match was almost impossible to see, Winona had to squint in an effort to keep water from her eyes, but even that was no good. The rain was coming at them from the side, blowing into their faces no matter what.
The match seemed to never end, and at the rate they were going, Winona wouldn't have been shocked if it had continued on into the night. Despite the mind-numbing cold, the Gryffindors were cheering at the top of their lungs, screaming encouragement at their team in an effort to be heard over the howling wind.
A vibe stabbed at Winona like an icicle, piercing through her stomach like a weapon. Something was about to go terribly wrong. Her wincing eyes scanned the pitch as best they could, sweeping over each player, trying to figure out what was going to happen.
It wasn't until her gaze settled on the smallest figure in scarlet robes beginning to climb higher into the sky after a little golden ball, that she knew.
Harry was in danger. Why was it always Harry in danger?
She turned, unceremoniously shoving her way through the wall of shivering, soaking wet students. She didn't know what to do, she felt like she was in a state of panic; she couldn't breathe. So she did what she always did when she didn't know what to do; she went to Dumbledore.
The stairs were steep and slippery, but she raced up them as quickly as she possibly could, bursting out onto the faculty stand with a warning scream. "Dumbledore!" she shouted over the wind, and through her squinting eyes she made out Dumbledore's large, purple draped figure turning to see her. "Harry!" she shrieked, pointing into the sky. "Harry!"
Her vision was blurry and the howl wind was the only sound in her ears. But the Headmaster didn't seem confused. He turned away from her, his attention on the field, arm reaching out as he spoke words over a rapidly plummeting Harry.
Things happened quickly after that. The match ended, Hufflepuff winning without any cheers from the worried crowd. Dumbledore used a beautiful piece of magic to get rid of the dementors, and the weight on Winona's chest was gone – although she knew she could still do with a healthy dose of chocolate. Harry was rushed to the Hospital Wing, most of the team and Hermione and Ron following close behind.
She needed to talk to Fred and George, she thought vaguely, taking a step in their direction. "If you wouldn't mind, Miss Andrews," Dumbledore spoke from behind her, his croaky voice loud so as to be heard over the whistling wind, "I think you should join me in my office."
She gaped at him. "But, sir, Harry-"
"Is in the perfectly capable hands of Madam Pomfrey," he interjected. And while his words were spoken like a request, she knew full well they were an order.
Winona sighed, shivering so hard it was beginning to hurt, and followed after the Headmaster like an obedient little pet. She was more than relieved to be standing in his office only five minutes later, inches away from his roaring fire as he prepared tea for them the Muggle way.
"P-professor," she stammered. The old wizard hummed in acknowledgement before flicking his wand in her direction like one might shoo a fly. The water evaporated from her body, hair and clothes like she'd never even been in a storm in the first place. It didn't help her lowered temperature, but it sure was nice not to be dripping wet anymore, so she contented herself with warming up by the fire.
"Just as you like it, I believe," the Headmaster murmured through a kind but tight smile, beckoning her away from the flames and over to his desk. He took a seat in his chair, his fingers steepled together in front of him. Winona gingerly took a seat in the chair opposite him, reaching forwards to take a deep sip of her blissfully hot tea. "I do believe the beginning is always a good place to start," his words were an echo of those he'd said the first time she'd been in his office, nearly five years before.
It wasn't as comforting as he'd probably intended it to be.
"I don't know how I did it," she blurted honestly, not knowing what else to say.
"You didn't draw this happening?"
She was quick to shake her head. "No, sir," she responded emphatically. "I had an uneasy feeling all morning, then at the pitch it only got worse. I tried to do what you and Professor Trelawney said, focus and hone in on the feeling. I can't explain it, but I knew Harry was the one in danger. I just knew."
Dumbledore stared back at her evenly, and she wondered what he could possibly be thinking.
"Why is this happening to me, sir?" she asked once the silence had stretched on too long, unable to handle the crushing emptiness in the room; it felt suffocating.
Something flashed in his twinkling blue eyes, and for a horrifying moment she recognised it as pity. Then it was erased, gone as though it had never been there at all. "I think you should double your sessions with Professor Trelawney," he said suddenly, voice calm and steady.
She was too caught up in her own tornado of thoughts to take in what he was saying. Was this ability somehow penance for something she'd done? What did she do to deserve living with knowledge that nobody should ever have? She didn't want to know the future. She didn't want to have this responsibility. She just wanted to be normal.
"This isn't a punishment, Miss Andrews," Dumbledore spoke after a long, agonising beat, as if reading her thoughts. "This is a gift."
She stared back incredulously, disbelief sketched across her face. "It doesn't feel like a gift," she muttered, nails biting into her palms, tea hot through the barrier of the Headmaster's china.
"You probably saved Harry's life today," he told her, and she though she was loathe to admit it, he had a point. "And I have a feeling you're going to be saving a lot of lives in the coming years, Winona."
Her eyes burned, but she was never one to cry, so she bit harshly at the inner lining of her cheek and forced the tears back, instead focusing on the pain and waiting until the overwhelming emotion was gone.
"Drink up," he encouraged her quietly, a serene expression on his lined features. "Get warm again, calm yourself down, and then you can go visit Mr Potter in the Hospital Wing."
"Is he okay?" she asked hastily. But then how would he know? He'd been with her the whole time, so he couldn't possibly know anything more than she did.
But, as always, Dumbledore surprised her. "He's perfectly fine, I assure you. Now, why don't you tell me how your classes are going while you warm up?"
He did that sometimes, asked her about the things going on in her life. She thought he asked them to make it seem like he talked to her for more reasons than for glimpses into the future. The questions were becoming few and far between as the years passed by, and she wasn't so sure she appreciated it like she used to. Now it just felt like a facade, like a script she had to follow.
She was still shaking, her teeth clattering together noisily. She sipped at her tea, suddenly wishing for something stronger, but not feeling daring enough to make such a request of the Headmaster. She would play pretend for a few minutes, then once she felt strong enough, she would plow ahead with life, starting with checking on Harry in the infirmary.
But before she could even finish her tea, her halfhearted monologue about her Arithmancy essay was interrupted by a brisk knocking at the door. Dumbledore called for them to enter, and Winona was surprised to see Lupin shuffle into the room, looking awkward and out of place.
His kind eyes went wide when he saw her hunched in the chair opposite Dumbledore. Something told her she was the last person he'd expected to find having tea with the Headmaster. Which made sense; she didn't look particularly important. And if she had it her way, that's what everybody would continue to believe.
"My apologies, Headmaster," said Lupin, but his eyes were fixed on her. "I didn't realise you had company."
Dumbledore smiled pleasantly. "Winona and I have been known to indulge in some tea and cake, every now and again," he said simply.
Lupin only looked a million times more confused by the response, but he seemed to know better than to dig for answers the Headmaster wasn't willing to freely give. "I can come back," he offered.
"No, no," Winona interjected, setting her empty teacup to the side and climbing to her feet. "I was just leaving. I wanted to go check Harry in the hospital wing, anyway."
An expression twisted at Lupin's scarred face, and Winona recognised it as curiosity. "You're close with Harry?" he asked casually. But somehow the question seemed anything but innocuous.
Winona's brow pinched as she considered her reply. "Well, we're both Gryffindors," she finally said, evasive at best.
"Nonsense, Winona," said Dumbledore, and Winona turned back to him with a single eyebrow raised. "From what you've told me, you and young Mr Potter are quite good friends."
Sighing silently to herself, Winona looked back at Lupin. "He's a really great kid, and I think sometimes the rest of the school can make him feel kind of alienated," she explained, feeling strangely like she had to. "We both lost our parents back in the first war, so I guess it helped us bond."
Lupin suddenly looked rather pale. "Right," he said, voice distant, like his mind were miles away. Or perhaps years.
"You'd best run along, Winona," said the Headmaster, and Winona turned back to him. She felt out of her depth, like there were something hovering in the room, invisible only to her eye. It was as maddening as it was suspicious. "I'm sure a visit from you will lift Harry's spirits."
It was a dismissal if Winona had ever heard one. She sent Lupin a final deep, searching stare, but the guy was like a terrified vault, staring back at her with nothing but mysterious tension. She knew she wasn't going to get anything out of him now – if ever.
"Until next time, Professor," she told Dumbledore, nodding amicably at Lupin and reluctantly heading for the exit. Once the oak doors were shut behind her, Winona hesitated a moment, but there was only silence on the other side of the doors, meaning either Dumbledore had cast a Silencing Spell, or they simply knew she was attempting to eavesdrop.
Huffing with irritation, Winona put it from her mind and trotted her way down the stairs and onwards to the Hospital Wing where Harry waited.
Harry was staring across the room gloomily when she walked in. Winona looked him over carefully, taking in the depressed look on his face before scanning for physical injuries. He seemed okay, and she was relieved to see he didn't appear to be in any pain.
She tugged the sleeves of her golden sweater down over her hands, pulling at a loose thread before sighing and forcing herself over to the kid's bedside, taking note of the splintered remains of his broomstick with a wince.
"Hey Boy-Wonder," she gave her customary greeting, but it didn't bring so much as a flicker to his forlorn face. She hooked her foot around the leg of a chair and dragged it closer to her before collapsing into it and kicking her legs up on the end of the bed, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Madam Pomfrey wasn't around to shriek at her for it.
She got the feeling Harry had had a lot of visitors, and he was probably worn out from all the fussing. She'd caught sight of Ron and Hermione heading for the common room on her way there, probably off to fetch supplies as they prepared to camp beside their best friend's bed until they were forced out the door.
There was a small pile of Chocolate Frogs at the end of the bed, and she recognised a Fred and George haul when she saw one. She reached out, grasping one in her hand and glancing quickly at Harry, who nodded ever so slightly, gaze flickering between the remains of his broom and the far wall.
She began to nibble on the chocolate, unable to help glancing at him from the corner of her eye. A sense of guilt ate at her insides. It was all her fault. If only she'd acted sooner, then Harry wouldn't be stuck in the Hospital Wing and Gryffindor probably would have won the match.
In a move identical to that of Dumbledore's only an hour before, Harry seemed to read her thoughts. "It wasn't your fault, you know," he spoke matter-of-factly, finally pulling his tired eyes from the wall, unleashing the full puppy-dog power of his emerald green eyes onto her, the gems only magnified by his glasses.
Winona grumbled her disagreement, mouth sticky with melted chocolate.
"It wasn't, Winnie," he insisted. She swallowed what was left of her stolen treat, crossing one ankle over the other and peering at him in the glow of the candles lighting the room. The sky was dark outside, and it was only a matter of minutes until dinnertime. She figured she had until then before Pomfrey kicked her out.
"I should have seen it," she mumbled. It didn't escape her notice that the conversation was identical to the one they'd had after Lockhart had vanished the bones in Harry's arm the year before. She vaguely wondered if they'd have to go through it every time something like this happened. "I should have known."
"You can't know everything," he argued gently. "Besides, I'm barely even hurt."
"But your broomstick..." she trailed off, casting a guilty look to the splinters of his once beautiful broom. A flicker of pain crossed over his face, but he cleared it, probably not wanting her to feel worse about herself. He was a good kid.
"You've helped me before, Winnie," he told her seriously. "And you'll help me again. I know you will. But you don't have to protect me from everything. It isn't your job."
He had a quizzical look on his face, like he couldn't figure out why she bothered to even worry about him in the first place. She smiled. Harry really didn't realise how special he was, and he certainly didn't realise the weight of the destiny he had resting upon his scrawny shoulders. Even Winona wasn't quite sure what it was; all she knew was that keeping Harry Potter safe was of the utmost importance. And not only because of his significance in the coming years – but because he was a good, kind boy who deserved to have someone looking out for him.
"Still," she said resolutely, the melancholy melting from her face. "I'll try harder next time."
They lapsed back into silence, Harry not knowing what else to say and Winona just glad he wasn't trying to make excuses for her anymore.
Things returned to normal over the course of the next week. Nobody could pull Winona out of her funk like the Weasley twins, and they had her laughing and plotting along with them in no time. Harry was finally released from the Hospital Wing, returning to classes only to be stuck trying to ignore the mocking sneers from the Slytherins.
Winona noticed that Professor Lupin seemed more haggard than usual, but she was relieved to see him teaching at all, considering their last Defence lesson had been plagued by Snape, who seemed to be intent on going over werewolf theorem even though they'd tried to explain they'd already covered lycanthropy two years before.
Lupin was back to treating her no differently at all, making her wonder if she'd maybe dreamt up the whole encounter in Dumbledore's office. He was kind to her, but only as much as he was to everyone else. It was a relief; one less thing for her to worry about, she supposed.
Before she knew what was happening, Alicia and Angelina were beginning to gush about their holiday plans, eagerly talking about the parties their families hosted or were invited to. Winona's only plan was to eat a lot of pie and maybe use her free time and space to paint something on a proper canvas for once.
"What about you, Win?" one of the twins was asking her, and she realised with a start where she was, perched at the table in the Great Hall during dinner, the night before the final Hogsmeade visit of the year. "Staying again?"
She glanced over at George, only to find both the twins, Lee and Alicia staring at her expectantly. "Yeah, no difference this year," she shrugged simply. "What about you two?"
"We're going-"
Fred seemed to have an abrupt muscle spasm, his elbow slamming into his brother's gut, causing George to cut himself off with a strained grunt. "We're staying too," Fred spoke over his twin's sounds of pain and confusion.
Winona narrowed her eyes suspiciously, trying and failing to see what she was missing. "Um, are you sure?" she asked tentatively, glancing between the twins. "Because you don't seem sure." Fred spun around to glare at George, and once again they spent a long moment communicating before they turned to look at her with calm but happy expressions.
"Yeah, we're definitely staying," Fred told her, George nodding along eagerly, like no peculiar exchange had ever occurred.
"Winnie!" Angelina called from a few spots down.
With a reluctant hum Winona turned away from the suspicious pair and focused her attention on her dorm mate, who was animatedly retelling a story to a group of second years, needing her input for the name of the funny looking guy they'd met with the eye patch that time in the Three Broomsticks.
Winona forgot all about the strange behaviour, getting swept up in the nighttime festivities. She was so distracted by Alicia that she didn't realise the twins were trying to get her attention until they were all up in the common room that night before bed.
Though this was mainly because Fred climbed onto a table, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Winona!" at the top of his lungs. Children from lower years startled at the shocking display of behaviour, but Winona just rolled her eyes and left the conversation she was part of, knowing there'd be hell to pay if she didn't give the twins the attention they so desired.
"Yes?" she asked coyly, crossing her arms over her red, woollen jumper.
"We're calling a meeting-"
"So if you could all follow us-"
"That would be marvellous-"
Winona paused, glancing over her shoulder confusedly, scanning the immediate area. "I'm the only one here," she pointed out, blinking at them, stood impatiently by the portrait hole.
"Come along, then," Fred rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, Andrews, time is money," George added, pushing her none-too-gently through the hole, sending her stumbling out into the corridor. Sir Cadogan called out to them as they hurried down the hall, challenging them to some kind of duel, but none of them paid him any mind.
"What's this about?" Winona asked once they were halfway down to the kitchens, where she assumed they were going, from experience.
"Since when do you need an explanation?" Fred countered, and she had to admit he had a point there.
She glanced over at George, taking in the familiar piece of parchment in his hands. "Why're we using the Map?" she asked curiously, not having even seen the thing for weeks. They hardly ever used it any more. They knew every single nook and cranny of the school, not to mention they'd long since memorised the teachers' patrol schedules.
"One last boo-ray, as the Muggles would say," George responded, head stuffed into the map, its secrets lit up by the tip of his wand.
"What?" she questioned, more confused than ever by the butchered phrase.
"Wait a moment," Fred shook his head, finally coming to a stop and reaching up to tickle the pear that would grant entry to the kitchens. It giggled childishly and a moment later the portrait swung open, revealing the quiet kitchens. Now that the dinner rush was over, the elves had settled in for the night, getting rest to awaken at first light to begin breakfast.
A handful of elves were still visible, all wiping down benches until they noticed the trio, scurrying over to them with wide, eager eyes. Fred waved them off politely, telling them they only needed to sit by the fire to talk, though a particularly giddy looking elf insisted on bringing them some hot chocolate. They waited until the chipper little thing had scurried off, leaving them alone at one of the small tables by the large, roaring flames, clutching their goblets of steaming chocolate.
"We've decided something," George began bracingly once they'd all taken a sip. Panic flooded Winona, her mind flying instantly to the worst possible ways the conversation could end.
"Calm your hippogriffs," Fred quickly interjected, taking in the note of terror glinting in her stormy gaze, "it isn't life altering." She sighed, reaching up to rub at her forehead tiredly, wishing she wasn't so on edge all the time. Her visions had her thinking there was bad news hiding around every corner.
"What've you decided, then?" she asked, reigning in her apprehension.
They exchanged a look that Winona was incredibly used to, finally looking at her and declaring, in one voice, "we've decided to give the Map to Harry."
She let out the breath she hadn't known she was holding, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, is that all?" she asked exasperatedly, suddenly feeling slightly silly for imagining it was something bad.
The twins looked affronted. "This is a monumental moment for us here," George told her indignantly, for a brief flash reminding her of Percy in the way he tilted his nose up into the air. She chuckled, giving in and rolling her eyes. "Why aren't you distraught?"
"Harry needs the Map more than we do," she told him easily. "He gets into more trouble than the two of you combined." She hesitated, reconsidering her hasty statement. "Okay, maybe not quiteas much trouble, but certainly more life-or-death situations."
At that they had to agree.
"What made you decide, all of a sudden?" she asked curiously, picking up her goblet to sip at her cooling drink.
They shrugged as one, reaching up to adjust their hair in the same moment. "Something you said a few weeks back got us thinking," Fred told her honestly, resting his forearms against the table and leaning closer, as though there was somebody to be worried about eavesdropping. "His needs really are greater than ours."
"And we do have it memorised-"
"Besides, we think it's time to step up our game-"
"Y'know, really challenge ourselves-"
"See what we're capable of-"
"Without having a safety charm to fall back on."
Winona grinned, relaxing as she listened to their familiar voices layer over one another, sitting back in her chair and grinning.
"Sounds exciting," she told them eagerly, already beginning to fill with the urge to do something stupid and daring and, obviously, completely hilarious. "Where do we start?"
The pair launched into their Next Big Plan, hands flying as they animatedly explained the mechanics behind the crazy-sounding creation they were in the early stages of developing. She liked the idea of the magic they were suggesting, but she was stumped by the theory behind it.
The twins seemed to have no problems keeping up with one another, excitedly talking over each other with notes on which charms they could interweave and the theorem behind the magic they would be using.
Nobody would know it, but the twins were always good at making her feel out of her depth in this amazing world. She didn't hold it against them, if anything she blamed herself for not being smart enough to keep up with them. But no matter how much she wished to know more, she couldn't find it within herself to put any more of herself into it than she already was. Her art came first. Besides, who needed OWLs and NEWTs when all she ever wanted to do with her life was paint? She didn't need a degree to be an artist – at least, not in the Wizarding world.
She didn't even think they had schools of creative arts in their world. She supposed that was something to talk with McGonagall about when they had their career meeting later in the year.
"What do you think, Win?"
Winona looked up suddenly, realising she'd been lost in thought, unknowingly having tuned out the twins. "Hm?" she hummed guiltily, glad when neither of them looked annoyed by her wandering attention. She supposed that was something they had gotten used to, being friends with her. She tended to do that a lot, although not as much when she didn't have a sketchbook clutched in her hands.
"About charming the Slytherin's quills to only write in profanities," Fred told her patiently. She couldn't help the delighted giggle that left her lips, head tipping back as she laughed.
"That sounds like your best prank yet," she replied happily, already picturing the confused and outraged expressions on the Slytherins' rude, permanently-sneering faces.
Fred grinned at her brightly, like he'd come up with the idea for no reason other than to make her laugh. She was taken aback by the expression, but one of the house elves murmured something and distracted her, and by the time they left the kitchens, arms full of pie, she'd forgotten all about it and the way it had warmed her chest like fire.
The next day was the Hogsmeade visit, and Winona was more than eager to get out of the castle and out into the snow. As she stepped into the frosty winter air, she paused, taking an appreciative breath before realising she was being left behind and hurried after Angelina, Katie and Hope, who were all chattering excitedly about the Weird Sisters' new song and whether they would be selling vinyls at Dominic Maestro's yet or not.
"What about you, Winona?" Angelina asked curiously, finally pulling away from their chatter to include her in the conversation. "What're you planning to do in town?"
"Same as everyone else," she shrugged. "Christmas shopping."
"Oh! That reminds me, I promised my brother I'd buy him more of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum!" Hope exclaimed. "Honestly, all the kid ever eats are sweets."
They made their way down the path, finally entering the Wizarding village, foregoing staying together and instead deciding to split up to get what they needed to get done, making plans to meet for butterbeer in an hour.
Winona loved spending time with her other friends, especially the girls. Sometimes it felt like the only people she talked to were the twins. It was nice, however, to get some time to herself. If it wasn't the girls, then it was the twins occupying her attention, and if not them, it was Dumbledore or Trelawney, and if not them, then Lee or someone else with good intentions – but it only served to exhaust her.
She was beaming as she wandered the village, breathing in the frosty air and all but skipping through the snow, her paint stained bag bumping against her hip with every step.
She wandered into Honeydukes first, intent on buying a large supply of Sugar Quills, enough to last her the holidays, at least. She bought a few other bits and pieces for her friends in there, particularly Lee, then moved on to the rest of her shopping.
She wanted to get gifts for Harry and his friends – and even though she knew it wouldn't be expected, it felt like the right thing to do. So she got a book for Hermione, some broom polish for Ron and a pair of warm, winter gloves for Harry.
For the twins, she'd already gotten things over the summer and stored them in her trunk. She usually did it this way, as she always found more things they'd like in the Muggle world, rather than at Hogsmeade.
She'd just finished the bulk of her shopping and was stepping from an overflowing store when the bustling street of Hogsmeade completely disappeared, replaced by flickering images of red and grey.
Forcing herself out of an episode was a lot like trying to lift an anvil with her bare hands. Almost impossible, but then again, she'd had a lot of practise. It was difficult, but she managed to snap out of it, re-materialising in the snowy street. She knew the clarity wouldn't last long, and she had moments before she went under again. So she did the only thing she possibly could; she ran.
She burst through the doors of the first empty-looking store she saw. Her sight began to blur, so she couldn't see what it was called, but as she tripped inside she found herself surrounded by books and realised it was most likely Tomes and Scrolls, but she didn't have time to so much as cringe, catapulting herself into the deepest, darkest corner she could find and ripping her sketchbook from her bag just in time for everything to fade away again.
She couldn't feel anything, almost like she was in a dream. It was a (lack of) sensation that had become achingly familiar over her years at Hogwarts, and all she could do was try to relax and observe the images flickering across her vision at impossibly fast speeds.
The images were darker than usual, only shades of black and grey, along with the odd glowing white. Then there was the red, so sickening and intense it made her non-existent body shiver. She couldn't make sense of them, she rarely ever could. A sense of dread settled like a weight in her stomach, and she felt her throat ache like someone was screaming, even though she knew it wasn't her.
Finally, after either a minute or an hour, she came out of the episode, dropping abruptly back into the present with a shock, gasping for breath and blinking as her vision began to slowly come back to her.
She was in the bookstore, somebody in a grey sweater and green scarf was standing over her, staring down at her through narrowed, suspicious hazel eyes. The person was saying something, but the sound was muffled. She shook her head like she was trying to clear water from her ears. Despite not being waterlogged, it worked, and a moment later she could hear with perfect clarity.
"-look like you're about to throw up," the guy was saying, his voice oddly familiar.
She paid him no attention, reaching up to press a hand against her aching temple. "You'd better step back," she warned through a mumble. "I just might."
He didn't move, hand lingering on her shoulder. Wait, who was it again?
She glanced back up, blinking at the stranger, only to find he wasn't a stranger at all. "Nott?" she asked dubiously, pushing herself to stand, only to feel like the Earth had been ripped out from under her, sending her crashing back to the cold, wooden floor of the store.
"Whoa," the Slytherin murmured bracingly, other hand reaching out to steady her other shoulder. Why was he touching her? "Do I need to floo a healer or something?"
She didn't bother answering, her attention suddenly ripped from the strange conversation as she realised she hadn't seen the sketch. Her grey eyes flicked down to the page, taking in the charcoal lines staining the paper.
It was a graveyard, that much was certain. It was unfamiliar to her, all she knew was that there was a person held unwillingly against a statue while a pudgy man stood beside a bubbling cauldron, the mere image of it making her want to hurl.
"Seriously, you're pale and your eyes are all bloodshot," the oldest Nott brother noted with a frown.
"No shit, Sherlock," she muttered sarcastically, quickly slamming the sketchbook shut with more force than strictly necessary, hoping the Slytherin didn't see the prediction inked onto the page.
"What?" Nott replied cluelessly, oblivious to the Muggle reference, though a glint in his eyes made her suspicious that he hadn't missed her hasty action. "Listen, you look like you're going to pass out," he told her, but as she tried to roll her eyes a wave of sickening nausea hit her, and she had to swallow back a mouthful of bile.
It must have been an important vision, because she'd never felt more horrible after an episode before.
She was incredibly shaky as she struggled to get to her feet. Nott reached out to help her, and though she needed the help, her pride wouldn't let her, shaking him off and bracing herself on the wall. "I can take it from here," she told him snidely.
"The thing is that Mr Windemere here saw you spilling charcoal on his floor, and when you didn't respond, plucked me from the crowd to take you back up to see Madame Pomfrey," the Slytherin told her, still watching her through careful eyes, like he expected her to keel over at any moment.
"Is that so?" she asked, narrowing her eyes over his shoulder to see the owner of the store glaring at her pointedly.
"Are you going to clean that up?" he asked in a crackling, rasping voice, pointing at the mess she'd made with a sneer.
Winona snapped back, worn out from the episode. "You've got a wand."
As soon as the words left her lips she sucked in a disbelieving breath, black stained hands lifting to press against her mouth as though trying to shove the words back through her lips. The old man's glare only deepened.
"Sorry, sir," she apologised after a moment, pulling her wand from her pocket and muttering the incantation to vanish the smudges of charcoal from the polished wood floor.
"If it happens again you'll be banned for life!" he warned her grouchily, waving a fist in the air, and she wondered whether he was related to Filch. They certainly could have been brothers.
"Come on," Nott prompted her, going so far as to reach down and swipe her bag from the floor, handing it to her before pushing her from the store and out into the comforting chill of the winter air. She took a moment to enjoy the frosty wind brushing against her face, the cold temperature helping ground her in the present, rather than the future. "What was that all about?" Nott asked her curiously, gesturing to the empty doorway with raised eyebrows.
"I just get really into my art, sometimes," she lied rather dully, not bothering to put any effort into making it sound authentic.
Nott didn't appear convinced, but she couldn't have cared less. She took another step, only for yet another wave of unpleasant dizziness to crash over her, making her want to retch. Again, she swallowed it down, refusing to vomit in the Slytherin's presence. Merlin knew she didn't need to give him anything else to tease her about, seeing as he'd already seen her mid-vision.
"Whoa," he said again, reaching out to help steady her with two strong, cold hands. She wanted to shrug off his hold, but was afraid the movement might make her sick. "Let's go get you some Pepper-Up Potion from Pomfrey," he said, voice cold but not unfriendly.
"I can get there by myself," she grumbled, breathing in another lungful of chilly air. She had no intention of actually going to the Hospital Wing, of course. She'd sooner cut off her own arm, but she was willing to say anything if it meant he'd leave her alone.
"Sure you can," he grunted condescendingly, long fingers tightening around her shoulder and beginning to force her in the direction of the path that led back to Hogwarts.
She'd only taken a few steps before she began to wobble, her own hand reaching out to grasp the stone wall of the bookstore, trying to keep her breathing even.
"Come on, before you pass out on me," Nott murmured, pushing her forwards again.
This time she did shake him off, uncaring how sick it made her feel. "I'm fine," she insisted as strongly as she could.
"You need to-"
"I'm not going to the damn Hospital Wing!"
The Slytherin retracted his hands and held them up placatingly. She glared, daring him to try and coerce her to go one more time. The hand not holding her weight against the building twitched, moving slightly closer to where her wand was hidden, prepared to hex him if he so much as blinked in a way she didn't like.
"Look, at the very least let's go get a butterbeer. You look like you could use a sip…or twelve," he spoke quietly, but his words left her dumbfounded.
"You want…to get a butterbeer…with me?" she asked, not quite able to process what he was saying.
The dark haired, lean boy rolled his hazel eyes in exasperation. "I'm not asking you on a blimming date," he told her sharply, reaching up to adjust the Slytherin green scarf wrapped securely around his neck almost as an afterthought. "I'm making sure you don't die in my care. Employers tend to check potential employee's records for involuntary manslaughter."
That made a lot more sense than him doing it out of the goodness of his black heart, Winona had to admit. She was exhausted, her episode had really taken it out of her. She sighed, all she wanted was to meet up with her friends, drink some butterbeer and not have to worry about a cunning Slytherin's ulterior motives.
She was, however, incredibly ill, and she needed something to warm her frozen insides, not to mention sit down without getting yelled at.
"Alright," she finally murmured, hoping beyond all hope that she wouldn't regret it. "Lead the way, Snake."
"Right this way, Lion," he sniped back smoothly, holding a hand out to the emptying street like he was showing it off at an exhibit. It was lunchtime, so it made sense that there would be less people wandering the streets, everybody inside to eat or, at the very least, chug some butterbeer.
Winona still stumbled as she walked, her legs shaky and unstable. Nott remained close to her side, arm held out like he didn't trust her not to collapse at any moment. Nobody paid them any mind as they shuffled along slowly through the snow, heading towards the Three Broomsticks, and nobody looked up as they entered the Inn either, everyone too absorbed in their own conversations to bother noticing the odd pairing of a Gryffindor and a Slytherin shambling together into the warm room.
Nott disappeared once they were inside but Winona didn't care, heading straight for an empty table in the corner and sitting down, kicking her feet up on the chair opposite her, glancing up at the clock on the far wall. There was still a while before she'd planned to meet the others, but she was content to wait, basking in the warmth of the room, enjoying being in the present and not being stuck in the horrifying – and apparently inevitable – future.
"Here we are," Nott appeared at the table a few minutes later, two tankards of butterbeer grasped in his hands. He set one in front of her, and she eyed it warily for a long minute, trying to decide if drinking it was a good idea. "It isn't poisoned, you know."
She sensed he was rolling his eyes, and she had to admit she was being a little ridiculous. Why would he do everything he had, only so he could poison her in a room full of witnesses?
She took a sip, biting back a moan at how sweet and warm it was as it settled in her belly.
"You look better already," he told her. Had anybody else been saying it, it would have probably sounded cheerful, but his voice was flat and cool, giving her no hints to the thoughts behind his eyes.
"Brilliant," she murmured in response, nose crinkling as she thought about her current predicament. When she'd woken up that morning, she hadn't expected to end up at a table in the Three Broomsticks with the oldest Nott brother, avoiding his eyes and sipping a butterbeer in barely-companionable silence.
"You wanna tell me what happened?"
Apparently he wasn't as content with the silence part. "I told you," this time she put more effort into the lie. "Sometimes I get so immersed with what I'm doing that it's like the rest of the world fades away."
At least the last part was true, and besides, that couldn't have been surprising. Fred and George weren't the only students with a large reputation. While they were the Kings of Pranks, Misbehaviour and All Things Mischievous, she was known as That Paint-Stained, Art-Obsessed Gryffindor Girl who was usually too absorbed in her artwork to notice what was happening around her.
Still, as close to the truth as this answer was, it apparently wasn't enough for Nott. "I don't buy it," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of frothy butterbeer.
She fought the urge to splutter at the Slytherin's bluntness. "Well, you should, because it's the truth," she responded lamely, blinking owlishly, trying her hardest to convey sincerity.
"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, greenish-brownish eyes flickering over her face.
"Listen, Nott-"
"Jeremiah," he cut her off, continuing to stare at her with those fiercely intelligent, perceptive eyes.
"Excuse me?" she asked, bewildered by his interjection.
"My name's Jeremiah. Use it."
She wasn't quite sure what to make of him in that moment. She thought she had him figured out, but with a sudden shock she realised she didn't have a clue who he was or what exactly she was involved in. "Right," she muttered uncomfortably, blinking away her surprise before barrelling on. "Well, listen; thanks for your help. I guess I must be feeling under the weather. I'm meeting my friends here soon, so I'll have one of them take me to see Madame Pomfrey."
It was an outrageous lie, but he never needed to know.
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I think I'll stick around, just to be sure."
Irritation surged within her, but as usual, she kept her cool. "Don't you have any first years to go terrorise?" she asked snidely. Okay, so maybe she didn't always keep her cool as much as she would have liked to believe.
He smirked, and she was surprised by how alluring the expression made him look. "I think that's more your precious twins' department, don't you?" he cocked his head, hands wrapped around his tankard, fingers long and pale. She had no idea how to respond to that; she could only thank Merlin that she didn't gape like a fish.
She wanted to point out that he was the bully, not them, but couldn't seem to find a way to do so, instead biting into her tongue until her mouth turned salty.
Jeremiah Nott was intelligent, that much she knew. He was at the top of most of their classes, and he was known for spending a lot of his time in the library. Sure, he could be cruel as well; she'd heard enough stories of him hazing first year Hufflepuffs to know that was true, but maybe she had him all wrong. Maybe he was like the twins; just out for a laugh.
She didn't have time to give it any more thought, as in the next moment two tall and familiar figures appeared above them. Winona turned to see the twins and couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief, the sight of them like a balm to her frayed nerves.
"Got a problem, Nott?" Fred asked, his tone deadlier than she'd ever heard it.
"None at all, Weasley," Jeremiah responded casually, corners of his mouth holding that attractive smirk. "Do you?"
"Beat it, you bloody parasite," Fred continued, displeased by the Slytherin's calm. If there was one thing the twins revelled in, it was a reaction.
"Harsh."
"Now, Nott," George's voice was decidedly lighter, but held the hint of a promise of violence. He jerked his chin in the direction of the door, message crystal clear.
Jeremiah stood to his feet, tankard clutched in his hands and spun around to look at Winona, an impish spark in his eye that was darker and more dangerous than the mischievous glint she saw so often in the twins'.
"Until later, Winona," he told her, surprising her with the use of her first name. She hadn't even realised he knew it. "I hope you feel better."
She couldn't think of a single response, brain still foggy from the episode. She watched him walk away, feeling rebelliously intrigued by the, admittedly, very attractive Slytherin.
Fred and George remained standing for a beat, watching Jeremiah leave before they finally dropped into the seats opposite her, looks of identical frustration on their faces. "Was he bothering you?" George asked through a frown.
"What did he mean he 'hopes you feel better'?" Fred demanded before she could answer, red brows pulled together in combined annoyance and concern.
Winona leant forwards, warm butterbeer still held between her palms. She didn't want anybody overhearing what she was about to say. "I had a vision," she revealed softly, shifting her eyes between them to gauge their reactions.
"Shit, where?" they asked together, worry in their matching cornflower-blue eyes. "Did anyone see?" George barrelled on, glancing around like he would find the pub's patrons watching them knowingly. Nobody was so much as blinking in their direction.
"Only the guy who works at Tomes and Scrolls, plus Nott," she said gently, pausing to take a calming sip of her drink. "It wasn't easy, but I was able to hold it off until I got to safety."
The boys were relieved, and it showed on their faces.
"It was bad, though," she murmured, staring down into the frothy amber of her butterbeer, absentmindedly swirling the liquid around in the tankard. "One of the worst I've ever had. I could barely stand up after it."
"Are you okay?" Fred reached out, like he wanted to do something with his hands, only to realise he didn't know what at the last moment and pulling back, folding them in front of himself awkwardly.
"I'm fine," she assured him with a forced smile.
"What was the vision?" George was the one to ask, pausing to scan the area for eavesdroppers again, like he didn't trust the pub to keep their ears to themselves.
She reluctantly let go of her butterbeer, reaching into her overstuffed bag with charcoal-stained hands, fishing for her sketchbook to hold it out for them to view. "I don't know who the people are," she told them as they stared at it, blue eyes taking in every aspect of the blindly sketched drawing. "All I know is that, what I saw? It was nothing but pure evil."
There was a moment of quiet, before Winona decided she definitely needed a distraction.
She shoved her sketchbook out of sight, bringing her drink closer to her and taking a sip before speaking, "so, did you end up giving the Marauder's Map to Harry, like you said?"
The twins frowned for an extra second, like they didn't approve of the change of topic. But they weren't the type to let a sombre mood linger, and both broke into wide smiles like nothing had ever concerned them. "Handed it over before coming down here," Fred told her.
"What'd he think?" she asked eagerly.
"Speechless," George said with a bark of laughter. Winona giggled at the thought.
"You guys gonna have some butterbeer?" she asked, gesturing at their empty hands.
"Spent all our money in Zonko's," Fred shrugged as though it didn't matter, but there was slight glint to his eyes that Winona recognised as embarrassment. She tried not to frown, never wanting her best mates to feel embarrassed in front of her, at least not for such a silly reason – one that would never matter to her in a million years.
"Don't be stupid," she said smoothly, digging into her pocket and extracting a handful of gleaming silver Sickles. She wasn't rolling in Galleons by any means – the only source of money she had access to was the small pension the Ministry gave orphaned witches and wizards – but she could afford to buy them both a butterbeer. "Go get one each, plus some gingerbread for us all to share," she ordered them, holding out the coins.
Neither twin moved.
"Either you go do it, or I'm going to have to stand my exhausted arse up and do it myself," she warned them, shaking her fist pointedly, the coins inside jingling against each other. Fred and George exchanged a brief glance before George finally reached out and took the Sickles from her.
"You're a doll, Andrews," he said sweetly. She playfully batted her eyelashes as he stood and made his way up to the bar.
Once he was gone, Fred launched into the tale of how they had snuck Fizzing Whizbees into Lee's pumpkin juice that morning, making him scream as he began to levitate. She'd missed it by sleeping in, and quietly cursed her horrendous sleep schedule.
He had her laughing in no time, and once George had returned with their butterbeer and gingerbread, he added in the colourful curse words Lee had used until he realised what had happened and begun laughing.
The door opened and Winona felt the urge to look over like an itching in the back of her brain. So she did, catching sight of Ron, Hermione and Harry as they entered the pub. Winona nudged Fred's ankle with the end of her boot and he looked up, following her gaze to see the trio taking seats at a table partly obscured by a large Christmas tree. Ron paused, then turned and walked over to the bar where Rosmerta was polishing a scuffed up glass.
"Good on him!" George cheered for Harry, and Fred mirrored the sentiment.
"I'll be back," Winona told the pair, standing wearily to her feet and carrying her butterbeer over to their table, slipping into the empty spot beside Harry, who jumped at her abrupt appearance. "Wotcher, you two," she greeted them, noting that Hermione had gone a ghostly pale from opposite her. "Fancy seeing you here," she said cheekily.
They both looked shocked to see her there – Hermione was probably terrified she was going to dob them in. But surely she knew her better than that by now?
"You cold, Harry?" she asked Harry instead, noticing that he had only a light sweater to combat the freezing temperatures.
He nodded sheepishly. "A bit, yeah."
"The butterbeer will warm you right up," she promised, nodding to where Ron was standing next to Rosmerta, tips of his ears a deep red.
"Do you really not think it's a bad idea for Harry to be here?" Hermione hissed, going from terrified to blatantly disapproving in mere seconds. It might be impressive if it weren't so exasperating.
"Harry's a big boy," Winona shrugged. "Besides, he can't stop living his life just because somebody wants to kill him. If he did that, he'd have never left his house once!"
Despite the dark honesty in the statement, Harry saw the humour in it, snorting with laughter from beside her.
"Lighten up, 'Mione," Winona said softly. "Harry's gonna be fine. I can feel it."
Hermione sniffed rather pompously. "Forgive me if I don't take your feeling as enough proof."
Winona merely exchanged an eye roll with Harry just as Ron reappeared at the table, three tankards of butterbeer held in careful hands. "Winnie," Ron said in surprise, taking a heavy seat beside Hermione. "Did you know about the Map?" he demanded in lieu of a traditional greeting.
"'Course I did," she replied easily, taking another sip of her butterbeer and watching as Harry did the same. He stopped shivering almost instantly, blinking down at the drink in surprise. Winona smothered a smile.
"You've known all this time and never turned it in?" Hermione asked with that same air of judgemental disapproval.
"Twins showed it to me in first year. I was the one to figure out the password to open it," she shrugged, refusing to be made to feel guilty. "Besides, it's brilliant and deserves to be used. It'd be a crime to let it waste away in Filch's bottom drawer."
Hermione humphed rather loudly in disagreement but otherwise she didn't reply, while Harry and Ron nodded in sure agreement. Hermione was miffed they weren't on her side, but honestly, what did she expect?
Winona heard someone call her name, and looked across the room to see Ange, Alicia and Katie all having joined the twins at their booth in the corner.
"That's my cue," she said to the trio of third years, climbing to her feet, ignoring the way her knees trembled, her balance still unsteady after her vision. "Keep your head down, Harry," she warned the boy, not totally sure why she said it, but feeling it was somehow necessary, and with a final smile left, heading back towards her friends.
"Get all your shopping done?!" Angelina asked her when she sat down, slotting into the place between George and Alicia.
"Yup," Winona replied, gulping down the last of her butterbeer. "You?"
"The line in Honeydukes was about a mile long!" Alicia complained, wiping the foam from around her mouth.
"And they'd sold out of Cockroach Clusters," Katie added with a disappointed frown.
Fred and George sniggered. "Why would you want Cockroach Clusters?" Fred asked through his laughter.
"They're not that bad, okay?" Katie whispered defensively, flushing a light pink. The whole group broke out into easy, rambunctious laughter.
"Gross, Katie," Alicia shrieked in her disgusted hilarity. "They're made from real cockroaches!"
Katie turned a darker pink as the group only kept laughing at her expense. Disturbing and inexplicable encounter with the oldest Nott brother notwithstanding, it hadn't been such a bad day, Winona found as she giggled, surrounded by her best friends in the world, the smell of gingerbread and the sounds of laughter filling the air.
If only the good could stay.
A/N: Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I'm getting a lot of theories about the future of the story from you all, and some of you are right, others kind of off-base. But the fact that any of you care enough at all to ponder what might happen later on is amazing to me. Thank you for reading, and thank you especially to those of you who review. It makes my whole day.
Also, I have a proposition for you any fellow writers reading this – I'm currently in the market for some beta work, as in I read your story and give you advice/critiques/edits, whatever you need. If you're a fan of my work and were interested in having me read any of your upcoming projects, now would be a great time to speak up!
Depending on how many offers I get, I might not be able to get to all of them – and if they're in a fandom I'm not familiar with it might also not be a good fit – but I've got some free time and I'd be really interested to read some of your guys' work. It doesn't have to be Harry Potter, by the way. If you're working on something in another fandom, by all means, let me know. Shoot me a private message with your story details, and everyone who does will get at least a shoutout in the AN of an upcoming chapter.
Okay, that's all from me. Thanks guys, and I'll see you again soon!