Author's Notes: Apologies all around that this chapter took so long to come out. First there was March Break, and then there was midterms, and Calculus…horrible, horrible Calculus…what in the world is a limit?! If anyone knows, do please tell me.

***

His green eyes blazing with anger, his footsteps quick, Dameon Stark swiftly strode through the mansion to where he was told Antoine Merriton waited for him. He turned the corner and saw Tony standing there, looking both upset and annoyed. But there was also apprehension in the rich Pureblood's eyes.

Dameon abruptly stopped and said in a harsh voice, "Well."

Merriton flinched; right now Dameon's voice was so unlike the calm, pleasant one he used when addressing his supporters or the Ministry. There was no easy-going, confident smile on his face now, only an angry - even disappointed - grimace. Tony did not meet Dameon's eyes.

"I was becoming impatient, Dameon!" Merriton finally blurted out. "For Merlin's sake, are we expected to just wait now? What good is the scroll if we don't have the others?!"

"You've acted foolishly, Tony," Dameon snapped. "Not only was your little expedition fruitless, but now you've aroused suspicion – suspicion from Harry Potter, of all people."

It was quite strange, Dameon reflected, to see the older man – someone who used to be his friend - tremble slightly at his words. He revelled in the power he now possessed over others. Dameon's green eyes bore into Antoine's bowed head.

"What exactly were you thinking?" Dameon continued roughly. "I gave you specific instructions not to draw any attention to yourself. You're supposed to be a spy, yes, but not a blatantly obvious one! And I gave you orders to simply observe, not break into forbidden areas of the Ministry of Magic! Can't you do anything right?" When the dark-haired man did not answer, Dameon sighed impatiently.

"Were you seen by anyone else?" he demanded.

"Only the guard. And that Drago woman," Antoine replied contemptuously.

"She is not a concern. And Potter?"

"He…he seemed to suspect something." Tony winced, as if waiting for Dameon to physically strike him. Dameon only scowled.

"We were told to wait before we made any moves," he enforced again. "You could have ruined everything with your foolishness. You had better hope that Potter does not share his suspicions with his friends." Dameon said this last part more to himself than to Merriton.

Antoine seemed to be trying to bite his tongue, but it was in vain. "Wait for what, exactly?" he cried. "Who is this man to order us around, Dameon? When you resurrected the Dark Hand I followed you, not this…stranger! Why should we listen to a man who won't even show the rest of us his face?!" He said all of this very fast, and then took a step backward, as if afraid of Dameon's response.

Dameon laughed – a cold, harsh sound. "Because he is far wiser than you or me," he said softly. "And you'll do well to hold your tongue, Antoine."

Merriton cringed. "Dameon, I only meant – "

"Get out," Dameon said in revulsion, enjoying the fearful look that flitted across Antoine's face. "The Dark Hand has no further use for you."

Merriton stumbled as he backed out of the room, his forehead shiny with sweat. Dameon smirked and walked briskly from the room as well.

The figure at the fire was silent as Dameon entered the warm room. "Well?" the man asked presently.

"I told him to get out."

"Good. He could have ruined everything."

"I know."

"You understand why we have to wait, don't you?"

"You said that the perfect opportunity will present itself."

"It will. You trust me, don't you?"

"I trust myself," Dameon said with a wry smile.

The man at the fire laughed. "Today is the twentieth of December, is it not?" he observed casually.

"Yes."

"We're getting close, then. Are you ready, Dameon?"

Dameon Stark smirked, the flames of the fire reflected in his vivid green eyes. "I am."

***

The hospital wing was empty and silent for the first time in weeks.

Professor Weasley leaned against the wall, staring at the empty beds. Almost all of the students had gone home for Christmas, including all the sick kids, whose parents fervently believed that a fortnight of rest at home would make them feel better. How wrong they were.

Ron felt helpless and stupid, not to mention left out. He'd written at least a dozen times to the Ministry for updates in the past few weeks. But they had ignored all of his owls. Even Harry had not responded yet. Ron could only hope that they were making some progress; he could have sworn that Hermione was looking a bit paler than usual. The Vaccinus Potion had worked before; shouldn't something like that work again? Ron balled his fists at his side. He felt useless, just standing there. He could be doing something.

"But what?" he asked out loud. His voice echoed in the empty hospital wing.

"Oh dear, are you talking to yourself again?" a teasing voice asked behind him. Ron spun around, feeling foolish, to see Hermione standing there with a mischievous smile on her face. Ron's eyes swept over her – were those bags under her eyes? Had she lost some weight? Her robes were hanging a bit loosely on her…

"What?" Hermione asked. Worried, she raised a hand to her hair. "Oh no, did White turn my hair blue again? Honestly, I am going to kill that boy! Why did he have to stay for the holidays?"

Ron actually laughed and walked over to her. "Nah, it looks normal," he answered, tugging on a curly strand. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. "So…" he tried casually. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione blinked. "How am I feeling?" She looked at him strangely. "Fine, I suppose…why?"

"Just asking - something's going around, you know," Ron's voice was so nonchalant that it sickened him. To his surprise, Hermione's face turned grim.

"Yes, my parents were telling me that there's a horrible flu going around," she said, shaking her curly head. "One of the neighbours' kids got sick, and within a week half the other neighbourhood had it too. It must be very contagious."

"Are your parents all right?" Ron asked in alarm.

"Oh, yes, they're fine. I believe it's the worst with children, because of school and everything, you know - it spreads easily." She suddenly put her hands on her hips, frowning. "And I heard quite a few students here weren't feeling well, either. Which isn't surprising, you know – someone could catch their death in this castle! I mean, it's damp and cold in the winter, and some of those kids are down in those horrid dungeons for hours at a time. It's a wonder they all don't get pneumonias!"

Ron forced his lips into a smile. "Am I sensing the impending formation of a society to promote student health?" he asked teasingly. "SPSH? Aw, wait, that's not as funny as SPEW. Hang on…"

Hermione hit his arm playfully as they began to walk out of the hospital wing. Ron cast one last glance behind him, the feeling of helplessness returning.

"Is something wrong?"

"Huh?" Ron glanced at Hermione, who had a look of worry on her face.

"You just seem…" she searched for a word. "Preoccupied."

"I'm not preoccupied," Ron insisted stubbornly. He inwardly groaned at the lie; he'd fed too many to Hermione in the past few weeks.

"All right," Hermione said doubtfully. "If you say so."

"I do." Ron winced. He'd said that too quickly.

"All right," Hermoine repeated, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. "Shall we go to dinner, then?"

They were approaching the Great Hall, which was decorated splendidly with Christmas trees, wreaths, boughs, and lights. The house tables were empty, as the few students that were left – a handful of Gryffindors, a few Hufflepuffs, and one second-year Ravenclaw -  had forsaken their own tables to sit together at the Hufflepuff table. Someone whistled as the two professors walked by. Rolling his eyes, Ron looked over to see Paul White, who was pointing at something above them, grinning. They both looked up. It was mistletoe.

"Get a life, White," Ron called back as Hermione blushed furiously. Paul grinned wickedly. Ron and Hermione walked up to the staff table, where Dumbledore was looking a bit too innocent. Ron smiled wryly and pointed to the mistletoe.

"I suppose that was your doing?" he asked dryly.

"Innocent until proven guilty," Dumbledore replied mildly, his eyes twinkling.

Ron suddenly groaned as he spotted none other than Trelawney at the staff table, enormous eyes darting around warily. McGonagall was sitting on her left, a long-suffering look on her face.

"Prepare yourself," Ron muttered to Hermione as they approached their seats. She stifled a snort with her hand.

"Hello, hello," Trelawney said in a misty voice, regarding the two professors closely as they sat down a few seats away from the spindly old Divination teacher. Her apprentice was sitting to her right. Rowan stared absently at her empty plate.

"It has been long since we have met, young Weasley," Trelawney said with a sigh. She glared at Hermione, her voice becoming strangely harsh. "And you."

"And me," Hermione agreed coldly, taking her seat. "Well, then. May we begin, Headmaster?"

"But of course," Dumbledore answered. Immediately a feast appeared before them, and the teachers and students anxiously dug in. Ron and Hermione would not have the pleasure of enjoying the grand Christmas feast on Christmas day; they had planned to spend Christmas day with Ron's family. Ron remembered how flushed and pleased Hermione had been when his mum had kindly invited her to spend Christmas with the Weasley's, as if she was already a part of the family. It was still a bit strange for everyone else that, after so long, he and Hermione were finally 'together'. Harry had been invited as well, of course – he had always been a seventh son for Arthur and Molly - but had politely declined.

"Well, I do not t'ink he is so bad," Professor Bouchard was saying. "A bit young, per'aps, but his ideas are good…your Ministry needs much changing," he pointed out.

After taking a swig of pumpkin juice, Ron slammed down his goblet a little more violently than was necessary as he realized they were talking about Dameon Stark.

"The kind of changing which would totally cut Muggles out of the British wizarding world?" McGonagall argued sharply.

"Ah, but zat is the argument…do the Muggles belong in the wizarding world?" Bouchard countered.

"Hmph," was McGonagall's testy reply. She pressed her lips together very tightly and poured herself more pumpkin juice.

"What do you t'ink, Headmaster?" Bouchard asked Dumbeldore lightly.

"I feel politics stifle my creativity," Dumbledore answered.

Bouchard shrugged. "Si tu le dit."

"I have foreseen much chaos in your future, young Weasley," Professor Trelawney abruptly announced. "Much chaos."

"Oh for heaven's sake, we're eating," Hermione snapped. "Can't you spare us the doom and gloom for one meal?"

Professor Trelawney opened her mouth to say something back, but Rowan intervened. "Could you pass the potatoes, Professor Roberts?" she interrupted, seeking to restore the peace.

"Arden," he automatically corrected between mouthfuls of peas. He passed the potatoes to a flushed Rowan, who didn't even touch them.

"So, you all ready to take over yet, Row?" Ron asked casually, trying to give Rowan a meaningful look. He'd been meaning to talk to her ever since he'd returned. Ron had not forgotten the look she had given him that fateful day in the hospital wing, as if she had wanted to say something. But he hadn't had a chance to speak to her alone yet. Rowan, however, was staring at Hermione with an odd look on her face. She was slowly fiddling with her necklace, her eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Earth to Rowan," Ron tried. He waved a hand in front of her face, and she jumped, causing her glasses to slide down her freckled nose. "Sorry," he apologized. "Busy seeing doom and gloom, were you?"

This did not fare well with the copper-haired girl, who abruptly stood up, her face white. "I'm not hungry," she said quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow, Professor Trelawney."

"Yes, yes," Sybill Trelawney murmured with a sigh, obviously preoccupied with her own thoughts. She slowly raised her eyes to watch her apprentice quickly leave the Great Hall. "Ah, I worry about the future of Divination in this castle," she said with another sigh. "My young apprentice is eager, but I'm afraid she has little talent. What to do, what to do…"

"I think Rowan's pretty talented," Arden Roberts objected as he gulped down some pumpkin juice. "She told me that Manchester would win their next game, and they did!"

Professor Trelawney looked even more distressed at the news of such happy predictions.

"Manchester?" Oliver Wood frowned.

"Football," Kathleen Willows explained.

Oliver's face darkened. "Ah. Football." He looked as if he was disgusted that anyone was interested in a sport other than Quidditch.

"What to do, what to do…" Trelawney repeated.

"Sybill, if you cannot be anything other than depressing, I suggest you leave," McGonagall said sharply. "It's nearly Christmas; no one wants to hear miserable news. The castle could use some light-hearted predictions."

Ron saw Hermione grin into her pumpkin juice.

"Well," Trelawney replied sharply, offended.

Ron silently chewed on a piece of asparagus, furrowing his eyebrows as he stared at the doors to the Great Hall. He had a feeling that whatever Rowan was Seeing was not necessarily light-hearted.

***

The dark days of You-Know-Who were also a time of invention and development. Because of the constant threat of You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters, new spells had to be developed to keep families together and safe. One such spell was the Relatia or Check-Up spell, which, when performed, would give the spell-doer the exact location and status of those he/she held dear to him.

Ron sighed as he read the seventh-year's essay ("Describe some of the spells that were invented to counter the Dark Arts during Voldemort's rein of terror"), taking off a mark every time the student wrote 'You-Know-Who' instead of 'Voldemort'. They would never be able to move on if everyone kept talking about him in fear, as if he were still alive. Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure 'spell-doer' was not a word. Ron rubbed his temples and bent his head over the piece of parchment again.

Since many people went into hiding or were separated from their loved ones because of You-Know-Who, this was useful for people who needed to stay in touch with or check on their families and friends without risking sending an owl.

There was a soft knock at the door to Ron's office. He stood up at his desk, yawning widely, and then started stepping precariously over stacks of paper and textbooks. His office was always a horrible mess, which was why he usually preferred working in the staff common room. But he had promised his class that these essays would be marked by Monday, and, as usual, he'd procrastinated all weekend. Ron nearly tripped over a pile of papers and files and gave up on trying to get to the door. "Come in," he called, stifling another yawn as he plopped back into his chair.

"Professor Weasley?" It was Rowan Richardson, looking shy and timid.

Ron was suddenly wide awake, and beckoned for her to come in. She shut the door behind her and glanced around the messy room.

"Sorry," Ron said, gesturing to the mess. "I'm a bit of a pig. Er…have a seat." He gestured to a pile of books in the corner. Rowan bit her lip and smiled, perching herself on the stack of books.

"So," Ron said, trying to keep the eagerness out of his voice. He had a strange intuition that whatever it is Rowan knew had something to do with the scrolls. "What's on your mind?"

Rowan's smile disappeared and she began toying with her necklace, staring at the floor. She took a deep breath. "I…um, wanted to talk to you, Professor…"

Well, that's obvious, thought Ron impatiently. He took a breath and tried to smile. "It's Ron, remember? What is it?" he asked gently.

Rowan squirmed uncomfortably on the stack of textbooks and stood up, starting to slowly pace the room. "Please don't be mad," she begged.

"Why would I be mad?"

"Because…" Rowan stared at the floor. "Because I know you weren't supposed to tell anybody, and I don't want to get you in trouble with the Ministry," she said quickly.

Ron went very stiff. "What?"

Rowan bit her lip again; she looked as if she was going to cry. "I can't help it!" she burst out in a shrill voice that was very different from her usual, quiet tone. "It started last year, and I couldn't help the visions, I couldn't turn them off, and especially because I was in your class – "

"Row!" Ron said in alarm. "Calm down…calm down. Take a deep breath." Rowan stopped her frenzied pacing and took several deep, shaky breaths. Her eyes were wide, her face pale and shiny. Ron wondered if she was Muggle-born, but had a feeling that her appearance wasn't due to illness, but stress.

Rowan closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them again, looking slightly calmer. "It started last year," she repeated slowly. "In your class…I'd always had the Sight – my Mum was a Seer too – and I'd been able to predict some things and see in the crystal ball in Divination and everything. But I've never had such vivid visions as I did in your class…"

"Visions of what?" Ron asked, gripping the corners of his desk tightly.

"Professor Granger's boyfriend," Row said in a small voice. "Professor Dumbledore getting sick."

Ron could only stare. "You knew about all that?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Before it happened?"

"But I didn't understand it," Rowan insisted, staring at her hands. "I…I'm sorry, I should have told one of you, but…they were just fleeting images. I didn't know what they meant!"

Ron saw the panicked, even guilty look on the young girl's face, and relaxed his grip on his desk. "It's alright, Row," he said in a soothing voice. "I understand."

Rowan looked relieved briefly, but then tore her eyes away from Ron's. "At the end of last year, when Professor Drago left, it got…worse."

"How so?"

"I was getting visions constantly about these scrolls…I-I didn't know what they were then, I just kept seeing them everywhere – at night, in my dreams, even during the day. And there were horrible, horrible visions of…of you, and Professor Granger, and all these Muggles getting sick. And then they almost became like Muggle movies, and I had to watch this whole meeting take place…the one where you were there. I saw that a few days before you left…and I was going to tell you in the hospital wing that day, but…" Rowan trailed off and looked up to Ron. His face was as white as a ghost's.

Ron paused, looking at the papers on his desk but not really seeing them. "How much do you know?" he asked slowly.

Rowan looked away. "Almost everything, I th-think," she said in a timid voice.

"About…about the Scroll of Malady, and…the Dark Hand?"

"And Egypt, and w-why you had to go away," she answered, looking a bit frightened.

Ron's eyes suddenly lit up, and he abruptly stood. "Who is it, Rowan?" he demanded. "Who has the scroll of Malady? Who's leading the Dark Hand?"

Rowan shook her head. "I…I don't know."

Ron's heart sank, and his face fell.

"I'm sorry, I really am!" Rowan cried. "I can't help w-what I do and don't see, I just kept having these visions…oh, they're h-horrible, and they sometimes last hours at a time and I have to just w-watch…" Her breathing hitched, and her lip trembled. A second later, tears were pouring down her pale, freckled face.

Ron didn't know what to do. The girl obviously needed help with her gifts, and Trelawney was not the person to help her. On the other hand, she knew about things that could not be revealed to anyone else. Ron stood up and stumbled over to the young Divination apprentice, awkwardly patting her back. She stopped sobbing and tried to take deep breaths.

"Rowan, you can't tell anyone about this, do you understand?" Ron said gravely.

She nodded wordlessly, hiccupping. "T-that's not everything, t-though," she said between sniffles.

"What else?" Ron asked quickly, hoping he didn't sound too eager or demanding.

"It's…" Rowan gestured uselessly and started fingering her necklace again. "It's difficult to explain…it's like a feeling more than anything. Something's wrong…with the past, with the future…Professor Trelawney says I'm just over-imaginative, but I know something's wrong. It's like…like…oh, I don't know how to explain it!" she cried passionately, stomping her foot. Ron blinked; he'd never seen Rowan Richardson this emotional or honest. In fact, this was probably the longest he'd ever heard her speak. He waited patiently for what she would say next. She took another shaky breath and tried to regain her composure.

"The visions are stopping," she said quietly. "I don't get them anymore."

Ron felt disappointment again; after all that, it turned out that Rowan couldn't even help any more.

"I think it's because of my feeling," she explained, "like the future's…muddled. Like something wasn't supposed to happen, and now it has, and it's altered everything. I feel so helpless," she muttered dejectedly, dropping down to sit on the textbooks again. Ron remained standing.

"You and me both," he said with a wry smile, rubbing his chin. Something suddenly occurred to him. "Row…you mentioned Herm - I mean, Professor Granger before. And tonight, at dinner…"

"Oh, yes…I forgot…"

Ron felt his heart thud against his ribs. "What is it?" he managed to say.

Rowan sighed and then began to speak, slowly. "Sometimes," she said, "when something very…big, or emotional, or dramatic is going to happen in someone's life, even if they aren't very talented in the art of Divination, they will start Seeing things, usually in dreams."

Ron's heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying?"

"I've sensed some…distress from Professor Granger," Rowan answered. "Psychic distress. And her aura is a lot more powerful than before."

Ron shook his head, not wanting to believe. "No…no, Hermione has a mundane aura, Trelawney said herself…"

"Professor Trelawney's often wrong," Rowan said, and Ron was surprised at the sharpness in her voice. She immediately looked sorry. "I…I didn't mean that. It's just that sometimes we…disagree, Professor Trelawney and I. Anyway, I think Professor Granger's aura is so strong suddenly because she's been Seeing something that will happen to her…" she raised her eyes and blushed, "…or you."

Ron blinked. "Or me? So Hermione's not necessarily in danger?" He dared to breathe.

"Well, um…Professor Granger is…er, emotionally attached to you, right?" Rowan's face was very red. Ron didn't want to know what visions she'd had that would lead her to that conclusion.

"Yes," he answered honestly, also feeling his ears go a bit red. "What does that mean?"

"She may be getting these visions because something's going to happen to you, not her," Rowan explained. "That sometimes happens too."

Ron stood very still, trying to absorb it all. Knowing Hermione, she would dismiss anything that remotely resembled a vision as a daydream or nightmare, a product of lack of sleep or stress. But if she knew about something important that was going to happen to either one of them…and if it had to do with the Scrolls of Scuro…

"So I guess I should ask Hermione…that is, Professor Granger…if she's had any interesting dreams lately," Ron said slowly, running a hand through his hair.

"Yes," Rowan replied. She looked much calmer now, and at peace, as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest. She stood up. "I'm really, really sorry for intruding into…these things that I shouldn't know," she said bashfully.

"It's not your fault, Row."

"I have to learn to control the Inner Eye," Rowan said, shaking her copper head. "I had visions when I didn't want to have them, and now that you want me to See ahead, I can't. I'm going to be a horrible Divination teacher."

Ron put a hand on his former students shoulder and smiled. "No one could possibly be worse than our current Divination teacher," he grinned. Rowan tried to suppress a smile.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm beat," Ron said casually, his voice not reflecting the current turmoil in his mind. He stretched and yawned. "Walk with you up to the staff common room?"

"Okay," Rowan replied shyly. She walked out of the office and waited as Ron locked his office door. They started strolling through the empty halls.

"You know what Harry…Potter, that is…and I used to do in Divination?" he asked, smiling.

"What?"

"Make everything up. Let me see your palm."

Rowan smiled a little, then obliged and gave Professor Weasley her palm. He studied it closely as they walked.

"Hmm," he said in a misty, high-pitched voice. "Oh, you are in trouble, my dear." Rowan giggled. "You see this line? It's in line with Orion's belt, which means that you will soon make a friendship with a half-hippo, half-monkey type creature. And this line? It means that you will be hospitalized after a wrestling match with Dumbledore."

Rowan wrenched her palm away to cover her mouth, shaking with muffled laughter. Ron grabbed her palm back and grinned mischievously. "And this line…" he closely inspected her palm, "means that you are in love with a brown-haired young teacher."

Rowan's giggles abruptly stopped as she turned a lovely shade of red. Ron pretended to act surprised at his own prediction. "Hmm," he mused thoughtfully. "Who could that be?"

"Is it that obvious?" Rowan muttered after a long silence.

"What?" Ron asked innocently, a lopsided grin forming on his face. "I was just making stuff up, like I said."

They came to the entrance to the staff common room, but before Row could say the password, Ron put a hand on her arm. "All joking aside, Rowan," he said seriously, "if you see anything at all - concerning this business, or me, or Professor Granger - you'll tell me right away, won't you?"

Rowan nodded silently. "I will, but…but I can't control it like that," she added helplessly.

"I know," Ron said, sighing. "I know."

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No thong song this chapter, although I do ask politely for you to review.

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Thanks to all of you who review faithfully almost every chapter…it means a lot to me, and your criticism/comments/random musings about life in general are great! ^_^