It was mid-December now. The winter was extremely cold and had been
unusually early, oddly exactly as Professor Trelawney had predicted. The
icy winds of the frequent blizzards whistled through the turrets of the
castle, and students dreaded Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, both
of which required a trek through the chill air across the frozen lawns to
the greenhouses or to Hagrid's cabin. Professor Sprout sighed as she
bundled up warmly to walk out to the greenhouses in the mornings before
classes, as other teachers grinned and were thankful that they did not have
classes outdoors.
The weather was so cold that for the first time in thirty years the lake froze over. Students were able to go ice-skating in their spare time, and Professor McGonagall proved to be quite nimble on skates, teaching the younger students how to spin and perform figure-eights. Harry worried about how the giant squid was getting along under the ice, until one evening the ice broke at one end of the lake and a pair of tentacles poked out of the water and waved lazily at the astonished passing skaters.
Sunday afternoon all the Gryffindors were getting ready to go outside. George and Fred were eagerly detailing their plans to Harry to construct a skiing hill by the Quidditch stadium when Neville unfolded his scarf and a glass ball fell onto the carpet. It bounced and rolled, unbroken, to Harry's foot.
"My Remembrall!" Neville said happily. "I was wondering where that had got to."
Harry picked up the Remembrall to hand back, but was dismayed when the greyish mist inside suddenly turned deep crimson.
"You've forgotten something," Parvati said. "Have you done all your homework for tomorrow's classes?"
Harry thought he had. "I studied for the Potions test, I did the textbook questions for Transfiguration, I did that assignment on the Major Arcana for Divination."
"The Herbology essay," said Ron and Neville at the same time.
"Cripes!" Harry slapped his forehead with his palm. "You go ahead," he said mournfully to his friends. "I'll do the essay in no time at all."
"Hurry up then," Ron said. "You'll come out later?"
"When I'm done," Harry promised.
The Gryffindors trooped out, leaving Harry alone in his misery with his textbooks and blank parchments. He settled down at a table by the window overlooking the lake and sadly commenced taking notes on Mediterranean seaweeds.
Half an hour passed. Harry was writing the rough draft of his essay. He paused in the middle of a sentence, sighed, and propped his chin in his palm, staring through the window down at the skaters far below. A soft Irish voice disturbed his reverie.
"Hi, Harry." Niamh Giffard stood by his table, holding a box of tissues. She smiled at him. "What's on your mind?"
Harry smiled. "You tell me."
Niamh looked at him uncertainly, but when he waited expectantly she shrugged and pulled up a chair. She sat, eyes closed, and spoke softly.
"You're wondering how to spell 'hysteria'. You want to know why I'm in here and not outside. I have a small cold incidentally, I was about to go see Madam Pomfrey. You wonder, are the merpeople cold when the lake freezes over." Harry stared.
"You wish you hadn't forgotten to do this essay because now you're missing out on all the fun. You're worried that Ron will say something foolish with you not there to watch him, and Hermione will be angry. You hate it when they fight. It makes you uncomfortable. You're pleased that they're going to the Holiday Serenade together, but you're concerned because you haven't found a date. But more important to you than the Holiday Serenade is your godfather. Sirius is lost, you're thinking, or maybe he's dead. Either way you're sure he's in trouble. You wonder, what would you do if he died? He's been almost like a father to you these past few years. Where could he be? Is he close, or far away? Is he hurt, is he dead?"
"Stop!" Harry cried in alarm. Niamh opened her eyes, looking troubled.
"I've upset you," she said. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you asked me to read your mind, and I can't stop it once I've started."
Harry was still dazed from being hit by so many home truths at once. "It's- it's okay. Sorry, Niamh, I didn't mean to yell at you. It was just startling."
Niamh looked dejected. "I know. That's why I almost wasn't allowed to come here. They normally don't let my kind into wizarding schools like Hogwarts because we gypsies allegedly cause undue distress to the 'normal' students."
Harry peered down at the skaters and the Weasleys, who were standing in the snow, gesturing and talking agitatedly. "What are Fred and George doing?"
"They're arguing over whose fault it was that they were holding their plans upside down, so that instead of raising the snow into a skiing hill they sunk a depression in the ground."
Harry laughed. "Are you reading their minds as well?"
Niamh shrugged. "I don't usually work to read other people's minds. I mean, I could, but I respect people's privacy. But usually things just sort of drift at me. Thoughts, feelings, memories."
"Is that how Professor Trelawney is too?"
"You're wondering because a few years ago she told you a prediction that came true?" Niamh asked, knowing without being told. "She's rather an exception. She actually wasn't born with the gift of what she calls the Inner Eye. But she believed that she was, and she worked so hard for it that sometimes, after a lot of work, she can figure out things in her head, which she thinks is having the Inner Eye. She picked a ridiculous medium, though. Divination, predicting the future! It's the least reliable medium of all."
"Can't you predict the future?"
"I have what I like to call heightened insight. I see deep into past and present times."
"So you can't tell me what's in my future?" Harry asked.
Niamh stared at him momentarily. "You make your own future," she said equivocally. "I don't usually talk about this. I'm an outcast of society, Harry. Even in the wizarding community I'm considered abnormal. A freak of nature."
"That's what Malfoy says about me and my scar," Harry said. "You're no more unnatural than I am."
Niamh laughed disparagingly. "Malfoy! That spoiled brat knows nothing." She stood and crossed to the window, where she looked down at the frozen lake, where Malfoy could be seen skating at the far end. "Malfoy is a fool and a liar, Harry. And look, Malfoy's desperately jealous."
"Of what?" Harry stood to look out. "How can you tell?"
She stared at him incredulously. "Are you telling me you've never known? Not once, in the time you've known Malfoy, has it occurred to you how envious he is of you?"
"Of me?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Not just you. All of you," Niamh said, trying to convey her point by gesturing round the empty common room. "He's exceedingly jealous of your simple friendships, your tight-knit groups, the way things seem to come so easily to you."
"Nothing comes easily to any of us!" Harry said.
"He thinks it does. Think about Malfoy, Harry. He's always lived in seclusion, detached from people. Do you think Malfoy Manor is a home of comfort and joy? I highly doubt it. His parents are cold and distant. Malfoy has to play games for what he wants. His life is a complicated tangle of lies and strategies. He envies your simple, straightforward honesty because he's spent his whole life dancing round the truth and he doesn't know how to be honest anymore."
Harry watched the lone shape of his nemesis, lazilyskating slow figure eights, and knew that Niamh's observations were accurate. But the stubborn streak in Harry would not allow him to so easily forgive years of Malfoy's undaunted cruelty towards himself and his friends. "I'm not about to go out there and tell him I want to be bury the hatchet. Why are you telling me this?"
Niamh sighed. "No one's asking you to be his best friend. I just want you to understand why he does such foolish things. But you yourself shouldn't have much trouble with him for a while."
"Me? Why not?"
"Watch," said Niamh, pointing down at the lake.
Harry saw Ron showing Hermione how to skate figure-eights. They were laughing and appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely. Then Malfoy glided over. The Slytherin halted abruptly in front of them, showering Ron and Hermione in ice shavings. Ron shouted at Malfoy, who grinned and made a response that caused Ron to lunge forward, but Malfoy skated away, laughing, and Hermione held Ron back. The two of them began to argue.
"They were getting along so well a minute ago," Harry said of Ron and Hermione.
"Well, their happiness was what made Malfoy angry, wasn't it? What do you suppose Malfoy said that made Ron so mad, anyways? I didn't read it."
"Probably something about Hermione being a Mudblood," Harry said as he watched Malfoy glide towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were struggling to stand on their skates by the open hole where a tentacle extended from the water. "I hope that lousy git falls in," he said angrily.
"Hermione's parents are Muggles?" Niamh asked, interested. She sat back down. "Hmmm. How peculiar."
"What's peculiar?" Harry asked sharply.
Niamh read his thoughts. "It's not Hermione, I don't care that she's got Muggle parents. It's just odd that Malfoy taunts her about being a Mudblood."
"He says purebloods are superior to Muggle-born wizards, the little bigot," Harry said sourly. "Apparently the entire Malfoy lineage is pureblood."
"That's where you're wrong," Niamh said. "If anyone's a filthy beast it's him."
Harry started. "Are you saying that Malfoy isn't-" In his excitement and shock he could hardly finish the sentence. Niamh grinned slyly.
"Everyone has a dark secret, Harry, something appalling that they'd rather no one knew. Don't you?" Harry could not meet her gaze. Niamh went on. "I can usually read it in a handshake. But in Draco Malfoy's case I don't even need that. It's so patently obvious with him."
"So he's a Mudblood?" Harry asked eagerly.
Niamh smiled enigmatically. "Not exactly." She laughed out loud. "Malfoy! I could destroy that proud ancient name with a single word. But I won't."
"But Niamh!" Harry exclaimed. "They deserve it!"
"I can't abuse my gift, Harry! But in light of what you've suffered at his hand-a clue. I was going to tell you for Christmas, but you can have your gift early I suppose. The Malfoy family is not originally from England. They immigrated here several centuries ago from the continent." She paused. "From western continental Europe. After you hear that, it really won't be hard to-"
All of a sudden Niamh went rigid. Her eyes and mouth snapped shut, mid- sentence.
"Niamh?" Harry said, alarmed.
Suddenly the girl began to hiss harshly: Parseltongue, a language known only to Parselmouths, of which two existed in the world. "Harry Potter," the girl hissed in a male voice unlike her own. It was high and cold and sent chills down Harry's back. It was cruel and unforgiving, and Harry knew whose voice it was. "Harry Potter! How I lament the day I first heard the name. He will be destroyed! I promised it to myself on that horrible night so long ago and it will be done. I am the vanquisher of foes, conqueror of the world! I will kill him and no one can stop me."
There followed a sort of hissing, spitting noise, which Harry presumed was Parseltongue-laughter. He whispered, "Lord Voldemort-"
"It is not necessary to go through the plan with them once more, I think," Niamh said thoughtfully, interrupting him. The gypsy seemed to be channeling Voldemort's inner monologue. "And perhaps it would not be wise to let them enter the school until that crackpot Dumbledore can be disposed of. Or. distracted! That gives me an idea. Suppose I could get him out of the place for a while. I could go in myself and snatch the boy! But how to remove Dumbledore?
"I will have to use Snape somehow. But Snape is clearly in league with Dumbledore, though he pretends not to be. Is there no other way to get rid of Dumbledore? Though he is nothing more than an impetuous hothead far past his prime, I am still not strong enough to defeat him in combat. I shall have to use Snape to figure out Dumbledore's weaknesses, things he prizes above all. I wish I knew the long-nosed old fool better, then perhaps I could find it out myself, but Snape will have to do. I'll fix him so he can't lie to me about it. Maldora Lestrange can brew a potent Veritaserum, and we'll force the truth out of old impudent Snape.
"And now, what to do about little Wormtail? His heart is not in his evil deeds lately. I fear not treachery, for I know that he will always obey his master, to whom he swore an undying allegiance. He is too weak to fight back, no matter how repulsive he thinks me.
"I know what it is. Wormtail would like to see Harry Potter spared. He wants to pay back that life-debt he thinks he owes the boy. An absurd notion; but Wormtail believes in that primeval magic, and unless I can convince him it's rubbish, he might do something incredibly foolish to try and save Potter from me. Perhaps I could devise a spell to break the alleged bond between them, then Wormtail would serve me wholeheartedly. That problem can be dealt with easily, Wormtail is just a little weakling."
But a little voice jumped in, Voldemort's intellectual self-antagonism. "Why do you speak so disparagingly of weakness? Even Lord Voldemort was weak once."
Voldemort gasped angrily. "Preposterous!"
"It's true!" hissed the little voice nastily. "Do you not remember that night, when Harry Potter-"
"Stop!" shouted Voldemort. "No! I have never known weakness!" His voice rose shrilly in agitation. "I am all-powerful, I am invincible! I will be immortal! I will kill Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, and then the whole world will know my terrible wrath!"
Niamh's body quivered, then slumped. Her head fell on her chest. Then she lifted her face and the clear bright eyes opened.
"I'm sorry, I must have just been daydreaming for a second," she said in English in her regular voice, then stopped short at the sight of his stricken face. Suddenly realizing what had happened, she cried out in consternation, "What have I done? Harry, Harry, what did I say? I'm so sorry! Talk to me! What did I do? Harry!"
The weather was so cold that for the first time in thirty years the lake froze over. Students were able to go ice-skating in their spare time, and Professor McGonagall proved to be quite nimble on skates, teaching the younger students how to spin and perform figure-eights. Harry worried about how the giant squid was getting along under the ice, until one evening the ice broke at one end of the lake and a pair of tentacles poked out of the water and waved lazily at the astonished passing skaters.
Sunday afternoon all the Gryffindors were getting ready to go outside. George and Fred were eagerly detailing their plans to Harry to construct a skiing hill by the Quidditch stadium when Neville unfolded his scarf and a glass ball fell onto the carpet. It bounced and rolled, unbroken, to Harry's foot.
"My Remembrall!" Neville said happily. "I was wondering where that had got to."
Harry picked up the Remembrall to hand back, but was dismayed when the greyish mist inside suddenly turned deep crimson.
"You've forgotten something," Parvati said. "Have you done all your homework for tomorrow's classes?"
Harry thought he had. "I studied for the Potions test, I did the textbook questions for Transfiguration, I did that assignment on the Major Arcana for Divination."
"The Herbology essay," said Ron and Neville at the same time.
"Cripes!" Harry slapped his forehead with his palm. "You go ahead," he said mournfully to his friends. "I'll do the essay in no time at all."
"Hurry up then," Ron said. "You'll come out later?"
"When I'm done," Harry promised.
The Gryffindors trooped out, leaving Harry alone in his misery with his textbooks and blank parchments. He settled down at a table by the window overlooking the lake and sadly commenced taking notes on Mediterranean seaweeds.
Half an hour passed. Harry was writing the rough draft of his essay. He paused in the middle of a sentence, sighed, and propped his chin in his palm, staring through the window down at the skaters far below. A soft Irish voice disturbed his reverie.
"Hi, Harry." Niamh Giffard stood by his table, holding a box of tissues. She smiled at him. "What's on your mind?"
Harry smiled. "You tell me."
Niamh looked at him uncertainly, but when he waited expectantly she shrugged and pulled up a chair. She sat, eyes closed, and spoke softly.
"You're wondering how to spell 'hysteria'. You want to know why I'm in here and not outside. I have a small cold incidentally, I was about to go see Madam Pomfrey. You wonder, are the merpeople cold when the lake freezes over." Harry stared.
"You wish you hadn't forgotten to do this essay because now you're missing out on all the fun. You're worried that Ron will say something foolish with you not there to watch him, and Hermione will be angry. You hate it when they fight. It makes you uncomfortable. You're pleased that they're going to the Holiday Serenade together, but you're concerned because you haven't found a date. But more important to you than the Holiday Serenade is your godfather. Sirius is lost, you're thinking, or maybe he's dead. Either way you're sure he's in trouble. You wonder, what would you do if he died? He's been almost like a father to you these past few years. Where could he be? Is he close, or far away? Is he hurt, is he dead?"
"Stop!" Harry cried in alarm. Niamh opened her eyes, looking troubled.
"I've upset you," she said. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you asked me to read your mind, and I can't stop it once I've started."
Harry was still dazed from being hit by so many home truths at once. "It's- it's okay. Sorry, Niamh, I didn't mean to yell at you. It was just startling."
Niamh looked dejected. "I know. That's why I almost wasn't allowed to come here. They normally don't let my kind into wizarding schools like Hogwarts because we gypsies allegedly cause undue distress to the 'normal' students."
Harry peered down at the skaters and the Weasleys, who were standing in the snow, gesturing and talking agitatedly. "What are Fred and George doing?"
"They're arguing over whose fault it was that they were holding their plans upside down, so that instead of raising the snow into a skiing hill they sunk a depression in the ground."
Harry laughed. "Are you reading their minds as well?"
Niamh shrugged. "I don't usually work to read other people's minds. I mean, I could, but I respect people's privacy. But usually things just sort of drift at me. Thoughts, feelings, memories."
"Is that how Professor Trelawney is too?"
"You're wondering because a few years ago she told you a prediction that came true?" Niamh asked, knowing without being told. "She's rather an exception. She actually wasn't born with the gift of what she calls the Inner Eye. But she believed that she was, and she worked so hard for it that sometimes, after a lot of work, she can figure out things in her head, which she thinks is having the Inner Eye. She picked a ridiculous medium, though. Divination, predicting the future! It's the least reliable medium of all."
"Can't you predict the future?"
"I have what I like to call heightened insight. I see deep into past and present times."
"So you can't tell me what's in my future?" Harry asked.
Niamh stared at him momentarily. "You make your own future," she said equivocally. "I don't usually talk about this. I'm an outcast of society, Harry. Even in the wizarding community I'm considered abnormal. A freak of nature."
"That's what Malfoy says about me and my scar," Harry said. "You're no more unnatural than I am."
Niamh laughed disparagingly. "Malfoy! That spoiled brat knows nothing." She stood and crossed to the window, where she looked down at the frozen lake, where Malfoy could be seen skating at the far end. "Malfoy is a fool and a liar, Harry. And look, Malfoy's desperately jealous."
"Of what?" Harry stood to look out. "How can you tell?"
She stared at him incredulously. "Are you telling me you've never known? Not once, in the time you've known Malfoy, has it occurred to you how envious he is of you?"
"Of me?" Harry asked in surprise.
"Not just you. All of you," Niamh said, trying to convey her point by gesturing round the empty common room. "He's exceedingly jealous of your simple friendships, your tight-knit groups, the way things seem to come so easily to you."
"Nothing comes easily to any of us!" Harry said.
"He thinks it does. Think about Malfoy, Harry. He's always lived in seclusion, detached from people. Do you think Malfoy Manor is a home of comfort and joy? I highly doubt it. His parents are cold and distant. Malfoy has to play games for what he wants. His life is a complicated tangle of lies and strategies. He envies your simple, straightforward honesty because he's spent his whole life dancing round the truth and he doesn't know how to be honest anymore."
Harry watched the lone shape of his nemesis, lazilyskating slow figure eights, and knew that Niamh's observations were accurate. But the stubborn streak in Harry would not allow him to so easily forgive years of Malfoy's undaunted cruelty towards himself and his friends. "I'm not about to go out there and tell him I want to be bury the hatchet. Why are you telling me this?"
Niamh sighed. "No one's asking you to be his best friend. I just want you to understand why he does such foolish things. But you yourself shouldn't have much trouble with him for a while."
"Me? Why not?"
"Watch," said Niamh, pointing down at the lake.
Harry saw Ron showing Hermione how to skate figure-eights. They were laughing and appeared to be enjoying themselves immensely. Then Malfoy glided over. The Slytherin halted abruptly in front of them, showering Ron and Hermione in ice shavings. Ron shouted at Malfoy, who grinned and made a response that caused Ron to lunge forward, but Malfoy skated away, laughing, and Hermione held Ron back. The two of them began to argue.
"They were getting along so well a minute ago," Harry said of Ron and Hermione.
"Well, their happiness was what made Malfoy angry, wasn't it? What do you suppose Malfoy said that made Ron so mad, anyways? I didn't read it."
"Probably something about Hermione being a Mudblood," Harry said as he watched Malfoy glide towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were struggling to stand on their skates by the open hole where a tentacle extended from the water. "I hope that lousy git falls in," he said angrily.
"Hermione's parents are Muggles?" Niamh asked, interested. She sat back down. "Hmmm. How peculiar."
"What's peculiar?" Harry asked sharply.
Niamh read his thoughts. "It's not Hermione, I don't care that she's got Muggle parents. It's just odd that Malfoy taunts her about being a Mudblood."
"He says purebloods are superior to Muggle-born wizards, the little bigot," Harry said sourly. "Apparently the entire Malfoy lineage is pureblood."
"That's where you're wrong," Niamh said. "If anyone's a filthy beast it's him."
Harry started. "Are you saying that Malfoy isn't-" In his excitement and shock he could hardly finish the sentence. Niamh grinned slyly.
"Everyone has a dark secret, Harry, something appalling that they'd rather no one knew. Don't you?" Harry could not meet her gaze. Niamh went on. "I can usually read it in a handshake. But in Draco Malfoy's case I don't even need that. It's so patently obvious with him."
"So he's a Mudblood?" Harry asked eagerly.
Niamh smiled enigmatically. "Not exactly." She laughed out loud. "Malfoy! I could destroy that proud ancient name with a single word. But I won't."
"But Niamh!" Harry exclaimed. "They deserve it!"
"I can't abuse my gift, Harry! But in light of what you've suffered at his hand-a clue. I was going to tell you for Christmas, but you can have your gift early I suppose. The Malfoy family is not originally from England. They immigrated here several centuries ago from the continent." She paused. "From western continental Europe. After you hear that, it really won't be hard to-"
All of a sudden Niamh went rigid. Her eyes and mouth snapped shut, mid- sentence.
"Niamh?" Harry said, alarmed.
Suddenly the girl began to hiss harshly: Parseltongue, a language known only to Parselmouths, of which two existed in the world. "Harry Potter," the girl hissed in a male voice unlike her own. It was high and cold and sent chills down Harry's back. It was cruel and unforgiving, and Harry knew whose voice it was. "Harry Potter! How I lament the day I first heard the name. He will be destroyed! I promised it to myself on that horrible night so long ago and it will be done. I am the vanquisher of foes, conqueror of the world! I will kill him and no one can stop me."
There followed a sort of hissing, spitting noise, which Harry presumed was Parseltongue-laughter. He whispered, "Lord Voldemort-"
"It is not necessary to go through the plan with them once more, I think," Niamh said thoughtfully, interrupting him. The gypsy seemed to be channeling Voldemort's inner monologue. "And perhaps it would not be wise to let them enter the school until that crackpot Dumbledore can be disposed of. Or. distracted! That gives me an idea. Suppose I could get him out of the place for a while. I could go in myself and snatch the boy! But how to remove Dumbledore?
"I will have to use Snape somehow. But Snape is clearly in league with Dumbledore, though he pretends not to be. Is there no other way to get rid of Dumbledore? Though he is nothing more than an impetuous hothead far past his prime, I am still not strong enough to defeat him in combat. I shall have to use Snape to figure out Dumbledore's weaknesses, things he prizes above all. I wish I knew the long-nosed old fool better, then perhaps I could find it out myself, but Snape will have to do. I'll fix him so he can't lie to me about it. Maldora Lestrange can brew a potent Veritaserum, and we'll force the truth out of old impudent Snape.
"And now, what to do about little Wormtail? His heart is not in his evil deeds lately. I fear not treachery, for I know that he will always obey his master, to whom he swore an undying allegiance. He is too weak to fight back, no matter how repulsive he thinks me.
"I know what it is. Wormtail would like to see Harry Potter spared. He wants to pay back that life-debt he thinks he owes the boy. An absurd notion; but Wormtail believes in that primeval magic, and unless I can convince him it's rubbish, he might do something incredibly foolish to try and save Potter from me. Perhaps I could devise a spell to break the alleged bond between them, then Wormtail would serve me wholeheartedly. That problem can be dealt with easily, Wormtail is just a little weakling."
But a little voice jumped in, Voldemort's intellectual self-antagonism. "Why do you speak so disparagingly of weakness? Even Lord Voldemort was weak once."
Voldemort gasped angrily. "Preposterous!"
"It's true!" hissed the little voice nastily. "Do you not remember that night, when Harry Potter-"
"Stop!" shouted Voldemort. "No! I have never known weakness!" His voice rose shrilly in agitation. "I am all-powerful, I am invincible! I will be immortal! I will kill Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, and then the whole world will know my terrible wrath!"
Niamh's body quivered, then slumped. Her head fell on her chest. Then she lifted her face and the clear bright eyes opened.
"I'm sorry, I must have just been daydreaming for a second," she said in English in her regular voice, then stopped short at the sight of his stricken face. Suddenly realizing what had happened, she cried out in consternation, "What have I done? Harry, Harry, what did I say? I'm so sorry! Talk to me! What did I do? Harry!"
