Disclaimer: In my wildest dreams, I own everything. This is not my wildest dreams. I own nothing.

A few weeks went by uneventfully, although my mind involuntarily catalogued about a thousand different details with every step that I took. It got to the point where I barely saw anything but those "important" things. I ran into things and people that I hadn't even noticed were there, a new experience for me.

I felt little things that I could not possibly have any reason to feel. In Potions class, which Gryffindor had with Slytherin (a pairing that indeed seemed to be age old), the sight of Severus Snape in the student's desk gave me a horrible sense of vertigo. Strange as that sounds, it was only one of many instances.

Finally, it got so bad that I did take that awkward trip up to the headmaster's office to talk to the Hat. It was, as of yet, my only real friend.

Professor Dumbledore greeted me with a grave smile.

"Ah," he said, after a brief and silent appraisal, "you are Moira Wellington. You are our Watcher?"

"Yes, sir," I said trying to out stare his disconcerting blue eyes, "but I don't really know what that means. I don't know what to watch."

"You are here because you do, Miss Wellington, only you do not understand what you are seeing."

"You can say that again," I scoffed. "All around me, everything seems wrong. There's a boy, James Potter, and he shouldn't have hazel eyes!"

I did not even stop to think about how that might sound to someone who did not know what I was talking about, but Dumbledore seemed to at least somewhat understand.

"That's not absurd, Moira, please sit down," he said, as a chair appeared spinning in the air.



I sat and listened to his explanation for my increasingly confusing life.

"What you are seeing are shards of the future, a future that will be affected by the events that are decided by this present. It is a sort of precognition, made all the more potent by your keen sense of observation. Here and there, things have left so strongly a mark on the world that the ripples of it extend even to the past, for those attuned enough to see. [1]"



"Can you, sir?"

"No, there are very few who can. You are probably the most attentive Watcher that has ever existed. That worries me."

"How? Why?"

"It means that whatever is coming will be that much worse-"



"Or better," I interrupted.

Dumbledore looked far from convinced.

"Can I do anything to stop an event from happening if I see something horrible?" I asked.

"It is best that you do not," Dumbledore said, not meeting my eyes, "because we cannot know how it will affect the rest of the future."

"So if I see someone and think, 'He should be dead,' I can't warn him?" I said angrily. I did not like this predestination thing at all.

Dumbledore looked at me very seriously. "Oh no, Miss Wellington, I am not saying that at all," he said, "I am just saying beware of what consequences your words might bring."

He folded his hands in a way that said the interview was over. I left, more befuddled than ever before.

****

Unfortunately for me, my personal life got in the way of the Watcher in me when the owls came swooping down at breakfast the next morning. The school owl I had sent my parents, as soon as I had gotten the guts to do so, landed in front of me. with trembling hands I took the letter off its leg, and it flew off again. Would my parents accept me back?

My stomach churned unpleasantly as I realized that the letter was my own, still sealed. Across the flap, my mother had written in bold, angry words.

I have no daughter.

I burst into noisy tears at the middle of the table. Several people ogled at me as if I was some alien, and I got hastily to my feet. Before I could stumble three steps, though, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

It was Lily Evans.

"What's wrong, Moira?" she asked, her face full of concern.

"It's nothing," I lied, trying to return to my exodus.

"People don't sob over nothing," she pointed out kindly, and walked with me out of the Great Hall.

Once inside the Gryffindor Tower, she again asked what was wrong. Silently, I handed her the letter. She stared at it for a moment, and I saw comprehension dawn on her face.

"Oh God, Moira, that's awful. I'm a Muggle-Born, too, and my parents thought the whole thing was a joke, but when it turned out not to be, they were so happy for me. My sister, Petunia, wasn't. I think she's jealous, truth be told. She's older than me, and she was the one who was always reading the fantasy books and pretending to see fairies and such, and it was me, the one who read Nancy Drew and *real* things that was the witch. It's something of a cruel irony, I guess, but I think she'll get over it. We were always so close."

"My mother never was close to me. I was too antisocial for her. I just wanted to let the rest of the world be the rest of the world," I said, tears coming anew.

"But you'll make up," Lily insisted. "She's your mother; she just needs time to get over it and accept you for what you are. Trust me. She can't really mean this. After all, you did just run away from home and pursue a dream that she didn't believe in."

"That's no reason to disown me," I growled.

"She didn't, just give her time to cool off," Lily said. "Look, here, I'll tell you this. Why don't you lay off on the owls for now, and go home at Christmas? Even if she is mad, she can't very well slam the door in your face. Then you can work things out."

I nodded if only to make Lily happy.

Suddenly a loud explosion sounded from across the Common Room, and it was echoed by hoots and cheers. The source, it seemed, was the four Gryffindor boys I had marked. James and Sirius, immediate friends, had done something or other, and Peter laughed obediently. Remus was smiling nervously. A few other older boys were staring at the two in disbelief.

"How did you do that?" one of them asked.

"That's fourth year magic, at the very least!"

James and Sirius gave matching cocky grins. "We're just geniuses, I guess."



Rising behind them, in little smoky shapes, was the gory and anatomically accurate image of a lion disemboweling a snake.

Lily gave a loud "humph" and went up to her Dormitory.



"Oh, come on, Evans, it's impressive!" James called after her.

"Hardly," she called back.

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[1] Disclaimer: This is not my idea. It is, as far as I know, first brought up by Terry Pratchett in The Color of Magic, the first novel of Discworld. (It is a hilarious series. Go read it. After you review.) I do not own it or the idea.

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A/N: Leave a review, if you would be so kind!