A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who reviewed: Elizabeth, Dadaiiro, Samantha, and all those who came before!  There I was, feeling kind of down, and all of a sudden I had reviews and my day was wonderful just like that.  I'm glad someone got my little joke with the book and author in chapter 10: A History of Magical Conflict by Warren Pease.  (Warren Pease… War and peace…)  It just worked out so well, I couldn't help myself.  And yes, Elizabeth, that book should be enormous.

To answer your questions, Dadaiiro: Yes, I do think it took some guts for Harry to say thank you to his least favorite teacher.  There's a small amount of mutual respect between them now, but it's fragile.  I don't think that the unpleasantness between Harry and Snape can ever be erased.  They will always dislike each other at the very best; there's going to be more trouble, but I don't see it reaching the fever pitch that we saw in Order of the Phoenix.  And yes, Singers basically just sing magical songs.  It seems logical to me that in Harry Potter's world, some complex things could be done with complex spells, and that's what those songs are.  I also think that there can be spoken spells that are just as complicated.  Singers are special because there aren't many of them.

Here we are with another chapter – in just one day!  This one is a little shorter than what I've been putting out lately, but definitely longer than they were in the beginning.  The chapter break seemed to fall more naturally here.  Enjoy!

Chapter 13: Guesswork

A low buzzing filled the hall.  Students at every table, freed of their paralysis, were turning to look at the Gryffindor table.  At Harry.

Harry could feel every eye upon him, but he kept his own fixed on one spot: Dumbledore.  The headmaster's piercing blue gaze bored into him.  Harry felt that he had been weighed to the ounce and measured to the inch.  He could not look away; it was only when Dumbledore broke eye contact that Harry was freed.  He wanted to dive under the table and hide from all those eyes staring at him.  Just like last year, this is just like last year...

"Boys and girls, please," said Dumbledore loudly and firmly, and the noise in the hall ceased.  "Everyone will go to your dormitories immediately.  First years, follow your prefects."  He turned away and began to confer with Professor McGonagall.

Hermione and Neville stood up and began calling for the Gryffindor first years to follow them.  Neither sounded very enthusiastic, and Hermione's voice quavered a tiny bit.

Harry concentrated on the back of Ron's head as he followed his friend out of the Great Hall.  Even when Ron moved to walk by his side Harry continued to stare straight ahead, refusing to look at all the students watching him.  His insides writhed all the way up the staircase and down the hall to the Fat Lady's portrait.  If he hadn't once crashed a flying Ford Anglia into the Whomping Willow, Harry wouldn't have thought there could be a worse way to start the school year.  Why did Trelawney have to make a prediction about him in front of everyone in the school?  Even the ghosts had been there to hear.  At least, he assumed it was about him, and so did everyone else, obviously.  The one who is marked.  Trelawney had certainly used that phrase often enough during the course of her prediction.  Harry was feeling very conscious of the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

The group stopped in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.  "Password?" she said regally.

"Constant Vigilance," said Hermione, and the painting swung open to reveal the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.  Ordinarily people would have laughed at the irony of the password, but no one remarked on it as they clambered in.

Harry and Ron went straight up the stairs to their dormitory, which had been marked with a sign that said "Fifth Years".  Their trunks and belongings were already there at the feet of their beds.

Ron shut the door behind them, and Harry sank down on his bed and put his head in his hands.

"Was that a real prediction?" said Ron quietly.

Harry nodded.  "She sounded just like that when she made one during my Divination final third year."

"Blimey," said Ron.  "I didn't think that Trelawney could accurately predict whether or not the sun would rise in the morning.  Why didn't she ever do that in class?"

"I don't think she can control it," said Harry.  "I think it just happens when it happens."

"I suppose it has to be about you, doesn't it?  'The one who is marked stands not alone against his nemesis…'  I'd better write this down."

Ron walked over to his four-poster and bent down to open his trunk, but then he paused.  He reached over to his pillow and picked up a slip of paper.  "Be outside the portrait hole at one o'clock AM sharp.  The headmaster wishes to have a word with you.  Do not tell your classmates.  Signed, Professor McGonagall."

Harry turned and looked at his own pillow.  There, on a yellow piece of parchment, was the same message.  "I've got one, too."

"I'll bet Hermione will find one when she goes up to her room," said Ron.  "Harry, you don't think… that bit about those who stand with you, or whatever it was, reaching their full potential… that wasn't about me and Hermione, was it?"

"I don't know," said Harry wearily.  "I don't know."

Dean, Seamus, and Neville were soon in the room as well.  They sensed that Harry didn't really want to talk about what had just happened, though he did confirm that Professor Trelawney had indeed made a real prediction.

"Bugger, this is heavy," said Dean.  "Hey, did anyone write down what Trelawney said?  I guess she's not such an old fraud after all…"

Harry and Ron stayed out of the common room that evening and went to bed early.  Neville, Dean, and Seamus eventually fell asleep, but Harry could only lie awake, Professor Trelawney's words tumbling through his brain.  Judging by the lack of snores from Ron's four-poster, he wasn't sleeping either.

One o'clock approached.  Harry and Ron pulled on their dressing gowns and left their dormitory as quietly as they could.  The common room was empty, and the fire was burning low.  They slipped out the portrait hole into the corridor.

Hermione was already there waiting.  "I figured you'd gotten these too," she said, showing her slip of paper that was identical to theirs.

They didn't have time to chat; Professor McGonagall was striding down the hall toward them.  "Thank you for being on time," she said quietly.  "Please come with me."

The three of them followed their Head of House down the hallways.  There was no conversation; their footfalls were the only sound.  The silence began to feel so oppressive that Harry was actually glad when Peeves the Poltergeist popped out from behind a chandelier and sneered, "Dead men walking!"

After what seemed an eternity they stopped in front of the stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office.  "Florean Fortescue's Fabulously Flavored Frozen Fruit Fantasy," said Professor McGonagall.  The gargoyle rotated with a scraping sound, and a set of stone steps appeared.  They all climbed on, and the statue resumed turning so that they were borne upwards on the spiral stairs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all been inside Dumbledore's study before, but the sight of it never failed to impress Harry.  The walls were covered with portraits of Hogwarts' past Headmasters and Headmistresses, all snoozing away.  Strange silver instruments sat on fragile-looking tables; shelves along the far wall held other strange objects, some of which Harry recognized: Godric Gryffindor's sword, the Sorting Hat, and Dumbledore's pensieve.  The headmaster himself was sitting at a large desk, watching Professor Thornby, who was gently stroking Fawkes' scarlet head and humming a little tune.  Professor Bellaton was sitting in a large armchair in front of the desk.  All four of the adults were still wearing their robes from the feast.

"Albus, that password is ridiculously long," said Professor McGonagall in exasperated tones.  "Seven words, all beginning with 'f'?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled at them all.  "I suppose you are right," he said, "but I do so enjoy Florean Fortescue's Fabulously Flavored Frozen Fruit Fantasy; I thought it might be a refreshing change for a password."

Professor McGonagall's mouth twitched into a tiny smile.

Harry smiled a little bit too; Ron and Hermione were clearly trying not to.  The leaden weight that had settled in Harry's stomach suddenly felt a little bit lighter.

Dumbledore raised his wand.  "Reticeo!"  For a moment, Harry felt as if his ears had been stuffed with cotton, but the sensation passed as quickly as it had come.

"A ward against eavesdropping," said Dumbledore.  "We must be able to speak freely here.  Please, have a seat."  He waved his wand again, and more armchairs appeared in front of the desk.  They all sat with the exception of Professor Thornby, who remained standing but stopped her humming.

"Have some chocolate, all of you.  Especially you," he said to Harry.  He held out a box of Honeydukes' finest confections.  "There may not be any dementors around but it will help settle your nerves."

All six of them took a piece.  "Now," said Dumbledore, "I have had a chat with Professor Trelawney and sent her off to get some rest.  She remembers nothing of what she said, though I'm sure that by tomorrow she will know it by heart."

"She has the gift," murmured Professor McGonagall, "though it manifests itself sporadically."

"Prophecy is a thing that often causes more trouble and confusion than it clears up," said Dumbledore.  "This one, however, seems a bit clearer than most."

"A very little bit – the part that matters, anyway," said Professor McGonagall dryly.

"Harry, Ron, Hermione, I presume that you know why you are here," said Dumbledore, "but just so there is no confusion, I will give you my reason: I believe that this prophecy concerns all three of you, not just Harry."

Ron swallowed.  Hermione looked pale.

"Have another chocolate," said Dumbledore, proffering the box again.  "You'll feel better."  They each took one, though Ron and Hermione's movements seemed exceptionally jerky and automatic.

"Let us go through the prophecy in parts, starting.... here."  Dumbledore picked up a parchment from the desktop.  "'The one who is marked stands not alone against his nemesis.'  If we know who the one who is marked is, we will know who the enemy is.  I know it seems obvious, but let us analyze it rationally."

Bellaton spoke up first.  "Sibyll was addressing the staff and students of Hogwarts.  Therefore we can assume that the person or persons who needed to hear the message were in the listening audience."

"Is that true?" said Hermione.  Her voice was unsteady but gained strength as she went on.  "That a prophecy is given only when the person who needs to hear it is present?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.  "Of course, that does not preclude others from being around as well, as we saw tonight.  Also, a prophecy could concern any number of people, but only one of them would need to be present when it is given.  If we do assume that Harry is the one who is marked, then we already know that there were people who heard the prophecy that he would have wished to hide it from.  But let us come back to that particular point later."

"We know it's a he," said Harry quietly.  "His nemesis."

"Very good," said Dumbledore, obviously pleased.

"And Harry is marked," said Hermione.

"But does that mark have to be visible?" said Professor Thornby.

The room was silent for a moment, and then Professor McGonagall spoke.  "It does not make sense that this distinction, physical or otherwise, would be unknown to the person who bore it," she said.  "The prophecy would be unrecognized by the people it was meant to reach.  I don't think we can say that no one else in that room was 'tagged' in some way, but Potter here is the clearest choice."

"I agree," said Dumbledore.  "Harry, you are not only marked here –" –he pointed to his own forehead – "-but in other ways as well.  Voldemort has already tried to kill you several times..."

"I'm a marked man," said Harry flatly.

Dumbledore's face was apologetic.  "In a manner of speaking," he admitted.

"You could argue that I am marked by my... unusual ability," said Bellaton, "but I don't think that Sibyll was talking about me.  I don't have a nemesis."

"Exactly," said Professor Thornby.  "And as Harry has just pointed out, he does."

"Great," said Harry.  "So now we've agreed that I'm the one who is marked, and Voldemort is the enemy."

" 'The enemy gains strength.  His ranks multiply,' " said Dumbledore, reading from the parchment.

"So You-Know-Who is recruiting?" said Ron.

"My dear Ronald," said Dumbledore, "let me take this opportunity to encourage you - and you too, Hermione – to use his real name.  I know that no one else does, but the name itself holds no power unless you let it.  Voldemort is not even his real name, technically; he created it to hide from Tom Riddle."

"We know for a fact that he is recruiting," said Bellaton.  "There are always people in the world who will do anything to gain power."  His acid tone left no doubt of what he thought of those people.

"This brings us to the part that is less clear," said Dumbledore.  " 'They who stand with the one who is marked will realize their unknown potential.' "

"And you think that's us?" said Hermione faintly.

"We do," said Professor McGonagall firmly.  "You three have been tighter than a double knot since your first year here.  I've seen few friendships as solid in all my time here, but your marauding father's were some of them, Potter."

Harry's mouth fell open at her choice of words, but he shut it again quickly.  Of course, he thought, McGonagall's in thick with the plotting against Voldemort just like Remus and Sirius.  She'd know everything.

"Bonds like yours will resist Voldemort's evil," Professor McGonagall continued.  "Besides, we think that you have latent talents – all three of you."

"But there are other people that it could mean, couldn't it?" said Ron.  "Like Lupin, or Sirius, or any of you," he said, looking at the adults.

Dumbledore inclined his head.  "That is very true," he said.  "We are all fighting against Voldemort, and are working to shield Harry from attack, among other things.  Perhaps some or all of us have something yet to learn that we need to defeat him.  However, if there is anyone here who stands beside Harry and has unrealized potential, it's the two of you."

Ron and Hermione looked very unsure of what to make of this.

"And then the last," prompted Professor Thornby quietly.

Dumbledore's face became even more somber.  " 'The sacrifice must be made to safeguard the one who is marked.  The most ancient of magics defeats those who bring death.  Upon this the future depends.' "

"And what sacrifice is that?" said Ron hoarsely.

Dumbledore sighed.  "We have discussed this already, and we have no idea," he said.  "As we have already noted, prophecies often do nothing but create confusion.  I fear that this piece of it will not be understood until it actually comes to pass."

"We agree that 'ancient magics' may refer to Singing," said Bellaton.  "It's been around since the beginning of recorded magical history, and it is a weapon that Voldemort has himself but does not know we have."

"There are many very old spells, charms, and forms of protection.  Not all of them even involve magic at all," said Professor McGonagall.

"This, also, I think we will not understand until it has already occurred," said Dumbledore, "but I 'bringers of death' are most likely Voldemort's followers."

"The Death Eaters," said Hermione.

"Indeed."

Ron sighed and rubbed at his temples.  "I don't think I like being part of a prophecy."

Dumbledore smiled; Harry thought he looked a bit sad.  "And you, Hermione?"

"I don't know," she said quietly.  "It's all so unclear."

Bellaton barked a short laugh.  "This one was better than most," he said.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore.  "Do you have anything you want to say?"

Harry looked into the headmaster's blue eyes, kindly and calm.  "How long are you going to have to protect me?"

"Until you no longer need it," he replied.  "I do not know when that will be, but at that time you will be able to stand on your own two feet.  Voldemort wants you dead very badly, and even after all these years, I have only a suspicion of why."  Harry opened his mouth, but Dumbledore forestalled him.  "Before you ask, I will say now that I cannot tell you what that is yet.  I am quite certain that I have the reason, but I need one more piece of proof before I present my suspicions as fact.  Will that satisfy you for now?"

It was frustrating, but Harry knew there was nothing he could do.  If Dumbledore wasn't going to tell him now, there was no sense beating his head against a stone wall.  He nodded reluctantly.  "What about everyone else who heard the prophecy?" he said.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore.  "We cannot forget about that."

"This will be in the Daily Prophet before long," said Professor Thornby.  "Maybe not tomorrow, but soon."

"I will see to it that the Prophet receives the exact and complete prophecy," said Dumbledore.

"Why?" said Ron incredulously.  "That paper is a piece of trash!  Why make their job easier for them?"

"Telling them the truth is the best thing I can do for any of you at this point," said Dumbledore patiently.  "Hundreds of students heard some very potent words tonight.  How many will remember them correctly?  Tomorrow, half the school will be saying that Professor Trelawney said the name 'Harry Potter' during the prophecy, and the other half will be saying that Voldemort has built an army that will besiege Hogwarts next week.  No, the truth is preferable to the alternative."

"But Voldemort – the Death Eaters – they'll read about it, too!" said Ron.  "No, wait... they're already going to know."

"Malfoy.  Crabbe.  Goyle," said Hermione.  "They'll tell their fathers as soon as they can – I'll bet anything they've already sent owls."

"The sins of the father do not automatically make the son guilty," said Professor Thornby.

Ron laughed bitterly.  "You haven't met these guys," he said.

"Professor Thornby is right," said Professor McGonagall.  "Their fathers may be Death Eaters, but Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle are not."

"They're Death Eaters in training!" said Harry viciously.  "Just look at the way they behave, they'll be naturals..."

"No," said Dumbledore firmly.  "They are what their parents have made them.  They have been taught to hate what is good and kind; when you antagonize them you do further damage.  Do not treat them as they treat you – it is for your own good as well as theirs.  You may not see it, but the choices you make now regarding these young men may have consequences for years to come."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, we already talked about this today," said Harry, feeling rather annoyed.  "Because of what the Sorting Hat said and all."

"It's wise of you to listen," said Professor McGonagall.  "The hat gave sound advice."

"Why don't you talk to Malfoy?" said Hermione.  "You could tell him what you've told us."

"Do you think for a moment that he would take well to hearing me criticize his family and their philosophy?" said Dumbledore.  "That kind of direct assault is probably the worst thing I could do.  Through the influence of his father, Draco considers himself above authority and superior to the rest of the students.  Telling someone like him that he is mistaken only makes the problem worse; you must show him.  Actions speak louder than words."

"Why is it up to us to save Draco Malfoy?" said Ron.  He looked and sounded angry.

"That is not your responsibility," said Dumbledore gravely.  "All you can do is show him another way of life.  Eventually he will have to decide for himself what he wants; unfortunately, there is no way to tell exactly how much he has chosen for himself already."

Harry and his friends absorbed this in silence.  "Is there anything else you wish to know?" said Dumbledore.

None of them spoke.

"Very well," the headmaster continued.  "Then let me just say one last thing: keep your wits about you!  It is difficult to say what the ramifications of this evening's events will be.  All four of us will be looking out for you –" – Professor Bellaton smiled and winked at them – "-but there is no substitute for your own watchfulness."  He glanced a large grandfather clock in the corner.  "My, but it is late.  You should return to your beds and get some sleep."

Professor McGonagall stood up; so did Harry, Ron, and Hermione.  The other professors wished them a good night, and they followed Professor McGonagall out of the office.

When they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Professor McGonagall reached into her robes and handed them each one of three silvery-white candies wrapped in cellophane.  "Take these in the morning," she said.  "You have missed half a night's worth of sleep, so you'll need them to get through the day tomorrow."

"Constant Vigilance," said Harry, and the portrait swung open.

Professor McGonagall's face broke into a real smile.  "You Gryffindors have quite a sense of humor," she said fondly.  "Get some rest; tomorrow is a new day.  I'll see you all in class."  And still smiling, she turned and walked back down the hall the way she had come.