Disclaimer: All recognisable characters and situations belong to JRK. The information on Tarot reading comes from a very informative, (and almost never Trelawney-ish-sounding) website, www.learntarot.com, copyright Joan Bunning. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author Notes:

Thanks again to Yolanda, my ever-faithful beta-reader, and thanks to all the lovely people who have reviewed. I'm glad to hear that the Snape story line works for some of you [and that the others at least haven't given up on me completely yet. ;-) ] Particular thanks to SR1918, whose detailed and enthusiastic reviews really brightened my day.

Chapter Ten: Eight of Cups

Tuesday and Wednesday were soon gone, and things were, for the most part, continuing as usual. Professor Sprout was still flighty, Professor Binns was still painfully boring, Professor Flitwick was still dithery, Professor McGonagall was still strict but fair, and Professor Lively was still, as Dean put it, cool. The Gryffindors, for the first time in recent memory, had been awaiting their Thursday morning Double Potions class with real excitement, and, when it finally rolled around, they all arrived early to class. Professor Dumbledore was already there, all smiles and twinkling eyes. He beamed benignly at them as they took their seats. The Slytherins trickled in, and Dumbledore beamed even more broadly and began to speak. "Professor Snape tells me that his Monday lecture covered the theoretical basis for the potion that you will be making today. Does everyone feel confident of their grasp on the theory, or are there questions before we begin?"

Harry tried to remember the last time that Snape had bothered to ask if people understood the material that he had covered; he couldn't. No one raised a hand. Harry knew that Hermione's lecture on Healing Potions had been at least as informative as Snape's lecture would have been, so the Gryffindors, at least, ought to be prepared, and many of the Slytherins—Malfoy, for example—would have kissed a spider before letting on that there might be anything in the world that Dumbledore knew and they didn't. Since the more reasonable Slytherins were silent as well, Harry reckoned that Snape's lecture to them been enough to get them ready to go.

"Very well, then. Take a moment to look over the preparation instructions for the Black-and-Blue Potion on page 248 of your textbook. That is what you'll be preparing today." He paused, and they all took out their textbooks and read through the instructions. When they had all finished, Dumbledore asked, "Any questions?" There were none, so he sent them to the laboratory area to prepare their ingredients.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione settled into a table near the front. Harry noticed that Malfoy hurried to claim the table next to them, and he frowned and rolled his eyes but resolved to ignore him. Pansy Parkinson and Tamerlaina Nott joined him, and Harry reflected briefly on how strange it was to see Malfoy without his two lackeys.

Unfortunately, the absence of Crabbe and Goyle's threatening presences had not curbed Malfoy's malicious tongue. The students had barely settled into their places, and he was already off and running. "I hope we get a real Potions master soon," he said, ostensibly to Pansy but obviously wanting Harry to overhear. "I doubt he even knows which way to stir a potion."

Harry considered noting that Dumbledore had forgotten more potions than Malfoy would ever know, but he checked himself. They were ignoring Malfoy. They weren't rising to his bait. Harry tried to concentrate on chopping his bloodroot into thin, even slices.

"Father thinks it's disgraceful, the Headmaster taking a class," Malfoy continued. "Real Headmasters don't teach. Real Headmasters have more important things to do."

Harry began to chop his bloodroot with a little more force than was necessary. He noticed that Ron's knuckles were beginning to turn white from the force with which he was gripping his knife. Hermione, attempting to distract Harry and Ron from Malfoy, asked Seamus how his History of Magic essay was coming.

"I'm actually liking this essay," Seamus replied. "My mam's great-great-uncle fought in that goblin uprising, and he used to tell her stories about it." The class was still studying goblin rebellions, this time Irish and Welsh ones. "Loads more interesting than that rubbish Binns is always on about. He could bore for England, that one." With a wicked grin, Seamus added, "Maybe you should try to get rid of Binns, Harry. Since it worked so well before."

Neville and Dean both snickered, and Harry tried not to grin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the pink begin to creep into Malfoy's pointed face. "I don't know where you get these ridiculous ideas, Seamus," Harry said innocently. "I didn't get that grant for Professor Snape."

Seamus grinned conspiratorially and turned back to his workstation. "So, when are Quidditch try-outs?" he asked over his shoulder.

Harry could tell that he was trying to sound casual, but it didn't work. He almost laughed at the way Ron's eyes were suddenly boring into the back of Seamus's head. "Next Wednesday afternoon after History of Magic," he replied. "But I think I heard the twins saying something about reserving the pitch for an unofficial practise on Saturday for people who are thinking about trying out."

"What position are you thinking about?" Ron asked in a voice whose casualness was even less convincing than Seamus's had been.

"Beater," Seamus said, and Ron breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "There are reserve spots open for Beaters, right, Harry?"

"Yeah. I think we're going to take lots of reserves this year," Harry replied. "We don't have any reserves, and we need some."

"Dean may try out, too," Seamus said. "Did you decide yet on Beater or Keeper?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, and Ron stiffened again. Harry shrugged, made an "uh-oh" face at Ron, and said, "Well, come to the practise on Saturday; maybe it'll help you decide."

Dean nodded, and Hermione asked what time the Saturday practise would be. "I think the twins were talking about booking the pitch for sometime in the morning," Harry answered. "Why?"

"Just making sure it wouldn't conflict with the Prefect meeting after dinner," she said.

"Oh, yeah. Nearly forgot. And we've got Prefect duty Sunday evening, right?" Ron said.

This conversation had, so far, succeeded in drowning out Malfoy, but now his drawling tones rang loudly enough for them to hear. "Speaking of being unfit for positions, this year's Prefects are a disgrace."

Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head at Ron, who opened his mouth as if to speak but closed it again when Harry caught his eye. Hermione slid her notebook over toward the boys. Harry glanced down at it and saw that she had written, Someone's jealous that he's not a Prefect. He snickered and passed the notebook back.

Malfoy, his voice a bit louder, continued, "I don't see how Zabini and Greengrass stand it, having to work with those Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers."

Harry felt the familiar rush of anger, and he reminded himself to stay calm. What Malfoy says doesn't matter. Malfoy's an idiot. Malfoy's just trying to get a rise out of us. Deep, calming breaths. Visions of bouncing ferrets. Much better. He glanced over at Ron, who was mouthing, "It's just a word. It's just a word," over and over to himself.

"Especially that lot," Malfoy went on, jerking his head toward the table that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sharing. "Miss Mudblood Know-it-all, The Boy Who Didn't Have the Sense to Snuff It Painlessly When He Had the Chance, and the Sixth Disgrace of the Wizarding World."

Harry put down his knife to assure that he wouldn't yield to the temptation to leap across the aisle and jam it into what passed for Malfoy's heart. Ron had quit muttering "It's just a word," and had changed his mantra to "He's not worth Azkaban." Hermione, who always took Malfoy in better stride than the boys, was calmly powdering her Moke scales.

"I know the Gryffindor fifth-years are a pathetic bunch, but surely they could have done better than that," Malfoy continued.

He probably would have kept on in this vein for some time, but Dumbledore, whose tread was even lighter than Snape's, materialised behind him. His stream of invective was interrupted with a calm, "Five points each to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger, for your admirable self-control and maturity. Mr. Malfoy, you will speak respectfully of your fellow students, or you will be silent. If you wish to be allowed the privilege of doing Potions with the rest of your classmates instead of alone with me during a free period, those are your only choices. Very nice bloodroots, Miss Parkinson. Grind the Moke scale powder just a bit finer, and you should be ready to begin brewing." Professor Dumbledore crossed the aisle, made encouraging comments about their work to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and continued his way around the classroom, praising and gently correcting as was needed. Malfoy settled into sullen silence, and the students finished preparing their ingredients and began the brewing process. Harry had added the bloodroot and was just beginning to weigh his knotgrass when the studious hush was broken by a cry of distress. The smoke and the encroaching puddle from the table in front of him informed him that Neville had melted another cauldron.

Professor Dumbledore hurried to the front of the laboratory area, where Neville was cringing beside his melted cauldron as though waiting for a blow. Professor Dumbledore observed placidly, "Your cauldron seems to have melted, Mr. Longbottom." Neville nodded, and his shoulders unhunched just a fraction. "Perhaps a slightly lower flame next time?" Dumbledore suggested. "Use one of the spares for today. When you replace that one, you might try a different brand; I'm told that Potsherd's cauldrons didn't perform well in the last trial by Potions Quarterly. Try Crocker's. They tend to stand the heat better." Dumbledore patted Neville reassuringly on the shoulder and continued on his path around the classroom. Neville breathed a sigh of relief at not being yelled at and went to collect one of the spare cauldrons.

Dumbledore stopped briefly at Malfoy's table. "Have you added the Moke scale powder yet, Mr. Malfoy?" he asked.

"Of course I haven't; can't you see the big pile of it right there?" Malfoy said spitefully.

"My eyes aren't what they once were," Dumbledore replied calmly. "However, they can still read a Potions formula, and I believe that this one says to stir clockwise until you add the Moke scales." Malfoy turned bright pink, and Harry and Ron smirked gleefully at one another. "Increase the flame just a bit, Miss Nott; it should be more of a gentle bubble than a simmer. Yes, that's perfect." Dumbledore returned to his circuit around the room, punctuating his walk with occasional comments.

When the last Potion (Neville's, of course, since he had needed to start the brewing a second time) had turned from black to blue, Dumbledore added the last ingredient to each Potion himself. "Phoenix tears are too expensive for the school to require students to buy them, so we'll use the school stores for this," he said. After he had added a drop of Phoenix tears to each Potion, he asked, "Does anyone have a bruise at the moment?"

An event for the history books occurred: Neville Longbottom raised his hand in Potions class. "I do. On my arm, right here." He pushed up the sleeve of his robe so Dumbledore could see. "Ran into the table in the Great Hall yesterday," he explained.

"All right, Mr. Longbottom, for a bruise that size, you probably need about a fourth of beaker of your potion." Neville looked terrified at the thought of drinking a potion that he had brewed himself, but he carefully filled his beaker a quarter of the way, took a deep breath, and drank. He made a horrible face. "Yes, nasty-tasting stuff, isn't it?" said Dumbledore. "Here, have a sip of water. Give the potion about half a minute to start to take effect."

As the class watched, Neville's bruise began to shrink. Within a few minutes, it had vanished completely. The Gryffindors and about half of the Slytherins applauded.

"Excellent work, Mr. Longbottom. Excellent. Five points for Gryffindor. The rest of you, bottle up your potions, label them with your name, and place them on the front desk as you leave. I'll test them for effectiveness, and then I'll take them up to Madame Pomfrey; with Quidditch season starting soon, she'll be needing a good supply." Dumbledore glanced at his watch and said, "It's a few minutes early, but you've finished the task for the day, so, after you clean your work stations, you are free to go. Nice work today, everyone." He beamed at them for a moment and then walked to the front desk to wait for their potions.

The students cleaned their workstations, turned in their potions, and left the classroom. Malfoy swept off in a such a furious swirl of robes as was almost worthy of Snape. The instant Malfoy was out of sight, Ron leaned against the corridor wall and laughed until he was wheezing for breath. When he noticed Hermione looking at him curiously, he managed to gasp out, "Who doesn't know which way to stir a potion?"

"Yes, yes, it was rather priceless," said Hermione with a satisfied grin. "But hurry up and pull yourself together before you make us late." When Ron protested that they had a free period between Potions and Transfiguration, Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him away from the wall. They stood for a moment, looking at one another. When Harry cleared his throat, they both turned red, and Hermione dropped Ron's hand. "Let's go," she said, and they set off to spend their free period in the library.

*

After lunch, Harry and Ron walked Hermione to her Arithmancy class, and then the two of them made their way to the top of the North Tower for Divination. As they settled into a pair of overstuffed chairs, Ron muttered, "If the miserable old bat is cold, why doesn't she put on a jumper instead of making the rest of us swelter?" Harry shrugged. Suddenly, Ron perked up as if he had just had an idea. "D'you reckon we could do one of those Cooling Charms that Hermione made us read about?" he asked.

"Trelawney might notice," Harry said uncertainly.

Ron snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "She wouldn't notice if we all turned ourselves into icicles and hung from the ceiling." When Harry still didn't look convinced, he added, "We don't have to charm the whole room—just our chairs."

Why not? Harry thought. "Yeah, let's try."

The boys stood, drew their wands and pointed them at their chairs. Harry closed his eyes, thought about snow, and murmured, "Frigio!" and he heard Ron's voice join his. The chairs flickered and turned translucent, like ice, for a split-second. When their color returned and they looked like their normal, revoltingly-patterned selves, they were cool to the touch.

"Cool!" said Dean.

"Literally," Seamus observed with a grin. Dean cuffed him good-naturedly on the arm. "What was that spell again?"

"Frigio," said Ron. "And you have to think about cold things as you're casting it, or it won't work."

Dean, Seamus, and Neville all cast Cooling Charms on their chairs. Lavender and Parvati looked deeply disapproving. "You'll disturb the clairvoyant vibrations!" Parvati chided.

The boys all rolled their eyes at one another and collapsed into their nicely-cooled chairs. Professor Trelawney drifted into the classroom in her characteristically dreamy way. "Good afternoon. It is nice to see you all looking so well," she said. With a meaningful glance at Harry, she added, "Although looks can be deceiving."

Harry sighed loudly. Professor Trelawney's habit of predicting Harry's death every five minutes had ceased to impress him long ago, and he found it even less amusing now that Voldemort was back in power and out for his blood.

"Yeah. She doesn't look like an Augurey, but she gives so many death predictions, she must be one," Ron said in an undertone, and Harry grinned.

"Today, we will begin our study of the Cards," she said, as though making a fascinating revelation.

"My Inner Eye told me that when it saw Finding Out What's In the Cards on our list of books this year," Ron murmured as Trelawney droned on about "the mysteries of the Tarot" and "facing up to the future." Harry bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. Ron's running commentary was the only thing that made this pointless class bearable.

Finally, Trelawney ended her flights of fancy with, "I want you all to choose a partner and read one another's futures using the model on page three of Finding Out What's In the Cards. Face your futures, children, for they will come to pass, for good or ill."

"Does she actually believe this rubbish?" Ron asked, as the boys consulted their textbook. Harry shrugged, and Ron shook his head resignedly, pulled out his new deck of Tarot cards, and placed it on the table between them. "Reckon we'd better get on with it." In a misty voice, he continued, "Ah, Harry, prepare to face your future." He shuffled the deck and peeked at the textbook. "Okay, now you cut." He passed the deck across to Harry, who cut the cards and handed them back. Ron, still looking at the textbooks, said, "This says to deal three cards, one for the past, one for the present, and one for the future." Ron dealt three cards from the top of the deck. "Let's see, in your past, you've got the Tower. In your present, you've got the Eight of Cups, and, in the future, you've got…."

He was interrupted by a crow from Professor Trelawney. "Death! Death, my dears!" She had appeared at their table just in time to announce Harry's Death card to the entire room. Harry sighed again and sank a bit lower in his seat. "I had better read these, dear," she said to Ron. "This hand is too much to be managed by a newcomer to the art of the Cards." Ron and Harry both glowered at her, but she pulled a chair up to their table and sat down between them. "The Tower," she intoned. "A fall from great heights. A crash. Slipping into bad fortune. The Eight of Cups. Weariness. Worry. The feeling that life has become too much to bear. And, finally, Death! I need not tell you what this means. A sad hand, my dear."

Ron, who had been ignoring Trelawney and flipping through the textbook, read aloud from the chapter on interpreting the cards of the Major Arcana, "'Expert Readers of the Cards agree that the Death card seldom, if ever, foretells actual, physical death, and no responsible Reader will interpret the Death card literally.'"

Harry couldn't keep a snort of laughter from escaping, and he had to fake a coughing fit to cover it. Dean and Seamus seemed similarly afflicted. "Must be … the incense … getting to us," Seamus said, punctuating his statement with a few impressively realistic-sounding coughs.

Professor Trelawney, who had puffed up like an angry cat at Ron's quoting of the textbook, broke off glaring at Ron to glare at Seamus. "Perhaps I should read your cards, dear," she told him in a syrupy tone. Seamus and Dean shared a resigned glance, Neville looked worried, and Trelawney left Ron and Harry without a word.

"You are in so much trouble," Harry told Ron with a grin.

Ron grinned back and just said, "Let's get on with that reading, shall we?" He consulted the book and said, "Now, in addition to all that rot that she was on about, this says that the Tower also means feeling like you're getting 'swept along by powerful forces that are beyond your control.' And that's your past card. The Eight of Cups, your present card, means seeking answers, beginning a journey, and moving on. And Death, your future card, can either mean transitions, cutting out some things, that powerful forces bit from the Tower, or endings, particularly conclusions of something unfinished. So, in the past, you felt like you were being moved along by things you couldn't control. And now, in the present, you're moving on from that. You're looking for answers and journeying toward something new. In the future, you'll be moving toward something unknown and taking care of unfinished business."

Ron glanced up from the textbook and saw that Harry had been watching him with rapt attention. Both boys turned red, embarrassed to realise that they had been taking a Divination assignment seriously. "At least, that's what I get from this stuff," Ron muttered. "What do you think?"

"Much better than Trelawney's reading," Harry said, grinning. "Kind of disappointing, though … you didn't even have me falling off my broomstick or getting burned to death by a herd of fire crabs." They both laughed.

Professor Trelawney shot them a dirty look. "You two would not be so lighthearted, my dears, if you had seen what I saw in my teacup this morning. What do you think it was?"

Ron answered matter-of-factly, "The hideous spectre of impending doom."

"It was the hideous spectre of impending …." Professor Trelawney trailed off and looked at Ron with admiration. "How did you know?" she asked.

"Must be those clairvoyant vibrations," Ron replied. Trelawney was still gazing at him in awe, so she couldn't see Seamus and Dean putting their heads down and pounding on the table in silent laughter.

Professor Trelawney finally turned her attention back to Parvati and Lavender, and Harry and Ron were free to snicker. "'Clairvoyant vibrations?'" Harry repeated sceptically.

"And Lavender and Parvati thought we'd disturb them," said Ron in a tone of mock-disbelief. They snickered again. After a moment, Ron said, "I reckon you'd better do my reading now. I'd hate to miss out on it."

"Oh, yeah." Harry took the deck, shuffled, and handed them to Ron to cut. When Ron passed them back, Harry dealt three cards. "Let's see, you've got the Ten of Pentacles, the Fool" (Here Ron made a sound of indignation, and Harry grinned apologetically.), "and the Three of Wands. "Ten of Pentacles, that's your past, and it means, erm, being conservative, focussing on safety and security." Harry looked up from the textbook and rolled his eyes. "That's you all over, Ron. All that safe, secure messing about with three-headed dogs and looking for the Chamber of Secrets." The boys snickered a bit more. "And, let's see, the Fool means 'entering a new stage.' Starting an adventure, 'expanding horizons,' moving toward the unknown. So I reckon you've stopped being that conservative bloke you were in the past, and now you're starting something new. And the Three of Wands also means unexplored territory and expanding horizons. Looks like loads of unexplored territory for you." Harry shrugged. "Anyway, there it is." Suddenly, Harry had a mischievous thought. "Wonder if Hermione's cards would have her going into unexplored territory and starting something new," he said casually.

Ron blushed furiously and muttered, "You know she doesn't believe in this rubbish. She's probably right, too. 'Expanding horizons,' my foot."

Relenting, Harry said, "It could mean you'll make the Quidditch team. That's starting something new."

Ron grinned. "Now, that's a horizon I'd like to expand."

"Ah, horizons." Professor Trelawney had reappeared at their table. Harry quickly swept Ron's cards back into the deck before she had a chance to give some tragedy-filled reading of them. She looked mistily at Harry and continued, "Endings. The unknown. Poor dear, I wish your horizon wasn't so near." She probably would have said more, but the bell rang, and she winced. "So noisy, that bell. It disturbs my Inner Eye."

"You hear with your Inner Eye?" Ron asked.

Professor Trelawney ignored him. "For tomorrow, I would like an essay explaining your reading and what it tells you about the ways that the Cards in the Deck relate to one another. Two scrolls, my dears. You are dismissed."

Harry and Ron were the first two down the ladder and out of the stifling, reeking classroom. "Useless, that class," Ron said as they walked through the corridors to meet Hermione at the door of her Arithmancy class.

"Reckon we could drop?" Harry asked. "We could talk to McGonagall about it; you know how much she hates Trelawney."

"Worth a try, I reckon," Ron replied.

"What's worth a try?" asked Hermione, who was waiting for them. As they strolled out to the greenhouses for Herbology, Harry and Ron filled her in on their idea.

*

After Herbology, the boys walked Hermione to the Common Room and headed to Professor McGonagall's classroom. Outside the door, they paused for a moment and glanced at one another. Each took a deep breath, and they stepped into the doorway, where Harry knocked on the frame to alert McGonagall to their presence.

Their Head of House looked up from her work, and, though she didn't smile, her characteristically stern expression softened a bit. "Come in, Potter, Weasley. What can I do for the two of you?" She gestured for them to sit, and they eased into a pair of desks near hers.

"We want to drop Divination," Harry said without preamble. McGonagall raised a quizzical eyebrow and asked, after a brief pause, why they wanted to do this. Harry replied, "Because it's a complete waste of time." McGonagall gave a strange-sounding cough that might have been a disguised laugh. Harry continued, "We need to be learning things, useful things. We need to be getting ready for a war. Instead, we're making up star charts and mucking about with Tarot cards and inhaling incense while Professor Trelawney thinks up new ways to predict my death. It's useless."

"And annoying," added Ron.

McGonagall's lips twitched when Ron added "and annoying," but her usual crisp demeanour returned quickly. "I sympathise with your concerns," she said. "However, I can't allow you to drop Divination unless we can find a different class for you to take instead. Fifth-years must have at least two electives. It would be very difficult for you to join a new class in which the other students have done two years of previous coursework that you have not done. You would be hopelessly behind."

Harry's heart sank. McGonagall was right; there was no way that he could catch up in something like Ancient Runes or Arithmancy, and they looked deadly dull anyway. "What about Muggle Studies?" he asked. "I grew up with Muggles, so I know that world."

Professor McGonagall looked thoughtful. "That could be a possibility. You'd have to work very hard to catch up, but it just might be manageable." She nodded briskly. "I'll have a word with Professor Smith and see what he says. I don't know what he has planned for the fifth-year curriculum, so I can't make any promises, but, if he thinks that you can manage, I will give my permission for you to make the change." She turned her attention to Ron. "What about you, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shrugged. "I'd be lost in Muggle Studies," he said. "I can't even use a fellytone." Harry and McGonagall shared a smile.

"Hermione could tutor you in Arithmancy or Ancient Runes," Harry suggested. Ron looked thoughtful, and Harry could tell that he was weighing the excuse to spend time with Hermione against having to study such dry, difficult subjects. Finally, he said, "I don't think I could catch up. Not with studying for the O.W.L.s and with…." He trailed off, and Harry knew that he had nearly said "and with Quidditch" but had stopped for fear of causing himself bad luck.

"I will speak to the other professors, Mr. Weasley, and see if they have any ideas," said McGonagall, "but I would advise you not to get your hopes up. Now, Mr. Potter, do you still wish to drop Divination if Mr. Weasley cannot?"

Harry chewed his lip and thought. He really wanted out of Divination, but he didn't want to leave Ron high and dry. Ron interrupted his thoughts with, "Yes, he still wants to drop." Harry shot him a swift look, and Ron said lightly, "No need for both of us to suffer, is there?"

Harry smiled gratefully at his friend. Professor McGonagall assured them that she would speak with the other professors and would let them know her decision by the end of the evening. She sent them on their way, and the boys went to join their Housemates at dinner.

The Great Hall rang with mealtime chatter as Harry and Ron made their way to the Gryffindor table. Hermione greeted them with, "We saved you seats." There was one seat next to Hermione and one, across the table, next to Ginny. Harry grinned knowingly at Ron and walked around the table to take the seat next to Ginny while Ron, his ears burning, dropped into the seat beside Hermione. "What did Professor McGonagall say?" she asked.

"She said she'd talk to the other professors and see what she can do, but we both have to find another class to take," Harry explained. While they ate, Harry kept a close eye on the staff table. Professor McGonagall, who had arrived just a few minutes after Harry and Ron, was talking across Professor Snape to Professor Smith, the Muggle Studies professor. She gestured toward the Gryffindor table, and Harry dropped his gaze back to his plate, not wanting to seem over-anxious. When he glanced back up, Professor Smith was smiling at him. He caught Harry's eye, winked, and turned his attention to the professor on his other side. Harry smiled to himself, considering the wink a good sign.

A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall came to the Gryffindor table. "Mr. Potter, Professor Smith says that he will be happy to have you in his fifth-year Muggle Studies class," she said. "He would like to speak with you after dinner." Harry nodded, and she turned toward Ron. "Mr. Weasley, I have found a solution for you, but it's not ideal. The Gryffindor third-year double Ancient Runes class meets just before lunch on Fridays. Fifth-years have that period free. You could, if you wanted, join the third-year class. However, this would mean that you would not be able to take as many O.W.L.s as the rest of your classmates, and that would put you at a bit of a disadvantage. Before you make your decision, the Headmaster would like to speak with you. He'll see you in his office directly after you finish dinner." She nodded to the boys and left the Great Hall.

Ron goggled after her for a moment and then turned his wide-eyed gaze across the table to Harry. "Dumbledore wants to see me," he said, sounding a little disbelieving. He had never been summoned to Dumbledore's office.

"Maybe he wants to talk Quidditch strategy," Harry joked. Ron chuckled, and he seemed a little less uneasy, but he did dart occasional glances toward the staff table.

The boys bolted down the last of their puddings. When they were finished, they looked at one another uncertainly. They had agreed not to wander about the castle alone, but now they needed to go to different places. Hermione, sensing their confusion, took the situation in hand. "Ginny, you know where Professor Smith's office is, right?" she asked. Ginny nodded, and she said, "Can you show Harry the way, and wait for him while he talks to Professor Smith?"

Harry studied the grain of the wood on the table so as not to have to meet Ginny's eye. It was a little embarrassing, having Ron's little sister know that his friends were keeping an eye on him. When he chanced a look at Ginny, he saw that she was neither laughing at him nor giving him some annoying "isn't-that-sweet?" look. She didn't seem to find anything odd about the fact that Harry's best friends were worried about him. She agreed to show Harry the way to Professor Smith's office, and Hermione said, "Good. I'll go with Ron to Dumbledore's office, and we'll meet back in the Common Room." The four of them rose, left the Great Hall, and went their separate ways.

Once Ron and Hermione were out of earshot, Ginny said, "Rather smooth of Hermione, wasn't it, to arrange it so she'd be with Ron."

Harry snickered. "Are they ever going to catch on?" he asked.

"Oh, Hermione's already caught on," she said, grinning. "But my brother has this problem: He's a boy. Genetically predisposed toward cluelessness."

Harry looked at her curiously. "How do you know about genetic predisposition?" he asked. "That's a weird thing for someone from a magical family to know."

"I take Muggle Studies," she replied archly. "That's the classroom, by the way," she added, gesturing toward the room next door to the Arithmancy classroom. "Professor Smith's office is up these stairs, just a few doors down from the entrance to the Ravenclaw wing." When Harry looked baffled, she said, "Don't tell me you don't know where the Ravenclaw wing is." Harry shook his head, and Ginny said, in a mock-exasperated tone, "What have you been doing with that map the twins gave you?"

Harry rolled his eyes ruefully. "Loaning it out to disguised Death Eaters," he said. At the sight of Ginny's stricken expression, he quickly switched the topic back to the Ravenclaw wing's location. "Besides, I never needed to use the Map to watch the Ravenclaws. I don't really know any of them. We never had a class with them until this year."

"Oh. We've always had Care of Magical Creatures with them, and there are some in my Muggle Studies class."

She paused a bit awkwardly, and Harry felt even worse about his disguised Death Eater comment. To fill the silence, he asked, "Talking of the twins, d'you know if they booked the Quidditch pitch for Saturday?"

Ginny brightened in a way that reminded Harry strongly of Ron. "Yeah, they did. Ten o'clock to noon. Okay, this is Professor Smith's office. Want me to wait here in the corridor?"

Professor Smith's door opened before Harry could answer, and he beamed at Harry and Ginny. "Miss Weasley! Thank you for showing Mr. Potter the way. After I left dinner, I realised that he probably had no idea where my office is, and I should have stayed to show him. Sorry about that, Harry. Come in." His eyes flicked back and forth between Harry and Ginny, and he said, "You can come in, too, Ginny, if you want a preview of what you'll be studying next year." He escorted them into his office and gestured to a pair of squashy armchairs. "I was just making tea; would you like some?" Harry and Ginny accepted, and Professor Smith bustled away to deal with the whistling teakettle.

Harry watched him as he hurried about. Though he was young, probably about Bill Weasley's age, the Muggle clothes that he wore—corduroy pants, a turtleneck pullover, a cardigan sweater, and slippers—were the type favored by an older generation. Somehow, they made him seem even younger, like a boy dressed up in his father's clothes. A pair of reading glasses dangled from a chain around his neck, and his floppy brown hair was starting to need a trim.

Professor Smith carried over a tray with three teacups, placed it on the table between Harry's armchair and Ginny's, took his own cup, and sat down across from them. "Well, then, Harry, I wanted you to come by so I could give you a thumbnail sketch of what we study in the third and fourth years, just so you know what kind of background your classmates will have, and to tell you about the reading assignment for tomorrow. I know you won't have the books yet, so I can lend you my spare copies, but you should look into getting your own copies as soon as you can. I have the Flourish and Blotts owl post catalogue around here somewhere; you can order all the books from them. I'll give you a copy of the syllabus, which includes a list of the books you need." Harry nodded, and he continued, "Third year, we talk about Muggle everyday life. We concentrate on the things that they use instead of magic. The final exam, just to give you an idea, had some matching questions—match the Muggle device with the magical spell or object that performs the same function—and then an essay about a typical day for Muggles. The essay was supposed to start with getting up in the morning and to talk about the different things that the person did during the day and the kind of devices that they used to do it. So most students started with the alarm clock ringing and went through cooking breakfast on an electric stove, driving a car to work, taking the post to the post office, shopping at the grocer's, and so forth, and they finished off with setting the alarm clock for the next day and turning out the electric lights to go to sleep.

"So that's third year. Fourth year, we do Muggle history. Ideally, I'd do it along with the History of Magic curriculum so that we're discussing what's going on in the Muggle world at the same time that a particular event is happening in the wizarding world, but, since Professor Binns never gets past goblin rebellions…." Professor Smith broke off to roll his eyes and shake his head. "At any rate, I usually end up teaching the magical history of the day myself and then comparing the Muggle history. We do a unit on the British Muggle government, and that's always a lot of fun; we hold elections and have Parliamentary debates and the like. Last year, the final for that consisted of some multiple-choice questions about dates and events and historical figures and then an essay discussing a Muggle historical event and a magical one that were taking place at the same time.

"And then there's fifth year. In fifth year, we do Muggle art and literature. We'll start with the Greeks and Romans and move up to modern literature and art. The reading for tomorrow is excerpts from The Iliad, which is by a Muggle poet named Homer. We're also reading a bit from Bulfinch's Mythology so that you'll have some idea of what these Greek gods and goddesses have to do with anything. The page numbers are listed on the syllabus." Professor Smith paused and looked at Harry. "Do you have any questions?"

Harry thought for a moment and asked, "Who else is in the class? Just which Houses they're from, not the whole class register."

"Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws," Professor Smith replied. "You'll be the only Gryffindor, and there are no Slytherins. My class has never been popular Slytherins, for some reason. They all seem to want to do Runes or Arithmancy." He shrugged. "Any other questions?" Harry shook his head. "Then I'll get you the spare books, the syllabus and that owl post catalogue, and I'll let you go so you can get started on the reading." He rose from his chair and walked across the room to a very cluttered desk covered with papers, books, and an odd mish-mash of magical objects and Muggle devices. He shuffled several stacks of paper, made a sound of triumph, and returned with the syllabus and the catalogue. "Here you go. I'll see you in class tomorrow. Do you know which room?"

Harry nodded. "Ginny pointed it out on the way," he said. Professor Smith bid them good night, and Ginny and Harry left his office. They took a brief detour for Ginny to point out the entrance to the Ravenclaw wing, and then they headed to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Ron and Hermione had already returned from Dumbledore's office, and they were waiting for Harry at their regular table. Hermione was hard at work on Arithmancy, and Ron was making designs with Tarot cards. "Sticking with Divination, then?" Harry asked.

Ron looked up from the cards. "Yeah. Dumbledore asked me to."

Hermione looked at Ron reproachfully. "Is that all you're going to tell them?" Ron flushed and ducked his head, and Hermione said, "Fine. I'll tell them." She added quietly, "Professor Dumbledore thinks Ron might be a Seer."

Harry and Ginny gaped at her. Ginny found her voice first and asked, "Aren't male Seers really rare?"

Hermione said that, according to Dumbledore, there were probably almost as many male Seers as female one but that the males never got to develop their talents. "Since most people think that only women can be Seers, they tend to overlook the signs in men, so the men never get trained," she explained.

"I tried to tell him it's rubbish, that I can't follow Trelawney's procedures and I make up my Divination homework every week, but he said … what was it, Hermione, it was something completely typical…."

"He said, 'Sometimes the way to the truth is not by the path that everyone else has taken. And sometimes things said in jest turn out to contain the greatest truths of all.'" Hermione reported.

"Yeah, that was it. Anyway, he said I'm not supposed to tell anyone—except you two, and Mum and Dad and my brothers, of course, if I want to. I think he's barmy, but I reckon I'd better stick with Divination if it's what he thinks I should do." Ron shrugged.

"I think it's great," Harry said. He was thrilled that Ron might finally have a chance do something that none of his brothers had already done.

Ron flushed again to the tips of his ears, but he looked very pleased. Ginny patted him on the shoulder and then left to join her fourth-year friends. Harry settled into his seat to read for Muggle studies, and the rest of the evening passed quietly.

*

After helping Hagrid to free the Jobberknolls in Friday morning's Care of Magical Creatures class, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the castle for their final classes of the week. Harry and Hermione reminded Ron to wait for them in the North Tower, where they would meet him after their classes, and sent him off with the rest of the Gryffindor fifth-years. Then they made their way to the first-floor corridor that housed their classrooms. Hermione smiled encouragingly at Harry and disappeared into the Arithmancy classroom, and Harry, for the first time in his Hogwarts career, entered a classroom that contained none of his Housemates.

Despite the strangeness of being the only Gryffindor in the room, the class went fairly well for Harry. His fellow students seemed happy for him to join them, and Professor Smith was clear, organised, and engaging. Harry was almost sorry when the end-of-class bell rang, interrupting a lively argument between Morag MacDougal, who thought Achilles was a bragging, grudge-holding whinger, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who thought "the old boy had a right to be a bit teed off, don't you know." In the corridor, Hermione greeted him abstractedly, her mind apparently still on the last Arithmancy problem. She didn't seem to join him mentally until they arrived at the North Tower to collect Ron.

The Gryffindor fifth-years had no classes on Friday afternoons, so they were free until the three o'clock tea that they had arranged with Hagrid. Harry wanted to speak with Madam Hooch about replacing the school brooms, and Ron was eager to accompany him. Hermione begged off, promising that she and Ginny would meet them at Hagrid's hut, so the boys dropped her at the Common Room and made their way to the Quidditch pitch. Madam Hooch was flying on one of the school brooms. When she saw Harry and Ron, she landed beside them and placed the broomstick on the ground next to its fellows.

"It lists to the right," she said. Pointing to the one beside it, she said, "And that one lists to the left, and the tail on that one drags, and the twigs on that one have seen better days…." She trailed off with a sigh. "I can fix most of them, but the repair spells are having to be redone more and more often." She gave herself a little shake as and focussed her hawk-like eyes on Harry and Ron. "Anyway, what can I do for you two?"

"Actually, those brooms are why I'm here," Harry replied. "I'd like to replace them." Madam Hooch looked at him as though his head had suddenly turned into the Quaffle, and Harry wondered, for at least the dozenth time, whether his philanthropic impulse was such a good idea.

"You want to buy new brooms for you team?" she asked.

"Not just for the Gryffindor team," Harry answered. "I want to replace all of the school brooms."

"All twenty-two?" Madam Hooch said faintly. She was still gazing at Harry in wonderment.

"Yes. Or, if that's too much change, at least fourteen of them—enough for two teams to play a match on new brooms."

"Mr. Potter, that's very generous, but, really, we can make do…. You don't have to do this."

Harry shrugged. "I know I don't have to, but I want to. I want to even things out a bit. It's really not fair that only teams with people who can afford to buy their own brooms have a fair shot at the Cup."

"You're certain about this?" He nodded vigourously, and Madam Hooch's eyes began to glint in a maniacal way that reminded Harry of Oliver Wood. "What kind of brooms are you considering?"

Harry explained that he had talked with several people about possibilities and had decided on a mix of brands. The new Cleansweep 8C was very popular with Beaters because of its extra-heavy construction. Last year's Comet 360 had been a complete redesign of the old 260 model, which had acquired a reputation among serious players as a style-over-substance broom. The new product was credited with much better performance than its predecessor and had become a favorite with Chasers. The new Nimbus 3000's easy handling made it the top choice among professional Keepers, and Seekers appreciated its speed. Harry had briefly considered getting two Firebolts as Seeker brooms, but he knew that the players in other positions would be jealous. Besides, most of the Firebolt's high-performance features were really unnecessary for school-level play, and he didn't want to look like he was throwing money around carelessly.

"That sounds wonderful, Mr. Potter," Madam Hooch said. "Here is my suggestion—donate those brooms not as replacements, but as extras. I will see to it that they are only used for official Quidditch practises and matches. That will mean less wear and tear, and they'll last longer. Is that acceptable to you?"

Harry nodded, reckoning that she was right; the old school brooms, despite their quirks, were fine for first-year flying lessons and casual scratch games. "There's one other thing," he said apprehensively. "It's probably paranoid, but I was wondering if there's any way to charm brooms so that unauthorised people can't fly them." Madam Hooch and Ron both looked at him curiously, and he said, "I was reading in the Defence book this summer about a Death Eater attack on this little Russian wizarding village during Voldemort's last time in power. The attackers had stolen brooms from the local school's broom shed. I don't want that to be able to happen here."

Madam Hooch nodded gravely. "I will speak with Professor Flitwick and see what we can work out," she said. "I'm sure he can concoct something that will protect your brooms."

Harry smiled, feeling relieved. The thought of Lucius Malfoy stealing one of his new brooms and using it to attack people had nearly been enough to make him abandon his plans. Madam Hooch fetched an order form for Quality Quidditch Supplies for Harry, thanked him profusely, and prepared to return to her task of testing the school brooms. Harry and Ron offered to help, and soon both boys were swooping and diving. By the time they had finished testing the brooms and noting the difficulties of each one, it was time for tea with Hagrid. Madam Hooch sent them off with more thanks, and the boys made their way across the grounds to Hagrid's hut.

Hermione and Ginny were already waiting for them, along with Fred and George, whose appetites were such that they would even eat Hagrid's cooking. Hagrid was pouring tea into the huge mugs that he used. In addition to his usual tooth-breaking rock cakes, Hagrid had set out some small, surprisingly dainty-looking cakes frosted with white icing, each with a rather misshapen pink icing rose on its top. "Petty-fours," Hagrid explained. "Olympe taught me ter make 'em."

Harry and Ron exchanged knowing glances, and Hermione asked casually, "How is Madame Maxime?"

"She's fine. We write every now an' again," Hagrid said.

Harry couldn't tell, but he thought that Hagrid might be blushing beneath his beard. Taking pity on him, Harry asked, "Can you tell us now what the two of you were doing for Dumbledore this summer?"

Hagrid stroked his beard for a moment and finally said, "Reckon so. You'll prob'ly be findin' out soon enough as 'tis. But mind yer don' tell anyone. We went ter see the giants. Most of 'em who left Britain back durin' the firs' war with You-Know-Who are livin' in this 'uge colony in the mountains in Romania. We went ter see if they'd be willin' ter fight on our side this time."

"What did they say?" Hermione asked. All six of the students were leaning forward a little, waiting eagerly to hear the rest of Hagrid's story.

Hagrid sighed. "At firs', they wouldn' even talk ter us. Every mornin', I'd knock on their chief's door, an' every mornin', he'd look out 'is window, shake 'is 'ead, an' let the curtain fall back down. That's all we saw of him for the firs' month. We sat on 'is doorstep all day, an' we slept there all night, but 'e never came out. Giants went in, an' giants came out, but none of 'em ever spoke ter us. An' then, one mornin', I knocked, an' he came to the door an' asked us in. I don' know what changed 'is mind, and I knew better than ter ask. They don' like answerin' questions. Anyhow, we told 'im why we were there, an' we asked if he could 'elp us, an' he said he'd think on it. 'E told us a place where we could stay—we'd been sleepin' outside on 'is doorstep, remember—an' 'e said 'e'd send for us when 'e'd made 'is decision. We spent the next month livin' with the Giants in one o' their 'ouses. They were real nice ter us, but they wouldn' talk ter us about You-Know-Who or about comin' back ter Britain. At firs', we tried ter bring it up, but they'd always change the subject, so we gave up an' let it lie. Abou' three weeks before the end o' the summer, the chief sent for us. Told us 'e'd made 'is decision." Hagrid paused and sighed again. "'E said they wouldn' fight for us—not yet, anyways—an' that was a bit of a blow, but 'e also promised that they wouldn' fight for You-Know-Who, either. 'E said they were gonna try ter stay out of it this time if they could." Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. "Can't blame 'im, really. They got treated pretty bad, last time 'round. Yeah, a lot of 'em fought for You-Know-Who, but not all of 'em, and they all got treated like criminals, even the ones who hadn' done anythin'. Prob'ly seemed right at the time, but I reckon it wasn'. Reckon Dumbledore was the only one who saw that it wasn' right, but nobody'd listen to 'im when 'e said so. Great man, Dumbledore." Hagrid shrugged again. "Anyhow, that was my summer. Now tell me about your summers; I 'ope you 'ad more fun than I did."

Talking over one another, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys all rushed to detail the highlights of the summer. Harry, Ron, and Ginny told him about Quidditch, Hermione told him about their revision for the O.W.L.s, and the twins raved about their work on the joke shop. When they had drunk all the tea and talked themselves out, Hagrid sent them off with the leftover "petty-fours," and they returned to the castle for dinner.

More Author's Notes:

For folks who are interested in reading some Tarot-focussed stories written by someone who actually knows what she's talking about, check out Seldes Katne's "Fortunes Favor the Bold" and "Makers of Their Own Fortunes" (both available at The Sugar Quill). SK actually did the readings for those stories (as opposed to me, who fabricated the readings by checking the web site to see what the individual cards meant and then picking the ones I liked).

It may be a while before the next update; my next chapter's being difficult, and my beta-reader's going on vacation. Just so you know.