Date: August 2005
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't claim to.
Pairing(s): Coming later
Summary: Hermione isn't sure where to turn after an attack on her home. And with so many people offering her advice she isn't sure whose council is worth heeding and whose should be disregarded...
Sybill passed Hermione another scone. "What have you Seen of yet, Miss Granger?"
Hermione blushed, the red spreading from her nose toward her ears. "The week before the attack I kept having these dreams about their death."
"Their death?"
Hermione ducked her head further into the table. "My parents. My sister. My family dying. I kept having dreams about that. I tried to ignore them, pretend that they were just dreams, but I knew they weren't. I would have put up wards but I'm underage. So, in the end, I just begged my parents to take me to Diagon Alley and bought some things that I knew to be protective. I set them around the perimeter of the house and did some wandless magic, rudimentary, of course."
"Why didn't you tell anyone of those dreams?"
"It didn't feel right to do so. I never tell anyone. It doesn't feel right."
"You've had dreams like this before?"
"Well... yes. I used to have dreams about future events all the time when I was younger. They faded when I got to Hogwarts but after the Triwizard Tournament they came back full force."
Sybill nodded, taking another sip of tea. "That happens. Young witches and wizards often have prophetic dreams, but, sometimes, when they refocus their magic those dreams disappear. Trauma, however, can trigger them again."
"Yes. I suppose that is what happened. Sometimes, when I was little, my dreams would come true. Sometimes they wouldn't. They were never about important things though. They were never about death."
"Your powers are growing and so is your ability to See more important things. You were probably focused on your family's safety and you, subconsciously, focused your power of Sight in that direction."
Hermione sighed. "That's true. I had been obsessed with my family's safety after the attack on Dean Thomas' home. I wondered why I didn't have any protection. I was frightened and angry."
"You can focus your powers, you know. You can See more of what you'd like to See." Sybill leaned forward in her chair, grabbing Hermione's hands. "You have an incredible power."
Hermione's eyes widened. She was entranced and frightened by the power that her batty Divination teacher was exhibiting. "But how? You can't, can you? Otherwise you would have told everyone about everything... All the battles to come, all the homes to be attacked."
Sybill released Hermione's hands and slipped lower into her chair. "You need tremendous willpower to try and focus your powers. If you do it consciously you could be magically and emotionally drained for days. That is why most Seers don't attempt it. Also, the power to focus your energies has an amazing potential for abuse. You could be bled dry of all your visions of the future and then attacked and reviled when they don't all come true. And sometimes you can't see what you'd like. Sight is a higher power. Sight is fickle and capricious. It is neither a gift nor a talent. It is a responsibility and a chance to see what others cannot." Hermione opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Sybill stopped her, putting up a hand. "Think about what I've said. I shall see you tomorrow."
Hermione nodded, amazed at the sense of understanding and fear coursing through her veins. "Thank you for the tea," she whispered before quickly exiting the room."
Dumbledore couldn't say he was unprepared for the attack. He had mentally readied himself before coming to Molly Weasley's daily luncheon at Number 12. "Professor!" Harry called to him before he barely put a foot in the door.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley."
Harry, however, didn't take his nod well. His face was the picture of anger, a frown fully in place and a furrow between his brows. Ron, who stood a few feet behind Harry, looked just as upset, but more unsure of what was going on around him. "Professor, Hermione just wrote me saying that there was an attack on her house! Her family's dead, Professor! And where is she? She's certainly not safe with us. How could you let this happen? How could you?"
Dumbledore frowned as Order member after Order member poured into the entrance hall to watch the spectacle. "If you would please come with me, Mr. Potter, we can sort this out amicably. You too, Mr. Weasley."
Ginny almost tripped over Tonks and Lupin to get to where Harry and Ron were standing. "I'd like to come too, Professor. I'm worried about Hermione."
Dumbledore nodded, "Very well, Miss Weasley." He bit back a sigh as he opened the parlor door and watched the teenagers troop in. He had expected the Boy Who Lived to be angry, but he had not expected him to put the blame at the Order and Dumbledore's feet. He would need to be very careful of his words if he was going to keep all the ground he had gained with the future savior of the wizarding world.
Draco frowned over his letter from Ted.
Lucius smiled over his son's shoulder. "Pleasant morning mail!" He laughed, plucking the missive from his son's fingertips. "Narcissa, listen to this. Draco, apparently, has received the good news before I got a chance to tell it. 'Draco,' it reads, 'You'd be surprised to find who turned up to Hogwarts late last night. Your favorite Gryffindor.'" Lucius let out a large laugh before sharing a smile with his wife. "'I hear that she might be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to pick out some new clothing. It might be best to keep your father out of town tomorrow.'" Lucius stopped, rereading the line slowly, before turning to his son. "Why would your friend instruct me to keep out of town today? He doesn't think you are worried for that mudblood, does he?"
Draco gave a laugh at that. "No, not at all. Ted probably thinks you'd be inclined to finish the job and Mother and were so upset when you went to Azkaban."
"Yes. Really, Lucius, give the boy some credit!" Narcissa beamed at her son. "He is no blood traitor, but he does want a father around. The little munchkin had a terrible time at school when you were in prison."
"Mother!" Draco blushed. And, although the comparison would never be drawn within those walls, looked very much like a Weasley in the same situation.
"Is that true, son?" Lucius frowned. No one made trouble with his son and lived. Except perhaps the Gryffindor mudblood, but he would kill her off soon.
Draco nodded. "The Gryffindors talked about it a lot. Bloody Potter. But, Father, even if you don't kill my classmate in Diagon Alley you may want to keep away. I'm going to venture a guess and say that Ted and Snape are bringing her and you don't want her to know of her potions professor's Darker ties."
Lucius smiled. "You will make a Slytherin yet. I think we shall be fine. She can't be that brilliant, can she?"
"No, but the chit is bloody suspicious."
"Severus and I are old Slytherin chums. Certainly, there is nothing wrong with a little school reunion. And you so desperately wanted to see Ted."
Draco smiled. "You're too right, Father."
"Of course I am," Lucius snapped in mock-offense.
"You're coming with us?" Hermione asked, shocked, when she met Ted and Snape in the hall.
"Of course I am. I don't want to be stuck in this ruddy castle all day, every day. Do you, Herm-o-ninny?"
"No, I suppose not, The-o-dore."
"Enough, children," Snape shot at them, sweeping into the entrance hall in his full teaching regalia.
Hermione raised an eyebrow. Nott elbowed her. "He gets discounts from terrified students. You should watch it. It's bloody amazing."
Hiding a smile, Hermione let out the obligatory, "Professor Snape! That's horrible!"
"Shut up, Nott. And you too, Miss Granger. I, at the very least, don't steal."
Hermione paled. "Sorry, Professor."
Ted Nott almost fell to the floor he was laughing so hard. "Meow."
Hermione's eyes shot up from the floor where she had, sheepishly, decided to glance. "Everyone knows, is that it!"
Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nott, Granger. You are here during the summer. That does not mean we are chums. It means I live an unfortunate existence. If I am going to survive this day you are going to remember that I am your potions professor, not your mate." Before either could respond he handed them the floo powder. "Shout 'Gringotts.' And belt up."
The goblins were terribly surprised moments later when two frightened looking children tumbled in a heap of arms and legs into their front foyer and were followed by a sneering man immaculately dressed in black without an ash on him.
Author's note:
I'm bad at updating, if you haven't realized.
Again, thank for you the reviews. I read them before I write the chapter.
It was kind of cruel of me to end the chapter here, before the juicy parts, especially considering it'll be God knows when when I write again, but this felt like a good place to stop. Thanks for your forgiveness in advance.
