As ever, standard disclaimers apply.
"Is it something bad?" Octavius asked hesitantly.
"No. No, it isn't Octavius. It's just... quite the surprise, actually."
Octavius flipped the cover closed over his hand on the page with the dark haired, hook-nosed boy. "Nineteen seventy-two." He read dispassionately. "Are you in here too?"
Harry barked a laugh at the unexpected question. "No, but my dad is."
Octavius nodded and quickly reduced the age he thought Mr Potter might be. But he went back to a more nagging question. "Who is this boy, then?"
"Someone who died before you were born. A very troubled man, Octavius. Like you, he had an unhappy childhood."
The boy scowled. He'd never admitted any such thing. "How can I be dreaming of him? Is he a ghost?"
"No." Harry shook his head. "No, he isn't a ghost. He's not even related to you -- at least not so far as I know. Certainly not closely." Harry looked away from the boy for a moment, his own features thoughtful.
"Why am I dreaming of him? Why did he show himself in the middle of Divination?!"
"Excellent questions that I'm not positive I can answer."
The boy regarding him silently, his small arms crossing his chest in that oh so familiar way. Harry sighed.
"All right, I have a theory but I need to do some research first."
"There's a connection between this boy and me."
"I think so."
"But he's dead."
"Quite so."
Octavius gazed up at the Counselor with a thoughtful expression. "Well, he's the one who cried. Not me. I don't cry. I'm too big and besides... It's the boy."
"I understand that. But the boy is not the important one here. The boy grew up, lived his life and died. You are the important one now."
But the child's eyes were narrowed in thought and he clearly did not find much comfort in the Counselor's words. "What's his name?"
"Severus. Severus Snape."
Octavius nodded.
--
Sunday arrived with typical reluctance. Who wants to force themselves out of bed when there are no classes or worse, no Hogsmeade trips! But slowly the residents of Hogwarts School made their way down to breakfast until not a single bed was occupied. Sunday also saw the arrival, about mid-morning, of Mr Ollivander. He strode up to the great oak doors and knocked quite heartily for one as frail in appearance as he was.
It was Harry Potter who greeted the elderly wizard as he had been awaiting the old man's arrival since his own breakfast. "Good morning Mr Ollivander!" Harry stepped aside and made a welcoming gesture, inviting the man inside.
"Good day to you, young Harry." The old man replied in a surprisingly strong voice. "I hope you've not let that boy handle that wand since he now has a more appropriate one."
"Absolutely not. Your warning was quite clear. Minerva has the wand in her office."
Ollivander nodded and gestured for Harry to lead the way. Although both men knew the elder wizard could have found his way on his own, he lacked that all important password. Old Albus Dumbledore had often favored sweets. The present Headmistress, though well known for her role as Head of House of Gryffindor for a generation past, had not revealed a common thread when deciding upon the passwords to her private rooms and office. Moreover, she was fond of changing them fortnightly.
"Snitch," Harry recited to the waiting gargoyle that had never done its duty as a rainspout but was quite adept at moving aside and opening the doorway to the magical spiral staircase leading up to the Headmistress' suite.
McGonagall rose as the door to her office opened. As with her predecessor's this office was also home to many portraits of previous headmasters, including Albus Dumbledore himself! Most of the other portraits were snoozing contentedly, but Dumbledore was quite embroiled in studying the workings of some fantastical medieval mechanical disaster of ornate gears and wheels. He looked up from his work to wave at the visitors before popping some sweet into his mouth and returning to his study. "Will you take tea, gentlemen?" The Headmistress offered as her two visitors settled into the comfortable chairs opposite her desk.
"Most kind of you," Ollivander accepted the offer while Harry simply nodded. A moment later, a tea cosy covered pot and 3 matched china cups and saucers appeared along with approppriate accoutrements.
As soon as the master wand maker was comfortable the Headmistress opened a drawer in her desk and retrieved the wand now wrapped in a scrap of muslin. "Here it is. Certainly not the same as the day it was purchased, I'll wager."
"Indeed not," the wandmaker agreed. He took another sip of tea then set down his cup and saucer on a side table and leaned toward McGonagall to accept the wand. He unwrapped it carefully, muttering softly words that might have been incantations or merely soothing sounds for all that either of his audience could hear. Once or twice he gave the thing a dismissive swish. The second time he emitted a satisfied seeming, "aha!" He took time to peer at every milimeter of its length; he spun it between his fingers. He hummed and muttered some more and then he frowned and looked up at the interested gazes of his hosts. "I'll not bother with any Priori Incantata unless you wish it. I can assure you this wand has been sorely ill used. The poor thing has been passed from master to mistress to master so many times and used for so much Dark magic it is almost a wonder the boy hasn't accidently killed anyone yet." He frowned and stroked the artifact tenderly. "Poor thing, not at all the wand that found young Rodolphus Lestrange all those years ago," he was almost cooing.
"It may have to be done. The other owners were Rodolphus' own children," Minerva said sternly, "all of whom we fear have met tragic and untimely ends."
Ollivander looked up at this revelation, his eyebrows lurched high on his forehead. "Dark magic and dead children," he muttered. "The Lestrange family has always been a bit... touched. Well. At least make sure this wand does not find another owner. It is useless for anything but the Darkest of the Dark Arts now."
Potter and McGonagall shared looks of equal horror as the worst possible thoughts occurred to them both. "Thank you Mr Ollivander. Is there anything else we should know?"
The elderly craftsman shook his head. "Nothing more." He finished his tea and rose. "Now, I really must be on my way." he rose then hesitated and seemed to wrestle with his thoughts.
A decision was made and he peered into the Headmistress' eyes and spoke in a husky voice, "Though I shudder at the idea, I think it the only possible end. This wand must be broken." Then he turned away and exited, Harry close at his heels to see him properly on his way.
Minerva sat motionless at her desk, thoughts churning and bringing a frown to her face. She looked up at Albus' portrait and he in turn peered down at his replacement. "I really do wish you weren't dead, Albus. I miss you."
"Oh my dear. I never told you just how fond of you I am."
Harry closed the great door after the wandmaker and sighed. They had learned nothing unexpected, but disheartening nonetheless. He didn't want to be alone and even though the castle was filled with children, it was Ginny he needed to find. And indeed he found her in their sitting room, at her desk grading papers. She turned at his entrance and smiled warmly, but the look on his face prompted her to rise quickly and wrap him in a wholehearted embrace. "It was so terribly awful?"
"Nothing I didn't expect really. But that certainly doesn't cheer me." He kissed the tip of her nose.
"Maybe Hermoine will come up with something."
"I didn't mean to take you from your grading." He held her tight though.
"This is far more fun," Ginny murmured, tickling his ear.
--
Octavius spent his Sunday in the library. At first merely to finish the essays he'd been assigned. But he found it almost impossible to concentrate when every other thought went back to the boy in his dreams and the man in his vision.
But he had a name, didn't he? And a year. Severus Snape. At Hogwarts at least in nineteen seventy-two. Who was this wizard and why was he appearing to Octavius?