Thank you for the reviews yesterday!

We have a transitional chapter again.

Well…kind of transitional.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Trelawney's Second Prophecy

"Catch."

That was all the warning Harry gave Peter before he tossed him his wand. It seemed to be the only warning Peter needed, though, as he snatched the wand deftly out of the air with his hand—his left, Harry noted—and then pulled it close to him.

Harry halted and watched with a small grin, taking the opportunity to renew his warming charms. Peter stared at the ebony wand with the look that Harry imagined he would have if one of the other Marauders walked up, stuck out his hand, and offered to renew their friendship. His wrist trembled as he slowly held the wand up before him, pointed it at nothing in particular, and whispered, "Lumos."

Harry applauded as light began to glow at the tip of the wand and spread out in front of him, illuminating the snow that stretched around the edge of the Forbidden Forest, unbroken save for his tracks, Peter's, and a long, thin, sinuous trail that Harry thought he could live without knowing the source of. Peter pulled his wand back towards him. He was still staring.

Then he looked up and let out a short breath. "Where did you get this?" he whispered.

Harry shrugged. "McGonagall delivered it to me. You'd have to ask her." He grimaced and adjusted his scarf so that it wrapped more closely around his neck as a gust of chill wind nipped at his throat. Peter wore ragged clothes bundled on ragged clothes. Harry knew he was probably stealing them. At least he'd be able to use magic now, with his wand back. "I've had it for about three weeks. I'm sorry I couldn't come out and see you earlier to give it back, but Snape kept me on a tighter leash than I thought." The one good thing Harry could say about the restrictions Snape had negotiated with him was that he filled the time Harry had to spend in the castle with defensive magic training and brewing potions other than Wolfsbane. If Harry had been forced to do completely non-productive things during that time, like sleep, he would have fretted.

"Thank you," Peter whispered one more time, and slipped the wand into his coat pocket.

Harry hesitated, then asked. "I wanted to know how you were avoiding the Dementors for so long, and managing to survive."

Peter flashed something that could only be called a grin because it was on his face and used his teeth and lips. "I spend a lot of time as a rat, Harry. We don't get cold as easily, and I can always find plenty to eat."

"Oh, right," Harry muttered, feeling stupid. But then, he'd been feeling that way an awful lot these past three weeks. He suspected that he'd made a mistake, but asking Draco and Snape about it only produced vehement assurances that no, he hadn't. He had come here only partly to return Peter's wand.

Peter recognized the signs on his face, and made a soft snorting noise that Harry suspected no rat, ever, had made. "Ask the next question, Harry. I promise you, I don't bite." He bared his oversized front teeth again. "Unless you're Dumbledore."

Harry laughed, and used the laughter to ease his way into the next question. "Um—do you know what happened with Lily?"

Peter nodded slowly, his eyes fastened on him. "I've been—sniffing around a few places where Dumbledore neglected to close the wards," he said. "I wasn't a Marauder for nothing, you know. And I heard some things. But not the whole truth."

Harry let out a sharp breath. "Well. I used a justice ritual on her. A pureblood dance. It made her a Muggle."

"And your brother blames you," Peter surmised easily. He sighed. "I'm not surprised, really. Lily and Sirius got to him first, and for Merlin knows what reason, they've always wanted to fill his head with drivel. I suppose you told him the truth and he disbelieved you entirely, yes?"

Harry swallowed. Here was the crux of the mistake he suspected he had made. "Um."

Peter stared hard at him, eyes beady in the faint light still glowing from inside his coat pocket. "Harry," he said, sounding shocked.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I really did mean to," he said. "Honest. But I thought he should get to have whatever family and innocence he has left, and—"

"You're a fool," said Peter bluntly. Harry blinked, but nodded. He could accept the insult without flinching. He certainly deserved it if he really had made the mistake he'd suspected he'd made. "Sirius isn't fit to be anyone's family. And Dumbledore is the one who'll control him now. Lily can barely act without his control."

"I don't know if that's true," said Harry, remembering the Muggle's eyes, and then pushed the notion away. He didn't like thinking about her. "The thing is, I don't know how to tell Connor about the justice ritual without telling him about everything she did to make it necessary."

"The phoenix web?" Peter asked.

Harry nodded. "Among other things."

"And why would you want to keep them secret?"

"I don't like anyone knowing about them," said Harry flatly. "Everyone who knows about them does so either because they did them, or because they suffered something similar—like you—or because I couldn't prevent them from learning about them." He scowled, thinking of Snape, and how he'd kept prying details of his nightmares from Harry, details that Harry had never meant to give. "And I thought that Connor shouldn't have to grow up so fast—"

"I was hoping you'd share my story with him," said Peter, his voice rising slightly. "I was hoping to see him out here with you some night. I thought he was simply being stubborn, or Sirius had got to him first and convinced him to believe whatever he wanted. But now, to hear that you haven't told him at all—" He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "I'm disappointed in you, Harry."

Harry took a deep breath and forced the screaming memories to retreat and leave his mind clear. That was one of the Occlumency techniques that Snape had taught him, one that let the memories swim under the surface of his thoughts, present, but not interfering with his emotions. He couldn't hear the echo of the Muggle's voice in Peter's every time he said something like that. If he had failed, then he had failed, and that didn't mean that he'd failed the intense training program the Muggle had set him, where his failure would mean his brother's death.

"I'll talk to him, then," said Harry quietly. "I asked Draco and Snape about it, but they both said I didn't have to."

"You have to," said Peter, almost violently. "Go to Dumbledore if you have to, if Connor won't listen. Ask him what it would take to win your brother free." He leaned back and stared hard at Harry. "Do you know one of the reasons that I agreed to become Sirius's sacrifice in the first place, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "I thought Dumbledore persuaded you. Or compelled you. And that Sirius was going to break."

Peter inclined his head. "There was some of all of that. But truly, I thought it would…win me their true friendship. I loved them. I could already see by our sixth year in Hogwarts that they didn't love me in quite the same way." His mouth twisted. "I was too small, or too fat, or not sympathetic enough, I suppose."

Harry wondered how long it had taken him to recite those truths without flinching to himself.

"I thought," Peter whispered, "that being a sacrifice would make them realize how much I was worth."

He opened his hands and raised his voice again. "And it didn't. They never came to see me in Azkaban. They never seemed to think of me again, except to describe me as an evil traitor."

He looked directly into Harry's eyes. "Sacrificing yourself like this isn't the way to get your brother to love you, Harry."

If he had punched Harry, he could not have stunned him more. Harry stood there, blinking, the mist of his breath steaming before him, and could not think of anything to say.

"Go talk to him," Peter whispered. "If you love him, but not only because of that. If you want him to love you. I should have refused Dumbledore. The others couldn't have disliked me more than they did. And I would have had my freedom. I think you can have more than that. If you love your brother so fiercely, then there must be something good there to love.

"Go talk to him."

Harry took a deep breath, nodded once, and then turned and walked back to school, hearing behind him the scamper of a rat's paws on the snow.

"Connor."

Connor turned around and tensed. Harry walked up to him, breathing as calmly as he could. He reminded himself that everyone else would be at dinner in the Great Hall still, or working furiously on homework due the next day, as it was Sunday evening. He'd tracked Connor to this remote corner of the school with the Marauder's Map. He could speak with him without anyone else interfering.

Connor folded his arms. "I'm meeting Sirius," he said, voice sharp as a slap. "Go away."

"I can't." Harry shook his head. His hands were shaking, too. He clasped them behind his back to still that quiver. Nearly as strong as his fear of telling the truth was the nausea at the thought of what his failure could have cost Connor. Harry tried as hard as he could to ignore his training. It wouldn't do either of them any good now.

Connor watched him in silence. His arms were still folded, his head tilted to one side, his hazel eyes narrowed with dislike. Harry realized abruptly that the pose was one he hadn't seen his brother use before. He'd almost certainly copied it from Sirius.

"I have to tell you about the ritual I used on Mum," said Harry. He could call her that, for the sake of repairing his relationship with his brother. He didn't want to call her "the Muggle" and see Connor's eyes widen in disgust. "It was a justice ritual, Connor, not a vengeance ritual, whatever they told you. I promise. It wouldn't have worked if she hadn't hurt me."

"So Professor McGonagall has been trying to convince me," said Connor, in a lazy drawl that sounded like Sirius…maybe. Harry hadn't heard Sirius sound quite so contemptuous. Maybe this is the voice that he uses when they're alone and talking about Slytherins. "But it's not true. I know it can't be true. Mum and Sirius already told me that it was a vengeance ritual."

"I promise it was," said Harry. "What do you want me to swear by? Merlin? Magic? My love for you? I'm prepared to swear by any and all of them." He was, too. That would content some of the anxiety beating in his mind, in fact. A pureblood ritual was just the thing.

"I don't want you to swear by anything," said Connor, his voice unexpectedly raw. "Mum told me that you'd try an oath like that, to get me to listen. She said I couldn't trust you, that it wasn't possible for a Slytherin to keep his word. And Sirius agreed with her."

Harry took a step back, uncertain, then rallied. "I don't—"

"Have you seen her, Harry?" Connor whispered. "Have you seen her at all since you made her into a Muggle and took her magic away from her? She looks like a moth. She can barely move, barely lift her head from her pillow in the mornings. Sirius Apparated me to Godric's Hollow to see her. If Dumbledore hadn't sent a house elf to take care of her, she'd be entirely alone, since Dad ran away like the coward he is." Connor's voice scraped and hissed. "She has no interest in anything. She doesn't want to eat. She sleeps all the time. Does that sound like you left her fucking alive?" Connor's voice was rising now.

Harry winced. They were in the fifth floor corridor, but Connor could attract a prefect's attention any moment. But he had promised Peter he would do this, and he did want Connor to understand, if he could.

"She hurt me, Connor," said Harry in a rush, before he could change his mind.

Connor stared hard at him, then shook his head with a snort. "No, she didn't," he said. "I never saw a bruise on you, and you couldn't have hidden that."

"Not that way," said Harry. "Mentally. I had something called a phoenix web on me. You can ask Hermione about it if you don't believe me. She can confirm it exists. It bound my magic, and it forced me to think about serving you and loving you before anything else."

Connor stared at him. Harry stared back, and waited for some reaction.

Then Connor shook his head again and said, "I don't understand. You've always loved me anyway, Harry." His voice was wistful. It changed before Harry could take advantage of it. "Or I thought you did. So if the web was forcing you to love people and not hurt them with your magic, then it was good. It must be." He took a step forward. "Is that why you don't love me any more, why you hurt Mum worse than killing her? Because you were only a good person because the web made you be?"

Harry clenched his hands. "No," he said quietly. "It's much more complicated than that, Connor. You don't understand everything yet. I can tell you the full story—"

"She said you would do this, too," Connor interrupted. "Mum, I mean. She said you would say that I didn't understand everything, and that you had to tell me long stories to explain everything. I don't believe it, Harry." His face had entirely closed now. "She said so, and she wouldn't lie. She loves me."

Harry bit back an eruption of bile. He recognized his mother's tactics, all too well. He had left things too long.

Connor turned away. Harry moved forward and gently took his brother's arm.

Connor came around swinging. Harry rolled, and managed to make it look as though the blow had hurt him more than it did. As it was, he just grazed his cheek on Connor's fist and his shoulder on the floor.

"What's all this, then?"

Harry glanced up, blinking, as Percy Weasley came into the light of the torches. His face was flushed, as though he'd hurried down the corridor, and his eyes darted suspiciously between one of them and the other.

"Were you fighting, Connor?" he demanded. "Ten points from Gryffindor if you were fighting."

"No, Percy," said Connor, with a wide-eyed innocent look that Harry recognized from Sirius's face long ago, before any of this had happened. "I promise. I was on my way to study, and he ambushed me."

Harry met Percy's eyes steadily as Percy turned and looked at him. He didn't get a steady gaze in return. Percy glanced away at once, then flashed his Head Boy badge.

"I'm rather afraid I'm going to have to take you to see the Headmaster, Harry," he said. "Can't get away with keeping students from their studies."

Harry nodded sharply, once. He didn't know why Percy was here—probably watching over him at Dumbledore's orders again, the way he had been last year—and he didn't care. Peter had told him to try Dumbledore if all else failed, to try and get Connor away from Lily and Sirius.

"Let's go, then," he said, and set off firmly in the direction of the gargoyle, leaving Percy to stumble after him.

"My dear boys." Harry marveled that the Headmaster could sound perfectly calm with Percy, red-faced and panting, and Harry, his body tingling with magic, in front of him. But he did sound that way, and he waved them to the two chairs that Harry recognized as having been there when he and Snape had visited. This time, there were no tricks with the height. They could sit in them comfortably, though Percy was mopping his face as though he had run too long a way and could not possibly be comfortable. "What can I do for you?"

"I caught Harry fighting with Connor in the corridors, sir," said Percy, in that pompous tone. Harry wondered idly if it was unique to him, or if all Head Boys had it. "And since you told me—well, since Connor is so important, I thought it best to bring him to you right away."

"Of course, of course, Percy. That is the kind of initiative a Head Boy should take." Dumbledore turned to Harry. "And what do you say, Harry? Were you fighting with your brother?"

Harry met Dumbledore's eyes. The old man was calm and patient, damn it, and Harry could feel the dangerous boil of his own temper. He more often got hot anger than cold lately, it seemed. Snape said that was a sign of progress. Harry wondered if that was really what they should call it, but he could hardly dispute it; his own cold anger had frightened him, and Snape knew more than he did about Occlumency.

"I would like to speak to you in private, sir," he said. "About my brother."

Dumbledore waved a courteous hand at Percy. "Mr. Weasley has a share of responsibility in caring for the castle, too, Harry. I would say that he can hear anything you say to me."

"About my mother, sir? And Sirius?'

Percy stood at once. "Oh, I could leave, Professor Dumbledore, if these are private family matters—"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, his eyes on Harry. "Perhaps you should." But he still sounded curious, intrigued, rather than upset. It frustrated Harry.

He closed his eyes and pictured one of the pools of quicksilver that Snape had taught to him, one of the fluid containers for his emotions during Occlumency. They worked far better than solid ones like the box, but they operated on the same principle. By the time Percy shut the door, Harry was calm again. He opened his eyes and made himself meet Dumbledore's gaze without much expression.

"Now, Harry?" Dumbledore encouraged him gently. "You were saying?"

Harry let out a deep breath. "They've poisoned Connor's mind," he said. "They told him lies about the justice ritual. And I want him removed from them. They're putting him in danger."

Dumbledore sighed. "Your mother has a right to see her child, Harry. Since your father has vanished, and Connor does not have another guardian, she is his best protection, right now. And Sirius would never wish to kill or harm Connor as he did you."

Harry blinked. "Why?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "When you heard about the—unpleasantness—in Sirius's past, I told you, Harry. It is Dark magic that exacerbates the failing stability of his mind. You leak Dark magic. He does not like Severus, or Slytherins, for much the same reason. But Connor's gift is Light. He and Sirius have done enough research to convince me of it. Connor is safe with Sirius as you would never be."

Harry bit his lower lip. "Still, sir, Sirius is insane. I would like if it I could go to lessons with Connor."

"As I would have been able to say if you had not interrupted me," Dumbledore continued, "there is no longer his insanity to worry about—though I cannot speak of what his loathing for Dark magic might push him to do. I have made a device for him that confines his thoughts and leads them back into soothing patterns when they become too agitated. Before Christmas, I thought he could manage, but seeing what happened to your poor mother has become too much for him."

Harry shook his head slowly. "So you could have cured him at any time?"

"This is not a cure," said Dumbledore. "It is a prevention—much as Muggle crutches will prevent one from collapsing to the floor, but do not cure a broken leg by themselves. It took me some time to work out that it was needed, and why it was needed, and to make it. You can ask to see it for yourself if you like. It's a large golden ornament that he wears on a chain around his neck."

Now that Harry thought about it, he had seen such a chain around Sirius's neck. But he hadn't been around his godfather long enough to notice any true change in his behavior.

He debated for a moment whether he could leave it there, but then his thoughts returned to the bile that Connor had spewed in the corridors. Yes, some of it had Sirius's mark, but more had his mother's.

"I don't think he should be around the Muggle, either," he said firmly. "She's dangerous."

"And who made her that way, Harry?" Dumbledore's gaze was level and absolutely clear.

Harry once again dipped some of his emotions in the quicksilver. "Please, Headmaster. I am asking you to remove him from her. You can take up guardianship of him yourself. I think it would suffice, since after all the Ministry does trust you—" he though of Scrimgeour to calm himself this time "—and I know that you value him."

Dumbledore simply watched him, until Harry thought the man's face had frozen in that inscrutable expression. Then he said, "I will not deprive your mother of her only true son, Harry." Harry flinched despite himself, and the Headmaster continued speaking as if he had not noticed. "But if there was a way to reverse what was done to her, then I might agree, since I could give her a son back to replace the one she stole."

Harry wondered if he had plunged all his thoughts underwater, and not only the ones that had produced uncomfortable emotions. His vision swam as he said, "You know that the ritual cannot be reversed, sir."

"I was not thinking of that," said Dumbledore, and spread his hands. "I was thinking of putting you under the phoenix web again, making you what you were. If you agree to that, I will take over the training of Connor's compulsion gift from Sirius, and Lily will not see Connor again until she is more—herself, and ready to deal with him."

Harry closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. This was the keenest pincer that had yet gripped him.

He had said that he would never go under the phoenix web again.

But Connor was in danger.

But he had said that he was never going back under it.

But Connor was in danger.

But he had said that he needed his freedom.

But Lily might hurt Connor.

Harry thought he might have come close to crying then, except that he never wanted to cry in front of the Headmaster.

He made his decision.

He took a deep breath, ragged with the sound of sobs, and stood, and met Dumbledore's expectant eyes.

"Fuck you very much, sir," he said quietly, and walked out of the office.

"Oooh, yes, dear," said Professor Trelawney excitedly, as she peered into Lavender Brown's carefully arranged leaves from around the lake. "Yes, I think I see your future husband in here." She paused so that Brown's giggles could rush over her, and continued. "Yes, quite a handsome fellow he is…tall, and what is this? He is wearing a crown!" She turned and blinked at the class who crowded behind her, many of them half-asleep in the incense-soaked Tower room. It was an unusually warm day for early February, which didn't help the situation. "Who can tell me what a crown means?"

A few people desultorily flipped through their books, looking for the symbol. Harry caught Hermione's eyes and rolled his own. Hermione made the same gesture back. She was looking increasingly disgusted with Trelawney, and now and then her hand went up to toy with something around her neck, something that kept radiating incredibly powerful magic when Harry bothered to pay attention to it.

Ron and Connor were on the other side of the room. It looked like Ron was imitating Trelawney, and earning a snort of laughter from Harry's twin. When he saw Harry watching, he frowned.

Harry glanced away. He was beginning to hate this waste of a class. He had signed up for Divination so he could share another class with Connor, but that had been in the warm camaraderie—of a sort—last year, when anything had seemed possible. Harry was becoming steadily convinced, however, that Trelawney would only ever say something useful by accident. He stayed in the class for those hints, now and then listening as she twittered over tea or leaves or bits of spun spiderweb.

And he could talk to Hermione, of course, he thought, as he leaned carefully nearer the Gryffindor witch, watching the professor from the corner of her eye. It was a mark of Hermione's disdain for the subject that she actually would talk instead of listening diligently and scribbling notes.

"Anything?"

"Nothing," Hermione whispered back, the way she did every class. This time, though, she hesitated, and drew the thing around her neck out of her robe. Harry blinked at it. It resembled nothing so much as a small silver hourglass dangling on the chain. It was polished to a bright sheen, but he saw nothing about it that should make it so powerful, unless—

"A Time-Turner?" he whispered.

"Of course," said Hermione, looking a little displeased that Harry had managed to guess what the thing was without her input. She shrugged in the next moment, though, and checked on Trelawney's position—the professor was now going on about Parvati Patil's luck on the next Tuesday when a full moon occurred—then whispered, "Professor McGonagall got it for me so I could attend more classes. I just have to be careful never to meet myself."

Harry nodded. "And you used it in the library to research the phoenix web, too?" he asked.

Now Hermione did look annoyed. "How did you know that?"

"You wouldn't have got it out unless it had something to do with what we were talking about, and we were talking about your research on the phoenix web," said Harry, with a shrug.

Hermione muttered something that sounded like, "Slytherins," but she went on before Harry could call her on it. "I tried, Harry," she said. "I found books that hinted at its existence, and told me where to look. But every single book I tried to find was gone. They're either in the hands of a Professor, or they're in the Restricted Section." She looked cross.

Harry sighed. He supposed he should have suspected that. Dumbledore. Always an irritant.

What he wanted Hermione to do would have been much easier with proof, but there was the chance that Connor would trust the word of his friend even without it. "Can you talk to Connor?" he whispered. "I tried to tell him what being under the phoenix web was like, and he didn't believe me that it was evil. I know we don't have the books, but you were in the meeting that day, and—"

"Mr. Potter!" Trelawney fluted at him. She was hovering right over him now, and staring down into the muddy, moldy, half-frozen leaves that Harry had laid on his table. "Let us see what your leaves say."

They say you're an old bat who should shut up and leave me alone, Harry thought in annoyance, but he restrained his temper. He looked once at Hermione, who nodded at him. Trelawney mistook the reason for the nod, and turned to Hermione.

"And what do your leaves say, dear?" she asked. "Or do you have an idea what Mr. Potter's leaves say?"

Hermione opened her mouth, a sharp look on her face, then glanced at Harry, sighed, and modulated her voice into a sickly sweet tone. "I'm sorry, Professor," she said. "I couldn't quite read this bit." She stabbed at a curling, wet brown corner off one leaf. "Do you think it's a sailing ship, or a cloud?"

Trelawney shifted over to look. Harry flashed a grateful smile at Hermione, who glared back at him.

One day, she really is going to lose it at her, Harry thought, as he leaned back and waited for the charade to end. But not today.

Harry left Divination early and by himself, as usual, but lingered near the bottom of the ladder to the Tower. He ought to be able to hear Hermione's and Connor's conversation from there. He knew that Hermione would start out in a reasonable tone, but Connor's voice would probably escalate.

What he didn't realize was how quickly it would happen.

"—don't talk to me about my brother!" Connor yelled. "I know that he put you up to this. It's not true, it's not, and I don't want to hear anything about it again!" Then he added something else, something low-voiced and vicious that resulted in a loud gasp, and a whisper from Ron along the lines of, "You really shouldn't have said that, mate."

Hermione came down the ladder in the next few minutes. Harry didn't quite dare to speak to her. She gave him a dire look, shook her head, said, "Him," and stormed off up the corridor.

Harry sighed. He knew it wasn't the best time to go talk to his brother, but at least he knew where Connor was, and they would have an audience, in the form of Ron and Professor Trelawney. He didn't think Connor would hurt him too badly with them there. At least the subject was uppermost in his brother's mind right then.

He'd just put a hand on the bottom rung of the ladder when he heard a skittering noise down the hall. Harry spun, his magic rising around him. He squinted when he realized that he could see only a small rock, moving back and forth by itself, in the middle of the hall. It paused as if it saw him watching it, then turned and rolled down the corridor.

Harry drew his wand.

Something else skittered out from nothingness and joined the pebble. It was a spider, Harry thought, but then he saw the flash of the torches off metal and jewels, and snarled to himself. It was another artificial Dark creature, like the one that had attacked Draco.

He approached the thing with long strides.

The pebble stopped rocking, and the spider scuttled to meet him with a rush of air. Harry flung himself to the side, aimed his wand, and muttered, "Petrificus Totalus."

The spell didn't work, as he had thought it might not. The spider stood facing him, motionless for a moment, then flung out a loop of jeweled silk into the air. Harry watched it warily. Was it going to grab the ceiling, or the floor, or a torch sconce?

It did none of those things. It drifted in the air for a moment, then abruptly exploded into a cloud of silvery spores.

Harry covered his nose and mouth and ducked at once. He had heard about things like this. Breathing in the spores was not a good idea. He coughed anyway, and felt dizzy, which might have meant that some of them got in, but he retained his consciousness and his balance.

No more playing around, he thought, and spoke calmly. "Reducto."

The spider smashed apart. Harry walked over and carefully kicked at the pieces to make sure they wouldn't move anymore, then glanced around. He could see no sign of more spiders, nor of whoever had released this one.

He shook his head and walked back to the ladder, keeping an eye over his shoulder. He supposed he would have to tell Draco and Snape about this, though the attack was so small and seemed pointless. Was it a warning? Of what?

Harry quelled the temptation to run back to the dungeons to check on Draco. He would, as soon as he was done talking to his brother. Connor was still up in the Tower. Maybe Ron was arguing with him about whatever he'd said to Hermione, and that meant that Harry could catch him when he was feeling guilty.

He climbed until he reached the Divination classroom, and felt an odd stillness in the air even as he entered it. He felt a wind brush past him, and saw a silver flash near the wall that had him drawing his wand again.

What bothered him most, however, was the sight of Trelawney, her eyes rolled back in her head and her voice a chill, dead monotone, as she recited words at a stunned Connor and Ron.

"…stand or fall."

Then she collapsed.

Harry must have made a noise, because Ron turned around and saw him. He was dazed, shaking his head. Connor hurried forward to help Trelawney.

"I was going to talk to him…" Harry whispered, eyes on the downed teacher.

"I don't think that's a good idea," said Ron, and grimaced as he began scratching at his shoulders. "She just went crazy and recited a load of drivel at us."

"Did you not remember it?" Harry demanded. He didn't think Trelawney was more than a fraud, really he didn't, but if ever circumstances would pull a true prophecy from her, these were the circumstances. He checked for another sign of the silver flash, but couldn't see it.

"Sorry, mate, no." Ron shook his head. "I don't—"

"Go away."

Harry looked at Connor's face and surprised a murderous expression there. Carefully, he raised his hands and backed towards the entrance of the classroom again.

Of course, he felt obligated to ask. "What was it, Connor? A prophecy? Was it meant for you?"

"I don't have to tell you." Connor's face was flushed an ugly red. "And I don't want to talk to you, Harry. Go away."

Harry turned and left, quietly. He would continue his efforts to get on his brother's good side and help him whether Connor wanted him to or not. This time, though, he would have the added curiosity of what exactly the prophecy might have said about his brother. Of course it would be about him, since he was the one who had heard it, and the Boy-Who-Lived.

That night, a new nightmare came hunting him.

Harry found himself on a flat dark plain, with shadows the only things that moved in the distance. He couldn't see any buildings or trees. He stamped on the ground, and realized it was hard as iron. He shivered.

Then, abruptly, a dark, four-legged shape sprang into motion on the far side of the plain and rushed towards him.

Harry jumped out of the way just in time. He relaxed a bit in confusion, watching it as it ran. Was he seeing a werewolf? Or something else? He couldn't make out anything other than the fact that the thing was four-legged, and fairly large.

He didn't make out the much smaller creature that pursued the large one until it sprang and apparently locked teeth on the side of the large one's neck.

The large thing screamed.

Harry screamed along with it. Pain that reminded him of Crucio wracked his body. He woke in a few instants, thrashing and tangled in his bedsheets, and all but blind. It took him a moment to realize that that didn't come from the sheets, but from the blood pouring out of his scar and over his eyes.

Draco was there then, cradling his shoulders and attempting to soothe the pain. It was already gone, but Harry couldn't find the voice or the breath to tell him so. He let Draco hold him and wipe the blood out of his eyes, and nodded when he thought he was all right to go to the hospital wing.

He remained silent even as Madam Pomfrey clucked and fussed over him, and Draco explained earnestly that he'd fallen and hit his head on his way back from the bathroom, because he was thinking about the images in his dream.

Though he didn't know why his mind kept circling back to the idea—the shapes had been less than silhouettes, and he had no reason to think this was true, or even that the dream meant anything—he believed that the shapes he had seen were those of a rat and a dog.