AN: I told you I would update pretty soon. Anyway, I hope you like this installment. One or two more chapters should wrap it all up, I suppose. Anyway, I'll stop rambling and let you read. On we go!

An Unceremonious Prediction

"What, Professor McGonagall?" asked the Fat Lady in disbelief.

"You heard me, Fat Lady," said the strict professor, "it can't be helped. Sir Cadogan's portrait must be moved next to yours."

"But—" The Fat Lady struggled to ask, "but… why next to my portrait? There's barely enough room—"

Professor McGonagall looked plaintively at the medium-sized place right next to her portrait. "I happen to see a space that can accommodate Sir Cadogan," she said briskly. "Honestly, Fat Lady, I don't see why you don't want him here. He's quite charming; you just have to get to know him a little better."

"I think I know him well enough, Professor!" huffed the Fat Lady, adjusting her drawers, "is this why you're putting his portrait next to me?"

"Yeh—no," McGonagall replied. "He's a nuisance to the other portraits in his area, and we know for a good fact that you and Sir Cadogan see a lot of each other."

The Fat Lady shook her immense head. "Hardly, Professor. We barely exchange kind words."

Professor McGonagall tutted and shook her head. "It can't be helped, Fat Lady. This afternoon, Sir Cadogan and his portrait will take their place right here."

"But—"

"It can't be helped. In this case, I don't make the rules. Right now, I'm following them."

"Who—"

But before the Fat Lady could finish her question, Professor McGonagall had already left.

--

"What did you say?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"'Tis true. This very afternoon, I will take my place alongside the Fat Maiden." Sir Cadogan sat mournfully beside his fat pony, whose tail, every time it swung around, hit him in the nose.

"The Fat Lady?" asked Ron, snickering. "If I didn't know any better, I would swear you two hated each other!"

Sir Cadogan sneezed and stood up. "Yes, and 'tis all the better!" he said grinning.

"Er," said Harry intelligently, "If you hate the Fat Lady that much, why are you happy to get your portraits moved together?"

"Simple, really, ye knave," said the knight with an air of egoism, "once I am near the Fat Maiden's portrait, I can harass her even more!"

Ron managed to transform his guffaw into a hefty sneeze, while Harry struggled to conceal his own grin. "That, er, isn't a very knightly thing to do, Sir Cadogan."

Sir Cadogan threw his arms up in annoyance and bellowed, "I knew ye would be on her side, you yellow-bellied mongrel, go on, but ye wait. 'Twill be a real job when I get moved and yer not on my side!"

Harry rolled his eyes and dug his elbow into Ron's side. "Come on, Ron," he muttered. "We have to deliver this to Trelawney…"

However, it didn't stop them. As before, Sir Cadogan pursued them by running into neighboring portraits (the occupants rolling their eyes in annoyance, even though they were used to it by now) yelling, "Ye'll be sorry, lads! Take my side, the Fat Maiden won't stand a chance!"

Harry and Ron simply ignored him, and walked down the hall where the portrait of the Mighty Werewolf Wendelin stood, listening to Sir Cadogan's yells of fury as he ran away from the half-human.

"Every time we pass by Sir Cadogan, all he ever talks about is the Fat Lady," said Ron, shaking his head wearily.

"No kidding," Harry replied, reaching the trapdoor that signaled Trelawney's classroom. At once, the silvery ladder fell to the floor at Harry and Ron's feet. "Come on, the faster we do this, we can go down to the Quidditch Pitch."

Ron nodded. "I just don't see why you had to drag me along," he complained. "I could've just—"

Harry rolled his eyes again and pushed Ron towards the ladder. "Hurry up," he hissed, "we don't really have all day." Ron grumbled, but reluctantly started climbing up the rungs.

--

"Professor Trelawney?" Harry whispered. "Professor?"

Ron stood off to the right, not liking the unceremonious reunion of him and the stuffy classroom. "Harry—?"

Harry waved him off with an impatient flick of the hand. "Not now, Ron," he said, his voice slightly hoarse, "help me look for Trelawney!"

"But—but Harry!"

"Not now!" said Harry, slightly annoyed. "I don't like it in here anymore than you do—"

"Harry!"

"What?"

Ron responded with a small whimper as he pointed to a shawled figure lying sprawled on the ground. "Is that—?"

Harry shook his head. "She had too much sherry, I reckon." Harry strode over and put his hand on her shoulder. Fortunately for him, Harry's many years as a Seeker improved his already good reflexes greatly, as Trelawney's head snapped up, her eyes slightly unfocused.

"Two images unite," she rasped.

"Er… what?" asked Ron confusedly.

"Shush!" Harry said quickly. "This is what happened back in Third Year—she's predicting the future!"

"Yeah, right," said Ron, kicking a nearby tasseled cushion. "A load of—"

"A hatred overlooked, as their destiny is told," Trelawney hissed out. "An unusual attraction, covered up with unnecessary spite—"

"Sounds familiar," said Harry with a grin, looking over at Ron.

Flashes of bushy brown hair flashed through Ron's mind. "Shut up," he mumbled, turning maroon.

"Unknowingly to anyone, except perhaps one other, the two fondle soft spots for each other, as they are neither human nor beast; this afternoon, an event shall happen, that will ignite the dynamite of attraction in the hearts of the victims, and shall thus unite, bringing surprise to all who know them, as it is unlikely of the two."

At the last word, Trelawney executed an overly dramatic sigh and slumped back onto the ground. Obviously, her face meeting an uncarpeted floor woke her up, and stood up with a start.

"Oh, hi, er, Professor Trelawney," said Harry nervously, holding the parchment out to her.

"So sorry, dear boy, dozed off," she said with a slight hiccup, shifting a bottle from her prominent hand to her other, as she took the letter from him.

"Right, see you later, Professor!" said Ron hastily, already standing at the trapdoor entrance. Professor Trelawney waved them off with another hiccup.

At the bottom, Harry was nearly hit on the head by a sherry bottle, and he swore he could hear someone at the top say, "Damn sherry bottle."

AN: So, what do you think? I'm busily typing up the next chapter, this story is a lot of fun to write. I hope I can count on reviews? Keep your eyes on Arithmancy, and I'll see you when I see you, da.