AN: Thank you to the Guest who dropped a review saying they're loving it.

Tisa: Glad you like the previous chapter.

And the first rule of freeform duelling? There are no rules ;)

Love your thoughts on how Augustus might feel about Tiberius putting him in his place. My lips are sealed. For now...

Astute is a wonderful word to describe Madam Pucey. I'm also excited for several character interactions in the future.

Thank you so much for reading, and for leaving a review. I'll see you around.

o - o - o - o - o

In the little breathing space between the end of Hermione's holiday on the continent with her parents and the start of the next term at Hogwarts, Adrian and Hermione went to Muggle London to catch an afternoon screening of the film Hamlet. It was a four-hour long affair in a nearly-empty theatre, made bearable only because they kept up a steady stream of murmured conversation between them for large parts of it, and then resorted to kissing and cuddling in the darkness when it started to feel like the film would never end.

Afterwards, they walked hand in hand to a Muggle shopping centre, braving the holiday crowd as they attempted to find excuses to extend their evening.

Adrian eventually coerced Hermione into trying rollerblading at a skating rink. He rented out gear for the both of them, drew Hermione to the rink with him. She fell, pitifully and repeatedly, and he bit the inside of his cheek so as to not show more of his amusement when she glowered his way as though it was all his fault she was down on her arse. After her third fall, he offered to charm her skates. She refused, point blank, telling him that since the entire thing was his brilliant idea, he would have teach her the Muggle way. Like he minded at all. They took over a small corner of the rink, and Adrian attempted to guide her in the art of skating until she declared she learned enough for a lifetime, thank you very much.

After watching the sun set over the city, Adrian apparated them to the park by her home. He liked the park because it always meant a good snog whenever they visited it. He despised the park because it always meant they parted ways afterwards.

The new year was on the horizon. He watched, a little forlorn, as Hermione walked off to her house. And he firmly reminded himself to be patient. A year, only a year and he would have her walking with him instead of away.

He reminded himself to be patient when Fleur Delacour breezed into his office for their lunch meeting, glowing radiant in the spring air and insisting he didn't need to send in an RSVP because she had already put him down as a definite yes on the guest list for her wedding.

And when Terrence started talking about engagement rings? He silently thanked his father for impressing upon him the virtue of patience.

Only one year.

Hogsmeade village was idyllic that time of the year. The grip of winter was long weakened, and summer was in sight. Adrian sat at the bar in the Three Broomsticks, the only patron in the pub, making meaningless, polite conversation with Madam Rosmerta as he nursed his drink. Half his attention was on the gentle drizzle of rain outside.

Madam Rosmerta asked him if he wanted another beer, but Adrian found that he couldn't bear to drink any more. Even if he was looking for excuses to dawdle at the pub. Therefore, he pocketed the small bottle of sherry, bid a good day to the barkeep, and stepped out of he establishment.

He looked up and down the sparse Hogsmeade street, then turned his gaze towards the castle looming in the distance. That evening, for no reason in particular, Hogwarts seemed darker, gloomier. He took a deep breath to steady himself. The rain had almost stopped, so he didn't bother shielding himself as he started a purposeful march towards the school gates.

He was supposed to be at work at the time, which was why he deemed it the best time to pay a visit to the castle. He did not want any questions about his visit, any suspicions. With some guilt, some hesitance on his part, Madam Pucey was in the blind. And on the off chance that he ran into Tiberius, he had a half-baked excuse of work ready at hand.

It turned out that he needed the excuse because he was interrupted by someone else just as he started up to the school.

"Adrian?"

Resisting the urge to brush away the call, Adrian turned to the voice. "Nymphadora," he greeted politely, flicked a glance at the shady, shabby-looking man to next to her without further acknowledgement.

Nymphadora cringed lightly, then glared at him. "Tonks," she corrected.

He raised a single eyebrow at her, did not bother to rectify his address, instead started to calculate when the next full moon was.

She shrugged. "Touche," she conceded. She grinned wide and unabashed then, and grabbed Remus Lupin's arm, started to cover the short distance towards Adrian, dragging Lupin with her.

Oh for Merlin's sake-

"Adrian, meet Remus Lupin," she introduced. "Not that you don't know him, obviously. Remus, this is Adrian Pucey. You probably remember him too, don't you?"

Lupin carefully pulled his arm out of Nymphadora's hold. "Mr Pucey," Lupin extended a hand towards him, his expression carefully neutral.

It wasn't a full moon night. "Lupin," Adrian returned in the same tone, accepting the brief handshake but the lack of courtesy clearly evident.

"You're heading up to the school, are you?" Nymphadora asked, frowning mildly. "Is everything all right?"

"Perfectly all right. I'm merely here on business," he replied. "No time for a chat, I'm afraid."

She shook her head, smiled lightly. "Of course not. Be on your way, then. Don't let us keep you."

Adrian flicked another glance at Lupin, his jaw set.

Turning back to Nymphadora, he bowed lightly at her. "Nymphadora. Please give my regards to Madam Tonks," he said

She crossed her arms, rolled her eyes at him. "Tell Tyke I said hi," she said.

Adrian nodded, turned around to resume his journey to the castle.

There was yet a little time until the final curfew, but Adrian did not particularly care about the glances some passing students threw his way. He was on a mission, and he was not going to be stopped. He flew on that single-minded determination all the way to the Headmaster's office, where he stopped at the gargoyle, glared at it silently as though it would open without the password. "Tell the Headmaster that Adrian Pucey is here."

The gargoyle did not budge.

He stepped closer to it. "I'm not leaving until I've seen him. And I will wait right here as long as I need to."

A second passed. Then, two. Then, the gargoyle jumped aside.

Adrian took the slow-moving staircase up, knocked firmly at the door.

"Enter," Dumbledore's voice came from within.

The portraits of all the previous Headmasters were curiously empty. Dumbledore's phoenix eyed Adrian curiously from on its perch as he stepped into the room.

"What can I do for you, Mr Pucey?" Dumbledore asked calmly from his seat.

Adrian stepped up to the visitor's chair, gripped its back. "Explain, Headmaster. You know very well why I'm here." His tone was tightly reined in.

Dumbledore lightly fingered his beard. "I can think of a number of reasons-"

"What gave you the impression that you could talk to Tiberius about things you have no business talking about?" he cut in, just that side of rude.

Dumbledore's expression remained unchanged for a long moment, then he waved him towards the visitor's chair. "I see Tiberius has been writing to you. Sit, please, Mr Pucey. Terribly thoughtless of me to keep you standing."

Adrian remained standing. "I am not here for a discussion. I'm here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, to leave my brother out of it. Out of whatever it is you're planning."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes lightly at him, then slowly rose from his chair. He walked away from the desk, towards an open window. "I wonder, Adrian, how much you really know," he mused as he gazed out to the grounds, his tone distant. "About what has long since happened. About what is likely to happen."

Adrian bristled where he stood. "I know, Headmaster," he said firmly. "Why else am I here, and my mother isn't?"

"And yet," Dumbledore said, slowly turning back to look keenly at Adrian, "Tiberius remains ignorant."

"That is none of your concern," he countered.

"I continue to keep my word to your father," Dumbledore said carefully. " I've revealed nothing to Tiberius."

Adrian clenched a fist. "You've told him enough. Why would you, the Headmaster of the school, take such a level of interest in his career plans? In him? When you've never had a private conversation with him in the last five years. Why probe him on Divination, of all subjects? He questions everything! And you've only added to his doubts, his worries."

Dumbledore moved slowly back to his seat. "Sit, Mr Pucey," he ordered.

"I am not here to-"

"Adrian," Dumbledore cut in, sterner. "Please, sit."

Adrian reined in his glower, pressed his lips together, stiffly took a seat. He had no desire to argue. No desire to be there at all actually. Why couldn't Dumbledore and the Dark Lord and the entire bloody war leave him and his family in peace? "He's not the Chosen One," he said tightly. "I'd rather you don't give him the illusion he is."

Dumbledore frowned lightly at him. "Miss Granger has been writing to you."

He glowered then. "As a matter of fact, Hermione has maintained her friend's complete confidence." To imply that Hermione would betray any trust placed in her -

They were interrupted by loud hammering at the office door.

Dumbledore spared Adrian a brief, almost pitying glance before turning towards the sound. "Enter," he said.

Before Adrian could raise his voice in protest, Potter flew into the room. Of course, it was bloody Potter.

"Harry, I was just finishing up with Mr Pucey," Dumbledore said cordially.

Disregarding Potter's narrowed eyes on him, Adrian kept his gaze on the Headmaster. "I hope, Headmaster, that I have made my position on the matter very clear," he said tightly. They weren't finishing up; Adrian was being cast out for Potter's sake.

Dumbledore politely inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Indeed, Mr Pucey. I'll bid you a good evening."

His lips curled lightly in lieu of a reply, and he turned to storm out of the office, no more at peace than when he arrived there.

Adrian headed straight towards his second destination of the evening, hoping to catch nobody's eye along the way. The Divination Corridor was entirely foreign to him. He could not remember ever visiting that corner of the castle outside of patrols as a prefect. Even those were rare; the area was mostly lobbed onto Gryffindors because of its proximity to Gryffindor Tower.

The corridor was deserted that day. He walked to the North Tower, took the stairwell up towards the Divination classroom. He paused at the landing at the top of the stairs, looked uncomfortably at the trapdoor on the ceiling above. It felt like the location was chosen to dissuade students from taking up the subject. He sighed in resignation, started up the ladder to the trapdoor.

The Divination classroom was enveloped in a blanket of fine smoke that smelled nauseatingly sweet and threatened to make him throw up the butterbeer in his stomach. By Merlin, the room was an ideal image of a back-alley store dealing in sketchy goods and services. Adrian scanned the room, in search of Professor Trelawney. She couldn't possibly be away, could she? After he went through all the trouble to get there?

He tugged at his collar, attempting to breathe through the stifling heat. He moved towards the windows, intending to let the smoke out of the room and some proper light into it.

"Welcome," came Professor Trelawney's voice out of nowhere.

Adrian snapped his gaze towards the sound of her voice.

"I've been expecting you," she said, softly, emerging out of the smoke like an apparition. She glided towards him, where he was frozen halfway to opening the windows. "Great trials," she murmured, blinking too close to his face.

Adrian took a step back. "Professor Trelawney, thank you for agreeing to see me," he said cordially, produced the bottle of sherry and held it out for her.

Instead of the bottle, however, she caught one of his hands, opened his palm. She hummed to herself as she traced a line on his palm with the long nail on one of her fingers.

He tensed, firmly pulled his hand away, shoved the bottle into her open hand. "Perhaps we could sit, Professor?" he pressed.

She took the drink from him, narrowed her eyes at the label on it. She moved off towards a table, then, perched herself on one of the ugly armchairs near it. She stared at the empty seat opposite her for several moments, then turned to Adrian. "Well?"

He withheld a sigh, moved to the somehow uglier ottoman-chair opposite her.

Trelawney turned her attention to the table between them, started preparing tea.

Adrian remained silent, inspecting her movements, examining the contents of the room, rubbing his thumb over the path she had traced on his palm as though to smoothen the future.

"I have foreseen your arrival," she said then, grave and soft, holding a cup of tea out to him.

Perhaps because he had specifically asked to meet with her? He gingerly accepted the cup, looked at her with lightly raised eyebrows. "I'm here to ask after my brother, Tiberius," he explained.

She looked blankly at him. "Plainly," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

They sipped their cups of tea, Adrian calling on the last of the day's reserves of his patience not to rush her.

Trelawney finished her tea first, then examined her cup, mumbling and muttering and shaking her head to herself.

And Adrian started to think that maybe seeking her out was a bad idea after all.

"Ask your question, Mr Pucey," she said suddenly, then looked up at him. "You must leave the castle soon."

Adrian placed his unfinished cup of tea back on the table, shifted lightly in his seat. "I'd like to know, Professor," he started carefully, "if my brother – if there is the slightest chance that Tiberius is gifted with the Sight."

She sighed, a tad dramatic. "Wouldn't we all like to know that, Mr Pucey? But, and you would know this if you ever bothered yourself to attend any of my classes, the Inner Eye will reveal itself on its own time. We must not make demands of it. We must, instead, bow to it. Allow it to guide us in the way it wishes to."

He leaned forward in his seat. "Then what does your Inner Eye tell you, Professor Trelawney? You have seen Tiberius in your classes for three years now. Surely, you would have noticed, Seen something, anything if he is indeed -"

"The Inner Eye cannot be commanded," she said sternly. "Do not ask me to See that which the Eye forbids."

Adrian rubbed at his face, looked back at her. "Excuse me, Professor. You're right, I have not attended your classes, I do not understand as much as I wish to."

She nodded, slightly mollified.

"Can you answer me this instead?" he asked then. "How would one refuse the call of the Sight?"

He scowled lightly at the gates. Dumbledore wasn't back at the school yet. Not that Adrian wanted to speak to the Headmaster again.

He rolled his shoulders, exhaled lightly, then disapparated out of the spot.

And he did not see, minutes later, the Dark Mark appear atop the Astronomy Tower.