A/N: Standard disclaimer; see chapter 1 for details.
After their weekend lesson, the group raised their teacups to toast Lucius Malfoy's defeat of incumbent Cornelius Fudge by an impressive margin. "While Sirius Black, his replacement on the Hogwarts Board of Directors, does not possess the gravitas of Mr. Malfoy," Steadman commented, "he can be trusted to be loyal to the goal of providing an excellent education to the students. Not to mention," he added, "that with the return of his boyish charm, he will likely have all of the female members eating out of his hand. Figuratively," he elaborated, noticing a twitch of interest in two of the pubescent males present.
"I propose," Hermione stated in a concerned tone, "that we make Harry tell us what has him in such a funk today."
The boy jerked and sat upright at the sound of his name. "What? Oh," his eyes cleared when she repeated herself, "I was just bemoaning the fact that this year, every time I turn around I'm pestered by weird-dressing professors."
"Harry, you yourself once said that you believe all magicals dress strangely," Neville pointed out.
"The two I'm talking about are in a class by themselves. The old fart–and no, Hermione, I'm not going to rephrase that–has been glaring at me all this semester."
"He hasn't tried to approach you directly, has he?" The grin on Steadman's face might make one suspect that he wanted the question answered in the affirmative.
"No, but I'm pretty sure he fiddled with my class schedule before school started. Remember that I told you Professor McGonagall got it sorted right away? Then I received a few anonymous notes with a compulsion charm," he waved away the gasps, "but Luna had shown me how to see wrackspurts."
"Wrackspurts are real?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.
"I told you my cousin could 'see' things," Draco reminded her.
"Harry, how did you get rid of them?" Neville queried.
He smirked. "A simple insecticide spell kills them off much more amusingly than finite incantatum."
"Maybe we should set off a muggle flea bomb in the headmaster's office," Draco snorted.
"Back to the point, young people." Steadman's voice held concern. "You should have notified me immediately."
"If we call you up to the castle every other day, Dumbledore would try to claim that you're 'interfering in the education of our country's youth' or some such rubbish. Besides, we're teenagers now and should learn how to take care of some things on our own."
He nodded in resignation. "Agreed, but please keep me informed in the future; no more night time rescue runs. Shall I assume that notes were not his only method of persuasion?"
"Yeah. Lately I believe he's been siccing the Divination teacher on me; that's the class I was down for instead of Runes and Arithmancy."
"Divination?" Hermione was outraged to the point of ferocity. "Why would he want you to fill your mind with that twaddle?"
Draco snorted. "Old Trelawney doesn't get much respect in Slytherin either. Roper says that her Romani cousins would take great offence at the bastardization of their wardrobe."
"So what does the dotty fraud have to say for herself?" Neville wondered.
Steadman chuckled. It appeared that none of the four had any respect for the witch, although it was uncertain if her power actually rose much above that of a squib.
"She keeps trying to convince me to sign up for her class; that's why I feel like Dumblefuck–"
"Language."
"–is behind it."
"What makes you think so?"
"Well, the first time was a poorly-devised argument for me to request a schedule change. I mean, we had already had four weeks of classes. No way was I going to let that go to waste. Then my refusal of her second attempt may not have been phrased too politely, because she muttered something about 'just as well' and 'unbelievers would inhibit the spirits' or some shite like that."
The other boys giggled, and Hermione made no mention of his language, having abandoned it as a lost cause for the rest of the day. Instead, she asked him with a puzzled expression, "It sounds like she agreed with your decision, so what made her try again?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe going about it by the indirect route? She stops me in the halls–damned if I know how she finds me since how would she know my schedule?–and tries some fake prophecy mumbo-jumbo."
Steadman leaned forward. "Fake prophecies?"
"Yeah. One was a Nostradamus-like quatrain and the second was a blatant ripoff from the old part of the Bible." He grinned. "I recognized it from Comparative Religions and told her it was about aliens and nothing to do with me before booking it out of there."
"And you noticed no one else around when she spoke to you?"
"Not really, but the huge bug-eyes and her clothes always moving kind of draws the attention."
"Hmm." Steadman stroked his chin. "Perhaps she's using the simple trick of misdirection, a muggle conjuration technique which wouldn't be a bad skill for real magicals to use. At any rate, her actions are more than vaguely suspicious, but she hasn't done anything but speak to you."
"With a freaky voice that gives me the heebie-jeebies when she goes into soothsayer mode. Sort of makes her sound possessed."
Neville's brow creased. "Sir, why would a teacher who likes to huddle in her tower so much that she often doesn't make it to meals in the Great Hall go to all that effort to chase down Harry?"
"He may have hit close to the target with his description of 'possessed', although I'm inclined more towards 'imperioused' instead. With only supposition to go on, my best advice is that Harry not wander around the castle without at least one of you nearby."
"So no sneaking into broom closets then?"
"Drake, I don't do that anyway! I'm only thirteen."
"Hello, Thufir," Hermione caressed the magnificent black horns of their owl, "you have something for me?" She untied the ribbon from his leg and unwrapped the oilcloth wrapping. Hearing her short gasp, Draco turned and, espying the Royal Crest on the envelope, waved over Harry and Neville.
Neville, observing the interest from the surrounding students, erected a quick sound barrier around them. "Another surprise?" he asked.
"She is making an announcement later this month and wanted to let us know ahead of time so we wouldn't learn about it from the papers."
"Not another scandalous revelation, I hope?" Harry ventured.
"No, but I think dealing with them has strained her emotional resources to the breaking point. She said that she is going to retire from public appearances next year."
Draco whistled. "That's going to create a firestorm of publicity, which is what she's trying to get away from."
"Yes, and she says that she fears just that and wishes there was a place on this earth where she could be anonymous."
"Maybe one of those South Sea Islands that we visited after touring New Zealand?" Harry suggested.
"She wouldn't want to be that far from the boys." Neville shook his head. "I pity the lady."
"Hermione," Harry said quietly, "you're wearing your 'thinking' expression." The other two boys looked at her face and concurred.
She tapped the folded letter on the table and looked around the hall. "Perhaps she wouldn't be completely unknown, but there is a location which is isolated, secure from the paparazzi, and near enough to her sons for visitation."
Draco shook his head. "You're not thinking…"
"Wait here." She spun on the bench and was on her feet before the others caught onto Draco's idea. "I need to speak with a few professors."
Dumbledore muttered another curse under his breath. Why won't that blasted boy go anywhere alone? He had been pulling Trelawney from her tower so frequently that comments had been made during dinner the night before. At least the batty woman didn't seem to mind wandering the halls any more.
Sybill Trelawney had never had a more relaxing semester. True, she appeared to have been afflicted with some sort of daytime sleepwalking curse, but finding herself in out-of-the-way corridors with no recollection of how she got there didn't really bother her. Although her memories were definitely a bit hazier lately, this calm feeling dated pretty much from when she purchased the muggle incense. That sweet Jem had certainly given her a large quantity but she had failed to write down its name for when her supply ran low. It was some girl's name... Mary Sue? Mary Lou? Mary Jean?
It wasn't the ideal situation, Dumbledore considered, but if he was ever going to get through to the Potter boy he'd have to take the chance. With a wave of his wand, he directed the steps of his almost mindless puppet on an intercept course.
"If Hermione manages to wangle approval," Neville said, "there is a seldom-used corridor which has suites formerly used as married students' housing. With the Hogwarts elves' capability of wall migration and space expansion, there should be plenty of room for her security staff."
"A warded yet working floo would provide her safe transport into and out of the castle. Even though there were no repercussions from the boys' interactions last summer, I don't think it's a good idea for them to–"
"Harry Potter."
"Great balls of fiendfyre!" Harry growled. "Trelawney again."
"Contacting the others," Neville murmured as both turned to watch the professor's weaving approach.
"The-Boy-Who-Lived," she intoned, almost walking into a wall.
"At your service," Harry replied sardonically as he gave her a mockingly deep bow.
"Who are you to so disparage the noble art of the soothsayer?" she queried. "Why, those chosen by the gods were prophesying long before the Delphic Oracle was a twinkle in Apollo's eye."
"Right." He huffed out a breath. "What flimflam are you going to try and foist on me this time?"
Well, Dumbledore thought, I might as well go for broke.
Trelawney's posture straightened abruptly, almost as if she had been hit with a Petrificus Totalis, and she did not appear to notice that two other students had skidded around a corner and joined them in the hall. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
"What the frack–" Draco burst out.
"It's another load of tosh," Harry spat out in disgust, "although this time I can't identify the original source."
"Tosh, indeed!" spoke Hermione. "'Vanquish the Dark Lord'? Does she think you're Luke Skywalker?"
"Pureblood, Hermione," Neville reminded her, shaking his head. "What's that about the seventh month?"
"It could mean the birthdays of you two," Draco posited.
"Or it could mean seven months from now," Harry protested. "She's using the present tense."
"And what calendar?" the Ravenclaw continued. "Julian? Gregorian? Zoroastrian? Chinese?"
"We get it; it's vague."
"Panchanga? Fasli? Mayan? Pataphysic–mmph!"
"Enough, Hermione." Draco removed his hand from her mouth. "Now, moving on to the next part. 'Mark him as his equal'? You might have been right in the first place. Vader did cut off Luke's hand."
"'Neither can live while the other survives'. Both those words mean the same thing!" The girl stamped a foot at the illogic of the situation.
"You know," the professor said suddenly and, for her, lucidly, "you're absolutely right. It doesn't make a lick of sense." She shook her head. "Please forgive me for disturbing you. I haven't the slightest idea why I did so. Now I believe I will return to my tower and light some more incense." She looked around in confusion. "Could one of you point me in the right direction?"
While Neville gallantly gave her his arm and escorted her to the main staircase, the others followed, deciding which one of them would have the pleasure of sending an owl to Steadman.
None of them spied the old wizard behind a suit of armor, hunched over in disappointment.
"Are we agreed that was beyond weird?" Draco asked once the adult in their midst was out of their care.
"Welcome to my life this year," Harry replied bitterly.
"Ugh!" Neville lifted one arm. "I think I'm going to have to leave this robe out for laundry. It has 'Eau de Trelawney' on it and it's not my fragrance."
"You're right." Harry sniffed. "Parvati and Lavender reek of that on Divination days."
"Hold on," Draco grabbed the sleeve as well, "this is familiar."
"No," Hermione disagreed, "your mother doesn't use the same perfume. Not that Professor Trelawney could afford hers."
"Amsterdam!" The blond snapped his fingers. "Remember that music club that Father hurried us out of last year?"
"And I remember why we had to leave," Neville spoke slowly.
"It looks like we need to inform the head of the Board of Governors about substance abuse," Hermione declared.
"But not before proving it!"
The lone female sighed. The boys were about to over-complicate matters again.
The agenda for the Hogsmeade meeting three days later went off the rails quickly.
Lucius Malfoy pinched the skin above his nose. "You used an invisibility cloak to visit a class for which you are not enrolled? That is known as trespassing, you know."
"Which is the greater crime?" Harry asked. "That or using marijuana as incense in the presence of minor students?"
"Really, sir," Hermione leaned forward, "have there been any studies on how cannabis affects the magic of adolescents?"
"She's right, Luce," Sirius spoke, "that teacher needs to be suspended at the very least."
"The headmaster has made questionable decisions with staff recruitment in the past," Steadman mentioned. "Who can guarantee that her replacement would be any better?"
"Very well." The Malfoy patriarch straightened his posture and stated with a glint in his eye. "I will dismiss the foolish woman, but you," he pointed to Sirius, "will take the helm of the Board at year's end. Convince them that they must be involved in selecting her successor."
"What?!"
"It's your baby now, Black." Malfoy grinned at him. "I'll be busy trying to sort out the Ministry. At least Fudge had the good sense to reassign the pink horror last year. There's no way I could tolerate that simpering voice on a long-term basis."
"So be it." Sirius sighed and turned to Neville. "It looks like I may be scrambling to fill a position. I may or may not have the time to visit Frank and Alice over the break."
"They'll understand, sir," the boy responded, "although they will be sorry to miss you." His parents had been released to Longbottom Manor but still felt ill-prepared to appear in public with less than perfect coordination and speech.
"What is their latest prognosis?" asked Hermione. "Do the therapists believe they will be able to return to their careers?"
"Highly doubtful, but it doesn't matter, really. Dad has the estate and the land to deal with. Of course, wresting control from Grandmother might be hard work. Although she has been better lately, she still likes to have her own way."
"Don't we all!" agreed Sirius.