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Chapter 15

When Hermione returned to the classroom, Snape's first words to her were, "Where's Walker?"

Scrambling for an excuse she replied hurriedly, "Oh, he's still with Madame Pomfrey. He'll be there the rest of the lesson."

"Fine," Snape said gruffly. "Take your seat."

She sat down as Snape resumed his lecture. She listened with half an ear, taking notes and thinking.

Whenever his curse wasn't the subject of conversation, Allen Walker seemed a decent person to talk to. He could be friendly, and even showed a sense of humor. For the first time ever, they had spoken without the conversation dissolving completely in awkward silence. That was something.

Maybe Luna was right, Hermione mused. Maybe it was better to try and be a friend, first.

At last the bell rang; Hermione gathered her things, but as she left the room she heard someone call her name. Turning, she saw Harry walking up to her. Ron had been with him, but as soon as he saw Hermione he turned and walked quickly away. Her chest squeezed; she shook her head. Just let it go, she thought desperately, as Harry had stopped in front of her.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

She tossed her hand toward Ron. "Don't you want to catch up with him?" she sniffed. Okay, so apparently she couldn't let it go.

Harry shook his head. "Ron can be alone for a minute. I wanted to see how you were doing, I guess."

She sighed. "I'm fine, Harry. Really."

"That's just it, though," Harry replied, looking at her knowingly. "You're not fine."

She bit her lip, and then sighed again. "Let's not do this in the hallway."

Harry nodded. They started walking. They both had a free period; Hermione started headed toward the library, and Harry followed her.

"I'm sorry about Ron," he began.

"Don't," she said, sharper than she meant. Taking a breath, she added, more kindly, "I'm sorry, Harry. I know you mean well. But it's nothing you can fix, and really, it isn't your job."

"I feel responsible."

"It's not your fault Ron's a git," she said. "And anyway, maybe it's just for the best. Maybe we weren't ever…" she lost her words, sniffed. All calmness and good feeling was gone, replaced with the gutting sensation she had every time she thought about Ron. Harry looked like he wasn't sure what to say. "Anyway," she said crisply, "it doesn't matter."

"Why not?"

"Ron's not my biggest problem right now. I have a ton of work to finish before break, and there's helping you, and figuring out what to do about Allen—if Ron wants to be difficult, fine."

Harry had frowned when Allen's name came up. "What's going on with him, anyway? What was that earlier, with Snape? He kept rubbing his head."

"He had a headache," she said. "He said it got worse when Snape was close."

"That's weird."

"I know. He asked if Snape could use Legilimency nonverbally."

Harry snorted. "Sure he can, probably did it when we were first years without us even knowing."

They reached the stairs, walking down the left as others rushed past them on the right. "I don't know. It's weird that he would be able to tell like that, isn't it? Especially since he's not a wizard."

Harry scratched his. "You can feel it when someone's poking around in your head," he said. "I sure did last year, but Snape wasn't trying to be nice about it," Harry replied. "As for someone without magic? I don't know; you're the smart one."

Hermione smiled a moment, glad of Harry's attempt to cheer her, but then sobered. "It doesn't make sense, unless there's more to him than that. I still can't figure out how the castle hasn't turned him out yet, for one thing."

Harry paused, thinking. "Cause of the wards to keep Muggles out?"

Hermione nodded. "So why did they make an exception for Allen?" she mused. "My guess, it has something to do with that arm of his. Makes him not a normal Muggle, so he can't be blocked from coming inside. But he doesn't have magic, does he? So what is his arm?"

"Have you asked?"

She gave him a look. "Of course I have," she said irritably, as they stepped off the stairs and walked down the corridor toward the library. "He won't answer a thing when I ask him about his arm, or why he's here, or what he's looking for. He's generally polite...but..."

She seemed to chew over her words thoughtfully before continuing, "My dad told me something once: that people who are nice to everyone aren't nice to anyone. Basically that when someone's just nice and nothing else, they're hiding something—generally about themselves."

Harry seemed to think about that a minute. "So what do you think he's hiding?"

"I don't know," she said, sounding exasperated. They entered the library, and Hermione nodded in greeting to Madame Prince, who watched the two as they disappeared down the rows, looking for an empty table. "But I'm going to find out."

"How?" Harry asked. "If he won't give you anything, what have you got to go on?"

She found a table, and set down her stuff with a heavy thump. "I'll figure it out. Like I always do," she replied, her voice just above a whisper. "Like I always have," she added, gesturing toward the books.

xox

He wasn't entirely sure where he was going, but he was headed upstairs, glancing out the windows occasionally to look at the grey grounds below, the dreariness getting to him again. At least his headache was gone.

Allen reached the top of a winding stair and saw an open trap door leading up, with a ladder propped outside. He didn't hear anything from within and so climbed up, figuring he'd found an isolated spot in the castle in which to be alone for a while.

He was wrong.

When he reached the top of the ladder the smell of incense smoke reached him and made him sneeze from the intensity; a flood of memories of brothel runs with Cross flashed through his mind, and he had to bend down to get some fresh air from below.

He heard footsteps and looked up to see a fourteen-year-old Hufflepuff girl staring down at him in surprise before turning over her shoulder and calling back, "It's the white-haired kid, professor."

"Bring him inside," called an airy voice, and Allen stood up, looking down at the kid who was probably a good four inches shorter than him.

"Well, come on," she said, glancing at him curiously before turning and going further inside the room.

Allen considered making a quick retreat, but Timcanpy nudged him forward.

The classroom wasn't traditional in several ways; desks were replaced with small round tea tables, comfy chintz chairs, and large poufs, crammed together like an old-fashioned tea room. At one end of the room was a roaring fire, and the windows were covered in heavy curtains. It was uncomfortably hot and the stink of incense made Allen's head swim. At the center of the room stood a small woman shrouded in long robes, several necklaces weighing down from her neck and a pair of glasses on her face that made her appear bug-eyed. She was staring at him inquisitively, as were the other students in the class—all fourth years, a healthy mix of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

"I knew you would be arriving sometime soon," said the bug-like woman, and Allen smiled nervously at her, not sure what to say to that.

"I am Professor Trelawney, teacher of Divination, and you are Allen Walker, correct?"

He nodded. "Er, yes, I'm him."

"Indeed, it is good to see you in the physical realm at last," Trelawney said dreamily.

Allen decided not to address that. "Excuse me, but what's Divination?"

"It is the art of seeing into the future, dear boy."

Allen couldn't hold back the deadpan look on his face. "You're a fortune teller?"

"I read the signs and divine the meaning from them," she said dreamily. "And there is meaning in you being here, at this time. Sit, join us."

Allen's smile was decidedly uncomfortable. "I should go; sorry about the interruption. It was nice to—"

"Sit down, Mr. Walker. Professor Dumbledore instructed all the teachers to allow you sit in on a class or two, should you ever wander inside. Since it is rare for people to come all the way to the tower, you should accept this cosmic timing and enjoy your stay."

Allen raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. A quick look around the room told him that none of the students were buying into it either. One or two were even sleeping.

"You can take the empty chair next to Frowley," she motioned, and Allen glanced over to the girl who'd led him inside, sitting alone at her table.

Timcanpy nudged him again and Allen frowned at his winged friend. "When we get out of here, Tim, we're going to have a talk," he muttered, but the golem pushed him on and he sat down in the spare seat, sinking into the chair and glancing at Frowley, who looked somewhat nervous.

"Now, I was explaining the art of reading palms before," she said. "You should understand the basics now. Turn in your text to page 54 and use that as a reference guide—but only as a reference! Rely on your inner eye to discern truth!" She paused dramatically, glancing around the room. "I want you to turn to your partner and take turns reading each other's palms. If you have any questions I am ready to assist. Off you go, into the great beyond!"

Allen rolled his eyes, and then looked over at the girl. She smiled nervously and Allen sighed, straightening up in the seat. "What's your name?" he asked politely, keeping his voice down as more voices filled the room.

"Anthea Frowley," she said.

He smiled in a disarming way and said, "It's nice to meet you, Anthea. I'm Allen."

"Do you mind if I read your palm?" she asked. He shook his head. He was boiling up in his jacket, so he removed it, laying it across his lap. When that was done, he placed his right hand in Anthea's outstretched one. She held it up carefully, glancing down into her lap at where the text book must have been sitting. Clearing her throat she said, "Well, I guess we'll start with your life line."

"You going to tell me how long I'm going to live?" Allen said ruefully, and she shook her head.

"The length doesn't have anything to do with that," she said. "The life line talks about your general health, that's all."

Allen already had a few words on that, but held his tongue.

"You…" she glanced at his hand and back to the book, frowning in concentration, "you have a curvy life line, which means you have lots of energy, and the circle here means you've been hospitalized or injured, or you will be…"

Allen snorted softly. "That's an understatement."

Anthea glanced up long enough to meet his eye and then shrugged, before looking back through the book, shifting her focus as the pressure on his hand changed. "This one's the heart line," she said, tracing an impression near the top of his hand. "It's supposed to tell you about your emotions and love life." Tracing it and then looking back at her page she said, "So your heart line is long and a bit curvy, and that's supposed to mean you express yourself openly, but its broken here," she pointed, "and a broken line indicates emotional trauma."

"Open and yet traumatized, how tragic," Allen said drily, and she snorted softly before moving on.

"So, this one," she said, tracing another crease below the heart line, "is called the head line, and it's meant to tell you about your intelligence and how you communicate. See, it's a very deep line, which means your thinking is clear and focused, but you have a lot of little lines criss-crossing over it, which means you will make some pretty big decisions in your life."

Allen remained quiet.

She went on, tracing a fourth line. "This is called the fate line. According to the book not everyone has one."

"Should I feel honored?" Allen quipped. He wasn't sure why this reading was making him so cranky, and why he couldn't seem to rein it in. Maybe it was the incense; maybe it was a leftover from earlier. Another headache was building from the stink of incense and it was making his already bad mood worse.

Anthea glanced up at him, frowning irritably at his tone, and then shook her head. "It's just wrinkles in your hands," she said stiffly. Allen sighed and shut his mouth.

"So," she continued, determined to get her part of the assignment over, "yours is actually pretty deep, so that's supposed to mean that you're strongly controlled by fate, but it also changes direction a lot too—see how it looks a bit lightning-shaped?" He nodded, glancing at his hand, watching and feeling as she traced the line, which did indeed zigzag across his hand. "That's supposed to mean that others' actions have a big influence on changes in your life."

"Your life is not your own," essentially. The thought chilled Allen.

This was why he didn't like fortune tellers. Any kind of soothsaying was, for him, to be avoided and ignored. He made his own fate—the philosophy taught to him by Mana, to keep moving forward, revolved around the idea that only his own actions determined where he ended up in life. He liked this way of thinking; it was often the only thing that kept him going.

He schooled his face, pulling his irritation back from the surface with effort.

At that moment Trelawney came over to check their progress. "Good references from the texts, dear," she said to Anthea, who simply nodded in acknowledgement, "but what does your inner eye tell you about this boy? You cannot simply believe the words on the page; what do your instincts say?"

"Yes, professor," Anthea said dutifully, but one glance and Allen could tell she bought into this stuff as much he did. He drew his hand away from hers and straightened up in his chair, watching her.

"Well, go on, dear," Trelawney said in encouragement. Anthea looked over at Allen, meeting his eyes, then her glance going to his scar and his hair.

"He's…eh, defensive, which I suppose means he has a reason to be…" she swallowed, determined not to meet Allen's eyes, "and that scar…you had a hard time in the past, right? At some point…and, uh…"

Allen looked over to Trelawney. "This has been very enlightening," he said, his tone dry as sandpaper, "but I should go." So much for reining in the irritation.

"Have you read both hands, Ms. Frowley?" Trelawney asked, and Anthea shook his head.

Okay, that was it, he was out of here. Coming to his feet he grabbed his coat and with a tight smile said, "I just remembered; I have to be someplace. Thanks for your time."

Trelawney reached over and grabbed his arm—something he was certain no teacher besides his master could actually get away with, and tugged it back. By now the whole class was watching, seeing what the school's strange guest was doing and how Trelawney would react.

"I would like to see your other hand, Mr. Walker."

"I'd rather you didn't."

"Please."

"I said no."

The room had gone quiet.

He didn't understand why he was so freaked out at the idea of this woman looking at his hand, but he didn't need her to see it and he was already well aware of what "fate" had in store for him. He didn't need some wannabe Hevlaska telling him all about it.

"There is darkness in your aura, boy," she said, her voice loud in the quiet room. "Darkness and confusion. There is also determination, and a desire for change." She looked at him, that bug-eyed stared boring into him. It was more than uncomfortable.

Allen stared back, his expression and voice harsh. "You can probably say that to any sixteen-year-old and be right. Good day." He moved away, Tim hovering back, not following. Allen noticed and stopped, gesturing at the golem.

"Come on Tim, we need to go."

The golem hovered by Trelawney. Allen was not amused. "Timcampy, come on."

Tim grew in size and rushed Allen, chomping down on the arm that went up to protect Allen's head.

"OW!" he cried out, pushing Tim off his while the golem hovered by, teeth bared and flying behind Allen to push him toward Trelawney. The professor and students watched with interest, the students already intent on telling their friends what they witnessed as they were watching.

"Fine, fine, get off!" Allen snapped and took a step back into the classroom, glaring at the golem. "Why are you going along with this?" he muttered irritably. The golem growled and Allen looked over at Trelawney.

She held a hand out and he sighed, putting his hand in front of his. Trelawney took it and rolled up his sleeve, revealing to his elbow the blackened arm.

The class broke into murmurs, and Allen stared at Trelawney as if daring her to say anything about it. She carefully stepped forward, examining it and giving a good, long stare at the green cross embedded on the back of his hand, tracing the tips of her fingers over his shingled knuckles. Then she turned his hand over, examining the lines and ridges, tracing them and nodding to herself. "Yes, oh my," she muttered a few times, too low to be heard by anyone except Allen.

Impatient with the whole thing he withdrew his arm and rolled the sleeve down, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Satisfied?" he snapped, the irritation and violation of his privacy pulling away the polite mask he normally maintained. It was the first time in a long time he'd felt this way, all his frustration so close to the surface.

She looked up at him, her face much closer than he liked, and she stared in silence for just a moment before speaking. "Oh my boy, my dear boy," she said, her voice grave and soft, "what a future that awaits you."

"I know all that," he replied, his voice hard and quiet.

"There is more than meets the eye, here," she said, her voice still dreamy. "You are older in spirit than in years."

"It's the hair, isn't it," Allen remarked dully. Someone chuckled.

But Trelawney just shook her head. "There is more to your story than your years count for. They count high." She frowned, just slightly, as if concentrating. "Time around you…it isn't right."

Allen frowned, wondering what the hell she meant by that. Then he shook his head and stepped back.

"The darkness within you," she called out, "you are trying to remove it."

He stopped and turned, glaring at her. She shook her head, the look on her face full of pity. "My boy, you cannot. You welcomed it inside yourself; you cannot go back from that decision."

The words were out before he could stop them, cold and full of fury: "You don't know shit. And I refuse to lie down and accept other people's ideas on what I can or can't do. Goodbye," he growled with finality.

"Mr. Walker—" Trelawney called, but Allen didn't wait to hear her out and walked out quickly, Timcampy glancing back to Trelawney before flying after him.

I'm never coming back up here, he thought darkly. Glancing at Tim, who flew a ways behind him and seemed oddly sheepish, he glared and snapped, "What the hell did you make me stay for?"

The golem, of course, couldn't answer.

xox

Allen slumped down into his seat at dinner, pulling food onto his plate with less gusto than usual.

"Why so glum, Allen?" Luna asked from across the table.

He glanced up at her and then back at his food. "Rough day, that's all."

"You mean with Snape and Trelawney?"

Allen groaned. "The rumor mill around here is amazing."

Luna chuckled. "You're entertaining," she said simply. "At least, you're something new to talk about."

Allen ripped his roll apart, buttering it. "You guys have other things going on in your lives, right? Why bother talking about mine?"

Luna didn't reply. Allen meant it rhetorically anyway.

Hermione came over, sitting down beside Luna but not grabbing anything to eat. She looked straight at Allen and said, "You got into trouble."

Allen groaned. "I don't go looking for it, you know."

"I have a hard time believing that," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "You couldn't have gone to the library or just found some corner to hole up in."

"It was one class, and I got lost," Allen shot back. "And anyway, I know one more place to avoid, so it's not a big deal, is it?"

"It would make staying here easier for you if you kept your head down," she said emphatically.

"Kept my head down?" Allen replied incredulously. "Hermione, have you seen my head? It's a great white 'Look at me!' sign!"

"Oh be serious," she countered.

Allen sighed tiredly, turning to Luna with a silent plea for help.

"Hermione," Luna said, her voice the usual serene tone, "Allen's right. Let it go. Besides, there are other things to worry about, aren't there?"

Hermione sighed heavily, slumping forward. After a moment she looked back up at Allen. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

After a moment, Allen replied, "I'm sorry, too."

Luna glanced between the two, her expression faintly surprised. Hermione looked at Allen, eyes widened slightly in surprise at the apology. After a moment, she nodded in acceptance.

The three ate in silence after that. Luna glanced between Allen and Hermione, the corners of her mouth lifting in a small, pleased smile. "Hermione, have you asked anyone to go with you to Slughorn's party yet?" she asked.

Hermione looked up from her soup, her expression a bit blank, before she groaned softly, shaking her head. Swallowing, she replied, "It's completely slipped my mind. Can you believe it?"

Luna chuckled. "It's a bit hard to, I admit. So? Candidates?"

Hermione hummed thoughtfully.

Allen, stuffed and tired, took the opportunity to slip away, stealing some bread rolls as he did. He spent the rest of the night in his room, reading Hagrid's book of fairy tales, trying to forget the events of the day. He fell asleep early and for once dreamt of nothing at all.