"Talking/Dialogue"

Thoughts/Spells

'Quotes'

Writing/Text

Tom/Diary

Foul Sensations

Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch

Saturday

September 5th, 1992

A groggy Harry slowly made his way onto the Quidditch pitch, joining the rest of his team, who were in no better condition than him. Every single one of them looked like they would rather be under the warm covers of their bed than be out here at the crack of dawn in this cold weather. Even Fred and George, who were beside him, seemed to lack their usual liveliness.

The captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Oliver Wood, currently stood with his arms crossed on the edge of the pitch, a look of intensity on his face. He was perhaps the only one who didn't seem to mind the time or the climate; in fact, he probably saw it as another form of training.

"Tell us again why you had to schedule practice so early," Angelina Johnson asked as soon as she stopped slightly in front of him. Flanking her were the other two chasers, Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet.

"I want us to win the cup, and for that to happen, we need to be the best versions of ourselves," Oliver gestured to the pitch behind him. "And all that starts here. If we show more desire than every other team, I have no doubt we'll be lifting the trophy come the end of the year."

Both Fred and George spoke up.

"Either that, or we'll be dead."

"Knowing Ollie, probably dead."

"Stop!" Alicia Spinnet cut in. "It's way too early for me to have to deal with you two. Wood, did you run this by Professor McGonagall?"

Oliver nodded, a satisfied grin on his face.

"She said it was fine as long as we didn't hinder other teams from using the pitch."

"Ugh, fine." Alicia crossed her arms, receiving a pat of consolation from Katie Bell, who had been quiet the entire time.

Angelina rubbed at her face tiredly before facing Oliver.

"So, what are we doing this morning? Are we running drills?"

"Before I tell you what we're doing this morning, I want to give you these," Oliver pulled a stack of parchment before handing them out one to each person. "I devised a new training schedule for the team, along with specific ones for each member. Took me the entire summer to make these."

Harry looked over his unique schedule, keeping an ear on his captain as he explained the details. His eyes widened as he went down the piece of parchment in his hands.

"The team training will mainly consist of tactics and drills with some exercises. These individual schedules will get you all in the best physical condition possible. So, I want you to follow them as best you can."

He's insane! Almost every day of the week from now until the end of the school year has me doing some form of training!

"Wood, this is crazy! How can you expect us to do this?!" Angelina was the first to voice what everyone else was thinking, an incredulous look on her face.

"Yeah! This practically leaves me with no free time!"

Oliver was unmoved by the reactions of his teammates, sending each of them a stern look. Despite wanting to continue their protest, they quieted down at the captain's serious face.

"I said, 'as best you can.' I'm not demanding you follow it rigidly," He said. "Just try it out for the next couple of weeks, as I really feel this will help us be better for Quidditch. If you feel it's still too much, I'll modify it. Deal?"

Looking at the parchment in his hand, Harry read over the day-by-day details for the next couple of weeks. There was no denying it would be challenging, not to mention physically demanding.

But I could try. If I want to be great, I have to be the best I can be in everything I do, including this.

"Deal," Harry said out loud, drawing everyone's attention. "I'll try it out, starting today."

Oliver's stern look was replaced by an enthusiastic grin at his words.

"Then you'll start by doing six laps around the pitch."

Shit

Breathing harshly with tired and heavy legs, Harry started his final lap around the pitch. On the other side of the field, he could barely make out the figure of Katie, who was the only other member of the team yet to finish other than him. He wasn't that surprised they were the last ones, with them being the youngest members.

I imagine I'd be even further behind if it weren't for Dudley and his friends chasing me around when I was younger. Probably the nicest thing they've ever done for me.

Oliver had explained to the team his reasoning for the laps once the protests began again. Improving their cardio extensively would make them better prepared to handle high-flying speeds during a match.

Harry was highly motivated when he started the first lap, but that motivation had dwindled by the fourth. Only his determination kept his legs moving. His legs were simply unaccustomed to exerting this type of effort for an extended period of time.

Results wouldn't be instantaneous or easily noticeable, the improvements he made would be small in the short term. It would be a long, daily struggle that would require discipline and a sheer will to improve.

And Harry desired to improve himself.

As he made his way around the final corner of the pitch, stumbling just a bit, he mustered up whatever energy he had left for one last sprint. Just the length of the field remained, and he wanted to finish strong. Sweat dripped down his forehead despite the cold, some making their way into his eyes, causing them to sting. Harry blinked rapidly, trying his best to ignore the burning sensation as he ran as fast as possible.

Come on. Come on. Come on!

With a triumphant roar, he reached the end field, joining the rest of the team, who gave him pats on the back as he slowed, not that he noticed. Harry was too busy trying to regain control of his breathing, his hands on his shaky knees.

He had just about regained control of it when he felt the cold splash of water against his face, causing him to sputter.

"Just under forty minutes, not bad, Harry," Oliver said, pointing his wand toward him. "Wants some more water?"

Harry shook his head, wiping his face with one of his shirt sleeves.

"Not if you're the one giving it."

Oliver shrugged before his face tightened, his eyes looking at something behind Harry. The sound of chattering reached his ears, the volume of it increasing, causing him to turn around to see who had arrived.

It only took a split second for him to identify them as the Slytherin Quidditch team, decked out in their green practice robes. He recognized Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, and Miles Bletchley from the previous year but was surprised to find Draco among them, all of them holding a Nimbus 2001s in their hands. His surprise must have shown on his face as the blonde smirked at him.

"Might as well wave any chance you have at the cup goodbye. My father bought myself and my new teammates the best broom on the market, as a congratulations," Draco said. "Told you to keep an eye out, Harry."

Harry recovered quickly.

"Was that before or after you tried out for the team?"

Marcus was the one to answer.

"After. Draco here is a much better flyer than Terence," Marcus sent Harry a condescending look. "Potter here is going to find catching the Snitch a lot more challenging than before."

"Yet, the match is going to end the same way it did last year," Oliver said, glowering at the other team captain. "The snakes scurrying away after another loss to the lions."

The reminder of last year's loss seemed to annoy Flint, who stepped up to Oliver and stood his ground. Pucey and Bletchley flanked their captain, an action mirrored by the Weasley twins, who moved beside their own.

"That's some bold words there, Wood. Tell me, how many Quidditch Cups have you won so far? How many have the twins?"

"That's going to change this year. There's no doubt that by the end of this year, Gryffindor will be lifting that Cup."

"If you guys are quite done with your pissing contest, I need to go," Angelina cut in, walking up to the older boys. "Do the talking on the pitch where it matters."

She started making her way back to the castle after that, Katie and Alicia right behind her.

Harry turned to look at Draco, who had been watching the confrontation amusedly.

"What she said," He said to the blonde. "I hope you're as good as you say you are. I'd like something resembling a challenge before I end up catching the Snitch."

"The only way you catch the snitch before me is if I somehow end up with no arms. Even then, it would be close."

Harry just laughed before making his way back toward the castle. The hostility might have vanished between the pair, but their competitiveness was still there. This year's Quidditch matches could prove interesting if Draco was as good as he said he was.

The trek up back toward the stone fortress was much slower than it usually was, each step he took required a considerable amount of effort. It wasn't long before he was joined by Fred and George, one on each side of him, looking in good spirits despite their disheveled appearance.

"Ron had mentioned you were now friends with Malfoy."

"Didn't believe it, to be perfectly honest."

"Thought he was pranking us for that fake spell we taught him in his first year."

"Not really a good prank, is it?"

"Not at all. Might have to show little Ronnie boy how it's done."

"Not too harsh, though," The one on his right said, arching an eyebrow as they looked at Harry. "Turns out he was telling the truth."

Harry sighed tiredly.

"Yeah, he was. Doesn't like it, though."

"Ron can get pretty stubborn in his opinions of certain people, and those aren't likely to change anytime soon," The one on his left pitched in.

"You can be friends with whomever you feel like, Harrikins. Just remember the type of people the Malfoys are," The both of them patted his shoulder." Be careful with the people you choose to be around."

The twins left Harry after that bit of advice, heading off in a different direction and leaving Harry alone as he slowly made his way back toward the Gryffindor dorms.

Why does it have to be on the seventh floor?

Seventh Floor Practice Room

Sunday

September 6th, 1992

Hidden under his invisibility cloak, Harry slowly made his way inside the practice room, wincing as he did so. The running Oliver had him do left his body feeling awfully sore, more than he was used to. The only thing that could compare was his first practice with the team last year, and even then, it hadn't left him as physically drained as it did now.

Harry made his way toward the desk in the corner of the large room, the layout identical to when he had first found the room. He set his book bag down on the desk, which he had remembered to bring along with him, before collapsing onto the chair beside it.

Hermione had been quite concerned when she had noticed his haggard appearance the moment he had walked into the common room, even more when he had stumbled slightly on his way toward the stairs that led toward the boy's dormitory.

Harry had managed to explain why he was in such a condition, earning a look of understanding from the girl. She proceeded to give him a rundown of why his body felt like that and told him his body would get used to it.

When Hermione had told him he would be feeling sore for the next couple of days, he had nearly wept. And when he had asked her if there was a way to treat soreness, she had shaken her head.

She knew of a healing spell, 'Episkey,' that could heal minor injuries, but it wasn't taught until fifth year, and she wasn't sure it would work for muscle soreness. A pepper-up potion could possibly work, as it could treat the common cold and its symptoms, but it wasn't easy to brew.

Harry had suggested asking Madam Pomfrey if she could give him some before Hermione shot that idea down. She thought Harry could survive a few days of being sore. He wasn't sure he could, but feeling too tired to convince her otherwise, he had decided to drop the matter.

Despite feeling tired, he had done his best to go about the rest of his day. It wasn't until he had gone to bed that his soreness interfered with what he wanted to do. He had grown frustrated with his inability to fall asleep, wincing as he tossed and turned on the mattress before finally giving up.

Having nothing better to do and wanting to do something productive at the very least, Harry had decided to head to the Practice Room. And this time, he had brought along his Charms and Transfiguration textbooks, along with the diary.

As Harry sat there, he wondered what to do next. He wanted to improve, of that he was sure, but how to get started had him stumped. The professors decided how and when he learned magic, and if he could, he would go and ask them.

I don't think they'd be too pleased if I came and woke them up to ask how I could learn by myself.

Hermione, he figured, would be willing to help. Harry knew she was eager to learn all she could and regularly read ahead in the textbook. The problem with that was it would draw her attention onto him, something he wasn't keen to do as it would risk exposing the room and the diary.

"The diary…," Harry sat up stiffly, rummaging through his bag for the small black book. It had already helped him by suggesting this room; maybe it could offer some ideas for using it.

Hello, Tom.

Hello, Harry.

I need your help. I'm in the room you told me about, and I want to practice magic here, but I don't know where to start.

What year are you in?

Second year.

And how well-versed are you in the spell work?

I can do some of the spells easily enough.

Are you satisfied with only doing some of them?

Do you expect me to be able to cast all of it? I'm just barely starting my second year.

I could. By the end of my second year, I was already covering fourth-year material and soon mastering the spells within.

It wasn't shocking to find out Tom had started learning material from the upper years. Hermione, he knew, didn't hide the fact that she read on ahead in their textbooks. What was surprising was that Tom had advanced even further than that, not only reading but also casting the spells.

A feeling of inadequacy enveloped him the longer Harry stared at the words. With his friend, he didn't mind as much, attributing it to different upbringings. She had shared some of her experiences growing up, on how her parents had encouraged her inquisitive nature, a stark contrast to the Dursleys, who had done the exact opposite with him.

But here was someone like him. An orphan. Who had the same desire to be great and had put in the effort to do just that. Harry wanted to be like that. He wanted to be like Tom.

I'm not satisfied with just some. How do I master all of it, like you?

Repetition. Practice the spells until you gain the ability to cast them instinctively.

Just constant practice? That's it?

It may sound simple, but how much time do you spend practicing magic outside the classroom?

Not much.

Your magic should be used more. Magic WANTS to be used. The more you use it and push yourself and your magic, the better.

The professors say we shouldn't push ourselves too much, or else we risk Magical Exhaustion.

Professors at Hogwarts can be rather…narrow-minded in how students learn magic. They adhere to a strict method that inhibits the potential of some students. Magic is adaptable. If the practitioner wants to use it more often, it will compensate by growing stronger.

It sounded a bit like a muscle, Harry thought to himself. Oliver and later Hermione had mentioned how pushing the muscles in the body caused them to improve. If someone constantly pushed them past their limits, they would break down before building themselves back stronger.

I understand.

Magic can accomplish extraordinary things, but only if you push its boundaries. Remember that.

I will. Thank you, Tom.

I exist to help the owner.

Harry returned the diary to his bag, switching it out for his Charms and DADA textbooks. He took his time reading through both, keeping to the sections he had already covered in class the previous year. He attempted to pay extra attention to the wand movements and incantation, trying to commit them to memory.

After spending a considerable amount of time doing that, Harry slowly made his way over to the open area where the wooden dummies were, wand in hand. He was going to start with one of the first spells he learned.

"Wingardium Leviosa," He said after performing the proper wand movements, pointing at one of the dummies. He planned to lift it up and back down repeatedly while keeping count of the times the action was performed. A simple plan, but Harry figured he had to start somewhere.

It lifted off from the floor slowly, inching toward the ceiling under the careful control of Harry, who then guided it back down. The action was repeated multiple times until he eventually started to feel a slight strain from within him, around the thirty mark.

He didn't stop, however, doing his best to keep the dummy moving up and down. By the time he reached the fifty-fifth repetition, Harry was breathing heavily through gritted teeth. As time passed, the strain became even more noticeable, so much so that his wand arm began to shake, and sweat started to form on his forehead.

Setting the dummy down with a loud thump, he kneeled in relief, taking mouthfuls of air as he rested. That had been more difficult than he had imagined, especially around the end.

And I'm supposed to do this until I'm magically exhausted.

While he had started to feel the strain, it didn't feel like his magic was completely depleted, only less…present inside of him than before, which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good, because it meant he had a fairly decent amount of magic, or at least he assumed he did. Bad because it would be a while until he reached exhaustion at the rate he was going.

Harry eyed the dummy he had used between the other copies, casting an eye over them as well.

"I could try to lift another one at the same time."

Standing up straight, he concentrated on what he wanted to do before casting the levitation charm once more, this time with two targets in his mind.

Immediately, Harry felt the difference in exertion, grunting as he tried to lift the pair. The fine control that he had when it was a single dummy wasn't there, the movements jankier and rougher. And it had taken him a lot longer to raise them and with more effort to complete one repetition.

After taking a moment to regain control of his breathing, Harry set himself to do it again, not feeling satisfied with just that. The drain on his magic was more noticeable as he practiced, and his concentration began to waver as time passed. It got to a point where he could barely lift the dummies a foot into the air before they dropped back toward the floor.

Collapsing onto his knees, gasping for air, Harry felt utterly drained.

"That's…it…that's…my…limit."

Only then did Harry realize how drenched in sweat he was, his shirt sticking to his torso with how wet it was. Scrunching his nose up in disgust, he made to stand up, his legs shaking as he did so.

As he stumbled his way back toward the chair by the desk, an intense, piercing sensation emerged from his forehead, centered around his scar. The pain was so sudden and severe that Harry dropped to his knees with a yell, clutching at his head.

In an instant, the pain was dulled, a warmth soon enveloping his body that allowed him to regain his bearings, a faint pounding in his head still present.

What was that?

Before he could start to wonder about the sudden bout of pain, Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, causing him to tense. His heart, which had slowed down to a slower pump, began pounding rapidly in his chest once more, ringing in his ears in the quiet of the room.

Standing up slowly, he stayed facing in one direction, not wanting to turn around. A gut feeling he had was telling him someone other than him was inside this room and, at the moment, was right behind him.

How though?! I was the only one to come in. I made sure of it!

Harry would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid. Whoever was behind him was dangerous, that much he could tell. He didn't know how he knew; he just did. Maybe it was human instinct, perhaps it was his magic, but whatever it was, it was telling him that the best thing to do at this moment was to stay perfectly still.

He nearly gasped when the sound of muttering reached his ears before footsteps echoed behind him, growing fainter with each step. The menacing sensation that had him frozen in fear slowly diminished, allowing him to relax a touch.

Being able to think more clearly, Harry palmed his wand, holding it firmly in his hand. Spinning on the spot, he pointed his wand out in front of him, a spell on his lips before stopping suddenly.

There was no one there.

Harry stood there stiffly, eyes darting across the room, looking for any hint of another presence other than him. Only when the sensation of danger vanished did he allow himself to relax, releasing a deep breath as he did.

Exhaustion slammed into him after a moment, the adrenaline wearing off, leaving Harry to suffer through the effects of the night's activities. He forced himself toward the chair with a pained groan, dropping unceremoniously into it. His body had not an ounce of strength left, and his mind lacked the clarity it usually had.

"I really could use a Pepper-Up potion right now," Harry said, eyes closed in fatigue. A gentle thump on the desk in front made him open his eyes minutely after a moment before they snapped fully open once he caught sight of the source of the noise.

The very potion he had wished for had just appeared on the desk, its red liquid shimmering through the glass vial.

Hesitantly, Harry reached for it, the peppery smell hitting his nose. Not needing any more prompting, he drank it, alertness and energy rushing through his body before a cloud of steam blew out of his ears.

"I wouldn't mind having another one," He asked hopefully, grinning ear to ear when another one appeared, this one going into his bag for safekeeping.

"This is one wicked practice room," Harry said aloud before gathering his belongings to head back towards his dormitory. As he made to step out, though, he lingered for a moment before glancing back at the room. The memory of what had transpired was still fresh in his mind.

Harry soon left, wand firmly grasped in his hand and staying there until he stepped into the common room.

Professor McGonagall's Office

Sunday

September 6th, 1992

Harry knocked lightly on the door to Professor McGonagall's office, opening it once he heard her permission to enter. He offered her a small smile as he walked toward her desk, feeling just a tad bit nervous.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter," She greeted him, gesturing for him to sit. "How has the first week of classes been for you? Any difficulties?"

"Everything's been fine, I suppose. Our first Quidditch practice was more physically demanding than last year."

The moment Harry had woken up, he had felt the ache in his body, though it wasn't as much as he had anticipated considering the extra training he had done. The Pepper-Up he had stored in his bag soon dealt with the remnants of his fatigue, giving him the energy needed for the rest of the day.

"And how do you feel about that?" She asked. "Do you think you can manage following the demanding schedule Mr. Wood developed? I know how…fanatical he can become."

Harry nodded.

"I know I want to try. I believe I'll be able to manage."

Especially if the room can provide me with potions.

McGonagall nodded after a moment before her expression softened.

"Your father was much the same, particularly regarding anything related to Transfiguration."

He perked up at that. "Was it his favorite subject?"

"It was. He had the willingness to try; the prospect of failure didn't scare him at all. James was very passionate about learning everything he could, and as fast as he could, far outpacing most of his peers."

"Including my mother? People say she was the brightest witch of her age."

"Lily was extremely talented in all facets of magic. There's no doubt she was. She was the best of her year in each of the subjects while attending Hogwarts, except Transfiguration, to her annoyance."

"Annoyed? For my father being better than her?"

"Lily had no problems with someone being better than her. She was too kind of a person to feel upset over being bested," McGonagall seemed to hesitate a bit. "What she didn't like was who was better than her."

Harry's forehead scrunched in confusion.

"My father?"

"To be honest with you, Lily simply couldn't stand him. She found him to be arrogant and boastful, and that opinion of James didn't change for the majority of her time at Hogwarts."

He stared open-mouthed at his professor, shocked at the revelation. The picture of his parents dancing joyfully together flashed in his mind. He remembered vividly the love they had in their eyes as they twirled around one another, the memory clashing with the words he had just heard.

McGonagall understood his feelings as she gave him time to process the information. She felt it best to tell the boy sooner rather than later before he started developing an image of his parents that wasn't true.

Harry looked at her again after a while, a questioning look on his face with a hint of uncertainty.

"Everyone always says what a great man my father was…was that not true?"

Her face grew serious at his question.

"Listen to me, and listen to me well, Mr. Potter. Your father was loyal, honorable, and above all, a good man. Never doubt that," Her face softened once again. "Lily Evans fell in love with the man he grew to be."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself from the whirlwind of emotions he had just felt.

They loved each other. My mother just didn't like the boy he was.

"My father became a good man…but does that mean he was arrogant when he was younger? Was what my mother thought of him true?"

She nodded without hesitation.

"He had a very high opinion of himself, that was evident to everyone once he arrived at Hogwarts. And that was due to his upbringing."

"His upbringing? I know he was a pureblood…was it because of that?"

"It had to do more with how James was raised by his parents, particularly by his mother. I believe you are somewhat familiar with the type of person your grandmother was."

Harry nodded in confirmation. He was starting to get an idea of where she was leading with this.

"Much like how your father grew to be a better person, Dorea did as well, to a lesser extent. Her sense of superiority lessened around seventh year, to the point that I even started to consider her a friend of mine. After we graduated, we kept in contact with one another, and occasionally I visited her and Charlus at Potter Manor."

That's right. The goblin at Gringotts had mentioned something about properties I owned. This might be one of them.

"Does that mean you knew my father when he was a kid," He asked.

"I knew him since he was still a wee babe, a rather mischievous one, I must say. I had a feeling he would prove to be a handful once he started attending Hogwarts, a feeling that proved to be right," She shook her head exasperatedly.

"You could tell that from just visiting?"

"It was rather noticeable. One could even see the mischief in his eyes if you paid close enough attention. That was quite clear to me. As well as how much Dorea doted on him."

"You think she was the reason why he ended up like that?"

She nodded assuredly.

"James was the light of her eye. And when he started showing hints of real magical talent at a young age, she became even prouder of him. She never missed an opportunity to boast about her boy."

Like Petunia with Dudley…ugh.

"What about my grandfather?" Harry asked. "Did he act the same way?"

"Charlus tried to be strict, but his efforts in humbling his son before he started attending Hogwarts brought little success."

A knock on the front door drew both of their attention. Professor Flitwick appeared at the door, offering the pair a beaming smile.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter. Minerva. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?"

"I was just regally Mr. Potter here with some of my experiences with his parents and grandparents," She arched an eyebrow at her colleague. "What can I do for you, Filius?"

The Charms professor gained a look of excitement at her words before it was replaced by a slightly apologetic one. He turned to face Harry.

"Then I must apologize for having to cut this personal matter short," Flitwick turned to McGonagall. "I just passed by Dumbledore, who let me know that he's calling a staff meeting to begin in twenty minutes in his office."

Professor McGonagall developed a frown on her face.

"It's unlike him to call one so suddenly. It must be important."

She turned to Harry.

"I'm afraid that's as much as I can tell you. At least for today," She said. "Perhaps we can talk more another time. When that might be, though, I cannot say."

Harry gave her an understanding smile.

"I'll look forward to it either way."

She gave him a gentle look as he stood up.

"Now, off you go. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday."

Harry waved goodbye to both his professors as he made his way out of the room.

He would like nothing more than to take the rest of the day off, but he promised Hermione he would study with her. With a sigh, he made his way to go and find her.

First stop, the library.

Dumbledore's Office

Sunday

September 6th, 1992

Albus greeted each member of the Hogwarts staff as they made their way into his office, some takings seats around his desk, but most preferring to stay standing, throwing glances at Professor Trelawney, who was standing beside him. He gestured to the bowl of lemon drops on his desk, offering them to his colleagues, though none showed the barest hint of interest in taking one.

Shame.

Instead, seriousness was the most prevalent emotion he could gather from their faces, along with simple curiosity. That wasn't surprising to him, as he tended to call meetings at the end of the month, never one only a week into the term. Even the portraits of the previous headmasters housed attentive faces.

"Good afternoon," Albus began. "I am aware that this meeting was called rather suddenly, and I offer my apologies if I have disrupted any of your plans for today."

"None at all, Headmaster," Gilderoy Lockhart was the first to speak up, plastering a charming smile on his face. "I'm always willing to take time out of my busy schedule to lend my help for whatever you might need. I'm sure my fellow professors would as well."

Albus, with his experience, managed to suppress the frown that began forming on his face, settling on giving the newest addition to the Hogwarts staff a strained smile. At the beginning of the previous summer, he once again found himself in need of a new Defense Against The Dark Arts professor and put out a notice to fill the position. Only one application made its way onto his desk, and unfortunately, he found himself having to accept it, a decision he had no doubt would be a source of headaches in the future.

"Contrary to what you just said," Severus spoke up, having no reservations at sneering in the direction of Lockhart. "I'm in the process of brewing a rather complex potion. Headmaster, I would…appreciate it if you got straight to the matter."

"I would appreciate it as well, Albus," Minerva said.

Seeing the nods of agreement from the rest, Albus gestured to the Divination professor on his left.

"Just a short while ago, Sybill came to inform me of a serious matter. I feel it best if she recounts what transpired."

The woman seemed startled as she became the center of attention, appearing more frazzled than usual. The mystical aura she wore around herself was nonexistent at the moment, being replaced by nervousness and a hint of paranoia.

"I was dreaming," She started. "Dreaming of Hogwarts. It looked as wonderful as ever. I could feel the magic held within these walls, so vibrant and full of life. But then came the darkness…."

Sybill took a shuddering breath, shivering despite the warmth in the room.

"The darkness started to spread, slowly at first, before it grew stronger. I could feel it draining the magic from Hogwarts, and I began to panic, fearing for my own magic!"

Her raspy voice, which had been weak at the beginning, grew in intensity by the end of it.

"Even as I awakened, the feeling of dread remained. I felt as if a predator had set their eyes upon me, on their prey. Despite the fear I felt, I consulted my inner eye, seeking to find the cause for such a foul dream."

"And what did your inner eye tell you, Sybill?" Flitwick asked, an uncharacteristically serious look on his face. Even Minerva, who normally was quite skeptical of Divination, gave the woman her full attention.

Sybill shook her head slightly.

"Nothing I could decipher, at least not anytime soon," She said. "But I got the impression that dark magic is here at Hogwarts. That and…"

She trailed off at the end, shrinking into herself before a small whimper escaped her mouth. Pomona made her way toward her, offering her support and earning a look of gratitude from the woman.

Sybill seemed to draw courage from the other woman and continued from where she had left off after getting a nod from Albus.

"A b-babe in a mother's arms. So innocent and precious…being shielded by the mother from a serpent baring its fangs, b-but the babe had puncture marks on its small hand."

Her words produced looks of discomfort and unease from the other adults in the office.

Albus nodded appreciatively at Sybill, who found herself being guided to sit down by the Herbology Professor. He turned to the others, his look conveying the seriousness of the matter.

"Regardless of what you might think of Divination, I urge all of you to exercise a degree of caution and to pay extra attention to the events happening inside these walls. Is that understood?"

After giving their affirmations, most of the staff left only Severus and Minerva inside the office alongside him. The Potions Master wasted no time speaking up, walking up to his desk.

"Albus—"

"My position doesn't change, Severus," He cut in, unperturbed by the frown he received. Minerva made her way toward the desk as well, raising an eyebrow as she looked between the pair of them.

"And this is concerning what, may I ask?" She said, looking at Albus specifically.

"I'm sure you're aware of the new friendship that has developed between Harry and Draco. Severus, here, believes it is best to put a stop to that. Something I'm not entirely convinced is the best course of action."

"And I agree. For the moment, it would be best if we let things run their course. It's not the first time a Slytherin was friends with a Gryffindor," She turned to look at Severus. "As I'm sure you're well aware.

A slight tensing in his posture was the only indication he gave that her words had gotten under his skin.

Not particularly keen on seeing them argue in front of him, Albus drew their attention back onto himself.

"Sybill's words are not a matter of great concern, at least for the moment. That may change in the future, but for the moment, I suggest you merely keep an eye on the situation."

His words did not seem to satisfy Severus, based on the sneer that appeared on his face, but he nodded in acceptance. Minerva did as well with less reluctance, and the pair of them soon departed his office, returning to their duties.

Now alone in his office, Albus relaxed into his chair with a deep sigh. Already, he could feel the troubles this year would bring him, along with all the stress.

Perhaps it was nothing more than a bad dream that she had.

He chuckled humorlessly, knowing that his life had never been so simple.

A/N: Apologies for taking an extra week to update. I had most of one typed out, but I wasn't happy with its quality, so I decided to rewrite it. Wanted to show hints of progression in the story, both regarding Harry and other characters.

I will start posting updates on the progression of each chapter on my profile page to show that I am working on it.

Peace.