A/N: Chap 26 review responses are in my forums. Another warning for those who hate the quidditch-intensive chapters-this is a another quidditch-intensive chapter.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight: Visions of Salem

Harry had a vision in the worst possible place—the middle of Divination Class.

He was partnered with Justine Finch-Fletchley, who despite Harry's recent summer growth spurt was still taller than him, performing Crystallomancy. It was a problematic assignment because it required the students to be exceedingly close to each other while staring into the crystal ball. For most, this was not a problem since they were all girls.

For Harry, though, it was an issue. Justine was flushing intensely when Professor Trelawney managed, between unexplained bouts of vociferous swearing, to explain to them the position she wanted them to be in. It was not, as Harry hoped, just leaning from a stool staring into the crystal ball.

No, Trelawney placed mats on the floor with little pillows to prop their heads up, within touching distance of each other, with the globe at their heads. Not only that, but because they were supposed to stare at the globe at the same time, Trelawney had the mats angled so their heads would be within kissing distance. As he got down next to the furiously blushing Justine, Harry wondered why Trelawney just couldn't have placed the mats on opposite side of the globe.

Fortunately, Justine was not a poacher, or at least not yet. At fourteen, she had the whip-slim body of youth, and unlike Lavender Brown or Hermione Granger, she had not really begun developing yet. She was also intensely, painfully shy, and conscious of her height—she was the tallest girl in Fourth Year.

"Take deep breaths when you look into the globe," Trelawney breezily told them. "Bloody bollocks, Ms Goyle, can't you actually lay flat?"

"I am lying flat!" game the deep-voiced response.

"You look like a fucking huffalump!"

"You should talk, you flat-chested cow!"

Justine chuckled while Harry just shook his head. Another difference between Trelawney and real professors was that she did not even bother to maintain control of her class, and never assigned detentions or took points away. Instead, she just cursed at the students.

"Better to be flat than to have a bent spine from carrying around those mountainous mammary glands all the time!" she snapped back. "If you must, raise up the globe then, for Morgana's sake! Alright, children, like I was saying before I was distracted by the huffalump…"

"Cow!"

"…take deep breaths and stare into the crystal. I am going to be burning some incense to place you all into the right frame of mind to better access your inner eye."

Justine's quiet laughter faded into quiet shock as she, Harry and the rest watched Trelawney pile cannabis leaves onto a large silver platter in the centre of the room and then ignite it with her wand. "Blimey," Justine whispered, "is she burning marijuana in class?"

"Not everyone can hear you, Ms Finch-Fletchley," Trelawney said over her shoulder, "can you whisper louder?"

"She's wondering why you're burning marijuana in class, Professor," Parvati Patil said helpfully a few spaces over. She smiled at Justine's glare.

"A very good question, for once," Trelawney said, before pausing to breathe in a lungful of smoke. "Ahh. We are witch-born; marijuana does not have effects on us that it does on Muggles. It does not cause hallucinations, delusions or impaired memory, or else I would not be able to use it here. Rather, for magic users, it induces a sense of lucid calm that is conducive to certain forms of divination, as if you were taking a combination of a calming draught and an ordering potion together. Now, stop talking, you little shites, and breathe."

"I think she's full of dragon dung," Justine whispered, though more softly.

Harry shrugged and stared into the globe as instructed, trying to breathe as shallowly as possible. He felt Justine's breath wash against his, smelling faintly of a breath mint. After a few moments, at a point he could not remember, he stopped trying to breathe shallowly and let the smoke into his lungs.

"Harry," Justine said, still whispering. "Do you remember orientation?"

Without looking at her, he said, "Yeah."

"It felt really nice when you touched me," Justine whispered. "Sometimes I think about that, how nice it felt to be touched by you."

Harry should have felt shocked when she reached out and took his hand in hers, but instead he felt absolutely calm. He felt his magic rushing through to hers and saw as the earthen tones in her chest warmed up to a soft, soothing glow at influx of his magic. "So nice," she whispered. She didn't try looking into his eyes or anything that could be dangerous; instead she laid her head down on the pillow, resting her cheek on the back of his hand, and closed her eyes.

In the crystal ball, he saw her standing by Hermione. The two were outside King's Cross walking together. Behind them came a tall figure in black robes and a silver mask. He paced behind them like a ghost, noticed by no one else. Harry yelled a warning, but the girls could not hear him as the black-cloaked, masked figure brandished a long, wicked-looking knife. He lunched forward and stabbed it into Justine's back; she looked up, her mouth open in a silent scream of shock and pain, as the masked figure shoved it hard and higher into her body.

Hermione turned and cried out as the figure ripped the knife out of Justine's back and slashed it across the other girl's throat with casual, stunning brutality.

Suddenly the globe cracked with a shockingly loud pop. Harry become aware of Justine's worried voice calling his name, followed by the tell-tale agony of a post-vision headache—what he was starting to call in his mind a seer's hangover.

Trelawney and Justine helped him sit up while around him, the rest of the class stared. With shaking hands, Harry reached for the small box of potions he kept in his robe from Madam Pomfrey. Trelawney grabbed it for him, and with surprising competence (probably from experience) removed the proper phial, popped the cork and forced it down his throat.

"What happened?" Justine was asking the professor. "Why did he start shouting at me to run like that?"

Harry, meanwhile, accepted the kerchief from Trelawney and wiped away blood from his nose. He waved away any more help, climbed to his feet and walked away on shaking legs, his hands above his head as he let the pain potion work. To his relief, Trelawney had already opened the tower windows, letting a cold breeze wash out the marijuana smoke.

He turned and saw Justine standing nearby, her cheeks wet and her eyes wide. "Harry?" she said, "Why did you yell at me to run? Who was going to kill me? Please, tell me?"

Behind her, the whole class had risen to its feet and stared intently at him. "I'm sorry, it was just…"

"You broke the globe," Justine said, her voice dropping as she stepped closer. "That means you had a powerful vision. Please. Tell me."

"I saw a man in black robes and a silver mask," Harry said, feeling his stomach twist at the memory. "He had a knife. He…hurt you. That's all I saw."

To his horror, Justine sobbed and stepped back to cover her face, shaking her head. "It can't be."

"Let this be a lesson," Trelawney said in a voice made shockingly loud by the sudden silence. "Visions are not fact, they are probability. The Hall of Prophecy at the Department of Mysteries is filled with failed prophecies that were perfectly valid until someone managed to change the probabilities that drove them. Harry, you had a true vision, but Miss Finch-Fletchley, it is a vision only, not a fact. We will alert the Department of Law Enforcement to let them know that there may be a risk, and see what can be done to mitigate that risk. Now, I think we've had enough teen drama for now. Class is dismissed, please go away."

Harry was the first to grab his satchel and was half-way out of the tower when Justine caught up. "Harry, wait, please!"

Sighing, he slowed to let his fellow Gryffindor catch up. "Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I hate these visions. They hurt and they never show anything good."

She dried her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Harry, please tell me. What did you really see?"

Harry shivered at the vision and found himself looking for blood on her. "I saw you and Hermione walking out of Kings Cross. The man in the mask followed you, but no one seemed to notice him. He stabbed you in the back and then he…" Harry choked a little. "He stabbed you and slashed Hermione's throat. I'm sorry, it's just…"

It's alright, Harry, thank you for telling me," Justine said in a subdued tone. "Do you…can we change it?"

He blinked at her, then shook his head. "It's like Professor Trelawney said, I saw a probability, not a certainty. Now that we know there's a risk, we will change it. We have to. You write to your folks, and we'll do what we have to."

Justine nodded and looked down with a faint blush. Then to his shock, she leaned down slightly because of her height and kissed his cheek before rushing down the steps ahead of him.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Hogwarts had a flying carriage. Harry and the rest of the Quidditch team was actually more excited about the Thestral-drawn flying carriage than they were about the fact that they were going to Salem, Massachusetts, to play the Salem Witch's Institute. Of course, they had to take Harry's word for it, but it was still amazing to them.

Even more amazing was how large the carriage was on the inside. From the outside it looked like an immaculately made four-person carriage with an enclosed driver's seat. On the inside, it looked like the prefect's carriage from the Hogwarts Express, with a snack bar and three rooms with beds for those players who wanted to nap on the way over.

"Be seated, everyone," Dumbledore said. "We will be in transit for only an hour, so please do not get too comfortable."

"An hour to cross the Atlantic?" Angelina asked. "Are we going by Portkey?"

"No, my dear, we are going by thestral," Dumbledore said. "They have ways of getting to places quickly. Now, settle in, we will be taking off in moments."

Indeed, Hagrid was just finishing the harnesses for the four thestrals that would be carrying the fourteen students and Headmaster. When they were done, he did not wait for any signal, but instead gave the lead mare a resounding slap on the hindquarters that sent her charging forward. The other magical creatures surged forward, while inside the students stumbled back into their seats as the carriage took flight.

Almost immediately the world beyond the windows of the carriage blurred as the thestrals accelerated to speeds even Muggle science could not approach yet. "Alright, huddle up," Angelina called. "Let's talk strategy. The Witchers field some of the best Chasers in the world, at least according to the ICW ranking charts, so we have our work cut out for us. Potter, I hope that new strength regimen has started to kick in, because we're going to need you out there like never before."

"I'm not sure I'm stronger—I'm too sore all the time to tell," Harry admitted.

"Then it's working," Cedric said. "Trust me."

They continued to talk strategy until Dumbledore announced they were nearly there. The team broke its huddle and crowded at the window to watch their approach.

The Salem Witch's Institute was housed on a charmed island sitting directly in the centre of Salem Sound, midway between Salem, Marblehead and Endicott College. The school itself was a single building, but was not a castle. Instead, it was a huge, sprawling, New England mansion of wood and stone with more windows and gables than Harry could count at first glance. The mansion was surrounded by a grassy landscape that contained a Quidditch pitch, a small menagerie of magical animals, and greenhouses.

The Salem students had already assembled on the rocky shore of the island, and it was to that stretch of dark green grass that the carriage approached. The landing was surprisingly smooth, all things considered. When at last the carriage came to a stop, Dumbledore looked every player in the eye. "Best behaviour, of course." With that simple admonition, he opened the door and stepped outside.

"Headmistress Franklin!" he said with arms wide in greeting.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," the headmistress said in response. They gave each other a hug, much to the surprise of the watching students. As Harry walked outside, he saw why they risked it. The witch was almost as old as Dumbledore was, with frail, pale skin that shone with the power of her magic.

"Headmistress Elberta Franklin, may I introduce the Hogwarts Dragons. Captain, Cedric Diggory, Chasers, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell and Stephanie Harlow, Beaters, Vincent Crabbe and Gregoria Goyle, and our Seeker, Harry Potter."

As he introduced them, each player in turn bowed from the waist as if to a Dame, which was exactly what the Headmistress of Salem was. The Eastern Confederation of America followed almost the same exactly model England did, with males in the magical congress speaking on behalf of their Coven Dames, while the dames themselves sat in Sabbat.

Two brilliant violet eyes shining with magic studied Harry intently. "Ahh, yes, the prodigy child. A male Omniglot, and tactile Aether. If he could sing and dance, I daresay he'd be perfect."

Harry smiled weakly, but Angelina thought this was hilarious. "Trust us, Headmistress, do NOT ask that boy to sing. It will make your ears bleed."

"Well, perfect is boring I suppose," Franklin said. "Hogwarts students, welcome to Salem Witch's Institute. I would be pleased to walk you to the pitch. After the game, we hope you will join us for a meal before you leave."

"It would be our honour," Dumbledore said. "It has, after all, been too long since we had a chance to speak."

The two ancient witch-born led the way in a patience-stretching walk around the island toward the Quidditch Pitch, while the witches of the institute watched them silently. "Cor blimey," Fred muttered from the reservist squad that never got introduced, "I feel like a bloody piece of meat in front of a pride of lions."

Harry didn't say anything, but he had to agree. The witches watched with such intensity he could feel their magic washing against his. He raised his Occlumency barriers as best he could and wished they were back at Hogwarts, where at least the risks were known.

Eventually, though, they reached the universal familiarity of the Quidditch Pitch. As the visitors, they were given two hours to warm up and familiarize themselves with the facilities. The weather was perfect for Quidditch. It was cool enough to make them want to move without being so cold it was hard to concentrate.

They were just finishing their warm-ups when people started arriving in the stands, which like Hogwarts looked to have recently been expanded to accommodate more spectators. They retreated to their dressing rooms to await the start of the game, listening from inside as the Witchers were introduced.

Their turn came and they flew out in formation, doing the customary lap around the pitch before assuming their spots opposite their opponents.

Harry did not know for sure what he expected, but given that Salem's was an all-girl school, he rather thought the team would be comprised of pretty girls like Katie or Angelina.

Instead, he found himself facing a team of Gregoria Goyles. All seven girls were bigger than he was, with strong arms and legs hidden within their all-black uniforms. Moreover, they looked mean—meaner than the Durmstrang players, easily.

What followed was a rough game easily on par with anything the Slytherins dished out. The Salem players played dirty and rough, but much like the Slytherins they tended to concentrate more on the strength of their play rather than the finesse. While the Hogwarts Chasers were smaller and not nearly as physically strong as their counterparts, they were significantly faster, and more graceful.

For the first hour of play, Salem kept pace with them, but into the second hour Hogwarts started to pull away as their more skillful play overcame the home team's brute force as the Witchers began to tire. Harry did his part, driving the opposing Chasers insane with shouting dives and interceptions in which he'd kick the Quaffle away. Their Seeker was not as well versed in the various roles a Seeker played and could not do the same.

When at last the snitch showed itself into the third hour, Hogwarts had a commanding hundred point lead. Harry easily beat the Salem Seeker, who probably out massed Krum, and Hogwarts finished the game with a resounding victory.

The press conference that followed concentrated mainly on the Americans. One or two reporters asked vague questions about what it was like to visit America which Cedric answered with the appropriate humility and self-confidence that epitomized the British in American minds, and then the rest of the session was spent grilling the girls about the game, and their up-coming match against the all-boys Miskatonic University of Magic.

It felt nice not to be the center of attention, Harry admitted.

The tour of the school was the most enjoyable part of their trip. The school was actually founded by Professor Franklin herself, who it turned out was the granddaughter of the famed American wizard Benjamin Franklin. Given that Franklin evidently left offspring across the country, it was not surprising that one of his daughters would be by a witch, nor the granddaughter that followed.

Headmistress Franklin was born in 1780, four years after the official formation of the United State as a country. She founded the Salem Witch's Institute in 1808 after attending Hogwarts, which was what all upper-class New England witches of the time did. While the school was just a fraction of Hogwarts' age, the house had a feeling of time, patience and class, all of which Harry knew must have come from its one and only headmistress.

The dining hall was simply elegant, lined with mahogany panelling on the walls and ceiling, with glittering chandeliers of Tiffany crystal. Like Hogwarts, the school was divided along the four elemental leanings of magic, with each house named after Native American tribes: Wampanoag, Mohegan, Abenaki and Penobscot. Any of the magical blood of the tribes was absorbed into the immigrant witch-born, who had to be careful to hide themselves from the earliest religious colonists.

The meal was somewhat different than Harry what had experienced before—lobster, crab cakes and thick chowder served in hollowed out loaf of sourdough bread. It was, however, absolutely delicious and he consumed every bite while Franklin and Dumbledore reminisced about the peculiarities of the Nineteenth Century and the first time either of them ever saw a Muggle automobile. Franklin had grand time talking about her passing friendship with Henry Ford.

Midway through the meal, Harry looked up from a delicious pudding to see a girl perhaps his own age or younger walking up to the head table where both Quidditch teams sat on either side of their heads. The girl had dark, almost oil-black skin but startling yellow eyes; she spoke softly to her headmistress before the old witch and Dumbledore both nodded.

With that permission, the young witch walked down the guest table before she stood in front of Harry. "Mr Potter," the girl said in a nervous voice, "my name is Tracy White. I read in the paper a week or so ago that you were a magical Omniglot. I was wondering…could you talk to my pet to find out what's wrong with him? He's not been acting right and I'm worried. The only Omniglot in the States is in San Francisco, and she charges a fortune."

Harry blinked, looked down at Dumbledore, who nodded, and said, "Okay."

To his shock, the girl reached into her black robes and began to produce a prodigious, three-headed snake of at least seven feet in length. He knew from his Care classes that he was looking at a rare, sentient and terribly dangerous snake called a Runespoor. He listened to the three heads hissing irritably at each other before he smiled.

"Well, the two problems are related," he began cautiously. "One, it's a girl. Her names are Stac, Srak and Shak. And she's pregnant. Shak is telling the other two that they're horribly fat, and the other two are threatening to bite Shak off for being…well, I won't translate that. Anyway, if I remember from class, I think she needs heat, water and at least three mice a day until she lays her eggs."

Tracy stared at him with wide yellow eyes. "She's really pregnant?"

"She is. And she's irritable enough at being handled that she might lose her temper. Tracy, I can see you are handling her well, but Runespoors are very, very dangerous. I'd suggest you put her in a large terrarium, and not try handling her again. One bite from Shak and you'll be dead in a minute. And she's seriously thinking about it just because she's irritated."

Still wide-eyed, Tracy nodded and backed away. "Thank you, Mr Potter." Cradling the three-headed snake carefully, the girl ran from the Dining Hall.

"Well, that solves that problem," Headmistress Franklin said. "She's been trying to hide that creature since she arrived back from Burkina Faso, where she spent her summer. Well done, Mr Potter. Well done."

It was a relief to board the carriage and head back to Hogwarts an hour alter. Salem was a nice place to visit, but Harry decided he definitely would not want to live there. There were just too many hungry-looking girls about.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks as always to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading.