A/N: Early posting. Chapter 28 review responses are available in my forums. Additional PSA: Neither this story, nor its author, advocate the use of controlled substances by adults, or especially minors. The use of cannabis in this story is specific and unique to the circumstances of the world itself and is not an endorsement of drug use.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Palm Reading

When Harry and the team arrived home with news of their victory, it was to a raucous celebration. Each house held a party in their individual common rooms.

In the Gryffindor room, Harry accepted a butterbeer and sat next to Neville as the other boy showed off his brand new wand while the open space in front of the fire provided a dance floor for the older students.

Harry listened to Neville with only half a mind, while he also played a game of picking out who was bonded, and who would bond soon. Of the thirty five seventh years in Gryffindor (which was almost as many students as the ENTIRE fourth year class), twelve were boys. Of those twelve boys, ten were already bonded and five were outright married and living in the married wing. Of those who were not married, it was because they were bonded with older witches who were no longer at Hogwarts. Those boys were the ones who danced and flirted the most, simply because there was no danger of accidentally bonding a second time. Second bondings had to be intentional, and the first wife had to play a role, though Harry was not sure what the role was since that was not something covered in Wizarding Life studies (at least not for the boys). All he knew was a second bonding could not occur without the first bondmate's active cooperation.

The sixth year Gryffindors had 30 students, and ten were boys. Of those, five were already bonded, and two of those were married. The three bonded also had older bondmates.

None of the fifth years were married, but there was one boy who was already bonded to a seventh year girl. The two danced, but the boy did not look particularly happy—or at least not as happy as the girl.

"What are you thinking about?"

Harry blinked back his surprise at finding Neville gone, replaced by Hermione Granger. The moment he saw her face, he envisioned it leaning back in shock and horror as blood gushed down the front of her neck. He felt suddenly dizzy with the vision and turned quickly away.

"Harry?" she asked quietly. She did not whisper, but spoke so softly he could barely hear. "Justine told me about what you saw in Divination class. And she also told me what you said to her after."

"I hate visions," Harry muttered.

Hermione settled into the couch beside him. For a panicked second Harry wondered where Neville was, only to see his friend at the snack bar across the common room, refilling his cup with pumpkin juice while talking animatedly with Ron and Seamus about something Harry could only guess at. It felt as if he'd been thrown to the wolves.

"Harry," Hermione said again, "have you…well, have you had visions like these before?"

Frowning at the memories, Harry said, "Yeah."

"What's it like?"

"It's like someone splitting your head open with a garden trowel and pumping it full of images you don't want to see but can't get rid of."

He glanced at her and was surprised to see a look of horror on her face. "I'd read that but… Justine said you were screaming and had a bloody nose, but I…" She faltered. Her soft voice turned tiny as she stared apprehensively at him. "You saw a Death Eater hurting us both, right?"

"Yeah."

Hermione looked down at her hands, which were folded into each other. It shocked Harry to see how thin her fingers were. "Do you play piano?"

She blinked and looked back up. "How did you know?"

"You have a pianist's fingers, like our music teacher back in primary."

She smiled weakly, but refused to be side tracked. "Harry, do you think You-Know-Who is really dead?"

"Well, yeah, I spoke to his ghost first year. The problem is I don't think he's going to stay dead."

Once again she stared at him in horror. "His ghost? You mean…Professor Quirrell and Professor Burbage?"

"Yeah."

She looked away from him, locking her eyes on the dancing partners. "Does anyone know?"

"Question is; does anyone care?" Harry muttered. "I had a vision of Voldemort possessing a man and killing a witch this summer. Dumbledore said they found the body in August, but because the killer is supposedly a dead man, they're not investigating at all. Does that make sense to you?"

"No," Hermione said in a small voice. "Harry, er, could you do a reading on me? Parvati said that, well, she said that you might. Maybe if you did a reading on me, you might…see something different."

She held out her hand, palm up, and as Harry looked he could almost see the lines of her flesh crawling in anticipation. "Not tonight," he finally forced himself to say. "I'm really tired from the trip and the game—I don't think I could handle it. We're on a by-week next week, so Saturday in the Divination tower."

"What time?"

"Say four in the afternoon," he said. "I don't want to go through the whole day with a headache."

"Okay, thank you, Harry!" She hopped off the couch and moved to a cluster of witches on the far side of the room.

"I'm going to bed," Harry said to no one in particular.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

Harry absolutely, positively despised strength training. He was, in equal parts shocked and disappointed to find out that Hogwarts had a gymnasium with the most modern equipment available in 1904, which was the manufacture date stamped on the barbells, Indian clubs and a rack for pull ups and inverted stomach crunches.

Fortunately, the equipment came with a manual, and even more fortuitously, Gregoria Goyle, who worked out almost daily. He was at first terrified of the girl—she was bigger than he was (or most other people, for that matter), stronger than he was, and wielded two weapons of mass destruction on her chest that made dictators on the other side of the planet wince in fear.

And yet, within ten minutes of his arriving at the gymnasium and trying to figure out what to do, Gregoria stepped up to show him. She was surprisingly patient when she spoke, and though her appearance was less than beautiful, she had a beautiful, contralto voice that she demonstrated by singing to herself sometimes when she worked out. She favoured the Indian Clubs, flinging the 50-lb, bowling-pin shaped clubs about as if they were toys.

She was the one who started him on the barbells, which unlike their modern equivalents were two empty metal globes on a bar that they filled with conjured lead shot to Harry's limit, which initially wasn't very much.

"You have to start somewhere," Gregoria said with a shrug when he disparaged his physical weakness.

"Why are you down here all the time?" he asked.

Gregoria shrugged. "Where else would I be, upstairs trying to poach the boys? Most run from just the sight of me." She did not sound angry or resentful about it, only that it was a fact of life. "Down here I don't have anyone bothering me, except you."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she said. "You're quiet."

"Thanks, I guess."

So, with Gregoria's help, Harry learned how to weight train turn-of-the-century style. He concentrated mainly on his legs and stomach, since that's where he met with most of the resistance while flying, but he also worked on his arms and upper body until he ached each night. Gregoria never tried to flirt with him or poach him, answered all his questions without any sign of frustration, and even taught him a few routines with the Indian clubs.

Therefore, on the Saturday following the game against Salem and his vision of Justine's mum, he was surprised when she asked him, "So, in your vision, you said the Death Eater used a knife, right?" She didn't need to indicate what vision she was talking about.

Harry dropped the barbell back into place with a grunt and sat up, using a terry cloth towel to wipe his face. "Er, well, yeah, I guess."

"Was it straight-edged or serrated?"

"What?"

"The knife, was it straight-edged or serrated?"

Harry closed his eyes in concentration. "Serrated."

She put the Indian clubs down and walked over to a nearby bench, using a towel similar to his to wipe her own flushed, broad-featured face. "That's good, then."

"What do you mean, that's good?"

"My dad favours straight-edged weapons. I was afraid it might be him you saw."

Harry stared at her, unsure how to respond. "You're dad, he was…"

"Yeah, he was a Death Eater. Most of the Slytherins are Death Eater kids. Some of the really bad ones were sent to Azkaban, but most…well, if you send all the wizards to Azkaban, where will the next generation of purebloods come from? Those who agreed were bonded to the limit of their available magic. Some have even turned around and become successful—Malfoy and Snape, for example."

Harry felt as if he'd been hit in the stomach. "Snape was a Death Eater?"

"Yeah," she said. "Hooch is a real bitch, let me tell you. She rides him hard and doesn't let him even blink without permission, unless Dumbledore asks for it. She's as barren as a rock, and normally when a wife is barren they go through a severance ritual so he can re-bond, but she won't let him."

"You can break a bond? Why didn't anyone ever say that?"

"Because it makes the woman a squib or kills her outright, that's why," she said. "It breaks the bond by breaking her magic at the chakram points of her magical core, so she can't express magic any more. I don't really blame Hooch for not wanting to do it, but supposedly the needs of society outweigh the desires of a witch. Unless that witch is Rolanda Hooch."

For a moment, the sheer knowledge and competence the large girl possessed made her sound more like Granger than the Slytherin destroyer feared throughout the school.

"You don't like her," Harry speculated.

"I like Snape, so of course I don't like Hooch. Sinistra's alright, though. Again, Hooch's choice, but at least she picked a woman Snape respected and appreciated." She stood and walked a little closer, until he could smell the heavy musk of her body, still dripping from her workout. "Look, Potter, I like you well enough, and you're a good Quidditch player, but you and your little Muggleborn friends have no idea what you're getting into. Granger, and that tall girl, Finch-Finley? They're in for it. They'll be lucky to get a spouse, even as a second wife, and they have no hope of a decent job."

"What about you, then?" Harry asked, automatically wanting to defend the other girls.

Gregoria shrugged, and then to Harry's utter shock pulled up her sweats and support to reveal two huge, bulbous breasts. Harry froze and stared as he felt a strange, almost painful pulling from his groin. He was completely frozen before the sight of the mesmerizing mounds.

"See these babies, Potter? I may be ugly, but there are men who'll bond with me for these alone. Probably an older Bulgarian or Rumanian wizard looking for a second wife, but it'll happen. I'm not worried about it right now because I know the Dame of my coven will take care of me." She pulled her shirt down after tucking away her massive breasts. "That's what being in a coven means. And not being in a coven means no support at all."

When at last he could speak again, Harry said, "Why are you telling me this?"

Gregoria sat down next to him, and to his continuing shock, said, "I suppose I like you. You're better than Malfoy or any of the other prats in my year. You've never called me ugly to my face, and they have. So, consider it a friendly warning from your Slytherin teammate. If you bond, make sure it's with a girl who is already in a coven, not Mudbloods like Granger or that tall bint from Hufflepuff. And for Morgana's sake, stay away from Lovegood."

"Lovegood?" Harry blinked and stood, suddenly angry. "Why is everyone telling me to stay away from Lovegood?"

"Everyone?"

"Everyone who counts," Harry amended.

"Well, I don't know about any others, but her mother was a seditionist. She was Xenophilius's only spouse—they refused to take any others, and said that forced polygamy was wrong. They were ejected from their coven and proscribed as a family. That's why Lovegood runs that silly magazine, because he can't find work anywhere else. And her mum…supposedly she died in a potions accident, but there are whispers that their old coven was trying to eliminate a source of embarrassment. Proscribed witches are as good as dead anyway. Luna's damaged goods with a lot of baggage—bond with her, and there's every chance the Dames will forcibly break the bond and still her, or kill her entirely."

"That's…insane."

"That's the way the world works," Gregoria said. "See you at practice tonight."

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

That afternoon, Harry walked into the Divination Tower to find Trelawney sprawled across her Divan in faded blue jeans and half-undone blouse with a thick woollen scarf tossed around her neck and pulled down in a futile effort to hide the fact she hadn't bothered with a bra that morning, smoking a joint and drinking sherry while reading a trashy romance novel. "That looks like one of Professor Lupin's," he said by way of greeting.

"It is, I borrowed it," she answered before taking a drag. "I had a vision you were doing a reading today. Or was that Lavender blabbing? Can't remember. That's why you're here."

"Yeah."

"She paying you?"

"What?"

"Remember what I taught you last year, Potter? There is a price to be paid for the future, and it is expensive. For you it is a price paid in pain and blood, so she needs to pay a price too, either in money or trade. Going rate for a reading by a confirmed, licensed Seer is five galleons."

"That's a lot," he said.

"There aren't that many confirmed licensed seers."

"But I'm not…"

"You are confirmed, Potter," she said dismissively as she sat up, "and there is a license for you on file at the Ministry. Seers tend to lose things so they generally keep the license for you, but it's there. I filled it out myself, and I watched them put it right next to the Oracle sheet you already had in your file."

Harry felt a cold ball in his stomach. "I have a file?"

"All wizards do, Potter," Trelawney said with a put-upon sigh. "Get used to it. And here comes your little pigeon now. Come in, Granger, I don't bite ... Unless you want me to, of course."

Hermione stepped in and waved her hand before her face. "Oh my God!" she said when she saw Trelawney. "I didn't believe Justine or Parvati when they told me, but you are really laying there smoking marijuana in front of a student! And why is your blouse undone?"

"Worse yet, I'm going to offer him a drag to help with your reading," Trelawney said with an unrepentant grin. "And the only reason I'm wearing anything at all is because I knew you were coming." Indeed, she held out the cigarette. "Trust me, Potter, it'll numb the pain."

"You know what? Forget it!" Hermione said. "I don't want to have any part in making you a Dope Head, Harry."

"Granger, you silly nit, don't you know anything about magical physiology?" Trelawney barked irritably. "Weed is no more to us than a drink of whiskey to a Muggle. It is not addictive to us, is not hallucinogenic, and in general just calms us down. So stop being such a ninny and get in here."

Hermione looked as if she were about to explode, but Harry shrugged. "What the hell." He took the lit cigarette and pulled in a great lungful of smoke. He immediately started coughing as he handed it back, but even in the fit of coughing he felt it start to ease some of his tension about the reading.

"You do know that cannabis is used in both the Ordering and Calming potions, right?" Trelawney said, just because she liked rubbing things in people's faces. "Okay, so how much are you prepared to pay Potter for your reading?"

"Pay?"

"Pay, as in money or trade."

Hermione bit her lower lip, thinking furiously. "I'm top of the class in Muggle Studies," she finally said. "I'll loan you all my notes and help you in any subject you need."

Given that he was struggling with the additional work and hectic schedule, Harry considered that very fair. "Okay, I can accept that."

"Good, trade works in some ways better than money," Trelawney said. "Trade usually means more, and personally invests you more with the outcome, increasing the value of the reading."

"I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here, Professor?" Hermione asked tartly. "Other than to flash Harry."

"I've seen bigger," Harry said, already relaxed from the marijuana. "Gregoria flashed me in the weight room to make a point. I think her boobs are bigger than my head."

"Her boobs are bigger than goblins," Trelawney said. "As for you, Granger, one, this is my home. I live in the tower. Two, this is Harry's first reading, and he's the only Department of Mysteries-confirmed Seer in the school who isn't me. So, this is an educational opportunity for him. I'd tell you about Lovegood, but she can't be certified in anything until she graduates. I'm going to use you to teach him how to do a proper, professional reading. Okay, mats on the floor. Remember the mats, Harry. If you get hit hard, you want to be able to lie back without banging your head. Sit down on the mats, both of you."

Looking flustered, Hermione sat down on the mat, carefully arranging the skirts under her robes to completely cover her legs. Harry just plopped down ungainly.

"Okay, Potter," Trelawney said after taking another drag. "First things first: Never, ever, look a customer in the eyes during a real reading. That's something the fakes have to do to try and gauge the person's intent or desire. In your case, their intent or desire could actually dampen your reading. Also, because of your magic, you run the mild risk of accidental bonding."

Hermione's cheeks flared. "Surely you aren't suggesting we could bond just holding hands!"

"Dearie, his mother bonded his father with a single glance. I was a first year when it happened and it was the sole topic of discussion the whole year. It has to do with Aether magic. And you know damned well that if you felt his magic reaching for you, you'd reach right back. I don't need the Sight to read body language."

Hermione's flush ran down to her tie.

"Second rule, don't send that magic of yours into her core," the professor continued to Harry waving the joint around as she talked. "I saw how you did that with Jessica by accident—that can lead to an uncontrolled vision like what broke your globe, and that's not what you're after. You want to be able to direct the sight. So, you're both seated. Potter, always start with the dominant hand first, and then the left. Now, in our books we discuss the differences between Muggle palmistry and true magical palmistry. What are they?"

"The Muggles try to assign meaning to the shape of the hand and the lines of the palm," Harry said. "While I'm going to let the lines of her palm guide me to a vision based solely on magic."

"Precisely. Okay, do you need another drag or are you relaxed?"

"Er, I'm still a little afraid I'm going to look her in the eye and get bonded by accident," Harry admitted.

"Another drag, then." Trelawney bent over, flashing both students in the process.

Hermione frowned severely at Harry for taking another drag off Trelawney's joint, while at the same time flushing at having the older woman's baps hanging right in front of her eyes. Harry, surprisingly, didn't seem to care. He held out his hand, palm-up

"Fine," she said, placing her right hand in his.

To Harry, her hand felt warm and soft, and it was a struggle not to let his magic drift into hers as he turned her fingers over. She had short fingernails, trimmed but well cared for with polish. Her fingers were long with a slightly conical shape to the hand over all.

Of course, like all witch-born, the crease around the ball of her thumb was twice as long as normal, extending in an unbroken line from the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger to her wrist. He also noticed the lines of marriage on the side of her hand, and saw with sudden, intense clarity her pushing her bare chest up at him as her eyes burned and her lips flushed with silent pleasure.

He blinked back the vision, confused on why he experienced it from the perspective he did. "You will bond," he told her. "And there will be love in the relationship. I can't say you'll be entirely happy, but there is love."

She stared intently at the top of his bowed head. "Will I have children?"

"Yes, at least two. But there will also be conflict."

"You mean I'll fight with my bond-mate?"

He stiffened and grabbed her hand so tight she yelped. "Let go!"

"Stop, you nit!" Trelawney hissed. "Look at his face!"

"But you…oh God."

Harry's eyes had rolled up into his head and blood was dripping from his nose. Suddenly he let go and flew back as if struck. Hermione scrambled to his side, while Trelawney reached into his pocket and removed a small wooden box filled with potion phials. She put one to his lips and poured it in even while his body convulsed.

"What's wrong with him?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"He had a major vision," Trelawney said, "which makes no sense for a simple palm reading. The only way that you would induce that is if your fates were linked somehow. Harry, are you with us?"

He squeezed his eyes shut but nodded. "That sucked."

"Want more ganja?" She held out the cigarette.

"No, thank you." Given the circumstances, he sounded oddly normal.

"What did you see?" Hermione asked.

"War," he finally said, holding the heels of his hands to his eyes. "Bloody war; and you're in the middle of it. I saw the Death Eater at King's Cross again. I saw you bleeding and Justine on the ground and…. Your parents were in danger too."

Hermione sucked in a breath.

Trelawney just nodded. "Right. Granger, you've had your reading. Remember your agreement." She conjured a pillow and slid it under Harry's head. "Potter, you're not going anywhere for a while."

"Practise…"

"Is cancelled for you. I'll let Diggory know. Just rest, Harry. Believe me, I've been where you are, you'll need it." Trelawney looked up at Hermione. "Why are you still here?"

"I'm worried about Harry, and about what he saw."

"Probabilities, girl, just probabilities. Shift the world just a little, and a different line of probability comes into dominance. Seers cannot tell you the future absolutely, just probabilities. Now get out. Potter needs rest."

Despite herself, Hermione took his hand and this time felt his magic flow into her, just like it did four years ago when they first met. "I'm sorry you were hurt, Harry. Thank you for the reading. Whenever you're ready to study just let me know."

She climbed to her feet and walked out of the tower. As soon as she was gone, Trelawney snickered. "You realize why you had such a strong vision with that girl, don't you, Potter?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said, eyes still closed.

Trelawney took a long drag and finished her smoke, tossing it to an ash tray by the divan. She then removed the pillow, cradling his head with surprising tenderness considering her acerbic tone, until she scooted up behind him with his head on her lap.

"Your breast is in my face," Harry noted with that same detached calm he used with Hermione.

"Nothing wrong with boobs in your face."

"You're not afraid of bonding?"

"Potter, I'm a flaming lesbian, and a better Occlumens than you are. Lily herself taught me when I was a second year and she was a seventh. She used the lessons with me to help formulate some of her points for her book, and we kept in touch even after she left. I just really, really despise bras."

"Oh, okay," he said. "They are very nice."

"Yes, they'll do." She placed her hands on either side of his head and he sighed as a relief even more profound than the potion washed through him. "You are your mother's son, Harry," she said softly. "You have a heavy destiny on your shoulders, but it is not entirely what the Ministry believes. Lily made sure of that. You're not going to have many friends, and more than your share of enemies."

"What about you?"

"Me? Harry, I may be the best friend you have in this school. Well, me and Remus, perhaps. He's a tasty morsel, too bad about his lycanthropy and his being a boy. His mind is lovely. He'll not make it long as a professor with that curse on his shoulders, though."

When the worst of the pain was gone, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion, Harry felt his eyes closing. "Does Luna take this class?"

She smiled. "She does, Harry. She has her own visions, her own probabilities. And that's why, my boy, no one will ever learn anything about what you see from me, not about that girl, or any others. Now sleep, I'll be here with you when you wake."

"Thanks," Harry managed to say before fading away.

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