Chapter 26. Single-Minded Determination

Harry stared down at the stone bowl in front of him with skepticism—and a fair bit more trepidation than he was comfortable admitting. The bowl was filled to the brim with white sand which glittered almost ominously in the fairy lights of the North Tower Divination Classroom. As he stared, all he could think was at least it's not gold...

"Geomancy!"

Professor Lyptus' voice rang out loudly over the chattering class as she swept up to the front of the classroom, her long hair streaming out behind her. As she rounded about on her heel, the murmur of students died to nothing.

"Geomancy," she repeated. "A mysterious and rather rare bit of oracular magic, yes, but a personal favorite all the same!"

As Lyptus beamed out at the class, Harry glanced around. Most of the class looked as lost as Harry felt. He could be mistaken, but he was pretty certain Professor Lyptus had said they were to be finishing palmistry this week...

"I know, I know," the professor said, as another student raised his hand to point this out, "But as I was ruminating over my morning cuppa, I couldn't help but glance down at my tea leaves and, to my enormous surprise, I saw that the time was right for a foray into this mysterious branch of magic!"

Harry frowned at her as he recalled his conversation with Tom from a while ago. "It's not like you can actually read tea leaves," he had said. "Well, you can with the right tea leaves, I suppose." Unless she had some special tea leaves stored up somewhere, she was lying through her teeth right now.

"Fret not, however," she added, "We shall be returning to palmistry next week. Now!" Professor Lyptus swished her wand and "Geomancy" bloomed on the chalkboard behind her. "We shall begin,"

"The term 'Geomancy' is fairly self-explanatory," Lyptus started, and Harry watched as "Geo: of or relating to the earth," and "-Mancy: Divination by a specified means" scrawled across the chalkboard. Together, he and Al scrambled to write it down. "But the Art itself is anything but,"

"Like most forms of Divination, this technique requires no incantation," the Professor declared. "Rather, it requires the purpose and single-minded determination of a True Seer!"

Vaguely, Harry registered a rather pointed look from Al sitting across from him, but he ignored it. He glanced instead, down at the bowl of sand before him. Sand... Of course...

"You will find that few witches and wizards possess the aptitude for the Art, but do not be discouraged! Geomancy can still prove useful to the everyday witch or wizard," Lyptus continued. "With a simple scrying bowl, a handful of finely ground crystal, and proper study, even the most clouded of visions could become... crystal clear."

Harry heard a single snort of laughter that quickly dissolved into a coughing fit.

Unphased by the lack of response and still grinning, Professor Lyptus continued on. "Before each of you, you will find a scrying bowl filled with finely ground clear quartz. You will note in the handout I will be passing around momentarily, that clear quartz is the recommended mineral for beginners due to its amplifying and clarifying properties. Those Seers who are truly skilled in the Art often use a variety of minerals, or specialized mixes of minerals, meant to enhance various aspects of their readings. The charts I've drawn up for you on page four outline these effects in detail. Here."

She swished her wand once more and a stack of papers on her desk levitated up and began to fly off to each student. Harry picked up the small handwritten pamphlet that landed before him and read "Geomancy: A Review."

"You will be quizzed on these effects so I recommend a thorough reading of the notes. And, erm," She coughed here, as if embarrassed, "If anyone has any questions about something I've written please do not hesitate to ask, I've been told my handwriting can be... challenging."

Harry looked down and grimaced. And people said his handwriting was hard to read...

"Anywho," she drawled, "Today we will be attempting to Divine using the materials I have provided. Let's begin. To start, pick up your bowls." When few moved, she clapped her hands together. "Come on now, pick up your bowls."

Together, Harry and Al hastened to do so, Al with much more enthusiasm than Harry.

"Now, very carefully shake your bowls such that the sand becomes smooth." The hissing of shifting sand filled the quiet room. "Good, good! Now, everybody, set your bowls down and clear your mind. Allow the day's worries to fade away as you draw upon your magic and very purposefully tap your wand to the side of the bowl."

There was a long pause before there came a clatter of wood against stone all around the room as witches and wizards tapped their wands to the sides of their bowls. Harry jerked back in surprise as the sand in his bowl vibrated almost excitedly before settling into an odd swirling pattern. He quickly cast a surreptitious look into Al's bowl to see that his sand had made a pattern as well.

"Very good, very good!" Professor Lyptus was positively beaming. "Now, I will ask you all to now consult your handouts to interpret your bowls as I make my way around the room!"

With that, the professor swept off to talk to Evelyn King, a nearby Gryffindor girl, and Al and Harry turned to their handouts.

"Well, what does yours look like?" Harry asked dryly.

"Mines got a weird... zig-zaggy thing happening here," Al said. "What about you?"

"Mines all... swirly and stuff." The swirls branched out from the spot where he'd tapped his wand.

"What do you think that means?" Al asked.

"No clue." Harry flipped through the pamphlet. "Looks like there's... four main types of patterns though. Loops, swirls, chevrons, and arches. Guess mines a swirl."

"Chevron?" Al asked, also flipping. "What in Merlin's name's a chevron?"

"That's your zig-zag thingy. Page eight."

"Oh. Huh."

Harry squinted down at Lyptus' many hand-drawn figures with increasing irritation. "How on earth are we supposed to figure this out?"

"Dunno," Al mused, looking between the handout and his bowl. "It sort of looks like mine might be related to... a relationship maybe? Or my career? I can't tell."

"Career?" Harry asked skeptically as he skimmed the section on swirls, eyeing words like Destiny and Fate with disdain. "We're fourteen. This is stupid." He accentuated this statement with an irate poke of the white sand—which turned bright gold.

"Merlin's beard!" Al yelped as Harry yanked his hand back. Eyes wide, they watched as the golden sand faded back to white. "What was that?"

"Nothing!" Harry blurted. "Everything's fine!"

Though the classroom was pretty loud, a couple of people had turned at the sudden commotion; Harry forced a smile at them until they turned away.

"Nothing?!" Al hissed once they'd gone. "You turned the fucking sand gold!"

"Is that even so surprising?" he asked, exasperated. "Of course I turned the weirdo magic sand gold! Why wouldn't I? That'd be normal."

"...Do it again."

"What?"

"Well, what if it was a fluke?"

"A fluke," Harry repeated skeptically. "Why would it be a fluke?"

"Just humor me."

Harry stared at Al's beseeching face for a second and sighed. "Fine."

Slowly, reluctantly, Harry poked the sand. It immediately flared with a golden light that faded as he pulled his finger away. "See? Not a fluke."

"Not a fluke indeed, Mr. Evans," came a shocked voice from behind him. Harry whipped around to see Professor Lyptus. "I... wow."

"Professor, I didn't mean—"

"It's quite alright. Let's just..." She shook her head as if to shake off what she'd just seen. "Please see me after class. Now," she turned to Al. "Mr. Longbottom, let's take a look at your bowl, hm?"

Harry's eyes met Al's apologetic ones as she began to examine his bowl of sand.

"I'll wait down here," Al whispered as he turned to climb down the ladder. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Harry said glumly. He watched him climb down before resigning himself to his fate. "You wanted to speak with me, Professor?"

"Indeed." Professor Lyptus was waiting for him at her desk, her hands busy with organizing some papers. "C'mon over."

Harry did, resisting the urge to drag his feet as he walked. How on earth was he supposed to explain this away?

"Before we get into it, I wanted to congratulate you on your win in the Tournament. Fourth-year champion of Gryffindor, I hear!"

"Er, yes, thank you." He hadn't been expecting that. Wasn't she going to ask about the sand?

"Well earned I'm sure. Now, tell me, Harry..." She eyed him seriously over her half-moon spectacles.

Here it comes...

"How goes your dream journal?"

"My—What?" Harry blinked at her, bewildered.

"Your dream journal, Harry. Have you made any progress?"

Harry just stared at her for a moment. Her response was so unexpected, it had momentarily stolen his ability to talk. "I—No. No, not really."

"Hmmm..." she hummed. "Not really?"

"Well, more like, erm... None at all," he admitted.

"I figured as much. I should've known that wouldn't have helped. You don't strike me as the type."

"The type?"

"Contemplative," she explained and Harry wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. "No, no, we must come up with a better method to bring you in tune with your Inner Eye. How about art? Many find painting or drawing to be meditative." She caught the look on his face and backtracked immediately. "Mmm no, no. What about music?"

Harry shook his head violently. "I don't sing."

The professor's lips twitched some with humor as she spoke, "No one said you had to sing, dear, but nevertheless. How about this? What makes you feel at ease and in tune with your mind and body?"

"I..." What did make him feel like that? "I don't know."

"Oh I'm sure that's not true," Lyptus said soothingly. "Surely you can think of something that makes you feel free of worry."

Harry was thinking hard when it suddenly hit him. "Well, there is... There is flying. I love flying."

"Flying!" Professor Lyptus exclaimed happily. "Well, that's wonderful! Nothing like a good fly to clear the mind, I've always said."

"Yeah, I know!" Harry agreed enthusiastically, and suddenly he missed it with an acuteness he hadn't let himself feel in ages. "...Yeah." He'd been avoiding the Quidditch pitch for this very reason. "Yeah, flying's amazing. But, professor, I, erm, I don't have a broom."

"Oh well, we can't let that stop us, Mr. Evans. I'll talk to the headmaster, don't worry. Surely he will see the importance, and if he doesn't... Well, I might just have to talk to Professor Dumbledore, won't I? I'll make him see sense."

"Oh, no, you don't have to—"

"Nonsense Harry!" she cried, "Complete nonsense! If there is even a chance that this will help us to guide your prophetic skills... It will be worth it."

Harry opened his mouth to protest some more but she wouldn't hear of it and in no time she had succeeded in guiding him to the trapdoor.

"Now off you pop, Mr. Evans! I've got a headmaster to write to and you've got dinner!"

"But—"

"I'll inform you of my progress next class. Goodbye!"

And with that, Harry climbed down the ladder.

Just as he'd said, Al was waiting at the bottom. "What happened?" he cried the moment the trapdoor closed. "What did she say about the sand?"

"She didn't," Harry said, a little dazed. "She didn't even mention it."

"What? Why?"

"I have no idea."

Their theories lead them down the spiraling North Tower staircase and all the way to the corridor outside the Great Hall before distraction came in the form of none other than Tom Riddle. This in itself was so shocking that neither of them spoke as the Slytherin sidled up between Harry and Al as if it were normal; as if Tom hadn't been avoiding Harry like the plague since he'd "barely" kidnapped him.

"Good evening, Longbottom, Harry."

"...Good evening?" Al looked questioningly at Harry but he could only gape. They had stuttered to a halt outside the doors to the Great Hall.

"How was Divination?" Tom asked smoothly when it became clear Harry wasn't going to respond.

"...Eventful," Al said after a painful pause. Harry was quite alright with Al carrying the conversation for the moment. "How... are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing splendidly this evening, Albert, thank you for asking. Now, I just wanted to ask before either of you headed off to the Gryffindor table; would either of you mind terribly if I stole Harry away for a moment?"

"Why?" Harry snarled. He had found his voice and it was aggressive.

"I just wanted to speak with you. It's been a while," Tom replied calmly.

"And whose fault is that?" he retorted.

"I-I'm—" Harry and Tom looked over at Al, whose voice had just cracked phenomenally. He cleared his throat before sticking his thumbs toward the massive doors of the Great Hall. "I'm just going to, erm, go now. See you, Harry."

As Al strode off at great speed, Tom let out a small hum of amusement. "Well, that was awkward."

"I ask again: Whose fault is that?" Harry retorted. "'Cause it sure as hell isn't mine, Riddle." For all that he'd been wanting to talk to Tom again, he could only draw up anger as he faced the teen who'd been so steadfastly ignoring him the past weeks. And the way he'd laughed at him...

"Mine, of course," Tom said simply. "Just as it is my fault we haven't truly spoken in weeks."

Harry's mouth snapped shut in surprise and the corner of Tom's mouth quirked upward.

"You look surprised," Tom commented.

"I am," Harry replied seriously. "Since when are you the type to own up to your faults?"

"Since I was wrong. I've done some... reflecting these past weeks and I must admit that I may have, regrettably, overreacted."

Tom's brown eyes sparkled distractingly in the torchlight of the corridor as he placed his hand on his heart, the picture of contrition.

"Did you, now?" Harry asked dryly, anger ebbing some. "What gave it away, Tom? The knocking me out in a hallway part or the kidnapping?"

Tom smiled ruefully. "Both, and I can assure you. I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you, Harry."

At this, Harry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why? "he asked abruptly. "Just last week you were laughing in my face. What made you change your mind?"

"You were right about the saboteur. Someone tried to slip me a Dizziness potion like you'd said." He reached out and lightly touched Harry's arm. "I'm sorry. I should've listened to you."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "You should've."

"You're still mad." It wasn't a question. "Of course you are. Look, let me make it up to you, over time. Just... I miss you."

Harry swallowed, unsure how to respond. This... He hadn't been expecting this.

"Look, Harry, we can start small. Duel with me? Tonight? Our spot?"

His throat was tight as Harry scrutinized Tom's face. There was a glimmer of something like hope in the Slytherin's eyes...

"Fine," he spat and a grin lit Tom's face. "Tonight. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

"I won't," Tom promised, and Harry spun on his heel to leave. "I'll see you then, Champion."

Harry faltered, mortified to feel his cheeks heating up. "Bastard."

Tom's laugh followed him as he stalked into the Great Hall.

Tom watched—dare he say it?—fondly as Harry beelined it to the Gryffindor table where Longbottom was waiting alone, clearly eager to hear what had transpired. He wondered just how much of their conversation Harry would divulge; likely not much with McGonagall seated three seats away. It was clear from the way she was glaring at Tom that her hawk-like eyes had picked up on their little meeting. As he strolled over toward the Slytherin table, Tom took the opportunity to send a little wave her way, smirking as her eyes flashed, before he dismissed her for better thoughts.

Tom was pleased. Very pleased. He would be seeing Harry tonight after what truly was much too much time. He had let this go on for far too long, foolish as he had been with doubt. But he knew better now. Despite his anger, despite their estrangement, Harry had come to him when he feared for his safety. It was clear as day that Harry was enamored of him; Tom's admittedly rash actions had done nothing but drive unnecessary wedges between them and he regretted them.

He would show Harry that all was forgiven and Harry would fall back into place at his side. And then? Then Tom would learn the secrets of Harry 'Evans.'

"You look pleased," Charles Nott commented as Tom approached.

"Oh I am," Tom replied smugly. "I will be seeing Mr. Evans this evening."

To his surprise, Charles smiled and said, "I'm happy for you, Tom."

"Mm," Tom hummed, slightly confused as he turned to Orion to get him to budge over, only to be interrupted as Charles spoke again.

"Incoming."

Sighing, Tom twisted around to see Minerva McGonagall striding over with a determined look on her face. Wonderful.

Rolling his eyes at the others, Tom resigned himself to the inevitable drama.

"What is it now, Minerv—"

CRACK!

A flash of pain blinded him as Tom's face whipped to the side. He was frozen. He was stunned. In shock. Minerva McGonagall had slapped him. Him. In the middle of the fucking Great Hall, how dare—!

Face flush with stinging heat, he turned slowly—to see her retreating back.

"Wow," came a snide voice Tom knew but could not place in his rage, "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing," Tom hissed. "Nothing yet at least."

Spellfire flashed in the arching cavern behind the big mirror on the fourth floor, casting fleeting shadows behind the lurching figures of Tom Riddle and Harry Evans as the teens lunged and dodged each other's hexes.

After a remarkably near miss of a particularly nasty spell, Tom laughed gleefully, the din of it echoing around the room and he cried, "Oh how I've missed this, Harry Evans!" He truly had.

"Missed what? Getting your ass kicked every week?" Harry taunted playfully.

Tom grinned viciously, "That's not how I remember it, Evans. Why don't I give you a little reminder?"

His wand came slicing down through the air, sending a gust of frigid air toward Harry who wisely rolled out of the way, coming to on bent knee just in time to dodge another hex that shot whistling by.

"You'll have to do better than that, Riddle!" Harry yelled, and fuck it. He wasn't getting anywhere like this.

Tom charged forward, bombarding Harry with spell after spell, all of which bounced harmlessly off of the shield Harry had barely thrown up in time. Tom's heart was racing, and Harry wasn't backing down, no, he was taunting him again, calling him predictable, which of course, just made it more fun, didn't it, this was fun—

"Oof!"

Tom and Harry collided as was inevitable, falling together onto the stone floor with bruising force—and wasn't that the real reminder of their time together, the bruises?—as robes tangled together along with panting breaths and laughter. "You're not the only Champion in this fight, you know," Tom murmured. Harry's body was hot and hard beneath him, all lean muscle and bone, and Tom felt alive for the first time in weeks as he stared down at Harry's flushed face. He didn't need Legilimency to know what the Gryffindor wanted, it was written all over his fine features. Tom wanted to give it to him, to just lean forward and—

The pads of Harry's fingers pressed against his lips.

"Wait."

"Why?" His voice felt rough; it sounded rougher.

"Promise me, Tom."

"Promise you what?"

"That you won't hurt Minnie."

Harry's green eyes were so bright behind skewed glasses and Tom couldn't even muster up a glint of steely rage in the face of them.

"Fine," he breathed. "I promise."

And Harry smiled.