Chapter 6 - Couplets and Pairs

Harry

"I am swimming through school. I am swimming through life. I am swimming through this day."

He felt like banging his head against a wall.

The trudge down to potions was taking all of his strength. Hermione and Ron were bantering about… something. It wasn't serious enough yet that he felt the need to butt in. Instead, he turned over the list of homework he had and idly wondered if he'd make it to Christmas.

As usual, the Slytherins were already outside of the classroom when they, the last of the Gryffindors, pulled up. Also per usual, there were some sneers and snide remarks being exchanged. However, Harry was surprised – and then more surprised that he was surprised – that Malfoy was laying into Neville.

"Roll out of bed in that, Longbottom?"

It had been a fair moment since Harry had heard Malfoy insulting anyone, but he supposed it was too much to ask for a change of heart. He rolled his eyes and then reflexively began rolling up his sleeves. Malfoy had agreed to take Defence Against the Dark Arts from him – maybe Harry could give him a pre-lesson demonstration.

But it was Ron who came to Neville's defence. "Well that just means he's got another chance tomorrow morning," Ron said. "You rolled out of your mother's womb looking like a sick wombat – what have you got to say for yourself?"

Almost everyone – even some Slytherins – laughed. Malfoy glowered. "Surprised that you can still afford to come, Weasley. Writing on the wall says that the ministry's looking for any excuse to sack Arthur Weasley at this point. My father says it's just a matter of the time before he's carted off to Saint Mungo's. Apparently they've got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic."

Malfoy laughed and the Slytherins joined in with him. Then he reeled back and thumped his head into the wall. A rush of black, red, and yellow was alight upon him immediately, and the sound of beating fists echoed down the hall. No one was sure what had happened, but someone was now alight on Malfoy and beating him mercilessly. Harry would have thought it was Ron, but Ron hadn't even had time to finish opening his mouth. He realised the spot where Neville had been standing was now empty.

Neville had punched Malfoy in the face!

And was now beating him to a pulp against the wall.

Malfoy hadn't been able to retaliate yet and Crabbe and Goyle, while imposing as body guards, were too stupid to remember that they could move without orders.

"Neville!" Hermione cried. "Stop it!"

Harry and Ron leaped forward – and it was only afterward that Harry realised the irony of mocking Crabbe and Goyle for doing nothing when he and Ron had seemingly awaited Hermione's command.

Harry seized Neville's cloak and pulled him back. Ron grabbed his shoulders and together they hauled him off of an injured Malfoy. Malfoy didn't look good. Both eyes, his nose, and his mouth had clearly been aimed at and his face was now rather smashed. He resembled Crookshanks. He was bleeding from the nose, mouth, and his left eye, and holding the side of his face.

Hermione appeared at Harry's side(and if he had a knut for every time he could've said that sentence, then he'd be more rich than Malfoy). She examined the damage with shock and horror, then withdrew her wand. "What spell?" he gasped. "What spell… what spell…"

"Dittany," Hermione whispered, leaning towards his ear. "Professor Snape-"

Ron was still trying to hold Neville back, who was only just starting to calm down now that Hermione's face was in line of sight.

Harry shook his head and she stopped speaking. "Hospital wing," he said, and took Malfoy's free arm.

Malfoy jerked away. "Piss off!" he shouted, though it was nearly illegible through a swelling lip and a bleeding mouth. Harry wondered if he still had all his teeth.

Pansy Parkinson stepped forward and, since Hermione was closer, shoved her away. "Get away from him!" she shouted. Hermione was knocked into Harry's arm and grabbed his collar to keep up. The shove was too sudden, and she ended up taking him down with her. For a moment, she was pinned under his legs.

Harry jumped back to his feet. "Malfoy, I think you should go to the hospital wing!" he said. "Madam Pomfrey can fix you right up-"

The door to the Potions classroom opened. Professor Snape emerged from the shadows. He observed the scene and his face twisted with rage. "Potter," he snapped. "What is the meaning of this?"

Neville finally went completely limp against Ron's grasp.

"A hundred points each, Longbottom, Weasley, Potter and Granger. For fighting in the school halls and injuring-"

"Professor," Blaise Zabini interrupted, "That's not what happened. Only Longbottom fought Draco. Weasley pulled him off and Granger and Potter were going to take Draco to the hospital wing."

Harry had never seen Snape turn his vicious gaze onto a Slytherin in anything other than praise. But suddenly, he was sneering down at Zabini like a 1400's gargoyle instead of him. "Then why, Mr. Zabini, is Mr. Malfoy being guarded against all four of them?"

"Because Draco's just been attacked," Zabini said. He looked around. "Will anyone else back me up here? We all saw what happened."

The Gryffindors all clamoured over themselves, as if they hadn't spent four whole years already learning that their opinions meant nothing to Snape. Longbottom was finally shrinking into his usual self, looking at the blood on his hands. "Professor Snape," he said loudly, then his voice fell to a whisper. "I'm the one with blood on my hands."

Snape looked around the group. "One hundred points, Longbottom, for your actions. Weasley, another ten for fighting Longbottom in the halls. Potter… Granger…"

Harry didn't dare look Snape in the face as he helped Hermione to her feet. Snape's robes were swishing in the cold draft of the dungeons.

"Two points each for assisting a fellow student in need. Potter, you and Zabini take Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing and be back before class starts and you can each help yourself to an additional five points."

Harry's mouth dropped open. He finally looked up and met Snape's eyes. Snape seemed no different than usual, but Harry could have sworn that he had… offered Gryffindor points?

The stunned hush over the rest of the students seemed to agree with the idea.

"Yes sir," he said softly. "I'll do that right away." He met Blaise Zabini's eyes and the two turned through the Slytherins. Blaise took the elbow on the arm Malfoy was using to press his hand to his face, so Harry paused a moment before taking Malfoy's arm again. Malfoy momentarily jerked it away, then allowed Harry to lift under his bicep. It occurred to Harry that Malfoy was leaning very heavily on the wall.

They took a few steps. Malfoy was uneasy on his feet. Hermione suddenly appeared – again – at his side. "Your wand," she whispered, handing it to him. "And, uh, a feather-light charm could come in handy. I doubt he weighs an exorbitant amount, but-"

"Ms. Granger," Snape snapped from the classroom door. "I did not give you permission to wander off."

Hermione left. He and Blaise made it around the corner before Harry indicated that they should pause. He cast the feather-light charm on Malfoy and then took his free arm and put it around his neck. "Let's get this over with," he said.

Blaise scuffed his shoe against the corridor. "You owe me now," he told Harry. "I only helped because I thought he was going to give you detention. Can't believe he gave you house points."

"I can't believe it either," Harry said. Then, to Malfoy, "You deserved this though. It's been a long time coming."

"Shove off," Malfoy whispered.

Madam Pomfrey was horrified, but not at all surprised that Malfoy had finally had someone put a fist to his face. She took him off their hands and Blaise and Harry ran back in record time. When they entered the classroom, a minute before class had officially started, Snape looked up from his desk. "Zabini, five points. Potter… three."

Harry was not surprised and not inclined to complain, either. Five points was five more than he'd ever won from Snape. Still, potions was potions, and by the end of it, Harry had been given even more homework.

"Maybe I'll skive off Divination," he told Hermione and Ron as they left – the first thing to be said since everything with Neville had gone down. Neville, by the way, had been excused to the bathroom to clean off his hands and had come back extremely shaky. It would be an interesting Tuesday, tomorrow.

"You can't skive off Divination," Hermione said, sounding downright scandalized.

"Hark who's talking – you walked out of Divination; you hate Trelawney!" said Ron indignantly.

"I don't hate her," said Hermione. "I just think she's an appalling teacher and a real old fraud."

But Harry did end up going to Divination.

Trelawney was in an awful mood when they entered the room. She slammed a copy of Oracle onto Harry's desk and then pitched another at Seamus Finnegan. Rumor had it that Umbridge had placed her on probation, and she seemingly confirmed this when Parvati Patil asked what was the matter and Trelawney burst into tears about "The Establishment!"

Personally, Harry could see Umbridge's point. Even though he knew Trelawney was, against Hermione's best wishes, a true seer, she acted like such a fool that no one with any real sense was inclined to believe her.

"If I were a seer," he thought to himself, "and I worked here, I'd at least open a window to let in a breeze."

"Today we'll learn about prophecies," Trelawney announced and Harry's hopes for the class sank into his stomach. "Prophecies can surface from observations or, if someone is a seer such as myself, can be given verbally. Here is an example of one I gave myself."

For a moment, Harry's heart jumped into his chest. He stiffened upright in his chair and Ron gave him a weird look. But then Trelawney gestured to a blackboard half-hidden behind a pink veil and, with a glance, Harry could tell it was not the prophecy she'd given about Sirius and Peter back in third year. Instead, upon it was written,

Through shadows deep, I tread with care

Each step a whisper, heart in flight

The unknown looms, a silent scare

Yet onward still, I chase the light.

Harry doubted it was a real prophecy. As far as he knew, Trelawney didn't remember anything after she gave a prophecy. Though he was grateful that he wasn't the one to ask – Neville was. "What does it mean?"

Trelawney nearly burst into tears again. "It's about my walk to school this morning," she said. I correctly predicted that… the Establishment would come for me."

Harry rested his elbow on the table, and his forehead in his hands.

"But it mentions light near the end," Lavendar said. "Perhaps this will all be over soon?"

It was a nice thought, but Trelawney was not comforted. Instead she sniffed, removed her wand, and tapped the words at the ends of the four stanzas. "Can anyone tell me what these pairs are called?"

Ron opened the textbook while Harry kept his eyes closed, tracing everyone's movements around him by sound alone. With Hermione gone, there was no telling who would discover the answer first.

"Couplets," Ron finally said. He had flipped, not to the textbook, but to the terms at the back of the chapter. "Rhyming pairs that authenticate a prophecy."

"Five points to Gryffindor," Trelawney said. Everyone turned to stare and Harry lifted his head. He couldn't remember the last time Ron had found something in a book before anyone else. Perhaps it had never happened.

Ron looked just as surprised as everyone else. Harry stared at him for a moment, then said, "I'm telling Hermione," in as flat a tone as he'd ever heard from himself.

The class laughed. Ron turned bright red. "I can read without her help."

Harry heard Lavendar Brown and Parvati Patil giggling higher than anyone else behind him, but couldn't imagine the reason. Instead, he exchanged a high-five with Ron. "Of course. Good job!"

It had been quite a while since he'd given an uplifting comment to anyone, and it made him feel lighter somehow. He refocused on the blackboard, and cast his mind back to the prophecy that had been made to him in third year. Had it had couplets? He put his hand up.

Trelawney had been explaining about rhymes and what constituted a rhyme – "It is, unfortunately, the sound and not the spelling that counts." – when she noticed Harry's hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I was just curious, Professor, if prophecies need to be made in couplets?"

"No, Mr. Potter. Thank you for your question. Many prophecies since the turn of the nineteenth century have begun abandoning the use of couplets, though not all."

"Then why are we learning this?" Ron grumbled.

"Because there are many prophecies made before the nineteenth century that did use couplets that will still be relevant to our day," Trelawney said. "If any of you go on to work in the Department of Mysteries, where records of prophecies are kept for safety, then you will be working with many, many couplets. You can tell a false prophecy from a real prophecy by the couplets."

Harry thought this was a very good answer, considering they'd all signed up to take Divination. Trelawney had every right to assume they were taking her class because of an interest that could lead to a career. Ron, however, slumped into his seat and muttered, "I'm not every going to use this."

"Then the lesson for you," Trelawney's lip wobbled, "Is to learn how to focus on things that do not necessarily interest you. A skill you will need in any career, in any friendship, if you choose to be married…"

"Professor," Harry put his hand up again. "Did you mention that… records are kept of prophecies?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter."

"And only people in the Department of Mysteries can request them?"

"That depends." Trelawney went to the board and fully exposed it. Beside her demonstration couplet, she made three lines, dividing up the board. "Some prophecies are considered more severe than others. Simple prophecies – or Simplex – can be requested by anyone and have very little security. You could request one of these and receive it by the end of today. Modicus, or moderate prophecies require background checks and usually take a month of so. Gravibus is Latin for severe. Severe prophecies can only be requested by those who are approved within the Department of Mysteries, and those with a direct tie to the prophecy. These requests usually take several months to approve and must go through the Wizengamot."

"Do you have any prophecies in the Department of Mysteries?" Lavendar Brown asked.

"Of course!" Professor Trelawney seemed shocked that this needed to be asked. "Last I checked, I had over three-hundred on record with them. Most were considered simple-" she rolled her eyes, "But one from the end of the school year the year before last is in the Modicus library and one from 2008 is still kept in the Gravibus Library."

Ron, judging from his expression, did not believe her for a moment. But the wheels in Harry's head were spinning. It sounded as though Trelawney did not get to choose what category the ministry assigned to her prophecies. Harry had a feeling every time she'd predicted his death, she would presume it a severe prophecy. He knew the one from a year and a half ago – it had been about Sirius and Peter Pettigrew. He had no idea what the 2008 prophecy could be about.

"That's the year most of us were born," Parvati said.

Professor Trelawney put her hands on her hips. "Well, one day you'll be my age and someone will say to you that they were born the year you finished Hogwarts and you'll want an aneurism as well." The class chuckled, and Trelawney shook her head. "This is the most engaged class I think we've ever had. Any other questions?"

There were none, though everyone seemed very interested and attentive. It almost reminded Harry of attending Professor Lupin's class in third year. They always had the impression that something marvelous was about to happen.

The feeling was short lived. "Everyone, take out some parchment, and practice making couplets. It is unlikely anyone will create a real prophecy today, but next time, I will bring in a few for you to examine. We shall see if you can detect real prophecies among false ones."

Harry sighed and pulled his bookbag onto his lap. He fumbled with the clasp and then plunged his hand in, feeling for the familiar scrape of parchment. When he found one, he pulled it out. Unfortunately, it already had writing on it. It was a copy of the words that had been written on Malfoy's parchment during their first study session. Hermione had copied it and given it to him so he'd quit asking to re-read hers.

"Wonderful before something solid, and very powerful and old, they'll come back to haunt you."

Behind the stanza in Hermione's curly script was a little bit extra that Harry had tacked on in his semi-tidy scrawl. It was the line that had stuck in his head since he first read it. He had been sure – positive – that there had been a little extra. But Hermione swore up and down that "you" had been the last work. She had even pointed out in the library that when he had recited it, she had told him that he'd added extra words. But Harry remembered them clearly, and figured the words must have already been vanishing by the time they were looking at it together.

Malfoy had said something completely different in Dumbledore's office anyway.

Harry peered over everything. "Wonderful before something solid, and very powerful and old, they'll come back to haunt you once more."

"Ron, look," Harry said. He scooted his chair over to Ron and showed him. Ron sighed, recognising the parchment immediately. "'Before' and 'more' rhyme," he said.

Ron looked up at the blackboard. "You're either suggesting we use this in this assignment, or you're telling me that you think you're holding a prophecy," he said, glumly, "and somehow, I don't think I'm lucky enough for it to be the first."

Harry seized the table. "Inkblots!" he said, suddenly. The entire class jolted. "Sorry," he apologised to everyone and then lowered his voice. "Ron… ink blots is a form of divination. We studied it. What happened with the Malfoy's parchment must have been-"

Ron, to Harry's horror, put his hand in the air. "Professor Trelawney," he said. "Can inkblot magic write prophecies all by itself?"

Professor Trelawney's eyebrows went together. "Inkblots usually require interpretation, but a very powerful prophecy can write itself, yes." She stood. "Why, have you spilled some ink? Is something there?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed. He shoved the parchment back into his bag. "No, Professor. Thank you. Actually, can I run for a glass of water?"

"Class has only been going for ten minutes."

"Yes, well, I forgot a quill, and I'll only be a minute-" Harry began to get to his feet.

"I thought you were going for a glass of water?"

"Right, I'm just going to grab that… extra parchment… yes."

"Mr. Potter," Professor Trelawney said. "Sit down."

Harry sank back into his chair. Everyone was giving him quite odd looks. "Finish your couplets, please. We'll regroup in fifteen minutes."

Ron poked him in the arm. "You're acting like Hermione," he whispered. "Where were you going to – the library?"

"I need to get to Hermione," Harry whispered. "She'll go nuts over this." At this time of day, she'd be in Arithmancy, which he could easily make up an excuse to pull her out of.

"Merlin's bead, Harry," Ron said. "You and Hermione are becoming the same nutter rolled into one!"

This he said quite loudly, and Parvati Patil and Lavendar Brown suddenly burst into giggles. They were hunched over their couplets and Harry glimpsed little hearts on the edges of the material. An idea came to him. He opened his bag back up, fished around for more parchment – a blank one, this time – and a quill. Then he scribbled down a few short rhymes and quickly – in about two minutes, assembled a very flimsy couplet. Without even looking towards Ron, he got up and walked towards Trelawney's desk.

"Professor," he said in a whisper. "I think I've got a prophecy here."

Professor Trelawney's eyebrows shot up as she took it. Harry tapped his foot softly twice, then stayed still as she read.

"Perhaps you'd like to read this aloud to the class before you go?" Trelawney asked. She met his eyes and Harry could tell she was not impressed. He should have put more doom and gloom into his couplet.

He paused. "Can I leave if I do?" He asked.

Trelawney narrowed her gaze. Harry didn't flinch. Finally, she nodded. "For fifteen minutes," she said.

Harry turned on his heel. "I've made a prophecy," he announced to the class. Some of them had already been staring. He cleared his throat. His mouth felt full of sawdust. Then he said, "A crisis arises, I swear it's true. To help a girl I'm bound to run into. This class can wait, it's not the end. But doing this now means being a friend."

There was a snort from Seamus Finnegan's direction. Ron was suffering severe second-hand embarrassment. Neville looked confused. "What does it mean?" he asked.

"It means I'm leaving now," Harry thought.

Parvati Patil clapped her hand over her mouth. "It's about Hermione!" she exclaimed. "He's trying to go see Hermione! That's so sweet!"

Harry suddenly had a very strong desire to fall face-forward into the floor and expire. "What?" he asked, stifled.

Lavendar seemed very angry. "No, it could be about anyone else! It's not-" She stamped her foot.

"Who said anything about Hermione?" Harry asked. He felt as though he might have accidentally inhaled a hot pepper.

Ron crossed his arms and looked away, suddenly angry. Everyone was either looking at him, shocked and surprised, or giddy. They were hiding confident smiles and chuckling.

Trelawney stood. "It's not always wise to assume the future," she said. "But it is clear that Mr. Potter has seen a female in his imminent future. Mr. Potter, you have fifteen minutes, and I expect a report on your prophecy when you return."

She had humiliated him, but he was free. Cheeks burning, Harry seized his back and booked it to the door. No sooner had he shut it behind him than he was dashing down the staircase and shoving his hand into his bookbag, searching for the parchment.

He couldn't imagine why Parvati had wanted his limerick to be about Hermione, or why Lavendar had seemed so mad. Ron was obviously frustrated with him – he'd have to make it up to him later. Hopefully Hermione would be able to figure out the puzzle by the end of the day once he'd handed her this piece – her brain was handy like that.

He made it into the corridor, starting to chuckle at his own silly poem. The bit about running into Hermione had been the hardest part of the rhyme, but it had worked. He'd have to tell Trelawney that his prophecy had very correctly led him to the Arithmancy classroom, and he had accidentally found the person he needed there. No running into anyone necessary-

Harry suddenly collided with another person coming around the corner.

There was a yelp and Harry took a tumble, but the other person stayed aloft. "What are you-" there was a foot stamp, then "-Oh, Harry?"

Harry looked up. If embarrassment from Divination didn't end his life, this surely would.

He'd run headlong into Cho Chang.

The next chapter will be called Three-Quarters.