"Is there anything wrong with being born at the end of July?" I tilted my head towards the pale - faced Longbottom. Seeing that he was still struggling to carry a huge crystal ball, I frowned and asked, "Don't tell me Professor Trelawney told you that people born at the end of July are about to encounter something - her forte - something ominous?"

Longbottom seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He nodded. "You don't believe Professor Trelawney's predictions either, Miss Snape?"

"Didn't Professor McGonagall say that she's never been right about anything?" I noticed there were wounds on the back of his hand. I guessed he had been bitten by "The Monster Book of Monsters" again, or maybe by his toad. Anyway, we were all used to him always getting himself hurt for strange reasons, and he had learned to self - deprecate in a helpless tone, saying "Why is it always me". I asked him, "Why is this crystal ball here?"

"Miss Granger pushed the crystal ball in front of her to the ground when she left the Divination classroom, and she even kicked it when she opened the door... I guess it rolled down the stairs and ended up here. I was just hesitating whether to send it back. Uh, I'm worried that she'll..."

"Tell you that you're going to die next month?" I cast a Levitation Charm on the crystal ball and motioned for Longbottom to lead the way. I had never been to the Divination classroom. "To be honest, Longbottom, if what she said really came true and people died, Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have kept her teaching here."

"But Lavender's rabbit—"

"That was just a coincidence." I remembered the scene where Brown and Patil imitated Professor Trelawney's comments on Miss Granger, and interrupted him impatiently.

"True." Perhaps my tone just now was a bit like my father's, for Longbottom cautiously put a little distance between us.

I pushed open the door of the Divination classroom for the first time. This place was different from all the classrooms in Hogwarts. There seemed to be an endless mist lingering in the air, but it wasn't the white fog steaming from the cauldrons in the Potions classroom.

"Er, Professor, we're here to return the crystal ball—"

If Longbottom hadn't spoken, I would have thought that there was just a pile of colorful shawls of different materials on that armchair—they almost completely submerged the woman. I waved my wand, making the crystal ball slowly float onto an empty table. I could understand why Miss Granger didn't like this place: All kinds of scents, coming from who - knows - where, were mixed together. Coupled with the soft carpet underfoot and the slowly floating decorations everywhere, it gave people a drowsy feeling as if they were in a hallucination. This lack of clarity made me feel disgusted.

"She seems to be asleep." I said. "You can leave her a note."

Longbottom nodded and lowered his head to rummage through his schoolbag for a new piece of parchment.

"Darkness, irresistibly about to come back in full force—the deviated fate will also ignite the remaining candle flame—"

"Is she talking?" I was looking down at the crystal ball, which was filled with nothing but a vast expanse of mist. Suddenly, I heard the woman's hoarse whisper. I looked up and saw Longbottom blankly holding a quill and looking towards the woman in the armchair. She had opened her eyes at some point—but I was sure she wasn't looking at the two of us. She seemed to be looking up at something we couldn't see, and both of her eyeballs behind the lenses bulged out.

"The hinge binds it with the name of fate... The candle flames burn and extinguish together—To defeat the darkness or be devoured by it, the outcome will be known when the bell rings."

She coughed desperately as if her neck had just been released. Her glasses even tilted to one side. Longbottom and I stared blankly as she drank a cup of tea after the fit of coughing, and then stood up as if she had just noticed us. Her voice became ethereal: "Oh, welcome. What can I do for you?"

"We're here to return the crystal ball," Longbottom said in a low voice, pointing at the table.

"Oh, oh, of course. I knew it would come back," Professor Trelawney walked towards the two of us, like a glittering insect. She looked at me. "And of course, I knew I'd meet you at this moment."

"What did you say just now? Do you remember?" I asked hesitantly.

"What did I say?" She blinked. "I didn't say anything, this girl who doesn't belong to my class. I just had a nap."

"You said that darkness was irresistibly about to come back, something about deviated fate and candle flames—" Longbottom reminded her.

"Oh, maybe it's because I've been reading lyric poems recently— something like 'flowers weep under the falling starlight'. Beautiful and powerful poems." She waved her hand impatiently, then walked quickly over and grabbed my wrist. "Let me have a look at you, the girl who was destined to come here at this time. Oh, your fate is reflected in your eyes. I see— rain. Oh, you'll go through a lot, dear."

I abruptly pulled my hand back and took a step back. "Thank you, Professor."

"Does she always talk like this?" I asked Longbottom as we went down the stairs.

"Er, you mean giving bad predictions? She's always like that."

"No, I mean just now. She was very strange then, wasn't she? Does she talk in that tone during class, telling you that you'll die tomorrow or something?"

"No, she never talks like that." Longbottom looked up at the Divination classroom on the upper floor. "But none of us have ever heard her talk when she's asleep— usually it's us who fall asleep during her class."

"All right." I nodded. Only when I saw that it was already pitch - black outside the window did I realize that I had two thick assignments, one for Charms and one for History of Magic, waiting for me in the common room. "See you later."

"Thank you, Miss Snape." Longbottom nodded.

I waved my hand to show that I heard him and walked quickly towards the Great Hall. I planned to wrap some food in a napkin and then go back to the common room. I didn't take what I had just heard seriously at all.

The weekend was just around the corner, yet this week had been extremely tough for me. It seemed that every minute had been stretched to feel like five. In the Gryffindor common room, the most - discussed topic was the Quidditch final after Easter. "We're still 200 points short!" had become Wood's catchphrase. The Weasley twins said they'd secretly engraved this line on Wood's broomstick when he wasn't looking.

Even for those students who weren't interested in Quidditch, this week hadn't been easy. Our assignments were piling up more and more, and it seemed like there was no end in sight - as new tasks accumulated every day. Professor Flitwick even said during the lesson on the Cheering Charm that the spell wasn't actually that difficult, and our successive failures were due to the excessive stress we'd been under recently.

But finally, the weekend arrived. I even got up early and borrowed Brown's mirror to tidy myself up properly. I wanted to look my best when I saw my mom, so she wouldn't have any extra worries.

"I think you should put on a bit more lipstick, dear," Brown's mirror said to me. "Just a tiny bit. With a charming smile like that, you'll make every gentleman fall head over heels in love with you."

I flipped the mirror over. Sure enough, it was a giveaway from the Enchanting Witch brand lipstick.

"Someone will be there to pick you up at the designated place of the Portkey," Professor McGonagall said seriously to us before we set off (she stared intently at Potter as she spoke). "This is a Portkey specially applied for by Professor Dumbledore from the Ministry of Magic for you. Don't wander off. Follow your parents' arrangements. Understood?"

We nodded to show that we'd remembered. Professor McGonagall clearly didn't trust us very much (I thought she just didn't trust Potter), and she emphasized again that we were not to act on our own.

I found it hard to say which traveling method was more uncomfortable, Apparition - in - tow or using a Portkey. The moment I left the ground, I felt like I was going to be flung out, and then I stumbled when I landed. I almost fell to my knees when we reached the destination.

"Right on time!"

I had just pulled my hand back from where Potter had held it to keep me from falling when I heard a hearty laugh, followed by Potter's delighted voice: "Dad!"

The person who came to pick us up was Mr. James Potter. One of his hands was still bandaged, but that didn't stop him from giving his son a big bear hug and tousling his son's hair with the other hand (even though it was messy enough already).

"Dad, this is Iris—Miss Iris Snape." Potter stood beside me and introduced me to his father in a very proper tone.

"We've met, Iris," the tall and thin man smiled at me as he led us out of a small alley. "Maybe you don't remember—"

"I do, Mr. Potter," I replied politely. "At King's Cross Station in our first year."

"Dad, why don't we go straight into St. Mungo's?" Potter asked as he watched his father walk past the shop window that seemed to never open. "How's your injury? Mom said in her letter that the wound has been hard to heal. Is there a solution?"

"Well, there's a bit of a tricky situation," Mr. Potter pointed to a few oddly - dressed people among the bustling Muggles. "See? The reporters from the Daily Prophet have been waiting there. To avoid trouble, we'll enter through another less - used entrance."

"Hasn't the Daily Prophet already reported the capture of Peter Pettigrew?" Potter kept asking questions one after another. Mr. Potter patiently picked some to answer—if I asked my father, he'd probably just give me a stern look and say it was none of my business.

"The little official news leaked by the Ministry of Magic can't satisfy those reporters' appetites at all. They're eager to write all the hearsay as front - page headlines—especially that Rita Skeeter," Mr. Potter smoothed a tuft of his sticking - up hair, then turned to me amiably and said, "Your mother is in good condition. Your father insisted on making her potions himself, so I came to pick you two up."

"Where's Mom?" Potter asked another question.

"Mom has been exhausted from taking care of me these days. I finally persuaded her to go back and rest for a while—anyway, summer vacation will be here soon. There's no need for her to see you today. By the way, how are you preparing for the final exams, son?"

Potter blinked. "Dad, we're about to have the final match against Slytherin."

"Whoa! Son, play well!" Mr. Potter's attention was immediately diverted. "Playing against Slytherin? Teach those Slytherins a good lesson—oh, sorry, Miss Iris. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," I waved my hand. "I'm not interested in Quidditch."

Potter glanced at me. I realized I was smiling and quickly pursed my lips. I'd never seen such a family before. Although it had nothing to do with me, watching the Potters, father and son, talk freely like brothers made me feel a bit happy and also a bit envious.

Mr. Potter finally led us into St. Mungo's, avoiding those pesky reporters. Instantly, noise filled our ears, and the strange smells and screams from different corners made us feel rather uncomfortable.

"This way, this way—Harry, hold Alice's hand and don't let her get pushed aside—watch out for that guy, he thinks he's a porcupine and throws sharp things at passers - by—" Mr. Potter led the way for us. "My ward is on the second floor, and Lily's is on the fourth floor. Do you need me to take you there, Iris?"

"No, thanks," I said quickly. I didn't want Mr. Potter and my father to be in the same room under any circumstances. "I can go by myself."

"We'll walk you to the stairwell. McGonagall told me to take good care of you two," Mr. Potter said. "Go through two doors, and it's the fourth room on the left."

"Mom!" The moment I stepped into the ward, all other thoughts faded away. All I wanted to do was rush forward and see where Mom was injured. She still looked a bit pale, but there were no visible bandages. When she saw me, she put down the bowl in her hand and opened her arms to me.

"Finish the medicine first," Dad interrupted us after Mom and I had a brief one - second hug.

"The potion your father made tastes really bad," Mom stuck out her tongue at me, frowned, and poured the remaining dark liquid in the bowl into her mouth. Then she shivered. "And he refused my help."

"It's hard for you to help in your condition—"

"Severus," Mom sighed. "I'm just joking with Alice."

"Oh." Dad nodded stiffly. There was still a deep scar on his face. "You two go on talking. I'll go out and check."

"Let me have a good look at my little girl," Mom pulled me to sit on the edge of her bed. Seeing that I was still trying hard to sniff the ingredients in the bowl to judge her injury, she smiled and stroked my head. "Mom is fine. I could actually be discharged already—but I have to stay here for a few more days because of some other reasons."

"What reason?" I looked at her beautiful eyes worriedly.

"Well, some reasons that are not very convenient to tell you now." Her warm fingers gently stroked my hair and face, as if tracing the outline of my cheeks to check if I had lost weight. "Don't worry, it has nothing to do with my physical condition."

I almost indulged in acting like a spoiled child in her arms for a while. I had originally thought of showing her that I could live well on my own, but when I was nestling beside her, smelling the faint fragrance that even the potion couldn't cover up, as we talked, a sense of grievance welled up in my heart. In the end, I even cried on Mom's shoulder.

"It's not embarrassing at all, not in the slightest," Mom said, smiling as she stroked my back. "Liz, no matter how old you are, you can be a child with Mom. You can cry as much as you want."

"Your father's injury isn't actually serious enough to require him to stay in St. Mungo—you know, he doesn't trust the healers treating me, thinking that no one can make potions as well as he can—it's quite a headache," Mom said to me. "Professor Dumbledore has given permission, but he'll be back to school by next week at the latest. I heard that Slughorn is substituting for the Potions class now?"

I nodded.

"He's not a bad person," Mom patted my hand. "Maybe you're not used to him, but he's undoubtedly an excellent Potions professor."

The visiting time ended too quickly. I reluctantly said goodbye to Mom. There were still more than ten minutes left until the agreed - upon return time. The elevator looked very crowded, so after some consideration, I chose to take the stairs. Before I reached the third floor, I heard someone talking in the stairwell.

"What do you think?" Mr. James Potter's voice lost the previous leisurely smile and became much more serious.

"What do I think? Potter, I'm not in the Ministry of Magic. Being in Hogwarts all year round has made me lack the necessary sensitivity to these— social niceties,"

I heard Dad reply coldly.

"This isn't the time for you to care about Sirius' jokes—"

"Potter, we clearly have different understandings of what a joke is," Dad's voice made me worry that he would draw his wand and attack Mr. Potter the next second. "Black is still immersed in your so - called golden age and can't extricate himself. And I don't want to remind him that if I hadn't reacted in time this time, it might be your throat instead of your arm that's bandaged now—or you might not even have the chance to be bandaged."

"I thought we were still talking about Cornelius' transfer of Lily."

"Although I've always refrained from commenting on the Minister's capabilities, I have no objections in this matter," Dad said in the smooth tone he used when dealing with people like Mr. Malfoy. "As for the attitude implied later, I'm not surprised—are you actually surprised, Potter?"

"That's why I suggested to Dumbledore to reconvene the Order of the—"

Suddenly, the watch on my wrist rang, reminding me that if I didn't leave soon, I might miss the Portkey. I dashed upstairs like a shot, praying that Dad and Mr. Potter hadn't noticed me eavesdropping. After struggling out of the crowded elevator, I finally found Potter waiting for me in the lobby.

"I thought Dad would see us off," Potter said after we left St. Mungo's. "He said he had something to do and asked me to promise that I'd bring you back to Hogwarts safely."

"Bring me? I don't need that," I raised an eyebrow. "I thought Professor McGonagall meant for me to keep an eye on you, to stop you from wandering around outside the school during this opportunity."

Although I gave him a rather blunt response, when we were crossing the road, he still reached out and grabbed my sleeve. I tried to pull away several times but couldn't. In the middle of the Muggle traffic, I couldn't exactly draw my wand and cast a Jelly - Legs Jinx on him—actually, I knew far better than him how to avoid those reckless cars like a Muggle, considering I had to visit Aunt Petunia's house every Christmas.

"Was it you who wrote to my mom at Christmas and told her what my Boggart was, right?" I'd actually wanted to ask him this before, but I found it hard to talk to him without attracting attention—there were always people around him. Now seemed like a good opportunity, so I asked as soon as he let go of me after crossing the road.

He looked very uneasy about my question, touching his nose and then scratching his hair. "Don't be angry, Iris. I admit I didn't think it through. I'm sorry, I—"

"I'm not angry," I turned my head away uncomfortably to avoid his gaze. "Why do you always apologize to me for no reason?"

"Er, I..." he mumbled. "My dad—he always says he was a bit of a scoundrel when he was at school and told me not to follow his example."

"But I can't accept this." I took out the cat - eye green hairpin carefully wrapped in a handkerchief from my pocket.

"No, this is just..." Potter didn't take it. He looked a bit dejected. "I even asked Mrs Snape to tell you that she gave it to you."

"It's not because you gave it that I'm returning it." I placed the handkerchief in his hand. "I've checked. This is an elf - made piece of jewelry. It's too expensive. Even friends can't casually accept such a costly gift."

"I just thought it complemented your eyes. There's no other meaning," Potter said as we walked to the place where the Portkey was placed. He stuffed the hairpin and the handkerchief into his pocket and looked up at me. "Er, don't move, Iris. There's a beetle in your hair."