Professor Dumbledore's office was as bright as he remembered. It was filled with the same objects Harry had seen, casting an atmosphere of clutter into the room despite the strange order reigning within. Filling the large circular room and all its beautiful furniture with little noises. The silver instruments on spindle-legged tables whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. The basin Harry recalled seeing during the first term was nowhere to be seen. In its place now there was a cabinet made out of some type of dark wood. The quality was obvious, but the paint that had once covered it was slightly worn, gilded edges seeming to have faded with time. Its doors were closed — likely hiding the basin Harry had recognized as a pensive months ago — though there was no lock.

Professor Dumbledore's office was as bright as he remembered. It was filled with the same objects Harry had seen, casting an atmosphere of clutter into the room despite the strange order reigning within. Filling the large circular room and all its beautiful furniture with little noises. The silver instruments on spindle-legged tables whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. The basin Harry recalled recognising during the first term was nowhere to be seen. In its place now there was a cabinet made out of some type of dark wood. The quality was obvious, but the paint that had once covered it was slightly worn, gilded edges seeming to have faded with time. Its doors were closed — likely hiding the basin Harry had recognized as a pensive months ago — though there was no lock.

The Sorting Hat rested unbothered atop one of the bookshelves closest to the large marble fireplace. The Headmaster's phoenix slept peacefully besides it, its feathers looking duller than they had been before. The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls of the room displayed strange hectic-like activity. The majority of the people within were well awake. They seemed attentive and curious, though a myriad of different expressions could be caught on the faces of the wizards and witches of old. All gazing downwards as they paid close attention the three other people within the room.

Harry walked towards the centre of the room nervously, arms feeling unexpectedly heavy. He recognized them, and how could he not?

Outside, through the windows, the sky was mostly uncovered. The surprising lack of clouds in sight allowing for a bright light to shine into the room, lighting it in bright whites and yellows that did nothing to dispel the erratic beat of Harry's heart. His palms feeling sweaty and cold despite the warmth within the office. Barely a few hours had gone by since the disaster that had been his attempt to warn Gudgeon directly of his dream, and the consequences hadn't taken long to surface.

It took Harry a full five seconds before he dared to speak aloud. "You called for me, Professor?" he asked, voice quivering mid-sentence — an unexpected thing.

The question worked its charm immediately, and the three adults in the office turned to look at Harry. Professor Dumbledore's eyes glinted in the midday sun in a way that made his expression seem kind. Of the other two adults, however — Harry's own parents, Fleamont and Euphemia — the same couldn't be said. They had hard eyes, particularly his mother. Her lips were pressed into thin lines, brows furrowed in a way that expressed anger. His father, however, seemed closer to concern, and though his lips were pressed as thinly as his mother's his eyes were blown wide. Betraying a concern that Harry wasn't exactly sure he had ever truly seen there. Between them, there was an empty chair. Purposefully placed there in expectation of his own appearance at the Headmaster's office.

"Ah, Harry. Good Afternoon, sit down, if you may," Dumbledore said with a tight smile, gesturing towards the chair in a sweeping motion. "I believe we have much to discuss."

Harry gulped and nodded, deciding to quickly follow suit. His parents followed his action wordlessly, observing his approach. Euphemia's lips tightened ever so slightly, and his father's eyebrows frowned ever so deeper.

O

It was four, almost five, by the time Harry reached the Slytherin common room. Outside, though sun was starting to set, the moon had already risen far up into the sky. Its whiteness beautiful against the purplish blues and reds of dusk.

James hadn't been waiting for him outside of Dumbledore's office.

Harry felt anxious, on edge. His parent's words hadn't been kind, but neither had Professor Dumbledore's. Topped off with the rumours bound to spread in the wake of his actions…

Harry pursed his lips into a thin line, very nearly wincing at the memory. His heart was still racing. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad. Not as much as Dumbledore had said it could potentially be. Perhaps rumours wouldn't spread. Perhaps Davey Gudgeon would choose to follow Harry's advice, rather than laugh.

By the time the familiar sight of the decadent, old-styled beauty of the common room greeted Harry, any hope of rumours not spreading proved to have been in vain.

The familiar blacks, silvers, and greens decorated the room, giving life to the elegantly carved wood of the furniture; rugs spread across the floor, its colours cast alight by the four large fireplaces. A school of fish swam peacefully outside of the windows, shapes barely visible with the light that escaped the room. Far into the depths, beyond the fish, in the pitch-black darkness, the merpeople's village was fully out of view; hidden away by the shadows within the waters of the black lake. It was still beautiful, regardless, with the dim and somewhat tainted light highlighting the silhouettes of faraway fish.

Harry walked through the common room in a haze, not noticing the people sitting within until it was too late. He had missed most of the classes of the day, and wanted to read over the material that he hadn't covered as a result.

He found himself stopping fifteen seconds after he had entered the common room, close to the spiralling stairs that led to the dorms below. Suddenly aware of the people inside the common room.

They weren't many — not nearly as many as it saw later in weekdays or during weekends — yet they still were there. A half-full mixed group of students ranging from first to seventh year, his own friends amongst them. They were staring. All of them. Some with more obvious glances than the rest, but the fact remained.

Staring in a nearly-complete silence only broken by the hushed of two third year girls on one of the sides.

Harry's heart skipped a beat before resuming the frantic beating he had felt before arriving at the Headmaster's office to talk with his parents and Professor Dumbledore. Biting his lip, he very nearly dashed downstairs. Not quite managing to think of anything but of potentially getting away from the odd and curious stares of his housemates.

Should he stay inside? Go to the library?

Barely five minutes passed before the library was chosen as the better option. Rosier would likely reappear in the common room, after all, and seeing the grating third year would hardly bode well if people were staring at him like—, like—

Worse, still. He didn't feel the strength of will he had felt when he had warned Gudgeon that morning. Couldn't muster it up, like he had with James. A fact leaving the possibility of seeing his dorm mates and explaining feeling like ash.

Everyone in the common room had been staring. All of them. Even if they had pretended not to be. Curiosity about what had happened that morning made all the stronger by his absence following it.

He was rushing up the spiraling stairs before he knew it, the bag hanging from his left shoulder clutched tightly in his hands. Bumping into someone on the way up, he quickly apologised. Turning just enough to make the apology polite before continuing up the stairs.

Behind him, Severus stared. Mouth open with the intention to say something. To ask.

Harry couldn't quite bear to stop and wait in the common room.

OoO

Two days passed before Harry managed to corner James outside of their Potions class. Pulling his twin away from his friends before he had a chance to protest and taking him through the dungeons to a deserted corridor which was sufficiently far away from both the potions classroom and the Slytherin common room. Only a lone portrait depicting an old witch in very antiquated yet elegant clothing seemed to observe them. She did not speak, however, and seemed unbothered by their presence. Distracted with other things.

He knew James had been avoiding him since their fight. It was clear he hadn't wanted to talk to Harry, after all, and had even walked away and avoided him when Harry had attempted to approach him twice outside the Great Hall.

He couldn't quite escape him now — a fact James seemed to feel mixed about, judging by the way his eyes had widened. The bewildered expression had lasted, too. Even now, away from the classroom Professor Slughorn always taught in and its strange floating jars, he still looked surprised. James' mouth was hanging open, nostrils flaring. His eyes — hazel — bearing into Harry's own green.

"You already know what I think, Harry."

"I know, James, I just—," Harry had stammered. "I'm sorry that we fought like that. You're my brother, but we've been so distant lately. Since Christmas, and before. Ever since…"

The initial apologies for the distance between them over the year — a fact James reluctantly, but honestly, admitted — leading to meaner, harsher questions. He had wanted to explain to James his reasons again. He had to understand. He could, couldn't he? Even after how they had fought, the last time. He could tell James had been worried, and at least that much had been fully clear. His voice had been taut throughout, with a thick undertone. His eyes carrying a concerned undercurrent and a stubborn glint.

It did not go well. Not at all, and Harry didn't quite know how they wound up arguing again. James expression dropping and the stubborn as they continued on. Stubborn glint in his eyes growing as they did so, pushing him to do the same thing as Harry — help him — in the entirely wrong way.

"There is a reason why you were supposed to keep silent about this, Harry, why can't you see it? Just—. Merlin, Harry. Can't you see that your gift puts you at risk by making you important? Mum and dad have already warned you enough times — they've been doing it for years! Once the Daily Prophet picks up on it and people, not just students, realise it's true—"

"—Besides, who even gave you the idea to say something, anyways! Who even suggested it to you, when it was clear even to me that warning Gudgeon was a monumentally bad—"

It didn't take long for the both of them to get angry, and for Harry to feel the same sort of bubbling rage he had felt a days before, after Professor Riddle's class. It didn't last long, however. Instead changing into a familiar sense of murky horror at the thought that he'd never be able to escape. That, perhaps, he really would be doomed to watch horror occur without being able to do anything but bear it in silence.

Just what had happened to them? How had they ended up like this — shouting at each other, barely able to even discuss anything? What would their parents say, or Charlus and Dorea, for that matter? Just howhad it happened?

He was sick of it all. Harry knew he was. Angry at the stubborn ignorance James maintained in his likely well-meaning intentions. His inability to really listen to him and instead just repeating what Professor Dumbledore and his parents had told him time and time again.

Harry remained at corridor for minutes, even after James had left. Pressing his lips, he fought the turmoil of feelings he felt. He'd go to the library as soon as classes had finished. Focus on his homework rather than think about James and the stares that had been following him around.

"You have old eyes, boy."

Harry turned with shock, only to find the portrait of the old Witch staring at him with narrowed eyes. Her voice was wheezy, as if she had difficulty speaking even from within the painting. She seemed curious, though. Interested in something that Harry could neither see nor understand.

He felt confused. "I'm sorry, what?" he asked, trying to keep his voice flat. It wouldn't do to lose control of himself after his fight with James, even if it was just a portrait that was talking with him. He didn't want to.

"Old, boy. Your eyes look old — but don't think you're the first to suffer from something like that. I had a sister that did to, once. A very long time ago."

Harry frowned. "I don't know what you mean," he said.

The Witch laughed at this, though it wasn't a pleasant sound. It was too tremulous and croaky. Too brief and close to cackle to be filled with any honest joy.

She smirked. "If you say so," she said, once her laughter had stopped. "I had a sister once, much like you. With old, haunted eyes even in her youth."

The woman quickly continued, shifting only slightly in her portrait to a sitting position. Sadness clouded over her features. "She was kidnapped when I was fifteen. Never to be seen again. It's a dangerous business, to be gifted with the sight."

Harry frowned and pressed his lips together. His heart thrummed inside his chest. "She was a Seer?" he asked, curious.

The old Witch nodded. Her expression hardened, closing up. "Hardly any good at all, but just enough. Just enough."

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered, not quite knowing what else to say. There was no real reason to apologize to the portrait of a dead person, though it seemed like the right thing to do.

"Your brother is right, boy — a Seer must always be protected."

Harry's face twisted. The Witch didn't seem to expect Harry to answer, however, and quickly continued talking. Her expression as hard as it seemed saddened.

"People will always want to use you, and you'll never be able to trust anyone as a result. Not fully," she continued. Her voice was tight now, deadly serious.

Harry's brows snapped together. "No one else, forever?" he said, very nearly lashing out. "I have a duty to act — I can't simply sit and watch."

The woman smiled grimly. "It is cruel to be made privy to the whims of the moires, boy. More so than you can even imagine. An honour, no doubt, but one I am glad I never inherited myself."

Harry's eyes widened. The woman laughed again, seemingly amused by his expression.

"It really is a mournful thing, boy, to have such old eyes," she said. Her mouth twisted, corners tilting slightly upwards, and Harry was left momentarily dumbfounded by how cruel her words had seemed to sound.

"Your brother was right, boy. You can only hope that you'll be able to protect yourself, now."

Harry dashed away from the portrait. His heart beating fast inside his chest as his mind reeled. The sense of murky horror grew, and Harry found himself clenching the pendant his great aunt and uncle had gifted him before his return to Hogwarts. Ignoring the way the silver snake and staff dug into the palm of his hand.

He didn't speak with James at all throughout the rest of the day. When they still hadn't, two days later, he couldn't quite bring himself to approach him. Regardless of how painful the distance felt.

Neither could James.

OoO

The knockback jinx sent Harry crashing against the wall. His schoolbag crashed onto the floor; its contents — books, parchment, quills, and ink — violently scattering around him. Barely-muffled laughs followed, Gudgeon's boisterous and grating own amongst them, along with the telltale sound of several hasty steps. Harry stood up slowly, tasting the blood in his mouth, and grimaced. His nose and mouth hurt, though not enough to seem broken.

Harry crouched, scowling at the ugly sight that now were his school supplies. His inkwell had broken, its black ink spilling over the copy of 'Divination Around the World, Volume IV' he had found at home and seeping into some of its pages. The rest — the majority — had scattered across the stone floor.

At least his quills and classmates hadn't been damaged.

Harry sighed, and resolved to gather his things as quickly as possible and before the spilled ink could to too much damage. Grabbing his bag, he reached for the books and parchment closest to him.

It was strange how quickly things could change.

The week following his confrontation with James had shown just that, with nothing but unpleasantness following regardless of Harry's good intentions. The change immediately noticeable by comparison to how he had been treated during the first term. Even within his own house.

The Ravenclaw's laugh had been like a roar, bewildering in its intensity and depth. Spreading like wildfire to the rest of his classmates and even a few Slytherins. Leaving Harry — though in retrospect less so — in shock whilst his friends stared in perplexity. Davey Gudgeon hadn't believed a word of what he had said, and, in turn, neither had the rest of his classmates. Harry's attempt to help and indicate the danger the boy was in leading only to a particularly humiliating form of mockery as soon as word had gotten out.

He had never known that embarrassment could run as deep as it did, particularly once James reacted to the chorus of laughter by dragging Harry away from the Transfiguration classroom. Any attempt to understand the pain that divided Harry abandoned in favour of a sharp 'what were you thinking' made worse by his refusal to listen. Going further on to follow up on the dare to touch the Whomping Willow together with Black the very next day. Regardless of their previous fight and all of Harry's advice.

The week had been strange after that. Whispers and mutters had followed Harry wherever he went. Curiosity and confusion morphing into tones of condescension as soon as the story had spread throughout the school. Open mockery had quickly followed, together with a perceived change of status, even within his own house. Particularly within his own house. Evolving and changing from his being a 'strangely sorted' Potter into variants of madness or stupidity. Loony. Potty.

This, then — the jinx — had followed as a natural result. Along with more the longer the situation continued.

He hadn't expected any of it, though, perhaps, he should have.

'Potty', that's what he was now.A title the rest of the school had quickly gotten wind of, somehow, after Rosier had quickly coined it at the Slytherin common room. The word succeeding in tainting and besmirching the certainty Harry had had about warning Davey Gudgeon. Polluting and muddying the courage he had felt into something stupid and reckless, rather than of any value. Changing it into something disgraceful that his parents hadn't hesitated in pointing out in the letters they had sent since. Their disbelief and disappointment made starkly clear despite the effort Harry had attempted to go into during the holidays to make them understand. To make them proud.

They had made their thoughts perfectly clear in their meeting with Dumbledore, however. As had, even, the Headmaster himself.

He had never seen them as disappointed as they had then, even if they hadn't asked his reasons for having done had he had done. No, it had been deeper than that. Similar in a way to the terror he had seen on his parent's faces when the news of the Muggle-targeted attack had been published by the Daily Prophet on the 27th of December. Thus, question after question on what he had been thinking had followed, along with worried comments about what the impact of his actions would be. About the danger he had put himself and his brother in. About the speed with which rumours spread and their impact.

Dumbledore had mediated throughout, to a degree. The contrast between the warm glimmer in his eyes and the worry in his words having been confusing to witness on the Headmaster.

'It is a grim fact, but once upon a time, Harry, as your parents have no doubt told you, those with the sight used to be hunted down and blinded. For darkness has always been found to increase the gift Seers only have.'

'I understand your worry about your classmate, and I can promise you that I am doing everything in my power to protect him from what you saw. However, there are things you still don't understand, Harry. There are more things occurring around us, as the attack on Christmas shows, that are—'

Yet, despite all of this, Harry knew for a fact that students were still approaching the dangerous tree regardless of the teacher's attention on it. He had seen it, after all, and everything which he saw in dreams had always come to pass. Even the majority of Slytherins now had ended up being interested in going through with the dares to touch the Whomping Willow's trunk — Thorfinn Rowle had done so just yesterday — and even James had too, together with Black. Out of spite after the disaster that had been their last conversation.

'Trust me, Harry. Trust us. I understand that it's hard, but with time you'll come to understand the reasons your parents and I have for…'

That hadn't stopped Bricius Stebbins from dying, however. His death made perhaps worse by the way it had been covered up — Avery's father likely knew what he was talking about, after all.

Then there were the words of advice Professor Riddle had given him since the beginning of the year. The story of Icarus and the power of knowledge on one's actions. The allegory he had told through that poem about a Duke made out of stone who both didn't see nor act on the problems of the city. He had his own reading and knowledge on Divination to rely on, too, as well as the quote his great-aunt and uncle had showed him. Which, even if brief, seemed to point at a completely different direction. As did most of the knowledge that the ancient Wizarding communities of Greece and its Seers had given to the world, with none other than the Oracle of Delphi spearheading the message.

Indicate, rather than conceal. Give a sign, rather than reveal things outright.

It had all gone wrong. He had been reckless — too carefree and obstinate in what he had said and how he had said it.

None of that had mattered in the end, however. Not to his parents or to Professor Dumbledore. Instead they had decided to tell him off for his actions without answering his concerns. Telling him what to do and how to behave without explaining to him why. All under the impression that he was still too young to understand despite the fact he could see too many of the events happening around him. See more than anyone. And if he couldn't understand what was going on, how could he ever hope to do good? Rationalise his dreams and overcome them along with his gift?

Harry gritted his teeth as he continued gathering his things, not quite managing to control the anger and powerlessness he felt.

The ink had run over the floor quickly, further staining some of the blank parchment he usually made sure to carry with him. With this in mind, he picked up the last book on the floor — the fourth volume of 'Divination Around the World' — and examined it. Leaving the broken inkwell, for now, on the floor. The ink had seeped into the pages, leaving most of them completely stained. The text within left mostly unreadable.

He clenched his fists, nails very nearly digging into the book's cover. A scourgify would likely do a good job of cleaning it, but…

Harry closed his eyes. Tears were starting to well up, and he wasn't completely sure he could stop them. His voice trembled. "Just what am I supposed to do?" he asked.

What could he do? None of the students believed him, and their behavior towards him wouldn't change until they did. How they'd treat him once they did was, in turn, another mystery. No, his warning had fallen victim to the incredulity of others, and even if James wasn't ignoring him there was little that his twin could do. Dumbledore then, though disappointed, had promised to keep a watchful eye on the Whomping Willow and take precautions. Yet—.

Harry clenched his hands despite the tears welling up, and felt his nails virtually dig into the cover of 'Divination Around the World'. He was shaking, still feeling too broken about the horrendous week to really be able to think. Too angry too, to be able to do so. At himself, for his mistaken approach and recklessness. At James, for not understanding regardless of his worries. At the other students, who had only cared enough to laugh. At Gudgeon himself, for not taking anything seriously.

He felt despondent. Impotent.

What could he do if he didn't want to simply be a passive observer? Gudgeon's behavior certainly hadn't made him any dearer to Harry — on the contrary — but leaving him to his fate seemed cruel. Too monstrous to consider.

He was a grating pest who hadn't ceased to laugh at him throughout the week, but he was still just a boy his age. Undeserving of the pain he had seen. Of the loud cracks which would fill the air as the Whomping Willow's branches smashed — would smash — on his torso. Shattered bone, too white under the light as it broke through his—

No. He disliked the boy. Hated him, even, after how he had wounded up treating him. But condemning him to the pain he had seen seemed too cruel. He wanted to help people, not doom them. He was gifted with the sight. He was Seer — he knew that more than enough through his parent's warnings, no matter what they had said at Professor Dumbledore's office — and that meant he had to act. Somehow. Guide in whatever way he could.

Could he, however? There was no reason not to attempt to, considering he had already doomed himself to being discovered as a Seer by everyone. He couldn't let the same thing that had happened with Bricius Stebbins happen again.

What, really could he do, short of tracking Gudgeon around, or monitoring the Whomping Willow?

Harry took a deep breath and willed himself to stop shaking. He opened his eyes and looked back at the stained book. Maybe the damage wasn't that bad, in the end. He could still go on — work with the facts of the situation. He had already failed at warning Gudgeon once, but that didn't mean he was fully powerless. If monitoring the Whomping Willow was what it took to prevent Gudgeon's death, so it would be. It had nothing to do with what his parents and Professor Dumbledore had said. With his brother's worry and incomprehension. Regardless of all of that, there was nothing he could do about his situation, as much as the treatment of the other students pained him.

Harry quickly found himself sobering up. He set his jaw, straightening his back. He had to harden himself and be strong — who'd be if he wasn't, after all? If he didn't fight for himself?

Harry glanced around the floor, picked up his last quill and quickly placed it together with the rest of his books and parchment in his bag. Nothing else remained on the floor. He glanced around — the corridor was empty, without any students or prefects in sight — and took out his wand. He pointed his wand at 'Divination Around the World, Volume IV', making sure to open the book.

He flicked his wand. "Scourgify." The black ink vanished, as if it had never been there. Harry smiled, and placed it inside his bag.

By the time his classes finished, he went to the hill on which the Whomping Willow had been planted. Resolving to sit and read there despite the constant noise and whispers. He could keep studying scrying there. Even work through much of the classwork they had been set.

It was surprisingly pleasant, despite the muffled noise and cold.

OoO

His great aunt and uncle's eagle-owl swept in first thing in the morning with a certain grace despite its large size. Landing before him — very nearly on top of plate on which Harry had been piling his breakfast — it stretched its neck forward, urging Harry to pick the letter on its beak. Harry took the letter and quickly offered a piece of bacon to the bird. Taking no small amount of pride in the fact that the previously strong-willed bird had warmed up to him as much as it had. The owl ate the bacon quickly. Combing its head with its claws as soon as he had finished.

Around Harry, the Great Hall bustled with activity.

It was morning, though earlier than the times Harry had taken to arriving at the massive hall. The four tables were half empty, and though some like more filled than the rest, not even half of the student population had made it to breakfast again. A necessary decision — whispers and snickers had been following Harry around ever since he had attempted to warn Gudgeon days ago.

With his dorm mates were still nowhere to be seen in the Great Hall, Harry had found himself sitting alone in the area they usually occupied together. A small mercy, considering the little amount of talk he had initiated over the last days. The stares from the people at his house and the way his brother had taken to avoiding him still feeling too recent. Too shameful and strange for him to be able to gather the courage necessary to ask his friends what they thought.

Thoughts and worries raged wild inside his head — were they as ashamed and bewildered about what he had done as the rest? It didn't seem like they did. They had neither stared at him nor laughed like the other students. Instead even going as far as defending him whenever possible from the other students their age — particularly Severus.

No, Severus hadn't been happy about Harry's silence and near-avoidance. His expression instead seeming to have become a near-constant scowl. He wanted to talk to him, Harry knew. Ask about what exactly had happened. Whether what Harry had said to Gudgeon before that Transfiguration class had been true or not. It was obvious that Mulciber and Avery were curious too, though they hadn't been obvious about it. Choosing instead, it seemed, to allow him his space. Avoiding the topic whenever Harry wasn't at the library as soon as it had become clear Harry wouldn't mention it.

Harry could barely muster the courage to sit at the Great Hall as it was. Let alone tackle and address the elephant in the room. Not with the stares and whispers, not with the quiet laughs. Not with the way Rosier and others had taken to mocking him, and his brother avoided him.

Harry looked down and opened the letter, taking the paper contained inside. His mouth curved into a smile at the sight of Charlus' familiar scrip and the familiar greeting.

'Dear Nephew,

Having come to just learn from your father about what—'

Harry started to read the letter, feeling himself tear up, if only slightly. Distractedly, he petted the large eagle-owl on its head, ruffling some of its feathers. The memory of the words the strange Witch in that painting had told him after his fight with James flashed through his mind. This time, however, unaccompanied by the murky sense of horror he had felt then and every since.

Truth be told, he hadn't expected a letter from his great-uncle and aunt. He was worried — had been, at the King's Cross, too — and it was obvious. Despite that, however, the letter's tone was completely different from the less pleasant one he had received from his parents days before. He missed talking with them. Missed how easygoing and relaxing the days he had spent at their house during the Yule holidays had been.

'Now, Harry. I understand much of my brother's worry, particularly with the most recent attacks. Like you already know, certain longstanding problems have yet to be tackled. Let alone resolved. Regardless, don't forget that no matter how dark things may seem, there is always a way out of the problems we encounter. That, whilst it is no doubt important for you to be careful and avoid being used by other people — whomever they might be — wishing to help others isn't the end. There is little to be gained from blaming oneself.

Every problem has far more depth and complexity than the simple summaries we often see, and things are often more complicated than what they may seem. Like I said at the station, Harry, you aren't meant to bear the weight of of the world on your shoulders. Your gift is undoubtedly important and useful. However, it isn't something which you are meant or condemned to bear alone. Curiosity isn't a crime, and neither are good intentions or the will to help. On the contrary, Harry. Whilst it can no doubt be dangerous to reveal the full truth about one's own gifts, so it can be to maintain lies. That is, to self-abdicate to those whom one lies to. Opening up deadly weaknesses in the form of the necessity of maintaining high levels of secrecy to all.

You'll soon have to find that care must be taken of guarding one's reputation and conceal their intentions. It is deadly to not do so — a fact that your aunt Dorea once learnt at Hogwarts at a high cost. However, so can it be to prevent oneself from acting in the open and take away opportunities. You'll find too, however, that — as it will likely come to happen soon — your discover as a Seer, though inconvenient in some ways, will also open up to you a number of opportunities.

At risk of making this letter run for too long, I just wanted to remind you that if you ever need advice or help, that you can always come to Dorea and I. Above anything, you are family. Particularly considering the difficult moments you are likely facing at the moment.

Now, putting this behind, both Dorea and I wanted to ask you about whether you enjoyed the books you bought at Diagon Alley with us during the Yule holidays. As you know, we both have a number of books at the library and our home, and would like to offer—.'

Harry smiled. In front of him the owl bobbed its head to the left, and started preening its feathers. Remembering his holiday studying of scrying, he immediately set to writing his aunt and uncle back. If anyone could help him get a recipient useful for setting up a basin with which to practice water scrying, it was them.

OoO

"Asphodel — from the Greek asphodelos — or Royal Staff, is a member of the lily family. As you can observe from the plants in front of you, it has distinctively long and slender leaves. Found worldwide, its powdered root is often used in—"

Professor Sprout's voice ringed in monotone cadences, orotund and flat. It was loud, filling the entire greenhouse. Mixing in with the humid and heavy hot air within the glass encasings for the delicate plants within. It sounded matter-of-factly and slightly high-pitched, with a certain nasal component to it that proved slightly distracting and grating.

Around Harry the class seemed concentrated, or at least the majority of it. Avery was quickly jotting down notes in his parchment, his handwriting somewhere between a scrawl and an elegant script. Severus was doing much of the same, his, however, looking far neater. Straight lines and elegant script mixing in with quickly drawn diagrams of the plant they'd be studying today. Stebbins was staring away at the plant, expression scrounged up and unreadable. Mulciber was fully gone, and instead was tapping his quill rhythmically against the table. The whiteness of the parchment glaringly contrasting with the few hastily-written notes at the top of the page.

—Tap tap tap — it went — tap tap tap.

The Hufflepuffs on the other side of the room proved much of the same. Most of them seemed to be following along Professor Sprout's lesson, filling the greenhouse with the additional sound of the scratching of quills against paper. It didn't stop the rest, however, and the tap tap tap of Mulciber's quill against the table was accompanied by the hushed giggles of three first year Slytherin girls. Some of the Hufflepuffs indiscreetly glanced at Harry every few seconds — after every giggle — before immediately looking back at the professor as if scalded. A scrunched up note — passed or thrown — immediately following. Professor Sprout, back turned towards the class as she observed the blackboard, woefully unknowing as she continued her lecture.

"—as stated by Arsenius Jigger in Magical Drafts and Potions. Additionally being used in the Wiggenweld Potion, as well for a multitude of other magical and non-magical uses. Though commonly found, cultivation requires certain specific conditions—"

The tap tap tap continued. A note, neatly folded, floated across the room into the hands of a Hufflepuff boy. Two Slytherin girls glanced quickly back at Harry and giggled. Another girl — a Hufflepuff — glanced at him with an incredulous look, brows furrowed. Then — tap tap tap.

Harry's grip on his quill strengthened, class now practically completely forgotten. He couldn't help but grit his teeth at the very memory of it. It had been four by the time he had managed to leave the Headmaster's office, that day, and ever since then…

—Tap tap tap. The Slytherin girls whispered again, this time slightly louder than before.

Potty, that's what he was. Ridiculous and stupid despite his position as one of the best students in his classes — a thought clear in the eyes of virtually everyone he saw. Even Lily had taken to looking at him with pity, and Merlin, the whispers and giggles he even got at the library—

Harry bit his lip, and forced himself to look up at the Professor. What was she talking about? He had completely lost track of where the lesson had been heading, and now he couldn't manage to catch up to what she had been saying. She was still talking about asphodel, that he could tell. However, she didn't seem to be paying attention to the plant in specific at the moment. Harry frowned, and focused on the blackboard. He needed to catch up again to the class. The diagrams, however, were still the same. The only distinguishing thing about the board being the additional columns of information that had been drawn up.

—Tap tap tap. The Hufflepuff girl glanced at him again, brows as furrowed s they had before. Harry didn't know her name.

Harry groaned, and hung his head half in embarrassment and frustration. He couldn't concentrate. He glanced quickly at his dorm mates, but quickly looked away. He hadn't dared to talk to them about what had happened, truth be told. Not with the way things had been going over the last two weeks, and not when students had been looking at him like—, like—

—Tap tap tap.

At the front of the class, ignorant to his inner plight, Professor Sprout continued explaining the properties and uses of asphodel. How to recognize signs of quality in the plant, the method to powder the roots best, cultivation methods to ensure the highest quality possible… Harry clenched his hands around his quill and hung his head lower.

A worried voice made itself known from his left, soft spoken and flat — Severus. "Harry?"

—Tap tap tap.

Harry's eyes shot up abruptly, focusing on his dorm mate and friend. He shouldn't have felt as surprised as he was.

His black eyes set on Harry's own green ones. He was mostly straight-faced, expression very nearly fully neutral. His eyebrows, however, were furrowed slightly, and his lips pressed together. He was worried.

"Are you okay?" the black-haired boy asked, this time in a quieter voice.

Harry nodded slowly. He didn't feel alright, truth be told, but he didn't quite know what to say. "I was distracted, sorry," he whispered. "I—" he muttered, struggling to find the words. He didn't know what to say. Not when he had been half-avoiding his friends, not daring to mention what had happened.

Severus' frown deepened, and he looked down, to scan the parchment Harry had been attempting to write on. His eyes looked alert. Understanding.

"You can borrow my notes for the class later, if you want," he offered. His voice sounded lighthearted, but his worried expression didn't change. He was still worried.

It took Harry a moment to reply. "Thank you," he whispered. "I think I'll do that, if it's alright."

Severus nodded, but said nothing. He was hesitating, by the looks of it. When he didn't immediately say anything Harry turned to look at Professor Sprout again. She was demonstrating how to cut and grind correctly the asphodel roots — no doubt last task for the class — and surely enough, soon they were doing just that.

Harry got up from his chair and followed the other students towards the area where Professor Sprout had laid out the plants they were to practice cutting and grinding. Severus followed behind, the both of them near the back of the queue. By the time they were both returning with a potted plant each, the rest of the students had already started practicing cutting the roots. A disaster-in-waiting for some of the worse students in the class — someone was bound to accidentally cut one of their fingers off. Mulciber certainly was at risk, judging by the way he was holding his knife.

One of the Hufflepuff boys on the other side of the class crumpled a piece of paper — a note — and threw it. It missed Harry by inches, and instead fell on the floor unnoticed.

Harry sat down on his seat and cleared out his desk space, moving away the parchment he hadn't quite used, and deposited the potted asphodel. He quickly started to work on uprooting it. It would take a bit longer than he'd like, though. He still hadn't gotten completely the hang of doing so in Herbology.

He was almost done with the admittedly dirty task when Avery glanced back at them. His eyes meeting Severus' silently, wordlessly attempting to say something.

Harry pulled out the plant — roots included and intact — and grabbed hold of his knife. The silvery surface glistened under the surprisingly bright sunlight of the early morning. Just like it had when he had bought it together with James, all those months ago.

Harry gulped. His throat feeling inexplicably dry at the memory.

James.

James.

He brought the knife down, separating the stem from the roots. The cut was easy to make, and the long thin roots were soon ready to work on. Besides him, however, Severus hadn't started yet the initial cuts to separate the stem from the roots. A fact that made Harry quickly look up at his dorm mate, surprised. It wasn't normal, to see Severus distracted. Not in class.

Their eyes met. "Sev?" Harry asked. He was still frowning.

"Harry…" he muttered, seemingly searching for words. He glanced quickly at Avery, who seemed concentrated in cutting up the asphodel roots. Besides him, Mulciber was attempting the very same thing. The knife's sharp edge dangerously close to his thumb as he cut up a part of the stem.

Snape glanced up at the front of the class. Professor Sprout was starting to talk and look over the work of the students at the front. He grabbed his knife. Harry looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Avery, Mulciber, and I were talking before class," the black-haired boy finally said. He cut cleanly through the stem, and swiftly pushed it away. "You know you can trust us, right?"

Harry's eyes widened. He opened his mouth to answer, but Snape quickly continued talking.

"We noticed, or at least Avery and I did. The rumors, what happened, doesn't change a thing." He sounded completely serious. As serious as he always was.

Harry frowned and bit his lower lip. With the way the last weeks had been going and people had been treating him…

"Half the school has been talking about me. Laughing," he stated. Gudgeon certainly hadn't shut up about it, and all of Slytherin ought to know by now how quickly Evan Rosier had picked up on the entire thing. His heart was racing, and he couldn't muster up the ability to feel calm. He just didn't know how to talk about what had happened with his friends. How to explain. With what his parents and Dumbledore had told him, how could he?

Half of the student body was laughing and gossiping at him, but even then, if he talked and confirmed anything…

Severus shook his head and looked back at him. Harry glanced down quickly in return, and focused again on his plant. He gripped his knife stronger and resumed cutting up the roots.

"We didn't know what to think, but Mulciber thought — you know how he is, keeping up with students — that…" Severus quickly said before coming to an abrupt end.

He frowned deeper and set his eyes on Harry. He got closer, and lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. "We haven't known each other for very long, but you were completely serious when warning that Ravenclaw, weren't you?"

Harry's eyes widened. "You believe me?" he asked, incredulous. Did he — they — really do? "You don't think I made it up, or that I'm insane?"

Severus nodded slowly. In front of him, Avery though still cutting the roots, slowed down. Mulciber cut his thumb, and grimaced.

"You aren't the type of person to make something up for attention. Not like that," Severus continued, voice barely audible. "Mulciber thought, too, that you were completely serious at the time."

"You know something is going to happen to that boy, don't you, Harry?"

Harry was dumbfounded. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of what he could say. He finally nodded after a few seconds. The knife fell from his hand.

They knew. Someone besides James or his parents now knew. What would they say once they knew?

How many people would come to know?

Harry grimaced. He wanted to do something, but if what his parents had said was true…

Snape observed him in silence, his face a mask. In front of him Avery had stopped cutting up his roots, and Mulciber seemed to have given up attempting it after he had accidentally cut his thumb. They didn't turn towards them, however, though they must have been aware — even if only to a degree — about what they were talking.

They only continued talking once the class had finished and they started making their way to the History of Magic class, at the fifth floor. Harry packed his things quickly and went out of the greenhouse. His friends — all except Stebbins — following in tow. As they walked, some of the people within the paintings glanced down at Harry, whispering amongst themselves.

Three of the Slytherin girls, the same ones who had been giggling throughout the class, rushed through the corridor. One glanced at Harry as they overtook them, sneering and lowering her eyes as she ran. Stebbins and two other girls were walking slower, practically still within the greenhouse.

Harry's mind was reeling. His heart beating frantically. As his friends caught up with him, Harry felt his heart freeze.

He had known that people would discover what he was after what he had done, but with the laughter and insults directed at him he hadn't truly expected it.

Severus looked as serious and grave as he had before, though this time he could tell that Avery did too. The brown-haired boy's face was fully composed, giving nothing away. Besides him, Mulciber's wasn't nearly as composed — something admittedly normal in the dark haired boy. He seemed curious. Surprised. Strangely unbothered by the dried blood on his thumb.

Harry swore he saw his eyes glisten with something akin to excitement. "You're a seer, aren't you, Harry?" he said. The words seemed momentous.

Harry's eyebrows rose up a notch, his mouth dropping open slightly. They really did know. "How could you tell?" he asked. "I never said anything."

The corners of Mulciber's mouth turned upwards. "You looked too serious when you practically shouted that at Davey Gudgeon. It wouldn't be in your nature to make up something like that. There was no reason to."

"So you really are, then?" Avery asked. "I'll admit I thought that outburst strange — seemed like a ridiculous thing to say — but Severus…"

Harry only managed to nod, not quite knowing what to say.

"I was the one that pieced it together, Avery. You didn't believe any of it first," Mulciber interrupted. He glanced at the other Slytherin with a prideful smirk, before quickly focusing again on Harry. "Did you really meant what you said, then? That Gudgeon would be killed by the Whomping Willow?"

The dream flashed through Harry's mind. He nodded, throat feeling unexpectedly dry. "Yes. It hasn't happened yet, but it will. Soon, once spring comes," he explained, voice flat. There was a certain strangeness about talking so openly about one of his dreams. He couldn't bring himself to say more.

Mulciber's eyebrows rose. "Is that why your brother has been ignoring you all week?"

Harry hung his head and looked at the floor, mouth setting into a hard line even as he felt his eyes well up slightly. He wrinkled his nose. "Only partly," he admitted.

Mulciber nodded, but didn't press the issue. Neither did the other two.

It was amazing to think about how little contact he had had with James lately, particularly with how close they had been before. He had been with his twin all the time, before. Trusted him with everything — as had he.

"It must be an amazing thing to be able to have, though—" Mulciber quickly added. "To be able to know what's coming. To see. I wish I was able to. The amount of legends and stories about Seers and prophecies in history alone—"

Harry pursed his lip. "It's not that clean-cut," he mumbled. It wasn't. Definitely hadn't, at least, lately. "I sometimes think I see too much. I knew about the death of Stebbins' father before anything happened. Saw it happen. The other things…" he finished, voice trailing off.

They came to a sudden stop at his words, seeming shocked. Eyebrows raised and eyes widened far beyond anything Harry had ever seen of them.

"You knew about it?" Avery asked, curiosity laced clearly into his voice.

Harry nodded. "He was killed by Aurors near Diagon Alley. It wasn't… I wish I could have done something about it."

Mulciber frowned. "Why didn't you?" he asked. "It should be simple, right?"

Harry shook his head. "I tried. Dumbledore tried, but it came to happen nonetheless, regardless."

"What if you had told Stebbins?" Avery barged in, clearly interested in the idea. "Maybe that would have changed something."

It was a good question — one that Harry had already asked himself. The memory didn't sit well with him, though. He had had to keep it a secret, and even then…

'The oracle neither conceals, nor reveals, but indicates'

"I don't know," Harry muttered. "I had to keep it a secret, else…" A thought suddenly struck Harry. "Does Stebbins know?" he asked, voice almost a whisper.

He didn't know what he'd do if the other boy learnt that he had seen his father's death before it had happened. Would he consider him guilty for not warning him — responsible by virtue of his knowledge?

Avery visibly flinched — a rare sight for the otherwise formal Pureblood boy. "Stebbins didn't take to the idea well. At least when we were discussing it," he started to explain. "He thinks you knew something about it."

Harry paled.

"I can understand why you kept it a secret and didn't talk about it, even to us," Severus said pensively, after a few moments of silence. "Seers are rare at best. If what you have is real it is the kind of thing that would put you at risk."

Harry nodded, and found himself frowning slightly despite feeling relieved. He turned to look at Snape, his mouth curving into a smile. Worries momentarily forgotten.

"I suppose I'd agree with you there, Sev," Avery soon added. "Even when it comes to minor skills and abilities, Wizards tend to remain silent about what they can really do. Unless it can't be helped, and even then."

Mulciber didn't look so sure, but he didn't say anything. He still looked curious, however. His expression open, if a bit quizzical.

"Why did you tell Gudgeon like that?" he finally asked. "It seemed like an impulsive thing to do. Gryffindor-like. You could have been more discreet, or warned him in a way that didn't result in…"

Harry shook his head. "What I saw… I just couldn't take it anymore. James is now distant at best — you've seen it — and with the things I see in dreams… I couldn't bear the thought of the same thing happening again. Not after what happened to Stebbins' father."

Mulciber nodded. "It's a shame he didn't believe you, then."

"You can't fault him. You were too impulsive, Harry," Avery said matter-of-factly. "You have no reputation as a Seer, and people have been gossiping since as a result. You looked like a Gryffindor."

Harry looked down. His brother had said as much too, all those days ago. If more harshly. As had his family. He had been too impulsive, though that didn't mean he had changed his mind. He couldn't stay silent and do nothing, however. He couldn't bear to.

They continued walking in silence, and soon reached the set of moving stairs that would take them to the fifth floor. These ones, Harry had learnt, were slightly untrustworthy despite their more gradual incline. Particularly when compared to the longer route to their History of Magic class.

It didn't take them long to reach the top and soon they were marching on through a long corridor with open widows at its left.

"Aren't you angry I didn't tell you?" Harry finally asked. He hadn't even considered doing so, only going as far as to discreetly ask Professor Riddle.

Severus was the first to shake his head. When Avery and Mulciber followed after him, Harry couldn't help feeling surprised.

"I can understand why you did it," Severus said, repeating his earlier words.

Avery nodded. "It is something that's expected. I can't fault you for that — it was the intelligent thing to do. Even if I'm curious about the details."

"Exactly," Mulciber agreed, not adding anything else. "Though I'm curious about exactly how much of a Seer you are, Harry."

They turned left, and the classroom finally came into view. A few students were walking into it unenthusiastically. Close to the classroom's door, about to enter it, was Davey Gudgeon. He was talking boisterously with another Ravenclaw boy. His close-set eyes wide as his heavy eyebrows rose high up into his forehead. He seemed to spot Harry at a distance, and quickly glowered in his direction. Lips twisting into a mocking smirk.

Harry grimaced, practically hearing the insulting name already. 'Potty'

"You know, Harry," Avery muttered after a few seconds, capturing and shifting Harry's attention away from the grating Ravenclaw boy. "I can't help but wonder why, if your parents and Dumbledore knew, the news of the death of Stebbins' father appeared on the news."

Harry frowned. He couldn't quite grasp at what Avery meant, though he had an inkling. "How come?"

Avery shook his head. "My father couldn't stop talking about it throughout Christmas. Something important must have happened, because he mentioned it to Professor Riddle at one of the balls as quietly as he could."

Harry glanced at him. There had been something strange about the event, though his dorm mate didn't seem to know. Stebbins' father had been carrying something which had later been taken from him — a bag. The box within it turning out to be in his parent's possession during the Yule holidays.

A cup with two handles, small and made out of gold. A badger prominently engraved at its centre. That's what had been inside the bag.

"What I mean is — I'm not surprised he knew, my father has enough contacts to learn just about everything that happens thanks to his job," Avery continued. "The fact that the murder still didn't make it to the Daily Prophet, despite how the both of your parents and Dumbledore knew. Now, that's interesting."

Harry's eyes widened. Besides them Mulciber and Severus were silent, paying attention to Avery's words with undeniable interest.

"I don't mean to say that I know everything. I'm probably wrong, but the murder and whatever was stolen must have been important," Avery continued. "The fact that you told the truth to Professor Dumbledore and your parents, yet the truth of the event was still snuffed out proves it."

"A cup," Harry muttered absentmindedly. "A golden cup." His thoughts were racing. "That's what was in the box."

Avery's eyebrows rose, and his smirk broadened in a strange way. Harry broke into a cold sweat, though he couldn't tell why. A chill ran through his spine.

"And isn't that interesting?" Avery asked. His posture relaxed, and the twisted smile disappeared completely. "My father didn't know about that. But now, you, Harry — that's another story. The amount of things you must know… the sight, in a way, is an amazing gift."

They continued through the hallway in silence, soon reaching the classroom. It was still half-empty — class hadn't started yet. Avery and Mulciber entered first, immediately going to the seats they usually used, close to the back of the class. Harry followed with Severus besides him, observing him with a worried frown.

"Are you okay, Harry?" he asked.

Harry nodded faintly, though didn't properly answer. He turned to look at Severus.

"No matter what Mulciber asked earlier, you can't be held guilty for the death of Stebbins' father," he said, after a pause. His voice was completely serious, though Harry could tell that he meant to cheer him up, even if slightly.

"That you had foreknowledge of the event doesn't matter — your actions didn't lead to its happening, and you can never be sure what a warning will really do," Severus continued. "If it was something that would have happened regardless, there is no guilt at all. It was fated."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Sev," he said.

Harry quickly glanced at Avery and Mulciber as he sat next to Severus on the table behind Avery and Mulciber's. Avery's posture looking relaxed and unburdened as he spoke in a half-joking tone of voice.

"You really need to stop fiddling with your quill like that in classes, Mulciber. It's driving me insane."

O

It was when lunchtime had almost finished that day that the Daily Prophet's special edition came out.

It didn't take long for students to rush to read it — curiosity and fear palpable in the air as they rushed and moved closer to those who carried a subscription to the newspaper. Harry was no exception, and inched closer to his friends who, with the exception of Stebbins, were sitting in their usual area. The latter having taken to sitting slightly apart from Harry every time he could manage to. The reason why unbeknown to Harry except for what his friends had told him after Herbology.

Mulciber, who received the newspaper daily, hadn't taken long to untie the it from the delivery owl's leg, and now had it fully open. Despite the fact it had been delivered as a neatly folded small rectangle it unfolded enough to cover the entire upper body of the person reading it. It was massive, even though it was comparatively thin to their daily publication.

The font used for the title was larger than their usual one, though the size of the words covering the front cover were comparatively smaller. Enough to make reading the paper from a distance a challenge. A single photograph was displayed on the cover. The picture looked gruesome in its place of prominence beneath the edition's main heading. Morbid in how it displayed three dead bodies levitating within the atrium of the Ministry of Magic, atop the Fountain of Magical Brethren.

The golden statues of the fountain clashed with the bloated blueish skin of the three bodies in a way that could only be described as grisly. The bodies floated right beneath the glittering jets of water that came out of the wands of the wizard and witch. They had been placed there purposefully, it seemed. As some sort of mockery. The glistening jets of water trickled down the broken skin of the bodies rather than fall in their typical fashion. Staining the gold of the statues and the water beneath with a red that was deep enough to be visible in the black-and-white photograph.

In the sky above, directly above the fountain, was the same mark Harry remembered seeing in the Daily Prophet during the holidays, as well as in his own dreams. A snake protruding out of a colossal skull like a tongue, rising higher and higher as it shone brightly in the sky. As eerily beautiful as it was terrifying.

TERROR AT THE MINISTRY! (7th February 1972)

by Andy Smudgley.

Scenes of terror were seen this morning at the atrium of the Ministry when three bodies were found at the atrium. Eugenia Jenkins, Minister for Magic, quickly condemned the attack, describing it as a "vile and horrifying act of violence." Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, stated that an investigation is already underway. Confirming the identity of the victims as prominent Muggleborn employees of the Department of Magical Education who only last September successfully introduced an amendment to current laws which excluded from the required curriculum various newly-identified dangerous dark spells. The confirmed presence of the same mark found at the location of previous attacks — a snake and a skull — though not commented on by the Head of the Auror Office, has raised alarms in the public, as…

Harry's attention was torn away from the article as he heard Mulciber gasp besides him. Looking up he saw Avery carrying a similar expression, as did Severus. Stebbins was frowning, having been avoiding Harry's eyes ever since rumors about him had first spread.

He had been sitting slightly apart from their group all throughout the day. The reason why being unknown to Harry.

"It's getting out of control, then," Mulciber muttered. His jaw had gone slack and he looked pale.

"It looks like they haven't been able to do anything against whomever has been carrying out these attacks," Avery said matter-of-factly, his voice sounding flat. He was still focusing on the article.

Severus' expression had hardened, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "It is bad news," he said pensively. "Something bad is going to happen. It isn't going to stop."

Mulciber quickly turned towards him, nodding. "It seems like the Aurors are useless this time." His gaze then shifted way to Avery, who quickly met his eyes.

Avery nodded slowly, lips twisting into something that was neither a scowl nor a smile. After a few seconds his eyes widened and recognized dawned on his face.

"I remember hearing about those Ministry workers, don't you Marcus?" he asked, before quickly glancing at Stebbins, Severus, and Harry

Severus stared at the Slytherin, not seeming to understand what he meant. Neither did Mulciber. Avery glanced at the both of them quickly before turning his eyes briefly towards Harry, completely silent. He was focusing again on the newspaper as soon as he had turned, however. As if he had never quite looked away.

"You must have heard our parents talking about this over Christmas, Marcus," Avery started saying. "They are the ones who lead the campaign for the banning of several spells in order to exclude them from education laws. I know my father was quite angry at that during the holidays."

Harry frowned. He turned, determined to read the article on the front cover again. His eyes quickly focusing on the eerie snake-and-skull above the Ministry.

OoO

The last Saturday of the month saw Harry reading outside together with Severus. They were outside of Hogwarts, close to its courtyard. At a point where the Whomping Willow was plainly in view.

The day was sunny — a surprising thing considering how February could be — and despite the slightly cold air a comfortable atmosphere reigned outside. Though flowers hadn't started to grow yet it was clear that they would soon. Trees wouldn't be bare for much longer — spring was around the corner, and it wouldn't take too long until it started to show. It was noisy — the popularity of the tree was still growing — though not enough for it to get in the way of reading. The place Harry had taken to sit down at was typically almost deserted. Close enough to the castle's grounds to not be too far away without being close enough that it'd mean enduring the stares and whispers of other students.

It had become a habit lately, one which had gotten increasingly pleasant ever since he had started. Particularly once Severus had taken to joining him — Harry's reasons and motives for wanting to sit watch being understandable to the other boy. It had been years since Harry had sat for as long as he had these last weeks on the outside. Enough that he couldn't quite remember.

He had decided to reread again one of the books on Scrying he had already previously studied — 'Methods and Symbols in Scrying: A Complete Guide'. Which, though still seeming somewhat overcomplicated, was no more approachable after the studying he had done over the Yule Holidays. Enough that some of the its information would likely be of use when he finally had a recipient with which to practice hydromancy.

Harry wanted to attempt to create one soon — he had enough information on the method to use at last, he thought. It would be useful, undoubtedly so. Far above divination techniques such as the reading of tea leaves and closer to the uses of fire-omens. Hardly many things allowed one to explore visions of both the future and past, and of those which were available not many were apt to being learnt.

He had almost all the runes to be carved in sequences memorised.

He'd need to prepare — not many days were suitable, and of them only those with a full moon were. Beyond that, he thought he was almost fully prepared. He had the sequences memorised and most of the ingredients ready. Only the basin remained, and then…

Harry leaned back and stretched, dropping the book on his lap. It was heavy, enough to notice its pressure. Severus turned to face him, surprised by the sudden movement. He looked down and studied curiously the title.

"Scrying?" he asked. He was curious, Harry could tell. Had been for a while, most likely, whenever he had seen Harry read and study divination.

Harry looked up at his friend, meeting his black eyes. He nodded. "It is similar to reading fire-omens," he explained. "An ancient variant of pensieves that allows one to glance into the past or future, but with little control."

Severus frowned, looking quizzical. He quirked a brow. "Does it work?" he asked. "Can you actually see anything with divination?"

He didn't seem too convinced, though Harry couldn't entirely blame him. He glanced back at the book briefly.

"I'm not sure, I haven't attempted it yet," he murmured. He imagined it would — these things had a way of always doing so with him, though James had never been able to learn from him. "I could show you something else, if you want. Read fire-omens for you."

Severus didn't reply immediately. His expression seemingly stuck between mild bewilderment, confusion, and what looked like curiosity.

Harry smiled. "It's an open offer, if you ever want to. I've had to study all of this before at my parents insistence."

He had never read the flames for someone outside of his family before, though there wasn't much point in not offering it to his friend. Not when he had guessed at the truth already. At a distance he spotted his brother and his group of friends, inching closer to the Whomping Willow — again.

OoO

He recognised the joyous and carefree laughs as soon as he heard them.

They were exactly like he remembered seeing in his dream. Five, with a mixture of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws within that Harry could recognize from his classes and dream. The names of the two girls, a Ravenclaw and a Hufflepuff, escaped him, and he couldn't remember neither the name or surname of another two were familiar. One, a tall blond near the front of the group, was called Adrian. The other, and perhaps the most memorable, the boy which he already had tried to warn against. Davey Gudgeon, boisterous enough that Avery had quickly taken a strong dislike to after the first meeting of the Defense Club. Close-set eyes, dark eyes, and heavy eyebrows distinctive and memorable.

Harry felt dizzy. Faint enough that he dropped his Transfiguration textbook as soon as he saw the group of first year students nearing the Whomping Willow.

He just barely managed to overhear their conversation.

"I don't think you'll dare, Davey," the blond boy, Adrian, said. He grinned.

The boy Harry didn't recognise laughed, and one of the girls immediately jumped in, following the comment the blond boy had said. "You talk big, Gudgeon, but I know you wouldn't dare to touch the Whomping Willow. You're just jealous of that Gryffindor — Sirius Black."

Gudgeon immediately became flustered at the comment, and protested loudly. "Of course I will! Why would I be the first to do so anyways, I'm not like those Gryffindors."

The girl that had just spoken smiled teasingly, as the other observed them with a smile.

"Admit it — you just wish you could have been the first to touch the Whomping Willow's trunk, like that Potter did," the boy Harry didn't recognize said. He smiled wryly, "quite cowardly too, considering you kept daring Cresswell to do it."

Adrian smirked, "cowardly of Cresswell, you mean." He turned towards Gudgeon. "You should have insisted and brought him with us, Davey. He…"

"You know how he is, obsessing over Goblins and their culture. He didn't want to come, and since he was at the library…"

The boy laughed, and the others quickly followed suit. Slowly, they inched closer to the tree. Expected expressions fixed on the majority of them.

Harry felt dazed, and got himself up on his feet before any of the first years continued talking. Despite the fact that his knees felt week, Harry managed to set off in a run. Mulciber and Severus, who had been sitting with him outside for most of the day, looked up at him. Too startled by Harry's sudden action to manage to say anything. He spotted a group of Slytherins from the corner of his eyes, all of whom he knew to be in their third year. They were relatively close to the Whomping Willow, sitting in a group. He paid them no mind, focusing only on Gudgeon.

The thick smell of flowers filled the air, mixing with the somewhat heavy humidity of the black lake in a way that saturated the air and breeze all around with too many smells. The sun hung high in the sky, illuminating the area with more light than what Harry had quickly grown used to over the previous weeks.

The Whomping Willow looked oddly imposing, even from a distance. Its branches were twisted. Curved at odd angles that were barely hidden by the thin leaves growing from them. Its branches were shifting with the wind, surprisingly fast; faster than what Harry thought he remembered ever seeing. The tree's leaves rustled loudly. It looked oddly bare when compared to the myriad of flowers on its surrounding area. Strange and nearly unnatural. Deceptively weak even as its branches moved against the wind.

The group of first years reached the tree. The wind was picking up.

Harry kept running, heart thundering inside his chest. The group of Slytherins turned, following him with their eyes. One seemed ready to approach.

The girl that hadn't spoken yet, now standing to a side, smiled shyly. She was beaming, smiling straight at Gudgeon. She blushed. "I think you'd be able to, Gudgeon," she said.

Gudgeon looked at her briefly and smiled. "I did say I could," he announced. He turned at the others and grinned. "I'll do it, you'll see! I'll touch the trunk!"

Adrian smiled daringly. "Will you?" he asked.

"Of course, Adrian! You'll regret your words, and then you'll have to touch it too," Gudgeon exclaimed.

Gudgeon suddenly turned to face the Whomping Willow and started walking towards it. The other first years remained silent, too curious to say anything.

"Wait!" Harry shouted. He was close to the group, but not close enough.

Gudgeon didn't turn to face Harry — he hadn't heard him. Instead he continued walking, only coming to stop once he was barely a metre away from the tall tree. Its branches were moving quicker now, almost wildly. The wind having picked up enough speed that it seemed to howl. A memory of how Gudgeon had treated him after his failed warning flashed through Harry's mind, but he ignored it.

'Potty.'

'Potty.'

"Come on, Davey!" one of the girls shouted, egging him on.

Gudgeon glanced back at his friends briefly, before turning again towards the Whomping Willow. He clenched his fists and shut his eyes, before taking a deep breath in. A few seconds went by before he opened them again.

Harry's face contorted into a scowl. He bit his lower lip. He felt weak, and even his arms felt oddly heavy. He was almost there, very nearly besides the group of first years. If he could reach in time… Get there before Gudgeon dashed forwards and beneath the tree—.

He was almost there. He had almost reached the first years, and—.

Harry's lips drew back into a snarl that was never quite given sound. The first years very nearly jumped at his sudden appearance and turned to face him, surprise written all over their faces. Gudgeon glanced back at Harry, eyes wide with disbelief. His lips contorted into a sneer.

"Watch, Potty!" Gudgeon exclaimed. He grinned, quickly lunging forwards.

The reaction from the tree was immediate. A loud creak filled the air as the the trunk twisted on itself, the branches following its path. Gudgeon kept running forwards, nearly reaching the tree's trunk when it suddenly came to a stop. Gudgeon pressed on. Intent on touching the willow's trunk.

Harry froze. What should he do? Should he follow in Gudgeon and attempt to move him away? Use a spell?

Just what should he do? Could he do?

The trunk twisted again, and an even louder creak filled the air. The tree flung its branches violently, seemingly attempting to bludgeon the Ravenclaw. Gudgeon grinned as he almost reached the tree's bark, and—

Harry charged forwards. A thick branch swooshed above him as he reached Gudgeon and pushed him onto the ground. The branch crashed onto the earth besides them, it target missing from its previous spot.

Gudgeon pushed Harry away. He was angry. "What are you doing, Potter?" he shouted. He stood back up, eyes fixating on the tree trunk.

Harry got up and lunged at the other boy, again. He heard a gasp, likely from the other first years. The Slytherins at the other side of the tree got up. Rosier. Along with two friends and a Slytherin girl he couldn't quite recognize.

"Can't you see it's going to hit you?" Harry cried. How could Gudgeon be so daft so as to not be able to see that—

An even louder creak filled the air. The tree flung its branches violently at Harry, and he threw himself to a side. Only narrowly avoiding them. The Willow's trunk twisted again. The branches raising slightly before being madly swung again.

Gudgeon planted his hand on the tree trunk. He grinned, and immediately turned towards Harry. "See?" he sneered, sounding exultant. "I knew that I—"

A loud crack filled the air as two branches smashed Gudgeon's torso. Shattered bone protruded from the boy's ribcage as he was hurled towards the ground. Another louder crack followed as a branch quickly hit the Ravenclaw's head, managing to hit the same area twice more before the body was hurled away from the tree. Landing with a loud thud on its other side, close to the group of Slytherins.

The Whomping Willow creaked again and twisted to its side. Harry dashed towards the body of the Ravenclaw, and a branch very nearly grazed his shoulder. He threw himself forwards in an attempt to avoid the dangerous tree, and fell in front of Gudgeon's body. One of the girls Gudgeon had been with screamed something, but Harry didn't manage to catch it.

Harry went white. His heart froze, and he felt his blood drain from his face. His jaw slackened.

He wasn't moving.

Gudgeon's spine was bent at an odd angle, with something white breaking through areas of skin. Blood was seeping into the grass, on and on. The sticky red, so much more red than the blood in his dream, mixing with the dirt beneath as—

A branch crashed against Harry's right arm. He cried out and fell onto the floor. The Whomping Willow's branch moved again, and the trunk twisted backwards.

Harry clasped at his hand in an attempt attempting to lessen the pain. He needed to move and get out of the—

The trunk came crashing down, all of its branches following behind it. Harry rolled sideways. It smashed besides him, having only narrowly missing him. The tree lifted itself with a loud creak. Harry's face contorted in pain. He couldn't feel his arm.

The Whomping Willow came to a sudden stop as it twisted in the air. The branches started moving, cutting through the air. Seeing the tree's retreat, Harry he got onto his feet as best he could.

"What do you think you're doing?" one of the nearby Slytherins snarled. Eyes wide beyond belief.

Brown hair. Grey eyes.

Rosier.

When had the nearby Slytherins gotten so close? Rosier was barely a single metre away from Harry as it was, and he couldn't even remember the moment when he had stood—

The tree's branches were flung violently again, intent on bludgeoning him away. One whirled at Harry's left, almost hitting his other arm and just barely grazing past Rosier's head. The Whomping Willow twisted, and its trunk started moving towards the Slytherin, branches following behind it. The third year froze in his spot. He was close to the tree. Too close.

Harry lunged at Rosier, barely managing to dodge one of the branches that had come straight at them. His body collided with Rosier's as the Whomping Willow's trunk came smashing down above them. The older Slytherin yelped as Harry pushed him away from the tree. He followed behind him, nearly completely away from the trunk intent on smashing him down, when—

Crack.

Harry cried out again and felt himself collapse onto the ground. Tears clouded his eyes as he hit the grass, sticky and warm from Gudgeon's own blood. He wailed, quickly attempting to writhe away. His legs hurt more than they ever had before, and—

"Quick, help him out of there! Rosier, help me!" someone — a girl, by the sound of it — shouted.

Harry felt someone grab his shoulders and start dragging him away from beneath the tree. He closed eyes shut as a branch hit the ground behind him somewhere. Another sickening crack filled the air, earning more screams from the people around the tree. The first years that had accompanied Davey Gudgeon there.

"Rosier, stop just sitting there and run to get a teacher. Anyone!" the same girl shouted. "You! We still need to—"

Harry's face contorted in pain. He could barely breathe, and couldn't tell what was going on around him. His right arm felt wet. Sticky. He could smell iron in the air.

He heard more shouts, though he couldn't make out the words. His vision was going black. He could barely see. Terrified, he writhed on the floor, attempting to reach his legs with the arm that didn't hurt if only to see—, to feel if—.

Thanks to wonderful silentsum betaing this chapter! It wouldn't have been nearly as clean or good without her help.

Thank you for all the comments too! It's fantastic to see that people have been enjoying this story so far. Apologies for how long it took to upload this chapter in the end (far, far too long). Chapter 14 is already half way through (standing at 4k at the moment), and shouldn't take nearly as long to upload. Things over the next chapters will start speeding up quite a bit before I jump forwards in time and pieces finally start falling in place (which admittedly has been really nice to see being guessed in comments).

The editing in this chapter was a bit different here than on its Ao3 equivalent. Differences aren't anything important, and just were limited to the usage of a few blank lines to show a difference in time versus the 'O' set in the middle of the page here in their stead. When writing this chapter I didn't quite remember how the formating really worked on this website, so I'll likely refrain from using something like that in foreseeable future chapters.

I'd also like to thank all of the people and guests that suggest and point out spelling or grammar mistakes within each chapter. The comments are incredibly useful (and I've made sure to correct all the mistakes people have brought up).