Foreshadowing the Past

Chapter 10

What you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing; it also depends on what sort of person you are. - C. S. Lewis

Zack actually ended up liking his new hairstyle, once he got a seventh year girl to cut it for him. The older girls had seemed quite keen to get their hands on his hair, and Zack had been a bit apprehensive about letting them near it until one of the Prefects assured him that the girl in question was very skilled at haircuts. He had sat stiffly and nervously in the chair by the fire as she snipped away at his newly acquired hair. The long curls had gone straight once washed with the antidote shampoo, and brought the length down to the point where he could sit on the ends if he wasn't careful. He had also been relieved to see that it was no longer changing color, but was back to its normal dark brown.

He had been surprised when she had said that she was finished cutting; it wasn't nearly as short as he tended to wear it. She had left it long enough in the back to wear in a short ponytail, and had insisted that he leave it long for at least a week, and then if he didn't like it after that, she would cut it short again. From the appreciative looks some of the younger girls were giving him, Zack thought that it wasn't likely he'd be hunting her down at the end of that time.

The rest of the week passed without incident, with continued trips to the Library in their spare time. Andrew kept to his part of the bargain they had made, and pretty much ignored his room mates whenever they were in the same room. The other second year boys had begun to talk to him again once he began to show signs of mellowing out a little, and for the most part, things returned to they way they had been at the very beginning of the year. It wasn't until Thursday night, after Quidditch practice, that Connor, Zack and Rachel were all in the Library waiting for Ivy and Quentin to arrive that Connor made the decision to tell his friends about his meeting the next night with Madam MacTaggart. He waited until they were all seated together with books in front of them, even though after a week of searching they had pretty much given up hope that they would find any further information from the school library.

"Hey guys," Connor said quietly. "I know I said this before, but thanks for helping me look for this information."

"No problem," Ivy said, sensing that this wasn't all he had to say.

"Yeah," Zack said. "Even if we aren't finding what you want, I'm still learning loads."

"Well, I've been thinking," Connor said, glad that his friends weren't acting too put out. "I might have a better idea of where to look after tomorrow night."

"What's going to happen tomorrow night?" Quentin asked curiously.

"I have to meet with a lady named Amelia MacTaggart," he answered. "She's the one who first told my parents what all the weird predictions I was making were all about when I was little. Now that I'm having these dreams, my parents are upset, thinking my abilities are growing or something, so they wrote to her."

"That makes sense," Ivy said approvingly. "If your abilities are changing, you should find out about it so you can know what to expect."

"But why would meeting with her give you a better idea of where to look for information?" Rachel asked. She had met Madam MacTaggart once a couple of years before, so this wasn't news to her.

"Because my Mum and Dad asked her to come because of my dreams," Connor said. "That means that they'll probably have told her more than they told me about why they're so concerned. I might be able to get information from her."

"It would be worth a try," Rachel conceded. "But you'll have to be careful not to sound too eager about it, or she'll get suspicious."

"Well I hope you can learn something," Quentin said with a sigh as he closed the book he'd been looking through. "Because we haven't learned anything new that we didn't find on the first day we started looking."

The others nodded, and they all decided that none of them were in the mood to work on the Department of Mysteries, and switched to the History of Magic essay that was due the following day. Connor pretended to be reading his History text, but his mind was on how he was going to find out more from Madam MacTaggart without giving away anything that she might pass along to his parents.

He was still pondering that subject as he made his way to Professor McGonagall's office the next night, and took the revolving staircase to find not only the Headmistress and his "guest," but also his parents, all sitting around a small round table enjoying a cup of tea. "Mum! Dad!" he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"Well we couldn't very well ask Madam MacTaggart to come without being here to greet her," his Mum answered easily, a hint of scolding in her voice at his lack of manners.

"Connor, how are you?" Madam MacTaggart stood and set down her cup and saucer. Her manner was as warm as he remembered from past visits, and her appearance had changed little from the first time he could remember ever seeing her. She came around the table and took his hand, which he shook politely, feeling more at ease now than he had before he'd reached the office.

"I'm fine, thank you," Connor greeted, as he knew his parents expected of him. "And you?"

She chuckled before answering, "I'm just fine. I was interested to hear from your parents about your dreams, though, and thought we could have a little talk, if that's all right with you?"

"Sure," Connor said. It wasn't as though he really had a choice, but it wasn't a hardship, to sit and eat biscuits and sip tea, either. "Mum and Dad, too?"

"No, son," his dad said, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder. Your mum and I are going to visit Remus for a while until Madam MacTaggart is ready for us to come back."

"It's the full moon tomorrow," Connor said. "Are you sure he'll be up to visitors?"

"We're sure," he answered with a wry smile. "He knows we're coming."

"See you in a bit," his Mum added, and followed his Dad and the headmistress out.

"Would you like some tea?" Amelia smiled warmly at her young friend, and marveled at how much he'd grown since she'd seen him last.

"Yes, thank you," Connor said, taking the seat that she gestured to at the small table.

"Milk and sugar?" she asked.

"Please," Connor made himself comfortable, and took a ginger newt from the tin she offered him as she set his tea in front of him.

She asked him about his classes and his friends for a few minutes, and then gently turned the subject around to that of his dreams. "You parents say that you've been having some recurring dreams," she prompted. "They were a little rattled about it, I gather."

"Yeah," Connor said. "But they wouldn't tell me why. They said it was because the drams might mean my abilities are changing, but I don't believe them. They acted really weird when I told them about my dream."

"Well why don't you tell me about your dreams, and we'll see what we come up with," She answered kindly.

Connor explained the eerie quality of his dreams and described the urgent feeling of running out of time, and that someone was apparently supposed to arrive, though he didn't know who it was. He told her all about the round room with all of the doors and the blue light, and how the walls would spin when any of the doors were shut. He described the room with the benches and the small stage with the tattered curtain, and how his dream self had been sure that this room was not whatever it was that they were looking for.

Amelia MacTaggart listened to Connor's description without interruption, her expression impassive as she took in all of the facts. She was making a mental list of observations and questions as he talked, but did not want the boy to loose his train of thought because of any disruption from her. Once he had finished talking, he took a sip of tea and chose another biscuit from the tin while he waited for her to comment.

"Well, Connor," she said after a moment's consideration. "It seems that something is going on in your dreams, but I don't think that what you are seeing has anything to do with the future."

"You don't?" Connor asked. He was surprised to hear this, because in his dreams he always felt as sense of urgency that he often carried with him into his first few waking moments.

"No, I don't," she said thoughtfully. "I think that what you are seeing is the past."

"The past?"

"Your father's past, to be precise," she answered, tapping her lips as she put her thoughts in order in her mind.

"My father's?" Connor wished he could contribute something more intelligent to the conversation than just a repeat of her words.

"Yes indeed," she said. "The real questions here would be how and why." She stood poured herself another cup of tea and warmed Connor's cup to stall for time while her mind worked to place all the clues into a cohesive form. "Your father had an...adventure of his own in the place that you are seeing in your dreams when he was not much older than you are now."

"He did?" Connor asked, then thought silently, 'What was my father doing in the Department of Mysteries when he was my age?' Thoughts swirled in his head as he remembered the stories that his family had told about his father and the many instances when he met and battled the Dark Lord and his minions, and it suddenly hit home how young his father had really been when he had faced those dangers. He knew he had never been told about any adventures at the Department of Mysteries when the old stories were being relived through the memories of his aunts and uncles and parents.

"Connor," Amelia said kindly. "I had a long talk with your parents before you and I met tonight. They were concerned for you, and now that I've heard both sides of this quandary, I think I can set everyone's mind at ease. Would it be okay with you if I called your parents back, so that I can explain what I think is happening to all of you at once?"

"I guess so," Connor answered, trying to make sense of what Madam MacTaggart had just told him. He watched with mild interest as she waved her wand and sent a burst of light from the tip that sped out the door and out of sight. "I'm confused," he said as she sat down and waited for his parents. "I've never seen the past before."

"Actually, you have," she corrected gently. "You've predicted the birth of several of your cousins and also that of your youngest brother, Adam. While this might seem like you were only seeing the future, you were actually drawing on the knowledge of something that had already happened; you only predicted the births once the babies' mothers were already pregnant. Do you understand what I mean?"

Connor flushed a little as he realized what she meant, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I understand what you mean, but back then I just knew that stuff; this seems... different. It's not like what normally happens when the information is suddenly just there inside my mind"

She nodded, and said, "I think I have an explanation for that, but let's wait for your parents, shall we?"

Connor nodded and allowed her to turn the conversation toward his recent Quidditch game. It was almost a half an hour before his Mum and Dad arrived again, and Connor knew that they must have been visiting Professor Lupin at the Shrieking Shack for it to take them so long to arrive. They looked nervous as they came in and sat down on either side of their son, and both declined the offer of tea, though his Dad helped himself to a biscuit.

"All right, there, Con?" his Dad asked him quietly.

Connor nodded, not really sure what to say, and looked questioningly at Madam MacTaggart.

"Well," the lady in question began. "I can see that you're anxious for some answers. I must say, this is a very unique case for me, but I think that I can explain why Connor has been having the specific dreams that he has."

Connor glanced at his Mum, who seemed to relax somewhat at the promise of an answer to her questions, but his father was still sitting rather stiffly beside him, not eating the ginger newt that he had picked up when he'd first come in.

"Ginny, Harry," she said calmly. "I believe that Connor has been picking up on memories of a specific incident that occurred while you were both students at Hogwarts."

"You're referring to the battle at the Ministry in my fifth year?" Harry asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yes," she said kindly. "Is the memory of this event something that you have been revisiting more than usual lately?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "I was actually offered a position in the Auror division, training new recruits a few months ago, which I ended up turning down. I suppose that while considering the possibility of going back to work there, the old memories were brought rather forcefully to the surface."

Madam MacTaggart nodded as he answered, as if he was confirming her suspicions. " I think that there is combination of circumstances at work here that are causing Connor to act as a sort of antenna for residual emotions and memories. His especially strong receptivity to things the rest of us are normally unaware of is most likely making him like a sponge for strong emotional projection; a sort of empathic link."

"So why is he picking up on this particular event?" Connor had been wondering the same thing before his mother voiced the question.

"That's a good question. My best guess would be that having Connor coming to Hogwarts has triggered memories in both of your of your own school days here, and this one particular memory is one that stands out as particularly strong in your minds," Madam MacTaggart seemed to be trying to put her thoughts into words that they could all understand. "Add Harry's recent job offer to the mix, and add other combined factors, such as Harry's pronounced talent for Legilimency and Occlumency, and Connor's strong resemblance to his father in both looks and demeanor... I daresay that Connor may eventually exhibit a similar aptitude it those areas."

Connor sat quietly and let the questions and answers flow; as far a Connor was concerned, Madam MacTaggart had ceased to make any sense. His parents seemed to understand what she was talking about, though, and had a lot of questions about it. Finally, his Dad seemed to notice that Connor wasn't following along, and so he summarized. "So what you're saying," he said quietly, "Is that because Ginny and I have been thinking about the Department...about this particular event from our own schooldays a lot lately, Connor's particular talent makes him pick up on it and he ends up dreaming about it?"

"In a nutshell, yes," Amelia said simply.

"Wait a minute," Connor said suddenly. "If I'm dreaming about things that my parents did once, then why are my own friends there with me in my dream?"

"The best explanation I can offer for this is that when your father and mother were at this place, they had several of their companions with them. Because you didn't know who these companions were, your mind has filled in their identities with some that you are familiar with." She answered calmly.

Connor nodded at this, though in his mind, he thought that all of this just sounded wrong. Something about this theory just didn't feel like the right answer to what he was experiencing in his dreams. He decided that it would be worth the risk of upsetting his parents if he could get a real answer, and so he just went ahead and asked, "So what is this place I'm dreaming about, and what were you doing there when you were kids?"

All three of the adults looked at each other uneasily, and Madam MacTaggart wore an expression that plainly said that she would not make the decision of whether or not to give Connor the information he as asking for. Harry had been avoiding divulging this particular piece of information, as it brought back memories of one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made in his life, and the very high price he'd paid for his foolishness. "It's a part of the Ministry of Magic," he answered finally. "I was lured there by Voldemort when I was in my fifth year here at Hogwarts, and I ended up leading my friends into a great deal of danger."

"But you were okay, right?" Connor said, alarmed by the undertone of sadness in his father's voice.

"I was rescued from my own folly," Harry said. "But my foolishness cost my Godfather is life."

"That's where Uncle Sirius died?" Connor was stunned at this bit of news as all of the adults nodded in confirmation. He had been raised with stories of 'Uncle' Sirius, and how brave and adventurous he had been. He knew that he'd been killed in a duel at the beginning of the war, but he had never dreamed, while he and his friends had been searching for information, that this was where he had met his demise. He wanted to ask more, and to demand the full story, but the sad expression in his father's eyes told him that now was not the time.

"So now we know why he's having these dreams, what do we do about them?" his Mum asked into the silence that followed the news about Sirius.

"You really shouldn't have to do anything about them unless they become a nuisance," Madam MacTaggart advised. "I think that now that Connor has an explanation and some information about what he's been seeing in his dreams, they will pretty much begin to diminish of their own accord."

"So we don't need to arrange for an Occlumency tutor?" Harry asked, wanting to be sure that he was doing everything that was necessary for his son.

"I don't think so," came the reply. "Learning Occlumency may help him to sleep with less interruption, and he may indeed show a talent for the practice of it, much the way that you did, Harry, but I think that can wait until he's older. I should think that these dreams will disappear on their own long before he could learn to practice Occlumency, anyway."

"But what if he picks up on other memories?" Harry persisted. "There are more than a few things floating around in my head that I wouldn't want anyone to have to witness; what's to prevent him from picking up on them?"

"Well I'm no expert in the area of Occlumency," Madam MacTaggart said. "But I think that if he's picking up these thoughts from you in particular, then it would be simpler for you to practice Occlumency yourself, to prevent the images from your from mind projecting over to Connor. It appears that these images are only coming to him during times of sleep, and I would be willing to venture a guess that you are asleep at the same time that he is dreaming these things. If you were to clear your mind before sleep, then Connor's mind should be clear as well."

"Well I must say that I'm relieved," Connor heard his mother say. He was still wrapped up in thoughts of everything he had learned in the past couple of hours. "I'm so glad that you were available to come and sort this all out for us. Harry and I were going mad with worry over it."

"Anytime," the older woman said warmly, accepting the hug that Ginny wrapped her in and shaking the hand that Harry offered. "And I think that Connor knows that he can contact me directly if he ever has any concerns or questions about his dreams or any other aspect of his precognitive talents"

Connor nodded in agreement, and stood as well. Maybe he was just picking up on his parent's thoughts, and the explanation felt wrong because it had never happened to him before this year. "Thank you Madam MacTaggart."

She smiled warmly and hugged him as she always did at the end of one of their sessions, then said with a hint of humor in her voice, "Good-night, Connor. Sweet dreams."

He smiled at her attempt at a joke, and then hugged his parents and said good-bye to them as well.

"We'll see you at Christmas," his Mum said, hugging his once more before letting him go. "Stay out of trouble until then."