Foreshadowing the Unexpected

Chapter Six - Classes and Quidditch

We cannot become what we need to be by remaining what we are. --Max Depree

Tuesday was uneventful. Most of the students had settled down, shaken off most of the nervous energy that had gripped them all on the first day of classes. Connor had seen his cousin Marcus, who was a Ravenclaw prefect this year, comforting a tearful and homesick first year in the morning.

In fact, Connor noticed that many of the first years seemed to be suffering from homesickness. It made him wonder how many first years had had their first Potions lessons yesterday. Professor Snape could be frightening on the best of days, and yesterday, after Connor's incident, he would undoubtedly have been in an especially foul mood. It would be enough, Connor thought over hid dinner that evening, to make any first year believe that Hogwarts was the most awful place in the world.

Wednesday, Connor was woken up early by shouts and curses coming from Zack's bed. Connor threw back the bed's hangings and grabbed his wand from the nightstand, not sure what to expect. What he saw made him laugh.

Peeves hung in the air over Zack's bed, holding the water pitcher upside down over the boy. Because it was a bottomless pitcher, Zack, who was already soaked, was only getting wetter the longer Peeves held it over his head.

"Knock it off, Peeves!" Andrew Tillman ordered from his own bed. "We're trying to sleep here!"

"Oh!" Peeves cackled , and Andrew's eyes widen as he realized his mistake. "Does the other itty wee Gryffindor want a drink, too?"

"Uh-oh," Quentin murmured from his own bed.

Connor watched Andrew's face screw up in anticipation of a cold shower, then suddenly remembered that he had his wand in his hand. "Expelliarmus!" he cried, pointing his wand at Peeves.

The beam of light from the spell hit the pitcher, and shot it out of the poltergeist's grip, causing the strange little man to swear and speed from the room, shouting, "Zooooooom!"

The pitcher landed on Zack's bed with a dull thud. "Well, I'm awake now," he said in an irritated voice. He stood up and tugged off his sodden clothes, then pulled on his dressing gown. "I guess I'll go shower properly."

"It's barely five!" Quentin muttered in dismay.

"I'm not going to get back to sleep in that mess," Zack answered logically, gesturing to the sopping wet sheets and mattress.

Quentin just shrugged and fell back onto his pillows, clearly not ready to get up. Andrew followed suit, but Connor got up, knowing that he was never going to be able to get back to sleep now. He threw his covers aside, grabbed his dressing gown and toiletry kit, then followed Zack from the room. At least he wouldn't have to wait for a shower stall to be free at this time of morning.

"Watch out for that soap on the floor," Connor warned through a yawn, as Zack preceded him through the door to the showers.

"Thanks," Zack said, carefully stepping over the fresh bar of soap that Peeves had no doubt set out to cause someone an unexpected fall.

Connor stooped to pick it up to avoid any accidents, while Zack stepped into a shower stall and then said, "And mind the..."

He didn't get a chance to finish his warning, though, before Zack shouted in a high-pitched voice and jumped backward. "It's Freezing!" he said.

"Sorry," Connor apologized. "I tried to tell you that Peeves switched the handles."

Zack carefully sidled back into the stall to adjust the temperature of the water, and everything went fine after that. As Connor stood under the hot spray a few minutes later, he made a mental note to occlude his mind when he got back to his room. He would not have had the images of the soap or the cold water breaking into his thoughts, had he practiced his Occlumency beforehand. Now that he had seen them, he began to notice the faint buzzing pressure at the back of his mind of many other distracting thoughts and images trying to get through. He would need to filter them out before they became a nuisance.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting in the common room with Zack, with the Marauder's Map spread out on the floor in front of them. Ivy's kneazle, Circe, managed to get out of her room somehow and joined them, purring contentedly as she tried to lie on whatever section of the map they were looking at. They had chosen to sit near the fire, where they would be able to hear anyone coming down the stairs and hide the map from view before it was spotted. There wasn't much activity on the map at this hour, and even old Filch and his equally ancient cat were sleeping. The dots representing them on the map were so close together that Mrs Norris might well have been curled up around the caretaker's head.

"Look, McGonagall's up already," Zack said, pointing to her office. She appeared to be sitting at her desk.

"So is Professor Wexler." Connor pointed to the little dot moving about greenhouse number five.

"Think we could talk the house elves into an early breakfast?" Zack asked as his stomach rumbled.

"Let's go find out," Connor said. He folded up the map and took it back to his trunk.

It wasn't long before they were seated at a small table set off to the side of the room in the cavernous kitchen, with tall glasses of milk and plates piled high with food. They were happily eating their way through their meal and laughing together over Zack's description of some of the pranks he had played on his parents over the summer.

It seemed that his father was a lot more enthusiastic about belching bubbles and canary crèmes than his mother was. Connor was also interested to find out that the Canary Creams didn't work on Muggles: Zack's had gotten his father to try one with his tea one day, but nothing had happened. At first, Zack had thought that the trick biscuits were defective and had eaten one himself to test it. His mother had nearly fainted to find an almost-six-foot-tall canary in her sitting room, and had muttered for a week afterward about finding feathers everywhere.

"Having fun, boys?"

Connor and Zack were startled by the sudden appearance of Professor Lupin, and wondered if they were in trouble. Technically, they weren't supposed to be in the kitchens, but Connor had shared a meal with his uncle here before and it hadn't been an issue then.

"Good morning," Connor said, hoping that if he acted as though nothing were out of the ordinary, they would avoid punishment.

"Good morning," Lupin answered. "What brings you boys here so early?" He drew up a chair and sat at the table with them, nicking a piece of bacon from Connor's plate, even as a house elf brought him his own.

The boys sighed with relief and smiled.

"Peeves," Zack said simply.

"He got Zack with a pitcher of water over the head," Connor explained further. "It woke us all up, and Zack and I couldn't get back to sleep. He also set up a couple of pranks in the boy's showers."

"Anything like the ones you set up in the Great Hall last April?" Lupin asked casually.

Zack nearly choked on his milk.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Connor replied, deadpan. "What about you, Uncle Remus? Why are you having breakfast here?"

Lupin's lips twitched at the smooth denial and change of subject. "My teaching assistant, Ms Grayson, was able readjust her schedule and will be arriving on the early train. I'm going to be collecting her at seven from Hogsmeade Station."

"Will she be in class today?" Connor asked curiously.

"I don't know," Lupin answered. "I thought I'd leave that up to her. She may want to take the day to get settled in and rest."

"Why didn't she just Apparate or Floo here?" Zack asked.

"It's my understanding that she prefers not to apparate under most circumstances," Lupin said easily. "Many witches and wizards avoid it if they can. Plus, she was out of the country and didn't care to travel for that long in the Floo Network. International Portkeys tend to be expensive, as well, and it was too long for broomstick travel; the train was the most sensible mode of transportation under the circumstances."

"Where's she coming from?" Connor asked.

"She's been in South America for some time, though she is English. She was seeing to some family business and, luckily for us, was able to finish it and return to Britain a few days ahead of schedule," the professor told them as he ate. "In fact, I should be going, if I want to make it in time."

He quickly drained his teacup, patted his lips with his napkin and said goodbye to the boys before leaving. Connor and Zack looked at each other for a moment, then got to their feet and rushed to catch up with the professor.

"Hey, Uncle Remus!" Connor called, jogging up the stairs.

The professor stopped and looked back inquiringly.

"Can we go with you?" Connor asked. "We've still got loads of time to kill before our first class, and we've got Defence first, so I know we'll be back in time!"

"Sorry boys," the professor smiled. "But I can't take you off of school grounds without the Headmistress's permission. Besides, you don't even have cloaks with you; you'd freeze."

Zack and Connor were disappointed, but didn't argue. They remembered all too well what had happened the last time they had left school grounds without permission.

It was too early to go to the library, even if Connor didn't have an aversion to Madam Pince, the Librarian. Instead, they made their way back to the common room to wait for everyone else to emerge from their rooms. The good chairs by the fire were already taken by a couple of seventh year students, so the boys sat down at the small table by the window that was mostly used for chess. They cursed Peeves half-heartedly, yawning as they talked about the new classes they would start today. Connor and Ivy had Divination together after lunch, while Zack had Ancient Runes, and Quentin had Muggle Studies.

"I'll never understand why you chose Ancient Runes," Connor murmured, shaking his head in pity. "It sounds dead boring, if you ask me."

"I don't get why you're taking Divination," Zack countered. "You already see stuff all the time."

"My parents want me to take it," Connor told him. "I was going to do Muggle Studies with Quint. My mum thinks that maybe learning about all of the different methods of divination there are might help me find a way to 'hone and refine' my skill."

"I guess that makes sense," Zack admitted. "Professor Lyra seems nice. I've seen her hanging around the dungeon, actually. I think she might have a thing for Professor Snape."

"No!" Connor said in disbelief. "I mean, he's great with potions, but who would ever like him?"

"Dunno," Zack said with a shrug. "All I know is that I've seen her down there a few times, and they sit near each other a lot during meals."

"That's just not something I want to think about," Connor stated. "Ever."

Zack laughed.

"My dad wasn't too keen on my taking Divination," Connor confided. "I mean - the first half of his life was all about a couple of prophecies, and stuff. Plus he said that the Divination teacher back then was a total loon. I've heard Uncle Ron and my dad joke about her before."

"Well Professor Lyra's supposed to be quite good," Zack said encouragingly. "I heard she was a real Seer and all that, and that she's pretty well respected."

"That's what my mum said," Connor said. "Which is why I think my dad agreed with her in the end."

"Well you'll find out today," Zack said, then spotted Rachel and Ivy coming down the stairs. "Finally!"

"What do you mean 'finally'?" Ivy asked in surprise. "It's only a quarter to eight!"

"We've been up for hours!" Zack said, yawning to punctuate this statement. "Rotten Peeves!"

Soon the five of them were heading down to the Great Hall. As Connor sat down, , he overheard her cousin Patrick saying that they had flying lessons scheduled for their final class that day, instead of charms.

"We've got the afternoon free," Connor pointed out as they sat down. "Want to go watch the first years learn to fly?"

"Well I don't have a free afternoon," Rachel said. "But I would love to see Rupert trying to get into the air."

"I'm in," Quentin said with a not-all-together nice smile.

"Me too," Zack agreed with a similar expression.

"Oh, all right." Ivy gave in, not looking as eager, but willing enough to go along.

"I don't see why all of the first year students have to have lessons," Rachel complained. "It's ridiculous for Patrick and Maggie to have to waste their time with it when they know perfectly well how to ride."

"Probably just to make sure everyone knows how to do it right," Ivy guessed. "I mean, next year, they'll be allowed to bring brooms to school, and they don't want any accidents with kids who think they know how to fly."

Zack systematically shredded a muffin onto his plate, and Connor nibbled idly on one of his own while the others ate their breakfast. They talked about the new subjects that they were starting. Rachel complained that she had double History of Magic first thing, and her note-taking quill was malfunctioning: it kept writing in spirals. Finally they all rose and said goodbye to Rachel, then departed for the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Their Defence lesson was interesting, but Connor found himself distracted by the sight of someone moving around in Professor Lupin's office while he was teaching them about how to rid a house of a Bundimun infestation. He caught sight of a woman standing near the office's open door at point, but she didn't linger there long. His impression was of a witch of medium height, with mousy brown hair and wire-frames glasses, kind of plain looking in navy blue robes.

He was drawn back to the lesson by a quiet word from Professor Lupin, and did not see the woman again, though he knew that she must be Ms Grayson.

After Defence Against the Dark Arts, Connor and Zack had Care of Magical Creatures. The entered the classroom with shared looks of gloom at the prospect of two hours spend learning about. They had to be among the most boring creatures on the planet.

Professor Grubbly-Plank, however, did not seem to share their opinion, and produced a tank full of the ten-inch-long brown worms for them. The flobberworms were basically horrifically large earthworm. There really wasn't much to say about them, but by the end of class they each had a detailed drawing of a flobberworm's anatomy, and knew exactly how to extract mucus from them for potion-thickening agents.

Connor sincerely hoped that the lesson on Fairies next week would prove to be more stimulating, and involve much less mucus.

At lunch, Rachel seemed to still be in a stupor from her double History of Magic class, and Quentin and Ivy were discussing something they had learned in Arithmancy. Zack was perusing his Ancient Runes text in anticipation of his first class, but Connor was not quite as enthusiastic about his upcoming Divination. He couldn't help but remember what his father had said about the subject when he had been at school. His mother had been cross with his dad when she had overheard him admitting to Connor that he had made up the majority of the answers to his homework.

"Connor," Ivy said to him. "It's almost time to get to Divination. It's all the way up in the North Tower, so we should hurry."

"Any idea how to get there?" Connor asked, pocketing a handful of peppermint humbugs from a bowl on the table.

"The entrance to the North Tower starts from the seventh floor," Rachel told them. "I found it when I kept getting lost last year."

"We'd better go!" Connor said, quickly shouldering his bag. "It'll take us ten minutes to get there at least!"

"Let's meet in the Entrance Hall right after class and go out to watch the flying lessons," Quentin called after their retreating figures.

They waved over their shoulders as they jogged out of the Great Hall and headed up the stairs. They were out of breath by the time they reached the landing at the top of the North Tower, with several other students hurrying up the long staircase behind them. There were both Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs gathered around a rope ladder, staring up at a circular hole in the ceiling where the ladder disappeared. Suddenly Professor Lyra's face appeared in the hole, and she called down to them.

"Well what are you waiting for? Come on up!"

Connor raised an eyebrow at Ivy, and she giggled as they got in line to climb the ladder. When he emerged into the classroom, Connor turned to help Ivy up, and they found seats at one of several tiny tables that were scattered all over the small space.

There was a cheerful fire blazing in the grate, and shelves lining all the walls that held numerous teacups, crystal balls, decks of tarot cards and various other items that Connor couldn't identify off-hand.

The students all clambered up through the door in the floor and took seats, looking around them interestedly while taking out books, parchment and quills. Professor Lyra stood at the front of the room, beside her desk, as she surveyed them all. She nodded to one or two of the students that she recognized, and soon everyone was settled.

"Good afternoon, class," she greeted them cheerfully.

Connor ignored the faint buzzing in his head that told him he should have taken a few minutes during lunch to practice Occlumency, and studied his new professor.

She was nothing like the description that his father had given him of Professor Trelawney, who had taught this course in his day. Professor Lyra was fairly attractive and looked young, for a professor, with straight dark brown hair and light blue eyes that were startling in contrast. She wore brightly coloured robes, and high heeled lace-up boots that peaked out from underneath her robes..

"You are all here today to begin learning about divination," she began. "I am Professor Tara Lyra. If you came to my classroom to learn how to see the future, you will most likely end up disappointed. Foretelling the future is a rare gift, and the future rarely reveals itself to anyone upon demand. I do not expect any of you to be able to predict the future with any kind of regularity or accuracy. That is not to say that none of you will possess some ability in reading portents in various forms, but a true Seer is very rare. The point of this class is to educate you in the forms of divination, not to turn you into fortune tellers."

One of the Hufflepuff boys raised his hand in the air, and she smiled and nodded encouragingly at him. "Professor," he asked with a slight tremor in his voice. "Aren't you a Seer?"

"I am," she answered firmly. "I come from a long line of Seers, in fact."

"So it's a hereditary thing?" a girl asked.

"It can be," the professor answered. "But not always. As I said before, the future rarely reveals itself on demand. Also, one does not have to be a Seer to be able to divine the future, if one had a predilection for it. Seers tend to make prophecies regarding some large future events, often of historical importance, and these very open to interpretation.

"However, not all diviners are Seers. Some have an innate gift for predicting only certain aspects of the future, such as predicting the weather, or true matchmaking. There are different methods and tools that can be used to help coax these portents to the surface of the conscious mind: tea leaves, palmistry, tarot, and crystal balls, to name only a few. I have never heard of anyone who was proficient in all of them, and even those who find one of these methods to be helpful will tell you that they are not always reliable. The future is constantly in flux, changing with every decision we make, every moment of our lives. Nothing is written in stone when it comes to the future, it is what you make of it."

"Connor can predict the future," one of the Hufflepuff girls called out from the back of the room.

"I - cannot - predict - the - future!" Connor growled.

"Well," Professor Lyra said, stepping forward to prevent an argument. "We've all heard about Connor's unique talents. Perhaps over the course of the coming year, we might all be able to learn a little bit more about precognition and explore how and why it's different for each individual with such talents. I'll warn you all now, though, to keep in mind that harassment of any kind toward any of the students will be severely punished. Connor has a right to his privacy, as do you all."

The students all looked at each other and at Connor, but settled down to hear what else the professor had to say.

Connor rested his elbows on the table and massaged his eyes with his thumbs in frustration. The buzzing at the back of his mind was increasing in volume, and he wondered if anyone would notice if he retrieved the small charmed ball from his pocket and took a few minutes to occlude his mind. An image suddenly flashed before his eyes, of the professor tripping on a patch of upturned carpet, and he began to raise his hand in an effort to warn her, but thought better of it. He hadn't seen any dire consequences to the fall, and knew that if he spoke up now, it would just end up causing him grief.

Ivy noticed his hand twitch up, then back suddenly and turned to look at him, just as the toe of Professor Lyra's granny boot caught on the carpet and she lurched forward. Connor jerked in his seat, fighting the urge to rush forward to catch her, then sighed with relief as she caught herself on the edge of the nearest table and regained her balance.

"Today," she told them without missing a beat, "we don't have an awful lot of time, since it took many of you some extra time to find the classroom. Now that we are through with introductions, our time is almost up. For the rest of the class period, I would like each of you to take out some parchment and write me a paragraph or two about yourselves."

Everyone groaned.

"It doesn't have to be anything fancy," she said with a chuckle. "It's not an essay that I plan to grade. I simply want to get a feel for who each of you are. You can include your likes and dislikes, where you live, if you have any siblings, if you like Quidditch, or even what you think you would like to do once you leave Hogwarts - anything that comes to your mind to describe who you think you are."

Soon the room was full of the sound of scratching quills. Connor relaxed, but was still distracted. If something as innocuous as seeing his teacher trip harmlessly on the rug was breaking through, it was definitely time to bolster his mental defences. He quickly scribbled out a paragraph about his family, how he loved to fly and play Quidditch, and another about his friends.

Finally, he set down his quill and fished the charmed ball from his pocket. The ball showed a blue sky with dozens of small, grey, wispy clouds, telling him that his mental defences were breaking down. He held it between two fingers and kept it relatively close to his chest, so that it would appear that his head was bent over his parchment. The clock on the far wall told him that he had about ten minutes until the end of class, plenty of time to occlude enough to get him through the next couple of hours.

When Connor finally blinked the dryness from his eyes, he found that Ivy was still scratching away with her quill. A quick glance at his watch told him that only about three minutes had passed; he seemed to be getting more efficient at clearing his mind. The charmed ball in his hand now held a smattering of fluffy white clouds inside of it, and Connor nodded to himself in satisfaction as he pocketed it. He looked up to see Professor Lyra watching him intently.

"A word after class, if you would, Mr Potter," she said quietly, so that only Ivy and himself could hear.

Connor nodded, and she moved away to walk around the room. In a few minutes, everyone had handed in their papers and heading for the circular exit in the floor.

"You go ahead and meet Zack and Quentin," Connor told Ivy. "I'll catch you up out at the pitch."

Ivy nodded and filed out with the others, and Connor waited for Professor Lyra to address him. He wondered if she was going to quiz him about his precognitive abilities, or expect him to know a lot about divination.

"Mr Potter," she said after everyone had gone. She sat in the chair that Ivy had just vacated, and looked at him intently. "I realize that you finished your assignment very quickly, but even so, I cannot condone your having toys in my classroom."

"Toys, Professor?" Connor asked, confused.

"You were staring quite intently at a ball or a marble of some sort during class. I didn't say anything, because you put it away rather quickly, but I don't want to see you playing with it again. If you finish an assignment ahead of time, your time would be better spent reading ahead in the textbook."

"Yes, ma'am," Connor answered. "Only, it wasn't a toy." He fished the ball out of his pocket and held it out for her to inspect. "I don't know what it's called, but my Occlumency teacher gave it to me just before I came to Hogwarts. It's supposed to help me, er, visualize so I can clear my mind."

Professor Lyra looked quite interested at this information. "May I?"

Connor nodded and tipped the ball into her hand. The ball went dark for a few moments, and seemed to flicker, before it appeared completely blank and empty in her palm. After a moment, it seemed to fill with a swirling grey smoke. Connor was concerned that it might have been damaged somehow, but the Professor simply held it up to the light and gazed into it.

"Ingenious," she breathed, almost reverently. She tore her eyes away from it after a moment, and handed it carefully back to Connor. "You said your Occlumency teacher gave that to you?"

Connor nodded inspecting the ball, which had flickered, gone blank, and then returned back to its normal state in a few seconds.

"And you were using it during my class to occlude your mind?" she guessed shrewdly.

"Yes, Professor," he admitted. "I know I shouldn't have done it during class time."

"I take it that you were being instructed in Occlumency because of your precognitive abilities?" she asked, studying his expression. "Has it helped you to focus on your visions to give them clarity?"

"No," Connor answered. "That's not why I learned it. My parents wanted me to learn Occlumency so that I could block the images out."

"Block them out?" She sounded slightly alarmed by the idea.

"Well, yeah," Connor said with a shrug. "Otherwise I'd never be able to focus on anything. I practice Occlumency when all of the mental distractions get too loud in my head. It helps me filter them out, so I can concentrate on real life."

"I see," she answered, seeming to be in deep thought. "I was led to believe that your precognitive visions were intermittent at best. Something that happened occasionally but was very irregular."

"It used to be like that," Connor admitted, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He didn't really know this woman, after all, despite her propensity for the subject. "But last year, it kind of...increased, I guess. I started getting images and messages about stuff all the time, even little stuff, until it got to be a big bother. My parents asked Dumbledore and some other people about it, and they all decided that Occlumency was the way to go. They hired someone to teach me over the summer."

"And it's helped you?"

"Sure," Connor said. "At home, I only really needed to do it right before bed, but it seems like the more people are around, the more I need to practice it."

"I understand," she said with a nod. "I would appreciate it, though, if you could try to time these practices during your breaks between classes in the future. If you have a real problem and feel a strong need to occlude, I'll excuse you from class for a few minutes, but please don't make a habit of it."

"I understand," Connor said. "Sorry, Professor."

"All right. We'll discuss this a bit more some other time, okay?" She smiled kindly at him, and motioned for him to go.

Connor breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the ladder.

"Oh, and Connor?" she called after him. "Who was your teacher over the summer?"

"Clive Sharpe," he answered.

"Of course," she said, more to herself than to Connor. "Thank you."

Connor hurried down the ladder and sped down the stairs, reminding himself to consult the Marauder's Map for a faster way to get to the Divination classroom in the future. He slipped out of a side door on the ground floor and spotted his friends in the distance, just at the entrance to the Quidditch pitch. By the time he got there, Ivy, Quentin and Zack were already seated in the stands, overlooking four long rows of battered school broomsticks.

Madam O'Leary and four school prefects stood at the end of the rows, watching as a large group of first year students took up places, one beside each broom. Connor spotted Rupert easily among the Slytherin first years, his size making him impossible to miss. He also spotted Patrick and Maggie standing together looking bemused at the awful brooms they would be expected to mount in a short time, and sympathised with them. These brooms would seem like a joke compared to the brooms they had been forced to leave behind when they'd come to Hogwarts.

A few other students arrived to watch the lesson, and Madam O'Leary shot them all a stern look that told them that they had better not cause trouble.

A few minutes later, the prefects were all walking up and down the rows of beginning flyers adjusting grip or giving further instruction as needed. Madam O'Leary's voice easily reached those sitting in the stands as she gave instructions and the students rose off of the ground, some of them for the very first time in their lives.

Connor laughed at the bored looks on his cousins' faces as they hovered a few feet off the ground, and then landed back on the pitch. One of the Ravenclaw girls had managed to fall off of her broom when it was only three feet above the grass, and many of the students were wobbling in place every time their feet left the ground. The prefects flew around their assigned groups to offer advice and support, then to lead their charges in simple exercises around the pitch, practicing turns and stopping.

Zack and Quentin were beside themselves with silent laughter as Rupert's broom seemed to fly much lower than all of the other kids, as if his bulk was weighing it down and keeping it from gaining the proper height. Some of the other kids were making fun of him too, making Connor cringe. Rupert was not one to take teasing and criticism very well, and would no doubt be snapping at them all soon.

There were a few close calls here and there as the students went through the paces, but for the most part they had the hang of the basics by the end of the hour. When everyone had landed, Connor could hear Rupert's distinct voice coming from a group of Slytherins.

"Well of course I wasn't very good," he told them imperiously. "What do you expect with these rubbish brooms they expect us to use? I'm sure that once my cousin, Harry Potter, makes my broom, I'll be loads better."

"Harry Potter is making you your own broom?" one of the Slytherin girls asked in awe.

"Of course," Rupert assured her airily. "Why wouldn't he?"

Connor could think of about a dozen reasons, but kept them to himself.

Thursday went well, except for the fact that Connor found it necessary to take the time out to practice Occlumency several times that day. He nearly ruined a potion he was working on when he became distracted by the knowledge that Jennifer Coleman was going to lose her quill between classes later. The distractions around him seemed to weigh heavier on his mind, filling it with inconsequential nonsense more often, though it didn't take as long to clear his thoughts as it had done before, either.

He decided to write to Clive about it and ask his advice, thinking that perhaps he was depending on the Occlumency too much, and that he just needed to build up a resistance to the intrusive images. He supposed he could ask Professor Lupin, but he felt that Clive was probably more knowledgeable about it than his uncle was.

Connor was pleased to find that Gryffindor had been scheduled to hold try-outs for their Quidditch team on Friday. He and Quentin were already on the team as Chasers, and Ivy was a reserve Beater, but the Keeper and team captain from last year had graduated, and Jeremy Ogden had left as well, leaving them short one Beater. This meant that the reserve Keeper would most likely move up to first team, and the reserve Beaters would vie for the one open spot on first team as well. Whitney Glendale, the team's Seeker, had been made the new team captain. It would be up to her to decide who the best candidates were for the open spots on the team.

"You going to try out for one of the reserve spots, Rachel?" Ivy asked that morning over breakfast.

"Yes," Rachel nodded. "I'm going to go for reserve Keeper. Tim Nelson is moving up from reserve, but he's leaving at the end of this year, so I could be first team next year. My dad played Keeper, and was working with me all summer on it."

"You'll be brilliant," Connor assured her. He had gotten a few opportunities to help her practice over the summer, and she had blocked more than two-thirds of the Quaffles he had whipped at her.

"What about you, Zack?" Rachel asked. "You going to try for anything?"

"I don't think so," he chuckled. "I'm much better than I was last year, but I think I'll leave the sports to you guys."

"Jarod says he's going to try for reserve Beater," Connor added. "He and Uncle Fred came out a couple of times this summer to hit Bludgers at me for practice; he's got a good swing."

Talk revolved around Quidditch for the most part of the morning, with Ivy and Connor joking over their tealeaves in Divination that the soggy lumps in their cups looked like broomsticks and goal posts. Professor Lyra simply shook her head and smiled indulgently at some of the fanciful things her students claimed to be seeing in their tea leaves as they checked them against shapes in their textbooks. Occasionally a student would find a shape that actually looked like one of the symbolic shapes in their books, and everyone would gather around to check it out. When this happened, the person whose cup it was in was asked to make note of the shape and what it was supposed to mean, and then observe over the next few days to see if the omen in the cup had any truth behind it, or if it was merely coincidence.

"You can find meaning in almost anything if you're looking for it hard enough," she told them. "But true omens will usually come to fruition very clearly, without the need to wonder if an event was linked to it. For instance, Michelle found a shape in her cup that resembled a fish, which means, if her cup is truly trying to tell her something, that she will soon receive news from abroad. I don't mean that she will see something in the Daily Prophet concerning matters abroad, but that she will receive actual news in the form of a letter, or perhaps even a visitor that will bring her information that pertains solely to her. Therefore, her assignment would be to wait and see if something like this occurs. It's simple. Don't let your mind trick you into thinking you see something that isn't there; if you're meant to know it, it should be a clearly defined shape."

"Well there's nothing definite about this mess," Ivy declared, smiling into her cup.

They left the Divination Tower and walked down to the first floor to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. They didn't have to hurry, because even though it was a ten-minute walk from the tower to the first floor, there was a scheduled break in between classes. They didn't really get time to have a proper break, except maybe to stop at the loo, but they didn't have to hurry and end up late and out of breath, either. Quentin and Zack were waiting for them outside the classroom door, as were most of the other students, as the door was locked.

The bell that signalled the start of classes rang, and there was still no sign of Professor Lupin. Some of the Slytherins were making noises about going back to the their common room when a witch in deep red robes came hurrying up the corridor with a ring of keys jingling in her hand.

"Sorry!" she called to them as she approached. "Professor Lupin has been delayed in a meeting, and I had to run and fetch the keys from him. He should be along shortly."

She unlocked the classroom door and shooed them all inside while they looked at her appraisingly. Everyone found seats and took out their books and parchment, then trained their eyes on the unfamiliar woman. She looked fairly unremarkable, aside from bright amber eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She was average in height, and wore no make up; her hair was pulled back from her face in a simple twist. She did have a nice voice, Connor observed, and a small dimple in her left cheek made and appearance when she smiled.

"You may have guessed by now that I am Professor Lupin's new teaching assistant," she said in a friendly tone, standing in front of the large desk at the front of the room. "My name is Elizabeth Grayson, and you're free to call me Ms Grayson, or Ms Elizabeth; I'll answer to either one. It's going to be my job this year to help Professor Lupin when necessary, and to take over any of his missed classes each month. Would any of you like to ask me any questions?"

A couple of hands went into the air, and she smiled and pointed to a Slytherin girl in the front row.

"Did you attend Hogwarts when you were younger?" Darcy Layton asked.

"Yes, I did," Ms Grayson answered. "In fact, I attended at the same time as Professor Lupin, but a few years behind him."

"Were you in Gryffindor?" Bethany Truegood asked.

"No, actually, I was in Ravenclaw," Ms Grayson smiled.

"Play Quidditch?" Enid Ashcroft from Slytherin asked.

"I did in my school days. Not so much now."

"What did you do before you came here?" Bryce Murphy wanted to know.

"I've spent the past five years in various parts of South America, attending to family business. My grandfather was very ill, and so I went there to care for him and to take care of his coffee plantation. Luckily, he has made a full recovery, and I was able to return to Britain," Ms Grayson said easily. "Ah, here's Professor Lupin, now."

"I see you have all met Ms Grayson," Professor Lupin said as he came into the room with a large covered cage that rattled and buzzed ominously.

"I've just been giving them a chance to learn a bit about me," she reported. "And now that you've arrived, I'll take my leave."

"Thank you, Elizabeth." He smiled at her back as she waved to the class and retreated up the steps into the Defence Against the Dark Arts office and shut the door behind her.

"Now, let's see what we have here," Professor Lupin said briskly. He set the cage down atop his desk, then tugged the cover off to reveal several small ugly black creatures, all of which looked angry at being caged. They each shook their four fists and kicked their four feet as they buzzed loudly. They had shiny black beetle-like wings, and many of them were flying around, looking for a means of escape, while others simply beat themselves up against the bars.

"Doxies!" the professor announced loudly, so that he could be heard above their noise. "Also called Biting Fairies from time to time, though they are not related to fairies at all."

Connor scowled at the Doxies as they bared their teeth. He had been bitten several times by one of the hateful little beasts when he was seven years old, and his hand had swollen to the size of a Bludger before they'd been able to treat him with the anti-venom.

Connor saw that Professor Lupin noticed his scowl, and that Lupin's lips twitched a bit as he explained the characteristics of Doxies to the class. He had been there when Connor had been bitten, and had been the one to take him to St. Mungo's for treatment. He knew how much Connor disliked that hairy little pests because of it.

They took notes and drew sketches, asking questions and receiving answers until the bell rang. Connor found himself scratching at his hands as they headed up to Gryffindor Tower before heading to the Great Hall for Lunch. He decided it was the memory of the long ago doxy bite that was making his hands itch, now, and ignored the look that Ivy was sending him that clearly said that she thought he ought to go to the Hospital Wing. He wasn't keen to go to Madam Cosgrove, though; he was too hungry to give up his lunch to go to her, only to have her find nothing wrong. His hands looked the same as they always did, and they'd itched worse before, so he wasn't worried.

He collected his Transfiguration book from his trunk and took a few minutes to practice his Occlumency before rejoining his friends. This was the third time today that he'd felt the need to empty his mind and filter everything out, and he reminded himself to send a letter to Clive to find out if he was doing something wrong.

Lunch was full of talk about Quidditch again. Connor saw that Rachel was acting a little nervous about her tryouts, and refusing to eat, but he didn't share her concern. He loaded his plate while telling her that she would do fine. If Tim Nelson, last year's reserve Keeper, hadn't been sitting nearby, he would also have told her that she was good enough to play first team this year, if there wasn't already someone to step into the spot.

After lunch, it was double Transfiguration with Professor Thompson. Normally proficient in Transfiguration, Connor found he was having real trouble with his tortoise. It was stubbornly refusing to even resemble a dinner plate, though he had given it a spectacular case of the hiccups. Quentin smirked at him every time the tortoise made the strange sounds he was sure tortoises were never intended to make.

By the end of the two hours, Connor had gotten rid of the poor animal's hiccups, but had only managed to make it look as though it had been stamped flat by a troll. Even Professor Thompson was slightly alarmed by the sight of it, and intervened when Connor couldn't determine if the tortoise's current state was causing any pain.

Connor scowled at the others as they stacked their plates on the Professor's desk at the end of class. Quentin's even had a nice willow pattern, which earned him a 'well done', versus Connor's extra assignment of an essay on the theory of animal to object Transfiguration.

After class, Connor rushed up to Gryffindor Tower to change into his Quidditch robes and to take a few minutes to occlude before heading down to the pitch. He was becoming frustrated with how quickly his mental defences were breaking down during the day, and wondered if he was missing a step during his Occlumency practice, since it was only taking him a few minutes at a time to occlude, instead of the quarter of an hour or more that it had taken him before coming back to school.

Quentin was changed and ready by the time Connor had finished, and they headed down to the common room to meet up with Rachel and Ivy. There were only a handful of hopefuls trying out for the team, it seemed, and Connor thought that it was probably because the only spots open were for reserve players. Still, a large group of students had come along to watch and lend support to their housemates.

Connor was the first into the air when they reached the pitch, and began flying a few laps around the goal hoops to warm up. It was colder than usual for so early in September - it was hard to believe that he had been home, escaping the summer heat with his friends, only two weeks ago. Ivy soon joined him, and then Rachel. Quentin stood on the pitch, eyeing his broom from the tip of the handle to the bottom of the bristles very carefully before mounting. This would be his first time on his broom since Connor's dad and uncle had tampered with it, and his worry showed on his face.

"C'mon Quint!" Amanda Barton, the other chaser on the Gryffindor first team, called as she rose into the air. "You, me and Connor can get in a few relays before tryouts start."

Quentin nodded and mounted his broom, relieved when it behaved normally. He took it on an easy lap around the pitch and was feeling confident as he approached Amanda and Connor. The trouble didn't start until Quentin signalled his broom to stop, and it halted in mid air so abruptly that he was almost thrown over the end of the handle.

"Whoa!" Amanda called, grabbing at the back of his robes. "What was that all about?"

"I'm not sure," he said, cheeks turning pink. "Connor's dad modified it a bit last week, and this is the first time I've ridden it since."

"Well the brakes certainly work," she replied with a grin. "Why'd they want to go and mess with a perfectly good broom for, anyway? You'd better go through the paces to see what else was changed."

Connor nodded in agreement and watched with a critical eye as Quentin executed a series of jerky turns and stops. He tended to almost spin on the spot when he tried to turn too sharply, but quickly learned to compensate with a simple weight shift.

"It's way more sensitive now," Quentin said. There was no complaint in his voice though, and he had a determined look in his eye. "I bet that once I get used to it, I'll be able to pull off some wicked tricks!"

"Well just be careful," Amanda warned him. "Whitney will be mad if you don't get it under control before practices start."

"I'll work it out," Quentin claimed.

Tryouts began with Whitney called for anyone trying out for the reserve Keeper position to come forward. To her surprise, Rachel was the only one who did, and so she was asked to defend the hoops against an assault by Connor, Quentin and Amanda, all of who were armed with a Quaffle, so that she had to deflect three balls thrown in quick succession. They were impressed when only six Quaffles made it through the hoops in five minutes, and Whitney didn't hesitate to tell her that the reserve position was hers.

Next, the Beater hopefuls were asked to come forward, and were put through their paces. The Chasers flew around the field in different formations, tossing the Quaffle back and forth between them, while the hopefuls for the reserve position took it in turns with Ivy and Brandon O'Toole (a fourth year), who were vying for the spot of Beater on the first team. Aiden Weasley, who was the current remaining Beater, and Whitney both sat on their broomsticks high above to watch and judge who they thought were the best. In the end, Ivy was awarded the spot on first team, and Brandon O'Toole and Jarod Weasley were selected to be reserves.

"Okay, everyone," Whitney called. "We've got both the first and reserve teams full, and our first real practice will start next Wednesday at six. Yes, in the morning!"

A few players groaned, and Quentin quietly complained that he was likely to freeze to death. He hated the cold, and Connor smirked over at him, remembering his complaints from last year. Connor knew the other boy would be practicing his Heating Charms on his clothes all week long.

As they walked back up to the castle for dinner, Whitney fell into step beside Connor and quietly said, "Don't forget that you're under contract, Connor. If you accidentally use your powers during a match, we're out of it."

Connor nodded. When it had come to light the year before that Connor had precognitive abilities, the other team captains had asked that Connor be removed from the Gryffindor team. They had reasoned that they had no way of knowing if he was using his talents to help his team win, and therefore should not be allowed to play at all. The situation had finally been resolved in the form of a magically binding contract which stated that if Connor used his talents for his team's benefit during a match, then Gryffindor would automatically forfeit the match.

"I've got it under control," Connor promised her.

After dinner that night, Connor wrote to Clive Sharpe to ask his advice on how to make his Occlumency practices more enduring. He was sure that with the excitement of the crowd around him, and the probable length of games during which he would not being able to occlude, he was in for a rough time. He needed to get back to a point where he could go for several hours at a time between his Occlumency sessions, even if it took him longer to practice. If his mental defences broke down during a match, the hex on the contract would activate and his skin would turn purple, a telltale sign that he had broken the contract, even accidentally.

The next thing he did was to seek out Professor Lupin. Connor finished his homework and went to the Defence Against the Dark Arts office, where he found the professor having a cup of tea with Ms Grayson.

"Good evening, Connor," Ms Grayson greeted kindly, opening the door to his knock.

"Good evening," he answered hesitantly. "I was hoping to speak with Professor Lupin for a moment."

"Of course," she said with a smile. "I'll just leave you alone then, and get back to grading these essays."

She gathered a stack of parchment from the desk and said good night to Professor Lupin before retreating, and Connor sat in the seat she had just vacated.

"How was your first week of classes, Connor?" Lupin asked, leaning back in his chair after perceiving no distress in Connor's demeanour.

"They were good," Connor said. "We had tryouts for Quidditch today. Ivy made first team, Rachel is reserve Seeker, and Jarod is reserve Beater."

Lupin nodded with a smile. "I spoke to Whitney Glendale about it earlier. You'll have a good strong team again this year."

"I hope so," Connor answered. "Actually, that's kind of why I'm here. I'm a bit worried about the contract I signed last year. Now that my precognitive stuff has been so much more, well, more."

"Your Occlumency should be taking care of that, for the most part," Professor Lupin said.

"Yeah, well," Connor scratched absently at one of his hands. "It's not lasting so long anymore. It seems like it only takes me a few minutes to occlude, but then it only lasts for a couple of hours before I need to do it again. Before, it took me twenty or thirty minutes and lasted pretty much all day. If I try to wait longer, I get the headaches and all the useless information. I wrote to Mr Sharpe right after dinner to ask him about it, but I thought I should come and talk to you, too, since you were going start going over it with me once a week anyway."

"I'm not really the expert that Mr Sharpe is, but I can see that you definitely need some guidance on it," the professor said. "I can only assume that coming back to school and being surrounded by so much energy is taking its toll. That doesn't explain why it's taking you a shorter amount of time to occlude now, though, does it?"

"I think I'm doing it right," Connor said. "But maybe I'm missing a step somewhere."

"Well there's one way we can find out," Lupin replied easily. "Why don't we go over it together and see what happens. I'll cast a light Legilimens spell on you so that I can sort of follow along and see if I sense anything out of place, so to speak."

Connor nodded, and the professor brought his chair around to face Connor's so that they would both be comfortable. Connor obligingly looked into Professor Lupin's eyes, as he had done with Clive, and allowed the Legilimens spell to be cast. Connor then slowly let the edges of his consciousness blur as the surrounding room fell out of focus. He visualized his blue sky, letting the mental noise envelop him for a moment before pushing it all away. He followed the steps that he had learned over the summer, and carefully filtered out all of the background 'noise' and allowed the puffy white clouds to take shape in his visualization. By the time the professor broke his connection and Connor had come back into awareness of his surroundings, almost forty-five minutes had passed.

"Well I didn't feel anything amiss," Professor Lupin said as Connor rubbed at his dry eyes and yawned widely. "You were certainly thorough."

"It hasn't been working like that for the past couple of days," Connor admitted, feeling frustrated. "That's how it's supposed to work, but it hasn't been."

"Is there anything that you did differently this time than you didn't do last time?"

"Not really," Connor said, thinking back. "I didn't have anyone doing Legilimency on me last time. And I used that ball thingy."

"Ball thingy?"

"Yeah," Connor said, pulling from the pocket of his robes. He held it out for Professor Lupin to inspect, and when he picked it up, it flickered and went blank as it had when Professor Lyra had examined it. Connor waited a moment for it to fill with the swirling smoke again, but it remained blank. "Well, I don't know what it's called. Mr Sharpe gave it to me to help me visualize, and when I hold it," he took it back and held it up to show a flicker, and then a blue sky inside, "that happens. It's what I see when I close my eyes to occlude."

"And so you stare at this instead of closing your eyes and imagining it," Lupin concluded. "Clever."

"Yeah," Connor agreed. "It comes in handy if things start getting to me in class. The professors generally frown on it when you close your eyes and drift out of awareness in the middle of a lesson."

"I can imagine," Lupin said sardonically. "Well I think that the answers must lie somewhere within the differences. Since I won't be available every few hours each day to help you, it's not really practical to try practicing with Legilimency each time again, so I'm going to suggest trying not to depend on that ball so much. Get up extra early in the mornings and go through the whole process just like you did here, without any visual aids. Keep notes on when you practice your Occlumency, how long it takes each time, and how long the effects last before you start becoming aware that it needs to be done again. If it seems like it's a shorter time than the previous ones, make a note of whether or not anything happened to precipitate the need, such as an especially strong vision or premonition. Let's see if we can spot a pattern, all right?"

"All right," Connor agreed. Now that he had managed to fully occlude for a proper amount of time, he felt more at peace and relaxed. "But if I'm still having trouble by the time our first match comes up, will you go through it with me again with the Legilimency, so I don't have any accidents?"

"Of course." Lupin smiled and stood, indicating that Connor should as well. "You let me know when you get a reply from Mr Sharpe, and what he has to say about it. Now I'm going to head home. Nearly an hour of Legilimency has me done in."

"Thank you, Professor," Connor said, and left for the Gryffindor common room feeling much better.