The Prophecy of Absconditus

Chapter Three: Quidditch and Visions

By the second week of school, Harry forgot his worries of a school siege. Quidditch occupied every corner of his mind. Hermione spent most afternoons and evenings in the library working on school assignments and getting a jump-start for her N.E.W.T.s. Harry became a workaholic, and dragged Ron along for the ride. After losing the Beaters who replaced Fred and George, Harry needed to find new players. Ron sympathized. It was the only thing keeping Harry sane these days.

Tryouts for the open position and for reserve positions took place on the thirteenth of September, the second Saturday back at Hogwarts. Ron crawled out of bed when it was still dark outside (after giving Harry the finger and mumbling words that would have shocked Mrs. Weasley), and followed Harry out of the dormitory. Three sleepy Quidditch players met them on the field for a quick practice before the potentials arrived (Harry forgot to mention that they wouldn't be arriving until after breakfast -- oops).

"Harry, can't we at least go to breakfast?" asked Jenna Pinchot, a Chaser. "I'm going to pass out if I don't get something to eat."

"We're supposed to be practicing. We need to look professional for the potentials."

"We practiced," said Ron, hanging on his broom. The morning sun rose into the sky, peeking over the horizon. It bounced off the bright copper hair, looking like a beacon in the faded light of dawn. "Honestly. I'm hungry, too. We won't make much of an impression if we're fainting, especially me. I'm supposed to be defending the hoops. The Chasers are going to kill me."

"If we don't faint first," said Jenna. "The players trying out better be good. I don't want to get killed with a Bludger this early in the morning. Then again . . . If I was in the hospital wing, would it get me out of Quidditch practices?"

"Very funny," said Harry. He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked an eyebrow. "If you're really that hungry, then go eat. I'm not going to stop you. I'm a bit hungry myself."

"Our King is hungry?" said Ron. He threw his hand over his forehead, and fell forward on his broom.

"I thought Weasley was our King," said Jenna. Ron didn't notice.

"You've got to be joking! Harry? Taking a break from practice? Someone pinch me!"

"I'd like to do loads more than pinch you," said Harry. "Stop being such a sod and get down here."

"What if I don't want to?"

Ron cracked open an eye to catch Harry's reaction. Harry grinned.

"You'll be doing laps until dusk."

"I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't say things like that. I know you're cruel, Harry, but even you aren't that cruel."

"Don't be so sure."

"Right, right."

Ron drifted to the ground, as did the other members on the team. They hurried off their brooms and in the direction of the castle before Harry could change his mind. Harry ran to catch up with Ron, and they entered the Great Hall together. Few students sat there, scattered across the room. People trying out for the Quidditch team and players already on the team made up the majority seated at the Gryffindor table. Everyone else there was either crazy, an insomniac, or a freak. Malfoy, who was sitting by himself at Slytherin, fell into that last category.

"Harry, we better rush to get a seat before they're all taken. You know how many people like to crawl out of bed at this ungodly hour."

"I like to get a head start on these kinds of things."

"Head start? Harry, if you started any sooner, we'd be picking the team for next year."

"This is my last year as captain and I want to have the best team possible. No way am I losing to Malfoy in my seventh year."

"I'm not suggesting that we do. You really think I want to lose to Malfoy? Just suggesting that you look into this thing called sleep. It's great fun, and quite beneficial."

"You know why I don't sleep."

"Harry -"

"I don't want to talk about it, Ron."

Ron opened his mouth to reply but froze. Harry shot him one of the coldest glares that he had ever been on the receiving end, and not just from Harry, either. He shut his mouth again and nodded, resisted the urge to throw his arms around his friend right there. It came out of nowhere, but Ron had the distinct impression that Harry needed a hug. Something that Professor Leiss would call Seer Intuition. Just like that, with capital letters and everything. He settled for grabbing Harry's wrist and giving it a squeeze.

"What was that for?"

"Dunno. Thought you looked like you needed it."

Harry didn't thank him, didn't even reply. Ron didn't need him to. It was there in the way he grinned, and the way he walked to the table. Hermione wasn't there yet; she was probably still in bed like Ron wished he were. He didn't eat much for fear that he would get sick to his stomach during Harry's rigorous practice; just toast and tea for Ron, thanks.

Malfoy remained by himself during the entire meal, even when Crabbe and Goyle entered the Hall. They sat on the same side of the table as he did, only a few meters down, but they didn't dare get closer. He ate very little, no more than a slice of toast, but didn't leave the table. Ron wanted to walk over there and taunt him like he often endured when Ron ate alone at meals. He would have done so if it wasn't for Harry, rushing everyone back out to the Quidditch pitch. One last look at the aloof Malfoy, and Ron was back out of the Great Hall. Not once did Malfoy look up from the Slytherin table.

Tryouts were annoying. There was no other way to phrase it. Harry instructed Ron, Jenna, and the other Chasers -- Carrie Stone and Bryce Lachance -- to fly around the pitch as if in a real game, while the people trying out took the Beater position. A Bludger almost hit Carrie in the first round; Ron had a very near shave in the second.

"My name's Jessica Deaver," said one girl with bright blonde hair tied into pigtails. She clutched her broom in one hand, and stared at the club Harry handed to her. "What's that for?"

"Quidditch?" asked another, a first year boy with a bad complexion. "I thought we were playing football."

"What do you mean I need my own broom?" asked a third, a very tall girl with her mouse brown hair pulled into a ponytail. For one terrifying moment, Ron thought she was going to beat Harry with that old school broom.

"You won't ever get to the Bludgers fast enough on that thing," said Harry, looking at the Shooting Star. Ron wanted to laugh at his expression.

"Fine," she said. Then she grabbed Harry's broom. "I'll just use this for tryouts until I get my own." Without waiting for a reply, she snatched the club out of Harry's hand and took off. Ten minutes later, she was on the Quidditch team. Harry demanded his broom back if she wanted to keep the position. She obliged.

"I think the entire population of Gryffindor idiots came out this morning," said Harry when the last boy walked off the pitch. His name was Jeffrey Machara, but he could have passed for a Gilderoy Lockhart. When he wasn't performing spectacular falls off his flashy broom (a new model of the Comet, a pathetic rip off of the Firebolt), he told boastful stories about narrowly avoiding Muggles in his early adventures of flying. He reminded Ron of Malfoy.

"Well, Harry, this is what happens when you have practice at this time of day. You get all the crazies, and the ones who aren't nuts are flakes."

"Tell me about it. While you were hiding from Jeffrey, one girl asked me why we don't just play without the Bludgers."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I told her the positions were filled already and to try back next year." Ron snickered. "We still have three more people. Let's hope one of them knows how to hit a Bludger, and why we don't just remove them from the game."

"She may as well have asked you why we need the Snitch at all."

"Sacrilege! Don't even joke about that, Ron."

"Sorry, mate."

Ron grinned.

"Get back on your broom and defend your hoops."

"Defend this," said Ron, extending his middle finger in Harry's direction for the second time that morning. Harry rolled his eyes as Ron climbed back on his broom and headed for the goal posts.

"Defend this," said Harry, shaking his head. He glanced over at the three people waiting to try out. "Next two. Names?"

"Rachel Snow," said the first. Her dark hair hung around her shoulders, reminding Ron of Cho Chang. That sparked memories of Harry's less than lukewarm crush on said girl, which went on to remind him of why Harry's feelings were so dull. That led to their pathetic excuse for a date in fifth year and mistletoe. It was kind of gross.

"Jimmy Tice," said the boy. Harry nodded, made a note, and then motioned for them to join the team. He released the Bludgers, and their game began.

The last three players were much better than the first lot; had more common sense, too. Ron figured this had a lot to do with the time they arrived, because only psychotics would show up at the beginning of Harry's three-hour-long tryout session. In the end, Jimmy Tice became the second Beater on the Gryffindor team. Harry dismissed them soon after. Dismounting his broom, Ron hurried to change out of his Quidditch robes. There was no way he'd get back on a broom today.

*

Fire engulfed the entire scene. Ron could barely see through the smoke. His head pounded as he made his way farther up the mountain and his legs ached, begging to buckle beneath him.

"It won't be much longer."

Ron didn't know where the voice came from. Somewhere up ahead. It was hard to differentiate amongst all the screaming from below. He fell forward, collapsed on rock, and vomited. Sweat dripped from his brow.

"Ryan."

It was the sweetest, softest voice Ron thought he had ever heard -- a low tenor that resonated in his ears. Arms pulled at him, but Ron couldn't move. Too much pain shot through his body.

"He isn't going anywhere," said the voice. "I think -- I think he's dying."

"He isn't supposed to die yet," said a new voice, also male.

"I warned you. You're going to have to carry him," said the first voice. "He can't die before the bind. Hurry. There isn't much time."

"Lorenzo, help me get him up."

A second set of arms surrounded him, and then Ron was carried through the haze. That sweet voice was whispering to him, but Ron couldn't decipher what was said. A hand ran over his dampened forehead. Shift in footing told him that they had reached level ground, and then he lay on stone again.

"It's almost over, love. Hold on just a little longer."

Ron wanted to reply, opened his mouth to do so, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. Lips covered his for a brief moment. The surprise that Ron would have expected didn't come, only trust and understanding. A hand slipped into his, and Ron fought to wrap his fingers around the man's.

"Hero, take his other hand. You need to form a circle."

The first voice again, a high soprano. Her consonants were sharp and urgent, and they scared Ron more than the screams from below. A second hand, slender and female, slipped into his other hand. Despite the urgency, the fire, the haze, in that circle, Ron felt safe. A woman moved to the center and started to speak in Latin. Ron recognized her face, but couldn't place it to a name. He struggled, and it was almost there, but then he was slipping . . .

*

"Ron!"

Harry's face swam into view, replacing the last. Ron blinked several times before he noticed the headache pounding in his ears. His face felt hot, almost as if it were burning, and when he parted his lips, the air he sucked in felt icy to his throat.

"Ron?" said Harry. "Are you okay?"

"What just happened?"

"I don't know. Hermione and I just got back from our meeting with the faculty and prefects. When we got here, you were just sitting here and . . . I don't know, Ron. It was really scary. You were just sitting there staring off into space. We kept trying to talk to you but you didn't answer."

Ron glanced to Harry's right and noticed Hermione sitting there, watching him. Her lips were pulled into a frown, and her fingers ran through the unruly curls in her hair. He gave her the best smile he could form when feeling so drained. The smile he got back was just as weak, maybe weaker.

"Are you all right? We were really worried. I thought maybe we should go to Professor McGonagall, but then you came around."

"What happened?"

"I think I just had a vision," said Ron, moving his fingers to his temples. "Shit, that hurts. Professor Leiss didn't tell me it was going to hurt."

"Do you need to go to Madam Pomfrey? We can help you there if you need it," said Hermione.

"I'm okay. Really. What happened at your meeting?"

Hermione frowned, and then glanced at Harry. He shrugged.

"Well, we talked about some things we could do this year to lighten the mood since Voldemort is still at large. First Hogsmeade weekend is in two weeks. Are you sure you're okay?"

Ron laughed. "Positive. Just a vision. I'm going to have to get used to it is all."

"You aren't the only one. You scared us half to death."

"Sorry about that, Hermione. Didn't mean to. Scared myself."

"Oh, Ron -"

"Don't get like that. It's only going to scare me. Come on now. What about a Hogsmeade visit?"

"In two weeks," said Harry. "Should be fun. I mean, the village is getting tired, but it'll be something to do. What do you say? Want to go?"

"Sure. Sounds good."

*

For several days after the vision, Ron thought of it alone. He had never had a vision that was so powerful before. It seemed like it was really happening. Ron could still smell the fire and taste the smoke that surrounded him. When he had Advanced Prognostics the next Tuesday, he stared at Professor Leiss while she discussed Freud, Jung, and lucid dreaming.

"Personally, I'm keen on Jung, but that's the kind of decision every person has to make," said Professor Leiss. Ron nodded.

"I had a vision on Saturday."

"Sorry?"

"On Saturday. I had this vision . . . I can't explain it. It was so real. They've never been like that before. The smells, the tastes -- they were all there. They're still there."

"You're developing," she said, grinning. "Now, Ron, tell me, what happened in this vision?"

"I'm not sure what was happening. There were five of us. Two girls, two guys, and me. One of the girls was leading us somewhere. Up a mountain, I think. There was all this fire and smoke. People were screaming. I remember that part because it scared me. And one of the guys . . ." Ron ducked his head, avoiding her eyes. "He had to carry me because I couldn't walk anymore. And he -- he kissed me. Is that some kind of subconscious message?"

"It's a vision, Ron. Visions are things that already happened or will happen. They aren't subconscious messages, and I'm not Freud."

Ron's cheeks heated up, and he turned his head away from her.

"What does it mean then? Because -- I don't know. I've never really thought I was gay, but I wasn't bothered by it, either. It felt -- I don't want to say nice. Something else."

"It could be several things. In this vision, when you say you, were you yourself or were you seeing through someone else, because that would explain a lot?"

"That's the weird thing. I felt like myself. I've had visions before where I was someone else. Most of them last year were like that. But this one . . . I'm not sure. The guy, the one who kissed me, he called me Ryan. It felt like my name, and it felt like me . . . I could have heard it wrong. I don't know."

Professor Leiss frowned, rubbing at her bottom lip with the pad of her thumb.

"That's strange. When I went through training with Malachai, Holden, he's my other Seer, and I learned how to differentiate between the two -- knowing if it's you or someone else. We didn't have many visions like you've described, but when we did . . . those are usually past or future life associations. The thing is -"

"I thought wizards were single natured."

"Exactly. Wizards are single natured. They don't go through reincarnation, and the only people that do are Keepers. Wizards who do go through reincarnation do so only because a Keeper binds them. It's a complicated process. Not a lot of people want to go through it. And binds are only done in times where it's necessary."

"So you're just as confused as I am."

"I'll look into it."

*

The first Hogsmeade weekend planned by Harry, Hermione, and the school prefects was nothing short of a success. Students appreciated the break at the end of September just as much as the teachers did. Ron visited Honeydukes to refill his supply of sweets and sugar quills, Hermione stopped by a bookstore to check out the latest merchandise, and Harry dropped in Gladrags to pick up a present for Dobby. Sometimes Ron thought Dobby got more appreciation from Harry than anyone else in the world. It might not be a far stretch from the truth.

They sat in the Three Broomsticks drinking butterbeer when three o'clock rolled around. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Valmont sat at a table nearby, laughing and drinking.

"You haven't changed a bit," said McGonagall, smiling at Professor Valmont. "Still the same old Phoenix."

"Crazy as a nuthouse," said Professor Flitwick, winking.

"Everyone always says that. If I had a knut for every time someone told me I bordered the line between genius and insanity, I wouldn't have to work with you," said Professor Valmont.

"But then you would miss the opportunity to spend afternoon tea with myself and Severus," said Professor Dumbledore.

"And what would Sev do without me?"

"He is an unusual sort, isn't he?" said Harry.

"Who? Professor Valmont?"

"Yeah. He's a great teacher, though. Reminds me of Lupin."

"Lupin was a great teacher," said Ron. "Miss him in Defense, but Professor Marcositi isn't bad, either. She knows what she's doing."

"I'm just glad we don't have a repeat Lockhart performance."

"Or Brewer. Woman was sexy but didn't know a bloody thing. Only reason I passed was because I didn't want to miss a lesson of staring at her."

"You're disgusting," said Hermione.

"I'm allowed to be disgusting. I'm a guy."

"Just because you're a guy does not mean you can be disgusting."

"But that's what you women always say. 'Oh, of course he's disgusting. He's a guy.' "

"That doesn't mean that it's your right to be disgusting."

"I never said it was a right. I said it was allowed."

"Are the Mudblood bitch and the Weasley pauper having a lover's spat?"

Ron turned to look at Malfoy, standing by their table. His white blond hair laid slicked back in the usual perfection, his robes without a single wrinkle. When someone paid that much attention to their appearance, it made Ron sick. He decided not to reply and went back to sipping his butterbeer.

"Weasley, are you sure you should be drinking that? You won't be able to eat for a whole month if you do. Here." Malfoy reached around in one of his pockets and dropped a Galleon on the table. "Now you won't go hungry. Don't spend it all in one place. You'll need some left over to buy yourself a clue."

"You think that one up all on your own?" said Ron.

"Don't you have someone else to torture?" said Harry.

"I'm good right here, thanks. How about you, Granger? Need to buy yourself some Mudblood disinfectant? Just let me know the price. I can afford the charity if it means the world will be free of your filth."

"Say it again, Malfoy," said Ron. He stood from his chair, and pulled his wand from his robes. Malfoy cocked his head to the side; his lips remained expressionless. "Just give me a reason to and I'll do it. Just tempt me."

"Weasley, you really should do something about that temper. It isn't flattering."

"Take back what you said about Hermione."

"Ron --" said Hermione.

"No."

"Malfoy --"

"No. I'm not taking back anything I said about that thing. I'm not going to take back the truth."

"Is there a problem here?" said Professor Valmont. He walked up behind Malfoy and smiled at them. Malfoy shook his head.

"No problem at all, Professor. Just saying hello to Granger and Weasley."

"That's what I thought. You were respectful, too, weren't you?"

"Of course."

Professor Valmont didn't move, and Malfoy squirmed under the scrutiny. It made Ron feel better than he thought it would, watching Malfoy cave to the pressure. After several moments, Malfoy realized that Professor Valmont wasn't leaving, and he mumbled goodbye before heading back to where Crabbe and Goyle were. Before turning, Professor Valmont winked at them, and then he returned to the other teachers.

Ron watched as Professor Valmont sat. Dumbledore smiled at him, as were McGonagall and Flitwick.

"You handled that nicely, Phoenix," said Professor McGonagall.

"Someone should kick that kid in the arse. I asked Sev if I could. He gave me some rot about Hogwarts not endorsing corporal punishment. I don't see why not. It should be my right. I'm offended that it's been taken from me." Professor Valmont paused, turning his attention to Dumbledore. "Albus, are you all right?"

Dumbledore seemed to have fallen asleep at the table. Harry snickered about Dumbledore getting on in years, and Ron hoped Malfoy didn't see it. He'd be writing home to his father right away about how Dumbledore couldn't even stay awake for butterbeer anymore, not that it would mean anything. The summer after fifth year, Lucius Malfoy lost most of his power in the wizarding world when he went to Azkaban for a total of two days before the Dementors released him. Moments later, Dumbledore's eyes cracked open, his hands going to his head.

"Albus?"

"Eh -- Phoenix?"

"Albus? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Feeling a little under the weather." He glanced around. "I think I'll be getting back to the school. I'd like to get some rest before dinner tonight, and perhaps Poppy will have something for my head."

"Do take care," said Professor McGonagall.

"I hope he's okay," said Hermione.

"He seems fine to me. Like he said, probably not feeling well. Flu or something," said Harry. "I wouldn't be worried. Dumbledore is human, you know. He gets sick just like the rest of us."

"I know that."

"Maybe we should be heading back to school ourselves," said Ron, "before Malfoy decides to pay us another visit."

"Not a bad idea," said Harry.

They finished their butterbeers and left the Three Broomsticks. Ron connected eyes with Malfoy on his way out, frowning at the way the boy watched his every move. Confusion played on Malfoy's features from his knit brow to the slight part in his pale, pink lips. Malfoy wasn't the only one who was confused.

Six nights later, Ron woke to a scream so loud his own throat was felt raw.