True Prediction

It was the last Divination class of Harry Potter's sixth year. The heavy scent of incense and who knew what else hadn't changed since his first day here. As he piled his books into his bag, he could almost feel Professor Trelawney fluttering around him. He did his best to ignore her, convinced that she'd come up with yet another horrible way to predict his untimely (or timely, you could never be too careful if you were living his life with how you phrased things) death. Frankly, he really didn't care that much anymore about her unceasing nattering about the Grim. He had found himself tempted to ask Sirius to drop in and make a personal appearance in his Animagus form. Maybe if she saw the closest thing to a real Grim he ever had, she'd shut up.

"My dear boy, my dear boy!!" Trelawney cooed in one ear, and he really wished he'd gotten the paperwork on his Animagus registration back by now. It would be so nice just to be able to change into a falcon and soar away instead of having to deal with this.

"I can't stay, Professor." He did his best to sound polite, but after all this time having to put up with her, he just wasn't at his best form.

"But you must!" One hand closed about his wrist and he bit back harsher words than were polite to use around someone who still could take points off Gryffindor. If everything went right, they'd win the House Cup again this year, but it was a close tie with Ravenclaw, and he didn't want to be the one responsible for any screwups.

So, in the interests of peace and quiet, he took a deep breath and turned to look at her. "Is there something I can help you with? I really can't stay long, I've got to get to my next class."

She stared at him with those eyes of hers, and it was all he could do not to cough from the amount of incense that seemed to hover about her. "I have seen...the Grim!"

Yes, and he's my godfather, Harry refused to say. But didn't refuse to think. All he managed to politely utter was, "Oh."

"Dear boy, you are the last hope we have against...him!" She stared at him even more deeply, and Harry had never wanted to run so much in his life. "You must be careful!"

If she uttered the words 'constant vigilance' he probably would have screamed and run, and be damned to whatever points she took off. Hermione would probably make them up soon anyway, assuming Snape didn't take some off just for breathing in the same room he was.

"Yes, I understand." Almost all of his teachers had been repeating that to him in various forms for as long as he could remember. Harry was beginning to want to get rid of Voldemort just so he could go to one class and not hear someone tell him how bloody important he was to the wizarding world at large. "Now, if that's all..." He started to squirm past her, but she took a firmer grip on his wrist.

"Be especially wary when you are near your relatives! I know this must seem strange and unlikely to you, but they hold no love for you in their hearts! They will cause you problems!"

Harry mentally ground his teeth together. As if he didn't know that already. Why was she going over the things he already knew? Did she honestly believed he thought the Dursleys cared about him!?

But she wasn't done yet. "Watch for the waters of death! They will be your bane! They will close over your head! There is no escape!"

That was it. He'd had enough. He was going to be late, and he refused to let that happen. "I'm sorry, I really have to go." He jerked his wrist out of her grip and got out of her room as fast as his feet could carry him. Ron was waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking almost as annoyed as he felt. Once again, Harry felt a surge of joy that he had a friend as good as this, who'd risk being late just to hang out with him. This was one thing he knew he had over Dudley. He was almost certain Piers Polkiss would never wait around without even being asked.

Of course, on days like this, he was also certain that Hermione was the one who had made the right choice by dumping this class.

"What did she want?" Ron asked as the two of them hustled as swiftly as they could to Transfiguration. If they didn't waste any time, they might get there without being late. Might.

"Just her usual stuff. I'm going to die, be careful, can't lose me, the world depends on me. You know, what just about everyone's been telling me since my first day here." Harry tried not to have a sense of bitterness in his voice, but he couldn't quite keep it all out.

Ron shook his head; the only reason they hadn't both followed Hermione's example where Divination was concerned was because none of the other classes available were anything that really appealed to either of them. At least they only had one more year of it to put up with.

"I suppose if I ever do die in some horribly hideous way she'll be happy," Harry groused as they took as many shortcuts as they safely could through the stairways and corridors.

"Relax, Harry. She's been predicting that you'll die since third year, and every year you don't." Ron did his best to look on the bright side.

Harry didn't say anything in response, knowing it would be put down to needing all of his strength to get to class on time. As it was, they only just made it in under the bell, and slinked to their seats as Professor McGonagall gave them a very stern eye. She didn't take points off, but the look that she gave was devastating enough in it's own right.

Trelawney's prediction kept popping up in his mind over and over again as he went through the next few days, dealing with exams. The yearly threat of Voldemort had been contained early this time around, and it looked as if he were going to be out of sight for a while building his strength back up to proper levels. Harry was all for that; he could use a break himself. For a moment he had the strange mental image of himself sitting beside Voldemort in a beach chair in the Caribbean, both with fizzy drinks in their hands, the kind with umbrellas in them, just relaxing.

Okay, I really need to start getting more sleep, he groused to himself. That was just too bizarre.

He managed to get that image out of his head only around the time he and the others were boarding the Hogwarts Express. Of course it was almost immediately replaced by the echoing mental words of Sibyll Trelawney, foretelling his death intensely. The feel of her hand on his wrist, the scent of her incense, perfume, or whatever the blazes it was meant to be, wouldn't leave him, and it was putting him in a seriously bad mood.

"Harry?" Hermione gave him a worried look. "You look distracted. Is something wrong? You aren't hurting anywhere or anything, are you?" Her eyes flicked briefly to his scar, saying louder than words what she was trying not ask directly.

"No, just thinking about something Professor Trelawney said in her last class," he filled the Muggleborn witch in on what had happened, and almost as he could have really predicted, she rolled her eyes in scorn.

"Don't that old fraud worry you, Harry. She makes it all up, you know that!" she raised one hand to stop him before Harry could even begin to mention the one time he knew she had been right about a prediction. "Any witch or wizard can have a flash of the future. It's rare, but it does happen. You're more likely to be a True Seer than she is, you know."

Harry couldn't really think of anything else that he could say to deny that, especially after all the times he'd had dreams and seen visions that had wound up being true. Maybe that was another reason he'd never quit Divination. Somewhere inside him, he sort of wondered if there was anything she could teach him that would help him harness whatever abilities towards that way he did have. If there is, I bet she wouldn't, just so she could go on nattering about how I'm going to die. He knew that was very uncharitable of him, but he was not feeling in a very charitable mood at the moment.

He settled back into the seat and watched the scenery roll by. At least there was one thing he knew about the future: this was his last summer at the Dursleys. That was something he didn't need a dream or an aching scar to tell him. Stuffed into his trunk was a copy of The Daily Prophet, with all the rental apartments and homes available around. He fully intended on having one selected before he went back to school, even if he couldn't move into it until after graduation.

With those happy thoughts, he let himself be carried away.

It was the first day of Harry Potter's seventh year of wizarding education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The feast was well underway, and for once, Professor Trelawney was eating with the rest of the staff. Harry fidgeted a little, watching her, then finally decided it was time he made his move. This had been on his mind ever since it had happened, and he couldn't wait to finally say it.

The whole room went suddenly silent as he stood up and started towards the staff table. He'd talked this over with Dumbledore ahead of time, and the headmaster had told him, with a twinkle to his eye, that if he wanted to do it in public, he was perfectly within his rights, all things considered.

No one seemed able to figure out just who he was looking at until he stopped in front of Trelawney. He put his hands down on each side of her plate and hovered over her, his green eyes flashing with bright fires of annoyance and anger.

"Is there something I can help you with, my dear boy?" the Divination teacher asked, her voice as airy and breathy as always. The passage of summer hadn't seemed to affect her at all.

Harry bit the words out, ignoring how everyone in the room was staring at him, especially the first years, who were probably wondering who in their right mind would talk to a teacher willingly outside of class.

"Last year you predicted my death by water." He paused for a moment, letting the words sink into everyone around there. "I'm sure you'll be quite happy to know that on my summer vacation, I managed to visit the beach for a few days. My cousin knocked me into the water and if it hadn't been for an active lifeguard, I quite probably would not be standing here right now."

She looked as if she were about to say something else, but he cut her off. "However, the lifeguard couldn't quite get to me as fast as I really needed it. For a period of almost a full two minutes, I was what Muggles call clinically dead. I got lucky and they were able to revive me just in time. Yes, I died this summer." He took a deep breath, and delivered the one question he'd been wanting to since that first Divination class.

"Now would you bloody well shut up about me dying???"