Snow

Part One

Harry sat by the arched Gothic window in the Gryffindor common room, gazing dazedly out into the raging blizzard beyond the panes of colored glass. He was bored, nearly to teats. Ron and Hermione had each cast off Hogwarts like an old coat, preferring instead to vacation with their families in Bulgaria and Belgium. Harry, much to his own dismay, had been forced to remain at Hogwarts for the winter holidays. It was the first time he had actually minded staying.

Harry sighed dejectedly, hoping to glimpse a sign of Hedwig through the storm. He had sent each of his friends a letter the day before, and was anticipating a reply with somewhat subtle skepticism. As loyal and diligent as his snowy owl was, even she couldn't make it through this wild tangle of wind and sleet.

After another hour of impatient expectation, Harry finally gave up on Hedwig's arrival. What was the use waiting around, when he knew for certain that she wouldn't be appearing in this foul weather? He decided to go visit Hagrid. The common room, in its emptiness, had a chilling loneliness to it, and a familiar face would cheer him up. He tramped slowly and sluggishly up the stairs to his dormitory, grabbed his warmest robes, and tossed them over his head. He then slipped out of the Gryffindor tower in silence, and down the stairs, through the Great Hall, and across the grounds to Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid was in a drastic state of alcoholism when Harry arrived. He stumbled about his tiny cottage, tripping over chairs, several soiled dishes, and Fang. Every so often he took a great swig of beer from a foaming tankard, sloppily dribbling the liquid all down his front. Harry knew that Hagrid liked to drink, and had a severe lack of tolerance, but he seemed so inebriated that Harry grew concerned.

"Er, Hagrid? What's going on? What's the matter?"

He asked, silently contemplating the situation. As far as he knew, Hagrid only drank when something was amiss.

"Eh, Harry? You say summat?"

Hagrid was so intoxicated that he was slurring his words, which was surely not a good sign.

"Never mind, Hagrid. Sorry."

Harry quickly deduced that he would not get any information from Hagrid about his queer behavior. Feeling rather helpless, he bid Hagrid goodbye, bundled up, and trudged back toward the castle, flurries of white blanketing his hair and clothing.

* * *

Once inside the Great Hall, Harry removed his robes, being careful not to drip wet, melting snow onto the brightly polished floor, and began to mount the stairs with them in his arms -

"Ah, Harry!"

Harry seriously considered ignoring the voice that called to him from the bottom of the staircase, but turned to face the speaker out of sheer politeness. There stood Professor Trelawney, wispy and fragile, with her hand raised in a sort of salute. Harry gripped the banister so hard his knuckles turned white.

Not again,

Harry thought. He slowly made his way back down the staircase to where Trelawney was situated, looking more like a colorful insect than he had ever seen her. She was swathed in emerald, gauze - like material that draped in folds at her feet, accentuating her frailty. As Harry drew near, he recognized the stale perfume that hung around her like death. He stifled a gag.

Professor Trelawney stretched her hand out to meet Harry as he approached. Harry stared at her long, bony, jewel - encrusted fingers with what was unmistakably disgust. Trelawney chose to ignore that look.

"Harry, Dear ..." she said in a voice oozing with syrupy musicality. Harry gazed, transfixed, watching her dangling earrings quiver, and felt nauseous.

"I do believe that you missed seeing me this week ..."

Trelawney continued. Harry groaned inwardly. In order to make up for her widely unsuccessful lessons (Harry presumed), Trelawney had begun to select students from her classes to hold private sessions with her. When very few people showed up for her lessons, she had essentially dropped the notion, but she evoked such pleasure in 'foreseeing' Harry's death that she continued her meetings with him. Harry dreaded them energetically.

"So I am of the opinion that we ... require a makeup session."

Trelawney was attempting to sound distant and indifferent, but Harry observed a hint of excitement in her tone. He sighed, knowing that he would be spending the rest of the afternoon in the dimly lit, musty - smelling little attic that was Trelawney's classroom.

* * *

Harry panted slightly as he mounted the last steps to Trelawney's classroom. He has grudgingly agreed to convene with Professor Trelawney after he had deposited his soaking robes in his dormitory, but he didn't really understand why he had consented. After all Trelawney had predicted his own demise so often that Harry could practically put words in her mouth.

Having reached the small antechamber below Trelawney's room, Harry raised his arm and sent a small bubble or silver light towards a small, inconspicuous, painted pentacle on the ceiling. It floated up, touched the tinted wood of the pentacle, and shimmered away. Right on cue, a silvery ladder tumbled to the floor in one graceful swoop. Harry sighed one more time, and clambered up the ladder into shadowy chamber.

Professor Trelawney was perched in a large, dingy wingchair, shrouded in crocheted lace. She was gently caressing a crystal ball, which was glowing eerily, providing the gloomy chamber with an ethereal luminosity.

Not the ruddy crystal ball again,

Thought Harry in exasperation. Crystal balls always seemed the most willing to prophesy dangerous situations for him.

Professor Trelawney did not look up as Harry emerged, but picked up her wand and waved it carelessly, causing the shimmering ladder to vanish with a hiss. Trelawney beckoned to him and motioned toward one of the other chairs in the room. Harry flopped into a maroon armchair with a stain on the seat, smiling slightly as he noticed the color. Ron hated maroon with a passion. How he wished Ron were here with him now, snorting at Trelawney's silly gestures and prodding fun at her moth -eaten garments.

The thickly falling snow was just visible through an oval - shaped, rose - colored window nearby. That, added to the fragrant incense burning on a small, round table on Trelawney's left hand side, made Harry feel very drowsy. He checked on Trelawney - good. She was still engrossed in her crystal ball. Harry closed his eyes and breathed heavily through his mouth, trying not to inhale the dank, rotten stench of the room, nor Trelawney's noxious perfume ...

"Ahem."

Harry's eyelids snapped back. Professor Trelawney's enormous spectacles were balanced on the end of her nose, and she was glaring at Harry with distinct disapproval.

"I will thank you not to fall asleep during such an important stage of my crystal gazing, Mister Potter. Now then," she said, straightening up and pushing the crystal ball toward him, "What do you see, Harry?"

Harry squinted past his glasses, trying to look as though he were concentrating very hard, but he saw nothing, only a swirling mass of misty white. He snuck a sidelong glance at Trelawney. Her hand was gripping her wand, and she was muttering something under her breath. As she spoke, the crystal ball began to emit a strange light. It was rather alluring, and not at all unpleasant, but it was still foreign to him. He leaned forward in his seat, hoping to catch bits of Trelawney's spell - but Trelawney immediately ceased her mumbling and gave him a wispy smile.

What's this all about?

Harry wondered. He stared defiantly at Trelawney, who looked eager and expectant.

"Nothing," he said flatly. "I saw nothing."

Harry felt a rise of indignant annoyance at Trelawney's crestfallen expression. She didn't trouble herself to conceal the look of pure disappointment that settled on her exaggerated features.

"Nothing at all?" she urged. "Not a dark shape, or a hooded figure, or possibly a Grim?"

"Nothing."

Harry's voice was firm and final. Reluctantly, Trelawney accepted the crystal ball, and stroked it lovingly. The strange light died away, leaving the crystal ball dull and small - looking.

"Allow me to gaze for you ..." she said, knitting her eyebrows together at the squat little globe before her. As Harry watched, the crystal ball began to shine with the same light once again. Harry suppressed a yawn. He could see it was going to be a very long afternoon.

Suddenly Professor Trelawney's eyes bulged, her skinny fingers clutched the delicate fabric over her heart. Her mouth opened and closed, like she was trying to speak, but couldn't. Harry could see nothing unusual in Trelawney's sudden display of emotions; Trelawney often saw terrifying apparitions linked with Harry - which was why he was so surprised when Trelawney toppled out of her chair onto the floor, her face frozen in a look of undiluted horror.

Harry gasped and leapt down beside Professor Trelawney. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, and in her right hand she grasped her wand. Harry shook her gently, then roughly. At last he stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs,

"Professor Dumbledore!"