The Final Reckoning

Chapter Twenty: Meditations

Ron fell asleep somewhere close to one o'clock in the morning. He'd manage to finish the prefect patrol schedules, with almost no nagging from Hermione; he'd also gotten over half his homework done before they'd had to go on their own patrols. Ron might have invited Hermione into his room but she demurred, saying they both needed their rest. He pouted a bit but after she'd kissed him good night, quite thoroughly, he found himself agreeing: he was exhausted. He fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillows, and he didn't dream. Or at least, if he did, his dreams vanished the moment he opened his eyes. He only hoped he hadn't forgotten anything important, but as he finished shaving his stomach growled, and he grabbed his wand and his school bag and headed out his door, meeting Hermione at her room and heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry looked especially tired that morning, and he had that look on his face that Ron had come to identify as his Secretive Look. Harry had something on his mind, it was obvious, but he wouldn't talk about it. He only told Ron and Hermione that he'd let them know later.

The day proved to be as strenuous, if a bit less strange, than the first day of term. For one thing, the Gryffindors were made to suffer through Advanced Double Potions with the Slytherins.

'Good morning,' the professor said, scowling. 'I trust my homework assignments given to you over the summer have kept your brains from completely turning to dung. Take out your essays for collection.'

Ron quickly took out his five essays and double-checked that they were all neatly rolled and sealed.

'Accio parchment!' Snape called, and dozens of rolls of parchment landed neatly in a box on his desk.

'Thank you,' Snape said dryly. 'I can't wait to grade them all, I'm sure they'll be fascinating reading. In the meantime, open your Moste Potente Potions text and turn to page 394.'

Another rustle as students hauled the thick textbooks from their bags and plopped them on the desks; Neville's book slid off his table and landed with a bang on the floor.

'Well, well, I see Longbottom is as graceful as ever,' Snape drawled. Neville flushed and picked up his textbook quickly and opened it to the appropriate page, but Ron noticed that where once there would have been fear and shame in his eyes, Neville only looked annoyed, even angry.

'Now,' Snape was saying, 'we are going to be dealing with advanced healing potions for the next several weeks. These potions are especially important for healers, of course, but Aurors are required to brew and carry small samples of many of these potions when on duty.' At this he fixed a pointed look at Harry, who was seated next to Daphne. Snape didn't seem to notice anything remotely out of place by this.

'As indicated in your textbooks, today's lesson focuses on Heart Restarting Potion,' said Snape. 'A very advanced and potent life-saving potion that restarts a stopped heart.'

Murmurs went up in the room at this; Ron couldn't help but shake his head.

'That's impossible,' he muttered to Hermione. 'You can't restart a heart once it's stopped.'

'Of course you can,' Hermione whispered. 'Muggles do it all the time through CPR.'

'CPR?'

'Cardiopulmonary--'

'I am quite sure,' Snape said loudly, 'that whatever you two lovebirds are discussing is far more interesting than my lesson. However, while you are in my classroom you will both shut up and pay attention!'

Hermione and Ron both blushed and Hermione bit her lip.

'Sir, we were talking about the potion,' Ron said.

'Oh, really, Mr. Weasley?' said Snape acidly. 'Let me guess. Miss Know-It-All here was trying to explain some basic simple concept to you that even a moron could figure out?'

Ron flushed and he heard Draco Malfoy snigger behind him.

Don't say anything stupid, you're Head Boy--

'That's not true!' Hermione's voice rang out in the still of the classroom. 'Sir.'

Snape glowered at Hermione. 'Well, then, Miss Granger. Do tell us what you were talking about.'

Hermione swallowed and glanced at Harry, then at Ron; Ron knew what she was doing. She was steeling herself to lie.

'Ron wanted to know if the potion worked on someone who'd been hit with a Killing Curse,' she said, in a clear, steady voice.

Snape opened his mouth to say something rude but Hermione's words suddenly seemed to register, and he stopped.

'Is that so?' he said, recovering.

'Yes, sir,' said Hermione.

'And what did you tell him?'

'I told him it was impossible, sir,' said Hermione.

'And why is that, Miss Granger?' said Snape. 'I trust we can count on you to have the answer.'

Hermione gave him a triumphant smile. 'Yes, sir. The potion doesn't work on victims of the Killing Curse because that curse instantly causes every organ and every system in the body to shut down simultaneously. The body's organs and systems function not only through heartbeat but electrical current. When no electrical current whatsoever is functioning in the body the potion can't create an electrical pulse to start up the heart again. It's simply not powerful enough to counteract the Killing Curse.'

Snape smirked again, and it was a moment before he spoke. 'Well, Miss Granger, as painful as it is for me to admit, you are right. In the future, however, if Mr. Weasley has any other burning lesson-related questions, I would appreciate it if he brought it to my attention rather than distracting you during class.'

'Yes, sir,' Ron and Hermione both said. Snape rolled his eyes and continued.

'As I was saying, Miss Granger is correct. A Heart Restarting Potion cannot counteract the effects of the Killing Curse. A Heart Restarting Potion functions much in the same way Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation works.'

'Cardio...what?' Draco Malfoy drawled.

'Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Mr. Malfoy,' Snape said. 'A Muggle method of restarting the heart. Not nearly as effective as the potion, of course, and far more brutal, but the principle is the same: recreating the electrical impulse that makes a heart beat...'

Snape went on a bit more, explaining the complexities of the Potion. Ron and Hermione opened the drawers of their desk and pulled out a pile of ingredients, including a white, gloppy mass of something called boracite, which apparently was the key ingredient. As well as a few drops of blood.

Lovely, Ron thought.

'Instructions are on the blackboard,' Snape said. 'I hope none of you are squeamish about drawing a little blood. Begin.'

At once the sounds in the classroom changed from quills scratching on parchment to the soft scraping noises of mortars and pestles as students ground up bits of cat's claw.

It was an exceedingly difficult potion and took nearly the entire double period to finish. It didn't help that Hermione was watching him and trying to whisper instructions; Ron shushed her, surprising himself. A year ago he would have welcomed her help, but he knew if he wanted to be an Auror, he had to learn this stuff himself. He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow with his robe sleeve and then took the teaspoon of boracite and slowly dropped it into the potion. The potion hissed and sizzled and began to bubble and turn bright yellow. He bit his lip and looked at Hermione's potion; hers, too, was bright yellow.

Well, she never gets it wrong, so that must mean mine's okay.

The last ingredient was three drops of blood from the finger or thumb. Ron took his small paring knife, took a deep breath and stuck the end of his thumb with the point of the blade. At once blood appeared; Ron carefully squeezed three drops into his cauldron before yanking his thumb away and sucking on it; it didn't hurt, really, but he didn't much like the sight of blood. He performed a quick healing charm with his wand before taking a flask, fitting it between a pair of tongs, and dipping it carefully into the cauldron. The liquid that poured into the flask was now brilliant, ruby red and seemed to sparkle from within; indeed, tiny sparks were appearing through the mouth of the flask. Ron corked his and took it up to Snape's desk, and felt waves of relief wash over him when he sat back down and started to clean up.

Five minutes later Ron, Hermione and the other Gryffindors were all climbing tiredly up the stairs, away from the dungeons. Harry had lagged behind and was talking with Daphne.

'I hate having that class in the morning,' Seamus grumbled. 'It's too complicated.'

'Yes, well, if I'd known I'd have to cut my fingers open to make potions I would have dropped the class this year,' said Lavender. 'It's a bit morbid, isn't it?'

'I can't believe we made it through a whole lesson without losing points,' said Neville, his eyes still a bit wide.

'There's first time for everything,' said Ron dryly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lunchtime came and went. Harry was decidedly antsy, but at least, Ron noticed, he wasn't acting as strangely around Ginny, and Ginny seemed to be...at peace with something today. Ron made a mental note to ask her about her Empath training and remembered that Dumbledore had given her--what was it-- a Pensieve. A place to store her excess emotions and thoughts. He only hoped it would help her. Truthfully, her powers scared him a bit.

Ron and Hermione went back to the common room with Harry to take a break before Herbology; Ron was hoping to talk Harry into a game of chess to ease whatever worries were on Harry's mind.

But the moment they entered the common room and found it empty, Harry headed for his favourite chair and beckoned Ron and Hermione over.

'What?' Hermione asked.

Harry pulled something small and gold from his robe pocket. A key.

'What's that for?' Ron asked.

'Dumbledore gave it to me,' Harry said. 'My parents had a vault, at Gringott's, full of papers and photographs and stuff.'

Hermione let out a squeak. 'You mean...secret papers?'

'I think so,' said Harry. 'Remember, you said I didn't know much about my parents. Dumbledore said the same thing and he gave me this key, said I'd inherited all that stuff from my mum and dad.'

'Wicked,' said Ron, grinning. 'So...we'll just ask Dumbledore if we can go to Gringott's, and--'

'The stuff isn't in Gringott's anymore,' said Harry. 'It's here, in Hogwarts.'

'Of course,' said Hermione. 'It makes perfect sense. If those papers, files, whatever they are really are secret, Hogwarts would be the safest place.'

Harry nodded. 'Dumbledore said my mum gave him the stuff and asked him to be her Secret Keeper.' He paused and got a sad look in his eyes. 'Too bad...she didn't think to do that a second time.'

'Oh, Harry,' said Hermione, and she put a hand on his arm.

'It's okay,' said Harry at once. 'I...anyway. I want to open the vault, and...and I wondered if you'd come along. There could be a lot of stuff.'

'Of course,' said Hermione at once.

'Even if it means breaking curfew?' said Harry.

'Why would we need to break curfew?' said Hermione.

'Because the vault, or safe or whatever it is,' said Harry, 'is in the Chamber of Secrets.'

The silence was so complete Ron could have heard a feather hit the floor.

At last, Hermione spoke.

'Th-the Chamber of Secrets?' she repeated. 'But...Harry. Why would Dumbledore put it in there?'

'Why not?' said Ron. 'It's probably the safest place, it was sealed shut after Harry got Ginny out of there and got rid of the basilisk.'

'How are we going to get in?' said Hermione.

'Same way we got in before,' said Harry. 'Dumbledore says he undid all the spells sealing it off. Only nobody else knows but us because he doesn't want anyone going down there.'

'So we'll definitely have to violate curfew if we want to go down there unnoticed,' said Hermione grimly. 'I don't like this, Harry.'

'You were all for it a minute ago!' said Ron.

'I know, but...the Chamber of Secrets?' said Hermione nervously.

'What about the Chamber of Secrets?'

The three of them whirled round to see Ginny standing next to the girls' staircase.

'Nothing,' they all said.

'Bullshit,' said Ginny, her brown eyes flashing dangerously. 'What's going on?'

'Ginny,' Ron groaned.

'Why are you going down there?' she demanded.

'What did you hear?' Harry asked.

'Enough,' said Ginny. 'I want to go.'

'No,' said Harry at once.

'Are you mad?' said Ron.

'Ginny, it's really not a good idea for--' Hermione began.

'Bollocks!' she said, her temper flaring. 'If anyone has the right to go down there again it's me.'

Harry got up and crossed the room to her. 'Ginny, come on, you...you don't want to go down there, after what happened--'

'Harry, please,' she said, her tone suddenly pleading, and she reached out to grab Harry's arm, but just as quickly she backed away from him.

'Ginny, why?' Ron asked. 'Why would you want to go down there, to that place where...where he...'

'Because,' she said, her eyes filling with tears, 'I need to see it. I need to know nothing in there can hurt me anymore.'

They all stared at Ginny, who wiped her eyes impatiently. Ron felt his heart break; his sister had been crying a lot lately, and he knew why.

That sick bastard, Voldemort. I'd kill him with my bare hands if I could.

The dreams, Ron thought. She's still dreaming about him, I still don't know what he did to her, nobody does. Maybe...

'You really think it would help you?' Ron asked.

'Ron, no,' said Harry.

'Yes, I do,' said Ginny, ignoring Harry.

'Ginny, I can't let you--' Harry began.

'Ron, this isn't--' Hermione started.

'I think Ginny should be able to decide...what's best for her,' said Ron hesitantly, meeting his sister's eyes. She gave him a watery smile.

'Ron,' said Harry.

'Harry, she needs this,' said Ron, still looking at Ginny.

Hermione sat down stiffly, rubbing her arms. Harry threw up his hands.

'Okay,' he said. 'Just...you can't--'

'Tell anyone,' said Ginny. 'I won't. The last thing I need is people asking me why I'm going down there again.'

'When?' Ron asked, taking a seat again.

'Tonight,' said Harry.

'Tonight?' Hermione repeated, alarmed. 'No, Harry, we can't tonight.'

'Why not?' Harry demanded.

'Hermione's right,' said Ron. 'If we're going to do this quietly we'll need to make sure nobody catches us. There's Aurors all over the place, Filch is on the warpath, and, oh yeah, we'll need to figure out how to get back out of there. Last time we had Fawkes fly us out but I don't think he'll necessarily be available this time around.'

'We've got the Invisibility Cloak and the Map,' said Harry impatiently. 'And we can...climb back out of there or something.'

'Climb back up a slimy, slippery drain pipe?' Ron asked.

'Harry, please,' said Hermione. 'Let's do this the right way, okay? I know you're anxious to get a hold on your parents' things but...'

Harry threw up his hands again and relented, sitting down on the sofa. Ginny took a seat next to him, and the two of them exchanged a look Ron couldn't quite discern. It was warm and friendly and a bit...sad.

He blinked and turned his mind to the issue at hand. 'Okay,' said Ron. 'I say we do it on a night when Hermione and I have patrols. That way only the two of you will need the Invisibility Cloak. Hermione, when's our next patrol?'

'Ron, you did the schedules,' said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

'Yeah, but unlike you I don't memorize this stuff,' he said. 'My schedule's in my room. So...'

'Saturday night,' said Hermione.

'Saturday night?' Ron protested. 'Why'd I schedule us for Saturday night?'

'You had other plans for Saturday night?' Harry asked, smirking.

Ron looked at Hermione knowingly, and they both blushed, just a little. 'Not really,' he mumbled.

'You scheduled us for Saturday night because we needed to get the other prefects into rotation first,' said Hermione.

'Okay, so Saturday night, then,' said Ginny. 'Meet here in the common room?'

'Midnight,' said Ron. 'Well. We've been back at school for not even two days and we're already breaking rules.'

'Technically we're not,' said Hermione. 'Dumbledore gave his blessing.'

'Don't take all the fun out of it, Hermione,' said Harry, grinning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Herbology proved to be no less strenuous, even with just a single period, and the lesson was only the half of it. They shared Herbology with the Hufflepuffs.

Ron and Hermione managed to steer Harry far away from Susan Bones, who was seated at the opposite end of the greenhouse.

He gave them a look and shook his head, smiling.

They were working with Flesh-Eating Snapdragons, beautiful, brightly coloured flowers whose petals hid frighteningly sharp teeth and powerful jaws. The plants were drawn to the scent of human skin, which meant that all the students had to wear very thick canvas gloves, but the only way to really keep them from biting was to coat the gloves in...

'Unicorn piss?' Seamus grumbled. 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What's the point of these plants again?'

'The petals are crushed, combined with the residue of the unicorn's urine and become a key ingredient in Skele-Gro potion,' said Professor Sprout cheerfully.

At this Harry and Ernie MacMillan exchanged horrified glances.

After Herbology came Charms, again with the Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick, thankfully, went easy on them that day, merely discussing their summer homework essays and going over a review of last term's charms, and but Flitwick made up for his kindness in the classroom by dumping a heavy reading load on them, and assigning a two foot essay on advanced Concealment Charms.

By dinnertime, Ron was famished and he scarfed down three helpings of dinner. After pudding, he, Hermione, Harry and Ginny all headed to the common room only to find it buzzing with activity as the younger students gazed eagerly at the many signs that had been posted for the numerous clubs; Ron noticed that Harry had, at some point, managed to pin up a rather crudely prepared announcement about Quidditch try-outs for Saturday afternoon.

It quickly became clear that studying in the common room would be impossible, so Ron and the others headed for the library. It was one of Ron's least favourite places (the prefect's bathroom was competing with Snape's dungeons at the top of the list) but it was blessedly quiet. Ron was rather pleasantly surprised to discover that he got quite a lot of homework done when he concentrated enough. And it would be nice, he thought, to get all that homework out of the way so he could enjoy the weekend.

He made the mistake of mentioning this to Hermione when they left the library for the evening.

'I told you,' she said. 'It only took you seven years to figure that out. Honestly, I've only been saying this since--'

'You shouldn't have said anything, mate,' said Harry, grinning.

'Yeah, I know,' said Ron. 'I'd kiss her to shut her up but she'd slap me.'

'Ron!' said Hermione, rolling her eyes as Ginny chuckled behind them.

Wednesday provided welcome relief; Ron only had to contend with Advanced Care of Magical Creatures in the mornings. Ron and Harry were distinctly displeased about Professor Grubbly-Plank taking up residence again, and Ron cursed himself for not having asked Dumbledore where Hagrid had gone.

'Where's Hagrid?' Neville asked, taking the question right out of Ron's mouth.

'He's dealing with a family matter,' said Grubbly-Plank. 'At least that's what Dumbledore told me.'

'Family matter?' said Neville, screwing up his face. 'But--'

Hermione grabbed Neville's wrist and squeezed, giving him a significant look; Neville got the hint and went quiet, not that he knew about Hagrid's...family issues.

Family matter, indeed. Wonder what Grawp is up to these days.

Professor Grubbly-Plank, meanwhile, announced a special treat for the class: they would be working with a rare breed of dragon called the Pygmy Spiketail, which only grew to a total height of about two feet and a length of about three and a half. The dragons were valued for their spiky tails, whose spikes, at full maturity, were made of diamond.

The lesson involved little more than making nests for the dragon eggs, but the nests were complex structures that required very specific amounts of certain type of grasses and leaves. Ron's fell apart twice before he got his right.

'We'll be monitoring the progress of the eggs in our lessons, and they should hatch in two weeks time,' said Grubbly-Plank.

The lesson ended, with three feet of parchment homework devoted to an essay on the Pygmy Spiketail and a detailed drawing of the fully grown beast.

'That was an excellent lesson,' Hermione enthused as they headed back up to the castle. 'Pygmy Spiketails are really rare, almost nobody gets to witness them hatching, and just think, we'll get to watch the spikes form--' Her voice broke off when she saw the look on Ron's and Harry's faces. 'But I'm sure Hagrid would have come up with something much better,' she said quickly.

The week progressed; their second Defence (brit pick) Against the Dark Arts lesson was no less disconcerting than the first. If anything, it was worse, because Professor Hopkirk insisted on having everyone practice the Caedere Charm. In order to do this safely, Professor Hopkirk had cleared the room of desks and had people work on it two at a time, on large swaths of scrap fabric, while everyone else stood at the back of the room. Very quickly the sounds of tearing filled the room. Hermione performed the charm on her second try but for once she didn't look remotely pleased by this; she looked even less pleased when Professor Hopkirk smiled her close-lipped smile and said silkily, 'Ten points to Gryffindor.' Ron, too, couldn't remember being less enthused about earning house points in his life. The lesson ended with a reading assignment on Asphyxiation Curses and a two foot essay on the same.

Ron was still writing in his dream diary every morning but he was finding the entries almost frustratingly dull. Even the sexual dreams weren't much fun, mostly because they were useless as a means of helping Harry. Ron had had no visions, either. Not that he really wanted to have any, but surely if he were a True Seer he'd be having visions more frequently, wouldn't he? And Harry was having no further trouble with his scar, and no other visions. Checking The Daily Prophet on a daily basis told them little. The few attacks that could be attributed to Death Eaters were happening in such far flung places as Albania and some Russian city called Minsk; there was a rumour that Voldemort had been seen in Hungary but the rumour failed to pan out. And so far, nobody had been able to pinpoint the whereabouts of Lucius Malfoy. The only news of note on that front was that his attorney, Helene Rosier, had, by all appearances, vanished not long after she was cleared of any involvement in Malfoy's escape. "Top officials in the Ministry" (who failed to give their names) were convinced she'd been murdered by Malfoy to cover his tracks.

Ron, Harry and Hermione all knew better.

It was on a Friday morning as Ron and Harry were heading back to the common room from breakfast so that Harry could fetch his books that Ron remembered what Dumbledore had wanted from him.

They passed by the Divination classroom when a strong, clear voice called out, 'Mr. Weasley!'

Ron whirled round to see the image of Firenze filling the double-doors into the classroom.

'Oh,' said Ron. 'H-hi.'

'Dumbledore tells me you require some assistance in honing your gifts,' said Firenze slowly. His palomino tail swished behind him.

'Er, yeah,' said Ron uncomfortably. 'That's right.'

'Very well,' said Firenze. 'You will meet me here this evening at five o'clock. Bring your diary and don't be late.'

Ron started to protest--he'd planned on flying before dinner--but then Firenze turned and clopped away, his tail swishing behind him, and the doors to the Divination classroom slammed shut.

'Guess it's just me and Ginny, then,' said Harry.

'Bugger,' Ron groaned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At five o'clock, Ron reached up to the closed Divination classroom door to knock, but it swung open with a creak.

'Come in, Mr. Weasley.'

Ron rolled his eyes and entered the classroom. He hadn't been inside in over a year but little had changed. It still greatly resembled a small part of the Forbidden Forest. The magical sun that illuminated the classroom filtered through the trees and gave everything a pinkish-gold glow.

'Hello?' Ron called, for Professor Firenze was nowhere in sight. 'Professor?'

'Ah!'

Ron whirled around at the voice, which was decidedly not Firenze's. He came face to face with Professor Trelawney.

'Oh,' said Ron, feeling his stomach clench with horror. 'Er, hi, Professor Trelawney.'

'It's Ronald Weasley,' she said, smiling hugely. Her eyes looked enormous behind her thick glasses, and she gave off a sickly-sweet scent of dying begonias. 'What brings you here?'

'Oh, er...' Ron stammered, wondering just how honest he was supposed to be with Trelawney. 'Well...'

'Ron is training with me, Sybill,' said Firenze, and he walked slowly over to them both. 'Professor Dumbledore has asked me to assist Mr. Weasley with...meditation.'

'Meditation?' said Trelawney, her voice eager in spite of its usual mistiness. 'Really? Of course, meditation. I use it all the time, myself. Without it my Inner Eye would be ever such a jumble. You know, Firenze, perhaps this sort of thing is better left to me.'

Ron's eyes widened in horror.

'I mean, meditation is my forte ,' said Trelawney, 'the grounding of the mind and the senses, yes, that is one of my greatest gifts. Whereas your strengths are far more...celestial and complex in nature--'

'Thank you Sybill,' said Firenze politely, but with an edge to his voice that clearly conveyed what he thought of Trelawney, which wasn't much, 'but Dumbledore specifically asked me to help Mr. Weasley. I could hardly shirk my duties.'

Trelawney's jaw stiffened visibly, but only for a moment, and she smiled a fake, honeyed smile. 'Of course, of course,' she said. 'If you don't mind, I'll just return to my private tower and dine alone. My Inner Eye has been very disturbed of late.'

She started out the door, but then she turned to Ron and said, 'By the way, dear, you'd best reconsider the birthday present you were going to buy for your young lady friend.'

And with that, she swept out the door, and it slammed behind her.

'Barking,' Ron muttered under his breath.

'Not "barking", Mr. Weasley,' said Firenze. 'Merely foolish, like most of your kind.'

'Yeah, right,' said Ron. Great. Instead of training someone who's going to predict all sorts of horrible things happening to me, I get to work with a snob who thinks humans are all idiots.

'Do not take it personally, Ronald,' said Firenze. 'Humans are more often foolish out of ignorance and arrogance. But you are a Seer, and your kind are rare. You are already several steps above.'

'Thanks,' Ron said dryly, but Firenze missed the sarcasm. 'So...what do I have to do?'

'Come,' said Firenze, and he turned with a sweep of his tail and gestured toward the centre of the room, which resembled a small, shady glade where beams of magical sunlight peeked through.

'Do you know how to cast a magical fire, Ronald?' Firenze asked.

'Er, yeah,' said Ron. He didn't mention that his Portable Fire Charms weren't very good.

'The ancient art of meditation, of opening one's mind to the infinite possibilities of time and space, require far more than simply closing one's eyes and relaxing,' said Firenze, and he shot a disdainful look at the door through which Trelawney had just exited. 'The problem with humans is that they are too rushed. Their minds are too busy. Focused meditation and true Sight take time and practice. Mental balance cannot be achieved on a whim.'

'Okay,' said Ron.

'Sit,' said Firenze, and he gestured to a soft patch of grass in the centre of the glade. Ron sat, and Firenze suddenly gave a wave of his arm, and a small fire appeared, crackling with orange and blue flames.

'Tell me, Mr. Weasley,' said Firenze, 'how often do you meditate? And do sit up straight.'

Ron crossed his long legs in front of him, straightened his back, and swallowed. 'Er, I...I don't.'

Firenze looked down at him disapprovingly. 'How, then, can you possibly hope to make any good use of your gifts?'

'Well, I--'

'I am aware you are keeping a dream diary, yes?'

'Yes, sir,' said Ron. 'I write it in every morning. Sometimes...sometimes twice a day, if I wake up from a dream.'

'Well, that is something,' said Firenze. 'Have you learned any insights from reading your diary?'

'A few,' said Ron cautiously.

'Only a few,' said Firenze, shaking his head. 'I can see why Dumbledore wanted me to work with you. Ronald, your dreams can tell you many things, but if your mind is not open in your waking hours, you cannot hope to achieve the full potential of your powers. This is where meditation is vital.'

Ron nodded slowly, and Firenze turned for a moment, walking slowly over to a tree; there was a knot on the trunk and from the knot hung a small satchel. Firenze picked up the satchel and brought it back to the centre of the glade.

'You might remember the value of burning herbs in your lessons from fifth year,' said Firenze.

'Sure,' Ron lied.

'The burning of herbs is useful to meditation. Certain scents trigger mental and physical relaxation, while others cue alertness and openness in the mind.'

Firenze opened the cloth bag and tossed several handfuls of dried herbs into the fire. The flames burst red for a moment, then went back to blue and orange, and at once, the air was filled with numerous scents. Ron detected lavender and...was that sage?

'Close your eyes,' said Firenze. 'Breathe in the scents of the fire.'

Ron nodded and obeyed.

'Listen to the sound of the fire,' said Firenze, and his voice sounded oddly soothing. 'The crackle of the flames. Do you hear it?'

'Yeah,' Ron muttered.

'The hiss of the embers, do you hear that?'

'Yes,' Ron said, his eyes closed.

'The smells, focus on the smells as they enter your nostrils,' said Firenze, his voice growing softer and smoother. 'Clear your mind. Empty it of all thought, all sensation but the sounds and smells coming from the fire, the sound of my voice...'

For a moment Ron thought he might be drifting off to sleep, but...no. This was different. His mind was empty, but for the crackling and hissing of the fire, the scents in his nose, lavender, sage, and others he couldn't quite identify. He felt...detached. His body felt light.

'Listen to your breathing,' said Firenze, but his voice was far away now, distant. Ron heard the slow intake of his breath, in and out through his nostrils. The space behind his closed eyelids was entirely black, but for a hint of red where the flames cast their glow. Black and a bit of red...

A flash of blinding white light struck Ron's closed eyes like a fist. He tensed and saw...a sword. He heard voices. Yelling...

'Harry, look out!'

'Ron, DON'T!'

The sound of something else, something Ron couldn't place. Blood...on the floor, on his hands, soaking his robes. He was looking up, and Harry was staring over him with an expression of horror on his face.

'Finish it...finish it, Harry...'

Ron's eyes flew open and he fell over onto his elbow.

'Mr. Weasley?'

Ron was panting as he pulled himself up, and when he ran a hand through his hair his forehead felt sweaty.

'Mr. Weasley, are you all right?' Firenze asked.

'I...I saw something,' said Ron.

'What did you see?' Firenze asked. Ron started to speak and Firenze held up a hand. 'Don't tell me. Write it in your diary, now.'

Ron nodded and reached for his school bag, removing the diary and a quill. His hands were shaking as he dipped the quill into his inkpot, and he wrote down everything he'd seen. It was only a flash, but he felt drained and scared.

'Mr. Weasley?'

'Yeah, I got it,' said Ron, closing the book. 'I...what was that?'

'"That" is what happens when you un-clutter your mind, Ronald,' said Firenze. 'When you push aside all mundane thought and leave yourself open. Only an open mind can accept visions and perceive Second Sight.'

'Okay,' said Ron slowly, nodding. But he didn't say what was really on his mind now: that he didn't want to be opening up his mind if it meant more visions like

the one he'd just had. Visions that left him weak and out of breath and terrified.

'Let us try again,' said Firenze. Ron gulped and nodded. He definitely didn't like this.

But Firenze took Ron through meditation again, and every time, Ron experienced visions. All of them frightening, all of them leaving him in a state of exhaustion, but none of them, save for the first, having anything to do with people he knew. He saw a vision of a family--German, perhaps?--a Muggle family taking a drive in the country when their car was run off the road by a lorry. He saw a man, alone in a room, crying as he wrote a note in what looked to be Chinese or Japanese figures; the man put down his pen and picked up a strange looking metal device and held it against his head, and there was a tremendous bang! and a splatter of blood.

'Enough,' Ron croaked, as he pulled himself up for a fourth time, after seeing a woman struggling with a man who was tearing at her clothes. 'No more.'

'Write it down,' said Firenze coolly, and for the fourth time, with shaking fingers, Ron wrote what he had seen. When he put down his quill, he felt utterly exhausted.

'Are you all right?' Firenze asked.

'No,' Ron said. 'What the hell was that? Why is everything I'm seeing so horrible?'

'There is much evil in the world, Ronald,' said Firenze. 'Typically, a Seer who witnesses visions of great evil is one who has a desire to correct those wrongs.'

'Am I seeing the future?'

'It's difficult to say,' said Firenze. 'If you don't know the people in the visions you're witnessing, how can you tell?'

'Then what good is this?' Ron asked.

'The more you learn to See, the more you can tell the difference between what is past, present and future,' said Firenze. 'You must meditate on a daily basis.'

'What?' Ron said, appalled. He had to do...that...every single day?

'You are, if Dumbledore is correct, a True Seer,' said Firenze. 'You cannot achieve your full potential without training, and the most important part of that training is meditation.'

'Maybe I don't want to achieve my full bloody potential!' said Ron, suddenly angry, as he stood up sharply from the grassy surface of the classroom.

'If you do not,' said Firenze, 'you will be of no help to Harry Potter.'

Ron sighed. That's what it comes down to, doesn't it?

'Furthermore,' said Firenze, in a kinder voice, 'training will allow you to have more control over when you receive visions. Right now you are subject to a vision hitting you at random. Obviously this is not ideal; you'd hardly want to be playing Quidditch and be overtaken by a vision in the midst of a match.'

'No,' said Ron, not having considered that.

'How do you feel?'

'Like I've been rode hard and put away wet,' said Ron.

'Yes, that is usually how it is in the beginning,' said Firenze. 'The more you practice, the stronger you will become. But visions will always take their toll.'

'Lovely,' said Ron.

'You are dismissed, Mr. Weasley,' said Firenze. 'When we meet next week, same time and place, I expect you to be able to meditate for longer periods. I'll know if you haven't been practicing.'

I'll bet you will.

'So it is in your interest to keep distractions to a minimum,' Firenze went on.

'I'll try,' said Ron, through gritted teeth. Oh, no, my life has no distractions. I'm not Head Boy, I don't have a million tons of homework to do every week, or Quidditch practice, or D.A. meetings or finding time to have a little fun with my best mate and my girlfriend...

'Are you sexually active, Mr. Weasley?'

'What?!' Ron asked, almost falling over.

'I asked if you were--'

'Yeah, I heard,' said Ron. 'None of your bloody...I mean...I really don't think that's any of your business.'

'Sexual activity has a way of clouding the mind,' Firenze said. 'If you are indeed engaging in sexual acts, it would be wise to forego them.'

'Whoa, wait a minute,' said Ron. 'I have to...I can't...are you joking?'

'Only for the first two weeks,' said Firenze. 'And I think you should forego Quidditch practice as well. Those activities require far too much mental concentration, focus that you should be applying to your meditation.'

Ron gaped at Firenze. 'You can't be serious.'

'The fewer distractions you have, the better,' said Firenze. 'If it were up to me I'd ask Dumbledore to excuse you from your classwork, but that's not possible. In any case, it is vital that you not have the added stress of sport and sex to--'

'Sport and sex are not stressful!' said Ron. 'Those two things kept me from going barmy this summer, I'll have you know!'

Firenze shook his head. 'This is the weakness of humans. Putting the desires of the flesh above the pursuit of a higher mental and spiritual plane. Ronald, it is, after all, only two weeks I am asking of you. And if I'm not mistaken, sexual activity is prohibited within the walls of this school as it is.'

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it. Firenze was right, of course. Ron and Hermione had already broken the No Fraternization Rule several times in the six days they'd been back.

I can't bloody believe this. Two bloody weeks I don't get to play Quidditch or shag Hermione just so I can train my bloody mind to receive horrible images of death and rape and destruction. Oh, no, no 'added stress' there!

If he asks me to give up sweets I'm really going to lose it.

'I know this is not easy for you, Ronald,' said Firenze, a note of sympathy in his voice. 'But you see, the first two weeks of training are critical. The fewer distractions you have, the better. You'll need to meditate at least twice a day, once in the morning, once in the evening, perhaps after dinner, in order to get past the most difficult phase. You are at a disadvantage, starting your training so old; most True Seers begin their training much sooner. You will need to catch up.'

'Right,' said Ron miserably. 'Can I go now, sir?' He was tired and more than a little cranky.

'Yes,' said Firenze. 'Same time next week.'

'I can't wait,' said Ron sarcastically, but Firenze didn't seem to notice his tone; he simply strode further into the 'forest' of the classroom as Ron picked up his things and stormed out.

Ron had no appetite at dinner, and of course, Harry and Hermione immediately knew something was wrong. They talked about it only when they went to the common room, which was blessedly quiet for the first time all week.

'Was it really that bad?' Hermione asked, putting a placatory hand on his arm.

Dammit, I really wish she wouldn't touch me. This is not fair.

'Yeah, it was,' said Ron furiously. 'He kept making me meditate over and over again and every time I had these horrible visions--'

'What sort of visions?' Hermione asked at once.

'Oh, the usual,' said Ron sarcastically. 'Blood, death, violence.'

'Ron, I meant anything specific,' said Hermione.

Ron swallowed. After leaving the session with Firenze, he'd not wanted to dwell on the vision he'd had of him and of Harry. Him, covered in blood...that sword...telling Harry to finish it. Finish what?

'There was this one thing,' Ron said finally, and he told them.

Nobody said a word for a good few minutes, but all three of them looked unsettled.

'What can it mean?' Hermione said fretfully.

'If I knew that, I'd tell you,' said Ron wearily.

'Maybe...maybe you mean for me to finish off Voldemort,' Harry suggested half-heartedly.

Ron seized on this. 'Yeah, that must be it.'

'But...but...' Hermione said, and her eyes were suddenly shiny, 'you were all...covered in blood, Ron.'

Ron looked at her and saw her lip trembling.

'It might not have been my blood,' he said quickly, and he took her hand firmly in his. 'Maybe we were just in some big battle again and...and somebody bled all over me.'

Not much better than me bleeding everywhere, Ron thought. And yet he saw Hermione nodding fervently, as though convincing herself what he'd just said was true.

'I should add that...to the list, I suppose,' she said, biting her lip. She blinked and wiped at her face, but another tear slipped down her cheek.

'Love, don't,' Ron said, and he pulled her into his arms.

'Sorry,' she mumbled, snuggling up against him.

'It might not mean anything, Hermione,' said Harry, and he took her right hand in his.

'Harry's right,' said Ron forcefully. 'It could be nothing.'

Hermione looked at Harry and smiled weakly. Then she turned her brown gaze up to Ron and smiled again. Her eyes were glittering and she looked so beautiful and Ron felt his stomach twist again as he remembered the other part of his training.

Bugger. Why does she have to look so good and feel so good? This is not fair!

'There is something else,' Ron said, sitting up straighter. Hermione seemed to take his cue and extricated herself from his arms, which was no small relief for him, because just her touching him made his brain get scrambled a bit.

'What else?' Harry asked.

'I can't...' Ron looked at Harry miserably. 'I can't play Quidditch for two weeks.'

'What?' said Harry, appalled. 'That's absurd. Try-outs are tomorrow! What I am supposed to do without a Keeper?'

'I know, I know,' said Ron, putting his head in his hands. 'Look, I didn't know this was going to happen, okay?'

'Can't you talk to Firenze?' Harry asked. 'Or Dumbledore? Jesus, Ron, I need you there.'

Ron looked at Harry for a long moment, and he felt utterly wretched. Quidditch was the one thing right now that really mattered to Harry; it was his greatest escape from his troubles and his fears. Ron couldn't imagine not being there for the try-outs to pick the team, Harry's last school Quidditch team.

'I'll talk to Dumbledore,' said Ron. 'First thing tomorrow.'

'Thanks,' said Harry, and there was a long silence.

'Why on earth would Firenze ask you not to play Quidditch?' Hermione asked.

'Because apparently sport is too big a distraction,' said Ron bitterly. 'He wants me to meditate all the bloody time and he says if I play Quidditch my mind'll be focused on that and not on what I'm supposed to be doing.'

'That's silly,' said Hermione. 'Quidditch isn't the only distraction. You've got homework, Head Boy duties--'

'Yeah, well,' said Ron, 'Firenze said if it were up to him, he'd ask for me to be excused from all of that, but he can't do that, so he says I just have to give up the fun stuff.'

Hermione started to say something, but then she looked at him and her eyes went wide. 'You mean...all the fun stuff?'

'Uh, oh,' said Harry.

'That too, love,' said Ron, running a hand through his hair. 'Shit.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, swallowing and looking a bit embarrassed.

'So...' said Harry slowly. 'No Quidditch, no shagging...yeah, that really does suck.'

'Harry!' said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

'He's right,' said Ron fervently. Hermione turned slightly pink but she smiled sympathetically.

'What does that mean for tomorrow night?' Harry asked suddenly. 'You know--'

'The plan's on,' said Ron firmly. ''Mione and I are on patrols anyway, we've set it up, might as well do it. I just have to work out how we're going to get back out of there, that's all.'

'Good,' said Harry.

There was another silence, which Ron broke at last.

'Yeah, so, for the next two weeks, I don't get to hang out with my best mate and play Quidditch or...be alone with my girl,' he said grumpily. 'And I get to see visions of people dying and getting injured and bloody and stuff. So, don't, you know, take it personally if I bite anyone's head off. Because I'm telling you right now, I'm going to be in a really pissy mood.'

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances and shook their heads.