Divined Intervention

"What did I drink last night?"

Maggie stared at the canopy over her bed, tasting her mouth. It wasn't pleasant. Neither was the dull throb of her head. A hangover? NoÂ… Slowly the memories of the night before filtered back, and suddenly a breakfast composed largely of scotch and strychnine sounded like a good idea.

Death plots. Death Eaters. Some big evil called "The Dark Lord." And worst of all, the humiliation of being rescued from a late-night imprisonment by Severus Snape, King Jerk. She stuck a pillow over her face. It didn't have nearly the smothering effect that she'd half-hoped for, but it was soothing in a hiding-from-the-world kind of way. One eye peeked from beneath the pillow. The sun was shining brightly, but it still seemed early.

Way too early. With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed and began to struggle into a robe.

"You look like something the cat threw up." Maggie threw a towel over the mirror, who muttered something unpleasant. The hairbrush caught in a rat's nest of snarls in the back of her head, and as she yanked at it, she realized that her wrists weren't nearly as surly as she'd thought they would be. She fixed them with a dumbfounded gaze.

"Not a scratch. Huh." She turned her hands over, still holding the brush. Aside from the old scar, her wrists looked unscathed. Apparently, the potion packed a good wallop. With a shrug, she went back to trying to fix her hair, chiding herself for being surprised by anything anymore.

A rattle outside her door distracted her. She was on her feet before she realized it. Quietly, she walked over to the door and whipped it open. She dropped the fighting pose abruptly as she saw her visitor. A somewhat startled Severus Snape bent over her cauldron, straightening quickly.

He was looking rather ruffled himself. Dark circles beneath his eyes made his skin look even paler, and the frame of stringy black hair only served to complete the undead look. "You left your things in the dungeon last night," he said blandly, surveying her with that measuring look of his.

She crossed her arms and looked up at him, measuring right back until she realized that she was wearing her father's old green flannel shirt and a pair of yellow boxers. The flannel shirt with the faulty top button. Her arms crossed a little tighter, pinching the top closed. "Umm, thanks."

Awkward silence followed, and her hand strayed self-consciously to the top of her shirt, ensuring for her own peace of mind that the fabric was covering everything. It was. His eyes followed her hand, then shot back to her face quickly. He started to say something, then settled for a stiff bow, stalking off down the hall.

Maggie bent over and dragged the cauldron into her room with her left hand, clutching her shirt with the right. "Smooth, Mags. You got the mad social skills." She kicked the door closed behind her with the force of an angry mule.

The towel had slipped off the mirror, and she saw herself in all her early-morning glory. Touseled brown hair, tangled in more places than not, hanging limply over her shoulders and most of the way down her back. Ratty flannel shirt, with a hole she didn't remember forming by the right shoulder and the top button open, exposing far more than she wanted that creep to see. Bright yellow boxers with a picture of a cartoon bird on them. Too sexy. The brush ripped through her hair in a sort of penance as she tried to banish the previous twelve hours from her memory. She finished her morning preparations beneath a dark cloud of annoyance.

Her wand sat on the desk by the window. She grasped it with her left hand and looked at it morosely before stuffing it into her robe pocket. Why couldn't I have been born ambidexterous? Her sigh blew a long strand of hair into her eyes, and she made a hurried grab for it. The two hour lecture she'd gotten from Madam Pomfrey about power conduits and primary hands, a.k.a. "wand hands," had made her want to chew her arm off just to see if her body would find a way to re-route things.

She pondered a moment. "I've been using my left hand long enoughÂ…huh, who knows?" Maggie pulled the wand back out of her pocket and raised it in her left hand. With an awkward flourish, she waved it over her hairbrush. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Nothing. Not a tingle, or a twinge, or a smidge of motion from the hairbrush. She tried again, fighting to make her hand do what she wanted it to do. "WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" Her right arm gave a small complaint as her body tensed, but nothing happened. She shoved it into her right hand. The charm was half-hearted at best, but it worked with enough force to smack the brush into the ceiling. It stung. With a soft growl, she crammed the wand back in her pocket and picked the hairbrush up.

It clattered against the headboard and bounced off her pillows. Throwing it hurt more than the spell did, but that was a very small consolation.

Well, you can't even write legibly with the damned thing. What did you really expect? The disappointment shut the grumbling in her stomach up, but she began the long trudge down to the Great Hall regardless. If nothing else, the seven flights of stairs were a distraction from the endless frustration that was being a witch.

***********

Tabitha and Estelle fell silent as Maggie walked into the Great Hall, noses wrinkling as always. Ordinarily, Maggie ignored it. Today, it just added to the overall chafing, like sandpaper over a bad case of poison ivy. She landed in her seat with a dull thud.

"Oh good, Maggie, you're here!" Elvira poured a cup of coffee for her. "Don't want to fly on an empty stomach, nowÂ…"

Maggie set the cup down without taking a sip. "Fly?" Dimly, she remembered the promise from the previous afternoon. Just when it can't get any worse... "Oh. Yeah. Right. Heh heh." She smiled feebly, chugging the coffee. It was still black. Maggie's eyes watered as she belatedly reached for the sugar bowl.

"Maggie, are you well?" Minerva looked over her spectacles at her. "You look rather pale."

Maggie looked around nervously. Severus was at the other end of the table, pretending not to watch her and nodding politely at whatever Tabitha was rambling about. She managed a smile. "Yeah, I'm good. JustÂ…had a rough night trying to sleep." She shrugged. "I'm still adjusting to things, and I read a really thought-provoking chapter on Dark Magic in my Defense Against the Dark Arts book. Unfortunately, they weren't happy thoughts." She thought she saw a look of alarm cross Severus's face for a moment.

"Not exactly bedtime reading, that subject." Elvira shuddered a little. "Used to give me nightmares when I was a girl. Mummies, vampiresÂ… ugh." Maggie grinned and nodded, sipping her coffee and settling down a little. Severus was back to blandly nodding.

"But importantÂ…especially in these times." Minerva sighed sadly and shook her head. Elvira looked thoughtful for a moment, then promptly began chatting about the new broomsticks that had just come in for the first-year flying lessons.

Maggie listened idly as she poked at her porridge. After a moment, she realized what was missing. "Where's Delphine?"

Elvira glanced over her shoulder towards the door and shrugged. "She got some plants in last nightÂ… I think she's repotting." She sipped at her tea, not quite meeting Maggie's eyes. Maggie shrugged and looked down the table. Filius was missing as well, though his cushions were piled on his chair. Duh, Mags. School starts in two weeks. Of course, they're busy. A lump settled in her throat. Crap. I haven't even started thinking about that. I should beÂ…shuffling tarot decks or something.

"Maggie, you've been buttering that toast for about a minute now." Elvira gave her a nudge with the toe of her shoe under the table. "You need a proper distraction." Maggie blinked. "C'mon. I've a broomstick you should meet."

With a low groan, Maggie set down the knife and followed her from the hall.

*********

Hedwig settled herself on her perch with a soft hoot. Harry cast a habitual glance towards the door to his room, but relaxed quickly. Since Uncle Vernon had started on his anti-anxiety medication, he was a remarkably sound sleeper. The thunderous snores attested to that. With a smile, he unrolled the parchment. A bright-orange quill dropped into his lap. He chuckled softly as he began to read.

Harry gave a snort. Somehow, he doubted that his godfather had shed a tear for the dozen or so cats who had been caught in the fire. Hermione, of course, had been heartbroken. Truthfully, he leaned more to Sirius's perspective after having to scrape layers of cat fur off himself every time he'd had to stay with her, but felt a twinge for them nonetheless. Mr. Pibbles had always been very nice to him and even ate the horrid stale cake she gave him at his last visit.

He looked at the parchment for a long time. Two weeks. It felt like an eternity.

*********

"You'll come with us, won't you?" Elvira was grinning. "It's tradition."

Maggie was smiling, this time in earnest. "You really do that every year?"

"Well, the karaoke is a recent addition, but yes. Every year, the night before classes, we all go out to the Three Broomsticks, get properly pissed, and have a grand old time. You have to come. This year, we intend to spike Filius's cherry soda with Chambord."

Maggie's giggles came to an abrupt halt. The Quiddich field loomed before her, as did two long, thin parcels lying in the grass. She gave a little whimper.

"Now, nowÂ…nothing to fear." Elvira unwrapped the broom. "It's a Cleansweep FiveÂ…an older model, but a good one. The school got a very nice discount on them. Let's see you on it, then." She dropped it on the ground beside Maggie. Reluctantly, she bent to pick it up. "Oh, no. Place your hand over it." She straightened up and did so, trying to force her hand to stay steady. "Now say 'up!'"

"Up!" It stayed put, and a rather annoying prickle started at the tips of her fingers. "UP!" It twitched. So did her ring finger. "C'mon, ya dumb cleaning instrumentÂ… UP." It shot up, and she muffled a yelp as her wrist jolted. It hovered at hip-height, and she grabbed onto it with a trembling hand.

"Excellent! Now, mount up!" Elvira had already hopped on her broom. Maggie hooked a leg over the broom. She could taste copper in her mouth. "Now, kick off gently."

Her knuckles were white. She couldn't feel her wrist complaining anymoreÂ…but then, she couldn't really feel much of anything but scared. She nudged the ground with her toe, and suddenly she wasn't on the ground anymore. She squeaked in terror as the broom dug into her, and she clenched onto it with her knees as tight as she could.

"Perfect!" Elvira smiled at her. Maggie made a strangled noise. "Now, angle the broomstick up."

"N-N-Nuh-uh." It was the first intelligible noise she could bring herself to produce. She glanced down involuntarily. She was only a few feet off the ground, and she was positive that she was going to flip over and break her skull. Why make it worse?

Elvira flew around her in a perfect circle, surveying her posture. "Relax, Maggie. This is supposed to be fun, remember. Deep breaths. Breathe."

"Mmph." She was sure she was turning green. Finally, her inner drill-sergeant woke up. Margaret Anne Carter, you will stop being a dork this instant and get to flying already. She won't let you die. Dumbass. With grim resolve, she angled the broomstick a little bit and began to move forward and upward.

The view was stunning. The afternoon sun was warm and bright, and the grounds looked like the opening shot of a fantasy film. She levelled off the broom and flew along the length of the Quiddich field, trembling a little less as she got the feel for the broomstick, though a small worried noise kept slipping out of her throat every time she thought about how high she was. . The narrow shaft of the broom beneath her dug into her posterior a little. She tried harder to forget how slippery the fabric of her robe really was. The little noise built slowly to a rather pathetic-sounding squeal as she began to speed up a little.

Elvira kept pace. "Good, MaggieÂ…great, now turnÂ…turnÂ…No, turn!"

A loud clatter rang out across the Quiddich field. Hagrid looked up and scratched his head, setting down the bucket of mixed animal parts for the latest in his ever-changing menagerie.

"All righ', then, Madam Hooch, Madam Carter? What're you doin' up there?"

Maggie waved down at him, draped rather uncomfortably through one of the Quiddich goals, hanging onto the large ring for dear life. "UmmÂ…checking the ring-thingyÂ…."

"GoalÂ…" Elvira had pulled up beside her and placed a hand on her back to steady her.

"Goal! To make sure it isn'tÂ…ummÂ…dented?" She glanced up quickly, looking for dents.

Elvira flashed a winning smile. "Quiddich maintenance. Maggie was kind enough to volunteer to test the goalpost and make sure it wouldn't topple if one of the students ran into it."

"Right!" Maggie tried to smile as her face slowly turned more purple. Elvira's hand tightened on the back of her robe.

Hagrid nodded slowly, then beamed up at them. "Wouldn't want none of that, then. Have fun!" He wandered off, and Maggie breathed a somewhat-compressed sigh of relief.

"Quiddich maintenance?" she asked feebly.

Elvira gave a meek smile. "Sounded good to me. Now, let's get you down."

***********

"You're worse than any ten students combined, Madam Carter." Poppy Pomfrey bustled about, putting away the bruise salve and tutting under her breath. Maggie re-fastened her robe with a sigh, nodding and looking sheepish. "When you're dressed, Professor McGonagall was looking for you. She's in her office."

"Thanks, PoppyÂ…as always, you're a saint." Maggie paused at the door, then pulled out her wand. With a moment's contemplation and a bit of tooth-gritting, she turned a tongue depressor into a rather wilted-looking daisy. Poppy looked at it, then gaped at her, astonished. Maggie was still looking at the flower.

"Holy crap, I did it." She grinned broadly at the older woman, then skipped out of the room. "Have a great one!" she yelled over her shoulder as she bounced away.

Minerva sat behind her desk, reading over scrolls and making notations with her quill. A cheerful song from the hall made her look up. Maggie peeked in and knocked on the door, still giggling and humming. "You're giddy," Minerva said with a curious look over her spectacles.

"Just found out I'm not completely hopeless. I even scored my first Quiddich goal." Maggie plopped into the seat across from the desk, still holding her wand. "Poppy said you wanted to talk to me?"

"Ah yes." Minerva drew a scroll out of her top desk drawer and pushed it across to Maggie. "Professor Trellawney left a copy of her course syllabus for your use."

"It always sounds like you've been eating lemons when you talk about her." Maggie flashed a wicked grin across the desk, then unrolled the scroll and scanned it. Within seconds, she was echoing Minerva's tone. "What in blazesÂ…ack! She teaches tea leaves before tarot? Well, I suppose it's easier on her, but how are the kids supposed to get a steady foundation before having to create a whole symbolic structure andÂ…augh!" The scroll snapped closed in her hand, and she closed her eyes, fingers pressing against her temples. "I've got to rewrite this. I've got toÂ… oh, man, I've got a lot of work to do." She stood up, then sat back down, fish-white. "MinervaÂ…I don't know what I'm doing! I've never written a course before! I've never taughtÂ…anything! Nothing this complicated! I've got so much to cover, and there's never enough time, and there's only so much homework kids will doÂ…andÂ…augh."

Minerva rose and placed a steadying hand on Maggie's shoulder. "MaggieÂ…Margaret! Madam Carter! Calm down!" She looked down at the younger woman, a firm and very teacherly look in her eyes. "At Hogwarts, students are held to a very high academic standard. They have been assigned summer readingÂ… it's detailed there, dear. They should be versed in the basics ofÂ… symbols and the like, what have you." She squinted at the scroll for a moment as Maggie took a few deep breaths and re-read it. "You've read over the text, I assume?"

Maggie snorted. "Yeah. Had some good points, but seemed a bit too sure of itself on the interpretations. I'm more a follow-your-gut type than a 'the hat always means a visitor' type. Sometimes a hat is a hat. Sometimes it's someone particularÂ…" She stopped and looked at Minerva, who was nodding politely. "Do I have to go by the text?"

Minerva shrugged. "It is your classroom now, Maggie." A smile crept to her lips. "Perhaps you can teach them something new."

Maggie rose a little unsteadily. "I'm a teacher." A giddy sort of nausea swept over her. "I'm really going to do this." The scroll crinkled a little in her fist, and the first bit of confidence came back to her face with a broad smile. "These kids aren't going to know what hit them. I've gotta get writing!"

************

"Daydreaming about her again, are you?"

Ron slammed the back of his head into the tree hard enough to jar an acorn loose. He chucked it at Fred.

Fred nodded sagely at George. "Obviously. Pining, really. Damned shame." He leaned over and patted Ron on the shoulder. "Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins. It's only another two days before you see her."

Ron's voice was a low rumble. "IÂ…am notÂ…daydreamingÂ…aboutÂ…ANYONE!" He stood up, shaking off his brother's hand with a jerk of his shoulder.

George grinned. "Methinks the lad doth protest too much. Just remember, if you need any worldly advice on how to woo women, we are always available."

"But of course. And if you need a gift for the lovely lady, one of our Raspberry Roses is both romantic and expressive." Fred bowed, producing the flower from up his sleeve. It made an exceptionally rude noise at Ron, then showered rose petals on the ground. Fred looked over the wilted rose and frowned. "Er, maybe not. I'd better go work on this. They have to be perfect by St. Valentine's Day."

The pair wandered off, chatting about fertilizers and how to keep the flower from vibrating itself apart with the force of its own tongue. Ron slid back down the trunk of the tree, arms wrapping around his knees.

"Gits." His forehead rested on his knees, eyes closed. Two days. I have to sort this out and forget about this whole stupid crush in two days.

Ginny's voice shattered the silence. "RON! Mum wants you to de-gnome the garden!"

He groaned. "Can't I get a moment's peace in this house?"

"No. Never." She cut the obnoxious-kid-sister routine abruptly short. "Are you ok?'

He sighed. "Fine. I'm fine. I'll get right on it." He ruffled her red curls with a smile. "Thanks, Gin."

She watched him go with a mix of worry and confusion. She shrugged it off with a snort. "Boys."

************

"Hopeless. Absolutely hopeless." Tabitha shook her head, sipping her tea. "Have you seen the state she's been in? Covered in ink, hair a sight, robesÂ…heavens, I don't know why Dumbledore hasn't just sent her back to the Muggles where she belongs."

"The poor children. Their studies will be set a year behind thanks to this woman." Estelle refocused her telescope and sighed. "At least she isn't attempting to supplement her education with either of our courses. The less I have to deal with her hyperactive emotional states and uncouth manners, the better."

"You realize that Elvira has invited her along on the pub crawl?" Estelle groaned softly. Tabitha just nodded.

"She wouldÂ…probably fancies her. I think the calculations were correctÂ… by next week, the stars should be in alignment. Hand me that scroll, please?" Estelle scanned down the page, adjusting her glasses with a gasp. "Tabby, are you sure you added these up right?"

Tabitha made a huffy noise. "Of courseÂ…I checked them three timesÂ…heavens!" She looked over the numbers and blanched. "That'sÂ…tomorrow!"

"During the pub crawl. Damn." Estelle swatted the telescope irritably, spinning it on its stand.

"At least we won't have to deal with her."

"Indeed. Let her humiliate herself with the rest of the faculty."

***********

"Now, Vi, that wasn't very nice." Delphine scurried along the stone corridor, clutching the brown paper-wrapped parcel to her chest beneath her green robe.

Elvira was still giggling as they crept up towards the Divination classroom, hands thrust into the pockets of her tight black riding pants. A black scarf obscured her short grey hair, and her robes slouched over her shoulders a little, hastily thrown on after her latest 'mission.' "Oh, don't be such a prig, Delly. I had to put my Arithmancy minor to use somehow, and this was a noble cause. They've been just horrid to poor MaggieÂ… girl's got enough on her mind without having to worry about those two harpies defaming her behind her back." She doffed her robe in a corner, revealing a form-fitted black top. With a catlike leap, she was halfway up the ladder and peering carefully through the entrance hole. Delphine stood behind her, peering up and seeing little more than Elvira's backside.

"Not that I mind the view, love, but is she there?" she whispered, anxiously clutching the small parcel to her chest. Elvira crooked a finger at her, and she surrendered the package on tiptoes.

Elvira teetered at the top of the ladder, only her ankles showing now. "I just wish Filius was here to see thisÂ…" she sighed softly as she arranged the contents of the package beneath the nearest table. "Now, Maggie wanted us to look over her notes, right?"

***********

"Thank you both for agreeing to look over my syllabusÂ…you're angels! I can't believe classes start in two days!" Maggie clambered up the ladder before them, then almost fell back on top of them as a strange sound began to emanate from the room.

"What theÂ…"

The noise was familiar somehow. PipesÂ…synthesizerÂ…drumsÂ…and a haunting voice.

A ghost? "GuysÂ…there's something up hereÂ…"

It took her a moment to realize she recognized the voice. "Loreena McKennitt?" She glanced around. Nothing visible. She glanced back down the hole, and stared.

Elvira was leaning against Delphine, and both were giggling helplessly. "GuysÂ…whatÂ…how? What the hell did you guys do?" She looked around the room again, then looked under the table and almost fell over. Her CD player was there, casting a faint bluish glow from the LCD. It should have been glowing green, and it was glowing a lot more brightly than usual, but it was playing all the same.

"OhÂ…myÂ…god."

"Filius did it." Elvira stood over her, still pink from laughter. "JustÂ…don't tell anyone, ok? It's not strictlyÂ…well, legal. ButÂ…crikey, that's what it sounds like? Very nice." She yelped as Maggie launched herself onto her neck, hugging her for all she was worth, then blushed and stammered as she turned and did the same to Delphine.

"YouÂ…you guysÂ…" Tears flooded down Maggie's face as she gestured wordlessly. "IÂ…wow." She finally toppled onto a pouf, too overcome to speak.

"So, you'll have to introduce us to thisÂ… industrious music you were telling us about." Delphine pulled up a pouf, still beaming.

"Indeed." Elvira tried to look serious. "Educate us, Madam Maggie, on the finer points of industrious and bellydancing music." Delphine threw a pillow at her. Elvira tried to look innocent and failed.

Maggie beamed and scrambled for the dumbwaiter. "I'll be right back."

*************

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had heard many sounds echo through the castle in his stay. The strange thumps and wails from the Divination Tower, however, were like none he'd ever heard before. Loud, cacophonous, and eerie, and he didn't like the sounds of it one bit. "Peeves. That dratted poltergeist is up to no good again." But, just as he was about to storm off and give him what-for, the poltergeist himself flew smack into him with wide, fearful eyes.

"A GHOST!" He gestured frantically at the tower, hiding himself behind the taller spirit. Sir Nicholas rolled his eyes, turning to face Peeves. It took a few rotations, as Peeves was clutching the tails of his coat for dear unlife.

"Peeves, my dear nuisance, we ARE ghosts. Now, what in blazes is going on?"

Peeves looked up at him, no trace of his usual grin. "Somethin' scary. I ain't never seen a ghost around here who sounds like this one. Have you?"

Nicholas looked back towards the tower and froze.

In the window of the Divination Tower, a luminous figure was moving to the rhythm of the unearthly music, clad in translucent blue fabric that flowed along with her movements. An unearthly beauty. One whom he had never seen before.

"On my deathÂ…" he gasped softly. "A new spirit."