Defensive Divination

When the owl found him, Albus Dumbledore was having a late supper with Minerva McGonagall away from the school. They were hidden away at a table in the back, discussing something that had been needing attention for most of the summer, but that they had avoided until now. It was bad enough that the situation was as it was, but without the Minister of Magic on their side, it would be made even more difficult.

"I always knew that Fudge was a stupid prat, but this..."

"Now, Minerva."

"You know I'm not one to mince words on this, Albus. It just strikes me as being of the utmost stupidity, to deny things as he has. What will he say to the population when they're panicking even more than he could even dream, and especially when they discover he knew before hand. He'll be lynched and given an execution that would do the Muggles proud!"

Dumbledore remained quiet for a moment, before he told her quietly, "Honestly, Minerva, I foresaw that he and I would having a parting of the ways, although I wasn't prepared for the debacle he made of himself at the trial for Sirius..."

He didn't have to say anything more than that. Prior to the trial, Fudge had tried to use the Daily Prophet to make certain that the wizarding population remained convinced of Sirius Black's guilt. Any reporter who was sympathetic to Black's cause or found to be connected even remotely to him were quietly let go, and it became nothing more than a walking propaganda machine. Yet, there were pictures of Peter Pettigrew that had leaked out via a smaller paper known simply as Lumière. That paper had had been practically unheard of until after the Prophet had started letting their people go. However, with those pictures, it was unheard of no longer, since it drew attention away from the propaganda being put out by the Prophet and the Ministry.

With that sort of evidence, all Fudge had managed to do was sabotage himself instead of convicting Sirius in the press. If nothing else, he had only managed to make himself look even more incompetent than before, and there had even been recent whispers that he was under Voldemort's control.

"Has there been any word on the front of Fudge being under the control of Voldemort?" McGonagall asked him.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I have been assured that Fletcher will be in touch as soon as there's any information on that front."

"So all we can do is wait."

"Unfortunately."

Their supper arrived then, and all future plans were put off to the side for long enough to eat their meal with some degree of enjoyment. It seemed to take very little time, but then their thoughts were distracted by the plans of the future that they had been discussing. Too much in these times were uncertain, and Dumbledore had contacted her to have dinner with him so that they could discuss beforehand, just in case things got as bad as they had been the last time the Dark was in control.

Minerva privately still had nightmares of that time, when all seemed lost, and there seemed to be no way to win. Even those that were previously trusted fell into the category of those to be distrusted. That had been what had happened to get the Potters murdered, and while ultimately for the good, since it had led to the downfall of the Dark for the time.

She had never trusted the calm that had fallen after the news of Voldemort's defeat had been made public; it would be only a matter of time before the calm shattered and they would find themselves battling him all over again. And now, so it was. Albus had seemed to take it much more in stride, but now as she looked at him, she had to wonder if he had ever truly been at ease with it all or whether he had been as wary as she herself had been. Merlin only knew the answer to that, if even he did, for Dumbledore had forever been a man who had many mysteries and even after all the years she had been acquainted with the man, could still manage to surprise her.

Rosmerta came by to take their dishes away, mainly as a guise to talk to them both. Her face was worried, and McGonagall remembered that the girl had always been perceptive; she had been a first year when she had left Hogwarts to venture out in the world, and a sixth year by the time she had returned to teach. She never had to be told of the worst of times, she just somehow knew. It was almost enough to make her believe there was something to this divination bollocks.

Almost, but not quite.

Her lips thinned slightly at the thought, then she, by force of will, smoothed them, and joined into the conversation smoothly enough. After a few moments, Rosmerta admitted that what she had heard from the Prophet confused her, and that she was more than slightly uneasy about something. Dumbledore then told her what had been going on, in such a way that was truthful and yet gave the impression that all was in hand, and there was nothing for her to worry about.

After a moment, the girl believed her, and departed.

"How do you manage that?"

"Pardon?"

"To let people know that things are as uncertain as they are, while at the same time assuring her that all was in our hands and not to worry. Although, remembering her as I do, Albus, I'm not certain that will stop her from worrying."

"People deserve to know the truth. She will not get it from the Prophet, as Fudge's control over the paper has been shown. I will not lie to her, but as there is nothing she can do otherwise, I have to assure her that all is in hand. I can do no less, Minerva. You know that."

McGonagall had just opened her mouth to respond to that comment when movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. There was a pale owl flying toward them, and as it grew closer, she felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. There was only one owl that looked exactly like that, and the fact that it was flying towards them meant only one thing. As it was Harry Potter's owl, it meant that the visions had started again.

The war was starting again.

Sometimes it was tempting to transform into her catform and stay there. The feline thoughtpatterns were much more simpler and didn't involve thinking about people who were dying. Or who were going to die within moments. She waited and watched as Albus took the letter from Hedwig, thanked her gravely, fed her a piece of his Muggle candy, and watched as she flew off once again. All the while, the feeling got worse, there was the sensation of her skin crawling that she didn't like in the slightest.

Without a word, he opened the letter and read it over in a moment before passing it across the table to her. When she saw what the letter contained, she paled and raised her eyes to the pair that were peering at her over the pair of spectacles that he had worn for as long as she had known him. She shook her head and read the letter again before replying, "Albus, I... I will admit that I never got along with the woman, but I never would have wished that fate upon her."

"None of us would, I think," he said quietly. "And it has officially begun. Severus and I discussed the possibility that he might be called upon to assure Voldemort of his loyalty, given that he did not show the first time the Death Eaters gathered again before him, as well as the fact that he's been working for me all these years."

"So it was he that killed her, then."

"I'm afraid so."

There was silence between them as they allowed for a moment of remembrance for a fallen comrade who had known not what she was falling to, not really. After that moment passed, McGonagall reached again for the glass, and downed the rest of it in one gulp. Dumbledore watched her, and after a moment, took off the spectacles and sighed heavily.

"As much as I don't like to consider this, if this is the case, as I suspect it is, we shall have to find ourselves a new Divination professor."

"Surely, Albus, there are other courses of study that the students could take, given these dark times."

"True, but for a time longer, until I am able to make certain of who is on our side and who is not, I wish to keep things as normal at the school as possible."

"And that includes Divination courses," McGonagall said with a distinct expression of distaste.

"Yes, Minerva..."

"Actually, I'm just hoping that position doesn't become as cursed as the Defense position," she said on a slight smile.

"I as well. Divination professors are even more difficult to locate than Defense."

"So, are you going to owl the Prophet to put in a advertisement for a professor."

"Given the current circumstances, I don't think putting an advertisement in the Prophet is wise. Still, I have a thought about who to replace Sibyll. We did have a young divinator at the school a few years ago that I would like to contact about the position."

"Do you think that this person can be trusted?"

Dumbledore's mustache twitched slightly as he smiled. "For some reason, my dear Minerva, I think we can put the utmost trust in her ability."

A puzzled look appeared on McGonagall's face before the smile returned. "If this is who I am thinking of, I believe this school is in for quite a time."

"Indeed, Minerva," Dumbledore's smile grew. "Indeed."

The door to the house closed and, with a sigh, Dariele Sanchez leaned against it. She closed her eyes and let her mind race over the events of the day while she let all the anxiety and stress that had been caused by it sink into the door that was cool against her back, and the floor that was firm under her feet. It was nice that something today was solid beneath her feet, although after a moment, the ache that came from walking from the Ministry home started to seep through the soles and she sent them flying across the room.

She heard something shatter and break as one boot came into contact with something. She opened one eye and saw the vase Lily had given her for her twenty-first birthday laying in pieces on the floor, then reached for her wand, thanking the gods for magic as she pointed it at the vase and called out, "Reparo." Dariele rubbed at her eyes as the vase leapt up and repaired itself.

Had it not been for Hope and magic, I probably would have parted with the rest of my sanity years ago, she mused as she pushed herself away from the door.

She could have only imagined what would have happened if she had been born Squib; first of all, she wouldn't have the group of friends she had now, and secondly, after the day she had had, she probably would have been on her hands and knees crying for the loss of her beloved vase. As it was, the thoughts were still running through her head at top speed, and she couldn't make them stop, no matter how hard she tried.

They had prepared for this, all of them, when Hope had first started talking about starting her own paper. A non-biased, a non-Ministry-influenced paper that she had finally, after long debate one night when they were all half-drunk on exhaustion, decided upon calling Lumière. French for Light, she had said by way of explanation, and it had seemed fitting. Still did, actually.

However, Remus had reminded them that if the paper had started to show any competition to the Ministry-run Daily Prophet, and the Ministry had discovered that there was any form of connection between any of its employees and that rival paper, there was going to be trouble. Dari had been flippant at the time, saying that of *course* there would be trouble, because that's what the Ministry did. Lot of bumbling fools they all were, and that if she were fired, then it was no great loss. As it was, she still felt like that, mostly, but the whole incident left her feeling numb and shocked.

What was worse was that she knew Hope wasn't home; she had gone to Diagon Alley with Remus and Harry to pick up the supplies for the latter's fifth year at Hogwarts.

If she isn't home by nightfall, she thought with a twitch of amusement, I'll have to go see if my girlfriend's gotten herself lost in Flourish and Blotts, or if Remus has. If they both have, well, I'll have to stop myself from getting pulled in, myself.

She smiled then. Remus's downfall, Hope's and her own would always be books. And Quidditch, at least for her, since Remus's interest had never been all that great, and Hope's had waned somewhat after leaving the position of Ravenclaw Keeper during their fifth year, and even more after leaving school.

Shaking her head, Dariele headed into the kitchen, and started a pot of tea, the old-fashioned way. The Muggle way, the way her mum had taught her during the time when she couldn't leave the house -- hell, she had barely been able to leave her bed -- because of circumstances beyond her control. It allowed her to keep from thinking about things for a little while longer. Finally, when she finished brewing the tea, she sank down in a chair at the small table and let out a long sigh, "I don't believe this. I can't..."

Practically since she had left Hogwarts, she had been working for the British Ministry. First it was little things, like being a glorified go-fer until she had made her way up to courier. Her talents, aside from the divination ability that had run in her family for generations, had been too diverse to pursue anything like what Sirius had done, or Hope, or Lily. By then, the war was in full-swing, and they needed all the couriers they could get, because they were dying as quickly as they were sent out. She often thought that it was sheer luck that she had lasted as long as she had.

Luck, and the ability to know where the Death Eaters were, and how to avoid them. Or, if she was on task for the Order, how to find them. Dumbledore had seen how she had acted with an out-of-line Slytherin, and kept it in the back of his mind, even while taking ten points from Gryffindor for her actions. After she had left the school, she had been contacted to join the Order of the Phoenix on a limited and very specific basis. They had need of someone who could... persuade certain Death Eaters with information to play spy for the Order and the Light in general. By force, if necessary.

That was where she had come in. She had the difficult cases, and had served through the war, and on through the current day. It didn't pay at all, other than in the satisfaction that she was helping her cause. Most of the money she had lived off of came from her Ministry job, which hadn't blinked an eye at what she was doing, even though they probably knew.

However, the Ministry then had been more... ruthless than the current one, which according to what she had heard from Sirius, had made the choice to dig their heads into the sand about the rise of Voldemort, and continue denying until things were totally out of control. The Order, however, had never been under Ministry control, and Dumbledore had called them active again. Which had led to her and Remus being sent out on a job the other day, which had taken over a week to accomplish, and had, in turn, led to both of them coming home to a pair of worried lovers...

...and had lost her that job she'd held for nearly fifteen years.

She didn't know what she had expected, but not this. Dari snorted herself at that thought, and wondered what she had really expected. Surely, there would not have been a Ministry official that would stride into her office, peer at her over the stacks of papers that were practically part of her desk, and inform her that she no longer worked for the Ministry due to the fact that she was living with, sleeping with, shagging nightly the one-witch force that was slowly taking down the Ministry-sponsored propaganda machine. She grinned at the thought; for everything else, she loved watching the Ministry being pulled apart by its own ineptitude.

She still couldn't believe that she had been fired for doing what was best for the side of the Light, for doing what she had been raised to do, for following her heart and doing what was right. Treasa Sanchez had raised a daughter with an open mind, and an open heart, and one who knew what to do when it came down to the last second decision. Yet, for now it seemed that the Ministry would punish that, rather than reward it.

Then again, they didn't know, they wouldn't know because they were too blind to see. As far as they had known, she was out with a bad case of double-flumonia that she had caught from her "Muggle-loving" friends. That is what the Ministry had become, and she scowled at the memory. Never mind that the most powerful witches and wizards for their side had been Muggle-born or had close ties to the Muggle world, they were treated as though they were lepers, and those who were pureblooded, no matter for which side they had fought, were nothing but rewarded.

She hated the Ministry's ways. She hated them more now than when she had joined them, and she had been forcefully Apparated out of the building when she had spoke her opinion to the peon sent to inform her of her termination. Of course, the fact that she had spat in his face probably had helped not in the slightest.

A sound drew her attention out of her thoughts, then, and Dari looked up in surprise to find a post owl hovering outside of her window. When she just stood there, staring at him, he pecked at the window again, and she smiled. Then she moved past Finchester's cage, and opened the window. She saw her barn owl's feathers bristle at the sight of this intruder in their home, and smiled faintly at the memory of Remus rolling his eyes and asking her why they would ever need a guard dog when they had a guard owl. She had laughed in response, poked him in the side, and reminded him that it was just as well. After all, it was he that held the guard dog...

She fed the owl that delivered a message a piece of the scone she had been absentmindedly nibbling on in the midst of her musings. He hooted faintly at her and flew away. Only then did she notice the envelope of the finest parchment, marked upon the back with a seal, addressed in a very familiar handwriting to her. That was the handwriting of Albus Dumbledore, and the seal was not that of Hogwarts, but rather, the seal that signified Lord Phoenix, the head of the Order.

"All right, Lord Phoenix," she sighed, and broke the seal, "what do you ask of me this time?"

What she found in the letter brought her eyes wide and dropped her mouth in shock. Whatever it was she was expecting, it wasn't a vivid description of Sibyll Trelawney's death, and the fact that the divination position was open, and there was the need for a professor who could guide the children in the start of what would a wartime course. There was a wry bit of humour in calling it defensive divination, but it was a truthful bit of humour as well. Those children, they would not learn how to trust their intuition, how to know to use what was in their own heads for what was coming ahead. Then he asked her to come see him, the next morning to discuss it.

For long moments, she stared at the letter in shock. Definitely wasn't expecting that.

Just then, Dariele's attention was drawn from the letter that had all of her attention and the tea she realised was getting cold in front of her. There was the sound of the door opening, and the jingle of car keys being dropping into their usual position by the door. Then there was the intrusion of voices into the silence she had been sitting with since arriving back home...

"...going to be like, Remus, with Harry away? Do you think Sirius will be upset?"

She heard a snort, then. "He wanted to go with the Weasleys, and they adopted him, they've taken care of him longer than myself or Sirius, and to deny him would have been like taking candy from a starving child."

"Or chicken from Sirius when he's just come off a mission and hasn't eaten in a week."

There was laughter then.

Dariele rose and walked to the entrance that stood between where she'd been sitting and the sitting room. The first thing she saw was the tidy mop of reddish coloured hair that was held back with a leather thong. He was facing away from her, and talking to Hope, who saw her out of the corner of her eye and raised her eyes to her.

"Dari, what's wrong? What's happened, love?"

"Um," she rubbed her forehead then. "A great deal of things. They... they used my absence during an important time last week as an excuse to let me go at the Ministry. They say they can't have a courier who's absent constantly, and they have more than enough now to make up for whatever services I may have provided for them in the past..."

"Oh, love..."

"Dar..."

Dari shook her head, "I'm not finished. There's more. After I got home, a Hogwarts owl arrived. Trelawney's been murdered by a Death Eater--"

Remus paled then, and cleared his throat, "So it's confirmed, then?"

"Yes. Apparently someone from the Ministry owled Dumbledore about it earlier, and in combination with another owl, describing exactly how she died... there can be no more doubt."

"While I regret the manner in which she died, I can't exactly say I'll miss her," Remus said after a moment.

Hope, however, was still looking at Dari. "There's more, isn't there?"

Dariele nodded, "There's a position open for a divination professor at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore's asked me to come talk to him about it. I think he means to ask me to accept it."

"Are you going to?"

Dariele closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "If he asks me, I don't think I can say no. What's more, I don't even know if I want to."

With that, Dariele dropped the letter and did what she'd been wanting to do all afternoon; she walked into Hope's open arms to be held until the world stabilized again. At least for a little while.