Harry Potter and the Missing Prophecy

Chapter Ten

Monday morning came quickly, and Ron caught up with Hermione and Harry in the main hall by the front doors after their first lesson to walk to Potions together.

"I spoke to Firenze. Told him what happened on Saturday night. He seemed to get quite excited. He told us to come and see him at lunchtime," he said a little breathlessly.

Hermione gave a small weary nod as Ron fell into step beside them.

Harry let Ron and Hermione go ahead of him into the Potions dungeon, but as he stepped forward to go through after them, he was knocked roughly aside and dropped his bag, spilling its contents over the cold stone. He bent to pick up his things.

"Watch it, Potter. Wouldn't want you to have a nasty accident now, would we?" a familiar menacing voice drawled at him.

Harry stood up away from Malfoy, then turned slowly and regarded him with an equally malicious grin. "Oh, I dunno, Malfoy, I recall you being the one who has nasty accidents around here, usually at the hands of yours truly."

To Harry's great surprise, Malfoy merely gave him a friendly smile, turned and strode into the classroom. Harry blinked, thrown by the non-confrontation that was so unlike Malfoy, and bent again to pick his things up, then followed in and went to sit on Hermione's right hand side, Ron being on her left. He was the last to arrive.

"What was that all about?" she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as Professor Snape glared daggers at Harry. He just shook his head slightly as Snape regarded him down his nose, then barked, "Five points from Gryffindor for Potter's tardiness." Satisfied at seeing Harry's indignance and Hermione's scandalised face, Snape's mouth curled up at the corners as he turned to face the rest of the class.

Harry was staring at Snape's back, turned so he could wave writing with his wand onto the blackboard behind him, when a piece of parchment was shoved under Harry's nose, distracting him from his mission to kill Snape with a death-glare. It had just a question mark on it. He turned to Hermione and saw her raised eyebrows. He shrugged and whispered, "Just Malfoy being Malfoy-ish again. Seriously, it's getting boring." He tried to keep his voice light and unconcerned, but it was far from how he was feeling. There was something up with Draco Malfoy, and he didn't like what it was suggesting.

Harry furrowed his brows slightly and looked to his left, towards the blond hair at the front of the classroom. Malfoy was staring straight ahead, listening intently to Snape's voice.

Harry wasn't sure what it was, but Malfoy had been decidedly un-Malfoyish lately, despite what he had said to Hermione. Usually, Malfoy would use any excuse to bait Harry or make some snide remark, but lately, Harry got the impression that Malfoy had changed his tactics somewhat. He obviously was out to haunt Harry, but through the means of silent attack, which was much more unnerving to Harry. He liked to know where his enemies stood. As they say, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer, and normally Malfoy's over-the-top rants told Harry exactly everything he needed to know about the Slytherin, and therefore Malfoy was very predictable, but this stealthy approach - it was creepy and highly suspicious. How he had knocked Harry on purpose, but refused to rise to Harry's retort, choosing to walk away instead; the irritating way he kept looking at Harry, like there was something highly amusing that Harry didn't know about. And in fact, the more Harry thought about it, the more he recalled how often Malfoy seemed to be his own. Throughout the time that Harry had known him, others flocked around Malfoy, only he being the one to send them away. But now....the other Slytherins didn't hang around Draco all that much - even Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry had a very bad feeling about Malfoy. He also suspected what might have changed. It wasn't hard to guess that Malfoy had been in contact with Voldemort - was probably even working for him, and this conclusion only served to confuse Harry more. What would Voldemort want with Draco when he had over a hundred other Death Eaters only too willing to serve him? Harry racked his brains and the only viable solution was that Malfoy went to school with Harry, and therefore was close enough in proximity to him to spy. But how was he doing it? Malfoy had been nowhere near him all term, except for that instance before the lesson. The more Harry thought about it, the more he realised that he, Ron and Hermione couldn't take the chance of talking about anything important at all at anytime. There were endless ways of spying on people, especially in the wizarding world. Any slip of information could lead to his own life being in dreadful danger. What did Malfoy already know?

Harry's cascading thoughts were interrupted when he was suddenly elbowed in the arm, and brought back to the classroom. He realised with a start that these thoughts had passed his mind in rapid succession - realisation, truth and conclusion reached in less than a few seconds. Apparently, it was enough time of distraction to be noticeable though.

"Clearly, there is one amongst you who is not paying attention yet again," Snape's voice oozed liquid, his eyes boring into Harry. Harry snapped his head back to the front of the classroom and straightened up, and although Snape's words carried a threatening note, Harry could see that the professor had noticed whom he'd been distracted by, a hint of what could have been worry etched around his dark eyes.

With an imperceptible glance in Malfoy's direction, Snape demanded of Harry, "Pay attention, Potter, or it will be another ten points." Snape then turned away again and addressed the rest of the class in his long, low voice.

"As I was saying, the Accelero Potion is illegal to use in certain circumstances, such as to play Quidditch for example, and I wouldn't bother trying to do your homework when under its spell, as one side effect includes loss of actual thinking capability......"

Hermione hissed to Harry, "What is up with you?!"

Harry kept looking straight ahead and shook his head again. Hermione let out an exasperated sigh as she scribbled notes onto her parchment.

The rest of the lesson passed uneventfully, although he saw Snape narrow his eyes at Malfoy once or twice. Harry assumed that Snape must be suspicious about Malfoy as well. Well, it may be Snape, but at least someone's onto him, Harry though as he gathered his dirty equipment together and strode over to the sink to wash it up.

Some students were still finding it hard to slow down after Snape had made them test their potions out on each other. Hermione's potion had been constructed perfectly, as usual, and having tested it on Harry, his speed had settled down to normal after five minutes, exactly as it should have. His own potion had been tested on Ron. He was currently writing his homework essay report on the making of the potion, his quill scratching the parchment in triple-quick time as opposed to the double-quick it should have been. He obviously didn't care that his report probably wouldn't make much sense. Hermione, having tested Ron's potion, had actually slowed down to half-speed and wasn't making much progress at all, swearing very slowly and in a voice very deep and unlike her own at Ron. Ron had forgotten to add the centaur hairs before stirring the potion anticlockwise for thirteen seconds, and Snape had marked him down accordingly.

Harry was scraping the dregs of the sediment at the bottom of his cauldron out into the sink in the front corner of the classroom. He was distracted by Blaise Zabini yelling very loudly and comically like a chipmunk at Pansy Parkinson, with interesting hand gestures to match, blissfully unaware of the queue of people waiting behind him.

"Potter!" Harry was snapped out of the trance-like state by Snape's voice cutting through the rabble behind him. "Do you plan on actually finishing there, or do you need time in detention to do so?"

"What? Oh. No, Sir, I'm done." Harry quickly wiped his cauldron with a dishcloth, and, throwing the cloth on the sideboard, turned quickly, only to crash into Malfoy, of all people. Harry stepped back but, with only a millisecond's hesitation, Malfoy suddenly and rather theatrically threw himself backwards and hit the floor. The whole class turned to watch.

"What is it now, Potter?" Snape stalked over, and as he rounded the desk at the front, saw Malfoy sprawled on the ground.

Malfoy groaned, "He pushed me, Professor! You saw it, didn't you Crabbe?"

Harry turned to see Crabbe nod in an obedient, monkey-like fashion.

"Are you injured, Malfoy?" Snape snapped.

"I don't think so, but he pushed me!"

"I did not push you, Malfoy. I accidentally bumped you as I turned and you decided to over-exaggerate it - again, might I add - and pretend I did it on purpose, for who knows what immature and really rather childish reason." Harry was livid. He couldn't believe Malfoy was trying this. It didn't make sense. Why pretend Harry had pushed him? Harry suspected that Malfoy wasn't one to admit being pushed over unless there was a reason, especially considering it hadn't actually happened.

Harry saw Malfoy look at their professor, no doubt expecting him to do his worst on Harry. He wasn't disappointed. After a moment's indecision, Snape rounded on Harry and said slowly, "You have been rather distracted today, Potter. No doubt all that renewed glory has made you think you are better than others and gives you the right to do what you like. I assure you, you are very wrong. Maybe an evening's detention will teach you a little about modesty. Get up Malfoy."

Harry stared open-mouthed as Snape looked at him scornfully. Harry was bewildered that Snape had ignored him completely since the beginning of term, only for him to round on him now. Harry saw Hermione out of the corner of his eye at the back of the classroom, struggling to construct her face into one of outrage, then she suddenly jerked into normal speed, and spluttered, "But, Sir, that's not fair! I saw what...", but she was cut off by Snape, as he whirled in her direction.

"So, Miss Granger," he started, his voice like silk and honey."It's not fair, is it? Well, a lot of things in life aren't fair, are they? The fact that I have to teach a bunch of imbeciles is unfair. The fact that Longbottom was allowed into this school is unfair. The fact that Goyle here was scraped from the bottom of the gene pool is unfair. The fact that you are a nosy know-it-all is unfair. But what is fair is that what I say goes. And if you dare to answer back to me again, I will give you detention as well." Snape had been gaining distance very slowly towards Hermione, and by the time he had finished, he was standing over her. She stared defiantly back at him, not breaking her gaze for a second.

Harry was impressed with Hermione's stubbornness but, after a few moments of staring each other out, Hermione suddenly blinked and broke her gaze, looking downwards, her shoulders slumped. A move of defeat.

Snape's mouth curled up at the corner, then he turned slowly around to the rest of the class.

"I do not want to hear a word from any of you for the rest of the lesson." Just as the class seemed to move in unison from the positions they were frozen in, including Harry, Snape suddenly turned to him and grinned in that oily way of his, "Except you, Potter. You will apologise to Malfoy." His voice was sarcastic, and Harry knew now that Snape was doing this on purpose. He enjoyed toying with Harry and his hatred of Malfoy. Harry knew that Snape had been waiting for just the right kind of revenge for having delved into the Pensieve all those months ago. What better way than to make him do the one thing that was almost like selling his soul?

Harry paused, eyeing Malfoy, who was now standing up, facing him directly with a smirk on his smug face. Malfoy's eye was twitching with glee, his shoulders shook back with expectation.

Suddenly, Harry's breathing quickened, his face burning like fire. All the hatred he felt for the boy in front of him welled up to the surface - the caged emotions breaking free, and all Harry could see was himself being hauled off Malfoy after the Quidditch match in his fifth year - his anger and rage unsatisfied then. Then memories, thoughts and feelings flashed like a film in his mind and made his anger rise in a tidal wave of blood-coloured molasses. He could feel something else within as well - his magic. It was building from his soul and fizzed through his veins like ice. It gave him a feeling of elation, like he could do anything with his magic ability, maybe even Avada Kedavra.....

But the initial torrent of rage he was feeling seemed to ease just as quickly as it had arrived, it was crushed from above into something much more silent and deadly calm. The anger imploded and formed an arrow so fine and sharp it could have fit through the eye of a needle.

Harry realised that he felt very strange. Unlike himself at all. Harry now thought he felt exactly the way that Malfoy probably felt towards him, and somewhere at the back of his mind this common trait irritated him.

Amongst the endless emotions and thoughts Harry had right now, one realisation dominated. He found that the feeling was already familiar to him; already a part of his nature. It was a kind of hatred normally only reserved for one other, one which could never be put into adequate words before. But Harry could accurately identify and describe it now. It was much more basic than hatred or rage. It didn't boil at the surface, ready to break at provocation. It was like a ball of dark light that lay in his chest, patient, enduring, centred in his heart. Part of him that couldn't be cut out, part of his soul. All the pent-up anger that manifested itself in shouting last year, now became a deadly whisper that had the ability to wait an eternity to manifest itself.

With this realisation, Harry weighed up his options, then lowered his head down, but lifted his eyes to Malfoy's, and slowly and calmly said, "I'm sorry, Malfoy..." Malfoy's face broke into a grin, a smile that said to Harry: You can't win, Potter.

But Harry wasn't finished.

He clenched his fists, his fingernails biting into his own skin. He could feel a knuckle crack, then said in a low voice, one so silent, yet rang out in the classroom, "I'm sorry I didn't push you. I'm sorry I didn't break that pretty face of yours into pieces. I'm sorry I didn't rip your spine out through your chest, crush every single vertebrae, and send them to Voldemort as a token of my appreciation. I'll be more sorry if I don't get to see that pale flesh of yours go up in flames when I send you to Hell via a burning stake." He said this last sentence very slowly, enunciating every word perfectly and separately, exaggerating his lip movements so as Malfoy would understand him exquisitely, but without moving any other part of his face or body. It seemed to have worked rather well.

Harry sneered at the surprised look on Malfoy's face, and the deathly silence coming from around him made him glance over to Snape, who looked paler than usual, a look of stunned disbelief plastered over his face. He could see Ron and Hermione looking horrified behind him.

"That's enough, Potter," Snape finally muttered. "This class is dismissed." In an even lower voice, through his teeth, he said to Harry, "I will see you in detention tomorrow night at six. Be on time." He then shook his shoulders back, as though composing himself, then whirled around and strode into the back office. Harry turned to meet Malfoy's eyes.

The class were immovable in hesitant silence, Malfoy looking undecided, but determined, but before he had a chance to say a single word, Harry met his gaze again briefly and meaningfully, then stalked over to Hermione and Ron, well aware that every pair of eyes in the class were upon him.

The three of them packed up their things in silence, Harry noticing that Hermione and Ron kept glancing worriedly at each other. Harry went to leave the classroom, and Hermione and Ron quickly followed. Outside the classroom, and sensing he would have to say something, Harry paused mid-stride, then said, "Oh, come on, guys, it's not like you weren't thinking it!" The tone of his voice was a million miles from what they had just heard.

"Can't say I was actually!" Ron said disbelievingly.

Hermione whispered, "Don't you see it Harry? Can't you even comprehend what you said to Malfoy?"

"Of course I can, but so what?" Harry shrugged as he walked along.

"Well," said Ron hesitantly, "It was pretty harsh, don't you think?"

"Well, I was also going to say that I wanted to rip his lower jaw out from his face and piss down his neck, but I didn't fancy actually having to give Malfoy a golden shower. But yes, I meant every word of it," Harry said cheerfully, and knew down to his bones that it was the truth. All these horrible things kept coming from his mouth and he knew he sounded totally insane. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind 'Old Harry' was shocked that he could think, let alone say, the things that he was saying, but the hatred was all too simple now, it just kept coming, and 'New Harry' pushed 'Old Harry' aside.

Ron and Hermione were silent in reply, walking a pace behind Harry up the stairs to the Great Hall. He pretended he couldn't hear them whispering behind him.

As they sat down for a hurried lunch, the tension between the three was excruciating, and a quiet hush befell the room for a moment as Malfoy strode in. He didn't look in Harry's direction as he sat down with his back to him.

Harry was getting fed up again. He felt like he had to justify what he had said to his own friends, when they hated Malfoy as much as he did. Well, not this new kind of hatred, but still... Harry sighed when he realised that he was going to have to explain some more.

"Look, guys," he leaned forward and whispered to them. "Malfoy has been acting weird ever since the start of term. I was verging on being humiliated in there. I just wanted to throw him off guard." Harry gave them an apologetic look, even as he felt guilty for lying, but the unconvinced look Ron and Hermione gave him made him say, "I mean, did you see the look on his face? It was priceless! So worth a detention with Snape." and Harry grinned to back up his story, although his insides were squirming.

The tension broke slightly, and Ron said a little awkwardly, "Well, I s'pose it was quite creepy. Scarier than all the shouting, in any case...."

"Anyway, we'd better hurry. Firenze will be waiting," Harry replied.

"Goodness, I'd totally forgotten!" Hermione exclaimed and started to wolf down some pie.

A brief silence ensued whilst the three rushed their lunch, then stood and left the Great Hall to walk to the Divination Forest classroom, the tension eased somewhat, but not lost entirely.

Harry felt better now that they had something else to concentrate on, but his insides were conflicting with every emotion. He felt both justified and horrified about the incident in Potions. But the justification was by far outweighing the need to apologise to anyone, especially his own friends. It was all very confusing, and he expected that Ron and Hermione hadn't quite believed his excuse and didn't know what to do next. Inwardly he sighed, feeling that he had probably just unwittingly distanced himself from them once again.

As they walked into the Divination Forest, Harry noticed that the classroom had already taken on the beginnings of autumn, with the fiery leaves on the trees just starting to fall and create a gloriously colourful floor. They made their way to the middle, where the trees made way for a small glen. Firenze was waiting for them.

"I'm glad you could come," he said when he saw the trio. He turned his gaze to Harry. "I understand you just had a run in with Draco Malfoy?"

"You can't keep good gossip down, it seems." Ron said dryly.

"Fear not, young Harry Potter, the Malfoy boy is not your concern. You must look past him to the real enemies behind. You cannot afford to distract yourself with these indiscretions. He may be a danger to others and himself, but he cannot harm you." Firenze's voice was very calming, one which enthralled the listener.

Ron gave Firenze a disbelieving look. "I think we should be more worried about Harry harming Malfoy!" Then Ron saw Harry's warning look at him, and dropped his eyes and shrugged. "Not that it matters, of course. After all, it is Malfoy..."

Harry wondered what Firenze had meant, and he felt even more confused by his words, but his thoughts were interrupted as Hermione suddenly jerked forward. It looked like she hadn't heard a word Firenze had said, but it made Harry feel guilty that he hadn't been paying attention to the real reason they were here, and concern filled his heart.

"Do you know what happened to me?" Hermione blurted, then felt very rude. "I - I'm sorry, I just.... I've been feeling off since Saturday, like I've been drained of all my energy. I can't concentrate on anything - even brewing in Potions took all my effort to get it right, when normally it's so easy. I need to know..."

Firenze gazed at Harry for a moment before turning slowly to Hermione and regarding her with a quizzical look. "Tell me again what happened, Miss Granger," he said in that mystical voice he hadhis attention fully focussed. Whilst Hermione described what she had seen and heard, Firenze listened intently, and as she reached the part about the Latin words, he furrowed his brows and pawed the ground with his front hoof.

"Can you tell me these words?" he asked.

"I don't know - I can't remember..." Hermione's voice trailed, and looked very dejected. Harry noted that she was obviously not used to having something baffle her like this. They had spent all of Sunday in the library, looking for any inkling of what it could have been, but nothing could be found, even with the help of Madam Pince and the catalogue searches.

"So what was it then?" Ron asked respectfully. It was obvious he held a fair bit of reverence for his teacher.

Firenze turned slightly and looked up towards the blue sky overhead. "It is an ancient and rare form of Divination, one so rare it does not even have a name. Centaurs have only heard of it through our forefathers, never seen anyone use the gift. We look to the stars hoping to see what you saw and hear what you heard. None ever have. The last time anyone knows this happened was before the written word. And since then, no one has experienced it to establish the words to write down. The stories have been told through the generations." He paused and looked back at them. "We centaurs can only guess at the nature of the future. We base it on star-gazing; the position of the stars and planets. Although we are experienced at intelligent guesswork and are frequently correct, nothing is ever certain and what we see may change with circumstance."

"So, it's something to do with the future then?" Harry asked. He didn't know about the others, but he was definitely feeling confused.

"Maybe so. Maybe not. What Miss Granger experienced could have been one of many things. And that does not preclude foretelling the future, if it is translated correctly."

There was a pause, before Hermione said, "But what about Prophecies? They're made all the time."

"They are indeed made all the time. But the Prophecy is foretold through a person; that person never remembers what was said. Those Prophecies are the spiritual world speaking through an earthly host. However, the type of Prophecy made by the form of your skill is very different. You remember everything, apart from the words you spoke."

"I'm sorry, Firenze, but I'm really not sure I understand," Hermione said uncertainly.

Firenze trotted slowly over to Hermione and stood above her, an imposing but unthreatening stance. He bent his front knees slightly, to be more on her level.

"The skill that you have begun to demonstrate involves the universe itself speaking to you. The very essence of the universe, spanning all of time, speaks to you. It is how it can tell you things about the future, the present, and even the past. A message. You just need to learn how to interpret it."

"You mean, the Latin was part of a Prophecy?" Hermione asked.

"Yes. They were words spoken to you in the language of the stars, which you repeated out loud in it's earthly equivalent, Latin. But they are only words. It is not a complete Prophecy. Only you can determine what that is. In fact, it is innacurate to describe it as a Prophecy. It could also be described as merely a message. Practice at watching the stars should give you the time and information you need to find out what the universe is trying to tell you."

"So, this is a good thing, then?" Harry asked slowly.

"Yes, and no," Firenze continued sadly. "This form of Divination, as I said - we all thought it was extinct, as no one has been able to hear the stars for nearly a millennia. We don't know enough about it to say why you have been chosen to inherit the gift..."

"Inherit?" Hermione interrupted.

"We are all children of the universe - all creatures. You have inherited the gift from the universe."

"So why is it a bad thing?" Ron asked.

"For those who make the Prophecies of today, they do not remember, they do not know what was said, and it never has anything to do with their own loved ones. It does not work that way. There is detachment in the foretelling. But for you, Miss Granger, you must interpret the words spoken to you. And as far as we know, this gift only ever relates to people close to the reader. The universe is specifically giving you a message. It may be a warning, it could be part of an instruction to alter your own fate, it may simply be a message of solace and good fortune. Whatever the message is, the universe is rendering you worthy of hearing its message directly, or feels it vitally important you know these things."

"So that means then," Hermione looked at the floor. "That I might see something about my own loved ones' futures that I won't be able to change if I don't like what I see?"

Firenze nodded. "Possibly. But you must remember the exact words so you can translate them correctly. The words may mean something entirely different when spoken in another context. The message may be disjointed in parts, or need altering in its translation for it to make sense. You will need to fill in the gaps, so to speak. It is an unknown. Only time will tell what it means for you."

There was a brief silence.

"So what do I do now?" Hermione asked.

"This gift may last only a short time or until the day you die, we do not know. It may only happen this once, or you could hear these messages time and again, but if you wish to continue to find out what the stars have said to you this time, you must practice. It takes relaxation and a one-ness with the stars to have them speak to you again. And if you keep doing it, they will speak to you until you have correctly interpreted the secrets they wish to bestow upon you. If I may ask, what were you doing at the time this happened?"

"Me and Harry were talking about... stuff." She looked sideways at Harry and lowered her eyes almost imperceptibly. Harry was grateful she had said no more.

"Try to recreate how you felt. As time goes by, you will remember the words more and more. It might help to have someone there with you to note down the words you say." Firenze paused again. "I understand your hesitation. There is no need to fear your gift, but you must respect it. It is important you understand that no matter what you hear, remember that you have been chosen, and the rarity of this manifestation suggests that you have been chosen for a reason. I thank you for coming to me with what happened. I am sorry I cannot tell you more."

"No, thank you. You've been a great help," Hermione said, and as Firenze set his piercing eyes on the trio, they made their way to the door.

They walked in silence to the Gryffindor common room to prepare for their afternoon lessons.

"It happened once before, you know," Hermione suddenly said as they reached the top of the stairs. Harry and Ron looked questioningly at her. "During Astronomy one night a couple of weeks ago. I was early for the lesson and falling asleep when I saw the night sky seem to fold in on itself. Then it just went back to normal when I sat up, like it hadn't happened in the first place."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Harry asked.

"I - I don't know. I thought I must have dreamt it."

"Well, we'll help you to get to grips with it," Harry replied.

"It must be important, or it wouldn't have happened at all," Ron said.

Hermione sighed and bit her lip. "I don't know. I mean, if it's bad I don't think I'd want to know."

"But maybe you do have to change something. Or do something," Harry suggested earnestly.

"I'll think about it," Hermione gave them a small weary smile as they approached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

That night, Harry lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to Ron's snoring in the next bed, and thought hard about the day's events. He was still confused about his own behaviour during Potions. It felt normal to feel this hatred for Malfoy, just as it felt normal to hate Voldemort. But an overriding emotion was coming in to play. His concern for Hermione's plight was far stronger than the need to seek some sort of vengeance on Voldemort or Malfoy. He couldn't pinpoint it, but something was contracting within him, a fear that had no source. Not for himself, but for Hermione, and even Ron. It scared him when he thought of her face on Saturday night and how frightened she had been. He had wanted to protect her then and he wished he could protect her now and now he knew he could not, he wondered what the universe was trying to tell her. Hermione was going to predict or hear something bad, not something good, and he knew it as well as Hermione probably did. But who would it involve? He did not have family anymore, but Ron and Hermione both did.......

When Harry eventually drifted into sleep, having forgotten to take the Dreamless Sleeping Potion, he dreamed that instead of himself in the coffin, it was Hermione, and he heard her terrified screams through the thick wood, pleading for help as the coffin closed in around her, and he couldn't help her. He couldn't open the coffin. He could only stand by and watch as the box was lowered deep into the soft earth by hooded figures.