A Model

Chapter 1: Several Half Truths

Late August

Remus Lupin had been keeping watch at David Brocklehurst's house for most of the summer. The unrelenting monotony of it was beginning to tell. He had been instructed to rent a small cottage in the area when Mundungus Fletcher had informed the Order that the unassuming librarian and his wife were entertaining more suspected Death Eaters than could possibly be wise or innocent. Lupin was maintaining a charmed list that cataloged everyone, including the milkman, who went into and out of the Brocklehurst residence. Armed with this file, he was able to periodically present Dumbledore with "people of interest." It also provided an excuse for him to spend two weeks following in the footsteps of Walden Macnair, fruitlessly trying to discover why the executioner would need a copy of Arithmancy and Metaphor so much that he would travel an hour by broom to get it.

It was disgustingly true that espionage was ninety-eight percent tedium and two percent minimal job satisfaction.

Lupin was not, however, even engaged in the impressive-sounding activity of surveillance. He was deciding whether or not to give up on a robe and send it to the ragbag where most ordinary people would have thought it belonged already. But Remus Lupin was no ordinary man. He knew as many patching and mending spells as most tailors. The twinned burden of insufficient funds and the periodic savaging of his clothes by an uncontrollable monster took an inevitable toll on his wardrobe and forced him to fight a constant battle with his robes' desire to disintegrate. He grimaced at the sleeve he was trying to patch and restrained the urge to angrily toss the shirt across the room. Instead he carefully folded it and slowly relaxed his tense shoulders.

He didn't like this restless feeling and the anger he was constantly dealing with lately. The time he was forced to spend as a crazed wolf was enough fury for any man. Lupin desperately wanted to avoid the rage that his wolf side had taught him to fear. What I need is for something to happen. I can almost envy Sirius's constant travel. At least it would be something to do. This constant feinting and following is driving me mad.

But nothing was happening. Voldemort had to be acting in some manner, but even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named required time to reestablish support. All the Order could truly do was try to determine who their enemies were before the maneuvering stopped and the battles began. They were also struggling to muster their own support for the coming war. Immersed in these bleak thoughts, the tapping on the window by two owls came as a shock. But the letters they carried were even more of one.

The first bore the Hogwarts seal. He opened it hurriedly only to sit back, completely baffled, after reading it.

R,

I can well understand your confusion regarding the letter you will be receiving soon. Report here as soon as is possible and I will endeavor to clear the air.

AD

He snatched up the other letter only to gawp at the front before even opening it. A half-lidded eye in pale blue wax was stamped upon expensive paper.

The Academy of Oneiromancers is sending me a letter? How would they even know I exist?

Unfortunately the contents of the letter only served to complicate matters further. They curtly informed him that he had been accepted for "the position" and was to report to his superior at Hogwarts no later than September fifth. He stared helplessly at the two notes. He then got up and began to pack quickly, trapped in a daze of confusion. Though he also felt a small twinge of pleasure. If Dumbledore was taking pains to be vague and the Academy was involved, there was little doubt that he might have a good chance of being involved in something interesting.

***

Two Months earlier

"You can see there is no error Tiresius. I have changed the model fifty-three times and tweaked the details ten times that many. I have taken it back as far as his parents' school days... I've done everything that magic or reason can expect and I still get this." The young woman pointed at the glass in the center of the room and read off disgustedly, "Sirius Black is in the hands of the Ministry. He will receive the Kiss in three days time," her voice began to rise, "His last meal will be fried eggs and bacon, but he won't like it much because the cook will deliberately burn his toast." At this point she was practically shrieking, "'Burned toast?' Pah! I am sure Fudge will be delighted when I present him with a biograph stating that they needn't worry, they already have Black!" She huffed over to a rather battered chair, plopped down, and stared at her guest sulkily.

The older man, seemingly unaware of his colleague's outburst, moved forward to get a better look at the model. He had to admit that it was an excellent piece of work. Taking up most of the space in the chamber, it was an eccentric and elaborate structure. In the foreground of the room, a pair of baby booties was tied to a toy broomstick, which in turn connected to a small dish with strained peas magically and eternally preserved on it. Farther on a stuffed black dog was festooned with oak leaves and crouched next to a set of antlers. An old disco ball hung above the two items. That particular combination was strange. He couldn't really see any relevant symbolism. Brushing his confusion aside, he turned to a set of newspaper clippings cut into jack-o-lantern patterns and strung across a pink chalk sketch of a skull. One scissored headline proclaimed, -RIUS B---K, BLAC--EARTED -AITOR? He touched the paper gently, not allowing the heavy scarlet-edged sleeves that proclaimed his rank to smudge the chalk beneath it.

He looked over at the witch. She had long black hair and was pale and thin, the price of too much time spent indoors. Her eyes were almost completely colorless, only a touch blue differentiated the iris from the white. Looking her in the face brought on a slight frown. He always found her pale stare somewhat unnerving.

"Have you considered altering the order of events? The Ministry may have gotten their facts wrong. Or the order of deaths..."

She waved an impatient hand, "Do you honestly think I would have relied on the Ministry of Magic's attention to detail? I tried permuting the order. All that gave me was three extra days for them to decide to give him the Kiss. Oh, and he had overcooked roast chicken instead of burnt toast." Her frustration had plainly gotten the better of her, "I summoned you because I knew that with your past dealings with the Ministry, you would be the most likely to know if they were concealing information from me."

Summoned me, did she? And it is simply unfair that she is right. Tiresius suppressed a sigh. It never helped to become too irritated when you needed something. Dumbledore had asked for the best and, alas, alack, Atropos Merriman was the best. Never mind the fact that no one is more convinced of that than she is. He turned about. "I see nothing wrong with the model," she opened her mouth at that but, wanting to be gone, he ignored her, "therefore you may want to contemplate your earliest lessons." Still ignoring her outraged attempts at speech, he swept toward the door. And now a little nudge in the right direction. "I notice that the Ministry never gave you a bone sample from Pettigrew."

Atropos, still shocked by his lack of concern in her crisis, looked confused, "No ... they asked me to formulate a substitute. Of course I wondered about that at the time, but I assumed that there were familial issues."

He smiled thinly, "Of course," and left.

***

She gaped at the closed door for a few moments. Nobody that smart could be that useless except on purpose. What in God's name was he getting at? Surely he doesn't think the prosthetic finger is throwing the model off?

She walked over to the jack-o-lantern newspapers and gazed fixedly at the tabletop. There was a stick, yew of course, wrapped in braided black and gray ribbon, and lying upon a chalk outline of a hand. Nothing wrong here. It practically screams victim of betrayal and murder. Probably works better than the actual bone would have. I knew enough about the facts of the murder to be able to have the prosthetic speak to the entire model. She pulled out her wand a summoned up the lines of magic that ran from the finger to the rest of the network. They brushed everything that had happened since Sirius Black's mass murdering curse.

Drumming her own real fingers against the table, Atropos stared at the newspapers fluttering above her. Letting out an irritated puff of air she summoned the old newspaper articles about the martyrdom of Peter Pettigrew and the betrayal of Sirius Black. She said aloud to the empty room the first rule of Oneiromancy she had learned upon entering the Academy, "A perfect model is always correct. When perfection is achieved, only the facts can be wrong."

***

Tiresius stumbled through the fireplace, sneezing and dusting ash from his robes. He grimaced sourly at his host's amusement and moved to sit across from him at the desk.

"You may well laugh, Albus, but I can't help but resent Flooing. It's wretchedly undignified. And don't you ever clean your fireplace?" An attempt to remove a large chunk of ... something that had stubbornly adhered itself to his front resulted in a large smear appearing across his normally pristine robes.

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward and began to root around in a brightly colored tin. "Of course! I always instruct the house elves to have it cleaned a day after you visit. I simply cannot bear to pass up an opportunity to put a dent in your wretched dignity." He made a triumphant noise and stretched out a hand, "Turtle Toffee? They are supposed to be some sort of companion to the Chocolate Frog but I feel they lack the necessary verve." The turtle he freed from its wrapper began to make its slow way across the desk.

Tiresius ostentatiously ignored the offering, heroically overcoming his fondness for both sweets and turtles. But he couldn't hide his slight smirk when the tantalizing sweetie-reptile trundled off the edge and onto the floor. Looking up into Dumbledore's amused face, though, his expression became serious. "The model completely failed," he said abruptly, "Just as it ought to have. I give Atropos at most three months before she figures out what really happened. I am less certain as to what her reaction will be to the new information." His voice sharpened, "We will know soon whether she is an arrogant genius or an idiotic arrogant genius."

Dumbledore looked at his long time ally over steepled fingers. "I wonder if it would have been better to inform her of the true situation from the start. She could have begun work months ago."

The other wizard furiously shook his head. "You forget that, while there is little I don't know about her oneiromantic skills, I know nothing about her abilities in subterfuge and less about her moral compass. If she comes to you with her discoveries, we know she is intelligent and trustworthy enough to go where justice is most likely to be served. And if she goes straight to the Ministry..."

"We will know that we have managed to ruin a young and talented woman's career." Dumbledore's snowy eyebrows rose interrogatively. "Won't we?"

Tiresius laughed. "Ruined? No, my friend. You should know by now that the Academy doesn't train people in order to toss them aside when they become politically embarrassing. Most likely she'll be shunted off to do nice boring but necessary corporate work for about ten years. She'll come away from the incident much more aware of the value of discretion. In fact, I feel she can only profit from the experience." He looked positively tickled by the thought of his employee's possible ordeal.

***

The Headmaster smiled gently, squashing a slight feeling of irritation. Tiresius, so aware of the flaws of his colleagues, was almost humorously blind to his own streaks of pettiness and arrogance.

Failings that were, unfortunately, common among those of his vocation. Oneiromancers spent twelve years literally doing nothing but training to perform their art. The selection board of the Academy only considered the best students from schools around the world and then spent a decade pushing a select group of these best to their limits. Those who gained the coveted rank also gained an unshakable sense of their own superiority and due. It is, after all, difficult to tell a person that they survived what no one else could and then expect them to be humble.

But the Order needed a model made. And they needed the model to be well-made. Tiresius had picked the best of his subordinates and had guaranteed her skill. But all this didn't change the fact that dealing with an oneiromancer on a day-to-day basis could be somewhat aggravating. Dumbledore was not particularly looking forward to humoring the whims of a temperamental oneiromancer, brilliant or otherwise. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Tiresius had almost certainly exaggerated her flaws. Besides, it will be Remus who has to cope with any of her temper tantrums.

Turning his attention back to Tiresius, he asked, "Was it difficult to convince the Academy to begin recruiting at Hogwarts this year? And are you certain they will choose Lupin for the assistant position?"

His guest shrugged and spoke dryly, "Even we are not immune to the charms of the famous Harry Potter. They are attracted by the idea of recruiting while he is still available to enlist. Though from what you have said of the boy, I see that his interests do not really lie on our direction." His tone suggested that this was a tragedy of the highest order for poor Harry. "And regarding your werewolf ... friend, they were willing to listen to my arguments, but we have decided that our association with him stops at Hogwarts. He won't be given status within the organization or allowed to visit Academy property."

Dumbledore's blue eyes now held a spark of anger and his voice sharpened, "I wouldn't have thought that you would have been so narrow in your views..."

His friend coldly interrupted, "I am always narrow when touching upon the Academy's reputation. We have certain standards that must and will be maintained, one of which is the prohibition of person's touched by Dark magic - however involuntarily." His voice became somewhat warmer, "I understand our need of him at this time and, of course, I pity the poor man for his burden, but I am unwilling to give up centuries of magical purity for the sake of sentiment." He got up from his chair and made his way toward the fireplace, "And now I must be off, I am overseeing the students' ten day biographs of Gilderoy Lockhart for the Witch Weekly horoscope section. Albus, I have never had so many requests for cotton candy in my life!"

Dumbledore smiled stiffly, "Indeed. And no doubt dozens request to requisition gallons of toothpaste. I am planning on telling Remus of our plans sometime before we know which way Miss Merriman will go. He needs to be here to take up his position anyway. Three months you said? It will no doubt take that long for the Academy to inform him."

"At most three months. She is very clever at what she does after all. If you are really worried about the timetable, you can always send her some sort of nebulous letter. It will keep you fresh in her mind." The wizard then grabbed the floo powder and shouting out, "The Conciliator's Reading Room," stepped into the fire.

***

Later August

Oneiromancy is an art that demands both precision and delicacy. To truly recreate a person's life, most particularly the part they hadn't gotten to live yet, one needed an attention to detail unequaled by any save the very best Alchemists or Arithmancers. A mistake in the angle between the subject's favorite childhood toy and the branch of rosemary that directed the way to their choice of profession could turn into nonsense all of the information pertaining to their future success. A smudged and incorrectly colored chalk mark told a famous oneiromancer of the past that an important head of state was to be murdered at a Quidditch match. The poor man tried to stay home to avert the disaster and was drowned in his bath by the housemaid. Difficult and frustrating work, but Atropos was famous for her lack of such embarrassments. Even her colleagues grudgingly praised the meticulous perfection of her models and resulting biographs.

No evidence of this could be found in her workroom however. The perfect model that was to accurately predict the whereabouts of Sirius Black was in complete shambles. Atropos had chosen to disassemble most of his later life. Only the twelve granite cubes, one for each year in Azkaban, each lying in a bath of icy water had been spared. She had even burned the lists of his fellow-prisoners and the unsealed note that stood for the Potter's betrayed secret, deciding that she had received the information from the now obviously unreliable Ministry. Only her desk was in what anyone would call order and a cryptic letter she had received from the Headmaster of Hogwarts upset her enough to ruin any of the calm she might have gained from that bastion of neatness.

She was now glaring fixedly at the stick-finger. She hadn't decided what to do with it quite yet. It was imbued with a magic of its own and if she destroyed it completely, it would take an entire week to create a new one.

The option of giving up and confessing her failure to the board was beginning to move from its position of "horror not to be contemplated" to "temptation difficult to resist."

Not that Miss Merriman was relishing the thought of telling the Academy that she was unable to finish the model. Her complaints about the Ministry sounded like excuses and would be taken as such by the board.

They never wanted me to do this model in the first place. Damn and blast Fudge and Tiresius too for having something to hide and then forcing me to uncover it! I'll be making ten day biographs of Witch's Weekly personalities for the next three decades!

Spidery thin fingers almost snapped the fake finger in half. She dropped the stick in shock. No matter her anger, she had never before allowed it to affect a model. Feeling flustered, Atropos looked up at the glass where Black's life was supposed to be unfolding. What she saw there made her flop to the floor in stunned shock. She had already removed the information regarding the murdered Muggles with some vague idea of rearranging the order again. The unsealed note was in ashes in the fireplace. And Pettigrew's finger was on the floor, nowhere near the model, which now essentially told the glass, "Sirius Black hasn't killed anyone." But the glass still read, "Sirius Black sent to Azkaban, raving. He is given no trial." Filled with a sense of terrible urgency, Atropos snatched up several sheets of paper and folded them into the form of thirteen people. She hurriedly plopped them onto the chalk signifying murder but didn't allow the model to specify Black as the killer. It was horrifyingly sloppy but would tell her what she needed to know. The glass remained stubbornly fixed. Fumbling for her wand, she summoned up the web of lines that were the true power of the model. She let out a confused whimper when she saw that they interlocked through the network of items correctly, getting slightly messy when they reached her shaky group of paper people but still glowing with magic.

Her thoughts started coming in a tumble, almost too fast for her to follow.

What the glass says now is certainly true. And Fudge is hiding something from me. Everything that came after this point may or may not be true. The Ministry is hiding something from me. Black would still have been locked up if he hadn't killed anyone. The Ministry is hiding something. BLACK DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!

Wobbling over to her desk chair, she tried to banish the ridiculous thought. Ridiculous? How about dangerous? It would be far better for her if she cleaned up the model and withdrew to making short-term models of harmless cutthroat businessmen or annoying singers.

Atropos's lips thinned. She was beginning to feel singularly ill-used. She had been hired to find out what would happen to Black, been practically told by her superiors that she would fail at it, and then been lied to by her clients. Even worse, an innocent man was paying the price for a slimy crime. This was too much of a wrong to ignore and do nothing about. And she was not ready to toss aside a year of work because no one would like the results. Though neither was she going to toss her career aside and go running to the Ministry with her information. Perhaps the Academicians? But no, Tiresius wouldn't have been so vague if the Academy was likely to receive the news honorably. There wasn't anyone to tell.

Then a wild hope sent her scrabbling for the letter from Hogwarts. She read it over carefully smiling faintly. Oh, Dumbledore's being nice and cagey. Nothing here to say what he is writing about. But Black's last known location was that school and it was Tiresius who sent me off on this little impromptu investigation.

She summoned a quill and parchment and wrote out her own cagey and carefully worded request for an interview.

***

Remus had been loitering at Hogwarts for several days. This was not from any laziness on his part. He had arrived in a rush, bags sloppily packed, clutching Dumbledore's letter, only to have the Headmaster blink amiably at his dishevelment. To his rapid fire questions Dumbledore merely answered that the Academy of Oneiromancers was sending a recruiter to Hogwarts.

Remus's head began to pound when he looked back on the resulting conversation.

"And naturally Remus, he or she will need a secretary who knows the Fifth and Sixth year students well. When they mentioned it, I thought you would be ideal."

There was a long and extremely eloquent pause.

"I needed to drop everything and come here 'as soon as possible' to apply for a secretarial position?" His voice was carefully calm. Whatever the strength of his faith in Dumbledore's wisdom, this sounded insane. A quick thought made his voice sharpen, "Don't you trust the Academy to behave themselves here?"

"Hmmm? Oh they are certainly trustworthy! And you needn't apply. You have already been accepted for the job, just as your letter said." Remus began to think he was being toyed with and the glint of humor in Dumbledore's eyes confirmed his suspicions.

He took a deep breath to speak but the Headmaster interrupted him, "Just wait about. Hopefully this will amount to much more than clerical work."

"What..."

"I'll not say anything until we are certain. Whatever happens, you will be needed here. Be patient and wait for the Oneiromancer." And Remus had had to be satisfied with that. So he had waited for days, idling away the hours by checking with his replacement at the Brockelhursts' and trying to read up on Oneiromancers. He had a forlorn hope that study might yield what the interview with Dumbledore hadn't.

Now Dumbledore had summoned him to his office and Remus hoped that something slightly more solid than "Just wait about" would be said.

A calm "come in" answered his gentle knock on the door, but when he entered he saw that the Headmaster was not alone. A young woman sat at the desk in front of him. Remus's eyebrows rose when he saw the midnight-blue oneiromantic robes. Perhaps they send their younger members to recruit?

The witch and Dumbledore both rose to greet him. Albus smiled genially and said, "Remus, may I present Atropos Merriman? She has come to me with some rather interesting information. Miss Merriman, this is Remus Lupin, he was once a professor here."

Miss Merriman coolly shook his hand, her smile carefully formal, "Yes Headmaster Dumbledore, I have done some research on Mr. Lupin for my earlier task." She turned her gaze fully upon Remus now, "But it is certainly pleasant to meet you now, sir."

Her pale eyes raked over him and Remus had the uncomfortable feeling that his attire, appearance, and attitude were being precisely catalogued for some future reference or purpose. He was grateful when she looked away and glanced interrogatively at Dumbledore, who smiled charmingly back. "Do not worry Miss Merriman. Remus is fully aware of what you have informed me today." He gestured for Lupin to sit. "Last year Miss Merriman was engaged by the Ministry to create a oneiromantic model of Sirius Black. Fudge hoped to use it to capture his ... escapee."

At this, Remus smiled faintly, risking a glance at the witch, he couldn't help asking, "Really? And what did you find?"

This brought a slight and surprising smile to her face and she answered roundly, "Just what you would expect me to find, considering I had been given a farediddle of lies to work with. My model and biograph were absolute nonsense. Tell me, does Sirius Black even like peas?"

Remus blinked, "Absolutely loves them. Why?"

She sighed morosely, "Well at least that's something then. Not that it was of any use." She scowled at Dumbledore, "What I cannot understand is why, if you know what actually happened and wanted to talk to me, you didn't simply say so. Why all of the ambiguous notes and hints?" She was plainly irritated and Remus found it somewhat gratifying to know that someone else had suffered at Dumbledore's cryptic hands.

Dumbledore made a slight gesture of apology. "I was vague because neither I nor Tiresius knew if you were trustworthy. We need your help but are in too dangerous of a position to ask for it directly. So, we made you come to us. Are you aware that Voldemort has returned?" Miss Merriman had been nodding in reluctant agreement until the last question was spoken. She literally gaped, looking over at Lupin when it became clear that Dumbledore was speaking seriously. Remus's nod of assent with Dumbledore's words plainly shook her. His voice now heavy with rage the Headmaster spoke further, "I see you do not. Obviously Fudge's unwillingness to face the truth is not unique. I certainly informed the Council of Oneiromancers." Staring at her hard, he visibly restrained his anger, "But that is not important. What is important is that you know that Voldemort returned last June and that we need you to help us in fighting him."

Atropos sat completely still, mouthing silently with shock and horror. Remus winced in sympathy. When Sirius had stumbled through his door with the awful news, he hadn't been able to speak for some time. And he had been expecting it.

When she had control of herself again, she spoke in a stifled voice, "You want me to help? How? You want me to make a model of ... of the Dark Lord? Surely, you at least must know that is impossible." This thought clearly upset her; her pale thin hands clutched spasmodically at the arms of the chair.

Dumbledore swiftly shook his head, "Of Voldemort? Certainly not. Not only would it be impossible, it is dangerous. Tiresius and I attempted a model when the first war was being fought."

He rose from his chair and went to the window. "The man, if he can be called that, is a black hole. Whatever we did, the lines of his life were sucked into the center of the model in an unreadable vortex. It is impossible to model Voldemort. There will be no biographs of him. But there are those who are close to him, particularly one who can never leave his side. And that is why I need Mr. Lupin. And also why Tiresius has asked the Academy to send you to Hogwarts as a recruiter."

This information too made her mouth soundlessly, but this time there was more anger than shock. Then her pale face turned pink, "A recruiter? Tiresius told the Academy to humiliate me by giving me the job they give their failures?"

Dumbledore turned back from the window with a slight smile. "Yes, he did. And it will make perfect sense that he has done so when you go before the Council and tell them you have been unable to produce a working model of Sirius Black. They will be, no doubt, more than eager to send you here." When all he got from this comment was an outraged stare he continued, "Here. Where you will begin making a model of Peter Pettigrew. He is Voldemort's lackey, his fool. He is utterly useless and thus, will survive when another Death Eater would be killed. And where he is, Voldemort will be also. It is the perfect solution to our problem of Voldemort's unmodelability." Dumbledore's voice became gentle, "You can see that the position of recruiter will be invaluable. It will give your new aid, Mr. Lupin, the excuse he needs to help you in the making of the model and will allow you to be in contact with the student who is also necessary for its completion." He bright blue eyes fixed sharply upon her, "And surely, Miss Merriman, the chance to deal a blow to Voldemort is worth much more than a slight wound to your pride?"

The Oneiromancer stiffened. Her voice became firm, though it seemed to have a slight tinge of hurt in it, "Then sir, I will begin gathering my instruments and information," she rose from her chair and spoke slowly and clearly, "I will also make an appointment to speak with the Council." Miss Merriman turned to Remus then and smiled ruefully, "It rather seems that you will be one of my Witnesses," she sounded slightly amused. "And my secretary. I suppose I would appreciate it if you could give me a description of this student who will be my other Witness. I need to start planning the model soon." She nodded to the Headmaster and went to the fireplace.

After she was gone, Dumbledore, looking rather more pleased than was readily apparent before, smiled at Remus, "Now Tiresius will not have to cook up an excuse for spending a year here. She is an improvement upon him, I assure you. And I can see why the Council dislikes her." Fixing his eyes upon Lupin he asked, "You know you will need to be extremely detailed in your description of Mr. Weasley?"

Remus was surprised, "Weasley? I assumed she meant Harry."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled knowingly, "Most would think that and she probably will need Harry for a portion of the model, but you and Mr. Weasley will be Witnesses. You both have been at one time or another in constant contact with Pettigrew. What you know will be extremely helpful."

Feeling greatly in need of Madam Pince's copy of A Complete Guide to the Mind and Method of Oneiromancers, Remus rose to leave.

"Of course this gives us some confusion over whether you should be called, in the confidential Hogwarts record, a secretary or an oneiromantic Witness," Dumbledore mused.

Remus smiled self-deprecatingly, "Which one pays better?"

"Oh the clerical position, of course! Witnesses are supposed to provide their services out of the kindness and curiosity of their heart."

Remus sighed, "Well isn't that entirely in keeping with my luck. And now thanks to you, Headmaster, I have a three foot essay to write about Ron Weasley."

***

AN: Millions of thanks to Bliss, Yolanda, and Zsenya who looked at this chapter for me and pointed out my many mistakes. For those who are curious, an oneiromancer is someone who predicts the future through the interpretation of dreams. I liked the word and decided to change their methods slightly.