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Author: Tarkas Story: Hunter and Maiden Rating: Teens Status: WIP Reviews: 7 Words: 204,697
[The disclaimer may be found at the start of the story, before the Prologue. It still applies.] The remaining weeks of August passed quickly. Hermione came to stay at the Burrow for the last fortnight -- not that she and Ron were actually visibly present, a lot of the time. They did appear for meals, though, and were prepared to be distracted from one another for a while by the promise of something entertaining like, say, a game of Quidditch, which Ron would enthusiastically join in while Hermione read a book and occasionally watched the others -- one of them, at least. Even allowing for chess games between Ron and Harry (or, one memorable evening, between the boys and the girls; it was the most bloodthirsty game played at the Burrow in living memory -- and probably the most fun) and other joint activities, Ron and Hermione's wish for privacy left Harry and Ginny at loose ends for a sizeable part of those two weeks. Neither of them minded, but Ginny was becoming more and more confused and frustrated as time went on. Harry was spending a lot of time with her. He said he enjoyed it, and she certainly did. They spent hours together, walking, flying, swimming, talking... just being together with no-one else around and no problems to deal with. She felt that this opportunity had given her the chance to get to know him so well... and he still baffled her! It had been wonderful, this chance to spend so much time with him, but she was never sure just where she stood with him: were they friends, or more? Did he want them to be more? Did she? They were certainly closer than they'd ever been, and he kept... touching her. Not in an unwelcome or disgusting manner, of course, but how should she feel about his new habit of holding her hand when they went walking together? Or the occasional pat he'd give her at the most unexpected times -- but most often when she was, whether she realised it or not, in need of a little reassurance? It was as though he knew how she was feeling and wanted to help... And then there were some of the things he said... Take the previous evening, for instance: she and Harry had been out in the yard, not doing anything in particular except chatting. Harry had been lying flat on his back, looking up at the cloud-speckled sky as it gradually darkened. Then, out of the blue, or so it seemed to Ginny, he'd come out with an astounding declaration: "I'm really going to miss this, once we're back at school..." "Miss what?" "This... Relaxing with you, enjoying the peace and quiet of the evening by ourselves... Not much chance to do that at school." "I... suppose not. But don't you enjoy school, too?" "Oh, yeah... but it's going to be hectic this year, what with NEWTs, Quidditch, being Head Boy... I just think I'll look back at times like this with envy, that's all." Harry rolled over on his side to face her. "And I won't see as much of you, either." "Oh..." she said, instantly speechless and rapidly turning bright red. "Does... does that matter?" "Ginny!" was the indignant reply. "Of course it matters! I like being with you -- always have. You're probably the closest friend I have at Hogwarts after Ron and Hermione -- and you don't imagine that the kissing gouramis are going to give up their private snogging sessions for my sake, do you?" "The what?" Ginny cried, her face -- especially her eyes -- alight with astonished and gleeful expectation. "Kissing gouramis; they're fish -- from Japan, or thereabouts. I saw them on TV once; they have a kind of courtship behaviour that looks like they're kissing." He said no more because Ginny had flopped onto her back and was laughing unrestrainedly. "Oh..." she panted after a while -- between bouts of laughter, "I... really wish... you hadn't told me that! How... am I going to face... those two now... without thinking of those fish?" "No idea," Harry replied, grinning wickedly and chuckling. "I think we'll have to suffer together. Now that you mention it, I'm going to have the same problem." Mrs Weasley had chosen that moment to call them in for dinner, and Harry had, as usual, helped her to her feet and walked hand-in-hand with her to the kitchen door; but then, he let her go and hadn't tried to touch her again for the rest of the evening, though they had exchanged many a conspiratorial look and snicker at a baffled Ron and Hermione. That was the way he'd been all month: very... um, attentive, but never trying to cross an invisible line that he seemed to have set for himself, which put the two of them in a most unusual position -- far closer than mere friends, but not quite a (gulp) couple. What should she do? What did she want to do? What did she want Harry to do? Ginny couldn't really decide. Despite the resurgence of her feelings for Harry, she didn't want to make a fool of herself over him; if all he wanted from her was friendship, however close, then she could be satisfied with that -- and it would fit in with her plans for the next two years at school. She didn't really want to think about the possibility that there could be more to their relationship; it was both tantalising and frightening, and she didn't feel up to taking the risk of losing what she had now. In the end, she left well enough alone. At the very least, she now had Harry as a close friend who wanted to spend time with her; anything more would come when it -- or they -- were ready. Up in Ron's room, Harry smiled to himself. A hunter needed to be patient, and this quarry was worth the wait. ***** September 1st, King's Cross Station, Platform 9 3/4... the usual routine of the start of another school year. Also routine, regrettably, were the snide comments from a certain Slytherin, accompanied by the background snickers and grunts of his "bodyguards." "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Mudblood, the Weasels and the orphan..." Ron saw red, as usual, but before Hermione and Ginny even had to try to restrain him, Harry stepped between his friends and their would-be tormentor and, to everyone's amazement, responded in kind: "Well, well, well, if it isn't the Amazing Bouncing Ferret and his sidekicks, Mr Potato Head and Monster Mash! And that's the Head Boy and Head Girl to you, Malfoy -- not to mention two Prefects who are witnesses to your use of racist language to describe the aforementioned Head Girl, in what I can only conclude is an attempt to provoke a fight on the station platform. What do you suppose any of the teachers -- even your esteemed Head of House -- would say if I were to report that?" Malfoy went white, mostly from rage, but at least partly from shock -- the latter being shared by Hermione, Ron and Ginny. Crabbe and Goyle, being their usual two beats behind events, looked on blankly until some sense of their leader's outrage communicated itself to them -- or perhaps their brains finally finished processing Harry's nicknames for them; then, with a quick look to the furious Draco for approval, they started to lumber towards Harry, their intent as obvious as the malice on their ugly, grinning faces. They were going to enjoy this... ...or so they thought until they took a good look at Harry. He hadn't moved from where he stood between them and Ron, a few yards in front of them, nor had he altered his stance or anything like that, but something about him and the way he was watching them gave them pause. He was ready for them, they could tell; they didn't know how they knew that, but everything about him screamed, You want trouble? Come and get it... Then they saw his eyes, and stumbled to a bewildered, uneasy halt. If Harry's general manner promised trouble, the fire in that verdant gaze did more than promise; there was pain waiting for them there, and humiliation, and other, far worse fates that they couldn't properly recognise, and all they had to do to unleash every one of them was just keep coming... They looked vacantly at each other, not knowing how to deal with the situation: Potter was supposed to run away or get beaten up, not stand there with an attitude of fierce determination and the certainty of havoc in his eyes. They had no idea what to do: Draco was going to do something really bad to them if they didn't thump Potter, but Potter... what he was going to do to them if they tried was far worse than anything their boss could manage. Malfoy arrived behind them, screaming at them -- something about what were they waiting for -- but they didn't really hear him; they were too busy trying to think of a way out of this predicament. His attempts to drive them on to "get" Potter and his friends started to become annoying after a short while so, without thinking, they pushed him away. Only when he landed on his backside, several feet away, did what they'd just done properly register, and they shared another worried glance. Oops... But then, deciding that they might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, they shrugged and turned and walked away, leaving an incensed, disbelieving Draco behind as they headed rapidly for the other end of the train. Harry smiled nastily. "And there you have it -- genuine proof that trolls do indeed have brains larger than a dinosaur's... They just need more practise at using them. "As for you, Malfoy," he went on, looking down at the unfortunate Slytherin, sprawled on the dusty asphalt of the platform, "Go away and grow a backbone, and I'll deal with you then. Don't let me see you again until we get to Hogsmeade." With that, Harry also turned his back on the furious Draco and joined his friends. Malfoy could do nothing but watch as the four Gryffindors walked away to board the train and find themselves a compartment in the Prefects' carriage. As they wandered along the platform, a still amazed Ron whispered to Harry, "Bloody hell, mate, what was that all about?" "What do you mean, Ron?" replied a nonchalant Harry. "That was just Malfoy and his usual beginning-of-year insults -- nothing new." "Nothing new? Since when did nearly getting clobbered by Crabbe and Goyle become a normal thing? When they started to charge you, I thought we were going to start our last year at school with an all-in brawl!" "Those two?" Harry scoffed. "They're only dangerous on the Quidditch pitch -- as low-flying mountains. They're used to beating up first-years for extra pocket money for Malfoy; stand up to them and they run away." "Maybe when you do it..." Ron muttered. "Look, Ron, I'm not putting up with Malfoy and his rubbish any more. There are far more important things to deal with this year, you know that. I'm seventeen, I'm a legal adult, I'm free from the Dursleys... I don't see why Malfoy should be allowed to go around insulting everybody all the time. It's not as though he has anything to be proud of -- his father's in Azkaban! -- but he still thinks he's better than everyone else. Well, unfortunately for him, the Head Boy disagrees, and I'm going to bear down on him hard." "Okay, but I hope you know what you're doing..." "Oh, I do, Ron. Believe me, I do..." ***** The trip on the Hogwarts Express was remarkably peaceful. Malfoy and his minions were not seen again, even when Hermione insisted that she and Harry should patrol the train to check that all was well -- which it was -- and the foursome spent much of their time together in a compartment in the Prefects' carriage, talking, playing games, or even reading. When in need of some exercise, one or other of them would wander along the train to meet friends and exchange greetings with others, but, seemingly inevitably, whoever left would return to their compartment after, at most, an hour or so. Right on time, the Express arrived at Hogsmeade station and everyone got out. The usual scene of semi-organised chaos greeted the last few to leave the train -- including Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys. Hagrid was looming over his usual group of apprehensive "firs'-years" and called out a cheery greeting on seeing Harry and the others. The first of the carriages was already departing for the castle and the others were filling rapidly; however, by chance or design, there was an empty one at the very end of the queue, which the Head Boy and Girl promptly appropriated for their own use -- and that of two Prefects who were with them at the time, of course. Being the last to arrive at the castle inevitably meant that they were the last to enter the Great Hall and, in consequence, were the focus of many an interested pair of eyes as they came through the huge main doors. It also meant that they ended up sitting at the end of the occupied section of the Gryffindor table; their neighbours on one side would be all the new first-years chosen for the House by the Sorting Hat. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, his amused, hers slightly worried: how would the new pupils react when they found themselves next to the Head Boy and Girl? But first, it was time for the Sorting and the Hat's song... which was even odder than usual. In some ways, the song was much like those of the last two years -- a reminder of the principles on which the school had been founded, a listing of the supposed virtues embodied in each House, and a plea for unity in spite of any real or imagined differences -- but there was an extra element this year. The Hat exhorted them to enjoy life despite the threat that hung over the entire wizarding world; it told them to work hard and enjoy it (for some reason, everyone on the Gryffindor table looked at Hermione when they heard that), to play "with all your might" for the fun of it, and to never pass up an opportunity to share a laugh or a smile with as many friends as they could. It finished by telling the first-years that it would put them in the Houses where they could best do what it had just asked them to do -- or was that ordered them? When it finished, almost everybody in the Hall, pupils and teachers, exchanged a surprised glance with their neighbours at table. What was that supposed to mean? The Hat had given warnings before -- most recently in the last two years -- but it had never yet come out with anything like that, as far as anyone could remember. Unconsciously, many heads turned to look at the Headmaster, who seemed to be one of the two people there who wasn't thoroughly confused by what they'd just heard; he was sitting serenely in his chair at the staff table, smiling in that mysterious way that he had at times, and saying nothing at all. Many of the onlookers found that reassuring; others thought it annoying; Harry caught a twinkle in the old man's eye and remembered that he had to go and see Dumbledore after the Feast, and wondered if he'd know more when that time came... The other person unperturbed by the song was Professor McGonagall, who was too busy organising the Sorting to pay much attention; though few doubted that the Deputy Headmistress would know exactly as much as she felt she needed to know, should it ever become important. Meantime, she took up her usual position and prepared to read out the names of each boy and girl as his or her turn came to be Sorted. At a nod from Dumbledore, she began: "Aaronovitch, Jennifer." ***** As it turned out, Hermione wasn't the one who should have been worried by the reactions of the new Gryffindors as they took their places at the table to warm applause. It wasn't Harry being Head Boy that made the youngsters fall silent and stare at him with huge eyes and nervous faces; it was Harry being Harry -- the Boy-Who-Lived. Even after Hermione tried to reassure one trembling girl that, "He's quite a nice boy, really," the ice she was trying to break remained several metaphorical feet thick. Harry looked to the heavens, shown as usual on the ceiling of the Hall, for inspiration -- what was he supposed to do with a bunch of first-years who seemed to regard him with a mixture of awed hero-worship and petrifying fear? Luckily, Dumbledore stood up and began to speak at that point. Harry turned his attention to the Professor but, on the way, his gaze met that of a smiling Ginny. She whispered, "They'll grow out of it... and Hermione was right, you know," and he suddenly felt a lot better about everything. Any remaining worries were forgotten when the food appeared. ***** The Feast over, Harry left the first-years in the capable hands of the Head Girl and the Gryffindor Prefects and made his way to the Headmaster's office. "Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said warmly, "Welcome back. I trust you had a good holiday -- the last month of it, at least." "Thanks, Professor. Yeah, it was great once I got away from the Dursleys." "I imagine it was. And I'm sure you're glad to be rid of them -- almost as much as they are to have seen the last (we all hope) of you. Though your cousin might have preferred to have taken leave of you in a less... painful manner." Harry wasn't surprised that Dumbledore knew of Dudley's misfortunes, though the way he had phrased it left room for doubt as to whether the Professor knew exactly how Dudley's injuries had come about. Not that it mattered, because that was one of the things Harry wanted to discuss with him. "You may be interested to learn," the Headmaster went on, "that your cousin and his friends have been remanded in custody until they stand trial on several charges relating to events of the morning of your birthday. Arabella Figg tells me that there is much talk in the neighbourhood about Dudley's disgrace -- and of his injuries. Muggle reporters have apparently been making considerable nuisances of themselves, continually enquiring about the mysterious Mr Hunter who came to the rescue of Miss Ffolliot and incapacitated her attackers so thoroughly, but no-one admits even to having heard of him. "Your aunt and uncle are rarely seen in public these days, and refuse to answer the door or telephone. And, of course," he added with a twinkle, "no-one ever mentions their absent nephew... though Arabella occasionally drops the odd hint that the Dursleys have got their just desserts for their treatment of you. I'm afraid that she is enjoying herself rather too much that way." Harry chuckled, but said nothing. Mrs Figg was quite right, in his opinion, and he hardly begrudged her a little fun at the Dursleys' expense -- not after so many years of him thinking her almost as bad as they were. "Yes, that was a remarkable day, in so many ways," Dumbledore said reflectively. "I must once again apologise for not attending your birthday party--" Harry would have protested, but the older man waved him down. "--but another of the extraordinary occurrences on the day you reached adulthood demanded my attention, and that is the reason I wanted to see you this evening." The Headmaster rose from his desk and took down a familiar object from a particular cabinet -- his Pensieve. "In the early hours of July the 31st, I had a most remarkable visitation -- as did you, I gather. Mine, however, was quite different in nature and, I do not think it an empty boast to say, even more uncanny. I think you need to see what happened, and so I took the time to store the memory of the experience in this Pensieve. I would like to show it to you now, and then we must discuss what it means." Harry nodded and went to take the Pensieve, but Dumbledore stopped him. "Just sit down, Harry. Since I want to show you a specific memory, it is easier if I use a controlling spell rather than having you touch the contents of the Pensieve; that method, by its very nature, is somewhat haphazard." Harry sat and Dumbledore tapped his wand against the Pensieve before placing it lightly against Harry's forehead. "Commemoro!" he commanded. As in his previous experiences with Pensieve memories, Harry found himself a disembodied, ethereal spectator of events. For a moment, he wondered if the spell had worked, for he was still in the Headmaster's office -- but, it quickly occurred to him, on the other side of the desk. It was late at night, he could tell, and very quiet, which made sense if, as Dumbledore had said, this was "the early hours" of his birthday. Nothing seemed to be happening at first, but Harry felt a sense of unease. Without knowing how he knew it, he could tell that something -- presumably what the memory was supposed to show him -- was about to occur. Sure enough, a faint yellow glow appeared in mid-air in the centre of the office, accompanied by a low rumble. Harry felt "himself" sit back and regard whatever this was with surprise and intense interest, although "his" wand was in his hand and he was ready (he hoped) for any problems. The glow and the rumble became stronger and stronger, steadily building in intensity and power until, with a BOOM! that shook the room, a flash of bright orange-yellow light signalled the appearance of a huge hand, ten or more times the size of a human's, made of fire -- or, perhaps, on fire, though it showed no burns or any other effects from the flames that surrounded it. Harry's point of view altered as Dumbledore stood up, wand at the ready and every sense, natural and magical, at the alert. However, the hand made no move to attack -- or, indeed, to do anything for some time. Eventually, though, it moved to one side of the room, folded itself into a fist with the index finger extended... and began to write in the air. As it traced them out, large, fiery letters appeared and hung at eye level, their brightness filling the room and casting shadows in the corners. The words that this strange herald left in its wake were few, but undeniably foreboding: THE HUNTER COMES. Harry stared at the glowing letters in astonishment, but he had little time to think about them or the eerie, disembodied messenger that had created them, for the words faded away slowly and the flaming hand was on the move again. As he watched, it wrote in the air again and again, each message lasting just long enough to be read and understood before it died away, to be replaced by the next. AT LAMMAS, THE HELM OPENS THE EYES OF ITS WEARER; Thank Heaven for the Pensieve, Harry thought. Without it, there'd be no way to remember all of these... whatever they are. Prophecies? Warnings? They look vague enough to be typical Divination predictions. Where's Professor Trelawney and her "inner eye" when we need them? That seemed to be all that it wanted to convey, for, after the last of its proclamations faded out, the hand moved to where it had been when it arrived in the room, turned palm-on to the watching Headmaster (and, of course, Harry) and spread its fingers in what seemed to a form of salute; then it, too, became wavery and indistinct before finally vanishing, the last light of its flame lingering for a moment after the hand itself had gone. Harry's view of the room jumped as the memory ended and he found himself meeting the calm gaze of Dumbledore, once more seated across the desk from him. He raised his brows questioningly, not really knowing what to say. "Yes, that was much my reaction," the Professor said with a small smile. "I have seen many strange and wonderful things in my life -- and many terrible ones, too -- but I had never before seen prophecy literally written in letters of fire, and certainly not in mid-air in my own office!" The astounded, and yet amused, tone in which Dumbledore said this made Harry laugh, which in turn brought an answering chuckle from the Headmaster. However, they both soon became serious again, though there was a gleam in Dumbledore's eyes that lingered even as he spoke again. "You will understand that, after that, I felt the need to investigate what I had just witnessed. That turned out to be rather more challenging than I expected, which is why I had to miss your party. Discovering the significance of those messages -- and of the messenger -- was of paramount importance. Something was on its way to Hogwarts, and I needed to know who or what it was; and, of course, it was already Lammastide, the first of the dates mentioned, which meant that the ‘eyes of the Wearer' would soon be opened by ‘the Helm' -- if that had yet to occur." "I... I think it may have been happening at the same time," said Harry hesitantly. "That would fit with what I have discovered in my research since that night. It took some doing, I can tell you, and Madam Pince is rather annoyed with me for ‘deserting' Hogwarts to search in other libraries, but, despite her hard work and pride in her domain and what she has done with it over the years, the school library -- even the Restricted Section -- does not have everything in it, and so I was forced to look elsewhere. My search took me to many unexpected places, and I probably devoted more time to it than I could properly spare from other matters, but I do not begrudge it, for, if I am correct, that may well have been the single most important piece of magical research I have ever done. "I believe that I have found what I was looking for but, to confirm that, I need you to tell me everything you can remember about your visitor..." "Of course," Harry agreed immediately. He began to think about how to tell Dumbledore everything, and rapidly came to the conclusion that it was hard to know where and how to start. He wished he could show the Professor what had happened the same way that he had just been shown the scene in the office... which, he suddenly realised, the idea seemingly coming from nowhere, he could. "Professor, sit back and close your eyes, and I'll show it to you." Dumbledore's bushy brows rose in surprise, but he said nothing and did as he had been asked. Harry leaned forward, reaching out with one hand towards the Headmaster, closed his own eyes and made a quick, but complex gesture with his outstretched hand. A few minutes later, Harry and his mentor opened their eyes and met one another's gaze. "That was a remarkable experience," Dumbledore said, "both for what it showed and in the manner in which it was shown. Can you do that with any memory -- or something that you imagine? It could prove useful... Perhaps we need to consider some Legilimency lessons for you..." "I'm... not sure. Somehow, I don't think so... But then, I didn't think I could do that at all until just now. It... it feels as though it's only possible for certain specific memories -- all fairly recent ones, too. I don't know why it feels like that; it just does." "Hmmm..." the Professor said, stroking his beard, "That would agree with some of the text of certain scrolls that I read in Egypt, and again in Greece -- and also with some of the vague references on those Mesopotamian tablets..." He lapsed into thought for a few moments before returning his attention to the here and now. "Regardless of that, one thing is now certain," he said briskly, "I was correct, and I now believe that we at least know what, or who, our visitors were. That is both reassuring and frightening, for knowing that much tells us that we have to deal with a power deeper and more impenetrable -- and more formidable -- than anything that anyone alive has faced for several centuries." Harry flinched at that thought. What have I got myself into now -- or should that be what has got itself into me? Dumbledore made no immediate move to reassure him, which told Harry even more about the seriousness of the topic. Instead, the Professor leaned back in his chair and began to describe his search for knowledge of the strange visitors that he and Harry had had at Lammas. It had led him to travel all over the world and to spend a lot of time examining old books in libraries and even older historical records in those same libraries and in museums, private collections and other places that the Headmaster refused to name. Harry suspected that at least some of them were ancient tombs -- occupied ones! -- and wondered if Dumbledore had asked Bill Weasley for help. "And yet, despite all my efforts, the information that I found was disappointingly little," Dumbledore said eventually, "but, nonetheless, I discovered enough, though mostly in the form of hints, oblique references and half-truths, scattered amongst a dozen different sources, to establish a few important facts -- or so I believe and hope them to be. "The... ah, entity that appeared to me here on your birthday has no real name, but is usually referred to as the Hand of the Source, or just the Hand for short. The Source... the very few references to it that I could find were even more obscure, and were as much religious or philosophical tracts as records of events. For now, let us simply accept that the Source seems to be a benign, God-like force in the cosmos; perhaps it is even a way of referring to the Almighty, though what I have read of it made it seem more akin to the Tao than to the conventional representation of God in, say, the Bible or the Koran. "Be that as it may, the Hand and the messages that it conveys in its unique fashion could be considered as prophetic omens, for they are harbingers of great, perhaps literally Earth-shaking, events centred on the appearance of an object of immense power -- the Helm of Orion." Unconsciously, Harry lifted one hand to his head, but he could feel nothing. He knew it was there, but it couldn't be seen or felt. Dumbledore noticed his instinctive reaction and smiled. "Yes, Harry, you are the latest Helm-Wearer." Harry could hear the capital letters making the last word into some kind of title. "There have been very few like you in all of history; I found mention of no more than six, hundreds or thousands of years apart. The first was, of course, Orion, thousands of years ago, and I believe that the Helm uses his form to ‘introduce' itself to each new person on whom it chooses to bestow its power -- so that explains who your visitor was. "The Helm only appears at times of great turmoil and peril -- a determination which it alone makes. People are rather prone to classifying comparatively minor difficulties as Earth-shattering; it has other criteria, and it guards its ‘privacy' fiercely -- or perhaps it might be better to say that, when the time is not right, it hides itself from the world. I suspect that is why you feel that you can only pass certain recent memories to others as you have just done to me; the Helm may have power over those memories which concern it, but does not care about, or refuses to let its power be used on, any others. "On the rare occasions that it chooses a Wearer, the Helm grants that person tremendous power -- but there are few, if any, details of what sort of power. It's as though those who have written about the past Wearers have found it difficult to describe what they saw -- or, perhaps, the Helm made it difficult in order to deter those who might try to find it when it does not want to be found. If so, I am forced to wonder if my finding out as much as I have indicates that I have a role in what is to occur in the next year." He paused for a moment and regarded Harry with an amused look. "I do not think I am false or a traitor, so I can only hope that I am not the fool that the Hand mentioned..." Harry snorted with suppressed laughter, and Dumbledore smiled in agreement before going on. "Now, Harry, perhaps you could tell me more about how the Helm has opened your eyes..." Harry described as best he could how his senses had been enhanced, and how they combined to give him an incredibly detailed awareness of any living thing that he chose to focus on -- an awareness that took little account of distance or minor things like intervening solid objects. He didn't mention that there was one person in particular for whom this awareness was keener than for anyone else; his private life was something that he intended to keep just that -- private; or as private as he could manage to ensure, given all the eyes and ears -- friendly, malicious or simply curious -- that watched him constantly. Dumbledore nodded, but there was something about the way in which he was scrutinising Harry that made the young man wonder what the Professor could see that he couldn't. The Headmaster said nothing, though, so Harry finished by saying that he no longer needed his glasses, but had kept them partly out of habit and partly because he didn't want anyone to know about his not needing them any more. Dumbledore nodded in agreement and approval, but continued to regard Harry intently, and the thought struck the young wizard that perhaps the Headmaster had noticed other changes in him -- ones that Harry had not yet discovered himself. He was nerving himself up to ask if this was the case when the Professor's gaze softened and he sat up, rubbing his hands together. "On to other matters. I see that you and Mr Weasley have given up Divination this year -- a wise choice, in my opinion." Dumbledore chuckled, his brows raised in amusement. "And, indeed, it is just as well in your case, as Professor Trelawney has informed me that she is not prepared to have you in her NEWT class." Harry wasn't sure whether to be pleased or affronted at this news. "Her reluctance has nothing to do with your work in Divination -- although, from what I have seen of the written ‘predictions' that you and Ron have made in previous years for your homework, you appear to have been studying Creative Writing rather than the proper syllabus. It seems that Sybil has had another vision -- or perhaps a better way to put it is that she has Seen that she cannot See properly where you are concerned. She says that you ‘blind her inner eye,' which I take to be a further manifestation of the power of the Helm: I would guess that you have become a probability nexus -- a critical part of the forces that shape the future -- thereby making you the equivalent of a searchlight in the eyes of anyone attempting to see that future. You shine too brightly for them to See anything." Dumbledore chuckled again. "However, you needn't think that you have escaped Sybil's clutches altogether: she wants your timetable to be arranged so that you have free periods at those times when she is teaching OWL and NEWT classes, so that you can visit them and be shown to other students as an example of the difficulties Seers can face." Harry grimaced at the thought of being paraded before Lavender and Parvati, not to mention the other Divination students. Dumbledore seemed sympathetic. "I have told her that I cannot guarantee that -- for one thing, Professor McGonagall has flatly refused to have her timetables dictated by the convenience of the students of Divination, of all subjects! -- but Sybil may request your presence at times during the year, and I hope you will be prepared to assist her within limits." Harry nodded, though he wondered why he felt obliged to agree to help Trelawney. Still, if she couldn't See him with her inner eye, at least she'd stop making or expecting gruesome predictions regarding his imminent death! He wondered who would replace him as the Professor's favourite victim, and rather hoped it might be one of the girls if it had to be anyone at all... "I understand from talking to Arthur Weasley that you have managed to sever the connection between Voldemort and both yourself and Miss Weasley. Obviously, that means that Occlumency is now unnecessary for both of you -- as an immediate concern, at any rate; if you can keep up your studies in that field, it could still be a valuable skill in the future. "However, I think that you and I should replace your Occlumency lessons with another subject that is more important, at least in the short term. I propose that the two of us work together on what I will call an Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts course -- though, in fact, it will have little to do with the Dark Arts themselves, and I expect to be learning as much as, if not more than you do from our sessions. "As I said earlier, the Helm is an object of immense power, but little is known of the nature of that power and its effects on the Wearer. I believe that we should make a determined effort to investigate this and to help you develop the abilities that it has or will endow you with, and to ensure that its power does not harm you. From the last of the prophecies given to us by the Hand, we have until the end of April to prepare you -- and everyone else -- for the ‘battle' and the ‘hunt' it foretold. I don't think I need to say that we both know what will be involved at that time. "I have to admit that we will be working in the dark, much of the time. I have studied and, on occasion, used ancient magic, but the Helm is something that is at once far older and more powerful than anything I have ever dealt with, and it may have fundamental differences that make it unlike anything that anyone has ever seen, save perhaps those few who have worn it or known a Wearer. All I can hope is that whatever knowledge and experience I have of magic in all its forms will be enough." Dumbledore looked and sounded grave and apprehensive as he said this, which made Harry feel anxious, too, but the Headmaster regained his usual equanimity quickly enough and went on, "And, assuming that we all survive the coming year, you can be assured of at least one good NEWT. I can hardly evaluate your prowess with the Helm with no sort of reasonable standard against which to assess it, so at the very least I would have to give you an E; and, knowing you, Harry, I would be extremely surprised not to feel justified in awarding you an O." Harry let loose a sharp bark of relieved laughter and Dumbledore smiled. They made arrangements for the ADADA "class" and discussed a few other, more mundane matters relating to Harry's role as Head Boy, and then the Professor dismissed Harry and sent him off to Gryffindor Tower with a final comment: "This should be a most interesting year for all of us..." ***** [A/N: The Hand's messages list seven of the eight major yearly festivals of the Wiccan calendar that make up the "Witches' Wheel." The dates of each festival, according to The White Goddess website, are: Lammas: July 30th - August 1st (including Harry's birthday, which I doubt is by chance). Mabon: Autumnal Equinox -- September 21st/22nd Samhain: Halloween -- October 31st Yule: Winter Solstice -- December 21st/22nd Imbloc: Candlemas -- February 2nd Ostara: Spring Equinox -- March 21st/22nd Beltane: May Eve -- April 30th/May 1st The remaining festival is Lithia or Lythe, the Summer Solstice, which takes place on June 21st/22nd. The dates of the solstices and equinoxes are, of course, based on the Northern Hemisphere seasons; what happens south of the Equator, I don't know.
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