Harry was pleasantly surprised to discover that he had this class as well with Aria, though he could've done without the rest of the Slytherins, especially Malfoy, who seemed to be trying to convince his newest Housemate to go out with him. But as she'd demonstrated last night, Aria was patently uninterested in the suave pureblood, turning him down politely, much to his annoyance.

Draco promptly vowed revenge on Potter, no matter that he called himself a Snape now, and resembled his Head of House. He'd be damned if he lost the girl to one not even of his own House, a Gryffindor no less! When he had the chance he'd tell Pansy to tell Miss Equality For All Lupin to stop fraternizing with the enemy. Pansy had a crush on him as wide as the Thames and she'd do whatever he wanted. The Malfoy heir shot a glacial glare at Harry's back as he sat down on one of the red poofy cushions next to that stupid Weasley. He wished Harry had never come back from America. Things had been perfect until he'd returned, like a bad Knut. He slouched over to a seat, waiting for the Divination teacher to make her usual fluttery entrance from behind her multi-colored beaded curtain.

"Greetings, class!" Trelawney said breathily as she entered from the beaded curtain. She was dressed in her customary layers of multi-hued scarves and a printed skirt and white blouse and had a shockingly electric blue scarf about her head, pulling back her rather frizzy brown hair. But the oddest thing about her, in Harry's opinion, was the huge pair of spectacles perched on the teacher's nose, which magnified her eyes until she looked vaguely like a drunken owl.

"Welcome back, all of you! I trust you had a nice holiday." She came to stand before Harry. "The Headmaster has informed me that you were once known as Harry Potter, is that correct?"

"Yes, James was my stepdad, Professor." Harry explained, wondering how many times he was going to have to go over this. Why was it so hard for everyone to remember his name was Snape now? "But my last name's Snape now, like my dad's."

"Indeed. But a change of name will not save you from destiny, Mr.-ah-Snape," Trelawney intoned mystically.

Harry gave her a slightly puzzled glance, hoping to worm some information out of her. "Professor? I don't understand."

"You will, boy. You will." Then she swirled away and went over to the Slytherin side of the room to greet Aria, who thought the witch resembled some of the gypsy fortune casters she'd seen in the bazaars in Brazil.

Ron elbowed Harry in the ribs. "See? Totally bonkers."

Harry was inclined to agree with him, except the teacher had predicted correctly at least once. And he was determined to see what else the Seer knew about the future she had predicted. Anything to give him an edge over Voldemort.

Trelawney began handing out teacups and instructed them to add a small amount of a special blend of tea leaves to the bottom then swirl it about three times and look into the cup and try and identify the patterns therein.

Ron bit his lip and pulled out his copy of Unfogging the Future and flipped it to the section on deciphering tea leaf patterns.

Harry pulled his out also and tried to make sense of the black blobs of illustrations, they all looked like a toddler had gotten a bottle of ink and splashed it across the page. How can anybody make sense out of this? He wondered, squinting hard to see if maybe that changed anything. It didn't.

Then he peered at his teacup and at first saw nothing but tea leaves, slightly damp. "Ron?" he called to his friend, who was busily scribbling on his parchment. "What does your teacup show? I can't make bloody heads or tails out of mine."

Ron looked up from his paper. "Neither can I, Harry. I'm just making stuff up as I go. Put in lots of bad luck and stuff like that, she eats it up."

Harry chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. He swirled his teacup slightly, and glared down at it. Wait . . .the leaves appeared to make a recognizable shape now.

It looked like . . . a dog. A black dog.

"Ron! What's a black dog mean?"

But before Ron could consult his text, Professor Trelawney came over to look at their results and gave a sudden scream, her hand going to her mouth.

Harry nearly fell off his cushion. "Professor? What's the matter?"

Trelawney pointed one slender ringed finger at him and said in a dreadfully shrill tone, "Oh you poor dear! You have . . .have drawn the Grim! Such a tragedy . . .I warned your father, I did . . .!"

"The Grim? What's that?" Harry demanded, growing nervous at the other's reaction. "And what do you mean you warned my father? Warned him of what?"

"That tragedy was stalking you," answered the Divination teacher. "And this proves it!" She stabbed her hand down at Harry's tea cup. "The Grim in your cup means only one thing! It is fated that you shall die within the year!"

Harry gaped at her. Ron groaned. Lavender Brown and the Patil twins started sniffling. Malfoy looked like Christmas had come early. But only Aria did not react with horror or shock.

Instead she half rose and came to look at Harry's teacup. "Professor, the Grim doesn't always portend death," she began.

Trelawney whirled on her. "Of course it does! I am a Seer, do you think I don't know my symbols?" she cried, affronted.

Aria stood her ground. "Begging your pardon, professor, but my gran could See a bit and she taught me that the Grim portends great change and misfortune, but not always death."

"Humph!" Trelawney sniffed. "Well, might I remind you, Miss Lupin, that your grandmother is not here now to share her predictions with us, and as the only qualified Seer among us, I say my initial reading of this stands. You, Harry Snape, shall die within the year!"

She pronounced this in a deep sepulchral tone that made Harry shiver, even though he wasn't sure if he believed the Divination teacher.

Trelawney eyed him sadly. "I would suggest, Mr. Snape, that you get your affairs in order, if you take my meaning."

"Uh, sure, whatever," Harry muttered, feeling a bit sick. This was not at all what he'd imagined when he'd signed up for this class.

Trelawney turned about and went to examine Lavender's teacup and Aria rolled her eyes and said quietly, "Don't listen to her, Harry. Tea leaves are an unstable medium, they don't divine half as well as tarot cards. Least that's what my gran and her Gullah friend Lacey used to say. Lacey used to read cards for half the people in the French Quarter, Muggle as well as wizard. And half of her predictions were right on the money."

"Can you do it?" Ron wanted to know.

"Nope. I don't have the talent, but I do remember Lacey telling me that the Grim was a sign of misfortune, not always death. So I wouldn't lose all hope." She frowned at the Divination teacher's back. "It's cruel of her to tell you absolutely you will die, Harry. Like you were a dead man walking. Divination isn't an absolute, not always."

Harry smiled. "Well, thanks for telling me, Aria. Better go and sit down, before you lose points."

"Right," she returned to her seat just as Trelawney turned back around and headed over to her table.

Harry scowled down at the black dog-shaped blob in his teacup and thought that perhaps his father had been right when he called Divination a colossal waste of time.

After that depressing prediction, the whole class was mildly unsettled, and Trelawney recommended that they meditate for the last forty-five minutes. Ron smirked knowingly and whispered, "This is the part where you can take a nap." He leaned back on his cushion and closed his eyes.

Shrugging, Harry did the same, wondering if he should tell his dad about Trelawney's prediction. He decided to follow Ron's example and sleep on it. Maybe when he woke up he'd have the answer.

But the only thing Harry got out of his nap was a crick in his neck from leaning back against the wall and several pitying looks from Neville, Lavender, and the Patil twins as he rose and shoved his Divination text (useless thing!) into his bag. Great, just great! He thought angrily. Bad enough I was the Boy Who Lived, now I'm the Boy Who's Gonna Die! Just what I needed. The Prophet's going to have a field day with this one, just like they did when they found out I was really a Snape.

There had been a front page article about his shocking parentage this morning, Hermione had shown him over breakfast. Potter a Fake! Harry Snape-the Shocking Story! screamed the headlines, and below that a slightly fuzzy baby picture of an infant Harry with the caption Who's really my daddy? Harry had been tempted to chuck it in the fireplace. But he'd restrained himself.

Now this. He reached over and shook Ron awake. "C'mon, Ron, it's lunch. Get up!"

Ron blinked sleepily, then hastily rose to his feet.

As they made their way out of the tower, they heard Malfoy call, "Tough luck, Potter! When you kick the bucket, I'll make sure my father sends your father his condolences. Or maybe a bouquet of forget-me-nots!"

Half of Draco's Slytherin buddies roared at the blond's wit.

Harry spun around, fixing the sniggering wizard with a deadly glare, reminiscent of his father at his worst. "Shove it up your arse, Malfoy! And the name's Snape!"

"If you say so-Potter!" Still grinning nastily, Draco turned to Aria, who was passing in front him and caught the sleeve of her robe. "Half a minute, Lupin. Now do you see why you shouldn't waste your time with Potter, sweetheart? Who wants to kiss a walking corpse, eh?"

Aria eyed him the way one would an annoying species of mosquito. She jerked her sleeve free and said coldly, "I'd sooner kiss a corpse than your smarmy lips, Malfoy!"

Draco went red. "You don't mean that, Lupin! I'm ten times the man that Potter is, you've no need to go slumming with a Gryffindor who doesn't even know the name of the man who fathered him. Guess it was too dark for your mum to tell, huh?"

"I know who my father is, you sneaking git!" shouted Harry, clenching a fist. Ron grabbed him before he could go for Malfoy.

"Harry! Don't, he wants you to take a swing at him, mate. Now calm down."

Harry forced himself to relax, his temper seething. It wouldn't do for him to get detention on his first day back.

But Aria didn't need any help defending herself. "You want to be a girl's boy toy so bad, Malfoy, why don't you find Pansy? I heard she's got a real thing for you! Because I am not interested, got me?" She spoke those last words right in Malfoy's face. "Now go peddle yourself somewhere else!"

Then she spun on her heel and walked off, leaving Draco gaping after her, utterly humiliated.

Ron whooped. "Guess she told you, eh, Boy Toy Malfoy!"

Seamus, Neville, and Dean cracked up, and Harry wanted to cheer. Thank Merlin for Aria Lupin! They made their way down to the Great Hall, still chuckling at the girl's pointed remarks and Draco's stunned expression. It was a rare day when the scion of the Malfoy House got told off so publically by a girl, no less!

• * * * * *

"The old fraud predicted WHAT!" shouted Severus that same night, when Harry had made his way down to his father's quarters to get an hour's peace and quiet before going to bed. The common room was too noisy all of a sudden for him to study, so he'd opted to retreat to the haven of his father's rooms, accompanied by Rosie. "Told you were going to die, did she?" Severus shook his head, looking utterly disgusted, as he paced up and down in front of the fireplace.

"She said she saw a Grim in my teacup, Dad."

"Pay no attention to her nonsensical ramblings, son. Trelawney's always been fond of predicting doom and gloom, it's typical of her Welsh heritage. They love melodrama. She's predicted the death of one of her students every year since Dumbledore hired her and all of them are still breathing."

"Every year?" Harry repeated, feeling marginally better at his father's matter-of-fact words.

"Yes, she loves to get her students all shook up by predicting the worst, and then when it fails to occur, she'll say it was a fortunate coincidence. Humph! Don't believe anything she tells you, Harry. She sees dead people in the shower, probably."

His son burst out laughing at that comment, imagining Trelawney being spied on by Moaning Myrtle. "Good one, Dad."

The professor smirked. "Now, if you're done telling me Divination disaster stories, might I suggest you get started on your homework, young man?" He tapped Harry's books pointedly. "Because you don't want to earn a detention with me your first week of class, now do you?" he purred warningly.

Harry groaned. "No sir." Then he opened his book and got to work. He'd forgotten that the down side to studying in his father's quarters was having to deal with his professor's perfectionist insistence on completing his homework in a timely fashion, instead of hastily scribbling it down inbetween periods.

Satisfied that his son was working and not loafing about, Severus seated himself on the couch and began reading a new potions periodical, Rosie lying across his feet, sleeping soundly.

For several long moments the only sound in the room were the scratch of quill on parchment and the beagle's soft snores.

Before he knew it, Severus felt his eyes shutting and between one paragraph and the next, he drifted off. When he awoke some hours later, he found the fire died down to embers and a soft fuzzy green blanket covering him. Sitting up, he discovered a small piece of parchment lying next to him.

See you tomorrow. I finished my homework.

Good night, Dad.

Love,

Harry

A smile ghosted across the Potion Master's lean features as he tucked the parchment into his robes and then made his way into his bedroom. He was surprised that Harry hadn't decided to spend the night here as well, but then supposed it was good that he sleep in his dorm, like the other students. After all, he was a teenager not a toddler that needed to be held and rocked to sleep. Severus smiled wistfully, remembering those long ago days when he and Lily were young with an overactive bundle of mischief that refused to nap unless Severus sat in a rocking chair and patted his back while Lily sang a lullaby.

How times have changed, he mused. Now instead of me putting him to sleep, I fall asleep and he tucks a blanket around me instead. You'd be proud of him, my darling. He bent and kissed the picture of Lily that rested upon his nightstand, the way he did every night, before sliding into bed and turning out the lamp.