Professor Patel appeared at the common room of the Hufflepuff dormitories later that evening, claiming she had looked for him everywhere to let him know his trunk was with her, and had given up trying to find him when she couldn't.

"I suppose they left it with me because of the surname in the tag," she said, closing the door to her office, and gesturing at the trunk

"Who are 'they'?" Harry asked, kneeling down and looking through his trunk for his spectacles, sliding them on and blinking. The foggy room turned bright and clear, the chapped sides of the cabinets at the back of the room as clear as the lines of his palm.

She counted on her hand, her voice rising and falling as she rummaged through the drawers on the table, appearing and disappearing out of view, "The groundskeeper, caretaker, some volunteers from the village-" there came a bump from the other side of the table, "-Ya Sabar Estagfirullah. Anyway, the seventh and sixth year boys. The occasional male teacher."

He continued to look around, even when he sat down and Professor Patel spoke, the world no longer fuzzy uncertain shapes, "I still can't believe these exist," he said, taking the paper Professor Patel slid into his hand, "What is this?"

The paper crinkled under Professor Patel's finger, "Your schedule, Monday through Sunday. I wanted to go through them with you. Anything you don't understand?"

Harry glanced down at the paper. In order for his after school classes, he had geography, writing, arithmancy, Professor Patel -he chuckled-, history, free day, and reading on a Sunday.

"Is this all?" he shook the paper in his hand, placing it down on the table.

"Almost. Students take up chores at Hogwarts, from cleaning dishes to working in the greenhouses. You're paired with-" she turned the paper in her hands, tilting her head when she couldn't read the name, "-Hufflepuff third years are small in number, aren't they? Ernest Macmillian is your partner these two weeks, but you'll still be grouped with the third years, I think. Other than that, after some discussion with a, uh, teachers, we just gave you one elective subject, Art, but if you think you can manage two electives, I recommend riding lessons."

"Riding?"

"The Groundskeeper, Hagrid, gives riding lessons to male students," she said, eyes downcast, "If you'd like, I can add it to your schedule. I fear arithmetics and French would be too advanced for you at the moment."

"I think I would like that, riding," Harry said, handing the paper back to her. Professor Patel held it between her fingers, lifting her pen and pointing towards him, "However, if you feel you'd do better without it, I want you to come to me to take you off the lessons. Alright? You can always go back once you feel better. Good."

After consulting a few more papers, Professor Patel dipped her pen into the ink, and in a very neat script, wrote 'riding' under Friday, the last period.

"Compared to last year, the class has more students." She pointed out, clasping her hands together, "Anything else you want to ask me?"

That night, Professor Sprout pulled him aside for a small talk, reminding him that he could ask the Prefects anything, as they were now aware of the situation. Or, if it was something that needed more authority,

"You know where to come," she led him down the corridor of the dormitories, ushering the rest of the students still lingering in the common room to go to bed.

Harry slept with nerves of excitement buzzing inside his stomach, smiling into the pillow of his four-poster bed, just before his eyes finally closed for the night.

Hogwarts the next morning was as chaotic as Harry had imagined.

Though thanks to his habit of waking up early, rising at forty minutes past six proved less difficult than the barrier Ernie and Justin seem to be dragging themselves through, not even commenting on Harry's spectacles. Leaving the dormitory in an appropriate state, Harry and Ernie parted ways with Justin, walking to the Hospital Wing, where they would be working with Megan Jones for the next two weeks.

"At least we don't have much work to do," Megan said, absentmindedly sweeping the floor while Ernie and Harry heaved a box full of glass jars to a cabinet under the watchful eye of Madam Pomfrey, "There won't be any injured students for a while."

"Oh, just you wait until the cricket matches," Madam Pomfrey said, sweeping past her with her nose dug into record books barely holding their shape, "I say we're lucky no one has broken their neck yet."

"She's jinxed it," Ernie said at the end of the hour, hissing into his ear as they left the Hospital Wing, "Won't be surprised if she has to patch someone with a broken bone next November."

Then, until half past eight, was breakfast. This time, instead of immediately sitting down with the third years, Harry spotted Hermione and Ron in the crowd, and decided to talk to them, but stopped when he realised the blond haired student beside them was Draco. So Harry made a smooth dodge around a student, walking to the Hufflepuff table, a sick rage piercing his stomach.

Of course the only people he saw himself getting close to had to be friends with the person he had sworn not to get closed to.

Oh, he really wasn't a Hufflepuff was he?

As none of his temporary housemates had art, (something Susan Bones didn't look very happy to admit as she and Megan left the breakfast table early) Harry packed his bag in the twenty minute interval between breakfast and classes for the morning lessons.

His hand occasionally fell to brush the paint set, the clean roll of rough paper a comfort to touch.

Ten minutes to class, he stood by the stairs that led up to the classrooms, he nervously shifted from foot to foot, wishing he knew who was climbing the stairs to go to the art classroom.

So when he scouted the trio from earlier along with a girl he didn't recognise, he adjusted his back, lifted his chin and swallowed the sick feeling long enough to ask them how to get to art class.

"Ali!" Hermione said in surprise when he approached them, pausing her conversation with the girl beside her, "I didn't know you wore spectacles, and is what Draco told about the houses true?"

"Funny thing," Malfoy said, a snobby look to his smile, "I didn't know about the glasses either."

"Good thing about having an aunt," he tapped the metal handles, sliding his hand down the brim, "She can be full of surprises, and yeah — " he looked right into Malfoy's eyes, " — It is true."

"Talking about Professor Patel," Hermione took the girl beside her by the arm, "This is Parvati Patil. Your surnames sound alike, don't they?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, taking the time to grin at Ron when he patted his shoulder before facing Parvati, "Uh, hullo."

"Hello."

The conversation, unfortunately, didn't go beyond a few words, as they both had difficulty carrying the conversation beyond small talk, which Harry had very little to contribute to.

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Despite the castle being only four floors, the stairs were an exhausting climb, and Harry had an idea why Susan had frowned when she left the table that morning.

"There's — got — to — be — a — short — cut," Ron panted, as they climbed the fourth long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

"I think it's this way," said Hermione, peering down the empty passage to the right.

"Can't be," said Ron. "That's south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake outside the window…"

Harry was watching the painting. A fat, dapple-gray pony was drawn onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. Harry, who's experience in portraits was the Malfoy lineage, enjoyed watching this simple painting, hand brushing over the short, squat knight in the painting. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off, with a finger pointing at the pony.

Pointing at the pony?

Harry ignored the small debate behind him in favor of the painting. And the next. And the next. All three of them had a painted subject pointing at a certain direction. But the real surprise came when he found the signature of the collective paintings.

Sybill Trelawney and a smudged name he could not read.

"I think I have an idea," Harry said, starting to follow the paintings, calling after them with a wide grin, "Follow me."

They hurried after him along the corridor, Malfoy and Hermione shouting after him that he didn't know the castle, with Ron entering a mock race with him over a destination that wasn't yet in sight.

Puffing loudly, they climbed the tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at last they heard the murmur of voices above them and knew they had reached the classroom.

"How'd you-" Malfoy panted, trying very hard not to bend down on his knees, "How'd you- How'd you know?"

"Maybe I'm- I'm- more Ravenclaw," Harry managed between breaths, still not able to lift his head, "Than you thought."

Malfoy laughed weakly, wiping his forehead, "Impossible."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this landing, but Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.

"'Sybill Trelawney, Art teacher,'" Harry read. "How're we supposed to get up there?"

As though in answer to his question, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Harry's feet. Everyone got quiet.

"After you," said Ron, grinning, so Harry climbed the ladder first.

He emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little poufs. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.

"Is this an art class," Malfoy said not-so quietly, climbing in last, "Or the apothecary?"

"Snape actually cleans the apothecary," Ron said, lifting his foot when he stepped on a poof."

"I clean the apothecary," corrected Harry, gaining unanimous laughter, even from Malfoy.

Ron appeared at Harry's shoulder as the class assembled around them, all talking in whispers.

"Where is she?" Ron said.

A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

"Welcome," it said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."

Harry's immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and they saw that she was very thin; her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings.

"Sit, my children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto poufs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat themselves around the same round table, Malfoy having to scout the table beside them with surprisingly no complaint.

"Welcome to art," said Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."

Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study art, the most difficult of all electives. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you… Books can take you only so far in this field…"

At these words, both Malfoy and Ron glanced, grinning, at Hermione, who looked startled at the news that books wouldn't be much help in this subject.

"Many students, talented though they are in the area of uncommonly spoken language, missing history and delicate liquids, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of inspiration," Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face.

"It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she said suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his pouf. "Is your grandmother well?"

"I think so," said Neville tremulously, though confused.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear," said Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long emerald earrings. Neville gulped. Professor Trelawney continued placidly. "We will be covering the basic methods of sketching and painting this year, perhaps some sculpting, yes. The first term will be devoted to reading art. Next term we shall progress to compositions in pieces. By the way, my dear," she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, "beware a red-haired man."

Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her and edged her chair away from him.

"In the second term," Professor Trelawney went on, "we shall progress to perspective — if we have finished with symbolism, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our numbers will leave us forever."

A very tense silence followed this pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seemed unaware of it.

"I wonder, dear," she said to a girl, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, sitting beside a girl that looked awfully like Parvati "if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?"

The girl, looking relieved, stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf, and put it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney. "Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading — it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."

The girl trembled.

"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. I've always found working with tea helped soothe the nerves, yes.

"Oh, and dear-" she caught Neville by the arm as he made to stand up, "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."

Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the shelf of teacups when there was a tinkle of breaking china. Professor Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, "One of the blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn't mind… thank you…"

When Harry and Ron had had their teacups filled, they went back to their table and tried to drink the scalding tea quickly, careful not to spill anything with clumsy elbows while pulling out their materials from their bags.

"Used books are at the back of the class, if you need them, child," she told a boy with a blue tie, who uncomfortably rose from his seat, trudging to the back of the class with a few other students, including Ron.

"Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Trelawney cried through the gloom, looming over the students' cup while they tried to sketch as she had instructed, while the students tried to get their drawings to resemble something real.

"Right," said Ron after how long Harry didn't know, pushing their books open at pages five and six (on drawing shapes and simplification) towards the middle of the table, "What can you see in mine?"

"A load of soggy brown stuff," said Harry. The heavily perfumed smoke in the room was making him feel sleepy and stupid.

"I meant the drawings, Ali."

"Oh," Harry pulled Ron's page closer to him, squinting, trying to pull himself together, "A load of unsoggy black stuff."

Hermione had to shush their snickering, which they had to further stifle when Professor Trelawney warned Malfoy of 'a dark silhouette, bound to come with tribulations' after peaking at his drawing, which Harry thought resembled the apothecary, and Snape.

Needless to say, it didn't help to keep in the laughter.

"Right, you've got a crooked sort of cross…" Harry said, consulting his 'inspiration', "That means you're going to have, uh…. trials and suffering — sorry about that — but there's a thing that could be the sun. Hang on… that means… great, uh, happiness? That's right. Happiness. So... you're going to suffer... but be very happy… ?"

"You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me," said Ron, and they both had to stifle their laughs as Professor Trelawney gazed in their direction.

"I actually tried to draw our house, at least the outside," Ron said, brushing a pencil above the squares around his page, "Doesn't look like it, though," he said, peaking at Hermione's, eyes going wide, "Or, somewhat does, anyway. Now, my turn," he pulled Harry's drawing towards him, forehead wrinkled with effort.

"There's a blob a bit like a bowler hat," he said. "Maybe you're going to work for the Ministry…"

"It is a hat. My… A man's wearing it," Harry pointed at the mock sketch on the paper.

He turned the paper the other way.

"But this way it looks more like an acorn… what's that?" He scanned the drawing further "And there's a thing here," he turned the cup again, "that looks like an animal… yeah, if that was its head… it looks like a hippo… no, a sheep…"

"I didn't put any mind to drawing that, actually. Wonder what it is,," Harry said, hand in his palm, wishing he could get out and try his new paints. Professor Trelawney whirled around as Harry let out a snort of laughter at the look of defeat on Ron's face.

"Let me see that, my dear," she said approvingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Harry's drawing and cup. Everyone went quiet to watch. Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise. "The falcon… my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

Hermione scoffed, and Ron looked at her in amazement.

Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Harry's cup again and continued to turn it, before peering at the drawing.

"The club… an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy drawing..."

"I thought that was a bowler hat," said Ron sheepishly.

"It is a hat, though," argued Harry.

"The skull… danger in your path, my dear…"

Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed.

There was another tinkle of breaking china; Neville had smashed his second cup. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

"My dear boy — my poor dear boy — no — it is kinder not to say — no — don't ask me…"

"What is it, Professor?" said Malfoy at once, looking very curious and fed up both at once.

Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Harry and Ron's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup and drawing.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have the Grim."

"The what?" said Harry.

He could tell that he wasn't the only one who didn't understand.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Harry hadn't understood. "The giant, spectral shadow that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen — the worst omen — of death!"

Harry's stomach lurched. He thought he had a faint memory of a shadow, somewhere in the depths of his mind. But the biggest shadows that crept to his mind was Demeter, the cupboard, and-

Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair, flatly said "I don't think it looks like a Grim, and if it did, I say it has little relevance to the upcoming future."

Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike.

"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future, or the arts."

Malfoy almost laughed, hand masking his chuckles.

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," said a boy beside Malfoy, with his eyes almost shut, "but it looks more like a donkey from here," he said, leaning to the left.

"When you've all finished deciding whether I'm going to die or not!" said Harry, taking even himself by surprise. Now nobody seemed to want to look at him.

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. "Yes… please pack away your things…"

Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags.

"Until we meet again," said Professor Trelawney faintly, "fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear," — she pointed at Neville, "you'll be late next time, so mind you work extra-hard to catch up."

They descended Professor Trelawney's ladder and the winding stair in silence, separating from Malfoy who had biology, while Harry, Ron and Hermione had physics.

It took them so long to find her classroom that, early as they had left art , they were only just in time.

Harry chose a seat right at the back of the room, feeling as though he were sitting in a very bright spotlight; the rest of the class kept shooting furtive glances at him, as though he were about to drop dead at any moment. He hardly heard what Professor McGonagall was telling them about an introduction to physics and wasn't even watching when she placed some objects onto the table.

"Really, what has got into you all today?" Professor McGonagall asked the students that were in art class that morning, "Not that it matters, but most of you were looking forward to physics from last year."

Everybody's heads turned toward Harry again, but nobody spoke. Then Hermione raised her hand.

"Please, Professor, we've just had our first art class, and we were drinking tea, and —"

"Ah, of course," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. "There is no need to say any more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"

Everyone stared at her.

"Me," said Harry, finally.

"I see," said Professor McGonagall, fixing Harry with her beady eyes. "Then you should know, Patel, that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favorite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues —" Professor McGonagall broke off, and they saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on, more calmly, "Art is not a scientific branch of science. The future cannot be predicted. And Professor Trelawney…"

She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Patel, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."

Hermione laughed. Harry felt a bit better. It was harder to feel scared of a lump of tea leaves away from the dim red light and befuddling perfume of Professor Trelawney's classroom. Not everyone was convinced, however. A girl from class still whispered, "But what about Neville's cup?"

When the physics class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering toward the Great Hall for lunch. "Ali, cheer up," said Susan, pushing some food towards him, which was just leftover breakfast, bread and some fruit if you got lucky, "You heard what Professor McGonagall said."

Harry smiled, though he didn't eat anything. Half an hour to the end of lunch, he excused himself, stopping by the dormitories to get his afternoon class books before deciding to take a walk in the courtyard.

Harry was pleased to get out of the castle after lunch. Yesterday's rain had cleared; the sky was a clear, pale gray, and the grass was springy and damp underfoot as he walked towards a bench, sitting down and leaning his head on the back. The concrete arch of the building took half of his vision, the sky almost as grey as the building. Harry closed his, releasing a heavy breath. The after smell of rain, swept with the autumn wind filled his lungs, dry leaves scraping under his feet.

A single drop of water dripping from the stone hit him on the nose, making him shoot up in surprise.

"You're not going to die, Patel."

Harry barely missed hitting his head on the concrete bench, though not saving the same luck for his foot and tripping over the stone ground, a hand caught around his elbow cutting his very fatal fall.

Snape made an odd noise before he cut off, shaking his head and pulling Harry by the arm to balance him, "Child do you have no sense of control?" he bit, picking up Harry's bag and handing it to him.

"Do you have no sense of sound?" Harry snapped, snatching the bag without thanks, "And I know I'm not going to die, thank you."

"Quiet. Your current dampened mood makes a very compelling point," Snape kneeled down again, lifting the book that had sprawled over the floor, brushing the dirt off the cover. He held it out towards Harry, but lifted it above his hand when Harry tried to grab it, "I implore you not to take that woman seriously."

"The one who indirectly caused my parents to die? No, never," Harry said, jumping to grab the book, cursing his own short height, "I'd rather read ten books —" he jumped "Than believe —" another jump, "Some tea!"

Professor Snape either got bored -or pitied him- because he lowered his hand low enough for Harry to grab it, shoving it into his bag before Snape could take it back, "Hey, what were you going to call me just now?"

"Now?"

"Before you scared the living hell out of me," Harry readjusted the strap of his bag, "You pronounced it funny. Like a mixture of… show and zoo."

Snape took one look at Harry, and to Harry's astonishment, he cracked a smile and a laugh. Of course, he tried to mask it with a hand above his lips, tilting his head so Harry couldn't see his face.

And equally astonishingly, when he turned around, his face showed no sign of a smile.

"It was Chinese, Beijing dialect, I assume."

"Chinese?" Harry paused, "Assume?"

"Something my...father used to call me," Snape said, hands behind his back.

"Wait, are you Chinese?" Harry asked, sitting down. He'd heard about China and Chinese people, mostly when he was in his cupboard and the complaints about 'them Chinese' hoarding the port was spat out like a bitter bite of food.

A leaf fell from an almost barren tree. Snape followed it with his eyes until it delicately swept the floor, before lifting up in the wind and disappearing out of sight, "On my father's side."

"And on your mother's?"

"Jewish lineage. She took pride in it, too" Snape said without heart, eyes lost in thought. Another leaf fell, but this time, there was no wind to lift it to the sky. Harry cleared his throat, toeing a small pebble on the ground.

"How many languages do you know?"

"English, Chinese, though I can't write it. The rest I know I don't consider myself versed enough to be a native speaker."

Harry paused, bending over and picking up the pebble. Turning it over in his hand, he looked into the courtyard, launching the pebble over his head and watching it hit the wall with a small thud.

"Where did you get the spectacles?"

"My aunt," Harry said, throwing another pebble, "Who was kind enough to fulfill her promise, unlike a person I know who's yet to get me lily seeds, and a pot."

He didn't need glasses to see the tension of Snape's shoulders.

"Ali-"

"It's fine," Harry said at the sound of the bell, readjusting the strap of his bag again, "I have a vault, now. Might as well use it to buy my family and myself some things, once you get bored of having me as a responsibility."

Snape followed him, the sound of the bell getting closer with every step, weighing over the sounds of their feet, "If you think this is something I've purposely neglected," he said, meaning the seeds, "Or wilfully haven't taken on with the intention of responsibility," he added, meaning the guardianship, "Believe me, Patel, you know very little of the person I am."

"I'm glad you finally figured it out, Professor," Harry said, pausing at the hallway, their voices muffled by the students pouring out of the Great Hall, "I know nothing, and to be very honest with you, that terrifies me. In every disturbing way."

Snape was a mere shape standing in the hall by the time Harry mingled into the crowd, spotting a struggling Justin and Ernie trying to carry Susan's wheelchair up the stairs, while Megan and Hannah supported Susan up the staircase. By the time he had joined the group and helped them carry both Susan and the wheelchair up the stairs, Snape was gone, leaving an unfamiliar feeling with Harry that stayed until the end of the day.