CHAPTER II
CHAPTER II
Ron woke up with a very wonderful start. With his head pounding. Wonderful start, indeed, and Malfoy is certainly helping it to be the most awesome day of all of Hogwarts.
He schooled his face to be calm as it could be, with a careful amount of knotted brows and frown just enough to show his annoyance towards the little git. He could proudly say that he's quite skilled in hiding managing his expressions to avoid worrying his mum when he was younger, considering his special circumstances back then. There's not much he could do yesterday because of the shock, but there should be no more reason to be unable to fall back into his past habits.
Back to Malsnot Malfoy, the albino is making sure to remind Harry how he fainted with every possible moment. And it is clearly bothering his Harry, even though he's doing his best to avoid showing it.
Hermione is trying her best to extinguish the brewing anger inside the boys. "Ignore him," she says, “Just ignore him, it’s not worth it. . . .”
The three sat down on the Gryffindor table, with the twins already in it.
Their gazes are questioning their sour moods, in which Ron only replies, "Malfoy."
“That little git,” George said calmly. “He wasn’t so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?”
“Nearly wet himself,” said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.
Ron's really thankful at the twin's assistance. The headache is really starting to take a toll on him. He can't do anything suspicious though. His siblings are already on his tail because of what happened yesterday.
Luckily, Harry immediately cheered up on the topic of quidditch. Ron smiled to himself. His best mate will surely floor the git from the sky. It may seem harsh, but it is the sweet truth. Harry is way more better than Malfoy in the sport.
The trio made way to their Divination class to the North Tower. It was easy faking his actions on a normal day. It had been a necessity for the last few years in his life. Ron engaged in a silly banter with Harry and Hermione, talking about their summer stories that are yet to be told. He avoided talking about Scabbers and that bloody cat though. He can't really have a full blown argument with Hermione today. Or with the coming days for that matter. Ron has a feeling that this not-a-fever won't go away so soon.
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It's official. Everything on this castle is absolutely mental. The past two years are already a visible proof of that, but Sybil Trewlaney is certainly the nail on the bloody coffin. And Sir Cadogan the Oil-Painting-Knight. But more on Trewlaney.
"Beware of the red-haired man," she says to Padma Patil. The asian girl gave him a startled look and edged her chair away from him.
What.
Ron had known that Divination is a legitimate and very powerful branch of magic. He of course also knows that Seers are real, with real visions and prophecies. There was even a rumour of a secret room in the Department of Mysteries, housing all of the prophecies around the world.
Trew - Professor Trewlaney, not so much. The way she acts doesn't really align with cool and mysterious Seers. She just makes herself look like a hippie wierdo. Maybe it's too early to judge her, but eh.
Her words though. What she predicted about Neville's broken cup was certainly real. And what she said about books not being actually helpful in this magic arts without the sight made Hermione make a funny face.
"It's all rubbish." He heard Hermione murmur under her breath. The professor's voice has become a background noise as they have their conversation.
"You're sulking." He cheekily teased her. He was immediately awarded by a huff, followed by a frown. "Suppose you could see my Inner Eyes here. See?" He squinted his eyes and crossed his eyebrows, unvoluntarily scrunching his nose in the process. He's sure he's not really a pleasant sight right now, but he suppose he could go consider it worthwhile, as he saw her lips twitching up, and her eyes twinkling with mirth.
"-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. Swirl these around the cup three times with the left hand-"
The three started to walk towards the shelf as the professor gave her instructions. Ron and Harry decided to partner up for the activity, and immediately went back to their table after their tea cups got filled.
“Right,” said Ron as they both opened their books Unfogging the Future at pages five and six. “What can you see in mine?”
“A load of soggy brown stuff,” said Harry.
Ron looked down at Harry's cup in his hands. Yeah, soggy brown stuff indeed. As soon as he thought of that, however, Trewlaneys' shakey voice filled the air again. “Broaden your minds, my dears, and allow your eyes to see past the mundane!”
Harry seemed to try to get himself up. “Right, you’ve got a crooked sort of cross." He consulted his book. “That means you’re going to have ‘trials and suffering’ — sorry about that — but there’s a thing that could be the sun... hang on . . . that means ‘great happiness’ . . . so you’re going to suffer but be very happy. . . .”
Great. As if the past events hadn't been ominous enough. The fate doesn't really seem to like him before, and certainly not now.
Ron Weasley fell into his deep thoughts. Memories of feverish nights and burning insides flashed through his mind. Wishes to really end it all - no. Don't go there now.
He turned to an oblivious Harry. Good, hasn't noticed anything. Ronald forced himself to snicker.
“You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me,” he said, and they both had to stifle their laughs as the bespectacled Professor gave them a look.
“My turn . . .” Ron peered into Harry’s teacup, his 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 of Magic. . . .”
Ron snorted. Harry. In the ministry. The idea is very funny and troubling.
He turned the teacup the other way up. Peering into the chinaware carefully, he saw an acorn and a sort of an animal?
A moment later and the professor is on his back, snatching away the teacup from his hands. She says she sees a falcon, an enemy. The professor states it with no little amount of horror, but Hermione thinks otherwise.
"Everybody knows about Harry and You-know-who."
Now, that's something. Hermione being sassy to a teacher? He and Harry exchanged an equally bewildered look. Before he could say anything though, Trewlaney made a horrible sound.
“The club . . . an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup. . . .” Oh. Not a bowler hat then. At least Harry won't end up in the Ministry.
Professor Trewlaney continued to pry into the cup, a skull, she says. Then there was a scream, and the sound of breaking. The woman seemed to enter a very confused-afraid state, with shaking hands and all.
Ronald found himself suffocated. Everybody was staring, transfixed to Harry and the teacher. There's a pounding in his head, a creeping like sensation. The breath in his mouth and nose feels hot, and the beating of his chest was getting faster.
And there it is. The grim.
Ron remembers the word, as it was the cause of an uncle who happened to be his namesake. It also subconsciously rooted its existence in his mind, when he was convinced he was going to go away early, like Uncle Billius.
Everything after that was a blur. He remembered vaguely the way someone explained what the grim was, and how 'Mione somehow still believed to that it was not the grim.
When he came to himself, they were already in Transfiguration class. And McGonagall somehow changed into a cat. Huh.
"Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?” She said, after she noted the lack of enthusiasm upon her transformation.
Everyone stared at her. “Me,” said Harry, finally.
“I see,” said Professor. Then she went on how the previous teacher just likes to predict a student's death every year. And no one has ever died. And no, Potter, you won't be excused on the homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in.
It was a momentary relief, but it still plagued Ron's mind. It came to the point that he had no appetite for the food in front of him. He didn't even notice when the class ended and how they ended up in the Great Hall.
He will also just conveniently ignore the fact that the sight of heavy food made his stomach somewhat queasy.
“Ron, cheer up,” said Hermione, pushing a dish of stew toward him. “You heard what Professor McGonagall said.”
The young man appreciated that the bushy haired girl worried about him. He really does. But she just doesn't get how scary it is.
“Harry,” he said, in a low, serious voice, “you haven’t seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?”
The confirmation from his friend made him paler even more.
“Hermione, if Harry’s seen a Grim, that’s — that’s bad,” he said. “My — my uncle Bilius saw one and — and he died twenty-four hours later!”
She doesn't need to know the fact that the creature means a lot to him. The big black dog means that at one point in his life, he thought that one day, he will be gone. Regardless of the reason or the cause. Just like that.
“Coincidence,” said Hermione airily, pouring herself some pumpkin juice.
Ron wanted to argue. He wanted to get angry because how--
He wanted to counter what she said. But at one short moment, his vision blackened and everything has gone on mute. One moment it was darkness, and it was all gone the next.
"Just be careful, alright? I don't really have a good feeling about this."
Maybe it's because he was too occupied that he didn't notice the worried glances his best friends shared. How Hermione saw a brief moment of his face being contorted in pain.
"Ron, are you okay?" Her hands are already in his back, supporting him.
"Yeah, it's all good." The redhead assured his friends. "It's just bad childhood memories, that's all."
Really bad memories.