𝐂 𝐎 𝐒 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐘 𝐑 𝐀 𝐋 𝐎 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐒
𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 after the faint aurora of orange sunrise fell servant to a pure sapphire sky, Melody's fair eyes blinked open.
There was the familiar dormitory ceiling, illuminated by a few slivers of golden light, her comfortably warm pillows — and most notably, there was Hermione's jittery voice, rambling at a million miles a minute.
"Finally, you're awake," she said, bustling over to Melody's bed in a mother-like way. "We'll miss breakfast if you don't hurry, and you told me you'd help with my hair—"
"Mione, it's half past seven," groaned Melody, burying herself further beneath the sheets. "Give me a second."
Hermione's vexed voice pressed on: "Classes start at nine, and I want to make sure I know where I'm going!"
"Listen to yourself," Melody sighed. Reluctantly, she dropped down onto the wooden floor. "Speaking as though I am not a human encyclopedia of Hogwarts castle."
"But—"
"Don't worry about it. Where's your hairbrush?"
Hermione exhaled sharply. "On my bed."
"Great, thanks."
Then, of course, Hermione's frustration was gone as soon as it had come. She watched Melody pad across the dormitory, so gentle, so graceful in the smallest of tasks, wondering how a friend could live so genuinely. Even in the daylight, Hermione believed, Melody was star-studded.
She softened into a smile, as so many often did when Melody was involved — but when the pair of them entered the Great Hall for breakfast, they were both scowling.
The first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit, and there was a roar of laughter.
"Hey, Potter!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. "Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!"
Melody followed Pansy's gaze to the seat at the Gryffindor table where Harry sat, red-faced and humiliated.
"What a tremendous way to begin my day," Melody growled at once, beginning to stalk towards the Slytherin group. "Half a dozen unconscious bodies."
"Don't!" exclaimed Hermione, seizing the neck of her robes. "Just ignore them, it's not worth it . . ."
"Fine. But three strikes and I'm breaking his nose."
Melody sent a glare in the direction of the Slytherins, then dropped down between Harry and George at the Gryffindor table.
"Here, new third-year course schedules," said George, passing them over. "What's up with you, Melody?"
"Malfoy," she answered simply, still frowning over at him.
George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again. "That little git," he 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," confirmed Fred, who was seated across from them.
"I wasn't too happy myself," George said. "They're horrible things, those dementors . . ."
"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" Melody offered, attempting to shake off the temporary fury Malfoy had established.
"You two didn't pass out, though, did you?" said Harry in a low, hollow voice.
Melody cast him a concerned look. Those were the first words he had spoken this morning, and they sounded dangerously clouded with exhaustion and unease.
"Forget it, Harry," said George bracingly. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came back all weak and shaking . . . They suck the happiness out of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."
"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," said Fred. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?"
Melody's insides flooded with warmth. Quidditch, of course! If there was one thing that promised to keep her stimulated and amused, it was her position as Chaser on the team. Feeling a great deal more cheerful, she filled her plate with an absurd amount of fruit and scanned the table for a copy of the Daily Prophet.
"Ron, could you pass me that paper?" she said upon locating one nearby. When Ron obliged, she frowned at the headline. "Still no reports on Sirius Black."
"No news is good news, I suppose," Fred murmured between bites of egg. "And Melody, there's no letter from Petar today, I already checked."
"I know, I still have to answer his last letter," said Melody in response, flipping through pages of the newspaper until she found the daily crossword puzzle. Fred seemed to like the role of being her personal wingman. "I'll do it tonight."
"Melody, look, we're starting some new subjects today," Hermione said happily from across the table. Her new timetable was in hand.
"Hermione," observed Ron, looking over her shoulder, "they've messed up your schedule. Look — they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough time."
"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
"But look," said Ron, chuckling, "see this morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And" — Ron leaned closer to the schedule, disbelieving — "look — underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o'clock. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"
"Don't be silly," said Hermione shortly. "Of course I won't be in three classes at once."
"Well, then—"
"Pass the marmalade," said Hermione.
"But—"
"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my schedule's a bit full?" Hermione snapped. "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."
"Six letter word for 'dog'?" Melody asked the table, unbothered by the heated discussion across from her.
"Canine," responded Harry. He'd certainly gotten good at crosswords from two years with her.
"Thanks," she said, filling in the empty boxes. "What class have I got first, Ree, can you check?"
"Divination," he answered, squinting over to her timetable. "We've all got it at nine."
"Oh, then we'd better go — Divination's at the top of North Tower, so it'll take us ten minutes to get there . . ."
They finished their breakfasts hastily, said good-bye to Fred and George, and walked back through the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did yet another impression of a fainting fit. The shouts of laughter followed them into the entrance hall, and Melody merely offered him a rude hand gesture before leading the way to the Divination classroom.
The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught Harry, Ron, and Hermione everything about the castle, but Melody had been up there twice before.
"There's — got — to — be — a — shortcut," Ron panted as they climbed their seventh long staircase and emerged onto a strange landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.
"Climbing stairs is healthy, Ron," Melody rolled her eyes, skipping ahead of the group. "This way."
Four minutes later, they climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a very tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this landing, but Melody nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.
"'Sybill Trelawney, Divination 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 his feet. Everyone fell eerily quiet.
"After you," said Melody, grinning, so Harry could climb the ladder first.
When the whole class had hesitantly climbed the ladder and taken their seats in the classroom, they had a chance to glance around— it was the strangest-looking place they 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.
"Where is she?" Harry whispered across his and Melody's table. "Our teacher?"
A voice came suddenly out of the shadows: a soft, misty sort of voice.
"How nice to see you in the physical world at last," it said.
Everyone turned around in shock— there was their teacher. She was draped in a shawl, and her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size.
"Welcome to my class," she said in a dreamy voice. "In this room, you shall discover if you possess the Sight—" conveniently, she ran into the table right in front of her, "My name is Professor Trelawney. You have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. 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, Melody, Harry, and Ron grinned at Hermione, who looked startled at the news that books wouldn't be much help in this subject.
"Together we shall cast ourselves into the future! This term, we'll focus on Tasseomancy, the art of reading tea leaves. In the second term, we shall progress to the crystal ball — if we have finished with fire omens, 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 number will leave us forever. You, boy!" she said suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his seat. "Is your grandmother well?"
"I think so," said Neville tremulously.
"I wouldn't be so sure of that. Give me the cup," Trelawney said. Neville shakingly handed her his teacup, and she gazed at it for a moment before saying, quite placidly: "Pity."
Neville visibly gulped, and snatched his cup back to stare at it.
"So please, take the cup of the person sitting opposite you," continued Trelawney. "What do you see? The truth lies buried like a sentence deep within a book, waiting to be read. But first, you must broaden your minds. First, you must look beyond!"
Stifling a laugh, Melody took Harry's teacup, and vice versa.
"Okay," Melody said. She and Harry both opened their copies of Unfogging the Future to pages five and six. "What can you see in mine?"
"A load of soggy brown stuff," answered Harry.
"Broaden your minds!" repeated Trelawney, louder this time.
At this, Harry peered closer into Melody's cup, and his forehead wrinkled with effort. "There's a blob like a bowler hat," he said. "Maybe you're going to work for the Ministry of Magic . . ." He turned the teacup the other way. "But this way it looks more like an acorn," he consulted his textbook. "'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Nice, you can give me some. And there's a thing there that looks like an animal. Yeah, if that was its head. It looks like a hippo . . . no, a sheep . . ."
"Allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" Professor Trelawney cried.
"You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me," muttered Ron from beside them, and all three had to stifle their laughs.
"Okay, Mel, do mine," Harry said, trying to pull himself together.
"Right, you've got a crooked little cross," Melody looked at Unfogging the Future. "That's 'trials and suffering' —sorry about that— but there's a thing that could be the sun. That means 'great happiness' . . . so you're going to suffer but be very happy . . . Lovely."
They shook with laughter, rattling their small table, and Professor Trelawney finally whirled around in their direction.
"Your aura is pulsing, dear!" she exclaimed quite suddenly towards Melody. "Are you in the beyond? I think you are."
"I bet," Melody shrugged, eyebrows raised.
"Let me see that, my dear." Professor Trelawney swept over and grabbed Harry's cup from her. Everyone went quiet to watch as Trelawney gazed into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise.
"The falcon . . . my dear, you have a deadly enemy."
"But everyone knows that," whispered Hermione loudly.
Professor Trelawney stared at her.
"Well, they do," repeated Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."
Melody gaped at Hermione in a mixture of amazement and admiration. She had never seen her speak to a teacher like that before — almost . . . disrespectful, as though she had been taking notes on Melody's own exchanges with Snape.
Professor Trelawney, on the other hand, chose not to reply. She lowered her eyes to Harry's cup again, and continued to turn it. Everyone was staring, transfixed, at her, until she gave the cup a final turn.
Suddenly, she gasped and screamed, throwing the teacup from her hand. She stumbled backwards, apparently too horrified to speak, and sunk into a vacant armchair.
"My dear boy . . . my poor, dear boy . . . no . . . it is kinder not to say . . . no . . . don't ask me . . ."
"What is it, Professor?" said Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had risen to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Harry and Melody's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup.
"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have . . . the Grim."
At once, Melody could feel Harry's questioning eyes on her, probing for some kind of explanation as to what that meant. She offered him the slightest of shrugs, but she could tell they weren't the only ones who didn't understand — Dean Thomas was frowning, and Lavender Brown looked puzzled.
"The Grin? What's the Grin?" Seamus asked loudly, adding a voice to their stupefaction.
Melody, brows knitting together, took the opportunity to look down at her textbook. "Not the Grin, you moron, the Grim," she read from the tea leaves page. "'Taking the form of a giant spectral dog, it's among the darkest cosmogyral omens in our world. It's an omen of death.'"
Hermione got up briskly, shoved through several people, and moved around to the other side of the table. She picked up the cup, then immediately set it back down.
"I don't think it looks like a Grim," she observed flatly.
Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with growing dislike, about to open her mouth—
"It looks like a Grim if you do this," Melody said quickly, tilting her head. "But it looks more like a donkey from here." She leaned to the left.
"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," Professor Trelawney spoke in her mistiest voice. "Yes . . . please pack away your things . . ."
Quietly, the class departed from Harry's teacup, packed away their books, and closed their bags.
"Until we meet again," waved Professor Trelawney faintly. "Fair fortune be yours."
Melody, Harry, Ron, and Hermione descended from the North Tower in silence, then set off for Transfiguration. Melody had heard rumors that several students were predicted to die in past years, but she had assumed Fred and George were just pulling her leg.
By the time they reached her grandmother's classroom, the severity of the cosmogyral omen hadn't faded away — but she still had a reputation to uphold.
"Good morning, grandma, good morning! I know, you must have missed me tremendously over these past fourteen hours, but never fear! I'm here, ready to pay little to no attention during this lesson — after all, I know Animagi like the back of my hand!"
Minerva, for her part, fought the urge to smile — she had missed her granddaughter, and Melody did know everything about Animagi. She had so many stories to tell, so many legends to divulge with her, but "Sit down, Melody," was all she said, as though trying not to let the familiar edges of that grin embrace her heart too tightly.
Her granddaughter obliged — she and Harry took seats in the back of the classroom. The rest of the students kept shooting scared glances at the latter, like he was about to drop dead at any moment.
Melody opened her Transfiguration textbook, pulled out the crossword puzzle from earlier, and began to tune out what her grandma was saying. Animagi lessons were easy stuff — she had learned all this when she was six or seven.
"What's a four letter word for potion?" she hissed five minutes later, mind wavering through the columns and rows hidden beneath her desk.
"Concoction," Harry muttered back, distant.
"Four, not forty-seven."
"Brew," he tried again.
"Thanks."
Melody only looked up from the puzzle again when her grandma transformed herself into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes.
"Really, what has got into you all today?" asked Melody's grandma, turning back into herself with a faint pop. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation hasn't gotten applause from the whole class."
Melody felt her grandmother's eyes lingering suspiciously towards her desk, and she hastened to mirror the expressions of everyone around her — swiveling silently to Harry in a wordless state of fear.
"Please, Professor, we've just had our first Divination class," Hermione finally said, once the silence had reached its icy climax. "We were reading the tea leaves, and—"
"Of course," Melody's grandmother knowingly. She was suddenly frowning: "Say no more, Miss Granger. Tell me, which of you will be dying this year?"
"Me."
Harry's response ricocheted to Melody in a quivering chorus, as though the very vibrations in its wave of sound had grisly circumstances. She glanced at him, slowly, so slowly, only too accustomed with the implications of Death — Death on his terms, that is.
"I see," responded her grandmother, speaking sternly into the void. "Then you should know, Potter, 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."
"I just don't see why she couldn't have predicted my death," Melody declared heartfully, reunited with her usual spirit. "I've got double History of Magic tomorrow."
"Now, Melody, what have I told you about those macabre comments?" came her grandmother's swift rebuttal. She pursued her lips, already tripping into the dangerous repetition and unpredictability that came along with her granddaughter. "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, 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."
𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐋 hadn't completely ceased his worries, Harry decided, as he silently followed Melody to Care of Magical Creatures. In his case, different had always meant deadly— and Sirius Black, a man tainted with murder, was after him, too. It didn't help his case much.
Melody disagreed, muttering things like "that old cuckoo" and "how dare she foresee the death of my best friend" all the way to Hagrid's lesson while Harry struggled to keep up with her pace.
Always a few steps behind, he reminded himself. How could he not be?
By the time they reached the sun-splattered paddock, a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen were trotting towards them. They had the bodies, hind legs, and tails of horses, but the front legs, wings, and heads of what seemed to be giant eagles, with cruel, steel-colored beaks and large, brilliantly orange eyes. Each of the creatures had a thick leather collar around its neck, which was attached to a long chain, and the ends of all of these were held in the vast hands of Hagrid, who came jogging into the paddock behind the creatures.
"Hippogriffs!" Hagrid roared happily. "Beautiful, aren' they?"
Harry could sort of see what Hagrid meant. Once you got over the first shock of seeing something that was half horse, half bird, you started to appreciate the hippogriffs' gleaming coats, changing smoothly from feather to hair, each of them a different color: stormy gray, bronze, pinkish roan, gleaming chestnut, and inky black.
"Now, firs' thing yeh gotta know abou' hippogriffs is, they're proud," said Hagrid. "Easily offended, hippogriffs are. Don't never insult one, 'cause it might be the last thing yeh do."
Harry glanced around — Melody was looking at the hippogriffs with the utmost admiration, as though she was already best friends with the lot of them. Several paces behind her, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were talking in an undertone, and Harry had a nasty feeling they were plotting how best to disrupt the lesson.
"Yeh always wait fer the hippogriff ter make the firs' move," Hagrid was saying. "It's polite, see? Yeh walk toward him, and yeh bow, an' yeh wait. If he bows back, yeh're allowed ter touch him. If he doesn' bow, then get away from him sharpish, 'cause those talons hurt.
"Right — who wants ter go first?"
Most of the class backed farther away in answer.
"No one?" said Hagrid, with a pleading look.
"I'll do it," decided Harry out loud.
There was an intake of breath from behind him, and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, "Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!"
Harry ignored them, and took a glance at Melody. A brief bout of concern seemed to cloud her eyes the color of frost, just for a moment — but she softened, and gave him a nod of encouragement.
If Melody thought he could do it, he could, he resolved tremulously as he climbed over the paddock fence.
"Good man, Harry!" roared Hagrid. "Right then — let's see how yeh get on with Buckbeak."
He untied one of the chains, pulled a gray hippogriff away from its fellows, and slipped off its leather collar. The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy's silver eyes were narrowed maliciously, shining almost familiarly in the sun.
"Easy, now, Harry," said Hagrid quietly. "Yeh've got eye contact, now try not ter blink . . . Hippogriffs don' trust yeh if yeh blink too much . . ."
Harry's eyes immediately began to water, but he didn't shut them. Buckbeak had turned his great, sharp head and was staring at Harry with one fierce orange eye.
"Tha's it," coaxed Hagrid. "Tha's it, Harry . . . now, bow . . ."
Harry didn't feel much like exposing the back of his neck to Buckbeak, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow and then looked up.
The hippogriff was still staring haughtily at him. It didn't move.
"Ah," Hagrid said, sounding worried. "Right — back away, now, Harry, easy does it—"
But then, to Harry's enormous surprise, the hippogriff suddenly bent its scaly front knees and sank into what was an unmistakable bow.
"Well done, Harry!" said Hagrid, ecstatic. "Right — yeh can touch him! Pat his beak, go on!"
Feeling that a better reward would have been to back away, Harry moved slowly toward the hippogriff and reached out toward it. He patted the beak several times and the hippogriff closed its eyes lazily, as though enjoying it.
The class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were looking deeply disappointed.
"Righ' then, Harry," exclaimed Hagrid. "I reckon he might' let yeh ride him!"
Ride him? That was more than Harry had bargained for — he was used to a broomstick; but a hippogriff wouldn't quite be the same.
"Yeh climb up there, jus' behind the wing joint," said Hagrid, "an' mind yeh don' pull any of his feathers out, he won' like that . . ."
In spite of himself, Harry put his foot on the top of Buckbeak's wing and hoisted himself onto his back. Buckbeak stood up. Harry wasn't sure where to hold on; everything in front of him was covered with feathers.
"Go on, then!" roared Hagrid, slapping the hippogriff's hindquarters.
Without warning, twelve-foot wings flapped open on either side of Harry; he just had time to seize the hippogriff around the neck before he was soaring upward. Buckbeak's wings beat uncomfortably on either side of him, catching him under his legs and making him feel he was about to be thrown off; the glossy feathers slipped under his fingers and he didn't dare get a stronger grip.
Down, however, watching with a dangerously nimble heartbeat, stood Melody — adoring, desireful, and even envious. Harry was in the sky, surrounded on all sides by an endless plethora of oxygen molecules, and she couldn't help but wish it was her.
Up, she thought, it was different: the sky made gusts of wind feel liberating, and dusk tended to make clouds taste precariously like confectionery. It was free, so free, and Melody knew it — she knew that it was made for her, from the mountains on the horizon to the glimmers of light she so admired, and she knew that someday, when she passed on from the earth, she'd be home.
Maybe that's why it unsettled her — she still had so much to live for, after all, and the starscape threatened to distract her from it. Good things come with time, she reminded herself as Buckbeak's four taloned feet hit the ground once more. And the sky is forever.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 class finished, however, in a much more unnerving manner.
It had happened in a flash of steely talons — Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream, and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.
"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"
"Yer not dyin'!" said Hagrid, who had gone very white. "Someone help me — gotta get him outta here—"
Hermione ran to hold open the gate as Hagrid lifted Malfoy easily. As they passed, Harry saw that there was a long, deep gash on Malfoy's arm; blood splattered the grass and Hagrid ran with him, up the slope toward the castle.
Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class followed at a walk while the Slytherins shouted about Hagrid.
"They should fire him straight away!" said Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears.
"It was Malfoy's fault!" snapped Dean Thomas. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles threateningly.
They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted entrance hall.
"I'm going to see if he's okay!" said Pansy, and they all watched her run up the marble staircase. The Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid, headed away in the direction of their dungeon common room; Harry, Melody, Ron, and Hermione proceeded upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.
"D'you think he'll be all right?" asked Hermione nervously.
"'Course he will," Harry stated. "Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second."
"That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid's first class, though, wasn't it?" said Ron, looking worried. "Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him . . ."
"Maybe I can ride Buckbeak in the next lesson . . ." came Melody's distant response from a few paces ahead of them. Harry noted the misty hue to her voice — the same tone she assumed whenever she thought of the stars; her shimmering champions.
"They wouldn't fire Hagrid, would they?" Hermione wondered, still anxious.
"They'd better not," said Harry. He climbed through the portrait hole after Melody, mind hazy with the events of the day. A rogue hippogriff wasn't even close to the worst he had encountered, but a great deal had already transpired, and so soon — wasn't it something to be worried about?
Perhaps Trelawney was right, he would muse that night beside the fire, when a bit more time had unfogged his thoughts. Perhaps there is always a deeper, underlying meaning.
Perhaps there were cosmogyral omens all around them, fluttering brightly — optimistic doves into a dark, pressing storm, oblivious to peril. Perhaps every word he'd ever thought, heard, or spoken was woven deep into the fibers of the universe, irreversible and laborious.
Perhaps, Harry thought, he should trust the signs and take precautions.
But when Melody slid down the staircase of the girl's dormitory with a wide grin and said "Want to go to the Owlery and raid the kitchens?", her misty voice vanquished, every one of those cosmogyral omens was gone — wisped away into a cloudy, distant memory.
Though when the time came for truth to balance every bitter black lie, of course, they'd come swooping back down for the kill, fangs ruthless and bared, more vicious now that he'd disregarded them.
Darker than ever, unbearably honest, and thrice as cold, they'd return.
They always did.