Red Tide Rising

Hermione sat in the History classroom, along with the other students, waiting for Professor O'Neill. She was fairly confident, after meeting him the evening before that History class would no longer be five straight hours on drudgery. Binns had bored her nearly to tears all term, and she had flirted with dropping the class. Now she was happy she hadn't.

The class was small, which explained it's strange timing. Sunday, from noon until dinner. Only ten students had signed up for NEWT History: Blaise, Lavender, Justin, Ernie, Padma, Anthony, Su Li, Tracey Davis, Rufus Ratstamper, and herself. Lavender only took the class because she had only qualified for two others, Divination and Defense.

The door opened and Professor O'Neill entered. Several of the girls sighed happily. He was very handsome, and very tall, with a presence that spoke of excitement. "All right, then?" he asked as he stood at the front of the class. Everyone nodded. "I thought, since this class is so small, we'd take lessons in my office. So if you'd just pack your things up, and follow me." He led the way through a door to his office. "Take a seat somewhere in here."

The office was a mess. Hermione wasn't sure if it was from unpacking, or if he was just messy. There were books everywhere, odd bits and pieces of magical parts strewn about, and strangely twisted candles lying around.

"What a lot of junk you've collected," Anthony said as he moved a stack of books from an armchair to a table.

"Well, we can't all be swept away by the tides of change. Some of us must tarry by the shore to pick up what's washed ashore," O'Neill said with a happy voice. "Oh, please be careful with those," he said as Hermione moved a box of telescope lenses off of the couch. "Their very rare, and very delicate. Spinoza himself finished one.

"Now, I've gone over everything Binns believes you've been taught, although as I had him myself, I can attest you've maybe learned half of it. He's been pretty thorough with the Goblin Revolutions, and the formation of Wizarding governments. We'll do a light review today, though, so I can see for myself how much you do know."

Four hours later, and with more homework than they had ever had, Hermione and Lavender walked down the halls.

"I wish I thought him mad," Lavender said, "but he made it all seem... interesting. It's odd that I can't wait to do all this work," she continued, lifting a stack of parchment.

"Yes. Well, I'm not sure I'll be able to do it all. I've too much to do as it is," Hermione replied. "I suppose I could cut back at the paper and promote someone to assistant editor, but I don't want to."

"You really can't manage it all?" Lavender asked. "Hermione, maybe you should just drop a class. Pax Gryffindor," she said to the Fat Lady, and the Portrait Hole opened.

"I won't drop a class! Which would I drop, Potions, Herbology, Astronomy, Transfiguration, Charms, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Runes, History or Defense Against the Dark Arts? No, I'll just have to manage."

"Well, I can do all this and give you a copy," Lavender suggested, taking a seat at a desk. "What?" she demanded at Hermione's look of incredulity. "I've loads of time and nothing to do with it. I've run out of first and second years to help."

"Thanks, Lavender. Really," Hermione said on a sigh. "But I'll manage, somehow." Hermione knew exactly what she had to do. She'd just didn't want to, yet- it was too big to do at the first sign of panic.

Ron was returning from the Divination Tower and was quite pleased with his self. He had found the perfect topic for his Astrology project; he would study the Hogwarts Houses, and determine if zodiac signs had any influence on placement. The idea had the added benefit of allowing him to have a copy of every students star chart, something he wanted very badly.

Having everyone's star chart would allow him to see others in a different sense. He could see their personality clearly, understand the influences they would feel, and be able to navigate the events that would affect life at Hogwarts. And beyond, as well. He had the star charts of his friends and family already, and he wanted more.

He was gaining power and focus, and he was trying even harder than before. He got flashes of what might be, two separate outcomes of events. He always backed it up with Astrology. Astrology had the benefit that it was an art, a science, and he was very good at finding the balance. It was the only way he could presently help the struggle, and he found reassurance in it.

A loud crashing and a short scream pulled him out of his revelry. Drawing his wand, he ran around the corner towards the noise.

"Blaise?" he called. Blaise lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs leading into the Entrance Hall. "Blaise, are you all right?" he asked, taking the stairs two by two.

"I'm fine," she muttered when he reached her. All her books and parchments were scattered about, and her clothes askew. "I tripped and fell into that suit of armor," she said, pointing at the scattered pieces of metal and chain mail. "Reparo! Mobilicorpus," she commanded, and the pieces repaired themselves and moved back to their spot.

"Your sure your alright?" he asked again, as he collected her things and gave her a hand up. "That was a nasty fall."

"Not really. I'm quite clumsy," she said quietly, "and I trip or fall or catch fire often. Morag and Tracey actually cast a Repelling Charm around the fireplace in our Common Room. I can't get within five feet of it without shooting backwards."

"When did they do that?"

"Second year, after I sat by the fire and my robes caught ablaze. That was the fifth time."

Ron laughed. "Well, I shall have to escort you to your dormitory, then, and make sure you get there alright. Besides, you shouldn't walk the halls alone anymore."

"No, you're right, we shouldn't walk alone," she said. "But you don't have to walk me, I'll be fine, and you'd just have to walk back on your own."

"No, I'm for the Press Room. Hermione and Harry will be there, so I'll be fine," he said, leading her towards the stairwell. "Odd, isn't it. We've been at Hogwarts together for six years, and we don't know anything about each other."

"Well, you don't know anything about me, but I know quite a bit about you," Blaise said. Seeing the curious look he gave her, she blushed and dipped her chin. "You Gryffindor's are entirely too public, broadcasting every detail of your life."

Ron grinned. "Where are you coming from?"

"Just been to see Professor O'Neill. You?"

"Professor Trelawney. I gave her my topic for my project on Astrology. I'm going to discuss the relationship between astrology and how students are Sorted into Houses."

"There's a connection?" Blaise asked doubtfully.

"I think so. You see," he said, shifting her things from one arm to the other, "most Gryffindors are fire signs: Aries, Leo and Sagittarius. I want to know why, and if the other Houses follow that path."

"That's quite clever, actually. I'm useless at Divination, though. Morag says it's because I'm not interested in the future, but it's really because I don't like to share my thoughts with everyone. What does astrology say about that?" she asked teasingly.

"Well, let me think. Reserved, funny, ambitious, with an interest in history?" Blaise nodded. "Are you a Capricorn?"

Blaise looked at him guardedly. "Did someone tell you when my birthday is?" Ron shook his head. "Well, yes, I am a Capricorn."

"It's all in the stars, Blaise."

"Well, how do Capricorns and Gemini's do together, then?"

"Stephen's a Gemini?" Ron asked. Blaise and Stephen had begun dating again, although he had no idea why. "You go fine if you like having your ear talked off," he said rudely. Blaise giggled. "Not that he isn't pleasant, I'm sure, but they do go on and on and on, always debating with themselves. And you, you know just what you want to do, before you mention it to anyone. Am I right?"

Blaise nodded. "Yes, you're very good at this." They had reached the Slytherin Common Room. "Do you need everyone's star chart for this project, then?" Ron nodded. "Give me a moment, and I'll get mine, and the other girls as well."

She slipped into the Room after whispering the password. Ron waited a few minutes and reflected. Blaise was a sweet girl, pretty, with an odd sense of humour. Why she dated Stephen Cornfoot he couldn't understand, except that Stephen probably allowed her to concentrate on her work and made few demands on her time. Or on her body, if his suspicions were correct.

The wall slide open and Blaise reappeared. "Here are Tracey, Daphne, Morag and my star charts, plus Rufus and Tobias's. Millicent and Pansy are off in the Library with everyone else."

"Thanks," he replied, glancing at them quickly. "Interesting."

"What?" she asked standing on her toes to look at the parchments.

"Your all of you earth signs. Highly ambitious and productive."

"It's all in the stars, Ron," Blaise said with a wink and disappeared.

Ron submitted a condensed version of his paper into Hermione for print in the Hornblower.

The arrangement of stars and planets at the time and place of ones birth has a significant effect on where one will be Sorted upon entering Hogwarts School.

Ninety percent of Gryffindors, for example, are fire signs: Aries, Leo or Sagittarius. There are of course exceptions. Hermione Granger, for instance, is a Virgo, but with her moon in Aries and Sagittarius as her Rising sign, she has many Fire characteristics.

Ninety-five percent of Ravenclaws are air signs: Gemini, Libra and Aquarius. One exception to this trend is Su Li, a Taurus. But Su Li has Uranus (the planetary ruler of Aquarius) in her third house, which represents the first stage of learning.

Nearly every Slytherin is an earth sign: Taurus, Virgo and Capricorn. These signs are known for being very ambitious. An exception to this rule is Draco Malfoy, an Aquarius. However, Mr. Malfoy has a strong Taurus and Virgo influence on his chart.

Eighty-five percent of Hufflepuff students are water signs; Cancer, Scorpio and Pisces. One exception is Stephen Cornfoot, a Gemini, although Cornfoot has both Pluto (ruler of Pisces), and the Moon (ruler of Cancer), at key positions in his chart.

As a point of interest: Not a single Muggle-born currently in attendance at Hogwarts is an earth sign, the normal grouping for Slytherin. If there is any Muggle-born earth signs in our audience, please write to me. I believe this fact bears investigating.

Harry groaned in exhaustion and gripped his broom handle tightly. Why Ron insisted on having a practice this morning was beyond him. All sixth and seventh year NEWT Defense students had been awake all weekend, 'training' for Defense Against the Dark Arts. And they'd been doing so for the last three weekends.

It was interesting to realize how much exhaustion a body could take, how ones body and mind reacted to bone-weariness, but Harry thought three days without sleep may push the limits of training. Professor Gryffindor kept them awake all weekend, using Awareness Potions and coffee, and they would practice dueling. In fact, they practiced so hard several students actually fell asleep while casting spells.

And the spells weren't simple, either. No, they were so dangerous they had to cast them against charmed mirrors. Students would face themselves in the mirror and cast their spells; if they did so correctly, their reflection would show the effects. It was quite chilling to see your reflections wand hand cramp so badly it became deformed, or see your body turn blue when its bones were chilled.

And after that, Ron demanded they practice Quidditch before it got dark, when all Harry and he wanted to do was curl-up and sleep. Harry knew Ron well enough to know something was bothering him; he just wasn't sure what. And while technically he was co-Captain with Ron, Harry wasn't about to stop Ron from working through what he needed to work through.

Even if falling from his height was probably lethal.

Finally he spotted the Snitch, and with a bit of fancy flying managed to catch it. Ron's whistle blew, and the team made their way up to the castle through the snow.

"Took you long enough," Ron accused through a great yawn.

"I could hardly keep my eyes open!" Harry replied. "Why'd you want to practice tonight, anyways?"

"Just wanted to practice."

Harry didn't say anything, even though the thought was stupid. They didn't play Hufflepuff until late January, after winter holidays, and it was only the first week of December. Furthermore, they hadn't been practicing tactics for Hufflepuff, which had a strong Keeper, but weak Chasers. They had been training for strong Chasers and weak Beaters. Either it was intentional, or the team was near stupidness with exhaustion.

Brushing his irritation aside, knowing it was from being so tired and cold, Harry went into the Great Hall for dinner before a bath and bed. Hermione was the only Gryffindor in the Hall, and she was shoveling food into her mouth with such speed it was a wonder she didn't choke.

"How was practice?" she asked between mouthfuls.

"Long. How was History?" he returned. Hermione's class schedule had taken her away from the end of Defense to attend History, and the day before she had left to attend Runes.

"Fine. Professor O'Neill is really good," she said absently. She stopped what she was doing, and looked up at Harry. Her eyes were rimmed in red, and she looked so pale and thin it was hard to remember she had seemed so healthy that summer.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked. "There's nothing wrong, is there?" There was something wrong, Harry could tell. These past weekends made everyone look like Potions addicts, but Hermione had looked that way for at least a month, and the look never seemed to fade.

Hermione seemed about to speak when suddenly the doors burst open.

"There you two are!" Professor Gryffindor said. "C'mon, everyone is waiting for you!" She looked up and down the Hall, and shook her head. "Can't explain here, you'll have to come to my office."

Harry took a last, longing look at his untouched dinner and followed Gryffindor to her office. Hermione passed Harry and began pestering Gryffindor.

"Not now! You'll just have to wait a few moments, Granger," the Professor said gruffly. They arrived at her office and entered; several students, from every House and year, were looking exasperatedly at them. Hermione and Harry took a seat beside Ron and Morag.

"Now that were all here, I'll apologize for the suddenness of this meeting. I'm sorry, but this has only just come up," she said. "Well, not just as in unexpectedly, but just as in we had no idea." Seeing the blank looks shot her way, Gryffindor expanded. "Tomorrow is Professor Dumbledore's one hundred and fiftieth birthday! We have less than twenty-four hours to arrange a fantastic surprise party for him."

The room erupted in enthusiastic chatter. "This is great!" Harry declared to his friends. "I never thought of Dumbledore as having a birthday."

"Me neither! Professor," Morag called, "what have you in mind?"

"Well," Gryffindor said to the room, "a bunch of things, actually. There won't be any classes tomorrow-" the room broke out in cheers "-you can thank me later. The Weasley twins have graciously donated a rather large cache of fireworks for after a party the House-Elves are preparing to be held in the Great Hall. The ceiling should allow us a good view of the pyrotechnics."

The excitement of planning the celebrations kept the students in Gryffindor's office until nearly nine, when they finally finished. Walking back to the Common Room, Harry took a moment to assess Hermione. She still looked exhausted, but she was smiling.

"Excited, Hermione?" he asked as they climbed into Gryffindor Common Room.

"Hmm? Yes, terribly! I can't believe Dumbledore is that old, though. He seems so young," she mused.

Harry thought about that, and realized Dumbledore seemed everyday to get older. It wasn't really fair that he should spend these years, the last of his life, defending the world from Lord Voldemort. He wondered if Dumbledore ever saw the injustice of it all.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione asked. Harry's eyes focused on her, and he could again see all the exhaustion and- unhappiness!- that was in her face. She looked like she might collapse under the weight of her own body.

"Hermione, are you all right?" he demanded.

Hermione was taken aback. She shrugged and took a step back (she'd been in the process of rubbing his arm). "I'm fine, Harry. Top shape, just very tired."

"You're always tired, Hermione. And you should be, all the work you do. But, Hermione," he asked, "How are you doing it all?"

Hermione's eyes slitted a bit, and she regarded him guardedly. It shocked Harry that she would need to be guarded in her answer to him. It hurt.

"I work very hard, Harry. And I'm very organized."

Harry turned away and walked up the stairs. She was lying to him, and that only meant one thing; she needed to lie about this. She was keeping up by doing something she shouldn't. And though he couldn't blame her, not after knowing her for as long and as well as he did, he didn't want to think she'd cheat herself out of accomplishing her goals. He hated to think she'd cheat at all.

"Harry? What was that about?" Ron demanded as he tore into the dormitory behind him. "Why'd you walk away from us?"

"She's lying to us, Ron!" Harry declared as he viciously yanked on his tie. "Can't you see it in her face?"

Ron sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Of course she's lying to us, Harry. She's not going to tell us what's going on until she absolutely has to, you should know that. Remember Lupin and the Time-Turner and your meeting with Skeeter? Krum asking her to the Yule Ball? All of that was an argument waiting to happen. And she tried to dodge the conflict every time. We'll just have to wait this out, and hope she keeps it all together."

"And if she can't? We should let her unravel because we don't want to make her cross?"

"Yes, that is exactly what we do. We can't force her to tell us, Harry. That never works with Hermione; she's too smart for it to. We can only just be there, make sure she doesn't crash while she's unraveling."

That was the cheery message Harry took to bed with him that night. He didn't understand why Ron wouldn't intervene; the idea of Hermione unraveling was enough to make Harry cry.

Draco hurried up the stairs and rounded the corner. He was carrying a platter of food from the feast and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. He felt like a servant.

All this was for Granger, and he wasn't sure why he cared. He had overheard Weasley telling Morag how worried he and Harry were; Hermione wasn't eating, or sleeping. She just worked. Suddenly, Draco remembered how she had looked at the beginning of the year, on the Hogwarts Express, and how different she looked that morning at breakfast.

Not that she'd actually eaten, if he remembered correctly. And she hadn't had lunch, since the entire planning committee had been working hard for tonight. Which meant she had probably had nothing to eat all day.

Still and all, he shouldn't be so concerned. Potter and Weasley certainly weren't panicking, they 'knew' Hermione would snap out of it. Well, that's fine for Potter and Weasley; they'd had years to get to know Hermione. Draco hadn't, not yet, and he was determined to get them.

Pushing open the door to the Library, he saw exactly what he'd expected to. Hermione Granger, sitting at a table, scribbling furiously.

"Hermione," he said fiercely. She looked up at him, her eyes looking huge on her thin face. "Hermione, eat this, would you?"

"I haven't the time, Draco. I have to get all this done, and get some sleep. All this planning, you know. It took all my studying time."

"Then why didn't you tell Gryffindor no?" Draco asked as he handed her a sandwich, which she tore into.

"I couldn't do that!" Hermione said incredulously. "What would she have thought? She'd have thought I didn't care that it's Headmaster Dumbledore's birthday, and I do, I really do," she said as she reached for a piece of chicken.

"Or maybe she would have thought you wanted to get all your work out of the way so that you could enjoy yourself. Hermione," he continued softly, "people are worried about you. You have to slow down."

Hermione shook her head viciously. "I don't know what you mean, Draco. I'm a bit busy, yes, but I'm fine."

"Hermione, you look like an addict! You're twitchy and paranoid and you can't sleep. You forget your hungry, and I think you forgot to wash your hair today."

Hermione opened her mouth to deny this, but she broke down instead. "I know, I know," she sobbed. "I know. I do. I've just been trying to do everything without- without help, but I suppose I can't, can I?"

"Everybody needs help sometimes, Hermione. Even Granger the Great, which is what the Hornblower staff calls you," he said with a smile. "Although, I think they might mean that you're a tyrant."

Hermione gave a small smile. "Your right, Draco. Pass me that roll?" At that moment something exploded behind them. "The fireworks!" she cried happily, jumping from her seat and rushing to the window. "Oh, their gorgeous."

Dragons and pinwheels danced through the air, and small explosions congratulated Dumbledore on becoming 'ancient'. The display went on for nearly a half hour, and once it was over, Hermione turned to face him.

"Thank-you, Draco," she whispered as she put her arms around him and gave him a quick hug.

He should be sleeping; Merlin knew he deserved it after the weekend training Gryffindor had pushed him through. But it was Gryffindor's fault he'd been exhausted enough to have his first, fully blown Vision! He wouldn't deny he was excited. Who wouldn't be, after having a Vision that would allow the Ministry to apprehend Lord Voldemort.

Which was why, instead of sleeping on the Vision, and waiting until he had time to verify it with Astrology and other means to tell Dumbledore, Ron was standing in front of his office door. Knocking on the door seemed to open it by itself.

"Ahh, Mr. Weasley! Do come in," Dumbledore said. The old man looked very happy, sitting behind his desk. "What brings you here?"

"Er- Happy Birthday, Headmaster," Ron said as he sat down. "I hope you liked the party."

"Oh, yes. I particularly liked the socks the Gryffindor's gave me," he replied, lifting his robes a bit to show Ron the thick, woolen socks Harry had insisted they buy. Then he folded his hands on his desk and waited. After a long while, Ron told Dumbledore about his Vision. "You Saw Voldemort attack the Dursley's home, on Christmas morn? You're sure?"

"Absolutely, sir. Now, I've never seen Lord Voldemort, actually, but Harry's described him, and I'm sure it was him. And I'm sure it was Christmas morning, because Harry's cousin was unwrapping his presents."

Dumbledore didn't move for a long moment, and then he clapped his hands together. "Mr. Weasley, I have heard tell that you play a superior game of Chess. Gryffindor's reigning champion, as I was, in my day," Dumbledore said. A flick of his wand produced the most battered set Ron had ever seen. "It is so hard to find a good opponent, Mr. Weasley. I wonder if you would oblige me?"

Ron swallowed. "I haven't my set, Headmaster. I wouldn't think you'd look for an opponent, and then ask him to play with a foreign set. Not very Gryffindor of you, sir," Ron said with a smile.

"Alas, no, Mr. Weasley, it is not. That is why-" with another flick, Ron's own set, nearly as beleaguered as Dumbledore's, appeared, "-you may play with your own."

Again, Ron swallowed. "Sir, I do have classes today that I should attend."

"Mr. Weasley, is there something, some reason, that keeps you from playing a friendly game of Chess with me? I assure you, if I should lose, I will not challenge you to a duel," Dumbledore said with a benign smile and sparkling periwinkle eyes.

Pausing, Ron picked up his King and tossed it into the air. Catching, and crushing, it, Ron glanced towards Dumbledore, with a lump in his throat. The Headmaster had just celebrated his one hundredth and fiftieth birthday, and now he wanted to play a game of Chess- Ron understood that, but...

"Don't you see, sir? I'm placing all my trust in you, knowing you will outsmart and outplay You- ahem-" Ron cleared his throat, "-Voldemort. Sir, I don't want to play you. I'd be afraid to win."

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, Mr. Weasley? Indeed," he said sadly. "I hope you remember that, young man, as I hope you remember that you owe me a game of Chess, once this is over." Dumbledore whisked his set away with a flick, and gathered Ron's in a velvet bag. "This set, Mr. Weasley, I've seen it before."

"My grandfathers, Headmaster."

"Ahh! Of course, Louis, the scourge of Ravenclaw Turret when I was a young teacher here at Hogwarts. I do believe- yes!" Dumbledore muttered, examining the Queen. "Just there, my Bishop became quite bloodthirsty."

*****

After Divination, Ron had Herbology with Harry and Hermione. Only, Harry showed up a half hour late. "Did Dumbledore speak to you?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded.

"And?" Ron whispered.

"And, I'm going to Privet Drive for Christmas," he said in a neutral tone.

"What?" Ron and Hermione cried. Professor Sprout gave them a reproachful stare, but Hermione waved her off.

"What do you mean, you're going to Privet Drive for Christmas?" Ron demanded the moment they got out of the greenhouse.

"I'm going there for Christmas. Voldemort can't attack the Dursley's as long as I'm there."

"But- but why don't they just stock the house with Auror's and let them take Voldemort down?" Ron insisted. "Why is Dumbledore putting you at risk? Putting everyone at risk, by not taking this opportunity!" Chess games be damned, this was saving a pawn when you could take the King. You don't put the Queen up to give away to the opponents King.

"He's not, Ron," Harry said, stopping. He glanced around and saw no one. "I should have told you earlier, but I didn't. Remember the prophecy Voldemort wanted, the one about him and I?" Ron and Hermione nodded. "Well, it said that only I could kill Lord Voldemort. In fact, it said that either I kill him, or he'll kill me. And he can't harm me at my relative's house. It's the only place he can't."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"So- so, Dumbledore's doing the only thing he can, then?" Ron whispered. The King couldn't take the Queen; or was Harry the King now? What, then. King's can't take King's. That's a stalemate and- was Voldemort's first disappearance a stalemate as well? "Harry, why didn't you tell us about the Prophecy sooner?"

"Why? So you would know either I'd be murdered or a murderer?" Harry cried. "So you'd know that your best friend would either die or be sent to Azkaban?"

"Uh- Harry," Ron began. "First, they're not going to send you to Azkaban for ridding the world of V-Voldemort. That'd be stupid. And second, I'd always assumed you'd have to kill Voldemort one day."

"Then why were you so upset when Dumbledore decided to send me back to the Dursley's for Christmas?"

"Because I didn't know about the stupid Prophecy! I'd always thought Dumbledore would, given the chance, take Voldemort down himself!" He'd always thought of Dumbledore as a Bishop. Or a Knight. "I just thought you'd have a better shot at it, so it would be you who finished him off," Ron said with a shrug. So, Harry was a King. And so was Ron, if the gossip column was correct.

Perhaps one King could not checkmate one King, but two could certainly take one. Ron hoped.