Chapter 4: The Daily Prophet

By the time Harry got to his first Defense against the Dark Arts lesson later that week, he had forgotten all about the dream. Or at least, he had managed to set all thoughts of it aside for the moment, as more urgent matters demanded his attention: upcoming lesson plans, changes (already!) to the new practice schedule for the Gryffindor house team (he sincerely hoped he'd remembered to book the pitch for that afternoon, or he'd have one surly team on his hands), and learning the names of a new batch of eager, though somewhat apprehensive first years.

He loved the first week of the school year. There was nothing quite like the rush of seeing the faces of excited students all huddled together, clamoring to get inside his classroom, sometimes forming a long queue that backed up into the corridor and around the bend. Over the last fifteen years, he'd earned quite a reputation as one of the school's best teachers, a distinction he never would have predicted for himself when he had first returned to these hallowed halls to teach. He could still remember how absolutely petrified he had been that first day, when he could barely remember his own name, much less what he was supposed to teach his students. Now, he couldn't imagine doing anything else.

He was grateful he had the distraction of school to keep his thoughts from wandering, for he knew exactly where they would wander. The dream.

Not that he could remember anything anymore. The details had long abandoned him, run away from him almost as soon as he'd opened his eyes, though he had wracked his brain over and over in the last two days, trying to force himself to remember anything he possibly could. Whatever it was that had left him so shaken that morning when he had woken in his room, disoriented and panting, it had to have been something awful.

But other than the forest--that dark, damp, cold forest-- he simply couldn't remember anything else. Even more frustrating was the knowledge that so much eluded him. A voice? Was there someone who had spoken to him? And what had there been about his hands? He shook his head. It seemed the more he tried to reach inside those dark recesses of his unconscious, the more the memories taunted him by pulling away even further.

He was still in the midst of trying to coax these elusive details from his brain when he entered the Great Hall. Ginny had a packed schedule on Wednesdays, with lessons during the hours he was free on breaks, but at the very least they had the lunch hour free, and Harry had decided to take full advantage by planning a date with his wife.

She didn't seem to be in here as of yet, however. In fact, he could spot only three redheads in the room at the moment: Audrey, who seemed to be engrossed in a meeting with her fellow prefects, and Jack and Emily, who were helping themselves to onion soup from a large terrine on their side of the Gryffindor table. Harry smiled as he watched them. They had always been the closest of the Weasley grandchildren, which wasn't surprising given their eleven-month age difference, and the fact that he, Ron, and Hermione had continued to be inseparable, even in adulthood. Little wonder then, that their offspring would be the best of friends as well.

He could hear bits and pieces of their conversation as he neared their table, something about avoiding a trick step on one of the stairways that evidently still had not been fixed, even after Harry had finished school. Jack looked quite beside himself with worry; no doubt he was a little overwhelmed at all the things he was to keep in mind at all times. Hermione had made sure to equip her son with an extensive list, of course, but Harry suspected that the boy did not exactly relish the thought of carrying around a three-foot scroll everywhere he went.

Then Harry stopped smiling.

Colm Finnigan, Seamus and Lavender's son--who was a third year, like Lawrence, if he remembered correctly--had conveniently sat himself down right next to his daughter. Harry eyed him closely as he and Emily exchanged a nervous pair of "hello"'s. He wasn't prepared at all to see his daughter blush that deeply, especially when the much older Colm (a year was plenty older, as far as Harry was concerned) seemed to be well aware of his effect on Emily, and was leaning into her a little too closely...

The two jumped apart at the sound of Harry clearing his throat.

"Dad!"

"Professor Potter!"

"Hello there," he said casually (or as casually as he could manage at the moment, anyway). He normally left his daughter to her friends during school hours, as he knew how awkward it had to be for her at times, with both her parents being such prominent teachers at the school, but this was one time he couldn't resist making his presence known.

Especially to a certain thirteen-year old who seemed just a bit too friendly with his daughter for Harry's liking.

"Good soup today, is it?"

"What?" Emily must have then realized what he was talking about. "Oh right, the soup... Yeah, it's really good, Dad. The house elves outdid themselves today..."

He smiled. "Glad to hear it."

"Er... Professor Potter?"

"Yes, Colm?"

Colm seemed surprised that Harry knew his name, but couldn't decide if he should be pleased or frightened as a result. Harry saw him gulp. "I, er... really enjoyed your lecture this morning. Werewolves are quite fascinating."

"Yes, they are."

"My dad almost died fighting one once," Jack said.

Colm's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Really??"

"Got 'im right here..." Jack pointed to his collarbone. "Slashed him pretty deep, he did. But Dad's a fighter."

"Whoa," Colm said breathlessly. "Wicked..." Suddenly, he must have noticed Harry's eyes on him, for he nervously cleared his throat and turned to Emily. "Well, er... I should probably get going..." Harry could see him sneaking looks at him from the corner of his eye, as if afraid of what Harry would do to him if he stayed any longer. "Bye, then..."

"Oh... yes, well... bye..."

Emily flicked her eyes back to Harry as Colm left the table.

"Dad!"

Harry feigned innocence. "What?"

"He's a nice boy, you know."

"Good," Harry said, fighting a smile. "I'm glad."

As if sensing there was no fighting him on this, she simply shook her head and turned back to Jack, who had grown quiet again, looking as if he was focusing on nothing but eating his soup.

"Hey," Emily said, "what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he muttered.

Emily watched him for a few more moments, then looked at Harry and shrugged.

"Did you parents get your owl, yet, Jack?" Harry said. "They must have been incredibly proud that you got into Gryffindor."

Jack nodded, and offered up a proud smile that Harry thought looked eerily like one he had seen on Ron's face countless times. "Got a post from them yesterday," he said. "Dad's away on a mission."

"He is?"

"Yeah... And Mum left for a conference yesterday, so I reckon they won't get my response for a while..."

Harry smiled. He was obviously homesick, but perhaps didn't want to admit it. Harry wished he could do something to cheer him up.

"Hey..."

Suddenly, he felt a welcome kiss on his cheek, and as he looked up to give his wife a proper greeting, he heard a muffled groan from his daughter.

"You'd think they were newlyweds or something!" Emily whispered to her cousin.

Jack tried to offer words of comfort. "Mum and Dad are like that too," he said. "I swear, they don't even care if we can see them..."

Ginny just exchanged conspiratorial looks with Harry and grinned. "Sorry I'm late," she said. "Got a bit tied up..."

"Quite all right, I had some good company." He kissed the top of Emily's head. "All right, be good, you two."

Emily giggled, despite her obvious desire to stay annoyed at her father for having chased away a potential suitor. "Yes, Dad..."

"Bye Uncle Harry, Aunt Ginny..."

He followed Ginny to the faculty table. She seemed a bit more quiet than usual, which Harry found odd.

"Something wrong?"

"No... I mean... not exactly..."

He eyed her curiously. "Not exactly?"

It was then that he noticed she had been clutching a scroll in her hand. He arched an eyebrow and she handed it to him. He unrolled it, seeing that it was a copy of The Daily Prophet.

"It's from a few days ago," she explained. "With all the craziness of the first week back, I hadn't had a chance to read it yet. I finally had a chance to read through the pile that had built up on my desk..." She paused. "Take a look at page 3. You'll find it interesting."

He furrowed his brow then did as she said. He didn't catch it at first; he had scanned the page three times before his eye finally settled on what she must have been talking about. The words didn't seem quite real, and he blinked several times, as if to make certain that they hadn't changed themselves.

"The son of legendary Quidditch star Viktor Krum disappeared on 28 August," Harry read. "Believed to be taken by a dark wizard, Slava Krum was discovered missing after he failed to attend his lessons at Durmstrang Academy, where he was a first year student. His wand was found in the forest near the grounds of the school..."

Harry felt numb from head to toe, and there was a strange buzzing in his ears as he stared at the page. He knew Ginny was watching him; he could sense the heat of her stare.

"It's... It's got to be a coincidence," he said. "It's got to be, right?"

Ginny didn't answer straight away, then finally, she nodded.

"You don't think so, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"You don't exactly look convinced, either."

"Well, you have to admit... it is quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

Harry swallowed. The buzzing hadn't ceased; in fact, it had gotten all the louder. "I haven't had the dream in a few days," he said. "Even if I wanted to remember..." He looked up at her. "I've tried. I just can't bring back any more of it."

She reached over and squeezed his hand. "Don't be so hard on yourself," she said. "Look, I'm not saying this is anything, anyway... I just... thought you should see it, that's all."

"Poor Viktor," he said quietly.

He set the newspaper down on the table, but the gnawing feeling that twisted in his stomach remained.