It was the second day of classes, and Harry actually felt well enough to attend. It had been weird waking up without a pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso, but he wasn't willing to ask Ron to do that for him anytime soon. He'd hadn't spoken to, or seen Malfoy since yesterday afternoon at lunch, and he found himself somewhat missing the snobbish prat.

"Harry, you okay? You've barely touched your porridge." Ron asked, as the trio found themselves seated at breakfast that morning.

"I'm fine. Just tired, that's all." Harry claimed, shaking his head a bit as he went to take a spoonful of the chilled soup. Honestly, did anyone actually like porridge?

"You slept all day yesterday!" Ron exclaimed, to which Hermione smacked him over the head with her copy of The Daily Prophet.

"Hush, Ronald. He's had a long two days of traveling. Let the boy be." She insisted, going back to some article about some new breed of spiders that could fly; as if regular ones weren't terrifying enough, thought Ron.

"I'm sorry, Harry. It's just- it was weird not having you home this summer, what with Fred..." He stopped, eyes watering slightly and Harry couldn't help but feel bad for the boy. He'd lost a brother during that war, and in some way, Harry felt like he too had lost a brother. The Weasleys, and Hermione, had proved to be the only true family Harry had ever had, and losing Fred had been horrible for everyone.

"I know, and I'm sorry, Ron. It's just- with like what happened between me and Ginny, and I just didn't feel right being there, and I'm so sorry about that." Harry sighed, rubbing his best friend's shoulder as affectionately as he could.

"Well, you're here now and I guess that's all that matters." Ron stated after a few moments, and then returned to munching on a bagel. Hermione stared after him sympathetically, and Harry caught Ginny staring at him from the opposite end of the table. She was in her seventh year now, much like Harry - even though it was technically an eighth year for all the returning veterans of the war. It had interrupted all studies, and McGonagall found it extremely essential for them to return.

"You should talk to her, you know." Hermione spoke, catching Harry off guard as he turned to stare at her with her big brown eyes.

"What would I say?" He asked.

"I dunno, Harry, perhaps you're sorry? It's just not fair with everything that has gone on that you just up and left suddenly. Everyone deserves a bit of closure, don't you think?" She asked, and he had to admit that she was right. But now wasn't the right time. Harry had a lot on his plate right now, and the last thing he needed was girl drama.

"I'll talk to her soon." He decided, standing up and collecting his books before heading off down the corridor. He decided that maybe if he'd left early, he'd have a bit of time to catch up on whatever they'd started yesterday.

From off behind a pillar, Draco Malfoy stared after him once more.

»»»

Seeing Potter look so frail whilst he lay unconscious under Madam Pomfrey's care, Draco wanted to sigh. It had been a good hour or so since the Weasel and Granger had left, and now Draco sat in their place, watching over the Golden Boy as he dreamed. Was he dreaming good things?

"This isn't fair to you, Potter. The Chosen One, the Golden Boy, the Boy Who bloody Lived... The war's over, and you're still suffering so much." He whispered, adjusting the blanket back over the dark-haired boy's torso. "I thought my life was bad, but you really have had it ten times worse. I'm sorry."

With that, he left the room: figuring if he talked too long, it just might wake the boy in question from his slumber. Harry shuffled in his sleep, muttering some nonsense before shifting to his side, huffing out a breath, and returning to his dreams that most certainly were not pleasant.

»»»

"Today, I will be teaching you of the wonderful, powerful things that are tarot cards!" Professor Trelawney said in her most distant voice. She began placing a small stack of thick, painted cards on each of the tables. When she reached Neville's table, she paused solemnly and stared at him.

"Mr. Longbottom, could you please not mess with the rug that has been so haphazardly placed on your table? You will find, my boy, that this material has been stitched by the threads of the Fates, and one careless tug could shorten the lifespan of someone you hold very close to your heart." With that, Neville's hands went to his pockets instantly.

After that, class proceeded as normal. Professor Trelawney gave a long, drawn out speech about the importance of these tarot cards and exactly how they were linked to Divination. The whole time, Hermione Granger, who'd decided to give the subject another shot, scribbled furiously on her parchment, writing down just about anything she thought might be useful when it was time for N.E.W.Ts. What else was new?

As Trelawney made her way around the room, interpreting cards for those 'futuristically impaired,' Harry sat back in his chair, fussing over his own set. He didn't know why he'd taken this class again, for it had confused him just as much as when he'd taken it in his Third Year: a year Sirius Black, his godfather, was still alive. He began to shake, feeling as though a full-on panic attack might occur, but thankfully, the tremors subsided just as the teacher made her way to him.

"Well," she hummed, staring at Harry Potter through her thick, circular lenses. "It appears you're in for an interesting year, Mr. Potter, not that I hadn't already known this myself..."

"How so?" Harry asked, staring down at his cards, confused still.

"Well, you see these two curved arrows, my boy? That symbolizes that some order in your life will be switched, whatever that may be." She moved on to his next card, which - depending on how it reflected in the light - you would see a field either barren, or plentiful.

"You will be lacking, or plentiful in something." She spoke simply, moving to the last card, a giant smirk crossing her lips as she did so. It was a classic dove, resting on an olive branch. "Peace."

With that, Harry's eyebrows furrowed further. He was incredibly confused, and he felt as though he shouldn't be. Something in his life would change drastically. He felt as though his life couldn't possibly change more than it already had. Through suffering, another area of his life would be plentiful. Plentiful of tears, probably. And finally, peace. Relief. There was no way Harry felt as if he would ever feel peaceful again. Obviously, the cards lied.

From the back row of the class, Draco Malfoy furrowed his eyes at Potter. He too had had the card of switched arrows, though his other ones had been different than the Golden Boy's.

On his second card, he saw two hands joined as if they were shaking. According to his textbook, the symbol meant Forgiveness. Draco contemplated this. What had he done that had required newfound forgiveness, and from whom?

The third card showed a blazing fire, and Draco grew weary. His textbook showed two definitions for the flames that he saw dancing across his card: destruction, and passion. Both were very different, though very appealing at the same time.

As the students left their classes that day, Draco made sure to keep his thumb pressed into the pages displaying the symbols his cards had shown him. He needed to interpret his future, and somewhat regretted not having Trelawney walk him through it like she'd done for Potter. Famous Harry Potter.