The waiting room was expensive and elegant, more so than anything Harry had ever had the chance to see. He was sitting on a dark leather sofa facing a huge marble fireplace, his hands clenched on his lap as he tried to keep himself from fidgeting.

He knew had never been here before, as the loud complaints his twin, James Potter, showed. No, their mother had somehow managed to get them to go with their father to a meeting with Abraxas Malfoy, all in the spirit of learning how business was usually conducted. They had even had to leave a half-finished game of gobstones behind, and it had only been Euphemia Potter's no-nonsense tone of voice that had made it glaringly clear that their strange trip wasn't up for discussion. Even if neither of them knew or liked Lucius Malfoy – the other had always been too old and they had never really met him.

"It'll be a good experience for both of you," was what their father had said. But no words coming from the usually lenient Fleamont Potter had managed to stop him or James from complaining.

James still was even now, but Harry had stopped the minute he had seen the manor.

They had never been here before – Harry at least knew he certainly hadn't – but he still could recognise the building that they had entered, interior included.

He had always known that his dreams weren't exactly normal, though he had never thought much about them. They had always seemed strangely real and vivid, especially when comparing to the ones he knew James had, but he had never really bothered thinking about them. However, Harry was sure that he shouldn't have been able to recognise the centre piece of decoration atop the marble fireplace in the Malfoy's waiting room. Yet there it was, and Harry didn't know what to think about it. All of the rest of the objects were exactly as he remembered, too, even the mirror despite the intricate snake design on its borders.

It wasn't normal.

It had made him forget completely about any complaints he had said aloud on their way there through the floo network – why was that old photograph exactly the same as what he had seen in his dreams?

The people in it were even standing in the same positions, and Harry could even remember what the supposed story behind it was, too, along with the names of the photograph's occupants. Abraxas Malfoy, with short and distinctive blond hair, posing together with a group of his friends from Slytherin – Mulciber, Avery, Lestrange, and a sullen-looking one he was sure was called Tom Riddle. It had been taken in their fifth year at Hogwarts, when a wolf some student had been illegally keeping had attacked a student... or had it been a basilisk? Harry couldn't really remember the details, he hadn't bothered noting down the dream.

Yet there it was, defiantly looking exactly the same as what he had seen in his dream, and Harry didn't know what to make of it. Were things supposed to be the same as in dreams? Of course, not everything was the same only the furniture – the people he had seen talking whilst looking at the picture were nowhere to be seen, and, to top it off, it was also daytime. He knew the fireplace had been the only thing lighting the room when he had dreamt of this.

Dreams weren't supposed to be like this, or were they? Should Harry ask his father about it? He knew James wouldn't believe him, that was for sure. He'd just accuse him of lying.

The door to the waiting room suddenly opened, and Harry felt his father suddenly get up and stand.

"Abraxas," he greeted, bowing politely and with a slight smile on his lips.

"Fleamont, it's a pleasure to see you here," a tall, blond man said with a similarly polite bow and smile. "I trust you didn't have to wait for too long?"

Harry's father laughed and shook his head, "not at all, we just barely arrived."

He then turned to Harry and James, gesturing at them. "These are my sons - James and Harry. I thought it would be best if they accompanied me today to see how business is often conducted." Harry immediately copied the bow his father had given the man, and James followed soon afterwards.

Abraxas nodded, smiling slightly and bowing again "the sooner one can introduce our children to the ways of society, the better." He was wearing a golden ring, Harry noticed, one he could again recognise.

Fleamont kept his smile firmly in place. "Shall we get started then? I believe we were about to reach an agreement on the price for my company and the rights to the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion."

"Of course," Abraxas replied. "If you would follow me, Fleamont. Agreeing on the final terms shouldn't be too hard, I'm sure. Should I tell Lucius to come meet your sons?"

Harry knew he shouldn't interrupt the conversation between the two men, especially not when they were about to decide what James and him would be doing whilst they were finishing an agreement, but he couldn't get the strange photograph out of his head. However, he knew it could very well be his only chance, and he really didn't want to spend the next weeks wondering about why the photograph he had seen in his dreams existed and was there at all.

Harry gulped and clenched his left hand. He then straightened his back in the same way he had seen his father do whenever he was about to meet an important client or business partner, and looked straight at Abraxas.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," he said, trying to not sound as nervous as he felt. He wasn't sure his father would like the interruption or the strange question. "If it's okay to ask, is that photograph, the one on the fireplace, from your fifth year at Hogwarts?"

His father was about to protest and tell him off for asking the strange question when Abraxas, looking as surprised as someone could be, replied.

"It is, in fact," he said, staring right at Harry. He then moved to get the picture, and a soft look appeared briefly in his eyes as he looked at it. "Why do you ask?"

Harry looked to a side, suddenly nervous. He wasn't sure he would be able to hold the man's curious and intent gaze. "A basilisk or a wolf, I can't remember, attacked some students at Hogwarts that year too, right?" Harry continued, ignoring the man's question, excited that the man had confirmed what he had dreamed.

Abraxas Malfoy pursed his lips, "it was a wolf cub, yes. A student, Hagrid, if I remember correctly, brought it into the school that year, and it attacked a friend of mine" He then frowned, and Harry knew he definitely shouldn't have been supposed to know about that.

Harry grinned, excited. "Oh! I remember, Avery, right? He managed to recover, though. He was saying that whilst you were all looking at the picture frame with everyone in the picture – Mulciber, Lestrange... Someone mentioned something about a basilisk too, but I can't remember who."

Nothing, not a word. Total silence. Maybe he should say that he had seen it in one of his dreams?

It took him a few moments to reply, and by then both James and his father were looking at him with strange eyes, "I saw it in a dream, sir. I was curious when I saw the photograph, and wanted to see if the story I had heard was true."

"It is, but I'm not entirely sure how you could come to know about that through a dream."

Harry frowned, he didn't quite understand that either. A full minute had almost gone by before his eyes widened as he remembered something else. He had almost forgotten, and he didn't want to be seen as rude, not with his father around.

He looked back at Abraxas for a few seconds, only to immediately look down. "Sorry for being rude, Mr. Malfoy, I had forgotten," he then started saying. "I'm sorry about the dragon pox, I hope you recover soon."

Abraxas Malfoy immediately stared at him in utter shock, along with his father.

He didn't have the disease, as it turned out.

Only James broke the uncomfortable silence that immediately settled around them, grinning with an excitement that didn't match his surroundings as he immediately asked what else Harry had seen in his dream.

When he heard from his father that Abraxas had caught dragon pox just a week after their meeting with the reigning Lord Malfoy, Harry felt a strange weight in the pit of his stomach.

Everything quickly started changing.

OoO

James had probably been the most excited out of all of his family, and had immediately started asking questions the minute they had left the Malfoy manor.

Harry couldn't have been more grateful for the excited grin that had graced his twin's lips every time he had mentioned and told James of one of his dreams. He had gifted him a nice-looking leather-bound blank notebook with which to keep track of his dreams. Would a snake bite their grandfather, Henry Potter? And if it did, would Orion Black also end up having trouble passing a law at the Wizengamot because of a scandal?

They had quickly made a game out of trying to see if each of the things Harry had dreamt of came to happen, and it was all settled in their minds when they saw on a newspaper that the star seeker of the Montrose Magpies had fallen from his broom in the middle of their match against the Wimbourne Wasps.

James had been particularly impressed at that one, Harry noticed. "That settles it, Harry. We'll make a fortune betting on quidditch matches!"

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about about that, and didn't know whether he had the heart to tell James that he didn't usually dream about quidditch results and wasn't sure it would be okay to use his dreams like that. He hadn't really been fully honest with his twin, though, and hadn't really mentioned the fears that he had had after being able to guess like that that Abraxas Malfoy was going to catch dragon pox. Still, he was glad that James had been so excited for him.

His parents... They had been different, and hadn't looked excited in any way.

His mother had stared at him awkwardly for a few seconds before hugging him and praising his ability. She had smiled, she really had, but Harry could tell she was worried. "Having the sight is a great gift, Harry," she had said. "You'll have to be careful from now on."

His father had just briefly congratulated him before starting to write a letter to an esteemed professor he knew.

Harry had tried his best not to mind, and had instead just spent the better of his days playing quidditch with his brother.

Only Harry's great-uncle, Charlus Potter, had been the only one to react normally, rather than with the eerie and reverent sort of silence his parents had first looked at him with. He had treated Harry differently, and whilst he had offered Harry praise and congratulated him, he had quickly started soothing Harry's fears.

"Anyone can change their fate, Harry," Charlus had said, with a confident voice. "Never forget that, no matter what you see. Don't think for a second anything you see makes you guilty of it."

Harry couldn't have been happier at hearing that.

Life had just started going back to normal when his parents received the visit of the professor that his father had written to after the Abraxas incident.

Harry couldn't have been more excited to meet the man, as had been James: Albus Dumbledore, the famous headmaster of Hogwarts. He was old, as old as Harry's grandfather, and had a calm and soothing smile that had made Harry immediately relax.

"Albus, it is good to see you," Fleamont greeted, with a tone of relief that was impossible to miss.

"We were getting worried. There has never been a seer in either of our families, and with the current political situation–"

Dumbledore shook his head and just smiled, "it is nothing serious, Euphemia. There is no need for such worry."

Harry's mother sighed with relief, and his father visibly relaxed. They had then moved to the main living room in the Potter manor, and had told both James and Harry to go back to their rooms. Not that that had stopped them from attempting to listen to the conversation. How could they resist the curiosity?

"Are you sure it's nothing to worry about, Albus? The purebloods Abraxas knows must have heard by now, and if this gets out..."

"He is still a child, Fleamont, he barely knows what his dreams are or what having the sight means."

"The dark side will hear and use him, Albus, you know it as well as I do. If that man, the dark lord, hears and gets close to Harry..."

Harry had never heard his mother sound that worried about anything. His dreams weren't that extraordinary, right?

There was an exchange of muffled comments, and Harry and James sat by the door in silence, ears pressed against its solid and elaborate wood.

"Tom might try to influence him, yes," Harry heard Dumbledore start to say, "but the boy is too young yet. He won't be able to fully see through his inner eye for a number of years."

"What can we do then, Albus?" his mother asked.

"For now? Nothing. Start training the boy and teaching him – he'll need to know how special his gift is, and how to protect himself from people's bad intentions."

"Will that be enough though, Albus?" his father asked. "What if the Daily Prophet catches on to this and people learn? Harry, he'd be..."

"Of course, Fleamont," the man still sounded relaxed and calm. Confident. "As long as young Harry knows what this means and he is prepared, all will be fine."

Harry then heard Dumbledore get up from his seat and walk across their living room, and his parents mirror the man's actions.

"However, it'd be better if the boy understood what his gift is," Harry could practically hear the smile in Dumbledore's voice.

Harry and James shared a look, and scrambled to get away from the door as soon as they heard their parents and Dumbledore move to exit their living room. Their steps loud and easy to hear on the polished wooden floor. They shouldn't have been here.

They had just barely managed to get to the main staircase of the Potter manor by the time the living room's door was opened, and they immediately knew by the way their mother was looking at them there would be no way of hiding that they had been overhearing the conversation.

Dumbledore gestured him to get closer. "Harry, my boy," he said with a gentle smile.

"Sir?" Harry asked, frowning. He didn't quite know what to say or do, and remained silent as the man crouched down to his eye level and maintained a gentle smile. It was a few seconds before the headmaster spoke again.

"Don't fear your dreams, no matter what you see or what people may say, Harry, and no matter how great a responsibility it seems." He was looking directly at him, serious, and Harry could barely muster a word.

Harry frowned, suddenly remembering the dragon pox. "But Sir, Abraxas Malfoy..."

Dumbledore looked at him with kind and unassuming eyes. "It is our choices, Harry, that show us what we truly are far more than our abilities. What happened to Abraxas had nothing to do with your dream, even if you already knew it would happen."

Harry just nodded, remaining silent, as Dumbledore stood up and greeted his parents. It was only just before he was about to floo out of the Potter manor that he turned towards Harry again with a kind smile.

"We can always find happiness, Harry. Even in the darkest of times."

OoO

Wand and flying practice had been the norm until then, as well as some slightly rarer potions practice classes their father had Harry and James take every few months. Harry's days, however, soon became increasingly occupied and convoluted as Harry's mother planned extra daily lessons for him to take.

Etiquette lessons were some of the first for Harry to be added, which James only grudgingly joined in the spirit of friendship. Then came basic magical theory and history, and by the time Harry was dealing with basic arithmancy, divination, and astronomy on top of the rest he didn't have any time left for flying practice any more. If the greater part of his days were spent out in the fields around the Potter manor before, they increasingly came to be spent inside the library inside.

By the time two months month had gone by, Harry didn't have time so much as to even touch his broom, and though he hungered to know more and to understand his gift and dreams, he couldn't help but to be hurt by this slightly. He couldn't be more grateful for James choosing to accompany him to some of the extra lessons he had had to take on, but he resented the fact that he wasn't able to have time to play quidditch with his twin as often as he once had. No matter how much he knew he had to understand and control the gift he had received, in order to help people.

After some months, he had managed to find hiding places inside the manor's library in some of the corners and behind the tall bookshelves that covered all of the room's walls. Before he knew it he had taken to spending there time after his actual study sessions had finished, book or two in hand, despite the protests of his brother. It was when he was nine when he first heard about alternate methods of divination.

He found he didn't go out as often as he once had, and that he had stopped both being taken by his father to meetings with other purebloods, and meeting other purebloods his age. His life became increasingly narrow – and any visit to Diagon Alley or other places was often done either in the company of his parents or James. Every now and again he'd go to stay with his great-uncle Charlus and his wife Dorea. He couldn't say he particularly minded, however, and he somehow came to grow even closer to James despite the increased workload.

By the time he was almost ten he had learnt how to read fire-omens and had started started becoming proficient in palmistry and reading the cards, but he missed quidditch and playing out in the sun.

His parents were happy to see his progress, though, and once he started reading them fire-omens and sharing his dreams their proud grins made everything clear in his mind. Harry started pouring himself even more into his studies, coming to find a certain sense of enjoyment in reading and learning magic.

It was around that time when he started reading fire-omens for his parents, and the strange accuracy of the things he read combined with the dreams he always noted down made it into habit.

Harry was relieved he didn't remember many.

OoO

"Face reading?"

James had a look of utter confusion that he wasn't used to seeing, and Harry didn't think that he had ever seen his twin look as confused as he did now. The library was cool despite the hot summer that blazed outside, and Harry had spent the majority of the morning there, catching up on a few books his mother had told him to finish by the end of the week.

Harry put his book down and smiled at his twin. "It's a type physiognomy, the study of an person's inner character and soul from their appearance. Some branches of it apparently go back to the first Babylonian dynasty, but it's gone in a lot of different ways historically."

"And you believe that?" James didn't look convinced at all.

Harry shrugged, "it reminds me of palm-reading, but its purpose is a bit different." He then looked back at the book, "I suppose it's interesting."

He still looked skeptical, "and you could see how someone really is even without talking to them?"

"In theory," Harry beamed, "part of their future and luck as well."

James had started to look slightly more interested after hearing that. "So you could technically see how successful a person will be?"

"In theory," Harry repeated again. "I'm really not quite sure how much I believe in it, I think I prefer fire-omens."

"But you could see if a person was evil without talking to them, right? Or even if they made an effort to hide it."

"That's what the book says, at least," Harry smiled. "I could read yours if you want, for practice."

James grinned and moved to sit closer to Harry, who just reopened the book. It wasn't really useful, as it turned out, since Harry couldn't understand much about the techniques yet and he didn't think he was particularly good at this type of thing anyways. He only really managed to get a clear image of who James would apparently end up with though, and his twin had been visibly pleased to hear about it. Even whilst Harry still said that he didn't know enough to be able to tell.

When he was asked to say if he had seen anything similar in the fire, Harry was more than happy to answer, and he didn't miss James' excited face when he said something about a red-haired girl.

OoO

By the time Harry was almost eleven, things had gotten worse. James, being the oldest, was designated as heir, and Harry started feeling increasingly lonely for what was the first time in his life.

He still got to see his brother, but as James started to accompany their father to meetings as part of his training as heir, Harry found himself spending less and less time with his older twin. The moments with the both of them together in the library or outside in the garden of the manor, with Harry studying and James flying on his broom, grew rarer and rarer, and Harry couldn't help but miss their old proximity and the way things had been.

He felt lonely, and soon Harry had found himself spending entire mornings in the library reading by himself, at most with the company of their house elves or his mother. He had always counted on James as his best friend, knew his twin would always be his best friend, but he couldn't help but feel a strange emptiness as days went by.

He couldn't tell if something had change – 'it hasn't,' he had been quick to assure himself, James was still his best friend.

He couldn't do anything about the strange distance it had put between his twin and him, however, and didn't really know what to think about it. Harry instead refused to even think about it, deciding to focus on getting used to his new days and keep studying.

Then came the day when James and Harry received their Hogwarts letters, and the excitement of celebrating their birthdays was combined with that of receiving the letter that said everything they'd need to start Hogwarts that year. Charlus and Dorea even came to celebrate.

When, after dinner, Harry automatically made his way back to the library to finish one of the essays he had been set, they had both been left stunned, and by the time Harry had hidden behind one of the bookshelves on the left of the room he had tears welling up and hands covering his ears. The shouting was impossible to ignore as it descended into the room Harry had grown more used to than his own room.

"You idiots," Charlus Potter snarled, "this was not what was supposed to be done."

"Charlus," Harry's father said, "you have to understand. There's no need to react like that."

"React...!" There was a pause. "Harry barely has any time to play with his James anymore, can you even see what you're doing to the boy?"

"Charlus, understand. The boy's a seer, he must be ready for–" his mother pleaded.

"James and Harry just got their Hogwarts letters, what do they need to get ready for?"

"You know as well as I do how bad the political situation is right now!" Harry heard his father shout.

"As well as you do? That doesn't affect either of them yet." Harry had never heard Charlus sound that angry.

"With how frequently he dreams and sees things it'll be public knowledge by the time he gets to Hogwarts. Harry must be ready to–"

"You don't know that," argued a female voice that Harry barely managed to place as Charlus' wife, Dorea Potter.

"But they will, Dorea. People have been talking ever since Abraxas died – and we all then know the rumors about who Abraxas really served, that man must know about it by now." Harry shivered at his father's words, and couldn't contain the tears that started making their way down his face.

"Which means nothing, you're both basing yourselves on suppositions and theories," Dorea continued.

There was a pregnant pause and a long stretch of silence before Euphemia continued instead of her husband. "Of course they will," finally came Euphemia's reply, "and when they do, that dark lord will try to get Harry to–"

"You think he'll be made a pawn..." Dorea mumbled.

"Yes, and you know it's what that man will attempt. We're close enough to war as it is, and a powerful seer... Dumbledore is right, you know he is."

"You've sacrificed his childhood, Fleamont, taken it away." Charlus still sounded angry. "Harry will never get that back, you've been forcing him to grow up too quickly. Made him into a pawn anyways."

"A necessary sacrifice. He can't afford to be ignorant for long, not if–" Fleamont Potter replied.

Harry, blinking wet, turned and looked back at his Hogwarts letter. He couldn't help shivering, and wished that James had come down with him to the library. Even overhearing the discussion would be more bearable if he was.

Harry closed his eyes, and breathed in and out slowly. He had to believe that it would all be okay, that he hadn't actually lost anything to the rigorous classes he had undergone.

His father had once said Hogwarts was the most beautiful place he had ever seen, and Charlus had agreed. Hogwarts, the ancient castle with untold secrets and endless rooms that he would explore with James, where he would finally meet more friends. It didn't matter that things had changed, or that he could see things in his dreams or in the fire.

When James found him after the shouting had stopped and hugged him, Harry knew.

Yes, things back then had been perfect, they had been normal. But they could still be, Harry was sure. His great-uncle Charlus had promised after all – people made their own fates. Harry knew he could still be normal. He had James, after all.

When Harry fell asleep in James' bed that night he dreamt a strangely empty dream that gave way to a shack and a ring and a curse. The skies turned dark and stormy, and the only thing Harry managed to clearly remember was the strange engraving on the odd black ring.