Unpredictability - /ʌnprɪdɪktəˈbɪlɪti/ - noun

Because we can never know all the initial conditions of a complex system in sufficient (i.e. perfect) detail, we cannot hope to predict the ultimate fate of a complex system. Even slight errors in measuring the state of a system will be amplified dramatically, rendering any prediction useless. Since it is impossible to measure the effects of all the butterflies (etc) in the World, accurate long-range weather prediction will always remain impossible.

AGENTS OF CHAOS

Chapter II

"Pettigrew, Peter."

Hariel looks over at Sirius, and she briefly catches his eye. His attention immediately shifts to the hat, and she watches as he discreetly flicks his wand in the direction of the hat.

A Confoundus spell, nonverbally cast.

A grim smile is all she gets from him, to signify that he's done his part, before he strikes up a conversation with a shy Remus and a vibrant Lily Evans, both of whom are sitting near him.

It's irrational, but Hariel can't help but feel that Sirius should be paying attention to either the hat on the traitor's head or to her, instead of chatting up the red haired girl. In her agitated state, she catches Narcissa looking at her mischievously, and that gives her pause.

Narcissa smirks and leans over to her older sister to whisper something, and for the first time in this weird dimension, Hariel finds herself looking into the eyes of the resident psychopath, Bellatrix Black.

The older girl holds her gaze, and Hariel can't look away. It's a test, to see if she comes up to the mark, to see if she's worthy of the older witch's attention. If she looks away now, it means defeat, and being trodden on by Bellatrix for the next couple of years. So she looks firmly into those grey eyes of lunacy and holds her place, even as the hat bellows out, in the background, HUFFLEPUFF.

Hariel wants to cheer, wants to look at Sirius and see how he feels, but she's made of sterner stuff, and she won't be the first one to back down from a staring contest. Bellatrix has already assessed her from head to toe, and Hariel wonders if her hatred for the racist witch is apparent on her face. It probably isn't, she decides, because the only expression on Bellatrix's face is one of amusement.

Hariel is so engrossed in proving her worth, that she almost doesn't move when it's her turn.

"Potter, Hariel," calls out Professor McGonagall once more, and she's forced to look away and move towards the stool.

She passes Severus Snape on the way, and he shoots her a look of derision, possibly because her name was called twice.

Sirius smiles at her, and that's the last image she has, before the hat falls down upon her vision. Sirius makes a cute little First Year, she thinks – completely adorable.

"I see you've been here before," says the Hat.

"So you know I'm best suited for Gryffindor."

"From what I can tell from your memories, I made a mistake, the last time I sorted you, girl. You have ambition in spades, knowledge of great things, and probably some courage too. Maybe Sl–"

"NO. NO. I'm not going to Slytherin, no fucking way."

"Mind your language, girl. You might think you're fifteen, but you're only eleven as well."

"You've sorted me before. I know you take my choice into account. I refuse to go to Slytherin."

"If that's how you're going to be, you better be in... RAVENCLAW!"

It's in a daze that Hariel registers McGonagall has taken off the hat, and that she should be making her way to the table where polite applause is emanating from. Her walk to the table of eagles is slow – she feels like the very air around her is denser.

She quietly sits down next to a tall girl with a prefect badge pinned to her rather ample chest, and stares at the table. Did Sirius' spell confuse the hat for good? She's meant to have a tie of gold and red, not blue and bronze.

"That boy's staring at you, you know? I think he's worried."

Hariel looks at the pixie-like girl to her right, frowning at how she seems to resemble someone Hariel knows.

"What?"

"That boy there at the Gryffindor table, look."

Hariel searches the Gryffindor table, and finds that Sirius is looking at her with concern. She shakes her head a little, and he nods; he's understood that not everything's okay.

"You both could be soul-mates, the way you don't need to talk to understand each other."

"What?"

This time Hariel turns fully in her seat to look at the other Ravenclaw.

The witch shakes her dirty blonde hair, and smiles.

"How rude of me, I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Pandora Ross."

"Hariel Potter."

The other girl probably senses that Hariel isn't in the mood for anything but deep contemplation, because she doesn't talk anymore, instead paying attention to the Sorting ceremony that goes on.

"Snape, Severus."

That snaps Hariel out of her reverie, and she watches as the hat slides down upon that slimy, greasy head. She can't think of a better place for that oddball than Slytherin.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hariel snaps her head to look at Sirius, and finds him looking at her similarly. She doesn't clap politely the way the other Ravenclaws (and one Lily Evans) are doing, choosing instead to share a look of dismay and horror with Sirius.

A glum and sullen Snape takes a place further down the table, and all Hariel can think of, with glee, is, Severus Snape doesn't look too chuffed to be in Ravenclaw.

Serves the greasy bastard right.

Hariel smiles.

~o~

'Meet me outside the Gryffindor common room at 12 sharp. Bring your cloak.'

Hariel scowls once more at the note, as she continues waiting outside the portrait of the Fat Lady. The latter had tried making conversation, but Hariel had pointedly ignored her.

At ten minutes past twelve, the door swings open, and Sirius steps out, grinning broadly.

"You're late."

"Aren't you both a bit too young to be rendezvousing this late at night?" asks the Fat Lady, and Hariel is tempted to show her the bird.

"I had some trouble extricating myself from my room. Remus is a light sleeper, you know."

"Where to now?" she asks, ignoring whatever he'd said.

"How about that Room of Requirement you told me about in your letters?"

Hariel nods, and swiftly throws the Invisibility Cloak over the both of them.

"Gods, I've missed this cloak," Sirius whispers, and in the fading torchlight, Hariel grins at him.

"Welcome back, Marauder."

~o~

They're sat in a facsimile of the room where the DA usually meets, and Hariel realises with a pang that she'll never get to do that again. At least not with Ron and Hermione.

And that makes her angry.

Sirius might be reliving the best time of his life, albeit without his James Potter, but whatever – it's not the same for her. She's stuck in a house where all everyone wants to do is discuss books (text books for fuck's sake), her mother – the one James fell head over heels for, not her mama – is prettier than she ever was or would be, and Voldemort is probably going to take over the world this time around, and there'd be no one to stop him – though it wasn't like she'd known what it was she had been doing in her real life.

"Harry?"

"What?"

"Were you listening to a word I said?"

She looks at him blankly, and he comes and sits right next to her, even throwing his arm around her. She pushes his arm off to convey her displeasure with everything that's been happening to her; it's not fair.

"We need to figure out what to do next – the sorting was a bust," he continues, either not noticing her expression, or choosing to ignore it.

"But at least that traitor rat is away from it all. I think the Confounding spell changed everyone's destination, confounded the hat for good. Everyone after Pettigrew, that is. That girl who got sorted into your house? Giulia Zabini? She went to Slytherin the first time around."

"And I got sorted into Ravenclaw," she says glumly.

"And Snivellus with you," says Sirius, a laugh lacing his voice, and Hariel turns and shoots daggers at him with her eyes. Her plight isn't as hilarious as Sirius thinks it is.

"Don't be like that, love, think of how much fun you can have," he says, tossing his head back and laughing, an almost maniacal glint in his eyes.

"No."

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, and no, I'm not going to waste any bloody time on that grease ball, even if it's only pranks."

Sirius leans back on the sofa and speaks faux wisely, "Sounds like a lot of resentment you possess there for your housemate, Ms Potter. A spot of pranking is exactly what the healer recommends."

"You're thirty-five years old, at least pretend to act your age," she snarks, before stretching out like a cat. As much as she despises that hook-nosed bat, she has more important things to do, like getting control of her life in this weird place.

Somehow, ever since her sorting, there's been clawing in her chest, like there's a monster waiting to be unleashed.

It's her fault that she is in the House she is now – if she'd thought through properly and considered the prolonged effects of the Confoundus charm on a partially-sentient object, she wouldn't be paying the price the way she is. Both she and Sirius had been hasty, too enraptured by the seeming brilliance of their idea.

'Don't count your dragons before they hatch.'

A memory of her mama telling that to her invades her mind, a memory where she seems to be only a quarter of Euphemia Potter's height. She banishes the memory with force, trying not to let it take her in – none of this feels real, it may all as well be an illusion.

Hariel doesn't like how powerless she feels at the moment, with no control over what's going to happen to her. She's been this way for too long, meek and lamblike, letting Dumbledore and Voldemort and the Dursleys decide her life, and the rage builds in her, till she's gripping her fists tightly.

"Harry," says Sirius quietly, prying open her fists with his nimble fingers, and Hariel sees the moonlike crescents of bloods on the insides of her palms, which prompt her to come out of trance, albeit with a grim smile.

She's no longer to save the world or any of that rubbish, which means she's got time in spades. And she's not going to let this opportunity go to waste; she's going to take Fate by its horns and live life on her terms. She's going to seek power, till every breath she takes dictates the lives of the people around her.

As her new found resolve washes over her, the monster quells, and she turns to regard a worried Sirius who's still holding her hands.

"I'm fine, Siri, I really am," she says, and her teeth glint eerily in the torchlight, as Sirius just nods.

The wizarding world will never be the same again.

And thus Harry's descent into moral greyness starts.

If you catch the reference to a popular Broadway musical, I will instantly be your friend. Extra points if you know who Pandora is!

I wanted to update this much sooner, but I've been caught up with my final year project: psychoanalyzing people via sentiment analysis of their social media. The project deadline is looming up, and I've done only 40%. It has the power to either boost or decimate my GPA.

I also need to start looking for a job — such fun.

But on the bright side, I got a Golden Retriever puppy a couple of weeks back. His name's Draco and he's an adorable furball of terror. If he isn't sleeping, he's being a brat.

Thanks for reading! xx