The next day, Hogwarts officially opened for the year.
The welcome feast wasn't until evening, so the morning belonged to no one in particular. Kevin Croft and Hermione took a slow walk around the Black Lake — until the Dementors drifting overhead killed the mood entirely. They bailed and went to the library instead. Infinitely better.
Snape hadn't summoned Kevin for Potions sessions yet. Excellent news. Hermione had been pulling him into study corners every day, which suited him fine.
Two new classes this year: Care of Magical Creatures and Divination.
Kevin had talked Magical Creatures to death with Hagrid — Hermione and the others had caught plenty of it secondhand. Draco knew the most, mostly through his father's obsession with rare beasts and status items.
Divination was something else entirely. Neither Kevin nor Hermione had any patience for it.
Hermione's position was simple: facts, evidence, logical deduction. Vague tea-leaf prophecy wasn't knowledge, it was atmosphere.
Kevin's was simpler. He'd always considered himself the sort of person who, if told by something divine that he was going to die at midnight, would make a point of dying at half eleven just to establish who was in charge. The riskier the prediction, the more he wanted to poke it. Skepticism of fate wasn't a philosophy for him — it was a personality trait.
They skipped the Divination reading list entirely.
That evening, the feast ran its usual course. Sorting Ceremony, house choir, then Dumbledore stepped up to the podium.
"First, I'm delighted to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor: R.J. Lupin."
Every house clapped. The relief in the room was palpable — after a year of Lockhart's endless self-congratulation, a real teacher felt like clean air.
"Our Care of Magical Creatures professor is retiring for health reasons. However, I'm very pleased to announce that his replacement is someone you already know — Rubeus Hagrid."
Louder cheers. Hagrid beamed from ear to ear at the staff table, going steadily red.
"However, there is one piece of difficult news."
The applause faded. Dumbledore's expression shifted into something grave. The old man understood timing.
"At the Ministry's request, Azkaban's Dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds until Sirius Black is apprehended."
Murmurs spread through the hall like cold water.
"The Ministry has assured me they won't interfere with classes or day-to-day school life. But I must warn you — Dementors are dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with intent. They cannot be reasoned with, and they do not distinguish between targets. Do not approach them. Do not give them cause to approach you."
He paused, letting it land.
"That said — happiness does not disappear simply because something dark is nearby. Hold onto yours."
The hall stayed very quiet as Dumbledore finished.
Then — a single, enthusiastic set of claps cut through the silence.
Every head turned.
Kevin was applauding with genuine appreciation, eyes fixed on his plate, working through a helping of roast. He hadn't looked up.
Then he did. He stopped. Two hundred faces were staring at him.
The context assembled itself slowly.
Wrong moment for applause...
Hermione and the others had their hands over their faces. Every single one of them.
"I — was that not the end?" Kevin offered weakly, to the room at large.
Dumbledore blinked. The boy had an extraordinary gift for timing.
"Indeed it was," Dumbledore said, and clapped first himself. The hall followed, and the feast began, and most people forgot about it within five minutes.
Most.
Hermione pinched Kevin's side the moment the noise rose enough to cover it.
"Ow — ow —"
Somehow, his cluelessness had broken the tension in the room. Conversations started up faster than usual. Laughter came easier. Kevin ate with perfect composure and zero visible shame.
Later, at the window of the common room, he watched the rain. Dementors drifted through the dark below, slow and aimless.
Sirius was closing in. Harry had quietened after Kevin's talk — no more obsessive fury, just a steady, purposeful patience. He was waiting now, ready to deal with whatever the truth turned out to be.
Good.
Classes started the next day.
First up: Divination.
Kevin collected Hermione and climbed to the tower. She wasn't running the Time-Turner for extra lessons anymore — they'd tested it thoroughly after McGonagall issued it, confirmed it worked exactly as described, and then Kevin had firmly banned Hermione from using it for coursework.
His reasoning was sound. Time-travel for homework was an absurd use of a dangerous tool. The risks of overlapping timelines, the sleep disruption, the sheer potential for something to go wrong — none of it was worth shaving thirty minutes off an essay.
Hermione had grumbled. But she'd also, quietly, been relieved. Solo studying meant being away from Kevin, and she'd got thoroughly out of the habit of enjoying that.
They used it for the occasional practical necessity, and otherwise left it alone.
The Divination tower was warm, heavily perfumed, draped in coloured fabric. Professor Trelawney drifted between the tables like smoke, all flowing scarves and enormous magnifying glasses for eyes.
"Welcome to Divination. I am Professor Trelawney. Here we will explore the art of foresight — and discover whether any of you possess the Sight."
She swept the room with an air of someone communing with the universe.
The first lesson was tea-leaf reading. She had everyone fill their cups, drink, and peer at what remained.
Kevin quietly picked up the teapot and poured himself a fresh cup. Hermione did the same a moment later.
Trelawney moved between tables, pausing at Ron with wide eyes.
"Oh — something agitated here." She turned the cup to show him. Ron checked his textbook.
"It says something great is coming for Harry?"
Kevin raised an eyebrow. In the story he knew, Harry had received the Grim — the death omen. But things had shifted. Less misery in Harry's life so far, more people standing between him and the worst of it.
Apparently Divination had noticed.
Harry, a few tables over, felt a strange chill run through him for no reason he could name.
Trelawney moved on and found Kevin — or rather, found his empty cup. She snatched it up, peered inside.
The leaves at the bottom were minimal. Kevin had drunk every drop, including most of the leaves.
She made a face.
"Oh, child. This cup says you'll lose much. But you'll hold onto what matters most."
"So, mostly safe?" Kevin said pleasantly. "Just a few minor setbacks? That's not bad, Professor."
Trelawney fumbled. The cup was too empty to argue against convincingly.
Kevin leaned forward, genuinely curious now. "Professor — I've been thinking. If Divination actually works, why stop at good fortune and warnings? Could you use it to track an enemy? Figure out when they'll move, where they'll be, what they're afraid of?"
She blinked. "Who would you be divining, dear?"
"Voldemort."
Dead silence. The class felt it — the weight of a name most of them still flinched at.
Trelawney stumbled back a half-step.
"If Divination is real," Kevin continued, in the tone of someone genuinely working through a problem, "it should be most useful against the most dangerous targets. Horoscopes and lucky teacups are fine. But a tool that could actually predict a dark wizard's movements — that would be something worth studying."
Trelawney stared at him. Several expressions crossed her face in quick succession.
"Divination is not... a weapon, child. And the Dark Lord's destiny is... not simple to read..."
"Is he too powerful to predict?" Kevin tilted his head. "Or is it that we're easier targets because our fates are smaller?"
Trelawney didn't have a good answer. The classroom was watching her.
Kevin picked up Hermione's used cup, poured fresh tea into it, and took a calm sip.
"Professor." His voice went quiet. Flat. "Pour yourself a cup."
He set his crowbar on the desk with a soft, deliberate clunk.
"I'll bet yours says today is going to be a very bad day."