Omnividence

Chapter Five - Foresight in Vein

The next morning, Harry was doubly worried. Firstly, Voldemort had not made an appearance in his dreams - a fact which troubled Harry since his archenemy was undoubtedly up to something. He wondered if becoming aware of the connection between himself and Voldemort had somehow negated it, or made it more difficult to reach. Then again, it wasn't as though visions of Voldemort danced in his head every night (which, he conceded to himself, he found hard to feel badly about) so it might not actually mean anything.

The second thing troubling him was Hermione.

She wasn't at breakfast, which meant he couldn't apologize. She wasn't in their morning classes either. And that was as un-Hermione as it was possible to get. Ron ended up physically restraining him from bolting off to the Girls' Dorm and throwing himself at her feet.

"She'll come around, Harry," Ron said, shaking his friend by the shoulders. "She knows you didn't mean it. Just give her a bit so she knows you know that she's really hacked off at you. When she's given you time to stew in your guilt, she'll pop up and let you apologize." Ron slung his arm around Harry and added, "Believe me, I know! How many times have I had to trot after her, going 'Hermione! I'm sorry already!'?"

"A fair few," Harry admitted. Ron's probably right, he thought, she's in a snit, and she won't talk to me until she's sure I know I've screwed up. She'll probably be at lunch and I can make up to her then.

Slightly relieved, he allowed Ron to steer him off to their next class.

***

Hermione sat on her bed, hugging her pillow tight and scowling furiously. She had cried to herself half the night and consequently over-slept, something she had never done before. How can Harry be so stupid! she thought fiercely. How can he not realize how much I care for him! She flung the pillow across the room. And HOW can he possibly take up with that Russian tart that Malfoy fancies? Hermione let out a shriek and pummeled her mattress, oblivious to the raven watching her impassively from the windowsill.

***

Aliset felt much, much better this morning. All her guilt had melted away with Harry's forgiveness. He had understood, perhaps better than anyone else was capable, exactly how she felt. If it weren't for the fact that, well... that much was obvious. Otherwise she'd be joining the Unofficial Boy-Who-Lived Fan Club. Which would be just silly, considering. She pulled aside the drapes surrounding her bed, gave a bright 'hello' to Padma and Mandy (whom she had barely spoken to since she arrived) and got ready for breakfast.

For the first time since arriving at Hogwarts, she felt really good about being there. She was safe, she was making friends, and at last the specter of guilt was gone. Ding-dong, Karkaroff's dead. I shan't worry about him anymore. What about Voldemort? her subconscious insisted on asking. Well, what about him? she airily thought back. He's miles and miles away, plus Harry is the metaphysical fly on the wall. He won't sneak up on me, that's for sure.

With that cheerful thought, she breezed through her day.

***

A week went past, and Hermione was still avoiding Harry. Every time he tried to catch her in the Gryffindor common room, she had either already gone out or was in her room. Not only did Lavender and Parvati refuse to fetch her out, pass a message or anything, they had also taken to forming an honour-guard about her so he couldn't catch her alone. She sat as far away as possible at meals and class, and the only clue she gave that she was even aware of his existence was that she avoided him so completely.

What was he going to do? Ron's assurance that she'd come around had faltered several days ago when it became clear she wasn't going to talk to him either.

"You're contagious," was all Ron could say. Harry sighed and took up his vigil in the common room for the third night running. She'd have to come through some time.

In the meantime, Malfoy was being unbearable about the whole thing. Hermione was ignoring his jibes as thoroughly as she ignored Harry's attempts to apologize. But it seemed to Harry that everywhere he turned, Malfoy was there to taunt him.

"Poor Potter," Malfoy said, shaking his head in mock-sympathy as they left Potions. "It isn't easy, getting dumped the first time." He smirked. "Not that I would know, of course. But I've heard that it's painful."

"Give it time, Malfoy," growled Harry. "Everyone you've dated so far is just too shallow to appreciate what a prick you are."

"I don't understand why you're so morose," Malfoy went on, pretending he hadn't heard. "You're moping over that Mud-Blood as though she actually meant something to you..."

Crack! Whatever Malfoy was saying further got lost as Harry's fist connected with his face. Malfoy rocked back from the blow.

"Sod off, Malfoy," said Harry mildly and strode off down the corridor, Ron dancing elated by his side.

Malfoy gingerly prodded his nose and saw with dismay that blood was dripping on the front of his robes.

Only slightly cheered by the memory, Harry poked the fire and waited.

***

"Ahem," coughed a voice in his ear. Harry jerked bolt upright from the chair he had fallen asleep in by the fire. Resettling his glasses on his nose, he looked up and saw Hermione come into focus.

"Um..." He couldn't remember anything he had planned to say. She was scowling at him, but a smile seemed to be playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I was going to stay mad at you until Christmas," she said conversationally. "But I heard about what happened after Potions and, well, I decided I should give you a chance before you punch someone important." Her toe was tapping nervously on the carpet.

"Hermione, I'm really, really, really sorry about what I said," Harry stammered earnestly. "I had no call to go off on you like that." He fiddled with the edge of his sweater and told her about his dreams, the meeting with Aliset, and everything else that he hadn't had a chance to because she was angry with him.

"Oh," said Hermione softly. "I have been an idiot, haven't I? I'm sorry for being so... stubborn and suspicious. And nosy," she added wryly. She stuck out her hand. "Friends again?"

Harry shook her hand with mock formality, but didn't let her have it back right away. She looked quizzically at him. "Hermione, will... will you go to the Yule Ball with me?" he squeaked.

Hermione gave him a long look of incomprehension, then disbelief. "Harry...," she began slowly. "That's months away."

"Yes. I know. But if you say 'yes' now and then I do something else stupid, you'll still have already promised to be my, um, date," Harry said.

She gave him a glare and let him squirm for a minute under its intensity. "Oh, alright then," she sighed theatrically, while inside she was doing cartwheels for joy. Smiling slightly, she kissed his forehead.

***

Harry sat beneath a large tree near the edge of the lake and squinted off into the distance. Resisting the urge to chant 'Ommm....' to himself, he took several deep breaths and tried to clear his mind. Clear the mind...Righto. This is me thinking of nothing. Concentrate on nothing... The air was crisp with coming autumn, the Halloween feast was coming up and a few weeks after that, the Yule Ball. What had possessed him to ask Hermione? Well, it was definitely one way of showing the sincerity of his apology, but a trifle extreme. It had just felt right. The sky was a periwinkle blue - just the shade of Hermione's dress robes fourth year, come to think of it...

"Aaargh! I can't do it!" he cried in frustration. "It's no use, Munin. I'm never going to be able to use this!" He knocked his head against the tree trunk. For the last several weeks, he had been meeting the ravens by the lake, trying to put himself into a light trance, so he could use his clairvoyant abilities consciously. So far, he had counted every tree and shrub on the other side of the lake twice and still wasn't any closer to success. He kept getting distracted - like today. Munin and Hugin were taking it in turns to be his instructor, and he appreciated it, he really did. But he was going to set fire to something in sheer frustration if nothing happened soon.

"Be patient," Munin clacked his beak in disapproval. "Learning to relax your mind, to think of nothing, is not something that happens instantaneously. It requires a lot of discipline. Now, once more."

Breath hissing between his teeth with annoyance, Harry settled back against the trunk for another effort.

***

"Happy Halloween!" Hermione chirped as she took her seat with Harry and Ron at the Gryffindor table, laden for the feast with every kind of pastry, sweet and chocolate designed to make the daughter of a dentist twitch with guilt.

As all the students stuffed themselves sick, Hermione couldn't help but notice that Ron was merely picking at his plate. "Hey... what's wrong?" she said under her breath and nudged him with her toe.

"Nothing." He flashed her a smile full of teeth and insincerity.

"C'mon. Give," she said, and prodded him again.

"'Mione? Do want to lose that foot? Then quit it," he said irritably. He glared at her, but she glared right back and he gave in. "Oh, fine. It's nothing important. Just that I've been trying to catch Aliset and ask her to the Ball and then I find out she's already going with Malfoy." He scowled at his plate. "There. Happy?"

Hermione cast a helpless glance at Harry, who had been pretending to be thoroughly absorbed in unwrapping an enormous Everlasting-Gobstopper.

Harry twisted around in his seat to face Ron properly. "Ah o ssoah ow ah?" he asked, then took the gobstopper out of his mouth and tried again. "Are you sure about that? I mean, you never know until you try, that kind of thing."

Ron shared his scowl with Harry. "As much as I'm cheered by your clichés, I seem to remember, two years ago, some bloke, with messy hair and thick specs, moping around the school because some girl, whose initials are CHO CHANG, ended up going to the Ball with..." He broke off. Cho had gone with Cedric Diggory.

There was a moment of awkward silence, then Hermione prodded Ron, a little more gently this time. "Ask her. Or at least, mention that you've heard she's going with Malfoy. Then if it isn't true, you can ask her."

"Look, just because you and Harry are bent on playing 'Happy Families' - and don't think I haven't noticed - does not mean the rest of the world is destined for the same. Okay?" Ron demanded, glaring at each of them in turn.

Harry fixed him with a look of his own. "Ron, we've been friends for yonks and I've never lied to you, right?"

Ron squinted at him suspiciously, but nodded. "Right," he paused thoughtfully. "So far as I know, anyway."

Harry ignored Hermione giggling into her mug of hot chocolate. "Well, here I am - your best friend who's never lied to you - telling you that I'm having a clairvoyant moment. Now's your chance."

Ginger eyebrows lifted to a ginger hairline, as Ron looked at Harry skeptically. "Outside of Trelawney and the ubbish we come up with to keep her happy, that's the lousiest bit of prediction I've ever heard." Both boys ignored Hermione as she laughed hard enough to spill chocolate down her robes. Ron grinned. "However," he said slowly, "I doubt I'm going to get a minutes peace until I've done something about my pathetic situation." He sighed dramatically. "Might as well humiliate myself in public. Where is she?"

Harry waved his gobstobber over in the direction of the Teachers' Table. "Over where it's quieter. See the end of the Ravenclaw table closest?" He patted Ron's arm, making it quite sticky because he had forgotten about the half-sucked sweet in his hand. "Um," he said, pulling the sweet away with a muted ripping noise. "Good luck!"

Ron struck off purposely in the direction of the Ravenclaw table. He stopped halfway and threw a desperate glance back at the Gryffindors. Everyone who had been within earshot of the conversation, which was about half the table, gave him a discrete thumbs-up. He grinned again, nervously, and continued on his way.

***

Hermione and Harry watched in unabashed fascination as Ron tried to saunter casually and ended up looking more like he was on the deck of a ship. One that was on a rough sea, apparently, as he staggered into the corner of the table.

They couldn't hear what he said from that distance, but they saw Ron flush a deep maroon and Aliset say something. Eventually, Ron came back to the table, looking very shaken.

"Well?" demanded Hermione, squirming in her seat with impatience.

"I asked her if she was going with Malfoy," Ron said, grinning. "She said he hadn't asked. And then, well, I stuttered a bit and didn't manage to really say anything..." His smile threatened to wrap around his head. "So she asked me if I would go with her." He shrugged. "Of course, I said yes, and she smiled kind of strangely and said she was glad because I was the only person to seem interested."

Ron sat back with a look of deep satisfaction. Then he jerked upright and looked at Harry and Hermione with utter horror. "This means I'm going to have to dance, doesn't it?" he moaned. "I've got less than two months to learn!"

***

Draco way-laid Aliset as she left the Great Hall. "So, I expect you'll be wanting to coordinate for the Yule Ball," he said lightly. "I'm wearing black with silver embroidery." He looked her up and down. "Something flowing. Silver silk, I think, with black velvet trim." Draco smiled, and his eyelids lowered in anticipation. "If you need a spot of cash for your dress robes, I can help you look your best." He put his hand proprietarily around her.

Aliset disentangled herself. "Very generous," she said coldly. "Especially for someone else's date for the Ball."

"Ah, humor," he smirked. "Trying to make me jealous are you?"

"No," she said, slightly uneasy. "I really am going with someone else. I've already been asked." She frowned. "And they did ask. They didn't simply inform me that I needed matching dress robes." She felt a momentary satisfaction as she saw his eyes widen briefly, then flicker in acknowledgement.

"Who?" Draco said mildly, though his fists were clenched tightly in his sleeves.

Aliset smiled wickedly. "Ron Weasley," she said sweetly.

For a split second, Draco gaped most unbecomingly. "W-Weasley?" he sputtered. "You're honestly telling me that you'd rather go with that piece of poor Wizard trash..." Draco looked positively incandescent with suppressed rage. "Next thing you'll be telling me you're going to spawn the next litter of red-haired, flea-bitten, muggle-loving - ''

"Not another word," Aliset spat, stalking towards him in fury.

As quickly as he had lost his self-possession, it was back. "You are making a very serious mistake," Draco said, every word laced with venom. "You've had it easy here, so far, but believe me - I can make your life an absolute misery." The torchlight in the hall illuminated him oddly, setting his grey eyes afire and crowning his pale head with flame. "Last chance to be the best-dressed witch at the Yule Ball. Are you sure you don't want to reconsider?"

She half-turned away, as if to humbly prepare an apology. Too late, Draco realized it was a feint. The heel of her hand smashed into his mouth, cutting itself through the silk glove on his teeth, driving his head back into the wall. Her blood welled up and ran down his throat, bitter as a coin under his tongue.

Aliset snatched her hand away, leaving a smear of blood across his lips. "Bastard," she said softly, hissing with pain. Cradling her torn hand, she ran off, leaving him alone in the corridor.

Draco swallowed reflexively. His mouth... his whole head hurt...

A face he knew only from a portrait in his home. A name he knew only from the family history. But a shock to see his progenitor, standing above the fallen bodies of his enemies, arms red to the elbows...

Méchant Malfoy, first of the line, stands surveying the battlefield. His lieutenant steps to his side, saying, "They have surrendered, milord."

"Good," drawls the General. "Now this is my land. And they are trespassing. Kill them."

...The vision flickers and is replaced by a swirl of other images: bloody hands pressing crowns onto pale heads...child after child nursed on the blood of their ancestral enemies...

His great-great-great grandfather... Asustar Malfoy bent avidly over the twisted figure on the rack. "So few words," he murmured. "All you need to say to save yourself more pain." He took the nearest of the crippled man's hands in both of his, ignoring the splintering and grinding of bones and the whimpering of a man too weak to scream.

"Names. I need names," he stroked the damaged fingers. "No one betrays their liege and lives. I know your family is in it up to their necks... It makes it so much easier to remove their heads," he bent his lips to the man's ear, "but, if you give me the names of your co-conspirators..."

Draco reeled pressed his hands over his eyes, willing it to stop...

"My Lord," Lucius said smoothly, "the Potters' Secret-Keeper awaits outside your chambers. Shall I show him in?"

"Of course, Malfoy, of course," Voldemort replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You have done so well. I never would have thought he could be so easily... persuaded." He looked triumphantly at his foremost Death Eater. "Today, Lucius Malfoy... Today I change the future."

His heart felt like it had frozen. His hands were numb; otherwise he might have tried to pull his eyes out from his head, though his eyes had nothing to do with what he was seeing...

At last, himself... He shouldn't have been surprised. Here was his life played out: All the petty cruelty, the endless repeating of 'My father says...'

And suddenly, this is himself, older and taller, the hands broader... Another battlefield, the bodies of the dead slipping treacherously in the mud under his feet.

Voldemort's standard has fallen, and by it, his master. From the mud, a figure rises, weary but victorious. Its hair is plastered down by smoke, mud and rain, but he recognizes those emerald eyes. Draco sees himself point his wand at that distant figure and cry out: 'Avada - '... the wind sweeps away the sound of his voice, but the green-eyed man staggers and falls back onto the body of his last enemy...

...Now, in a circular chamber where he is chained... Someone says, formally, but with vicious satisfaction, "The punishment for murder is death. The prisoner is guilty. The prisoner must die!"

Then a hundred voices echoing: "Must die... he must die... he murdered... he must DIE!"

The last thing he sees is a blast of green light rushing towards him. The last thing he hears is a hundred hysterical voices screaming: "AVADA KEDAVRA"

Draco fell to his knees in the empty corridor, doubled over and vomited; bile with a shot of red running through it. His forehead touched the cool stone of the floor and in his terror he thought it was a slab closing him in his tomb. The visions ended as he blacked out.