Omnividence

Chapter Seven - The Crossroads

"...Yet it was there I felt the crossroads of time,

and I wondered why...

Turning to go, I heard you call out my name,

Like a bird in a cage, spreading its wings to fly.

The old ways are lost, you sang as you flew..."

- Loreena McKennitt, "The Old Ways"

"So here it is. And hasn't it been a long way down." - James Allen Gardner

***

Harry was sitting by the fire in the common room, when the portrait swung aside and Ron came through. Harry eyed Ron critically. There was something different about him - although he had seen him look dazed often enough. "Hey, Ron," he said.

Ron turned to Harry with an utterly beatific expression. "Hi, Harry," he replied, sitting in the chair opposite Harry with a sigh of contentment. He closed his eyes and smiled.

"Y'know," said Harry, "I don't think I even need to ask you how your walk with Aliset went. She likes you, huh?"

Ron gazed upwards at the Gryffindor crest hanging above the fireplace. The reflected flames danced in his hair, filling it with sparks. "I kissed her," he said softly.

"I take it she didn't exactly run screaming for the hills, then," Harry said, thinking that the aureole of fire around Ron might well be attributed to his emotional state, instead of merely the roaring blaze on the hearth before them. He had never seen Ron quite like this.

"She asked me to kiss her again," Ron answered dreamily. He sat up and looked at his best friend very seriously. "She chose me over Malfoy, Harry. She said I'm the nicest person she's ever met and that she wants to get to know me better." He shook his head in quiet amazement.

Harry smiled and stood up, intending to go to bed and leave Ron to relive his evening. But as he past by, he laid his hand on Ron's shoulder. "I don't know why you're so surprised, Ron." He patted him, half-congratulatory and half-comfortingly. "I chose you over Malfoy years ago."

Leaving Ron warm by the fire, Harry went peacefully to bed.

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione sifted into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom with the rest of the students. Sirius was writing on the blackboard, but turned and grinned at Harry as he came in.

"Hi, Si- Professor Black," Harry said. For all Sirius had been his professor for two months, Harry kept forgetting.

Over the last two months, Sirius had made himself very popular with all the students except the Slytherins, who referred to him as 'that lunatic criminal' outside class. All the girls went a little giggly over their new professor - and he certainly had the looks for it: wavy black hair, deep-set grey eyes and a powerful physique. Combined with his cheerful charm, he had a few of the female professors misty-eyed over him as well.

They had spent most of the term covering cursed objects. Harry quite enjoyed this, especially since he had been wondering about some of the things he had seen in Knockturn Alley. So far, they had discussed Muggle garments cursed with Strangulation Charms, Evil Mirrors (which gradually stole the soul of people who looked into them), and Voodoo dolls. Today they were going to start on cursed weaponry.

As soon as everyone had taken their seats, the Slytherins filing sullenly into the back row, Sirius stopped writing on the blackboard and turned to the class. "As I'm sure you all know, there have been many demonic weapons throughout history and legend. Can anyone name some for me?" He smiled as Hermione raised her hand.

"Well, there was the Ring of Power that gave its creator unlimited power, but it drove anyone else who had it mad," Hermione said. "Does that count?"

"Yes, it does. Two points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger. That was one of the most powerful Dark weapons of all time," Sirius agreed. He pointed at Neville. "How about you?"

"Um... the Black Cauldron?" Neville said hopefully.

"Oh yes," Sirius said solemnly. "Another two points if you can tell us what it did?"

Briefly, Neville closed his eyes in panic - a mere habit he resorted to under any kind of questioning, since Sirius was unfailingly kind and patient with him. "Uh, it was used to raise armies of skeletons."

Some of the Slytherins perked up at this. Draco started to yawn ostentatiously, then stopped. Instead, he elbowed Crabbe, who was starting to nod and drooling on himself. "Wake up," he hissed.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy," Sirius said, with slightly strained cheerfulness. "I'm sure," he began, and coughed slightly, "you can tell us about some cursed weapons."

Draco's eyes narrowed, but he shrugged. "There was the sword Myech Samoklad that made anyone who wielded it invincible. Someone nicked it off the evil Lord Koshey." He buffed the edge of his desk idly. "According to my father, it was in the family for awhile, but my great-grandmother said it didn't match the furniture."

The Gryffindors twisted around in their seats to stare at Malfoy. He gazed off into space, unconcerned. Slowly, the students turned back to face the professor.

Sirius was suppressing a grin. "Yes, Myech Samoklad was certainly a cursed sword. Well done. Two points to Slytherin."

***

The class went on to discuss ways of preventing someone from cursing your things, to detecting if someone already had.

"The incantation to protect your belongings is 'Epechoes Res'," Sirius said, writing it on the blackboard under the heading 'Protections' and next to the list of Dark or cursed weapons. "The spell for detecting a curse already in place is 'Admonammi'." He wrote this on the board also. "I'd like you all to practice the first one. Select an object of yours to protect and cast the protective charm. At the end of the class, I'll see how well you did by trying to put mild curses on them."

For the rest of the class, everyone was trying to protect everything they owned. Finally, Sirius told them to put their things on the desks and he would come around to each student.

He came by Harry's desk first. "Are you ready, Mr. Potter?" His voice was mockingly stern.

Harry pushed his textbook out, making Sirius laugh. "Good choice. OK, Incendio!"

The book totally failed to burst into flames. "Alright, good job. Another two points to Gryffindor." Sirius moved on to Hermione, who held up her scarf.

"Are you sure you want me to curse this?" Sirius asked. "Soffoca!" he said, touching his wand tip to the material.

Only slightly nervous, Hermione put the scarf around her neck. Nothing happened. Sirius gave her two points as well.

Dean let him try to curse his socks, Lavender offered her barrette. Seamus got a surprise when he picked up his ink bottle and received a mild shock. "You better work on that," Sirius advised.

Parvati giggled as he tried to curse her bracelet, Ron held up his quill. Somewhat to his embarrassment, the quill drifted back onto the desk in ash. "Whoops, Mr. Weasley. You need more practice on this one," Sirius said, patting him on the shoulder.

The Slytherins were looking deeply bored with all of this - although a few of the girls had little hearts around Sirius's name in their notes.

Millicent watched from under her heavy, black brows as Sirius tried to curse her roll of parchment. When it was obvious her spell had worked, Sirius gave her two points. Eventually, it appeared that all of the Slytherins (including, to everyone's vast surprise, Crabbe and Goyle) had mastered the spell. They had been doing it since they were children, after all.

***

When class was dismissed, the students left laughing and talking excitedly about the day's lesson. Defense Against the Dark Arts was now the favorite, even though Professor Black, while always friendly, was also a demanding teacher. But he made his lessons fascinating and encouraged questions and contributions, instead of lecturing and having tests based on long, dry notes.

Harry hung back, waving to Ron and Hermione that he would meet up with them later.

Sirius noticed him hovering by his desk. "Something on your mind, Harry? Or are you going to tell me that you can't join me for tea later?" Whenever his and his godson's spare time coincided, they often met for tea by the fire in Sirius' office. Sirius took deep pleasure in getting to know his best friend's only child, and he enjoyed Harry's company for its own sake as well.

Chewing his bottom lip in apparent nervousness, Harry toyed with a quill on the desk for a moment before replying. "Sirius... What do you know about telling the future?"

Sirius frowned. "Well," he said slowly, "I know that very few people are any good at it. Most, and I include my esteemed colleague upstairs since I know you won't repeat this, are very, very bad at it. Frauds, in fact." Sirius leaned against the corner of his desk, as he always did when settling in for a long discussion on some esoteric point of wizardry. "Basically, what I know about fortune-telling could fit on the tip of a wand - with room to write that paper on Dark Weaponry you have due next week," he added with a grin.

Harry smiled back weakly. Clearly, whatever was bothering him, he wasn't in the mood to be amused. "Were there any seers working for Voldemort?" he asked. There was an anxiousness in his voice that Sirius couldn't place.

An unhappy smile lurked at the corners of Sirius' mouth. "A few," he said reluctantly. "But as I told you, there are so few seers that are any good. Only a handful are good enough to see the other side of an empty room." His eyes turned sharp. "Are you talking about that new girl? Aliset Something-Unpronounceable?"

He watched his godson twitch with surprise. Harry started to deny it, but Sirius waved him into silence. "I can see that's not it." He went quiet for a few moments, as his memory took him back to the darkness of Azkaban...

Heavy lidded, Sirius' eyes wandered to the grate in his cell door. New prisoners were coming, he could hear them, smell them. But he was so tired...

There was a moment of surprise, in this prison of despair: One of the prisoners was a woman. Her eyes were hooded by the bones of her brow, but he didn't need to see them to know all her defiance had been sucked out at the door. The slump in her shoulders, the dragging of every step, told him that.

Deep in his own misery, Sirius spared her a mental chuckle. So she had thought to bring her master back. A lot of good it had done her. For all he was innocent, for all she had tried to delay her guilt; here they were in the same place.

Years later, when the inevitable madness reduced her threats to mumbles and shrieks, she repeated the same words over and over again in her cell:

"The Dark Lord will rise again!" she cackled into the darkness. "He will rise again and will come for us!"

Hearing it from his own private patch of gloom, Sirius wondered if that was her mantra of hope. No more insane than his own. They could both mutter their madness to the dark until the spit dried to dust in their mouths. Neither of them would ever leave...

But he escaped, his most forlorn hope realized. As he crept down the corridor, he paused by the door of her cell and read her name:

Oracula Lestrange.

"Sirius?" Harry's voice broke his bitter memories into pieces.

He jerked slightly, and looked with concern at his favorite student. Harry gave him a look that he said he knew all too well what Sirius was thinking, having apparently learned that when that particular shadow crossed his godfather's face that he was remembering Azkaban. "I'm sorry, Harry," Sirius said, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face. "Did you say something?"

"You paused so long, I thought you had forgotten me," Harry said, touching his godfather's sleeve in an oddly adult gesture of comfort.

"Sorry," Sirius said again. He sighed and exchanged a long look with Harry. "You, of all people, might understand. Sometimes... sometimes it's hard to remember that the nightmares are over." He put his arm around the boy and felt him nod as they sat shoulder to shoulder.

"Yeah, I understand," Harry said, his voice low with depth of feeling. He shook himself, all over, like Sirius as a dog. "So," he said, forcing his voice into a lighter tone. "Were there any real seers among the Death Eaters?"

"I think there might have been one," Sirius admitted. His voice tried to match Harry's forced cheer, but failed.

***

Harry left Sirius' classroom feeling depressed. He didn't know why he had asked what he did, only that some part of his mind insisted that it was important. He looked down at his watch. Time for Quidditch practice. And after that, he was meeting Hugin and Munin by the lake to try the link with Voldemort again. He had been trying and failing for weeks and that failure rubbed across his mind, leaving him touchy and sore.

The Gryffindor team noticed that he was less enthusiastic today, and since he was their captain, his mood affected them too. Harry tried to be his normal self; encouraging his teammates, drawing up game plans, explaining strategies, but it was apparent his nerves were frayed.

"Come off it, Harry," said Seamus. "You look like your best friend just died. And I know he didn't, since he's sitting in the stands watching us." He was right, as Harry looked up he saw Ron and Hermione wave.

"Let's just call it a day, shall we?" he said. "Our next match is next week against Hufflepuff. Their team this year is still playing conservatively. We take risks... smart risks and we'll beat them flat. Right?" Harry plastered a smile across his lips.

"Yeah, right, Harry." Their voices were flat. He was letting them down.

"Alright, get lost, then," he said irritably. "We'll have an extra practice tomorrow morning. Maybe we'll get some of the first years and try them out, okay?" Annoyed, he managed to sound more like himself.

Slightly cheered, the Gryffindor team left the pitch. But his teammates cast concerned looks at him, sensing that something was wrong. Several managed to brush against him, trying to reassure him without being too obvious.

Hermione came down from the stands and put her arms around him. He found himself embracing her in return. Harry breathed in the warm scent of her hair, never having really noticed it before. She smells wonderful, he thought absently.

"Are you meeting with the ravens tonight?" Her voice was low with secrecy.

"Yes." He had told her about his efforts to use the link the scar gave him to track Voldemort's whereabouts. He knew she didn't approve, but he appreciated that she didn't discourage him from it either.

"Good luck," she said, and hugged him fiercely, hard enough to hurt. She stepped back, and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, grinning a little self-consciously. "Ron's gone to play Wizards' Chess with Aliset. I think he's finally met his match. They're big on chess in Russia." Seeing Harry smile, a real smile and his first all day, she embraced him once more, gently this time. "See you later!" And she was off to the castle.

Harry walked to the lake, the heat of her still in his arms.

***

Hugin hopped down from the tree to sit next to Harry beneath it. "Munin and I have been discussing another technique you might try," he said in his harsh, corvine voice.

"Really?" Harry said, hope entering his voice. I've been at this for weeks and haven't made any progress. Maybe trying something new will help.

"When we teach our young to control their visions - " Hugin began, but Harry interrupted them.

"Are you saying that all ravens are clairvoyant?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course," Munin answered with a clack of his beak. "That's what ravens are for." He paused reflectively. "Well, that and eating the dead."

Hugin gave them both a look, then picked up where he had left off: "We teach them how to ride the vision, to let it fly above the distractions." His beady yellow eyes fixed on Harry's. "Seeing is ubiquitous. It can be blocked, but only to one who doesn't know how to rise over the blocks placed. Just remember," he added, "looking makes it so."

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

Munin, again, was the one to reply. "Are you sure you want an explanation? It gets a bit... metaphorical."

Hugin added: "Analogy is sometimes the only way to explain it in any way that makes sense. There's no vocabulary for it, really."

Harry felt a little dazed. Getting a straightforward answer from these two chickens, he thought dourly, is like forcing Malfoy to be civil. Outloud, all he said was: "Okay, explain it to me."

Munin cleared his throat and began to pace along the branch he was on. "Imagine a path through a forest. This path is the course of the future. When the path forks, the forks represent different futures - different choices you make. If you choose to go left, that path reveals itself to you. If you choose to go right, or to continue straight, the same thing: You can see the path ahead of you. But if you stay at the crossroads, you see each possible future, each possible destination." He stopped and let Hugin continue.

Hugin dipped his beak in the lake first. "Looking down the path of the future is like walking down that path in the forest. Looking makes it real. Now or later," he added, half to himself.

"But the future is, to forgive a pun, a little far ahead of you," Munin said, dropping his beak in what Harry was coming to recognize as a smile. "Let's concentrate on the past for now, that can't hurt you. So, now, we are going to show you how we train young ravens," his beak dropped again as he regarded Harry's black hair. "Appropriate, I think, in your case.

"What do I do?" Harry asked. "How does it start?"

"Close your eyes," Hugin said.

Harry did so, with a groan. This was how he'd tried, and failed, to do it before.

"Reach your mind out to mine," Hugin said, his voice falling into a hypnotic rhythm. "Reach out, Harry. I'm in your lap," he said, although he was still several paces away. "I want you to see yourself riding on my back... You're going flying with me, Harry..."

Harry's breathing slowed...

"Hello, Harry," said Hugin's voice. He felt feathers beneath his hands. A pale version of the wind floated over him, even though it seemed they were flying very fast. But everything was white...

They broke through the clouds and Harry saw the quilt of England laid out beneath them. In a wide spiral, Hugin began to descend. "We can't stay here long," he cautioned. "Because this way always works, because we can go anywhere and anywhen, we cannot stay long."

Harry nodded, watching with amazement as they circled in above a small town. "Where are we?"

"You mean, 'when' are we," Hugin replied. "Fifty years ago." One large building loomed closer.

It was surrounded by trees and, despite the white paint, Harry thought it looked more like a prison than a house. Then he saw the lettering engraved into the stone lintel: Boys' Sanctuary of Great Hangleton.

They flew over the grounds of the orphanage. There were a few boys playing football, their clothing seeming very out-of-date to Harry, who had see few pictures of that time period.

"You must remember, Harry," Hugin said, "This is just after the second great Muggle war - although many wizards were also involved. One way or another," he added darkly. "There are more, many more orphans here than there were before...Ah, there he is," Hugin stooped suddenly, making Harry gasp.

Walking amongst the trees, whose branches had been stripped nearly bare by rough-playing residents of the Sanctuary, was a skinny adolescent boy. His hair was black and his eyes were the color of sharpened steel. With a shock of recognition, Harry knew him as Tom Riddle.

"He's sixteen," whispered Hugin, though Tom could not see or hear them. "Just your age."

Tom was kicking through the straggle of leaves and twigs on the ground, muttering to himself sulkily. "I don't see why they couldn't have just let me stay at school," he complained bitterly. "I hate this place, I hate this place, I hate this place!" A look of pure malevolence crept into his eyes as he glared at the building before him.

Glancing cautiously around to see that no one was watching, he pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the orphanage. "Incendio," he whispered.

There was no warning. A gout of fire rose from the roof and the poor refugees began streaming through the doors. One man, lanky and greasy (who reminded Harry a little of Professor Snape), came marching through the doors and onto the lawn. "Don't just scramble around, you little bastards!" he barked at them. "Get buckets and hoses. You, there!" he cried, pointing to Tom. "Call the fire department!"

"We have to go..." Hugin said softly. "We've stayed long enough."

Harry opened his eyes and found he was back by the lake. He blinked a few times, then let out a great rush of breath. "Wow. That was Riddle? What a murderous little sod he was. Even as a kid." He stopped and shot a look of concern at Hugin. "Did anyone die in the fire?"

"No," Hugin answered. "But a large part of the upper floor was destroyed." He clacked his beak, conveying that there was something he found not-very-amusing. "It made the orphanage more crowded than it was before." He flew up to join Munin on his branch.

Silently, Harry sat beneath the tree and thought about what he had seen. The flush of success warred with apprehension, both making him a little breathless. It worked, though, he said fiercely to himself. It really worked! He couldn't wait to tell Hermione, even though she'd probably just get all worried and upset. But she would understand how much it meant to him. How important it was to finally be able to strike back...

Munin leaned forward to peer down at Harry. "Think you can try it yourself? Think of flying. Remember the sensation."

Flying was familiar enough. This will be easy. Harry obediently closed his eyes and thought of flying...

***

Harry tried to follow the ravens' instructions, to ride the vision and See above the distractions and obstacles. But when the vision began, it took all of his will and courage to continue...

Voldemort approached the house in Godric's Hollow. Everything was as Pettigrew had promised - the Potters were at home, and wholly unaware that death was at their door.

Inside, he could hear the chink of silverware against plates. How nice. They were enjoying their last meal. Soon, within moments, the threat to his reign would be removed. The Lestrange witch had foretold that Harry Potter would be his downfall:

"I see a boy... young... who will stop your rightful mastery, my Lord," she had said, gazing into her crystal. "He will be the hero of your enemies. His name will be spoken with reverence by every wizard... His name... is Harry Potter." And Oracula Lestrange had collapsed with the effort of vision.

Voldemort had rewarded her handsomely. Such a useful tool, clairvoyance.

Meanwhile, Voldemort intended to destroy this boy before he could grow to be his bane. Muttering under his breath, he blasted the door open.

Through the cinders of the doorway he strode into the small and tidy living room, littered with baby toys. His lip curled in contempt - his enemy, still a child! Beyond, he could see the empty table in the kitchen, two chairs knocked to the floor where their occupants had stood in a hurry. He heard the back door open and shut.

He marched stiffly to the kitchen threshold. Before he could enter, a tall man with black hair stepped into his path. James Potter was pointing his wand at him, trembling with rage. Or was it fear?

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him!" James cried, without turning to look behind him. He set his jaw and locked gazes with Voldemort.

From somewhere behind the house, came a woman's voice, faint and pleading. Threading around it, an infant's wail rose. Voldemort tried to quell the rush of anticipation. He would be safe, soon enough.

"Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" There was a note of panic in James' voice. His eyes never left Voldemort.

"Touching," said the Dark Lord dryly. "Too bad it will do no good. But I can be a gentleman, Mr. Potter. Strike the first blow! Defend your family!"

James' eyes widened in sudden hope, then narrowed in determination. "Avada Kedavra!" he roared.

The Dark Lord laughed, a slow, sticky chuckle, like mud bubbling in a pit. Voldemort stood and let the curse wash over him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter. The only wizard powerful enough to kill me now... is myself." He leaned forward, his hard eyes lit with the fires of victory. "Die, now, Mr. Potter. You have the honour of being killed by the most powerful wizard ever to walk the earth...Avada Kedavra!"

And James fell dead at his feet.

With eager steps, he went quickly to the back door. Having gone no farther than the porch in the few moments in took for her husband to die, there was Lily, holding the infant in her arms, glaring at him defiantly.

"Give me the boy," Voldemort said, almost gently. Victorious, he could afford to be merciful. "All I want is the boy. Give him to me, and I will spare your life." He cocked his head and looked at her, his eyes intent and predatory. "You are young and pretty. You can find another husband. Have more children. But Harry, Harry must be destroyed."

The wind blew her red hair across her cheeks where it stuck to the tears coursing silently down her face, but she still clung fiercely to her child, sheltering him with her body. She shook her head. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything -"

"All I want is the boy!" Voldemort snarled, losing his patience now that triumph almost in his grasp. "Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside!" He advanced a pace and chuckled grimly as she cringed.

"Not Harry, please no," she begged through her tears. "Take me, kill me instead -" She had put Harry behind her and her stance said clearly that Voldemort would have to go through her to touch her son.

"As you wish, you foolish woman." Voldemort lifted his wand, his cold laughter biting the air. "Avada Kedavra!"

A rush of green light enveloped her. Soundlessly, gold lashes closing over emerald eyes, she hit the ground.

Voldemort surveyed the one that prophecy said would ruin him. Such an unprepossessing child, with snot running down his nose as he bawled for his mother. Well, the child would see her again very soon. Unable to keep from laughing in the black joy of victory, the Dark Lord raised his wand for the last time and cried the words that would erase forever the only obstacle between him and total dominion: "Avada Kedavra!"

On the Hogwarts lawn, the ravens watched dispassionately as Harry writhed on the grass. Trapped in the vision that was riding him, his hands clenching spasmodically, Harry struggled helplessly against seeing more...

He saw the bolt of green light shoot towards his infant self. But - perhaps because he was looking from the outside in - as the first edge of the light touched the baby Harry, he saw his mother's shade rise up between him and death. The curse passed through her and diffused. It reflected itself back at its caster and hit Voldemort instead.

Harry barely noticed him fall. His eyes were for the echo of his mother, ghostly tears upon her cheeks as she turned to her son for the last time. She reached out to wipe away the blood on his face, but she wavered out of sight and vanished.

Finished with him, the link released Harry with a suddenness that made him gasp, finding his hand outstretched to the departed ghost. For one long moment, he was utterly still.

Then, he rolled over onto his knees and retched. His head was pounding, his forehead resting on the grass, unable to rise, trembling as he was with shock and terror. Because what he had seen began to make sense.

That's why he wanted to kill me. His skin went cold, though sweat was pouring off him. One of his Death Eaters predicted I would destroy him. So he came to kill me first - and I did. The prediction came true...

The terrible logic repeated itself over and over again in his ears. He stopped breathing and tried to swallow. His stomach twisted tight and made him nauseous. Harry was shaking. Was he crying? So simple, he thought with despair. So stupid! My parents died because...because...His sobs were clawing in his throat now, choking him in their attempt to escape all at once.

He buried his face in his hands, strangling on his own cries and prayed for the ringing in his ears to stop.

From the branches above, the two ravens looked on in sympathy... and satisfaction. The end had begun.