Omnividence

Chapter Twelve - The Boy Called Riddle

"Bring her close to the fire."

The words intruded roughly inside her head. Her whole body felt achy and cold. Aliset opened her eyes. The grating high above her sprinkled snow on her face and the raven feather was clutched tight in her fist. The pounding in her head redoubled as the visions returned and she groaned.

Someone picked her up and carried her towards the stool by Voldemort's throne. Someone too short to be Lucius Malfoy. With some difficulty, she raised her head and focused on the face above her.

"You!" she gasped, struggling to put her feet on the floor.

Wormtail nearly dropped her; she was tall for her age and, were she standing upright, she could have looked him in the eye. His short arms held her very awkwardly and Aliset briefly considered struggling, but to what purpose? There was no escape from the room. It was still disgusting and degrading to be carried like a parcel, especially by someone like Wormtail.

"What do you mean 'you'?" he said irritably as he plunked her with unnecessary roughness onto the hard wooden seat. "We've never met."

There was a long, dry sigh from the figure on the throne. Voldemort leaned forward slightly. "Wormtail. Do not display your ignorance. Our clairvoyant friend may never have seen you in the flesh, but I'm sure you have featured in her visions. As have I."

He inclined his head regally to where Aliset sat frozen on the stool. "Haven't I?" he said softly, maliciously.

Why isn't he suspicious of me fainting like that? Aliset wondered. Maybe people faint around him all the time?

She had seen it all. This room held no mysteries for her. It was difficult to focus on the here and now. Her visions echoed around her. She knew what the ravens had done to bring this moment to pass. She knew Harry and the others were on their way to rescue her. She knew what would happen when they arrived. The pounding in her head was dimmed by the hammering of fear and grief in her heart.

She knew what she had to do.

Stall for time.

It was all she could do. She was powerless to change the rest. For all the last weeks she had hoped for the return of her sight, if she did manage to emerge from this free and alive, she vowed she would buy all the bronze she could possible carry and wear it all the time. If her sight were a thing she could excise with a blade, she would do it. No more hideous usage, no more fear or torment or doubt.

"Malfoy. Remove the necklace. And you," said Voldemort to Aliset, "Will tell me what you see, of course."

***

Hermione was warm enough behind Harry's back, but her hands clutched tightly around his middle had lost all feeling from the cold. She wondered how Harry could stand it while playing Quidditch. She wished she could shift position and ease herself a bit; that was another thing Harry seemed to be able to tolerate without diffculty - did he have a backside of rhino leather? She blushed slightly, even though no one could see her and certainly no one could hear her thinking a little too fondly of Harry's backside in his Quidditch robes.

To distract herself, she applied her mind to what was merely the most recent of the myriad mysteries: the ravens' sudden plunge from the sky. Even now, Munin was sitting extremely heavily on her shoulder. He really was as big as he looked - she could only hope he was polite enough to be toilet-trained.

"What happened just now?" she shouted into Harry's ear. There hadn't been much conversation this trip; the wind almost pushed the words back down her throat. She could tell he had heard her, though. She felt him turn ever so slightly to answer.

"I'm not sure," Harry shouted back, his words almost lost as the wind flung them past her. "But I think Aliset just broke though the restraints the ravens were putting on her."

Hermione's brow creased in consternation, she could see at once why this might be an unfortunate development. "What if You-Know-Who makes her tell him that we're coming?" Her voice sounded thin and shrill, even to her. I'm not panicking. I'm not.

It didn't seem as though he had answered. But on the thinnest edge of wind cutting past her ear, she thought she heard him say:

"It doesn't matter."

She felt her throat close. Now I'm panicking.

***

Ron was falling behind. Even though the others were riding double, his Cleansweep was hopelessly outclassed by the Firebolt and the Nimbus 2001. Feelings of failure and humiliation were warring for supremacy within him - he'd never felt so bloody useless.

He was cold. He was angry. He hated Malfoy so much it was a taste in his mouth and a scent in the back of his throat. It was as though in the last six years, he had only felt mild dislike for the Slytherin. The sight of Malfoy sailing further and further from view, along with Ginny clinging far too closely to him, was making him insane.

But he was falling behind and Harry was going to ride to the rescue again, this time with the noxious Malfoy by his side. "Aliset, I'm sorry," he said with soft bitterness. His teeth were chattering so hard he almost bit through his tongue.

He bent low over the broomstick, laying as flat as he could to reduce wind resistance, but the others were still pulling farther ahead.

Then his heart froze as he saw Harry's broom suddenly drop. Laden with his two best friends, the Firebolt was plunging towards the earth. Ron had been wrong: he wasn't going to turn up just in time to see Harry receive his hero's laurels, Malfoy smirking at his side. Instead, he was going to watch helplessly from a distance as his friends fell to their deaths.

***

"Here is your chance to ally yourself with the most powerful wizard who ever lived. Prove yourself worthy and you will be rewarded," said Voldemort matter of factly. "Now. Tell me what my enemies are doing? Harry Potter bent over his homework? Potions, perhaps, for the traitorous Snape? And Dumbledore..." Voldemort's voice rose a little in anticipation. "Tell me what Dumbledore is doing," he rasped.

Aliset, her eyes wide and focused beyond the room's walls, whispered, "I don't know."

Voldemort sat back in his throne. Strangely, he didn't appear angry. He waved his wand. "Imperio. Tell me."

"I don't know!" Aliset shrieked. "I'm being blocked! I don't know!"

Voldemort looked to Malfoy. "A lingering effect of the bronze, perhaps?"

"No, my lord," replied Draco's father. "It is possible that she is being blocked by outside forces. It is also possible that she is lying. Karkaroff did say that she had beaten the Imperius Curse."

"True," mused the Dark Lord. "Although, I had to make sure. Karkaroff was a liar to the end. Was he lying about our guest's talents, I wonder?"

"He did elude us for more than two years, my lord," said Malfoy, slightly apologetic.

Fast as a snake strikes, the Dark Lord reached out and grabbed Aliset's left hand. He pulled the glove off and stared at the burn scar on the palm as the seeress let out a piercing scream.

Ignoring Aliset as she writhed in his grasp, Voldemort examined her hand minutely. "Well, Malfoy, see how she defeated Karkaroff's Condividus Charm? Cleansed by fire. Brave girl.... Would the charm work on her again, do you think?"

Malfoy took a long look at Aliset's contorted features. Her screaming had subsided into whimpers; her eyes were shut tight in a futile effort to escape whatever hell her visions had locked her into.

"My lord," he said finally, "I believe the charm might take again if the surface were broken down beyond the scarring." He paused. "However, for this initial effort, both to ascertain the strength of her powers and the sincerity of her current difficulty, there is an easier way."

He pulled a stoppered vial from his robes. "Veritaserum."

***

Hermione's stomach lurched as once again the broomstick plummeted without warning. Worse, Harry was unconscious. Slumped forward, it was only Hermione's strangle-hold on his cloak that kept him from sliding off entirely. Munin cawed loudly in her ear and dug his talons painfully into her shoulder. She wished the raven would fly off and let her panic without interference.

"Draco!" she screamed. "Ron! Help me!" The Firebolt was diving earthward and Harry was slipping off the broom. She tried to haul him back, but the cloak was tearing. "Harry! Wake up, please!"

Neither Draco nor Ginny appeared to have heard her call out. She looked around wildly and saw Ron was miles behind. He was bent low over his broom, racing towards her as fast as he could, but she could see it wasn't fast enough.

As the black trees beneath her grew nearer and Harry's unconscious form slid farther out of her grasp, all Hermione could think was that for six years she had seen every one of Harry's Quidditch games and yet she still knew nothing about flying.

***

Someone was screaming, and Harry was pretty sure it wasn't him. He wanted to, though, when he looked up straight into Voldemort's hideous face.

One glimpse of the scarred hand twitching in Voldemort's skeletal claw told Harry that he was seeing through Aliset's eyes. He recognized the underground chamber. If the Dark Lord was touching her, Harry knew only too clearly where Aliset's mind had been driven. But why and how had he been drawn here?

He heard Voldemort ask Malfoy about the Condividus Charm. He heard Malfoy's reply about Veritaserum.

But did Aliset hear?

And who was flying his broomstick?

***

The landscape was grey. The building before her was grey. The trees were bare. And grey. It was the most depressing and desolate place Aliset had ever seen. Was this an orphanage? The words above the door said "Boy's Sanctuary of Great Hangleton." She shuddered. She had been spared the institution back in Russia, at a great cost, to be sure... but to have lived somewhere like this...

Childish voices drifted over the wall beside her. Whoever got nostalgic about children's laughter would have to be demented to recall this particular sound with fondness: these voices were jeering and the sing-song harmonics of mockery were unmistakable. Aliset sidled cautiously around the wall to take a look.

Three boys were at a stand off. Two were about ten years old, the third was only about eight. Caught between the two older boys, with his back to the wall, the younger boy was trying to get away. Every time, the larger boys would catch him effortlessly and drive him back against the stone.

"Riddle!" teased one boy. "You want to know a riddle?" He grinned at his companion, a boy with brown hair and freckles.

"Shut up!" cried the younger boy, his fists clenched in fury. His black hair stuck out untidily and his large, dark eyes burned. "You shut up, or you'll be sorry!"

"What's the riddle?" said the blond boy's friend. This was an old joke apparently, to all three.

"I said shut up!"

"Here it is: this is an orphanage, but one boy isn't a real orphan. His dad just doesn't want him. So what is it about Riddle that means his own dad, who lives the next village over, doesn't want him? That's a riddle for you." The blond boy smirked.

The black-haired boy's head was bowed. His shoulders shook, either with a terrible anger or trying to hold back tears. Aliset couldn't see his face, so she couldn't be sure.

"Does this riddle have an answer?" said the freckled boy, egging on his friend.

"Shut up," whispered the young boy, his voice hoarse.

"All riddles have answers," said the blond airily. "Heard this one from John in 2A, who got it from the baker who lives in Little Hangleton. Mr. Riddle, the very same Mr. Riddle who is Riddle's father, left his wife because..." he paused for artificial suspense, "because she was a witch."

"A witch?" gasped his friend in feigned surprise. "How'd he know? Had green skin, did she? Warts and that?"

"I'll bet she did," said the blond, grinning. "So anyway, young Riddle here can't ever be adopted, because he's not a real orphan. Nobody wants him." He gave the boy called Riddle a shove. "Do they, Riddle? No one wants freaky little throw-aways like you, do they? Isn't that right?" He shoved the boy again. The blond and his friend both laughed.

Riddle hit the wall and doubled over. He drew in a breath that rattled, as though he had smothered a sob.

The two older boys wandered off, having had their fun and now become bored. Riddle slid down the wall and buried his face in his arms. One brief glimpse of that thin, white face showed it to be streaked with tears.

Aliset had stopped breathing. This was... Voldemort?

***

When Ginny turned around to check on the others, her heart froze. For most of the journey, she had looked behind to see Harry smile reassuringly at her with Hermione peeping over his shoulder. This time they were dropping fast toward the trees below.

"Draco! Turn around! Quick!" she screamed, pulling on the Slytherin's cloak.

***

Hermione saw Draco turn, but he wasn't going to get there soon enough.

Frantically, she lunged forward, letting go of Harry for an instant so she could get a better grip. Then, locking her legs around the broom, she threw her weight backwards. The bristles of the broom were right under her, but she couldn't bring the nose up far enough to stop their dive. The trees were mere feet away.

She gave one last pull and Harry fell back into her arms. Their combined weight brought the handle of the broom up and the Firebolt hovered just above the treetops. Harry's head lay on her shoulder. She just clung to him, breathless.

***

Aliset, wake up! Harry thought desperately. Voldemort was watching Aliset's body struggle convulsively and it seemed to amuse him. If Aliset didn't come back to herself soon, not only was she going to be in deep trouble, but Harry couldn't begin to contemplate what might be happening to his own body while traveling at high-speed several hundred feet in the air. He mentally crossed his fingers. Please let Hermione be alright.

Harry wracked his brain for a solution. Only one radical idea occurred to him: could he possibly find Aliset and fetch her back? She had to be trapped in Voldemort's past, which Harry could access. But would they both be there? Could they see each other? The ravens had definitely not covered any of this in their training.

It also meant leaving Aliset's body without anyone in the pilot's chair, so to speak, but Harry didn't see any alternative. He couldn't really control it, and he had to get back to his own unconscious form as quickly as possible. He took a moment, thought of flying, and the room before him faded...

***