Foreseeing Fate
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
by Moey
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Dedication: To all the librarians. Thanks.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter et al belong to the wonderfully talented J. K. Rowling. Who would want it any other way?
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Chapter Three: Seen It All Before
"Like a castle in his corner
in a medieval game,
I foresee terrible trouble
and I stay here just the same.
~Steely Dan, Dirty Work
"Mr. Weasley!"
Ron sighed, dropped his shoulders, but didn't turn around. "Dennis, I bloody swear if you keep calling me that I'm going to hex you." Ron knew that this was a running joke between Dennis Creevey and himself, but today he wasn't exactly in the mood. They were under extreme pressure to have a large area of the Forbidden Forest secured by the week's end and they were now only finishing up with the basic spellwork foundations.
"Sorry, Ron," Dennis replied. "I just wanted to tell you that MacMillan in the south section and Jamison in the north are finished casting the Celo spells."
"Thanks." Ron watched as Dennis walked away. When he had accepted this position with the Ministry's Division of Magical Mapping he'd had no idea that he was going to be in charge of fifteen workers and the enormous task of Unplotting the whole Forbidden Forest.
It was a hell of a lot more responsibility than he had ever wanted. Not to mention that the Forbidden Forest still, to this day, creeped him out. He'd had way too many unsettling experiences there, and a few weeks ago when they had come across the moss-covered shell of his father's old Ford Anglia, flashbacks of the Acromantula had haunted him for days.
He had a staff of fifteen and he had to secure an area bigger than most Muggles thought Scotland was in its entirety. And now, as if he didn't have enough to worry about, Hermione had to go and show him that stupid, stupid, bloody book.
"All right, guys. Go home," Ron stuck his scrolls into his robes and was about to Apparate home when Dennis said something – well, he almost said something. Ron cut him off before he even began. "Yeah, Dennis. Same area tomorrow."
"But-" Dennis began but wasn't allowed to finish.
"I want to put those extra Praesidium spells along this edge. It's too close to Muggles to leave it with just the basics."
"How do you always-"
"Inner Eye," Ron finished just as he Apparated away.
~*~
Hermione sighed as she surveyed what was before her. Shelf after shelf was piled to the ceiling with boxes and books, parchments and scrolls. Every nook and cranny was stuffed to the brim with something. As she glanced around she became even surer that an Enlargement Charm had been performed. She was certain that the entire library wasn't this big, let alone the basement storage area. The stacks seemed to go on forever. It was the same upstairs. People were always getting lost. The old cliché really took on new meaning at London's Magical Library.
She was currently in the library's basement trying to decide where it would be best to begin the task of sorting through the mess. Having been closed for nearly two years, the library was operating on a skeleton crew since the end of the war. On first glance it seemed that the previous archivist could not part with anything, and it that first impression was reaffirmed as Hermione sifted through the first box she came across. It was marked 'Uric the Oddball.' It contained, among other things, notes from his biographer, a monkey fur cape, a zebra skin rug, and a few journals. The last object she pulled from the box was the molding pelt of a badger, which, when Hermione poked it with her wand, produced a swarm of moths. She quickly magicked it into the dustbin and performed a spell to dispose of the moths.
Brushing off her hands and wrinkling her nose – monkey fur did not age well - she began to momentarily reassess her career choice. The end was literally not in sight. And speaking of sight…did he really think he could keep a thing like that to himself?
No way. And he couldn't pull on her sympathies any longer. She understood it was hard to talk about – but this was her. They told each other everything. They always had.
Hermione started rummaging through a different box. There was no mistaking the smell in there. When she pulled up a mud-caked, grass-stained, bright orange Quidditch robe she wasn't surprised. The box was marked 'CC 1892' and smelled like a locker room. Ron would love it.
She wondered if he knew when – or if – the Cannons would ever have a winning season again. Maybe there was more to his fanaticism than sheer insanity.
Well tonight she'd find out. No more "I wasn't ready for talking about this yet." He should have seen it coming.
~*~
He was hoping to get home and be able to lie down on the couch for a nap - preferably not waking up until sometime next Tuesday. He and Hermione had had a bit of a row over his failure to tell her about his abilities the night before and he hadn't gotten enough sleep. Although he had explained the reasons why he hadn't told her, she was upset that he hadn't mentioned anything since the end of the war. He just hadn't ever felt like it was the right time. Really, he just wanted to forget about it altogether. Not talking about it seemed the best way to go about that.
And it had worked - for a little while anyway. He still knew things, saw things - but nothing he couldn't control. Nothing that he couldn't ignore. Until the book.
All he wanted to do was sleep...
"We need to talk."
For the bleeding love, she wants to fight, he thought. For once he didn't feel up to it. "Hermione, not now. I just want to get some sleep-"
"No, Ron. Now."
"Fine."
"Why did you never tell me?" She looked sad.
"I already told you. It would have just put you in more danger than you already were in." He walked over to the couch and fell onto it, leaning back and throwing his arm over his head. "The Death Eaters were looking for Seers. I wasn't about to announce it." He moved his arm away and looked up at her. "I mean, look at what happened to Trelawney and her family. I didn't want that to happen to you, or anyone else."
She didn't respond. Instead she just stood there staring at him. He didn't know what else to say.
Hermione sat down next to Ron and rested her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her, pulling her close, putting his face in her hair. It was all true, what he'd said. If anything had happened to anyone, because of what he was - he didn't like to think about it. But if something had happened to Hermione - that just made him feel sick.
He squeezed her harder and she looked up at him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. But, I just - it's just," she stammered.
"I know. We've told each other everything since we were eleven. I didn't want to hide it from you. I had to."
She looked up at him and he put his hand on her cheek. "I wanted to tell you." His lips were barely touching hers. He pulled her closer and pressed his lips to hers. This was why he hadn't said anything about his power. This was why he hadn't told her anything. He couldn't lie. This was the main reason he had done everything the way he had. He wanted this to continue and progress.
He wanted to be with Hermione.
She curled up against him, burrowing her face into his chest. Ron pulled her close so that she was stretched out on his lap, and she slowly drifted off to sleep.
Ron tried to sleep, but as much as he loved being with Hermione he couldn't get comfortable on the couch with her. His legs didn't fit anywhere and he was starting to get a cramp. He thought of putting her in Harry's room - it wasn't as if he would be home anytime soon - but it was a complete mess and Ron didn't feel like straightening it. He also didn't feel like touching anything in it. Like if he left it exactly as it was, Harry would Apparate in and everything would be back to normal again.
He lifted Hermione up and carried her into his own room. Laying her down on his bed, Ron covered her with the quilt and took a step back, watching her. She was beautiful.
Hermione was all of his reasons wrapped into one. She was his reason.
Ron walked out of the room into his living room, making himself comfortable on the couch. The book was there, on the coffee table, staring at him. Wanting to talk. But there was no way he wanted to hear any of that now. No way. Turning away from the book, Ron made himself as comfortable as he could and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
He was standing at the edge of a lake. It was almost dawn; a thin sliver of sunlight shone through the early morning mist to his left. In front of him the fog was extremely thick across the lake. It wasn't really fog at all. Just darkness. He wondered what was there. There had to be something over there.
He turned to his right and started walking along the water's edge, stopping once to pick up a stone. He threw the stone skillfully over the water and it skipped four times before penetrating the lake's glassy surface. The sun was higher along the horizon now and the fog was beginning to lift. A fine haze was left all around him. Everywhere but across the lake. There it remained so dense it didn't seem as though the sun could penetrate it.
He continued walking, following the shoreline. Except for the birdsongs, it was unnaturally quiet. There wasn't even a breeze, and nothing except the stone he had thrown earlier disturbed the water's surface. It was an unnerving quiet. He was glad it was morning and that he had hours of daylight ahead of him.
He had gone quite a way before noticing what had appeared above the tree line just ahead of him of in the distance. Mountains. No. What were they called? He'd seen this before but he couldn't remember when. The Tor. Had he been here before?
Just then to his right a flock of birds took off from the trees, momentarily covering the sky before circling round and disappearing into the darkness to his left. The noise startled him, but after the initial shock he felt it a welcome relief from the eerie silence that had surrounded him only seconds before. But when the noise of the flock faded it wasn't replaced by the previous quiet. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end and his mouth suddenly went dry. Behind him he heard a pounding. If he had ever heard the sound of a thousand horses thundering toward him, he would say that this sounded exactly like that.
Whatever it was it was getting closer. He stood rooted to the spot until he heard a battle cry. He looked over his right shoulder carefully and saw them. Warriors. Thousands of them on foot and horseback. Automatically he went for his wand. It wasn't there. There was a sword. Where had that come from?
He couldn't remember exactly when he started to run, but he was thankful that his body had taken over because his mind was too busy being terrified to think properly. There was no reason to believe that they were coming after him, but they certainly weren't going to go around him. He looked back over his shoulder again, not slowing his furious pace. They were gaining. His only out was the lake and up ahead was a small dock. He was a good swimmer, he could make it.
He made it on to the dock just as a small ferry appeared. A shrouded figure stood at the bow beckoning to him. He looked back again and the warriors were gaining and it did appear that they were after him. The ferry was still a good ten yards out. He'd have to jump. Why were angry men with swords chasing him?
And why did this all seem so familiar?
With a running leap he jumped for the boat but he realized he wasn't going to make it. He prepared to hit the water with a—
Thud?
"Oh, bloody hell." Ron opened his eyes. He was face down on the floor next to the couch. He stayed there for a few minutes before pushing himself up. He had only lifted his head an inch off the floor when he saw it. "You aren't going to leave me alone, are you? I'm having dreams about medieval madmen and I know it's your fault."
Ron sighed and stood up. He looked into his bedroom, but Hermione had already left. Looking back down at the book he resigned himself. He'd talk to the stupid book. Then maybe he'd go crazy and they'd send him to St. Mungo's. He was looking forward to a good night's sleep in a bed for once, and he'd settle for a padded cell.