Harbinger of Destiny: Herald of Fate

Chapter Eight

I like coincidences. They make me wonder about destiny, and whether free will is an illusion or a matter of perspective. They let me speculate on the idea of some master plan that, from time to time, we're allowed to see out of the corner of our eye.

Chuck Sigars

Just as Harry prepared to launch a full frontal attack—not to harm of course, but to discourage Neville from continuing, the pudgy Gryffindor's body suddenly went rigid. His eyes, wide and nervous a moment ago suddenly closed with an almost audible click and he began to shake. Harry froze in his tacks.

Harry had never been one to put much stock in fate.

As a young child, he had been immersed in the rigors of the Dursley household. With a family that despised him for his very birth, chores that took him the majority of the day to complete, and no childhood friends of his own to rely on, survival, persistence, and determination had seemed much more admirable traits than blind faith in preordinance.

When he had turned eleven and had been exposed to the wiles of the magical community, he had played host to a plethora of new experiences. Still, when he had taken divination and the mystique of the guiding force had been lain bare, he had turned the other way. Ironic really, as fate and destiny, prophecy and visions, had played such a role in determining his worldly path.

It was only when he had been enslaved by the Elves that he had seen fate in a new light. The Elves lived their life by a creed of divination. Visions, prophecies, and the Jesqui who had them were very important to the Elvin people. Prophecies dictated laws, visions helped guide private decision making. Whole wars had been stopped or started on prophecy alone.

In fact, harming a Jesqui in the midst of a vision or foretelling was considered one of the highest crimes in the Elvin world. Death or lifetime incapacitation was often the punishment. Battles had been frozen at the sight of a Jesqui entering a vision, neither side daring to interrupt or harm the one who held the future in their hands.

That was why, when Harry saw Neville gaining the symptoms of a Jesqui during their fight, he immediately stopped and assessed the situation. His immediate priority was to witness the prophecy Neville would foretell. His secondary priority was to protect the Gryffindor's privacy. He had not told his housemates or his family about his unique abilities for a reason. It was not Harry's right to allow the secret to be revealed out of his own stubbornness.

He immediately looked around at the spectators. As far as he knew, the only people who recognized Neville's current symptoms were Amin and Freelasco. Amin had a speculative look on his face, while Freelasco looked slightly worried. Elvin politics, Harry presumed. Jesquis were highly honored, even human ones. The humans though just looked confused and Harry couldn't blame them. To them it probably seemed as though Neville was just giving up.

Making his decision in a split second, Harry allowed himself to fall to his knees, and then laid his head on the ground below him, bowing to Neville. Neville, too far gone in the vision he was currently laying witness to could not acknowledge the gesture, but the Elves watching did. Quickly Amin announced to the gathered crowd that Longbottom had won the fight and was now Harry's master. Freelasco, taking advantage of the crowd's surprise at the sudden differentiation in the situation, took the time to erect a sound barrier, encompassing only Neville, Harry, and himself within it.

Elves took their duties to the seers very seriously.

Neville continued to shake, and then, suddenly, his eyes flew open and he intoned in a dreadfully scratched tone of voice:

He who was lost is found...star to the north converges with he of Rome, and the child of destiny waits in the shadows...timid lion lays claim to the phoenix, he who will save the world...lovers of fate, so intertwined yet divided are caught in a web of deceit...forgiveness begets salvation...two months hence will all fall apart...the one who was lost is found.

Freelasco was frozen, his eyes speculative, while Harry himself fought to fit the pieces together. Neville, thus far incapacitated, suddenly collapsed, his legs giving out and his eyes flying to the back of his head. Freelasco dropped the silencing spell and Harry felt the subtle influx of magic that signified that the teachers had dropped the protection barrier. Harry remained in his bowed position, not daring to move, until, quite suddenly, he was knocked into oblivion.

(The following conversation takes place in Elvish)

"You say I had a vision?" Neville was quiet, his voice somber but respectful. He was in Amin's quarters, where the Elvin lord had insisted he come after the tumultuous display in the courtyard. His slave—it was so odd to think of another human that way—was asleep in the other room as he had been since Kabul had taken it upon himself to knock him out after the fight. At first Neville had been offended at this action, but, in retrospect, he recognized that it was better to deal with one potential problem at ta time.

"Yes Jesqui," Amin answered his question. The High Lord's tone was deferential, a quite different tone than he had had when they had last had a discussion.

"How can I have a vision and not even remember it?" Neville muttered, rubbing his forehead in reminiscence of the headache had only recently managed to subdue.

"Perhaps you were only the catalyst," Amin suggested, "It is possible the vison was not meant for you."

"Then why send it to me? Why not send it to the person for whom it was intended?"

"There are very few people with the ability to connect with the fates Jesqui. That is why we revere visionaries so."

"If it wasn't meant for me than who was it meant for?"

Amin and Freelasco exchanged a furtive glance, then the guardian shrugged and answered him. "There is no way to know for sure. The only witnesses were myself and your slave. Perhaps we heard it in order to pass it on, or perhaps we are meant to keep it to ourselves. There is no way of knowing until the time is right."

"Will you tell me it then?"

"No," Freelasco answered. "If Fate did not wish for your to remember this prophecy then there is a reason. I will not interfere with the path of destiny."

"Fine," Neville answered, somewhat annoyed. "Then at least tell me why my slave did not take advantage of my obvious weakness and instead submitted to me?'

Amin shrugged. "He recognized the signs of the Jesqui. Human though he may be, his experiences of our world have taught him to respect our principles. Besides, if he had tried to take advantage of you at that point, he knew we would have been forced to interfere. You could not be harmed while you were prophesizing."

Neville shook his head in wonder and rubbed at his temples. He knew that his magic was changing—it was true, but he hadn't dared to believe that he might, in fact, be a Jesqui. It didn't seem possible. All his life had been the shame of the family—the magical bane of their existence. Now to find that he had some inconceivable ability to look into the future, a magic so far beyond anything even truly taught at Hogwarts—it was hard to consider.

"You will need time to come to terms with this," Amin said at last, his eyes sweeping across the boy and taking in his obvious weariness and fatigue, as well as the mask of confusion that was strewn across his face. "Take your slave and give yourself some time. See us when you're ready."

Neville shook his head in wonder, then took the Elf's advice.

Even though Neville knew that at least some of his room mates knew why he had taken on a slave, he couldn't help but feel nervous about their reactions when he returned to the common room–still unconscious slave floating behind him in mobilicorpus. Out of a sense of respect he had not taken off the slaves mask, preferring, instead, to wait till the man was conscious and he had received his permission. Technically he didn't need it and could do as he would to his slave, but this approach appealed more to his moral sensibilities.

"Fire and brimstone," Neville spoke the somewhat depressing password to the Fat Lady and the portrait swung open.

He took a deep breath then stepped within tentatively, carefully levitating his slave's body behind him. The sixth and seventh year Gryffindor's sat in armchairs near the fire, mugs of butterbeer in their hands, gazes turned to the portrait hole. They stared at him for a moment, then turned their eyes to the figure floating behind him.

"We sent the younger years off to bed Neville," Hermione spoke first, softly and gently. "We've prepared the Gryffindor Head Boy room for your...your slave. Since the Head Boy is a Hufflepuff this year it should not be a problem. Why don't you bring him up there and then come have some butterbeer with us?"

It was a request, nothing more, nothing less, and Neville could not refuse it, regardless of how tired he was. He nodded his head and brought the slave up to the Head boy's room where he settled him down on a soft bed and quietly left the room. He lingered at the doorway for a second, and then, regretfully, he placed a binding spell on the door. As much as he detested locking his slave in, the Debts of Obedience hadn't yet been transferred to him and if his slave wanted to make a break for it now would be the time.

They had cleared a space for him downstairs, an armchair situated next to Ron and across from Hermione, who was the logical spokesperson for the group. A minute later he recognized McGonagall's stiff form in the mass of bodies strewn about the area.

"Professor McGonagall is here representing the Headmaster and the school," Hermione said. "They wish to know what your intentions for your servant are."

Neville swallowed audibly as he settled himself in the armchair and then answered the question slowly. "I'm not sure what his responsibilities will be yet. As it is, I want to let him get settled into his new life, get to know him a little bit and let him get comfortable before we begin figuring out what his duties to me will be."

"Why did you do it?" a sixth year Gryffindor–Gina Jefferson, a muggleborn if he remembered correctly–broke in. There was an accusation in her tone, and Neville winced at it, though he had prepared himself for just such the occasion.

"He is human and I have the money and resources to support a servant–I saw no reason not to take advantage." He would have liked to tell them the truth–that he had done what he did out of a sense of justice, that he believed he could make the slaves life more bearable, but Amin's sister, Allenia, sat amongst the Gryffindors present and he could not risk her telling her brother such things.

The human Gryffindors, the one who could not comprehend such a selfish deed shifted uncomfortably and glared at him. "That's so selfish Neville," Dean Thomas said suddenly, his eyes glinting angrily in the light of the fire. "How could you do something like that?"

"Truly mate, that's not what I would have expected from you," Seamus chimed in, looking for all the world as though what Neville had done was the most offensive thing in the entire world–a personal insult to Gryffindor's everywhere. Allenia herself looked taken aback a bit by Neville's well planned response, her eyes shadowed in thought. Only Ron and Hermione managed to look nonchalant, both well aware of his reasons, both having helped plan out the conversation that was taking place right now.

In order for this to work properly, in order for the Elves to truly believe that Neville would act the part of the Master that he was expected, everyone else needed to believe it too. Now that the slave had been transferred into his custody, he was Neville's property but that did not mean that the Elves would leave him be. By taking one of their slaves, Neville had intricately tied himself to the Elvin world, and if they ever deigned him unworthy of this position, they could make his life hell. For as long as he was in the constant presence of Elves he would need to take on this new persona that Hermione and Ron were helping him design.

Unfortunately, this required sacrifices, and among them was a loss of some of his House's respect, and possibly even some of their friendship.

"Are you going to take him to classes?" Dean said, his tone hurting Neville to the very core of his being. "Parade him around as though he's some prize pet? Are you proud of yourself for this?"

Dean's voice was almost wounded, and, startled by the amount of raw emotion Neville quickly thought over everything he knew about the boy's personal life. He was muggleborn he knew, and African American, he had said once that his grandparents had lived in America, perhaps some of his ancestors had been slaves? Neville didn't know. Regardless, there was no denying that Dean was very upset about this.

"You know this is how Voldemort began," Dean said heatedly, standing now and almost yelling. "By forcing people into his service, by thinking he was better than anyone. If Harry were here, he'd..."

"Harry trusted Neville," Ron interrupted, and the room grew quiet out of mournful respect for the Boy Who Lived's best friend, "and if he were here he would tell you all that you should do the same."

"Thank you, Ron," Neville said quietly. Dean had sat back down beside Seamus and the Irish boy was rubbing his back, trying to calm him down.

"Look, mate," Dean said after a moment. "I do trust you, I just don't understand you right now. And, just for a while, I don't want to be around you. Give me some time to get used to this."

"I can do that Dean," Neville said, eager to make the peace.

"Thanks Longbottom," he said, and then he headed up the stairs to bed, a minute later, the rest of the people in the common room followed, leaving Neville alone to stare at the fire.

It took Harry sometime to come back to consciousness. When he finally did it took him even longer to remember what had happened. When he finally had his bearings back, his hand flew up to his face and he felt relief flood his body that his mask was still firmly in place. For now, at least, it seemed that the secret of his identity was safe.

With that fact established he hoisted himself up to look around at his surroundings and tried to figure out where exactly he was. Moments later he noticed the red and gold bedding and style arrangements and deduced he was somewhere in Gryffindor tower. This brought him up short and he fought the tears that sprung to his eyes at realizing that he was back in his home, where he hadn't been for three years now.

He quickly shook those thoughts away and concentrated his energy on formulating an escape plan. From what he understood about Elvish transfer of services, it was during the first month that the slave had the most ability to escape. Right now the Debts of Obedience he owed were hanging out somewhere in Limbo, readjusting themselves to his new Master. If he could get past a certain distance he would void the Debts before they had a chance to plant themselves. He would still be a slave but he would be a runaway rather than in active servitude.

He didn't consider staying for a second. He knew himself well enough to know that for all that he had endured he couldn't handle the shame of his friends knowing of this humiliation. That he would prefer them to think him dead rather than have them know of his enslavement. He knew that it would be a blow to them to realize that whatever he did in life he was a slave forever.

The door was locked, he knew that without even pulling on the handle. The magic of a binding charm sung from the hinges, discouraging even an attempt to break through. Besides, disabling a binding charm with elemental magic would be loud and messy and would inevitably attract intention, he needed a more subtle escape route.

Not hesitating he strode to the window and pulled it open. It was a long drop, a hundred feet at least. For a second he considered calling for his old Firebolt which was doubtless somewhere in Ron's luggage in the Gryffindor dormitories, but a split second later he decided against the idea. The broomstick's absence would be quickly noticed and it would call up questions about why Neville's slave and Harry's old broomstick had disappeared at the same time.

He had made the split decision to take his chances jumping when a hesitant knock on his door brought him up cold. Quickly he clasped the window shut and hurried away from the window. Moments later the door swung open and revealed a nervous looking Neville Longbottom who stared at him with what could be called breathless trepidation.