Divine Omens

A/N:

Oni: Another chapter is here!

Eridan: Just about time, noww go and help the other me that wwasn't reincarnated as Harry.

Oni: I'm getting to it!

Harry: And the one where I'm split into two undead halves.

Oni: I'm getting on that too!

Garry: And the one with me in it.

Oni: Gosh darn it yes that one too!

Eridan: You're spreadin yourself out too thin.

Oni: I know that! But plot bunnies!

Eridan: Anywways, Oni does not owwn Harry Potter or Homestuck. This idea, howwevver, is hers.

Oni: ONWARDS!

Eridan opened his eyes to see a familiar gray ceiling. He was lying on his back, arms and legs splayed out as if he had passed out from another round of intense FLARPing. Lights flickered on and off in an algorithmic fashion, giving him the visual stimuli that probably roused him from his unconsciousness in the first place. Every part of his body was aching, but the area around his lower torso was searing in pain.

Groaning, Eridan managed to drag himself up to a sitting position and looked around. He was on the meteor, alone. A stab of pain forced his attention back on his current state, and the troll looked down, lifting his shirt up.

It looked like someone had stitched him up after Maryam's Chainsaw Massacre on his abdomen. His torso and legs were neatly sewn together with some sort of black thread, crusted with his violet blood. Well, that would explain the pain…

Did that mean he was alive?

Painstakingly he shifted to a standing position and walked to where the remains of his Science Stick laid. Gingerly picking them up, Eridan examined the broken pieces before pocketing them. Looking around, he decided to search for any other people that might be around. As he passed an empty ectobiology container, he caught sight of his reflection. His cape was gone (damn that Maryam, she made it into a sash, didn't she) and his eyes were a milky white.

Not alive then.

Eridan continued walking, noting in irony that this was the same route he had taken when he had decided to confront Feferi on joining Jack Noir. Speaking of which, where was she now? If he was dead, would he see her in this recreation of the meteor? Would she hate him?

That was a stupid question, of course she would. Everyone probably hated him by now. Eridan knew that everyone had a lower tolerance for his personal brand of bullshit for some stupid reason, and even though Makara would get off relatively scot-free, he would be persecuted to oblivion. Vantas had written him off as dead, he had blown a hole in Peixes, he had permanently blinded Captor, if Maryam ever found him again he would be double dead, Serket was a bitch anyway, and the other trolls had always considered him strange and creepy.

Why bother finding people that hated you? He had ruined his life, both living and dead, with the shit that he had pulled. Nobody would probably even talk to him, never mind welcome him with open arms. Did he have any friends at this point? Eridan tried to find one, but his mind came up empty.

Now what? If he bumped into someone they would probably try to kill him and, knowing his luck, the news of his misdeeds would have spread through this afterlife like wildfire already. There was nothing for him here, nothing to hold onto. No reason to stay. But where would he go? Was he able to leave this place? If only he could get away from this place, away from his ex-friends and this world that had royally fucked him up physically, mentally, socially.

The shards of his Science Stick started vibrating, and the dead troll quickly scooped the pieces out of his pocket. From the two snapped halves to the small splinters covering his grey, four fingered hands, the shards of the stick started to glow. They began to float up, flying to a place that was five inches in front of his face before merging in a flash of light. Eridan's vision was momentarily compromised, and when the spots in his sight finally dissipated, he was met with a floating solid replica of his Aspect.

The white wings of Hope rotated slowly in front of his face, as if waiting for him to take it.

What did this mean? Was this supposed to be Hope for the future, Hope for the trials he would have to face in the future? Was it courage to face his old friends, the nerve to be able to talk the again? Or was this entirely different? Was this, instead, a Hope for a second chance? Eridan narrowed his eyes in determination before his hand clasped around the floating insignia.

Whatever this was, he would make the most of it.

A brilliant flash of white light engulfed him, before that light suddenly turned jade green.

"No! Not Harry! Don't take my son!" screamed a voice before it was silenced by the light.

Eridan's mind started to cloud over, started to forget. He felt a stab of pain in his forehead, something worming its way into his mind. A man screamed in pain over him, but he found that he could not move. He felt so tired, so groggy, and started to close his eyes.

As Eridan Ampora closed his eyes on October 31st, Harry Potter slept on with dreams of magenta leaves, grey skinned horned beings, and a warship that felt like home.

When Eridan, Ron, and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.

"Ignore him," muttered Hermione, who was right behind Eridan, "Just ignore him, it's not worth it…"

"Of course he isn't." Eridan replied to Hermione's surprise, rolling his eyes, "If he w-ere, then he w-ouldn't be doing that. Look at him, he's making a fool of himself."

Ron and Hermione grinned, but their smiles dropped when a certain green-clad bitch approached them.

"Hey, Potter!" shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face that reminded Eridan of a flat-nosed barkbeast, "Potter! The Dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooooo!"

"Aaaak!" Eridan mock-shrieked, recoiling away, "W-hat is that? It's hideous!"

He waved his arms dramatically, and Parkinson looked as if she was slapped in the face. The Gryffindor table broke out into peals of laughter. Malfoy glared at Eridan, and the Gryffindor did an impression of Malfoy squealing in fright, earning another round of loud laughter from his House-mates. Eridan dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George Weasley, with a smirk.

"New third-year course schedules," said George, passing them over, "Good comeback, by the way."

"Thank you, but it didn't last v-very long, did it?" Eridan replied, reading over his schedule.

George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.

"That little git," he said calmly, "He wasn't so cocky last night when the Dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?"

"Nearly wet himself, and screamed like a little girl, but you knew about that second one didn't you Harry?" said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy before giving Eridan a wink.

"I wasn't too happy myself," continued George, "They're horrible things, those Dementors…"

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" muttered Fred.

"Yes, they seem to have some rather negativve effects…" Eridan mumbled, before his eyes widened as the Twins looked his over with worry.

Shit. His accent!

"I…the stutterin wwill pass…" he stated nervously, inwardly cursing as his accent became more prominent.

Fred and George however, seemed to take his speech pattern differently.

"Forget it, Harry," whispered George bracingly, "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came back all weak and shaking… They suck the happiness out of a place, Dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there."

"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quiddich match," added Fred with a grin, "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?"

Ah yes, Quiddich. It was exhilarating, flying on a broom, something he was never able to experience quite like that in his past life. Eridan gave the Twins a smile before helping himself to some pancakes and cream.

Hermione, on the other hand, was smiling at her schedule.

"Ooh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily.

"Wwe chose our electivves durin the holidays Hermione, wwe kneww that already." remarked Eridan, before Ron craned over to see what they had.

"Hermione, Harry," started Ron, frowning as he looked over their shoulders, "they've messed up your timetable. Look, they've got you down for about ten subjects a day. There isn't enough time."

"Wwe'vve looked it ovver wwith Professor McGonagall, it's fine." Eridan said with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll manage. I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall." Hermione sniffed at the same time.

"But look," declared Ron, laughing, "see this morning? Nine o'clock, Divination. And underneath, nine o'clock, Muggle Studies. And…" Ron leaned closer to the timetable, disbelieving, "look— underneath that, Arithmancy, nine o'clock. I mean, I know you're good, Hermione, but no one's that good. How're you supposed to be in three classes at once?"

"Don't be silly," answered Hermione shortly, "Of course I won't be in three classes at once."

"Well then-"

"Pass the marmalade," interrupted Hermione, who wasn't looking at Ron anymore.

"But-"

"Oh, Ron, what's it to you if my timetable's a bit full?" Hermione snapped, "I told you, I've fixed it all with Professor McGonagall."

"Relax Ron, wwe'vve sorted it all out. After all, magic can do wwonderous thins." Eridan told an upset Ron, "Let us study like nutters in peace, alright?"

Hermione let out an indignant huff at being called a nutter, but Ron cracked a grin.

"Alright Harry, but if you two start to overwork, I'll pull you away from your books by force!"

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

"All righ'?" he boomed eagerly, pausing on his way to the staff table, "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five getting' everthin' ready… hope it's okay… me, a teacher… hones'ly…"

He grinned broadly at them and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

"Wonder what he's been getting ready?" mused Ron aloud, a note of anxiety in his voice.

"Seein the cat, probably somethin big that likes meat."

"Harry, most of Hagrid's beasts are 'something big that likes meat'." Ron retorted with a groan.

The Hall was starting to empty as people headed off towards their first lesson. Ron checked his schedule.

"We'd better go, look, Divination's at the top of North Tower. It'll take us ten minutes to get there…"

They finished breakfast hastily, said goodbye to Fred and George and walked back through the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did yet another impression of a fainting fit. In retaliation, Eridan crossed his legs and pretended to squeal like a baby. Shouts of laughter aimed toward the blond Slytherin made him smirk all the way to the Entrance Hall.

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle, and they had never been inside North Tower before.

"There's…got…to…be…a…short…cut…" Ron panted, as they climbed the seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

"I think it's this way," offered Hermione, peering down the empty passage to the right.

"Can't be," replied Ron, "That's south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake outside the window…"

"Ron," Eridan started, "since wwhen did anythin at Hogwwarts make sense?"

The red-haired Gryffindor groaned.

"You've got a point there, mate…"

Eridan saw motion out of the corner of his eye, and turned to the wall to see a large framed painting. A fat, dappled-gray pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. As Harry, he was used to the subjects of Hogwarts paintings moving around and leaving their frames to visit each other, but he always enjoyed watching them. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor had clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of the grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off.

"Aha!" he yelled, seeing Eridan, Ron and Hermione, "What villains are these, that trespass upon my private lands! Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"

They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him and a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face down in the grass.

Eridan had a feeling that this portrait wasn't of a real knight, but of a caricature. There was no way someone could be that stupid.

…Right?

"Are you all right?" asked Ron, moving closer to the picture.

"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back, you rogue!"

The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn't get it out again. Finally, he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.

"Listen," Eridan said, taking advantage of the knight's exhaustion, "wwe're lookin for the North Tower. Do you happen to knoww the wway?"

"A quest!" The knight's rage seemed to vanish instantly, and he clanked to his feet and shouted, "Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!"

He gave the sword another fruitless tug, tried and failed to mount the fat pony, gave up, and cried out-

"On foot then, good sirs and gentle lady! On! On!" And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left side of the frame and out of sight.

So he really was that stupid. Hopefully he could memorize the path to the classroom so that he never had to deal with the painting again. They hurried after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armor. Every now and then they spotted him running through a picture ahead.

"Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" yelled the knight, and they saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase.

Eridan, Ron, and Hermione climbed the tightly spiraling steps, the ex-troll noticing that his friends seemed to be at their limit. Ron looked out of breath and Hermione's hair was frizzier than normal. Both were panting when they finally reached their destination. Eridan stared at them, confused. Didn't he have the same stamina as them, or did that time on the train bring back more than just his memories?

"Farewell!" cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks, "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"

"Yeah, we'll call you," muttered Ron as the knight disappeared, "if we ever need someone mental."

They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off this landing, but Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trapdoor with a brass plaque on it.

"'Sybill Trelawwney, Divination teacher,'" Eridan read, "Howw are wwe supposed to get up there?"

As though in answer to his question, the trapdoor suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at Eridan's feet. Everyone got quiet.

"After you," said Ron, grinning, so Eridan climbed the ladder first with a roll of his eyes.

He emerged into the strangest-looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all, more like a cross between someone's attic and an old-fashioned tea shop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little beanbags. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire that was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls, and a huge array of teacups.

Ron appeared at Eridan's shoulder as the class assembled around them, all talking in whispers.

"Where is she?" Ron asked.

A voice came suddenly out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

"Welcome, how nice to see you in the physical world at last."

Eridan's immediate impression was of a large, glittering insect, and not the type troll came from. Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and they saw that she was very thin. Her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings.

He thought the woman was trying a little too hard to come off as a mystical seer.

"Sit, my children, sit." she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto beanbags.

"Welcome to Divination," whispered Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire, "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."

Nobody said anything to this extraordinary pronouncement. A recluse then? No… Eridan discreetly sniffed the air. The scents of the room were covering something. He tried to pinpoint the smell that wasn't being broadcasted. Ah, there. Alcohol. So the Professor stayed up here drinking? Hardly a role model for such impressionable young humans.

Professor Trelawney delicately rearranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you… Books can take you only so far in this field…"

At these words Ron glanced, grinning, at Hermione, who looked startled at the news that books wouldn't be much help in this subject.

"Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future," Professor Trelawney went on, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face, "It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she shouted suddenly to Neville, who almost toppled off his beanbag. "Is your grandmother well?"

"I think so," whimpered Neville tremulously.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you, dear," said Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long emerald earrings.

Neville gulped.

Professor Trelawney continued placidly, "We will be covering the basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading the tea leaves. Next term we shall progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear," she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, "beware a red-haired man."

Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her and edged her chair away from him.

"In the second term," Professor Trelawney continued, "we shall progress to the crystal ball — if we have finished with fire omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever."

A very tense silence followed this pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seemed unaware of it.

"I wonder, dear," she said to Lavender Brown, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, "if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?"

Lavender, looking relieved, stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf, and put it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.

"Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading, it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."

Lavender trembled.

"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me, and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink, drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer, wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of Unfogging the Future. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear," she caught Neville by the arm as he made to stand up, "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to the pink."

Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the shelf of teacups when there was a tinkle of breaking china.

Professor Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, "One of the blue ones, then, dear, if you wouldn't mind… thank you…"

When Eridan and Ron had had their teacups filled, they went back to their table and tried to drink the scalding tea quickly. They swilled the dregs around as Professor Trelawney had instructed, then drained the cups and swapped over.

"Right," said Ron as they both opened their books at pages five and six, "What can you see in mine?"

"Right, you havve got a crooked sort of cross…" he consulted 'Unfogging the Future', "That means you're going to havve 'trials and sufferin', but there's another part that could be the sun. Hang on… that means 'great happiness'… so you're goin to suffer but be vvery happy about it…"

"You need your Inner Eye tested, if you ask me," chirruped Ron, and they both had to stifle their laughs as Professor Trelawney gazed in their direction.

"My turn…" Ron peered into Eridan's teacup, his forehead wrinkling with effort, "There's a blob a bit like a bowler hat… Maybe you're going to work for the Ministry of Magic…"

"I sure hope not." Eridan quipped, making the redhead guffaw.

Ron turned the teacup the other way up.

"But this way it looks more like an acorn… what's that?" Ron scanned his copy of Unfogging the Future, "'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Excellent, you can lend me some. And there's a thing here," he turned the cup again, "that looks like an animal… yeah, if that was its head… it looks like a hippo… no, a sheep…"

Professor Trelawney whirled around as Ron let out a snort of laughter.

"Let me see that, my dear," she said reprovingly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Eridan's cup from him.

Everyone went quiet to watch. Professor Trelawney stared into the teacup, rotating it counterclockwise.

"The falcon… my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"But everyone knows that," said Hermione in a loud whisper.

Professor Trelawney stared at her.

"Well, they do," sniffed Hermione, "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."

Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to Eridan's cup again and continued to turn it.

"The club… an attack. Dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…"

"I thought that was a bowler hat," commented Ron sheepishly.

"The skull… danger in your path, my dear…"

Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed. There was another tinkle of breaking china. Neville had smashed his second cup. Professor Trelawney sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

"My dear boy… my poor dear boy… no… it is kinder not to say… no… don't ask me…"

"What is it, Professor?" asked Dean Thomas at once.

Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly they crowded around Eridan and Ron's table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Eridan's cup.

"My dear," Professor Trelawney's huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have the Grim."

"Excuse me?" asked Eridan.

He could tell that he wasn't the only one who didn't understand. Dean Thomas shrugged at him and Lavender Brown looked puzzled, but nearly everybody else clapped their hands to their mouths in horror.

"The Grim, my dear, the Grim!" cried Professor Trelawney, who looked shocked that Eridan hadn't understood, "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen… the worst omen… of death!"

A little too late for that, Eridan thought, should have told me that before I got cut in half by a jade-blooded rainbow-drinking fashionista…

Talking with the Seer of Mind had cleared certain obscurities of future sight up, one of them being that some omens are actually warnings from the past. He didn't know how he knew this, but the moment Professor Trelawney had told him of his death omen, Eridan knew that it had already passed. One factor of this may have had something to do with the fact that he had already died, and he wasn't going to be leaving his new home anytime soon.

Lavender Brown clapped her hands to her mouth. Everyone was looking at Eridan, everyone except Hermione, who had gotten up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair.

"I don't think it looks like a Grim," she stated flatly.

Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike.

"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side.

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," he surmised, with his eyes almost shut, "but it looks more like a donkey from here," he finished, leaning to the left.

Eridan discreetly surveyed the room. Everyone seemed to be avoiding the prospect of even glancing in his general direction, something the ex-troll internally snorted at. His demise had already passed; painfully, humiliatingly, but passed nonetheless.

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice, "Yes… please pack away your things…"

Silently the class took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away their books, and closed their bags. Even Ron was avoiding his eyes.

"Until we meet again," said Professor Trelawney faintly, "fair fortune be yours. Oh, and dear," she pointed at Neville, "you'll be late next time, so mind you work extra-hard to catch up."

As he descended the ladder, Eridan grudgingly wondered if the class was worth taking after all, because he was rather sure that even Pyrope could have made better predictions than her.

A/N:

Oni: That's all for now folks!

Eridan: Don't forget to read and revvieww, and thanks to those wwho havve revviewwed, followwed and favorited this fanfiction.

Oni: And I shall see you next time, my pretties!