The Celestial Guidance
by FlyingPixie
Disclaimer: Everything in this fic belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling (save for my impersonations of Fate). If I were her I would not be here writing on this site, I would be hurrying up and writing the next book!
A/N: This story takes place in Harry's sixth year, after OotP. H/G, R/Hr, PG-13 rating.
What the Fates Decide
"The threads which the Fates spin are so unchangeable, that, even if they decreed to someone a kingdom which at the moment belonged to another, and even if that other slew the man of destiny, to save himself from ever being deprived by him of his throne, nevertheless the dead man would come to life again in order to fulfil the decree of the Fates ... He who is destined to become a carpenter, will become one even if his hands have been cut off: and he who has been destined to carry off the prize for running in the Olympic games, will not fail to win even if he broke his leg: and a man to whom the Fates have decreed that he shall be an eminent archer, will not miss the mark, even though he lost his eyesight."
- Flavius Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana 8.7
Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos sat together in a large, domed hall. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows placed evenly around the majestic room. An immense tapestry hung before them, and it was that, at the moment, that held their attention. Clotho, the youngest, held a thin thread in her hands. She nervously flipped it over and over, and every few minutes would look down as if to assure herself that it was still there.
The three sisters, normally calm and collected, were worried. There was no doubting this. The tapestry and the thread appeared to be the cause of this anxiety. Finally, after an interminable amount of time, Clotho spoke.
"Lachesis, do you think you can repair the damage? Can you weave the rest of the thread back in without damaging anything?" she asked, hoping for the best. The woman in question paused before answering.
"I think so. But if he continues on with his destruction, it won't do much good," the middle sibling answered her. She stood up and began to pace the room, deep in thought. "We should not have allowed it to escalate to this point. We should have realized the danger sooner. We could have stopped him, if we had just looked deeper into the Pattern."
Atropos stood up and placed a hand on her sister's shoulder, guiding her back to the couch.
"There is no point in worrying about the past. What's done is done. We must repair the damage and stop him before it is too late. Before the damage is irreversible. Before Tom becomes unstoppable." The eldest sister let her words hang in the air. They each knew what was at stake. They had to get to work.
"You're right, as always." Lachesis took the thread from Clotho and examined it. She nodded to herself, seeing something in it that no other eye could see. She walked up to the tapestry and, with quick precision, she began to weave the thread into the tapestry with her hands. A dim, red light began to glow around her hands as she continued to interlace the thread. In, out, in, out. The light grew stronger as she continued, until it vanished as abruptly as it had come.
She let out a breath and slowly stepped away from the wall. It was flawless. She smiled, and behind her, she felt her sisters smile too. The hard part was done...
Harry placed his trunk into the trunk of the Dursley's car before climbing into the car with Hedwig. He knew this bothered his Uncle Vernon, whose faceturned an amazing shade of purple, but he felt that his owl should not have to suffer in the trunk like previous years. There was nothing his uncle could do about it. Apparently the beefy man realized this as well, and stayed quiet about it, though it was obvious that he was internally seething with rage.
Harry leaned back in his seat as his uncle pulled out of the train station's parking lot and drove away. He took off his glasses and looked out the window. Putting his forehead to the window, he let the scenes outside blur together in a kaleidoscope of colors. At times, he liked it better this way. Not having to focus on anything in particular. Letting life blend everything together so he didn't have to think; simply look out and enjoy the view.
He could hear the Dursley's talking quietly in the front about mundane things, steering all conversation far from anything 'freakish'. He, of course, had no wish to partake in the conversation whatsoever. Harry was simply happy that they weren't yelling at him like they usually did. They seemed to be ignoring him completely, as if that would make their problems go away.
The Dursley's knew that if they put one foot out of line, their nephew would write to 'the freaks'. Fear of having such horrid people anywhere near their house seemed to keep them at bay, for now at least. Harry knew, however, that this would not be the case. As of last year, witches and wizards would be constantly patrolling Privet Drive for any sign of danger. What they don't know can't hurt them, he thought bitterly to himself, and went back to staring out the window.
Harry kept his mind blissfully blank. Wouldn't Snape be proud? But Harry didn't do it for him. He did not want to think about what happened last year. He did not want to think about what was to come. He did not want to think at all...
Finally, his uncle pulled the car into the driveway. Harry was the first out of the car. He grabbed his glasses and put them on. He then took his trunk and owl cage and began walking towards the door. He waited 'patiently' while his beefy uncle trudged up and unlocked the door.
Harry carried his trunk up to his 'room', if one would call it that. The room in question had no personal possessions whatsoever. He sighed: he was 'home' again.
He lay down on his bed, sighing once more.It would be, without doubt, the longest summer yet. Unwillingly, his thoughts went back to the previous spring. Sirius smiling as he dueled, before falling through the veil. At school, the days had passed by in a daze. The death of his godfather had not yet sunk in. But here, all alone in his room, the truth lay before him. Harry felt a tear trailing down his cheek and quickly rubbed it away.
Sirius was gone.
Sirius was gone, and it was all his fault.
If only he had listened to Hermione.
If only he had practiced Occulmency more.
If only he didn't have a 'saving people thing'.
If only he had used the mirror to check up on Sirius.
If only he hadn't listened to Kreacher.
The "if only's" piled up in his head. As much as he blamed himself, however, it wouldn't bring Sirius back. He felt like the void inside of him that Sirius used to fill was empty again. He had just lost his godfather, the one person he thought would always be there for him, and with whom he could live after his name was cleared. A person he could trust with his problems and would lend a helping hand and good advice from time to time.
Harry sighed and tried to calm himself. He knew it would take time for him to get better, but time did not heal all wounds. Time could make them smaller and almost insignificant, but the memories would still be there, and Harry would always miss Sirius.
He sighed, and got up, walking over to the windowsill. He sat down and looked out. The sun was just beginning to set. Orange, yellow and red hues were splashed across the sky in an entrancing and mystic way. Harry had always believed that nature was a bounty of magic.
The world was at peace, for now. But he knew that the peace would not last long. Now that the wizarding world was aware of Voldemort's return, there would be attacks. Countless attacks. Who could stop the maniac? One person. Him.
The scene in Dumbledore's office played in his head again. He recited the memorized prophecy, which only he and Dumbledore knew, in his head:
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ...'
He had to be the one to defeat Voldemort. Just out of his fifth year. A boy, one who had trouble defeating a bunch of Death Eaters, was to be the one to defeat Voldemort. How ironic Fate could be. It was impossible, and yet it had to be done.
Harry had always thought that Dumbledore would be the one to put a stop to Voldemort once and for all. Harry's power nowhere near rivaled Dumbledore's. How was he supposed to defeat Voldemort?
He had no idea what power he was supposed to have, and hoped it would manifest itself as soon as possible. Harry thought he should begin training, do anything really, but had no idea what exactly to do. It was a heavy burden to bear, and he was determined to do his best.
Harry figured that the best he could do at the moment was to spend time studying the textbooks he already had, First year through to Fifth. Nothing like having a death-threat over your head to make you start working, Harry thought bitterly to himself.
He decided to spend more time on subjects he valued to be the most helpful: Defense Against the Dark Arts (of course), Transfiguration, Charms, and even Potions (he hoped that after reading through them several times he would have a better understanding of the subject). He smirked as he thought of what Snape would say if he ever saw him actually reading a Potions' text voluntarily!
Harry just couldn't see how Divination or Astronomy could help him in any way, and would simply skim over those books. History of Magic was also pointless, though Harry wished he could learn more about the First War, as well as Grindlewald's defeat. He figured, however, that he had enough on his plate as it was and would focus on that later on in the summer.
He wasn't sure where he would find the information, and wasn't quite ready to ask for Dumbledore's help yet, so he concentrated more on the subjects and books available. He would deal his problems when he reached them.
Harry would lightly read over his Care of Magical Creatures textbooks, and would spend the most amount of time studying Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and The Monster Book of Monsters. Harry's view was that Voldemort's army would probably have more Chimaeras, Trolls and Manticores than Flobberworms and Fairies!
No time like the present to start, he thought to himself. Harry desperately hoped it would take his mind off of his godfather. He took out his First year Transfiguration textbook and began to read...
Sirius opened his eyes and sat up slowly. He looked around. He seemed to be in a room of the purest white. Saying he was confused was an understatement. Hadn't he just been at Grimmauld Place?
Memories suddenly flashed before his eyes. Remus telling him that Harry had gone off to the Department of Mysteries to look for him. Members of the Order of the Phoenix, himself included, apparating there, hoping they weren't too late. Sirius saw himself battling various Death Eaters, trying to make his way to Harry. Finally, he saw the duel between himself and Lestrange. Saw himself fall through the ancient doorway and behind the veil.
I failed Harry. I was his godfather. I need to be there when he grows older. I should have focused more on what I was doing. I shouldn't have treated it like a game. Sirius couldn't stop blaming himself. At least he still has Remus. With this last thought, he stood up and began to pace around the room, if one could call it that. Sirius couldn't see anything other than the white. There were no walls at all, almost as if it went on forever.
Having nothing else to do, he began walking in one direction, hoping to see someone or something. Anything other than the whiteness (which had begun to grate on his nerves). Was he dead? He had no idea, but realized that it was very probable. He hoped he would be able to see James and Lily again. He continued walking.
He wasn't sure how long he had walked for, because all sense of time was gone for him, before three women appeared suddenly before him. One was young, around her mid-twenties, with as much beauty and splendor as one could put in a face. Despite her youth however, her eyes held wisdom beyond her years. Her long, flowing blond hair hung loosely at her sides. She was dressed elegantly in a sweeping gown of light blue hues.
Beside her stood a taller woman in her mid-fifties, Sirius guessed. She looked as if she had seen better days, and her face hinted at incredible beauty during her youth. She wore an elegant, red dress, and her brown hair was held in a long braid.
Beside the brunette stood the last of the three. The woman had graying hair, held up in a tight bun. She wore a simple dress, this time in lavender. Her body looked frail, but her demeanor showed that she was anything but.
The three women radiated power and strength. Who are these women? Sirius asked himself. As if she had the power to read minds (which Sirius didn't doubt in the least), the eldest answered his question. "My name is Atropos. These are my sisters Lachesis and Clotho. We are the Moerae. We are Fate. We are here to bring you home."
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