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Foresight by sandtreader
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Foresight

sandtreader

Disclaimer: All characters, events and references drawn from HP belong to J.K. Rowling, etc., respectively, everything else is my own invention.

FORESIGHT

PART EIGHT

Hermione gazed out into an enormous chamber, at least three times as wide as the Great Hall and significantly taller. The stone columns that lined its walls were carved, it appeared, out of the solid stone that formed its sides and ceiling. It looked to her to be some sort of warehouse, for she noticed several rows of aisles that cut into stockpiles of old furniture, tapestries, desks, chairs and numerous items that were strewn throughout. Wooden crates were piled on top of one another and she saw what appeared to be very long tables that would be right at home in the Great Hall itself. There was so much to take in; Hermione didn't know where to begin.

"Welcome to Hogwart's vault, Miss Granger," the Professor finally spoke, sounding like she was about to start a tour. "Up until this time, Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Filch and I have been the only ones who have known of its existence. It has been a secret held by successive Headmasters and their deputies since it was built around the second century after the school opened."

McGonagall then turned to Hermione and gave her a very stern look.

"I trust, therefore, that Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and yourself will continue that tradition and keep this between yourselves. If I ever hear tell of its existence beyond the three of you, I may have to resort to using some of Mr. Lockhart's famous memory charms. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione responded, amazed at why the Professor would go to all this trouble over a simple key.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Miss Granger, as I am sure you three have learned very well already," the Professor added, as though reading Hermione's thoughts.

"Follow me, please," McGonagall said, turning toward one of the aisles.

As Hermione started forward, some movement caught her eye. She looked up to see one of the strangest sights she could remember and apparently the source of the whooshing noises she had heard earlier. Flying overhead, around the ceiling, were broomsticks of all shapes and sizes along with colorfully designed flying carpets. Some were simply floating, others were dashing around in circles, while some would lazily glide along, pausing every so often, as if to think, and several were chasing each other. Hermione amusingly thought it looked like a bizarre fish tank one might see in a dream. But as they walked down one of the aisles, there were so many things to see that she didn't have time to stop and focus on any single one of them.

Hermione gazed in wonder at what looked to be old wooden contraptions and devices that seemed to hail from the Middle Ages. They passed several statues that Hermione swore were watching her walk by, but when she turned to look at them they were perfectly still. Scores of old school desks and chairs, tattered and worn, were stacked neatly together, obviously having been used by generations of Hogwart's students before being brought down here. A huge metal and glass machine stood ominously in the center of one of the aisles, looking like it had been some sort of ancient star gazing apparatus.

"There are hundreds of years worth of Hogwart's artifacts down here, as you can see," the Professor stated while continuing to walk straight ahead of her. "Most of the really valuable or historical items are kept here for their protection. In other words, items we don't want manhandled by careless students."

They turned right, along a narrow aisle that lead toward the far right wall. Passing by a large collection of crates, Hermione heard something knocking on the inside of one of them, as though someone inside wanted out. They also passed a row of old suits of armor, the legs, arms and helmets rattling as though they were attempting to come to life. They then turned left again, going down the row against the far wall. Hermione began to wonder if the Professor really knew where she was going.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley would be pleased to see this," McGonagall stated with a smile, stopping before a glass cabinet. "I understand it was one of the first Hogwart's uniforms made, not too long after the game itself was invented."

Hermione looked in to see an old, but well preserved Quidditch uniform along with several of the game's implements, including some bludgers that would occasionally fidget in place.

Hermione turned around and noticed that the side wall contained several alcoves lined up one after another, each of them stretching deep inside the wall. The alcoves held all manner of items that glittered with gold, silver or jewels and large shelves filled with swaths of various cloths. And then she saw one of the reasons for the high security measures used to protect the vault. A huge alcove ran deep into darkness away from the wall where iron bars had been built in with a large portcullis, which Hermione figured was magically sealed. Behind these bars lay enormous mounds of gold Galleons - enough to pay every house elf in Britain, Hermione mused. This apparently was the reserve for the school.

The Professor turned again and continued towards the end of the aisle. Hermione had to quicken her pace to catch up with her.

"GET ME OUT...PLEASE...GET ME OUT!" a voice shouted, startling Hermione. She looked to see a multitude of paintings leaning up against the wall. The voice had come from a painting of a man wearing tattered clothes in what would normally be a picturesque scene. However, the man had apparently been breaking limbs off of the trees and trampling the flowers around what was supposed to be a garden. His unruly hair had bits and pieces of flowers in it, and he gave Hermione a strange, twisted smile. In another painting, an old woman in a quaint looking kitchen seemed fixed in a hell of having to cook a meal that she would never finish. She was grumbling to herself and throwing food everywhere. People in other portraits were constantly weeping or laughing themselves silly.

"These paintings are mad, Miss Granger," the Professor said, having turned back to where Hermione was standing. "They originally were hung in the main hall of the dormitories, but had to be taken down after several of the students complained of nightmares due to their odd behavior." The Professor had a worried look in her eyes, motioning her to move along.

When they reached the end of this aisle on the far end of the chamber, they turned left down the last row. Hermione stopped briefly at another amazing sight. This wall had shelves running practically all the way up to the ceiling. The shelves were full of books, parchments, books, stacks of old scrolls and more books. She sighed slightly. She could spend days in here looking over all these volumes. She noticed the Professor had stopped and was smiling at her.

"These books are either too old or too dangerous for students to be looking at, even for the restricted section."

She dragged herself away from the shelves and followed the Professor to the end of the row, the Professor turned around and stopped. As Hermione walked toward her, McGonagall's face had turned to a very serious expression.

"Wait here, if you please, Miss Granger, and I will go and retrieve the box," she told Hermione, who then acknowledged her with a nod. 'A box?' she thought. All this for a box? She had at least expected the key would go to some enormous safe or antechamber containing priceless artifacts or something extremely valuable.

Hermione watched the Professor walk down a short aisle and then promptly disappear into a darkened alcove in the wall. She gazed at the books along the wall again, and then turned her attention to the flying objects at the ceiling, watching one broomstick continually run into the wall, then back up and try over and over again. She then turned around and almost jumped out of her skin to see someone standing behind her. After she opened her eyes and recovered her breath, she realized that it was not a person at all, but her own reflection.

She backed up to take in the whole view of the large mirror before her. As she gazed at its intricate arch-like design, she suddenly realized what she was looking at. She felt butterflies in her stomach as she tried to read the strange writing that arched over and across the top. She remembered Harry telling her that in all the times he had looked at that mirror, he couldn't figure out what language it was written in. Firmly in concentration, her chin resting on one hand, her eyes suddenly lit up.

"I show not your face but your hearts desire...oh Harry, that was too easy!" she uttered with a half smile.

Now her curiosity had kicked into high gear as she moved a little closer. Some part of her conscience, however, warned her against looking, reminding her of what Dumbledore had told Harry about the mirror's effect on people. But the lure of what she might see was too strong to resist. She smiled again and imagined seeing herself in the robes of a Professor. Or maybe even Headmistress?

Hermione waited a few more moments but nothing happened. Suddenly she noticed something. Turning her head slightly, she screwed up her eyes at the reflection. A frown crossed her face as she saw that a bundle of her hair was sticking up and out of place in the back. She reached up, fixed it, and then resumed her wait. Several more moments passed and yet nothing. 'Maybe it doesn't work anymore', she thought. Maybe that's why Dumbledore brought it in here after the incident with the Stone.

"Oh, come on now, my heart's not that hard to read, is it?" she complained to the mirror.

No sooner had those words left her mouth than an image began to form. Hermione's eyes widened and her heart was racing. She watched as the blurred image seemed to linger just slightly in the background behind her. She then flinched at seeing a hand reach out from the image and rest on her reflected shoulder. She spun around, but no one was there. Turning back quickly, she saw that the hand was now gone, but the image remained.

Hermione's heart stopped suddenly as the image came into sharp focus behind her reflection.

It was as if she had been petrified by the Basilisk again, standing there, frozen before the mirror. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Or could she? She felt her natural impulse of resistance rise up, that function of the brain that kicks in when faced with something perceived as a threat to the normal balance of emotion and logic. But what was now flooding her mind, her memories and down in her heart began to overwhelm any ability she had to stop it. Some powerful force that had been lurking beneath the surface for so long, buried deep within the recesses of her being, had now begun to burst through like a tidal wave.

She involuntarily let out a sharp cry of overwhelming emotion, her hands quickly cupped over her mouth as though she could somehow keep it from coming out, but the tears had already formed and began to fall hotly down her cheeks. As if that was not enough, however, now the image did something that Hermione did not expect. She watched in astonishment at what was transpiring before her eyes.

Not only did the image remain, but the Hermione she now saw in the mirror was not the same one looking into it. She looked...happier, different, something of a radiance coming through those brown eyes, the smallest details becoming more apparent. The scene before her was something Hermione had seen in her dreams many times, but never in reality. As she stood transfixed at the reflection before her, her head drooped slightly, the heaviness of tears again - she felt her heart breaking.

"You may need this."

Hermione spun around, startled by the Professor standing next to her. She was holding a small, white handkerchief in one hand and a jewel encrusted box in the other. Hermione took the handkerchief and quickly began wiping the tears from her face and eyes, embarrassed to have McGonagall see her in this state. McGonagall gave her a look of concern.

"The mirror has that effect on those who try to hide things..." she told Hermione as though she were her mother, but then that seriousness returned again. "...especially from themselves," she added. Her words surprised Hermione. Did the Professor know what she had seen?

"Come along, Hermione," the Professor spoke in a kind voice, motioning to her and starting to walk away.

Hermione started to move forward and glanced back at the mirror one last time, only to see her reflection fleeing away, and now feeling a sense of emptiness.

She tried her hardest to maintain a normal composure in the company of the Professor, but every step she took now seemed so heavy. The weight of years continued to press down upon her mind and heart, causing at once a painful paradox both of intense yearning and a sense of impending loss - a loss she could not bear to think about. The tears began again and she wiped them away as fast as possible, hoping not to garner the attention of McGonagall who was walking quietly in front of her.

They turned down another row and the Professor then stopped in front of an old table sticking out in the aisle. She gently placed the curious looking box on the table. It was about the size of a jewelry box and still had cob webs clinging to its cover. It looked like it was made of carved silver, with multicolored jewels set in. The Professor then turned to look at Hermione, her hands clasped in front of her again, with that pensive expression of seriousness on her face.

Hermione sensing what she was to do, pulled out the golden key and moved it towards the box. She was about to insert it into the lock but noticed her hand was trembling. She paused, closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to push aside the emotions that were so thick in her mind at the moment. She then opened her eyes and put the key into the lock, turning it twice.

At first, nothing happened and she finally let go of the key, unable to retrieve it from the box. Then suddenly the key disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Hermione then heard two clicks and the cover of the box lifted up. Her heart was beating rapidly, wondering what would await her inside, wondering in some strange twist of logic, if it had anything at all to do with what she had just seen in the mirror. When the box had completely opened, she saw a small piece of parchment inside. She turned to look at McGonagall who nodded to her to go ahead and pull it out. She did so, and examined the paper, which was worn, slightly torn in places and had all sorts of notes, a partial handwritten map and a name at the top, which sent a shiver down her spine - T. Riddle.

"Very good, Miss Granger, it is time for us to leave," the Professor then spoke as though they were late for afternoon tea.

McGonagall closed the lid on the box and began to walk toward the front of the chamber. Hermione followed in tow, gazing at the parchment and its odd markings. Normally she would have been completely engrossed with such a strange item, waiting to be dissected and unraveled by her curiosity and thirst for knowledge. But at the moment, she couldn't think straight, her mind being preoccupied with the image in the mirror and the effect it was having on her - an effect which she realized was intensifying the further they went from the mirror. Hermione felt as though she had briefly lived out a dream and was now walking out of that dream into a cold, blank reality. She also felt a deep gnawing pain in her heart that was growing beyond her control. This was something she had dreaded for so long but now could no longer ignore. No! Not now. Not now. The vault, which had held so many interesting things that could feed her curiosity for days, now seemed so terribly empty.

Hermione was thankful that Professor McGonagall was respectfully quiet on their journey out of the vault back to the upper floors of the castle. But she noticed the Professor occasionally glancing back at her, that look of worry on her face each time. Hermione was struggling now with what she knew to be true and the integrity in her would not allow her to deny it any longer - the mirror was simply incapable of lying. Acceptance of it, however, was impossible. How could she, the way things were, at present? The thoughts of what she saw and the intense feelings that it drew out were getting to the point of overwhelming now. She needed to be alone, to get this out of her system. Hermione was afraid that if she didn't do so soon, she would break down sobbing, making a messy scene in front of the Professor.

'COME ON HERMIONE!!! YOU"RE STRONGER THAN THIS!!! FIGHT THIS!!!' something inside of her seemed to yell out. She sat up abruptly, tears running down her face, suddenly realizing she was still in the boat crossing the underground lake. The cool air rushing by seemed to revive her and she felt a little better. But it didn't stop the onslaught of memories and feelings that were attempting to reestablish themselves in her mind.

Hermione and the Professor left the lake, headed up towards the dungeon rooms they passed previously and back into the third floor corridor. After descending the stair in the tower hall, they finally were back in the main corridor again. The Professor turned around and stopped, waiting for Hermione to catch up. When she had, the Professor pulled out a slip of parchment and handed it to her.

"I took the liberty of having rooms prepared for you, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley during your stay here. Those are the room numbers in the guest tower and that is the password on the bottom," McGonagall spoke. "I don't think you are in the best state to be dining with the students at present, though many of them would like to see you. If you wish, however, I can have dinner sent to your room, later on."

"Also, I reminded Madam Pince that you have full access to the Restricted Section of the library, Hermione," she then added and leaned forward a bit.

"I believe that you will find what you need in there, and with your bright mind, I'm sure it won't take long," McGonagall told Hermione with a smile, placing a hand on hers, as if to cheer her up. Hermione nodded at her, for some reason finding it hard to say anything.

"Now if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to presently," the Professor said and smiling at Hermione one more time, turned and walked out of the corridor.

Hermione's head dropped and she closed her eyes, never so glad to be alone. But the pressure inside seemed to be getting stronger and she turned quickly, heading for the guest tower of the castle as fast as possible. She hoped to avoid any students or teachers, she simply didn't feel like talking to anyone right now.

She practically ran up the stairwell that lead to the guest room corridor, pausing at the portrait, behind which lay the entrance. The beautiful woman in the portrait didn't say a word to Hermione as she uttered the password, though she seemed very curious at the sight of the obviously shaken brown haired girl before her. The portrait swung open and Hermione walked briskly toward one of the rooms the Professor had set aside for them. She quickly opened the door and upon entering, closed it just as quickly, bolting the lock in place. She then turned to go to over to the bed, but instead found herself collapsing against the wall next to the door.

She pulled her arms in around her waist and her hair fell forward slightly as she leaned her head against the wall. A tremendous burst of old feelings broke through and she finally gave under the terrible weight. The sobs came out involuntarily and in such intensity that she was shocked, wondering how something so seemingly small could affect her so much. She managed to walk slowly toward the bed and then collapse on it, tears pouring out freely, the last vestiges of resistance gone.

"OKAY! OKAY!" she cried out, finally coming to grips with it.

She did love him. So deeply, so strongly. So much it made her whole body ache. The powerful force inside that compelled her was now stronger than it had ever been, and she cried out if only to try and relieve the pressure it was bringing to bear on her heart. Through her tears she saw that all her efforts to stop this in the past had been utterly futile. Love simply would not obey her commands and now she was feeling the brunt of it.

But how? How could she go on like this? Now was the absolute worst time for this to happen. They were so close, so close to the end. Why now? How could she face him now?

Hermione's tear-filled eyes suddenly opened with a stark realization of something that scared her worse than anything so far. All this time, her feelings for him, her desire to be more intimate with him had been some hidden guide to what she knew was the only natural course that their friendship could take. A terrible heartache now came over her at the knowledge of the reality of their situation that neither of them had apparently seen before - the fatal flaw in their bond. If it didn't progress, didn't move forward, it would ultimately alter and maybe even die. There was simply no way around it. Something had to give one way or another and though she did not want things to be this way, she knew she had finally hit the wall.

Hermione's thoughts of losing Harry now struck a terror in her soul like never before. She simply couldn't face the idea that he would go on without her, that the unique friendship and bond they shared would cease to exist at some point. She now saw that she had come to rely so heavily on it and without it her life would never be the same again.

But she couldn't do this to him either. That integrity in her that respected and admired him as her best friend simply forbid her to reveal this to him. To do so, in her eyes, could be devastating and she didn't want to place such an immense burden on him right now, he already had too much. She was afraid of losing the very friendship with him, by telling him how she felt, that was in danger of dying if she didn't tell him, if he didn't want anything more with her. This caused Hermione such consternation in her soul. A terrible dilemma it was and the uncertainty of their future together now broke hard over the naiveté and simplicity in which she had, up to this point, held their connection.

Hermione laid back and closed her eyes again. She was dreading the next few hours. Harry and Ron would soon be returning from Hogsmeade. How was she going to face him now? The pain again struck her and fresh tears fell on the bed beneath her.

"Harry…Harry…" she cried out softly.

She would get up and go on. She would help her friends who needed her in top form right now, but she also knew that things would never be the same between them. It simply couldn't continue as it was.