Harry Potter - foresight reawakened - pt7: the Eye of Fedelm
HP - foresight reawakened: (7) the Eye of Fedelm
*
“Fedelm is a prophetess from Celtic mythology. She appears in The Tain to tell queen Medb not to attack because the future of her army is bathed in blood. She’s a real figure, of course. Athough her body has never been found there are rumors that one of her eyes remains in the mortal realm and can give those who look into it-if you are the right sort of person-the power of foresight, prophecy.
“The Ministry of Magic was rumored to have acquired the Eye in 1714 from the home of a private collector of Dark Artifacts, but it disappeared after a Death Eater raid in 1979. Most of the people involved in the raid are either dead or in Azkaban…You may be the only person who knows where it is,” she said ominously.
Draco snorted. “Don’t be silly. My fa-that’s ridiculous,” he hastened to amend. “I don’t even remember when I saw it, if it’s even true.”
But Draco did remember.
He’d been eight years old. His father told him he had a secret for him-a birthday present. “Don’t tell mummy,” he had said, leading Draco into that dark room filled with coldly glowing objects. It was somewhere underground. Dingy. The threshold was made of rotting wood, the room itself of plaster and grey stone. The air was dry, cool, oppressive, filled with the darkness of envy, death, and desire. Things grotesque and torturously made beckoned from all sides. Come closer, they seemed to call, come to me. Draco was frightened, but he dared not call attention to himself. His father, an imposing figure in long black robes, was caressing the air before a black and white candle flame. Draco inched toward him.
“Don’t be frightened,” his father coaxed, charmingly amused expression softening his features. “Nothing in this room can harm you.” He seemed sure of himself, and so Draco believed. His father would never lie to him.
Draco stepped further inside, body willed in a thousand Dark directions as the objects, severed limbs, masques beckoned silently, pulling on the magic that flowed through his veins. From the far end of the room though, there was nothing. No molasses pull, no darkness like the phantoms under Draco’s bed that came out and played inside his walls when the lights went out. Draco retreated to that empty space and stood, relieved…
Enthralled. It was amazing! Above an ornately wrought gold stand wider than Draco’s two hands and finely painted, hovered a closed eye. Like Draco, its eyelashes were long and golden. Its skin was pale as his own during winter. It was strangely beautiful. Draco stared, transfixed. Open, the thought excitedly.
It did.
It had seven deep blue irises, ringed concentrically around a fathomless black pupil that seemed to draw him in, following the largest iris down to the smallest and inside that black hole, inside…
“So what do you think?” Granger asked. Draco snapped out of his reverie. Strange, that he’d forgotten. It was such a pivotal moment for him, though he supposed he couldn’t have known. He felt he should have anyway. “Could it be Fedelm’s Curse?”
“Wait, it’s actually a curse?” Draco felt a chill worm its way into his heart. It was all fine and good calling it a curse, but it being a curse was another thing entirely.
Granger sighed. “Have you listened to a word I said? It’s called a curse because it usually allows one to see only acts that lead to violence or danger. Fedelm prophesied for an army going to war. Cassandra deWinter, a Ministry worker, saw the Eye in 1943 in an effort to aid in the fight against Grindelwald. She remembered and recorded everything she saw, and all of it was about Grindelwald’s victories and defeat-nothing of happy events. Well,” Granger amended, grin flitting across her face, “she could see things pertaining to her husband, but that was the only exception”
Draco’s blood ran cold. Potter. “No,” he said. “It’s not possible.” Could that be what his mother was keeping from him? “No,” he whispered again.
“Draco? Draco, is something wrong?” Granger leaned forward and reached for his arm.
“I have to go,” Draco said, and fled the room.
*
Granger owled the rest of the information to him that night. It consisted of a copy of bits from Krum’s letter, notes from various books, and the muggle copies held together by a twisted piece of metal.
He gave them to Pansy; he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Potter. Potter, his husband. Potter, the insufferable wanker, his husband. He wondered what it would be like, married-bonded, rather. Hellish, no doubt. But still he wondered. More often, though, he paced or sat, restless, contemplating killing himself nobly-Potter would be miserable the rest of his loveless life-or sequestering himself in Malfoy Manor until he died of old age a happy, senile bachelor without Potter.
~*~
notes: Cassandra is a figure in Greek mythology who was cursed by Apollo to prophesy truly but never be believed. Winter is a woman from Star Wars books (I think she was Leia’s nursemaid or nanny) with a perfect memory. The ‘de’ is because I’m currently obsessed with Charles de Lint.
*
“Fedelm is a prophetess from Celtic mythology. She appears in The Tain to tell queen Medb not to attack because the future of her army is bathed in blood. She’s a real figure, of course. Athough her body has never been found there are rumors that one of her eyes remains in the mortal realm and can give those who look into it-if you are the right sort of person-the power of foresight, prophecy.
“The Ministry of Magic was rumored to have acquired the Eye in 1714 from the home of a private collector of Dark Artifacts, but it disappeared after a Death Eater raid in 1979. Most of the people involved in the raid are either dead or in Azkaban…You may be the only person who knows where it is,” she said ominously.
Draco snorted. “Don’t be silly. My fa-that’s ridiculous,” he hastened to amend. “I don’t even remember when I saw it, if it’s even true.”
But Draco did remember.
He’d been eight years old. His father told him he had a secret for him-a birthday present. “Don’t tell mummy,” he had said, leading Draco into that dark room filled with coldly glowing objects. It was somewhere underground. Dingy. The threshold was made of rotting wood, the room itself of plaster and grey stone. The air was dry, cool, oppressive, filled with the darkness of envy, death, and desire. Things grotesque and torturously made beckoned from all sides. Come closer, they seemed to call, come to me. Draco was frightened, but he dared not call attention to himself. His father, an imposing figure in long black robes, was caressing the air before a black and white candle flame. Draco inched toward him.
“Don’t be frightened,” his father coaxed, charmingly amused expression softening his features. “Nothing in this room can harm you.” He seemed sure of himself, and so Draco believed. His father would never lie to him.
Draco stepped further inside, body willed in a thousand Dark directions as the objects, severed limbs, masques beckoned silently, pulling on the magic that flowed through his veins. From the far end of the room though, there was nothing. No molasses pull, no darkness like the phantoms under Draco’s bed that came out and played inside his walls when the lights went out. Draco retreated to that empty space and stood, relieved…
Enthralled. It was amazing! Above an ornately wrought gold stand wider than Draco’s two hands and finely painted, hovered a closed eye. Like Draco, its eyelashes were long and golden. Its skin was pale as his own during winter. It was strangely beautiful. Draco stared, transfixed. Open, the thought excitedly.
It did.
It had seven deep blue irises, ringed concentrically around a fathomless black pupil that seemed to draw him in, following the largest iris down to the smallest and inside that black hole, inside…
“So what do you think?” Granger asked. Draco snapped out of his reverie. Strange, that he’d forgotten. It was such a pivotal moment for him, though he supposed he couldn’t have known. He felt he should have anyway. “Could it be Fedelm’s Curse?”
“Wait, it’s actually a curse?” Draco felt a chill worm its way into his heart. It was all fine and good calling it a curse, but it being a curse was another thing entirely.
Granger sighed. “Have you listened to a word I said? It’s called a curse because it usually allows one to see only acts that lead to violence or danger. Fedelm prophesied for an army going to war. Cassandra deWinter, a Ministry worker, saw the Eye in 1943 in an effort to aid in the fight against Grindelwald. She remembered and recorded everything she saw, and all of it was about Grindelwald’s victories and defeat-nothing of happy events. Well,” Granger amended, grin flitting across her face, “she could see things pertaining to her husband, but that was the only exception”
Draco’s blood ran cold. Potter. “No,” he said. “It’s not possible.” Could that be what his mother was keeping from him? “No,” he whispered again.
“Draco? Draco, is something wrong?” Granger leaned forward and reached for his arm.
“I have to go,” Draco said, and fled the room.
*
Granger owled the rest of the information to him that night. It consisted of a copy of bits from Krum’s letter, notes from various books, and the muggle copies held together by a twisted piece of metal.
He gave them to Pansy; he couldn’t concentrate on anything but Potter. Potter, his husband. Potter, the insufferable wanker, his husband. He wondered what it would be like, married-bonded, rather. Hellish, no doubt. But still he wondered. More often, though, he paced or sat, restless, contemplating killing himself nobly-Potter would be miserable the rest of his loveless life-or sequestering himself in Malfoy Manor until he died of old age a happy, senile bachelor without Potter.
~*~
notes: Cassandra is a figure in Greek mythology who was cursed by Apollo to prophesy truly but never be believed. Winter is a woman from Star Wars books (I think she was Leia’s nursemaid or nanny) with a perfect memory. The ‘de’ is because I’m currently obsessed with Charles de Lint.