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Chapter Two - Bad Beginnings

By Ankh

Disclaimer - Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling, I am in no way affiliated with the books and nor do I have any part in creating the Harry Potter series. This is a non-profit work of fiction.

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Hermione tiptoed through the small storeroom that connected to the kitchen. Large slabs of meat hung from the rafters on wicked hooks that glinted like cruel beaks in the gloom. Shelves and racks lined every available wall space and groaned under the weight of their burdens. She passed a row of mismatched spice jars and felt the aromatic powders tickle her nose. Suddenly she sneezed, the noise didn't carry far but to her ears it was the loudest sound ever uttered.

She tensed and stood perfectly still, straining for any indication that she had been discovered. None came. Cautiously she resumed her silent exploration, easing open a heavy door and slipping through. She found herself in a narrow corridor with a rough wooden floor and bare untreated walls. There were two doors along the right-hand side and one at the far end. At first glance it seemed like a prison with two small cells, but as she looked closer she found that there were no locks of bars. One of the rooms had a neatly made bed at one side and a rickety looking dresser on the other. The next room was completely empty. Servants' quarters, she realised, or more precisely House-Elf quarters.

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Harry drained the last of his soup and pushed the bowl aside. A roaring fire suddenly burst into being in the fireplace and he heard Footman's footsteps patter from the room. The elf was up to something, but providing it didn't interfere with him why should he care? He stood slowly and dragged the chair closer to the hearth. The meal was making him sleepy, for the best part of an hour he tried to resist - sleep only meant more accursed dreams, but eventually his eyes flickered shut and his breathing slowed to a rhythmic slumber.

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Footman clutched a teetering pile of logs to his chest and sped through the house as fast as his ungainly feet would allow. A large sack of coal floated after him as he went and he fretted constantly. The girl shouldn't be left alone and unchecked, but the master had told him to light all the fires… but if the girl and the master were to meet before the time was right… he almost tripped in nervous apprehension.

Every time he passed a fireplace he paused briefly to scatter fuel about and then set the pile alight with a wave of his hand, even so it was sometime before he'd finished his task. Eventually he returned to the kitchen, peering into the room and collapsing to his knees as soon as he saw that it was empty. He clutched at his large ears and wailed piteously.

"No… no, no, no, no, no!"  Ferociously he head butted the floor. "Bad elf! Shouldn't have taken masters wand… shouldn't have used it to bring her here." After a spate of heavy panting the elf calmed down enough to think in a more or less straight line. All he needed to do was to find her before she found Harry, then he could explain everything.

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Hermione exited the servants' corridor with baited breath, the longer she explored, the more nervous she became. There was a strange feeling about the entire house, although in use it felt unused. Like a memorial only kept in working condition for remembrance sake.

She turned slowly and came face to face with an enormous snarling bear. The creature stood on its back legs and reached forwards with its front ones, its beady black eyes fixed squarely upon her. Chocking back a scream she turned and ran pell-mell in the opposite direction. After a few seconds she looked back, still running, to see why the ferocious beast wasn't following her. It stood perfectly still it's mouth still in the same leering snarl. Confused she turned back to watch where her racing legs were leading. This time she did scream.

Rearing above her was a grotesque mix of man and monster. Layers of muscle and sinew bulged from the creature's wide shoulders in a rippling display of raw power. Its spine stuck out in ugly ridges along its back leading to a snout like head. The carpet rose into a crease beneath her feet and she felt herself falling headlong into the creatures waiting arms. Long claws tipped each of its long fingers, grazing her wrists as she came to a stop in front of its slightly parted mouth. She cringed, slamming her eyes closed against the horrid apparition, waiting for the wolf shaped jaws to snap down on her. Nothing happened. Slowly she peered up at the creature; the werewolf's yellow eyes reflected her face perfectly. - They were made of glass. As quickly as she could she disentangled herself from the stuffed model. The taxidermist had done exemplary work, she thought as she tired to calm her rapidly beating heart.

She stepped away from the dead animal and looked around; she was surrounded by a menagerie of creatures. All arranged on low wooden plinths and positioned in poses of the utmost rage. She cast about for a door, not wanting to remain with the animals a moment more.

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Harry murmured unintelligibly as he slept, twitching slightly in the chair. His dreams had taken him back to one of the first meetings he and Hermione had shared. The flames made the shadows dance around him like puppets as he relived the memory…

Footman cowered behind him, his eyes transfixed on a small pile of knitted clothes in an inane fear. Hermione was on the other side of the room, her fists resting angrily on her hips. Her brown eyes flashed dangerously in the afternoon sun as it filled the kitchen.

"You tried to give him clothes?!" Harry bellowed gesturing to the garments.

"He deserves to be set free!" She replied, her tone stalwart.

"We've been over this - he doesn’t want to be set free."

"Only because he's scared of what wizards like you might do to him!"

"Look, just ask him!" He sidestepped neatly bringing Footman into full view. She dropped to her knees and smiled sweetly at the elf.

"It's okay, you can go, I won't let the nasty boy hurt you." Footman's face paled visibly and he fled the room sticking his fingers in his ears as he went.

"Master is a good master… Footman is a good servant - he doesn't want to leave." He squeaked once he could no longer be seen.

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Hermione (not the girl from his dreams but her counterpart) walked towards an orange glow emanating from an ornate archway. Evidently there was a fire burning on the other side, and that meant there were people about.  She peered into the large room curiously and cautiously. At first she saw no one. Apart from a large wooden table and a few picture frames the room seemed empty. She took a step forwards, feeling the flames warmth on her body. Still she remained unnoticed. Gradually she began to here the sound of gentle breathing- she froze.

A fit of coughing erupted unexpectedly and echoed around the room. Someone forced themselves out of a chair and bent double. They looked like they were having some kind of fit. Slowly they straightened up and looked straight at her. She gulped.

"Footman? Is that you? I need a glass of water." The figure wheezed from the fireside.

"Harry!?" Hermione moved closer, recognising the voice despite its unwell edge.

"… A dream? Not another dammed dream! I can't take this anymore!" Harry sidled behind the chair as she walked forwards, trying to keep something tangible between them. She stopped, confused.

"It's me… Hermione."

"I bloody well know who you are!" He shouted. At that moment Footman tumbled through the door.

"You were calling master?" The elf froze. "Uh… master… It seems you have a visitor…" Harry and Hermione both turned to their gazes towards him.

"Why can't I just wake up?" Harry demanded.

"Why did you bring me here?" Questioned Hermione. Harry looked at her quizzically.

"This isn't a dream." He said darkly, almost to himself. "This isn't a dream… What it hells name is going on?" Footman shuffled nervously from foot to foot, racking his brain for an explanation that wouldn't unhinge the already unstable Harry.

As the elf spoke Harry sat back down heavily. Hermione, still unsure of what was happening, stood where she was and tried to piece together all she could. As far as she could tell this wasn't Harry, or rather it wasn't her Harry - the Harry she knew. This wasn't even her reality. She'd been summoned here to do something by the elf, Footman, who seemed to belong to the Harry of this world. Even for her keen intellect it was boggling. It felt like she'd been drawn inside a feverish hallucination - the things going on were far beyond her comprehension of magic.

"But that still doesn't explain." Cut in Harry, his voice a mixture of gloom and anger. "Why you brought her here in the first place." The elf remained silent. "Maybe," he said dangerously. "You thought that she could replace the real Hermione!" As he spoke he stood again, this time so quickly that the chair wobbled on its back legs. "Well did you!?"

"In a way…" Squeaked the elf, "I thought it would make you happy master…"

"Shut up! I'd be happier if the lot of you just disappeared!" Footman cringed beneath Harry's tirade, his ears drooping more with each angry word. "If there was a way to bring her back don't you think I'd have done it by now? You of all people should know that there isn't a magic in this world that can make me happy!"

Hermione coughed nervously, and then again but more loudly. Eventually she seemed to get their attention even though Harry fixedly refused to look at her.

"I don't pretend to know what's going on," She kept her voice calm, "But seeing as I am unwelcome and seeing as Footman brought me here then couldn't he just send me back?"

"Not for five days…" Muttered the house-elf, "In five days the spell will be gone and she will go back… until then she remains here." With each word he made himself sound more and more wretched.

"Are you saying," Roared Harry in a fresh tirade, "That I am stuck with this… this clone haunting me for five whole days?" Footman practically collapsed, Harry was about to say something more but Hermione felt compelled to intervene.

"For goodness sake Harry calm down. You're not the only one getting a bad deal out of this. And as for haunting… well I think someone better explain why you keep talking as though I'm dead."

"As far as I care you are dead." Harry spat, still facing pointedly in the opposite direction.

"Stop sulking and turn around!" She said, her voice getting shriller as she lost patience. "Do I look like a ghost?" She held out her scratched wrists as proof. Harry turned slowly, keeping his arms crossed defensively over his chest. He caught site of the numerous grazes cross-crossing her pale skin and his eyes widened.

"There's a werewolf in the gallery - you fell?" His voice was suddenly a harsh questioning whisper. She nodded. For a second he swayed on his feet and then folded into a heap on the floor. Footman ran to his side before Hermione could react.

"What happened? Is he okay?" She asked. Wondering what she had done to affect him so.

"He breathes." Said the Elf, his high voice a mixture of relief and pity. "You must forgive my master, he is not well and your appearance has been tiring for him."

"But what's that got to do with my arms?"

"When Hermione first came to visit she ran into the same creature, her cuts matched yours." As Footman spoke he heaved Harry's body into a more comfortable position on the floor. "The master wanted to throw the animal away but it was a gift so he was forced to reconsider."

For the first time it dawned on Hermione that she was a complete stranger to this world. The history which she had spent so long reading and reviewing could well mean nothing here. Suddenly she felt alone, vulnerable and above all afraid. She took a chair and sat facing the large windows. Snow was still falling, framed against the night sky. The bleak landscape drove home her sudden isolation. She felt like crying. The house-elf crept out of the room with Harry silently, leaving her unaccompanied with her thoughts.

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