The Silver Millennium

Authors Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed for this story. I really appreciate it. And thank you for being patient with the H/Hr. This chapter is revolved around H/Hr. This is a very important chapter. Anyway, here is chapter ten, Dreams of True Destiny.

- | - Chapter Ten - | -

Dreams of True Destiny

“Harry, I love you,” She whispered softly into his chest where her head was resting contently. She had Her arms wrapped around his lower waist, not tightly in an urgent manner but loosely in a gentle manner.

Harry’s eyes opened and looked down into Her eyes just as She lifted her head up from his chest to gaze into his. They stared lovingly into one another’s eyes in silence.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back.

She smiled, again resting Her head on his shoulder. “I hope we’re together always, Harry. But more importantly I want to be together now. I don’t want to worry about the future,” She said softly, “I don’t want to worry about the dangers…”

Harry stroked Her hair tenderly, enjoying Her presence completely. He wasn’t yet aware of this creeping sort of dark feeling approaching on the two of them as they stood there on the grassy hilltop.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered to Her, “I’m not going to let anything harm you…even if I die and—“

“Harry,” She said desperately, “you can’t die. I can’t have you die.”

He avoided her eyes. He let his gaze travel off into the distance of the windy spring afternoon. “If I have to die, then I will,” he replied finally, “if that’s what it takes to defeat him…”

She said nothing. She hugged him around the waist tighter than before and closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat now. He continued stroking Her hair, hoping only that if something bad did happen that She was at least safe no matter what.

The wonderful scene was perfect, one of those scenes that you never wanted to end. The gentle blowing wind slowly seemed to turn into a harsher gust, eventually becoming so hard the trees around them were thrashing greatly from side to side, and the leaves from them fell to the floor. Harry looked up from her, and around him. He could sense the serene mood change into a sort of ominous aura around them, as if the weather was warning them something terrible was about to happen.

With the greatest thrash of one of the nearby trees, Harry noticed that the sun was setting unusually fast, and the sky was a faded pinkish orange. Through all of the gusty howls of the wind, he could hear a faint shriek of laughter from the coldest voice he had ever heard in his life.

Harry looked back down at Her to make sure She was all right. She was staring up at him in the same sort of worry he was feeling. Even the grassy floor of the hill underneath them seemed to be quaking to play along with the ill-omened gusts of wind and the mysterious laughs from far, far off.

Suddenly the floor under them seemed to break off into two, creating a great gap of space between the two pieces of land.

“HARRY!” She screamed, slipping off of the edge of ground they were standing on, and falling through the huge gap; Harry desperately seized Her hand before she could completely fall through, and started pulling her up.

“I’m not going to let you fall,” he told Her, trying desperately to pull her up, but it was difficult, because it felt as if something was pulling her down into the seemingly endless fall.

He hadn’t noticed but it seemed the sun had already set, and terrible looking darkened rain clouds had appeared into the sky; it was now storming loudly. He urgently continued to pull, but felt as if there was some sort of powerful force pulling her the opposite way.

“Harry – Harry, don’t forget I love you!” She whispered; Her eyes read all too well that She thought this was the end.

“No! You’re not going anywhere,” he growled angrily.

But there was the loudest shriek of laughter yet, and out of nowhere through the darkness hanging below Her, a skeletal white hand appeared. The hand wrapped itself around Her mouth to block any screams or shouts, while a cloaked arm swathed itself around Her stomach, both at exactly the same second. A second later, She was pulled into the dark fall, Her hand forcefully slipping through Harry’s grasp.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he roared sorrowfully, “DON’T DO THIS!”

The same evil cackling from before he could be heard, this time much louder than before as if the person of the voice was larger than everything around them enabling him to make such a loud laugh. Harry screamed again. He had let Her go. He had let Her slip through his grasp…

“Don’t do this to us,” he muttered, tossing and turning frantically, “bring her back!”

He realized in mid-toss that he was dreaming. He sat up from his bed at the Shady & Sully Tavern-Inn and stared straight ahead of him, catching his breath and calming himself down.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked.

Harry ran a hand through his black hair that was especially unruly in the middle of the night like it was on this night. He let his hand drop slowly from his hair while his eyes were still staring perplexedly out the near window.

“Who – Who was that woman?” he asked aloud, his voice full of wonder, “was that Kaitlyn? No, no…Kaitlyn’s dead. I need to realize that. It wasn’t Kaitlyn anyway. It was someone else.” He knew he knew who it was, but for some reason he couldn’t remember exactly how the woman looked like. It was the on the brink of his memory, yet it continued to escape him.

He stood up from the creakingly old bed, and walked around the room in a wide pace. He knew this. He knew he knew this. He was certain of it. Part of him had already figured it out. He just didn’t want to admit it.

“It was just a dream. I’m not going to spend so long thinking about it. If I thought about every dream I’ve ever had in this much detail, I’d go crazy. It was just some dream I had, because I ate sort of late probably and am under a lot of pressure,” he reasoned, “but there was something……odd about this dream. Something different actually.”

What exactly was different about that dream, he did not know. One thing was for sure, he couldn’t get back to sleep that night. All he could think about in his motel room was that particular dream.

“All right,” he said honestly to himself as he sat on the chair near the Inn window, staring out at the sunrise. “That dream. I know who she was. She was Hermione. But, it was just some kind of dream. I miss her, that’s all. I’m feeling guilty about tricking her and Ron yesterday. It isn’t because of anything else.”

There was a knock at his room door, making him jump in alert. He nodded at himself in shame at how ridiculous and jumpy he was acting. He quickly and stealthily dashed over to the door to make sure it was locked just in case.

“Ye-yes?” he stuttered.

“Housekeeping,” grunted the voice of a witch that sounded all too much masculine like that of a wizard. She knocked again on the door and waited for him to respond.

“Just a second,” he said, rushing over to his nightstand to retrieve his wand. With a wave and an utter he placed the disguise charm on himself, making him look completely different than what his actual appearance was. He stuffed his wand in his pocket, knowing that he would need it since the charm only lasted for about an hour before it wore off. He opened the door of the hotel room and greeted the motel maid.

“Housekeeping,” she grunted again when she entered his room.

“Right. I’ll just be downstairs in the pub,” he said oddly. He started down the motel hallway, passing by several other motel room doors; just as he passed he could hear voices of people talking, some shouting at one another from an argument and others noises that should only be heard by older people. When he entered the pub he saw that it was full of the same drunks it had been of the day before when he had arrived. Obviously they spent most of their time here.

He walked up to the counter and sat down. He wanted to try some fire whiskey. He was actually looking forward to it, and he was having a pleasant memory of Ron at that moment; Ron would have wanted to try it with him. He felt a twinge of guilt. It disappeared a second later when the bartender asked him what he was going to be having.

“Just f-fire whiskey,” Harry replied, voice stuttering a tad. He felt nervous.

The man gazed at him hard through his foggily dirty glasses while dusting his filthy rag on an even filthier glass. He nodded after he gazed at him suspiciously, filling up the glass with fire whiskey. He slammed it down in front of Harry so hard, some of the fire whiskey came shooting out and spilled on the counter.

“A sickle and a knut,” he said gruffly.

Harry nodded, reaching into his pocket. He handed over the change and took a drink from the glass. The fire whiskey burned his throat terribly at first as if a flame lighted it, but once it was completely down his throat, it tasted fresher. Harry had to admit, it wasn’t what he was expecting it to taste like, but even despite this, he found he wanted more. By a few minutes he had half drained the whole glass.

“What’s your name?” snarled a drunk sitting on a stool next to him. He was swaying uneasily on his stool, still managing to hold onto his mug of rum. His nose reminded Harry involuntarily of Snape’s hooknose. He also had shaggy, deep gray hair that reminded Harry of Sirius’ shaggy black hair; Harry pushed Sirius out of his mind. “You look familiar.”

“Uh…” Harry trailed off. He was trying to think of a good name. He searched all throughout himself before he came up with a good answer. “Severus Black,” he said with a nod.

“Severus Black, eh? Inter-mesting,” the man said, his voice becoming drunker by the second. “I remembers a Severus Black.” His left eyelid dropped completely over his left eye, making it that only one of his eyes was open. “You were in the Orders of the Phemex, right? Right?” He took a long swig from his mug.

“Um…yeah, that’s me,” Harry said. He was staring at the man in half amusement.

“Then I owe ya this, ya bastard,” the man spat, swinging his arm woozily at Harry, but missing greatly. He then fell off of his stool and lay there unconscious with his mouth half open.

Harry looked away from the man passed out on the floor and back over to where the bartender was now cleaning another filthy glass. The bartender looked completely amused.

“Good ol’ Foreman Whidbey,” said the bartender, chuckling, “gambler from the beginning, drunk to the end. Severus Black does sound mighty familiar now that I give it a second thought. Have you come in before, Black?”

Harry nodded. He threw a glance at his watch to make sure the time hadn’t come for the charm to wear off. He looked back up at the bartender, giving him an indifferent shrug.

“I don’t think so. I used to live in – Romania. I used to be a dragon trainer,” Harry lied, feeling amused for a reason; he didn’t know if it was because of the fire whiskey, but he was feeling joyous.

“Dragon trainer, eh? Difficult job. Nephew’s gone into that, he can’t get enough of it. He likes playing with fire, to say simply. You wouldn’t happen to be related to Lady Lestrange, would you?” he asked curiously, “the Lady Lestrange.”

Harry paused. He didn’t know what was he thinking as he nodded a yes. He didn’t know at all why he was lying so much, why he was making up so much to these people, but he just felt like it. Secretly he knew it was the fire whiskey.

“Yeah. I’m her nephew,” he said, “listen I got to take a whiz.”

He stood up from the stool and walked toward the dingy little public restroom the par had just near the ancient old fireplace where you could use Floo Powder to transport in or out of the pub. He shut the door to the small restroom and turned around towards the toilet and the sink. He paused. Even with him being a male, he thought this was gross. There was grime and muck swamping all over the walls, the floor, the sink and the toilet most specifically. Harry pulled out his wand and gave it a wave for a cleaning charm. It took a few tries (he was never good at cleaning), but he got a lot of the grime off, making the restroom look decently clean.

Once he was done urinating, he washed his hands and noticed that his scar was starting to become slightly visible in the dusty mirror. He pulled out his wand again and re-performed the charm on himself, renewing it for a whole another hour.

He left the bathroom, knowing exactly where he was going that late Friday morning. He nodded a goodbye at the bartender, stepped over a still passed out Foreman Whidbey, and left the pub for good. He entered the outside of the very silent and crowded streets of Shadow City. Like before with his visit with Kaitlyn, the streets were lined with people only wearing dark colors, never speaking a word as if it were forbidden. 

Harry started toward the direction he knew was Lord Metropolis. He wasn’t nervous for some strange reason. It felt as if he weren’t really himself. And the dream he had had earlier was pushed far out of his mind.

Strangely enough Harry actually enjoyed walking down these streets, despite their gloomy and forbidden feeling they gave off. He was quite enjoying his stroll when he received a shock at whom he seen.

Agnes Colmes was entering a very small and unnoticeable looking shop for repair of domestic appliances. She looked both ways over her shoulder before she entered. Harry decided that since she couldn’t recognize him with this disguise, he should follow her inside to see what she was up to.

The scent of fresh baking pies met his nose straightaway as soon as he entered the empty shop. Agnes headed straight for the counter, apparently not noticing that someone had entered shortly after her. She set down her purse at the paying counter and waited for the owner of the shop to appear.

Harry furtively dunked out of view, behind a shelf of used toasters that were for sell. He prayed that no one caught him, but even if they did, it wouldn’t be nearly as bad as if he were in his normal form.

“Nat, are you here?” called Agnes after a few seconds of waiting. “Nat, c’mon out! I need to talk to you. It’s important, Nat.” She fell silent again while footsteps from the back room of the shop grew louder.

“Hello, Agnes,” said a very short and balding man. “Haven’t talked to you since well before Wednesday. Are the children still well?”

Agnes nodded her head no gravely. Harry peeked slightly out from behind the shelf, noticing that from the very little of Agnes’ face he could see, her cheeks looked tear stained.

“No, Nat. It ain’t all right. First Silver leaves. Then Kaitlyn disappears. I don’t know what to think. I haven’t seen her for over a day now, Nat. OVER a day!” Agnes sobbed, “do’ya think she’s somewhere with Silver? And the others…they disappeared off with her as well.”

Harry frowned. He started to wonder why Agnes would tell this Nat man about himself, Ron and Hermione.

“Maybe they done left to the past,” Nat suggested, “don’t worry, Agnes. They’ll probably be back tonight with big grins. No need to go about sobbing, acting suspicious as if something bad’s happening. Don’t get yourself all worked up. You’re too old for that.”

Agnes let out a sob. She pulled out a handkerchief and said fretfully, “Why’d Silver have to go and do that? He’s going to turn out just like Julius. And Kaitlyn. I thought she was the good one.”

“Listen my wife’s baking pie. You should come have some. That and a big cup of tea. C’mon, we don’t get much business at this time anyway, and we need to discuss with you about the new Un-Imperial movement,” he said. He led Agnes through a doorway that led into rooms that Harry couldn’t see.

He waited a few seconds just in case one of them reappeared again before he quickly left the shop, no longer in a joyous mood. Poor Agnes Colmes had no idea that Kaitlyn was dead. He hadn’t even bothered to contact her about that. He started down the streets again, this time with his hands in his pockets and his head bowed in guilty thoughts.

He was a huge jerk. He was the reason Kaitlyn was dead. It was all on him that a very young, beautiful, sweet, promising girl was murdered, and then he hadn’t even had the guts to let her guardian, Agnes Colmes, know about it.

It wasn’t long before he left Shadow City, although he didn’t really realize he had. He was so lost in his thoughts that he wasn’t aware of anything happening around him. He looked up to see a very magnificent sign painted in silver and fancy lettering, reading Lord Metropolis. He decided to cross the road since he could see two suspicious looking men standing in dark cloaks up ahead, and he didn’t feel like passing through them.

He didn’t see the carriage that was heading speedily across the road as he started to cross, only noticing it when it was a few feet away, right about to hit him. He gasped in shock, his eyes growing rounder. He jumped desperately out the way of the carriage; just as the expensive looking black carriage lined with gold came to a screeching halt. He sat up from the asphalt road, rubbing his head.

The two men in dark cloaks ran over to him with their wands pointed out. They looked eager to issue some form of punishment on anyone that they could. Harry tried to get a glance at their faces, but couldn’t since the hood of there cloaks blocked most of it.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked the nearest one, “you just ran out in front of the Lady’s carriage. You shall be sentenced to death for this.” The other grabbed his arm hard and pulled him to his feet.

“What –“ Harry began in disbelief, “I haven’t even had a trial!”

The two men looked at each other and then burst out into laughter. They thought he was joking. Apparently what he said was unbelievably funny.

“A – a trial?” the man not holding him laughed, “A TRIAL!” He wrapped his arms around his stomach in hilarity.

Harry was really annoyed, both with himself and with the men. He should have known that Voldemort would unfairly not permit anyone to get a proper trial, but the men were obviously idiots.

The carriage door opened very slowly and a short, fat man came out of it. He was standing very still with his nose in the air until he bowed down. Everyone else nearby on the street, including the two men, bowed as well. Harry took this as a signal and bowed also. From where he stood, bowing he could see the hem of a very long and expensive looking cyan colored blue dress step out slowly from the carriage. The short, fat man that came out of the same carriage as the woman with the blue dress picked up the back hem of the dress, holding it up lowly so that it wouldn’t touch the floor.

The woman nodded at him and muttered to him that he didn’t have to. She looked around at everyone else that was kneeling and raised her right hand gradually, indicating for them to cease his or her bowing. She looked back over at where Harry and the two men were standing, one of them still holding tightly onto Harry.

She walked over towards them, this elegant air about her that Harry found enthralling. He watched her for a few seconds before it dawned upon him whom this was. His mouth dropped in shock at her. This was Hermione…Lady Napoleon.

She was as beautiful as he knew she would be. Her ever-so recognizable coiled brown hair was let freely past her shoulders, even longer than Harry knew it to be. Her eyes were still their identifiable hazel brown, but there was something very different about them. They weren’t full of the same self-belief as the past Hermione possessed. Her eyes read instead of mourning and sadness.

Lady Napoleon stopped directly in front of them, her sad eyes resting on Harry (though she didn’t recognize him because of his disguise charm), and then on the two men about to haul him off to execution.

“M’lady,” began the one not holding Harry, “we’re just off to take this common criminal to his well deserved execution. We’re terribly sorry for interrupting your travel. Please continue and forget about this miscreant.”

“Don’t be sorry. Unhand this man,” she said shortly. Her voice was calm and quiet, sad in a way also.

“Bu-but, M’lady! He committed a crime! He deserves to at least be tortured for his actions,” said the same man, “it is not wise at all to release such a dangerous, dangerous miscreant off into the streets.”

Harry wanted to grin. Of course this was his Hermione. She would never want to put anyone to execution, especially for doing something as silly as accidentally almost being run over by a carriage. He wanted so badly to let her know it was he, Harry. He was just thinking of a way of how to let her know, until he noticed she was eyeing him strangely, as if thinking deeply.

She looked away from him and back at the men. “Listen, gentlemen, you’re releasing him of these charges,” she said firmly, “now.”

The man that was holding Harry cackled. He seemed to have the least amount of obeisance for Lady Napoleon, Hermione. He glared at her through his narrowed eyes. “Sorry, can’t be doing that. Sir Napoleon would of course want this man to be executed for what he’s done. Since Sir Napoleon has the real say of the two of you, we have to obey the Sir above you, M’lady,” he explained.

Harry was surprised to see Hermione smile softly. He knew she had already thought ahead of the men to come up with a brilliant excuse or reason for Harry to be released. She really hadn’t changed that much.

“The Sir wouldn’t want you to execute his new economic advisor, would he?” she asked politely and innocently. “I suggest you unhand him now before the Sir hears about this and is greatly angered at your attempt to murder him. Then you shall be the one’s receiving a proper execution.”

The man holding Harry glared deeper at her, almost in loathing. He regretfully released Harry and cleared his throat. “Very well,” he added with a nod, “but we will be checking into this ourselves. We wouldn’t want any lies being told, now would we?”

“Of course not,” Hermione said simply in agreement. “Come, Advisor, we must head to the Palace.” She turned away from the men and started toward the carriage.

Harry stood there in shock. Was she ordering him to follow her to the carriage? He lingered there for another five seconds. Then he started toward the carriage, feeling really weird following a future Hermione that knew not of who he really was.

The short, fat man climbed into the carriage after Harry and shut the carriage door.

“Don’t worry,” Hermione said as soon as the carriage door was shut. She wasn’t looking at him as she said this. “We will drop you off soon enough once those wretched soldiers leave. Just don’t show your face around this side of the Kingdom again or they’ll spot you, and execute you for sure.”

“Erm…” Harry stuttered. “Right.”

She stared at him now. He blushed. He was wondering why she was looking at him so intently.

“Have we met before?” she asked, “something about you. It’s so…familiar.”

For a moment it seemed she was lost in another world. Her eyes stared off far into the distance of the scenery outside the carriage window. She looked as if she were reminiscing about something. She looked away from the window and back at Harry.

“Forget it,” she whispered, “I’m just a little eccentric today.”

Harry frowned. He hated to see her like this, so sad. He had never seen her like this. He wanted to make her feel some sort of happiness again. He longed for that alive spark that glistened in her eyes. That wonderful spark he remembered vividly from the dream he had had the night before. Wait, awkward. Very, very awkward of him to think about that. Of course her eyes had been alive with a special spark in his dream, in his dream he and Hermione were apparently in love.

“They’re following us,” said the short, fat man. He looked at Hermione with an unspoken joy that too clearly read that he was hoping she’d give him the same kind of stare she had just given Harry.

“You’re right, Casca” Hermione said. She didn’t bother a look at the man. “They are following us. We have to pretend like you’re accompanying me inside the palace,” she said to Harry, “this way they can’t prove we’re lying.”

“Right,” Harry said.

He barely noticed that the carriage had stopped in front of an amazingly looking palace that was higher than it had looked from far away. It was surrounded by amazing scenery of huge, wide trees and other nature things. Harry’s jaw was opened for many seconds before he realized it was and closed it.

“Follow me,” said Lady Napoleon. She didn’t wait for the short, fat man to get out the carriage and walk around to her carriage door to open it for her; she simply opened it herself and stepped out.

“Lady Napoleon…one of a kind,” sighed Casca dreamily, “only she is so noble and tender.”

Harry gave Casca a peculiar look. He shrugged and started following Hermione through the greatly high arched entrance of the Napoleon Palace. The entire inside of the palace were in nothing but white, smelling strangely of vanilla cinnamon.

The entrance hall of the palace reminded Harry irresistibly of the Hogwarts Great Hall, just more expensive looking. There were statues lining along the greatly wide entrance hall. These statues appeared to be of Sir Napoleon and each door was almost as huge as the entrance, only with double doors and golden handles encrusted with white diamonds. It seemed that whoever this Sir Napoleon was, he had an obsession with the color white.

Harry followed Hermione up the very wide, curving staircase that led to yet another floor, more splendid than the prior. They did nothing except walk up vast and spiraling staircases until they reached the second top floor. Harry noticed Casca was still following them eagerly.

Hermione finally stopped in front of some white double doors just straight down the floor hallway. She put both her hands on the golden diamond encrusted handles and pushed the doors open.

“Casca,” she said as she did this, “stay outside, please. Guard the door and if someone is coming, inform me please with a tap at the door.”

“Of course, M’lady,” said Casca politely. His voice was of disappointment and forced politeness.

Once the double doors were shut behind both Harry and Hermione, Hermione looked back over at him again. This time her gaze was very hard to read. She seemed to be studying Harry.

“Um…” Harry drifted off.

“Waiting,” she said at last, “waiting for the suspicion to die out is what we’re doing.” She stared at him again for a small number of seconds. “Where did you get that shirt at?” she asked very curiously yet casually.

Harry paused. He didn’t understand what she was asking for six or so seconds. He thought about it in confusion. Why would she care to know where he had gotten his shirt? He frowned.

“Don’t really remember,” he said, not really meeting her eyes.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said suddenly. She disappeared from the huge study into another room of her quarters.

Harry stood there and waited. He was wondering what she was doing. He did have to admit he was a bit suspicious of what she had gone to do. He began to whistle softly, looking around the place.

A minute or two later Hermione appeared looking oddly calm. She stared at Harry for a few seconds. “I would hope those morons didn’t go to Brice about this. If they did, we’re both in horrible trouble now.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized, “I didn’t want to get you into any kind of trouble with your husband at all.” He was about to announce he was leaving so that he could free her of any more trouble.

“It’s all right,” she said softly, staring straight at him in the eyes. There was something about the gaze she was giving him that wasn’t just of sadness like before. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten me into trouble, Harry.”

Harry froze. Had she just called him Harry? He blinked. That was all he could do. He tried to come up with an offended remark about him not being Harry, but decided not to even try. How could he have thought he could lie to her? She always knew when he was lying and the way she had been gazing at him…it was different from before near the two soldiers. He decided to accept defeat.

“How’d you know?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged. She pulled a few pieces of her hair back behind her ear and crossed her arms. Her feelings were hard to read. She had indeed gotten better at covering that up since the past Hermione.

“I would know no matter what you disguised yourself as. Don’t you think I know you better than that?” she asked him, her voice sounding hurt despite her efforts not to let that show. “Besides, you’re shirt…I was with you when you bought it at Hogsmeade nine years ago. I was surprised to find that you still wear it. And I saw you on the palace map.”

“Palace map?”

“It’s like the Marauders Map…I made one of the palace a few years ago. And surprise! Your real identity was on the map,” she said shrilly, “I can’t believe this.”

Harry arched his eyebrows. She seemed mad at him. As if he had done something to her. He ignored the stupidity he was feeling about the whole shirt thing and focused on the more important manner.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked her.

To his surprise, Hermione let out a laugh. She turned away from him and walked over to the huge window near a wooden desk that was completely empty besides a small black book and a quill resting inside a jar of ink. She stared out the window for a few seconds.

“Hermione, are you mad at me?” he repeated, taking a step closer.

She turned back around, tears now coming down her cheeks. She let out another sort of shrill laugh as she repeated his question. “Am I mad at you? Am I mad at YOU?”

Smack!

Hermione smacked Harry across the face furiously. Harry didn’t move for a second before he turned his head to look back at Hermione in shock. He put a hand to his cheek out of pain.

“Oy, what the hell was that for?” he asked, still stunned.

Hermione nodded her head in disbelief at Harry and turned away back towards the window, wrapping her arms around herself again. He could hear her now crying completely now.

“How could you?” she croaked finally. “How could you do this to me?”

“What?” Harry asked, still very stunned and confused. “Do what?”

“GET OUT!” Hermione screamed suddenly. She spun around to face him again. “Get the hell out of this palace…NOW! Just – just go back to being dead!”

Now Harry understood what was going on. He couldn’t help but laugh when he realized this situation. He stopped a second later when he realized laughing wasn’t exactly the best thing to do.

“I’m not alive!” he said, “well, I am, but I’m not who you think I am. I’m only sixteen years old. I’m not twenty-seven. I’m from the past, Hermione.” He pulled out his wand and removed the disguise charm, revealing his sixteen year old self.

Hermione gaped at him in shock, her tears ceasing to pour down her cheeks. She blinked a few times in stun. She looked as if she were amazed now, her eyes no longer sad…just surprised. That was until a disappointment filled her when she realized this didn’t mean the present Harry was alive. Her eyes filled with sadness again.

“How…how’d you get here?” she asked with difficulty concealing her pain and disappointment. “Do you have a Time Turner?”

“Had one. But Ron and Hermi – I mean Ron and you have it now. They’re – You’re back in the past,” he said, “I tricked you both to going back.”

“Why? Why are you here?” she asked him, “you have to leave. The Lord will know you’re here. He must already know. You have to leave. Please, Harry, you can’t die now!”

“Why?”

“Because, you and I haven’t – I mean, you just have to go. It’s dangerous,” she said, again with difficulty. She wiped away a couple of tears that had fallen from her eyes as she said this.

“Why were you so mad at me when you found out it was me? Why are you mad at my future self?” he questioned, “What did I do? Die? You’re mad at me for dying?”

She let out a sigh. She looked as if she didn’t want to say this. Slowly she turned away and walked over to her desk where the window was just next to it. For some seconds she stood saying nothing.

“I can’t tell you. I don’t want to ruin anything that will happen in the past, your future.” She sighed again.

“What happens?” he asked. He was too curious to let the subject drop that easily. “What happens that you don’t want to ruin?”

“You’re not supposed to mess with time…and I’m not.”

“What are you talking about?” he inquired, “you’re not messing with anything. You know me, Hermione…you know me better than anyone. You know if you tell me I’m not going to say anything or intentionally ruin anything either.”

“I thought you were—“ she broke off. For the third time she sighed. “I thought you were the real Harry…I mean the present Harry. I thought you had been alive all this time. I thought my love was still alive.”

Harry froze on the spot. He didn’t say anything. His damn voice had suddenly disappeared or was too meek to say a word. He cleared his throat, forcing it to come back. “What do you mean?” he asked nervously.

“I thought the theories were really right…I thought that maybe you really did fake your death all this time that night you fought against the Lord. I thought you had lied to me all this time, making me think you were dead to just suddenly appear under another disguise right in front of me, and not even care enough to let me know you were right there…I – I’m sorry. I really am,” she whispered an explanation.

“No, I should be sorry. I am. I didn’t mean to cause you this much pain,” he said honestly, taking a step closer to her. “You and me…I mean…you were in love with me?” he asked awkwardly. “Were we together?”

She had her eyes closed he noticed. She looked as if she were reminiscing about something so tender. She opened them sadly and looked over at Harry with that same sorrowful stare her eyes seemed to have these days.

“Yes,” she answered at last, “we were together. We were in love. I still am in love. He – you’re my only love.” For what felt like the millionth time she had tears shining in her eyes.

“Then why are you married to him? Why are you married to Sir Napoleon while Harry’s dead? I mean, while I’m dead!” Harry said somewhat rudely. He felt as if he were a third person in this whole situation, as if he were someone other than Harry.

She gave off a small laugh. “It was your idea. You wanted me to marry him. You wanted me to be safe,” she said, “you wanted me to marry him, because it was the only way I would live. And that’s all that mattered to you. I might as well be dead. Every joy is gone…EVERYTHING! Ron’s gone. My child’s gone. You’re gone…”

“Child?”

“Mine and Brice’s child. Brice buried her in the back garden when she died. Like everyone else, right? Everyone else’s died…” she asked delicately.

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I’m so, so sorry,” he said. He walked over closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy. “I’m sorry about everything you’ve had to go through. I had no idea. I don’t even know what to say.”

There was silence between them. Hermione turned around and buried her head into his shoulder. He knew he needed to comfort her as much as he could. She had nobody in the future.

“I miss you so much,” she whispered, almost into Harry’s ear. “I remember the last time I saw you before you died…it was that same day…it was snowing outside and you told me to always remember you no matter what, then you made me promise I would marry him.” She trembled somewhat as she cried.

“Shhh…it’s okay, Hermione. I’m going to change everything,” he said gently, “I’m going to make Voldemort pay for everything he’s caused on everyone. I promise you.”

Hermione looked up from his shoulder and stared into his eyes. She was so beautiful, even more so from close up. She very unhurriedly nodded her head no to him.

He was didn’t blink as he stared her straight in the eyes. Her hazel one’s were just so sad, so full of so much pain that had probably been there for five years now since he had apparently died. He wished over everything else that she could just be happy again. He craved for her to be happy. He was going to make her happy. He put his hand under her chin to lift her face up just slightly as he planted a kiss on her.

The moment their lips met it was like nothing Harry had ever experienced in a kiss ever before. It was a thousand times better than anything he had ever shared with Cho and even Kaitlyn. Her lips were perfect. They felt perfect against his as if they were made only for kissing his lips.

At first she had hesitated in shock at what he had actually just done, but soon she allowed herself to return the kiss, making it that much more fulfilling. Harry wanted more. He felt as if he could do this for the rest of his life.

There were sensations in him that he had ever rarely felt before, but now they were all attacking at once, as if ganging up on him. He felt like everything was perfect with the world, like everything was absolutely fine as long as he was kissing this beauty.

He would have been the happiest man in the world if this tender, lustful kiss never ended, but alas it did. Hermione pulled away from him looking regretful of doing this. She was frowning.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I got carried away. I shouldn’t be kissing you. You’re only sixteen. I just – I haven’t kissed those lips in five years. I’ve only been able to dream about it.” She wiped at her eyes again and turned her back to Harry.

“I kissed you, why are you sorry?” Harry asked. He was in complete shock that he had done that. He couldn’t even remember thinking about doing it. It seemed he had just did it without even thinking about it.

“Here,” Hermione said, handing him the little black book that had been resting on top of the desk. She shoved it into his hands kindly. “Read this. I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to promise that…that you’ll make me – her happy before what happens actually does happen for your time. Just make sure you give me – her that much, please. That’s all I ask.”

Harry looked down at the book then back up at her. He nodded very slowly.

There was a tap at the door, making them both look away from each other and at the door. Casca’s voice whispered through the double door, “M’lady, he’s coming! M’lady Sir Napoleon is coming to your quarters.” Then he could be heard scurrying away.

“Hide!” Hermione gasped, pushing Harry to the window then drawing the huge curtains that more than covered him up greatly. She turned away from the curtains where Harry was hiding behind, and walked towards the door to open it. But a second before she could reach them, they opened by themselves.

Brice Napoleon stormed inside his wife’s quarters without a knock. He strode straight past her as if he did not see her at all. He stopped in the middle of the study and peered around charily.

“Hello, Brice,” Hermione said, forcefully polite. She bowed at her husband. “How was your meetings this morning? Fine, I hope.”

“Where is he?” he shouted loudly. He spun around to glare at his wife in full temper. “Where is he, you TRAITOR? Where is Harry Potter?”

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Authors Note: Thanks for reading. Please review. It would mean A LOT. Thanks.