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The Morning After The Night Before by Quickdraw
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The Morning After The Night Before

Quickdraw

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. James Bond, 007 and all related characters were created by Ian Fleming. Dr. Who and related characters are the property of the BBC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's notes: If the description of "The Griffin's Door" seems familiar, it's because I actually wrote it for this story, but when I uploaded "Child's Play", I realized that I didn't really describe the place very well there and added it. Sorry for the repetition. Thanks as always to Haggridd and CLS for keeping me on the straight and narrow path to better grammar and punctuation

"The Morning After The Night Before"

(Chapter One)

"The Next Day"

"It is not good that a man should be alone."

Genesis 2:18

Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny, found himself on the roof of the Paris Opera House where he had practically been dragged by beautiful young opera singer, Christine Daaé, who was telling him an incredible story about her being kidnapped by the infamous "Opera Ghost" and carried deep into the cellars far below the city streets. "The Phantom Of The Opera" had revealed himself to be Erik, a demented musical genius who haunted the tunnels and secret passages of the theatre, his face hidden from the world by an impenetrable mask. From the shadows he had secretly tutored Christine, nurturing her voice and her singing career. As repayment, he had demanded that she sing only for him in his secret lair at the edge of a vast black subterranean lake. As he played on his sinister pipe organ selections from his masterpiece, a grand opera entitled Don Juan Triumphant, Christine could no longer contain her curiosity. She had to see the face behind his mask. Silently she had crept up behind him, her hands reaching out, fingers grasping…

As the object of his affections relived her waking nightmare, Raoul drew her close and began to sing…

No more talk of darkness,
Forget these wide-eyed fears.

In row six, seat forty-two of Her Majesty's Theater in Haymarket, Hermione Granger felt a hand taking hold of hers. She turned and looked into Harry Potter's eyes.

I'm here, nothing can harm you -
my words will warm and calm you.

She had lived through her own waking nightmare and now it was as though Andrew Lloyd Webber and his collaborators were looking directly into her heart.

Let me be your freedom,
let daylight dry your tears.

For some reason, Hermione found her thoughts drifting back to the morning she had been sitting on the balcony of the Honeymoon Suite, watching the sunrise over London. Though she had been wearing only a terrycloth bathrobe with the Dorchester Hotel's logo embroidered on the breast pocket, she hadn't felt the cold in the air-her shivers had come from an entirely different source. It had only just then begun to sink in that she was looking out on an entirely different world.

Harry's theory about parallel universes had been the only explanation for her being in this place that had made any sense. There had seemed to be nothing to stand in the way of Lord Voldemort conquering the Wizarding World back home. A single tear had run down her cheek as she silently mourned the dear friends she had lost in the struggle-especially her beloved Harry Potter. She had wondered if Voldemort would now turn his wrath against the Muggles-and if Dumbledore had been right about what would happen if he did.

"Beautiful," had come Harry's voice from the doorway.

I'm here, with you, beside you,
to guard you and to guide you . . .

As far as I was concerned, it had been nothing short of a miracle. Harry had died-and yet there he was, alive and well. Dear old Professor Dumbledore had not only whisked me away to another dimension, he had somehow managed to set me down on the front steps of yet another Number Four, Privet Drive where yet another Harry Potter had been waiting for me. It was true that this particular Harry Potter had known nothing of Hogwarts- I had subsequently learned that the school didn't even exist in this reality-but thank Merlin, he was still Harry Potter!

His jet-black hair had fluttered in the gentle morning breeze as the first rays of the sun were reflected in his glasses. He had worn a bathrobe identical to mine, which he had been tying around his waist. I had been sure that he had nothing on underneath but his boxer shorts-if that.

"Yes, the sunrise is lovely." I had quickly wiped the tear from my cheek. "I imagine you didn't get to see too many from that awful cupboard of yours back at the Dursleys."

"The sunrise is nice, too," he had said with one of those grins that had always made my heart skip a beat.

"Silver-tongued devil." I had blushed again as he sat down beside me. "I bet you've used that line before."

"On every witch I've ever met from a parallel universe." Harry had taken hold of my left hand. We had both still been wearing the wedding rings I had conjured up to fool the hotel Concierge the day before. "So, what's the plan for today, Mrs. Potter?"

"About that-" I had blushed again. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I just thought that it might make things a little easier for us. But if it makes you uncomfortable-" Perhaps it had been my natural insecurity talking, but at the time there still had been a part of me which feared that once Harry had been liberated from the Dursleys and learned of his powers, he would quickly lose interest in me and wish to move on to "greener pastures".

"Not at all," Harry had said as he gently caressed my hand. "In fact, I'm beginning to enjoy married life." Once in the Honeymoon Suite, the two of us had become much more relaxed and comfortable together. Wonderful as had been our first time in the sleeping bag on the Dursleys' sitting room floor, it had still been somewhat tentative and awkward, as most first times are-the fevered intensity of our coupling coming as much from our shared despair and loneliness, as from any great sexual passion. We had clung to one another like drowning men grasping for a life preserver. Once the fear, need and desperation had been exhausted, we had come to the startling realization that we genuinely liked each other. "It's barely been two days," Harry had whispered. "Why does it feel as if I've known you all my life?"

My heart had been racing. Could it possibly have been more than just gratitude that Harry had felt? Could I have dared to hope that this hadn't been simply the exhilaration of his first sexual adventure?

Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime.

Let me lead you from your solitude

"Do you believe in `soul mates', Harry Potter?"

Share each day with me,

"I didn't before-but I didn't believe in much of anything before."

Each night, each morning .

"And now?"

Anywhere you go let me go too.

"Now that I've met you, I feel as if nothing is impossible." Having kissed me on the cheek, he had stood up and had taken my wand out of the pocket of his robe. "Quo signo nata fuis!" Trays and plates full of food had suddenly flown through the door and had carefully arranged themselves into a full Continental Breakfast on the patio table.

"That's incredible!" I had gasped. "Were you able to materialize all this?"

"Not quite," Harry had grinned sheepishly. "The Bellhop Twins-Fred and George-brought it up a few minutes ago. I just moved it out here."

"That's still pretty impressive for someone who's only been studying for one day!"

"I had a good teacher," he had said as he pulled out my chair. Before I had sat down, I had wrapped my arms around Harry's neck and had given him a passionate kiss.


Love me.

That's all I ask of you .

Without warning, the great chandelier came crashing down onto the stage to end the first act of Phantom Of The Opera, jolting Hermione back to the present.

"Great show, isn't it?" Harry said as they stood to applaud.

Later that evening, they wandered around Piccadilly Circus.

"Are you warm enough?" Harry made a motion to remove the expensive Dimi Major jacket Hermione had bought for him at the fashionable Saville Row tailors during their shopping spree that afternoon. His elegant silk tie had long ago been stuffed into one of the pockets.

Hermione was wearing a sleeveless multi-colored silk dress than ended just above her ankles. Not too daring, but showing just enough décolletage to give Harry a problem maintaining eye contact. "Actually…" She was just about to say that the pashmina shawl she had wrapped around her bare shoulders was more than warm enough, "…I am a bit chilly now you mention it." Before Harry could get his coat off, she'd moved in close and wrapped her arm around his waist.

Harry's skin still tingled every time she was near him. He had known prettier girls, to be sure, but they had always seemed unobtainable-lovely to look at, but unreachable, like the stars in the heavens. As far as Harry was concerned, the girl walking beside him was Aphrodite incarnate: his own personal goddess of Love. After so many years of his being barred from the temple gates, it had been Hermione who had led him into the Holy of Holies and had initiated him into the secrets of that sweet mystery known as "woman". (It was difficult for Harry to believe that this wondrous creature could even be of the same species as his Aunt Petunia, let alone the same gender.) The new convert smiled, hoping that he had won his goddess's favor during the course of the previous night's worship service.

Of all that had happened in the past seventy-two hours, this was perhaps the most unbelievable. He realized that henceforth "The Harry Potter Calendar" would now be divided into two distinct eras: "Before Hermione" and "After Hermione".

"So, where to now?" she asked.

"I would imagine that you know more about London nightlife than I," Harry mused. "It's difficult to keep one's finger on the pulse of modern culture from a cupboard in Little Whinging." Hermione smiled in apology. "It wasn't your fault," he reassured her. "Since you were the one who rescued me, I'll put myself entirely in your hands."

"Actually, that comes later," she said very provocatively. "Just keep in mind that I'm not exactly a member of the `jet-set' myself."

As they walked, Harry's head suddenly turned as something caught his eye. "Aston Martin," he sighed dreamily. He was like a little boy looking in a toyshop window at Christmas time.

"Pardon?"

Harry nodded in the direction of the street. A low-slung sliver sports car glided past them. "A 1964 DB5-and in mint condition by the look of her. Aunt Petunia's cousin Monte used to have one. Even let me ride in it once. Beautiful!"

Hermione shook her head. "Boys and their toys!"

In his close examination of the car, Harry entirely failed to notice that the driver was studying him just as carefully.

Harry and Hermione came upon a small crowd gathered at a street corner. The center of attention was a young man about their age dressed in a cloth cap, a cockney button-covered vest and a Night Ranger T-shirt. With his bright red hair and his freckled face he bore more than a passing resemblance to the twin bellhops back at the Dorchester.

"We certainly are running into an unusual number of redheads lately," Harry observed.

"By Merlin's athletic supporter!" Hermione gasped. "It's Ron!"

Ronald Weasley was performing an impromptu magic show. The tricks were fairly standard stuff-pulling coins from children's ears and making handkerchiefs change colors-and the crowd was quickly starting to lose interest, judging by the pitiful number of coins in his tip jar. As Ron's gaze suddenly fell upon Hermione, he stepped forward, producing a bouquet of paper flowers from his sleeve. "Flowers for a beautiful English rose!" A tiny British flag popped out of the bouquet.

Once again, the crowd was unimpressed.

One disappearing ball and three card tricks later, even Hermione's presence was failing to keep them interested.

"Now, I want you to take this pen," Ron said, fumbling in his jacket. What the hell did I do with-? "There!" He handed her a marker and a playing card. "Now I want you to write something on this card-preferably your telephone number."

It's doubtful that even Harry could've given a good reason for what he did next. After all, he'd never even met Ron before-at least not this Harry in this dimension. Perhaps it was all those years of being pushed around by the Dursleys and never getting to push back. Perhaps it was the sense of empowerment that learning he was a wizard had given him. Perhaps it was a post-coital excess of testosterone-then again, maybe it was just that he felt like giving this clown a hard time. "Is that the best you can come up with?" he snorted.

Ron wasn't sure if Harry was referring to his card tricks or his pick-up lines. "I'd like to see you do any better, mate!"

Hermione could see the evil grin spread across Harry's face. Positioning herself out of Ron's line of sight, she shook her head at Harry, but it was too late. He grabbed Ron's cap from his head, turned it upside down and waved a hand over it. He then reached in and pulled out a gorgeous genuine red rose, which he presented to Hermione, who accepted it with a look of reproach. The crowd began to applaud, so Harry took a couple of quick bows.

"'Ere!" the magician said through gritted teeth. "I'm workin' this side of the street, mate!"

"That's what you get for trying to chat-up another bloke's bird." Harry could almost hear Hermione's teeth grinding at the use of the term, "bird". He knew would get an earful from her the next time they were alone, but there was no turning back now. Harry plopped the magician's cap back on Ron's head, but for some reason it refused to sit still. Ron removed it again, only to find a pigeon perched underneath. The bird proceeded to relieve himself on Ron's head, then took wing and disappeared into the night.

The crowd laughed and applauded as Harry took another bow. Hermione quickly hooked her arm around his and practically dragged him away.

"Harry James Potter! I can't believe you did that!" She was doing her best to sound angry as she desperately fought to keep from giggling. "That was inexcusable! Do you seriously believe that I would be so fickle as to run off with the first man to flirt with me?"

"I'm sorry." He was looking back at her with one of those "Harry" looks that always made her go wobbly at the knees.

After all, she thought, it was only a silly joke. It wasn't as if he'd punched Ron in the nose. What must it be like for him, suddenly going from one extreme-his cold, loveless life with the Dursleys-to the other-total intimacy with another human being? Admit it, you were more than a little flattered that he could be jealous of you-and the look on Ron's face when the bird let go on him was priceless! Best not to mention to Harry that you and Ron had dated for a bit back at Hogwarts. No sense complicating matters more than they already are. "As soon as the crowd breaks up, you are going to go back there and apologize. Do you have any idea who he-?"

Harry wasn't listening. His thoughts were a million miles away. "It's actually not a bad idea…"

"Stop! Thief!" came Ron's voice from behind them. As Harry and Hermione turned around, a couple of teenage hoodlums darted past them-one of them carrying Ron's tip jar.

"Hermione!" Even before the words were out of Harry's mouth, Hermione had whipped out her wand and aimed it at a silver sports car parked just down the block. To the surprise of the driver, the door opened by itself at the very instant the two would-be thieves would have occupied the same space. Much to their chagrin, they found that the door would not allow them to pass through it-and that running at full speed into an open car door is a very painful experience.

Ron was still cleaning the last of the pigeon's little gift off his head with a handkerchief when he caught up to them. Hermione wasn't sure if she'd hidden her wand in time, because he was looking at them in an odd way-as if he was suddenly viewing them in a new light. "Funny thing, the car door opening like that."

"Funny old world, isn't it?" Hermione said with a slightly forced laugh. "Harry was just about to come back and apologize for the way he acted. Weren't you, Harry?" It sounded more like an order than a question.

Harry grinned sheepishly and extended his hand. "No hard feelings?"

Now it was Ron's turn to look sheepish. "If truth be told, thanks to you I made more money than I've made all month-otherwise those two probably wouldn't have bothered to steal my jar."

"In that case," Harry pointed out, "we're entitled to at least ten percent."

"Harry!" Hermione slapped his arm in mock outrage.

"I'm kidding!"

Hermione convinced Harry that they should stay while Ron gave a statement to the police. Harry was overjoyed when he realized that the car that had thwarted the villains was the very same Aston Martin he had been admiring earlier. While he was quietly drooling over it, Hermione was sizing up the driver. He looked to be in his forties, tall, well dressed, not bad looking-but he appeared to her slightly agitated, as if he was in a hurry to get somewhere-or perhaps just in a hurry to get away from here. Every time she tried to examine his face, he would turn away as if he didn't want her to get a good look.

Once the police were through with Ron, he and Hermione managed to drag Harry away from the Aston Martin.

"I thought I was going to be stuck here all night!" he told them.

"What's the problem?"

"The radio in their patrol car conked out, so they've been trying to get into that old Police Box over there to call in for a wagon. But they can't get it open."

On the corner sat a large blue painted wooden box about the size and shape of a telephone booth, capped off by a domed light fixture. One of the officers was applying a crowbar to the doors with no success.

The other officer finally exploded."Just use the bloody pay phone, Tomkins!"

"Funny, I hadn't noticed that there before." Hermione shook her head. "I'd read somewhere that they'd decommissioned all the old Police Boxes in London." She Ron and Harry could only shrug. Soon the conversation returned to magic.

"You know, you're not half bad," Ron told Harry. "Are you a professional?"

"Just a dabbler, really." Harry shrugged. "But I'm at a point where I'm wondering what I want to do with the rest of my life."

"You've definitely got the talent," Ron said a little wistfully. "I'm beginning to think I just don't have the knack for magic."

Hermione gave Harry a significant look. "Maybe Harry could give you a few pointers."

"Great!" Down the street, the police were loading the two would-be robbers into a Paddywagon. "I must go! I still have to convince those coppers not to impound my tip jar as evidence! I'm saving up for a car-after I get my license, of course." He reached into his vest pocket. "Damn! I forgot to pick up more business cards!" He pulled out his wallet and fished around until he found a card, which he handed to Hermione. "There's usually someone there who knows how to get hold of me." He waved as he dashed off down the block.

"Let's get something to eat," Hermione abruptly suggested.

"Suits me," Harry said, slightly confused. "So, where to? Chez Bruce? Fifteen? Locanda Locatelli?"

"I think I may have something even better." She strode over to the curb and extended her arm. "Taxi!"

Hermione was playing it very mysterious on the cab ride to the Soho district. Every now and then she would turn to look behind them or glance at the rear view mirror.

"The KGB trailing us again?" Harry finally asked.

"Old habits die hard, I suppose," Hermione said. "With Voldemort, it was unusual if you weren't being followed."

"So, where is this place we're going?"

"You'll see," she said with an enigmatic smile. "It's a bit out of the way, but I have a feeling it will be well worth the trip."

"Out of the way" was putting it mildly. The cab passed it three times before Hermione finally spotted the sign. Hidden away among the other nondescript vendors that lined the high street was a small eatery.

The Griffin's Door

Natural Remedy Emporium

&

Tea Room.

A shop bell tinkled as they entered.

"Come in, luvs. I've been expecting you," said a woman's voice from somewhere inside. "Two orphans, all alone in the world, brought together by fate."

Harry and Hermione hesitated in the doorway as their eyes became adjusted to the harsh fluorescent light. The place seemed to be suffering from an extreme case of split personality. Parts of it looked like an ordinary little "greasy spoon" diner, complete with Coca-Cola ads on the wall menus and a bill-of-fare that included fish & chips, sausage rolls and bacon sandwiches. Against a far wall was a long wooden counter flanked by half a dozen barstools and topped off by an old fashioned soda fountain. The rest was an odd cornucopia of bric-a-brac straight out of a medieval apothecary. Behind the counter were shelves stacked with bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes, containing all manner of liquids and powders-and a few substances that were not readily identifiable-in every color of the rainbow.

A petite, pleasantly plump, middle aged woman with flaming red hair sat dealing herself a hand of Tarot cards on the counter beside the antique cash register. She was dressed in a simple blue waitress uniform with a big white apron tied around her ample middle.

"Another redhead," Harry whispered to Hermione. "I don't care what universe you're from, this has got to be some kind of an omen."

At her silent invitation, Harry and Hermione pulled up two barstools and sat across from her.

"You have both known terrible unhappiness," the woman solemnly intoned as she drew the top card from the deck, "but now that you have found each other…Oh my!" Blushing slightly, she turned the card around for Harry and Hermione to see. It showed a crude drawing of a nude man and woman in a passionate embrace, with the legend "The Lovers". She waggled a sausage-like finger at them. "Naughty! Naughty!" Now it was Harry's and Hermione's turn to blush. The woman suddenly reached across the counter and put a hand to Hermione's abdomen. "Not yet," the woman said cryptically, "but you'll hit the jackpot soon enough."

"Jackpot?" Hermione gulped, her face turning slightly pale.

"Four, " the woman clucked her tongue as she drew another card. "Four at the very least. Boys mostly, but I'll wager you'll end up with a pretty little girl before all's said and done." She winked at Hermione. "She'll have her Daddy's green eyes, too!"

"Barefoot and pregnant, eh?" Harry grinned.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" She playfully slugged him in the arm.

"You shall indeed be blessed as a mother, my dear," the woman said in all seriousness, "but destiny has far more in mind for you than just changing dirty nappies!" The woman frowned as if even she didn't fully understand what her pronouncements meant. "You have come a great distance and yet you have found yourself back at the beginning." She picked up the next card. "You come with a great purpose-to bring light and enlightenment-to rebuild what has been destroyed." Harry and Hermione looked at each other, astonished. "You will be revered as a great teacher one day."

"What about me?" Harry asked.

She picked up the cards, shuffled them and dealt a new run. She frowned again, her visions apparently confusing. "Your face will be known throughout the world-but few will truly know you, for that face will be but a mask to hide your true purpose. You will influence the destiny of all mankind, but only those closest to you will know the full measure of your greatness. Your armies will be invisible-both your victories and your defeats will be hidden in shadow. The downtrodden and the oppressed will bless you without ever knowing your name. And when you are gone, no monuments will be erected to your memory-save those in the hearts of the millions whose lives you will have touched."

"That's amazing," Hermione said, "but what does it all mean?

"Haven't a clue, dear." The woman extended her hand. "I'm Molly, by the way. You must be Harry and Hermione."

"The cards told you our names too?"

Molly gave them an embarrassed smile. "Ron rang up to say you were coming."

"We didn't tell him we were coming here tonight," Hermione said suspiciously.

"You didn't have to, luv," Molly said as she gathered up the tarot cards. "You two would have sought me out sooner or later. It's destiny, isn't it? For you see, I know exactly who and what you are."

End Of Chapter One

See: "Have We Met" By Quickdraw

"All I Ask Of You" from "The Phantom Of The Opera" Music By Andrew Lloyd Webber, Lyrics by Charles Hart,