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The Morning After The Night Before

Quickdraw

"The Morning After The Night Before"

Chapter Four:

"Previews of Coming Attractions"

"Train up a child in the way he should go,

and when he is old,

he will not depart from it."

Proverbs, 22:6

"Hello, Joseph. Trouble?"

"It looks like we'll have to send someone down. A lot of people keep asking for help for a man named George Bailey."

"George Bailey. Yes. Tonight's his crucial night. You're right. We'll have to send someone down immediately. Whose turn is it?"

"That's why I came to see you, sir. It's that clock-maker's turn again."

"Oh, Clarence. Hasn't got his wings yet, has he?"

"We've passed him up right along. Because, you know, sir, he's got the I.Q. of a rabbit."

"Yes, but he has the faith of a child."

"It's A Wonderful Life"

.

*******

"Professor Potter?" Victoria Strabel reached out a tentative hand and touched the shoulder of the sleeping form lying on the ground at her feet, who lifted her head and, blinking her eyes in the glare of the afternoon sun, reached up a hand to shade them. "Are you all right, Professor?"

The woman could just make out the blurry form of a young girl standing over her, who looked to be about twelve, with straight brown hair that hung just past her shoulders and small eyes that were so dark that they looked like black dots painted on the face of a doll.

"Why do you call me 'Professor'?" the woman asked blearily. "Do I know you?"

"There are times when we both wish that you didn't." Victoria smiled, her eyes narrowing into tiny black half-moons. "Of course, if you could manage to forget about my test scores from last term, I wouldn't object." She was dressed in a school blazer and a long black robe just like…

"Hogwarts…?"

"We're not too far from the school, Professor." Victoria knelt down and gently felt the back of her teacher's head. There were no lumps but there was plenty of grass, dirt and dead leaves clinging to her bushy light brown hair. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen as if she had been crying. "Did you fall and hurt yourself?"

"I'm not sure. My head's still pretty foggy. I remember being in the TARDIS… Then that fellow from MI6 turned up… There was that mechanical dog… Did you say that I'm your teacher?"

Victoria nodded, even more concerned at the way the woman was rambling. "Professor Hermione Potter: Transfiguration, Muggle Studies and advanced Arithmancy. Some of us feel as though we've spent more time with you than with our own parents-not that there's anything wrong with that, of course!" she hastily added.

"What's your name?"

"Strabel, Victoria Strabel. Second year." Victoria reached out a hand to help the professor to her feet. "You do remember that I'm one of your favorite pupils, don't you?" she added hopefully.

"Top of the list." Professor Potter had been lying in the grass beneath a massive, centuries-old oak tree at the edge of a large lake-and though Victoria was dying of curiosity, she had yet to mention the fact that her teacher was dressed only in a nightgown, a robe and bedroom slippers.

It appeared that the professor was finally beginning to recognize her surroundings. She focused (as best she could) on Victoria. "Just what were you doing out here, young lady?"

"We-um-that is- I-like to come out here and…" For all Victoria's attempts at subtlety, Professor Potter could hardly miss her attempt to nudge an empty bottle under a nearby shrub with the heel of her foot-or that the ground around them was covered with cigarette butts. The sounds of nervous whispers were coming from the bushes behind them. "…study?"

Professor Potter shook her head and said, "It's all right, girls," loud enough for the others to hear- and evidently causing her head to begin hurting again. "I'm assuming that it was only butterbeer, so I won't turn you in this time, but if I ever catch you out here again-"

There was much bowing and scraping along with a chorus of "Yes, Professor!" "We won't, Professor," and "Thank you, Professor!" as a small gaggle of twelve and thirteen year-old girls dressed in Hogwarts uniforms and robes emerged from the shrubbery and beat a hasty retreat into the woods. Victoria reluctantly remained behind, still eyeing her teacher with concern as the Professor rubbed her aching head.

"Psssst!" From behind a tree came a voice, as well as a hand and a wrist wearing a bracelet with dangling pink hearts, orange stars, green clovers and yellow moons, all motioning her to come closer. Victoria immediately recognized her younger cousin Melissa's lucky charm bracelet and sidled up to the trunk.

"I'm going to help her back to the Hospital Wing," Victoria whispered. "It might improve our chances of avoiding detention for life."

"What makes you think that we're the ones in trouble?" Melissa's blue eyes glistened as her lips curled into that evil half-smile she always got when a scheme was brewing. In many ways, the two cousins were complete opposites. Melissa Peters was as blonde as Victoria was dark. Where Victoria was quiet and introverted, Melissa was outspoken and fearless-often to the point of recklessness. (Their little sojourn into the woods had been Melissa's idea.) Even though she was the youngest member of their little gang, more often than not, whenever mischief was afoot, Melissa was the instigator. "We weren't the ones passed out in the woods wearing nothing but a nightgown and bedroom slippers!"

"Are you out of your mind?" After a year and a half of Transfiguration, Victoria knew full well what Professor Potter was capable of doing to them, but before she could say any more, Melissa had quietly disappeared into the trees.

The professor's voice was still shaky but sounded a little stronger. "To whom are you speaking?"

"No one!" Victoria squeaked. "I-I thought I'd dropped my wand over here." The professor was rubbing her head again. "Why don't you let me take you back to the Hospital Wing, Professor?"

"That might be a good idea." Professor Potter paused, remembering her current state of dress. "Maybe I should change into something more appropriate first." With a flick of her wand, she transformed her nightgown and robe into a dignified ensemble more befitting a Hogwarts professor: a black knee-length skirt, a blazer and a black robe. She'd also snuck in a few cosmetic charms, which removed the redness from her eyes and secured her unruly hair into a neat ponytail at the back of her head.

*******

"If only she hadn't taken her wand with her," Harry Potter complained aloud to the surrounding trees, who did not answer. He and Hermione had intended to get him a wand of his own from the old woman on Portobello Road whom Molly had recommended, but what with running into the Doctor and accidentally being hurtled through time, they just hadn't gotten 'round to it. At least the Doctor was kind enough loan him some clothes, so that he didn't have to go running around the woods in his pajamas.

Judging by the tiny shafts of light that still managed to penetrate the thick canopy of foliage above him, Harry supposed that it was approaching midday, but the forest around him only grew thicker and darker the further he went. There was something disturbing about these woods. Harry half expected to see a young girl in a red hood carrying a picnic basket to her dear old granny.

For some reason, the words to the old children's song echoed through his mind:

"If you go down to the woods today,
You'd better not go alone!

It's lovely down in the woods today,
But safer to stay at home!"[1]

Sound advice, Harry thought, but he wasn't going anywhere until he had found Hermione. Just then Harry's foot caught on a thick tree root and he stumbled forward. A hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him upright.

"All right, son?"

Harry turned around with a gasp. "Mr. Bond?" Somehow the man from Her Majesty's Secret Service had managed to sneak up behind him without so much as a twig snapping to give him away. It was becoming clear to Harry that James Bond was very good as his job.

When Harry was once again securely on his feet, 007 released his grip. "Any sign of your little friend?"

"The ground's too hard to leave any footprints." Harry rubbed his arm, rotating his shoulder a few times to make sure it hadn't been dislocated. "And we're not a couple of eight-year-olds, Mr. Bond," he pointed out. "Hermione is my wife."

Bond was about to say something biting in reply, but instead found himself overwhelmed by the terrible melancholy-and the memories of Tracy.[2]-that the word "wife" always brought him. "Whatever you say, lad."

Bond knelt down and checked the ground for signs. He picked up a broken branch and showed Harry how the inside was still green and oozing sap. "The breaks are fresh, and she can't have gotten far in the state she was in." They silently followed the trail of broken branches and recently trampled plants. "You know, it wasn't terribly smart to go charging after her like that when she ran out of the TARDIS," Bond scolded. "The Doctor still isn't sure exactly where-or for that matter, when we are. Considering that he's already managed to land us in the middle of three battles: the siege of Troy, Agincourt and the Little Big Horn-"

"I don't care were we are, Mr. Bond," Harry told him. "I'm not giving up until I find her."

"Harry," Bond's voice softened. "For all we know it's 1944 and this forest is the Argonne." The boy's puzzled look told Bond that Harry had no idea what that meant. "Never mind." The secret agent shook his head. "Just do me a favor. If you happen to hear a bunch of men singing Lili Marlene in German, run as fast as you can in the opposite direction."

They explored in silence for a short time until Harry finally spoke. "Was the Doctor having any luck repairing the TARDIS?"

"When I left him, he was still fiddling with that ridiculous mechanical dog of his."

"He did say that things would go faster if he had K-9 to help him."

"Perhaps our luck will improve," 007 said, shrugging, "and we'll wind up at Balaclava just in time to join the charge of the Light Brigade."

********

For a long time student and teacher walked in silence around the edge of the lake until Victoria finally worked up enough courage to speak.

"Professor? If you don't mind my saying so-you look different."

"Really? How so?"

"I don't know… Younger, I think. Did you have a…?" Victoria patted the underside of her chin with the back of her hand.

"A Face Lift Charm? Something like that." Professor Potter cleared her throat uncomfortably, and then quickly changed the subject. "I can't quite place your accent. American?"

"Texan," the girl replied self-consciously. "I think I've just about convinced the other girls to stop calling me 'Big Tex'." She had pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes and had begun tapping it against the palm of her left hand. "I'm a little taller than most of the kids in my year."

"Pretty 'fast on the draw', eh?" Her student winced at the obvious joke and nodded in reply. "Just between us girls, what hex do you use?"

"Well…If I do say so myself, I'm pretty handy with a Jelly Legs Jinx."

"So was I-but I was better with a Full Body Bind." Once again she quickly changed the subject. "So, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"A big steam locomotive." Her sly grin drew a "We are not amused" look from the professor. "My cousin Melissa and I are studying here until the school in New Orleans is finished."

"We're building a school in America…?" It was more like a revelation than a question. Construction on the American schools had been underway for well over a year, but it was as if the Professor were hearing about it for the first time. Victoria's puzzled expression seemed to bring the older woman back to reality. "So, tell me about yourself, Miss Strabel. Any signs of magic in your family, before-?"

"A few things…" the girl began. "Somehow my parents always managed to explain them away. They kept trying to convince me that I was a normal little girl just like everyone else. Of course, that all went out the window when the package arrived…"

Victoria eagerly tore open the big manila envelope and poured the contents out onto her bed. Her little brother Derik and her cousins Melissa and Shelby would be so jealous because their Harry Potter® Fan Club Kit TM hadn't arrived yet. There were stickers, puzzles, games and even a free sample of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans®. Best of all there was an official membership card and an autographed picture of Harry Potter®. As Victoria inventoried her treasures, she discovered a large sheet of yellow parchment and a big eagle-feather quill. She dug around some more until she found a tiny bottle labeled "Magic Ink for Secret Messages."

She spread the parchment out on her writing desk and set the bottle next to it. As she searched for the instructions, she failed to notice the inkbottle uncorking itself and the quill rising into the air. It dipped its nib into the bottle and carefully wiped away the excess ink on the rim. As Victoria turned around she saw it float over to the parchment and begin to write:

Are we alone?

Victoria slowly backed away until her legs hit the edge of the bed. The quill wrote another message. Frightened as she was, the girl's curiosity got the better of her. She scrambled onto the bed and got up on all fours so that she was high enough to see what was being written.

Don't be afraid.

"Easy for you to say."

"It's all right," came a voice from the end of the bed. The photograph of Harry Potter® was speaking to her! "This wouldn't be happening unless you were someone very special. These objects only come alive in the presence of someone with a very special gift. It's nothing evil or dangerous," Harry said reassuringly, "I promise!" The picture gave her a big juicy wink then nodded toward the desk. "Go on!"

Her curiosity piqued, she climbed off of the bed and warily sat down at her desk. The words on the parchment soaked into the paper and disappeared. The quill then dipped in the inkbottle once more and resumed writing.

Has anything ever happened to you that you simply can't explain?

Have you ever sensed things that happened far away or in the future?

Do objects or animals behave strangely when you are near?"

Victoria caught her breath, covering her mouth with her hand. All of those things had happened to her at one time or another in her eleven years. "Yes."

There's a very simple explanation for all those things.

You're a witch.

That simple statement was enough to overload poor Victoria's brain, and the magical objects seemed to understand that a more personal touch was required. Victoria was instructed to write her name and address and the names of her parents and her siblings on the parchment and give it to the owl that appeared at her window a few minutes later. The next morning a nice woman with brown eyes and bushy brown hair calling herself Professor Potter, (the wife of Harry Potter-who was a very nice lady, by the way-even if she wasn't as glamorous as the actress who played her on television) showed up at the front door and patiently explained the situation to Victoria's family.

It turned out that, just as on television, Harry Potter was really a wizard pretending to be an ordinary stage magician. He was using his enormous wealth and fame to search out others with magical abilities so that he could help them learn to use their "special gifts" for the benefit of all mankind. It was very important, Mrs. Potter explained, that the true purpose of the school be kept a secret. As far as the outside world was concerned, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry" was simply a school for "gifted children" based around the theme of Harry's television show.

Once the initial shock of their daughter being a witch wore off, Victoria's parents began to wonder how they would pay for all this-especially since the school was in England! Much to their relief, Professor Potter explained that no money would be required. Hogwarts had received a large special endowment from its alumni. Harry would take care of everyone's expenses.

After that, amazing experiences seemed to come faster and faster: The limousine that came to collect her from her house in Arlington, Texas; The ride aboard Harry Potter's private jet to Heathrow airport in London…

The strangest of all was gathering at the platform in King's Cross Station for the final leg of their journey to the school. A sign had been put up designating Platform Ten as "Platform 9 ¾". Teenage volunteer "counselors" were running around dressed in pointed wizard hats and cheesy multi-colored polyester robes with silver stars glued on them. The men wore fake cotton beards and everyone carried little plastic battery-powered wands with stars on the ends that would light up when you pushed a button. It was if they were going out of their way to make sure that the outside world treated the whole thing as a big joke. These children weren't really going to a school to learn about magic. It was all just window dressing-like a "dude ranch" or a Renaissance fair. Everyone would dress up in costume and eat roasted turkey legs in the "Banquet Hall", but they were really there to study the three "Rs" just like at any other school.

Victoria noted a small but vocal group of protesters standing behind a police line at the end of the platform, carrying signs proclaiming Harry to be the Anti-Christ. She overheard the parents of a third-year student explain that the protesters turned up like clockwork at the beginning of each new term, but that in recent years, their numbers had been steadily dwindling.

Nearby, a BBC camera crew was performing their part of the annual ritual by dutifully recording a Harry Potter critic-in this case, a middle-aged Kindergarten teacher from Birmingham. "Just who does he think he is, anyway? I mean, just what are Harry Potter's qualifications to run a school?"

"But what about their phenomenal success rate?" the reporter interrupted. "Government figures say that Hogwarts students score higher on standard achievement tests. They're more likely to go on to university and graduate with honors. They-"

At that point one of the protesters managed to slip past the police barriers and get in front of the camera and yell, " You are sending your children to damnation!!" before the police hauled him away.

Victoria had never been much of a railroad buff, so the actual journey to Hogwarts held little interest for her. She had, however, become acquainted with a few of the people who would eventually make up her circle of friends- particularly, her best friend, Molly Bree, whose Liverpool accent was the source of nearly as much amusement as was Victoria's.

The first few days of classes were a nightmare. She dislocated an elbow in her first flying lesson and grew and extra finger on Minnie Post when she improperly mixed a wound-healing potion in Professor Malfoy's class. Eventually, life settled into a routine, though nothing Victoria would have called "normal". Even so, after a few weeks she began to learn her way around and begin to feel more at ease. By the end of the first term she was beginning to feel at home-far more than she ever had back in Texas.

In contrast, when her cousin Melissa arrive the next year, she seemed to make friends right away-particularly when the entire school was excused from Divinations class for a week due to her sabotage of Madam Lovegood's incense burners. (Months later there were still those who claimed that the disagreeable odor had not been completely banished.)

Victoria and Professor Potter emerged from the woods onto a huge well-manicured green, which gently sloped upward. At the top of the hill stood Hogwarts Castle. A few of the towers were still encased in scaffolding, but the building was nearly completed. To Victoria, Professor Potter looked as though she were seeing the place for the very first time. Her eyes lit up like a child's on Christmas morning. She wiped away a tear. "We really did it, didn't we, Professor?"

As the professor walked around the courtyard, drinking in her surroundings, a hand tapped Victoria's shoulder, a familiar bracelet jangled in her ear.

"You were supposed to be pumping her for information, not giving her a family history!" Melissa was standing beside her with a disgusted look on her face.

"I don't think she remembers what happened to her," Victoria hissed.

"I'll just bet she doesn't." Melissa was smiling that evil smile again. "Who would have thought that the headmaster's wife was a boozer?"

"I didn't smell anything on her breath."

"I bet she uses that breath freshening charm Marci Tate's older sister uses when she smokes pot."

"I'm not so sure." Victoria frowned. "There's something more going on than that. Why does she suddenly look more like a kid than one of the teachers?"

"I think you've just got a soft spot for her, my dear cousin."

To be sure, Professor Hermione Potter could be a stern taskmaster, but she had shown a great deal of patience and understanding with both Victoria's and Melissa's parents when they first learned that their daughters were witches. It was largely because of her counsel that they finally came to accept what was happening, however reluctantly. If her teacher were truly in trouble, Victoria decided that it was her duty to try and help. She returned her attention to the professor just in time see her heading for the west entrance. "I think maybe I'd better follow her."

"Good idea." Melissa had to sprint to catch up with her cousin, who was already halfway to the door. The two girls slowed their pace only when they spotted a pair of prefects emerging from the greenhouse.

Once inside the school, they spotted their quarry headed toward the Great Hall. A few students were finishing their lunch as the girls peered through the great oak doors to look for her. Just then, a big, meaty hand settled onto each girl's shoulder.

"What do we have here?" said a familiar voice. "It's Peters and… Strabel! Isn't it?

"Hello, Mr. Weasley." Victoria was doing her best not to look guilty. It seemed as though Melissa had been practicing her "innocent" look practically since the day she was born.

Mister Ronald Weasley, (for he had never been truly comfortable with the title "Professor"), stood well over six feet, with a lean, wiry frame. Combined with his bright red hair and Abe Lincoln beard, he looked like an overgrown leprechaun. The teacher looked down at the two mismatched cousins before him and gave them a cockeyed grin. "And just what are you two troublemakers up to this time?"

"Troublemakers?" Melissa was positively insulted. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr. Weasley."

"Let's see… a little incident last term in the third floor girls' restroom. Something about and Blast-Ended Skrewts in the toilets, as I recall?"

"There was no evidence that my cousin and I had anything to do with that," Melissa reminded him.

"That's why the verdict was 'Not Proved', counselor." Mr. Weasley grinned even wider. He often joked that his brothers Fred and George should adopt these two. Now he was more convinced than ever. "'Not Guilty' was never an option."

Just then, Professor Moroboshi, the History of Magic teacher, walked up and whispered something into Mr. Weasley's ear. His scarlet brows came together in a look of deep concern. "Inside the castle?" he said, a little louder than he'd intended. The other man nodded. "Alert the prefects. I want the students who are in classes to stay where they are. Keep the lunch crowd in the Great Hall. Anyone who isn't in class-" He turned to Victoria and Melissa. "You two get up to your dormitories on the double!"

"What's going on?" Victoria asked.

"We've got an intruder in the castle. Now get moving!"

Melissa grabbed Victoria's hand and quickly dragged her away, but as soon as they reached a bend in the corridor, she stopped and looked back to make sure that they couldn't be seen.

"You heard Mr. Weasley," Victoria protested. "We're supposed to get up to the dorms!"

"Don't you get it?" her cousin said as the evil twinkle returned to her eyes. "Now it all makes sense!"

"What are you talking about?"

"That woman we thought was Professor Potter! You said yourself that she looked different! It also explains why she doesn't remember anything!" Melissa's mind was racing. "She has to be using Polyjuice potion…"

"You think she might be some kind of a spy?"

"What else? The headmaster's enemies would give anything to get someone inside this place who could prove to the world that they're really teaching us magic." Melissa slapped her forehead. "We had her within wand's reach! One stunning spell and I could have been Valedictorian!"

"With your grades?" her cousin snorted derisively.

"Never mind that! There's still a chance to pull this off!" Pulling her wand from her robes, Melissa set off down the corridor; nose forward like a bloodhound on the scent.

"I just don't know," Victoria said, just before her cousin motioned for her to keep her voice down. In spite of the dirty looks she was getting from Melissa, Victoria continued, "She just didn't act like a spy to me!"

"Like she's gonna hand you a business card and introduce herself! 'Hello! I'm a spy! Can you tell me where they keep the classified stuff?'"

"Maybe I'm crazy," Victoria grumbled, "but to me she seemed-I don't know-kind of lost."

"Well, thanks to Mr. Weasley, we've definitely lost her."

"Lost whom?" Aloysius Parker III (known to his friends as "Nosey") pushed his immense tortoise shell spectacles back from the end of his pudgy freckled nose. The second-year Hufflepuff quickly shifted a lock of sandy blond hair out of his face in an attempt to make himself more presentable. "Hello, Melissa," he sighed dreamily.

Melissa was in no mood for such nonsense. "Did Professor Potter pass this way?"

"Huh?"

"PRO-FES-SOR POT-TER," she repeated slowly as if interpreting for the hard of hearing. "HAVE YOU SEEN HER?"

As usual, Nosey was oblivious to Melissa's sarcasm. "She was walking in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. Is something--?" The girls were gone before he could finish his sentence. "Melissa? Didn't you hear the orders?" He began following them. "Wouldn't you like me to walk you back to your dormitory?"

"We're looking for Professor Potter," Melissa reiterated.

"Why?"

"Because she's not really Professor Potter," Melissa explained.

"She's not?"

"We think she's the intruder everyone's been looking for."

"Intruder? You mean she's a spy?"

Melissa's patience was wearing thin. "We could spend the rest of our lives having this conversation…. Yes, she's a spy."

Nosey's eyes went wide. "Cool!"

"We don't know that for sure," Victoria reminded them.

"Well, we'll never know for sure unless we find her!" Melissa folded her arms and tapped her foot as she tried to think. "If only we had some way of moving around without being seen…"

"Madam Hasenpfeffer's been teaching us to weave invisibility cloth. I've got some with me! You want to see?"

"An invisibility cloak!" Melissa squealed, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Mr. Parker, if you weren't the most disgusting thing that ever walked on two legs, I'd kiss you!" The girls' eyes lit up as Nosey reached into the pocket of his robes. They could hear the rustle of cloth as he withdrew his hand, grasping an invisible object in his fingers. He draped the unseen article over his free hand, which promptly vanished up to the end of his sleeve. Judging by the area covered, it was no more than a foot square.

"That's it?" Melissa asked incredulously. "You call that a cloak? It's more like a handkerchief!"

"That's just for practice. We start working on the full cloak on Monday."

Melissa shook her head. "Maybe the spy will be nice enough to wait around until you're finished." She grabbed Victoria's hand and started to leave.

The boy lowered his head dejectedly, stuffed his hands into his pockets and began to walk away. "I suppose you guys already thought of using a Chameleon Spell." He shrugged. "Never mind. It was a dumb idea anyway."

Melissa's ears pricked up. "Chameleon Spell?"

"Sure. Haven't you guys studied that yet? It's not as good as having an invisibility cloak, though, 'cause technically you're not really invisible. You're just the same colors as whatever you're standing in front of. If you move around too much, people can see you. You see, I'm taking all these advanced classes so I can take my O.W.L.s a year early and then-"

Melissa clamped a hand over his mouth, silencing his diatribe. "Mr. Parker, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I'm going to ask you two very simple questions and I want you to give me simple 'yes' or 'no' answers. First, do you know how to perform the Chameleon Spell, and second, can you do it without killing, maiming, disfiguring or just plain humiliating us?"

Nosey tried to speak but Melissa's hand remained firmly pressed to his mouth, so he simply nodded his head.

"Wizard's honor?"

Nosey nodded, grabbed the end of his nose and both ear lobes in quick succession, then held up three fingers in the traditional "wizard's honor" sign.

"Good. Then let's get started."

***********

Hermione Potter drew more than a few odd stares as she made her way along the corridors. Determined to explore every nook and cranny of the school, she felt compelled to touch practically every brick in order to convince herself that the whole thing wasn't just a dream. After watching all of her friends fall in battle and seeing the original castle reduced to ruins, this was nothing short of a miracle.

Finding the Astronomy Tower empty, she stood at the school's highest pinnacle and shouted at the top of her lungs, "We did it, Professor!"

A few minutes later, she paused at the entrance to the headmaster's office, wondering if she ought to try and go in. What if the headmaster were there? How would she explain herself?

"It's all right, Mrs. Potter," the stone gargoyle said. "My orders are to let you go right up."

"Oh. Thank you."

The gargoyle moved aside and the staircase began to rotate upwards. Deciding not to argue, Hermione simply hopped onto the next available landing. Perhaps she was imagining things, but she could have sworn that she heard footsteps on the stairs behind her. Ever since she'd left the Astronomy Tower, she'd had the strange feeling that she was being followed, but she had been far too preoccupied to give it any credence. Just underneath the grinding of stone against metal, she thought she heard the gargoyle's voice.

"Who goes there?"

Though the basic layout of the headmaster's office was the same as she remembered, there was one significant difference: high-tech video monitors covered an entire wall behind the big walnut desk, each playing a feed from a different network.

Apart from the monitors, the most striking difference from Albus Dumbledore's office was that there were only a few magical paintings; one was of her, Harry, Ron and a few faces she didn't recognize-possibly a group portrait of the faculty? The rest of the walls were covered with photographs. Some were magical, but most (particularly the earlier ones) were not.

A large framed picture at the far end of the room caught her eye. It was a portrait of five children, four boys and a girl, lined up like stair steps from the oldest-a sturdy lad of seventeen or eighteen-to the youngest-the little girl, who must have been ten or eleven because she looked exactly like Hermione did her first year at Hogwarts. The boys all resembled Harry, (right down to the spectacles) though the younger two had hair closer in color and texture to their mother.

Five children, Hermione thought. On the one hand, she was overjoyed that she would be able to give Harry the family he always wanted-on the other hand; five children meant five pregnancies, five labors and five births. Various parts of her began to ache at the thought.

Sitting on the desk in a place of honor was a sterling silver frame. In contrast to the expensive frame, the picture inside was a humble five-by-seven inch print of the sort you get from any neighborhood chemists' shop. It was of herself and Harry standing outside a modest little two-story apartment building. Harry was standing behind her with his arms around her waist-no easy feat, since she was extremely pregnant. The faces that grinned back at her looked to be the most blissfully happy couple on Earth.

"Our first flat," came a familiar voice from behind her. Hermione spun around. With the exception of a few extra lines around the eyes and mouth, the face that confronted her was the same one that she had seen in the mirror every day of her life. The older woman wore a long black robe, a pointed hat and round spectacles, making her look like a middle-aged version of Professor McGonagall. Her bushy brown hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. Woven among the brown, Hermione could just make out a few strands of gray. The older woman picked up the photograph from the desk and lovingly ran her finger over the image of Harry. "There was something-dare I say, 'magical' about that time? Harry and I were still discovering things about each other and about ourselves. Everything was brand new." She replaced the photo on Harry's desk.

"You let me in here!" Hermione gasped. "That's why the gargoyle didn't care if I knew the password or not! You wanted me to see all this-to see the future! Why?"

"When I-that is, when you ran out of the TARDIS, you were in a terrible state."

"Yes, I was." Hermione sank down into a chair facing the headmaster's desk. "Intellectually, I understood what was happening to me. It's perfectly normal for someone who's been through everything that I have to experience a certain amount of 'survivor's guilt'-" Her eyes were beginning to tear up once more.

The older woman nodded in sympathy. "-but seeing poor Professor Dumbledore die all over again on the TARDIS viewscreen only served to make it worse."

"He had sent me here on a mission," Hermione sobbed, "and all I could think about was being back in Harry's arms again."

"But isn't that exactly where-?"

The younger Hermione wasn't really listening. "Then the Doctor came along with his wretched time machine!" Her fists clenched in rage. "He dangled hope in front of me like a carrot, then yanked it away! I could have changed the past-defeated Voldemort back in the Wizarding World once and for all! I might even have found a way to prevent Harry's parents from dying and to give him the normal life he's always longed for!"

"And if you had accomplished all that?" the older woman prodded gently, "What of this world?"

The younger Hermione was caught off guard, unable to answer for some time. "I hadn't even considered that." Her brow furrowed. "If I had managed to alter the past, it means that I would never have come here. The Harry of this world would have been stuck with the Dursleys."

The older Hermione nodded at her just the way old McGonagall did when a particularly dim student finally seemed to grasp the meaning of a lesson.

"This place would never have been built." Hermione gazed out the window at the students walking across the lawn to their classes. "Those children would never have learned to use their powers." She walked over to the portrait of her future offspring. "These children-our children-would never even have been born." She reached out to touch the image of the little girl.

Neither of them had been paying much attention to the video monitors up to that point, but something the CNN anchor said caught the younger Hermione's attention.

"…There are unconfirmed reports that the mysterious Order of The Phoenix may have struck again. The incident occurred in the tiny South American country of Corto Maltese. We understand that a prison full of political dissidents is now empty, without a trace of either the prisoners or their jailers. Corto Maltese has been at the top of many human rights organizations' watch lists for its particularly brutal treatment of those who speak out against the government.

"You may remember a similar incident in the tiny African nation of Nimbia last September. As in this case, the Order proclaimed responsibility with a stylized drawing of a phoenix burned into a stone wall by some unknown means. While the prisoners later turned up at a hospital for torture victims in Sweden run by Doctors Without Borders, the jailers have not been seen or heard from since. Rumors persist that the Order deals harshly with those who torture their fellow human beings and that a most unpleasant end awaits them.

"In a possibly related story; food, water and medicine continue to find their way into famine-ravaged areas of the Sudan in spite of both government and rebel attempts to prevent it. The famine in that area is now into its second year, made worse by the brutal civil war that has been raging for the last eighteen months."

"The 'Order of the Phoenix'?" Hermione turned to her older self, astonished. "Harry?"

The older woman nodded. "Remember what Molly said that first day you met her at the Griffin's Door? 'Your face will be known throughout the world-but few will truly know you.'"

"Do you mean to say," came an incredulous voice from the shadows, "that all these years our great nemesis-the nameless, faceless scourge who thwarted our every plan for world domination was…Harry bloody Potter? The magician from the kid's television program?"

The older Hermione thought she recognized the face of the boy who stepped out of the shadows, holding a wand to Melissa Peters's throat, but she didn't recognize the voice. "Mr. Parker? Miss Peters? What in Merlin's name do you children think you're doing in the headmaster's office?"

"I have to admit," the strange voice said from the boy's mouth, "my masters underestimated your husband, Professor. They knew he was a hopeless do-gooder, but I don't think they ever dreamed that he was in any way connected to the Order. Are they in for a surprise when I make my report!"

"I'm sorry, Professor." Victoria Strabel sheepishly removed the Chameleon Spell that was concealing her. She pointed at the younger Hermione. "We were following her because we thought she was the spy-Turns out it was him all along." The younger Hermione grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her into a protective hug.

"You're obviously not Mr. Parker. Who are you?" Professor Potter demanded of the intruder. "For whom are you working? Are you one of Reverend Ottwell's people or that fundamentalist senator from America?"

"Those two fanatics?" The strange voice let out a singularly unpleasant sound that might have been a chuckle. "They're so paranoid about being corrupted by magic, they wouldn't accept help from one of us, even if it was offered." The faux Parker shook his head. "You just don't get it, do you? I'm not here to blow the whistle on your little school, Professor. In fact, I've been telling my masters how impressed I am with your teaching methods. You've no idea how much my skills have improved since I've been here. In my humble opinion, this place will fit into their plans quite nicely. All they need to do is make a few changes here and there to the curriculum-"

The older Hermione was losing patience. "Who are you?"

As he manhandled his hostage toward the center of the room, the boy began to change. Within seconds he had transformed into a man in his late forties with an unremarkable face and thinning mousy brown hair. The change in build caused Mr. Parker's robes to hang awkwardly from his slightly taller frame and the ends of his sleeves and the cuffs of his pants to recede several inches. The spy smiled as he watched Professor Potter's brow furrow in confusion. "You hired me as a janitor. Don't strain yourself trying to put a name to the face, Professor. I can assure you that I'm not anyone you'd recognize. In fact, I'd wager we've passed in the corridors a hundred times and you've never given me so much as a second thought. Granted, some of that was magic, but folks have always said that I have the kind of face that just doesn't stick in people's minds." He tapped the side of his nose with his finger. "It's what makes me a good spy."

"Evidently not that good," came a voice from the spy's left. A hitherto concealed door had opened in the wall and several cloaked and hooded figures had emerged, their wands pointed directly at the intruder's heart. Hoods flew back revealing four very familiar faces-a bit older than in the portrait on the wall, but definitely the male offspring of Harry Potter. The rest of the team consisted of two redheaded teenage boys and a stunning auburn-haired girl who appeared to be joined at the hip to the eldest Potter. There was little doubt in the younger Hermione's mind that the three redheads were Weasleys, but it was equally clear that the girl didn't get her looks from Ron's side of the family. It took a second for Hermione to recognize the final member of the team, but even the gray hair and the salt-and-pepper beard could not disguise the lantern jaw and the intense, piercing eyes.

"Mr. Bond!" she gasped.

The old man gave her a smile, then returned his attention to the developing hostage crisis.

"Killing the girl gets you nothing," the senior Potter was saying. He had a quiet confidence and authority, which quite impressed his future mother. "You're certainly not going to give up the only thing you have to bargain with. Now let's be reasonable about this and you might still walk out of here on your own feet-or at least on human feet."

"Compared to the cause I serve, boy, my life is inconsequential. I am not afraid die-or to kill. Avada-" The spy pictured the word "Kedavra" clearly in his mind. He felt his mouth open and the muscles of his tongue and lips forming the word, but even as the breath escaped his lungs and his vocal chords began to vibrate, he could have sworn he also heard a soft voice just behind his right ear.

"Silencio."

The spy spoke the final word of the forbidden curse, but no sound met his ears. He tried again-and again there was no sound. He tried speaking. He tried shouting. He even tried screaming but nothing audible came out of his mouth.

"Well done, everyone!" came a new voice from the secret door. The newcomer pulled back his hood. The messy black hair, the owlish round glasses, and the boyish grin were quite familiar to the younger Hermione; though the face was much more angular and lined by age, and the hair had streaks of gray forming at the temples. He walked over to Melissa and the spy, looking just past them. "And top marks to you for the silencing charm, Mr. Parker!"

"Thank you, Headmaster!" Melissa and the spy turned around to find themselves staring into another familiar face. With a quick wink in Melissa's direction, the real Aloysius Parker III snatched the wand from the spy's hand, and at a nod from Harry, snapped it in two.

"Get him down to the dungeons," Harry instructed the two Weasley boys as they put a binding charm on their prisoner's wrists. "We'll let Professor Malfoy have a go at him and see what he has to say under Veritaserum."

"We found an enchanted mirror in his room," the auburn-haired girl reported. "We figure that's how he was able to communicate with his masters without being detected."

"Uncle Harry-" said one Weasley twin, just as the other nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "-Headmaster-If his reports suddenly stop, won't his bosses know that he's been captured?"

"Who said that his reports were going to stop?" Harry's face spread into a wide grin, which proved to be contagious. Hermione was struck by the sincere affection and admiration, which she saw in the eyes of the others. With a nod, Harry sent the Weasley boys on their way with the prisoner, and then turned his attention to the two Hermiones. "Hello, Darling!" He slid his arm around the older woman's waist and kissed her on the cheek, then gave the younger woman a wink. "Hello, Darling."

"Is that really you, Harry?"

"A bit older," Harry sighed. "Hopefully, a bit wiser."

"A bit." The older woman snuggled against her husband's side. "I think you're going to find," she said to her younger self, "that it's true what they say about some things improving with age."

Mr. Bond loudly cleared his throat. "I'd better be getting get back to my students." He took the younger woman's hand and kissed it. "It's good to see you again, Hermione."

"You were one of us all along?"

"I was as surprised as anyone else," he replied. "Mind you, it does explain a lot about my days as a secret agent." He gave the younger Hermione a hug, then disappeared back into the secret passage.

"Not bad." The youngest of the Potter boys was intently studying the younger version of his mother. "I'm beginning to see now why Dad fancied you."

"Richard!" the older Hermione chided, as both turned bright red.

"That is your mum, you know!" The auburn-haired girl playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"He always was a bit of a perv," noted brother number two. "You should see the sort of things he keeps under his mattress."

"Arthur-!" Richard Potter's face was now even redder than his mother(s).

"Come on, Oedipus." Arthur grabbed Richard's arm and steered him toward the main entrance, while simultaneously herding Victoria, Melissa and Mr. Parker in the same direction. "Let's get these three back to their dorms before they get into any more trouble."

The younger Hermione wondered if she should mention finding the two girls and their friends out in the woods drinking and smoking cigarettes, but decided that it wasn't her place to bring it up.

"Have you had lunch yet, Mr. Parker?" Melissa asked as she took the boy's arm. Perhaps it was her imagination, but as they were herded toward the revolving staircase, it occurred to her that this Mr. Parker didn't seem nearly as repulsive as the phony one. Granted, his hair could use some work, and his taste in clothes could certainly benefit from a woman's touch… Still, all in all, this version had definite possibilities.

Her cousin Victoria could only shake her head in bewilderment.

"Young love," the auburn-haired Weasley girl sighed romantically. James Potter took that as a cue to draw her into a kiss.

"I don't see a wedding ring on her finger yet, Potter." Ron Weasley was standing at the head of the rotating staircase as it came into view.

"Don't worry, Mr. Weasley," James shot back. "You will."

"There'd better not be any need for one there until after she graduates!"

"So, this is my future." The younger Hermione shook her head in wonder. "How in Merlin's name do you keep up with it all?"

"Speaking of 'futures'," Harry interrupted, taking the younger Hermione by the arm, "there isn't going to be one if we don't get you back to the TARDIS. I seem to recall that while you were taking the fifty pence tour of Hogwarts, I was wandering around in the dark woods, worried sick about you."

***********

A few minutes later, the future Harry and Hermione watched from behind some bushes as their past selves enjoyed a tender reunion.

"Darling, why did you run away like that?"

"It all seems so foolish now," Hermione said, looking down at her feet.

"I know you were upset about not being allowed to change the past-"

"Forget about the past, Harry!" she laughed as she threw her arms around his neck. "I've seen the future!" With no concern whatsoever for the stares of the Doctor, K-9 or Mr. Bond, she drew him into a passionate kiss, causing him to blush furiously. "You're going to make a wonderful father!" she giggled as she started back toward the TARDIS.

End of Chapter Four



[1] The Teddy Bears Picnic" Music and Lyrics by Jimmy Kennedy

[2] See "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" By Ian Fleming