Unofficial Portkey Archive

Title: Lucky
Author name: nacey
Author email: tosh@opera.iinet.net.au
Category: Angst, Drama, Romance
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Summary: Harry loses faith and hope in all around him, and wonders if there is a reason for it all. Dumbledore consoles him and shows him the Pool of Possibilities, and Harry gets to see a world where Voldemort was never born.

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. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: I'd like to thank my beta-readers, especially Anne who put in all sorts of useful notes for me. This was a really hard story for me to write, and it broke my heart to write it.

~~*~~

"The only thing here to be seen

Is what could have, should have, might have been.

So close your eyes and air your thought

I'll show you what it would have brought."

-- Poem of the Pool, by Nancy.

~~~~~

Chapter One

There were things Harry knew, and there were things he plainly didn't. The things he did know weren't many - he was, after all, a sixteen year old boy. He could list a few of the things he did know in a neat list. They were the things he knew should never have happened.

In that list were many, many things. There were little unimportant things, like eating that extra pumpkin pasty one night before a rather large Quidditch party and leaving a very interesting orange puddle in one of the halls after ingesting butterbeer that was quite clearly not non-alcoholic. Dating Cho Chang was in that section of the list, particularly after the strange rumours started, like the fact he was a terrible slobbery kisser and that he was as romantic as a car accident (how wizards knew about car accidents was beyond him but that was the rumour just the same).

Then there were the important things that should never have happened, like his parents dying; like him having to stay with his uncle, aunt and cousin; like Sirius disappearing through the veil and leaving him forever...

At the top of this list of things that should never have happened was a thing that would have made all these other serious awful things disappear in a moment, and he was certain that things would have been different had this not happened. No... it wasn't just being certain - he knew it. And what he knew should never have happened was so beautifully simple that he wished he could have had a time-turner and fixed it so that it was true.

Quite plainly, Voldemort should never have been born.

~~*~~

Harry stormed into the Common Room, Quidditch robes trailing behind him dramatically, the firelight playing against his features, glinting in his hair, for all the world trying to make him look like some tragic and romantic hero. Of course it totally ruined such visions that the young man was splattered head-to-toe in mud. His cheeks were a deep red, and his thick black brows were knitted over his startling green eyes.

"Wait up, Harry!" called Ron, his best friend, nowhere near as muddy. "Harry!"

Harry didn't answer Ron. As soon as he made it into the Common Room, he cast an annoyed glance around the room. The few first years that had been there saw the seething older boy and scattered in a moment. Such an occurrence only served to make Harry feel guilty. He hated the younger kids tiptoeing around him. He sighed heavily, still in a lethal mood, and threw his blessed broom across the room (not so carelessly that it got broken, instead landing neatly on the newly vacated couch) before striding over to the fire and kicking the grate. He hissed as his toe made impact.

"Bugger!"

Ron shook his head, ambling over to Harry. "Well, what do you expect, beating up on the fireplace?"

Harry growled.

"Maybe you should go for a lap around the castle... you know, break a few more things and rant a little. You might feel better."

"I feel fine as it is!" snapped Harry, "Or at least I did until that worthless snot opened his bloody mouth!"

Ron paled at this, leaning on the hearth. "Wow... Don't think I've heard you talk like that before, Harry..."

"No, it's not like him at all."

The voice threw Harry from his rage, the one he'd been swept up in since the Quidditch pitch. He glanced over to the big puffy chair by the fire and saw Hermione sunk deeply in its fat contours, a big ginger furball of a cat curled up next to her neatly folded legs. She closed the book she had been reading and lifted a brow, worry clear in her eyes.

"What happened?"

Anger edged her words. Ron twitched, about to speak, but Harry shook his head at him and looked back to Hermione.

"Nothing."

Ron just looked puzzled at this.

"Oh, of course, nothing at all," said Hermione, nodding and standing, Crookshanks giving an annoyed 'mruff' as she disturbed him doing so. "You always burst into the portrait hole looking like you'd love to rip someone's voice box out and beat them about the ears with it."

"Hermione..."

"And I'm pretty sure you've never called *anyone* worthless in their lives... even Malfoy."

Rage bubbled up inside of Harry, and he gripped the mantle he was leaning on, gritting his teeth and doing all he could not to break something.

"... I see."

Clever sod. She was a clever bloody sod.

"It's not Harry's fault," said Ron.

"Ron!" Harry growled. "Just - it's not worth repeating!"

"What did he do this time?" asked Hermione, ignoring Harry's plea.

Ron shuffled on the spot, seeming to consider whether it was worth Harry's ire to open his mouth. Harry was too busy glaring at the fire to see this, and it was a shock to him to feel the small warm hand on his arm. Hermione was next to him now, squeezing his arm gently.

"If you talk about it," she said, "If you just get it out..."

"What - I'll feel better about it?" He glanced at her, eyes glinting. "About Draco Malfoy, that complete and utter waste of skin, daring to even mention Sirius' name? Daring even to-" Harry choked, turning away from the fire, covering his face in his hands. He could have died of embarrassment, but he was too busy being overcome with a sudden rush of grief to do much but struggle to contain deep rough sobs. Arms were about him, hands on his shoulders, and he could vaguely hear Ron speak over his head.

"Malfoy started on him about Sirius. Lord knows how he found out the stuff he was spouting. Knowing him, he probably made it up. Anyway, it doesn't matter... the git's still sour about his Dad being in the clink, I'll wager."

Harry was being led away from the fire now, being sat down. He was immersed in raw ache, as if there was a terrible great hollow within him where there had been happiness and hope and love.

A warm soft whisper traveled past his ear, and a little voice in the back of his mind wondered if that's what angels sounded like when the spoke.

"He can't touch you, Harry," breathed Hermione, her lips near his ear, hugging him tightly. "Whatever he says, it doesn't change a thing. His words don't take away what Sirius meant to you, or what a good person he was." She struggled to cradle his face, Harry's face buried in the tangle of limbs. "Hey..."

He met her eyes. She smiled sadly at him, her thumb deftly stroking a tear away.

"Draco can't hurt you, Harry."

Any power that Draco Malfoy had gained in breaking something within Harry slipped away in that moment. Harry sank into Hermione's embrace again, burying his face in her hair, heaving deep sighs, conscious of Ron's hands stroking his back gently. He was so thankful for them, so thankful for the only two people who kept him sane. After a moment more of hugging Hermione, he broke away and hugged Ron very briefly, thumping the redheaded young man's back in a solid brotherly manner.

Sitting between his two greatest friends he felt strangely numb, and he gazed at the fire. Once upon a time there was nothing that Draco Malfoy could have said to get him into such a state. These days he felt rage at the smallest provocation. The slightest mention of Sirius stung his heart fiercely, and a great feeling of injustice swelled inside of him. He couldn't stand how unfair it all was, how much it hurt him. It was all right when he wasn't reminded of losing Sirius. Things were almost normal... But he hated it when night came, and he really hated being alone. What he hated most was how weak he felt he'd become.

He wasn't sure what he would have done without Hermione or Ron, but he hated needing them so much. He could see the stress build in Hermione, and he didn't want to make her suffer for his pathetic weaknesses. Everything was a mess, and he had blamed himself for it a few times in late night sessions of grief and melancholy.

He soon came to a new conclusion, a much more logical one he thought, and that was that it was all Voldemort's fault, and the bastard would definitely pay for it eventually.

Harry wished he were more powerful. He wished he could do more than form a good Patronus. He wished he could learn that stupid power that was supposed to defeat Voldemort - whatever it was. Then he could kill the lousy prick and make sure he never came back.

Most of all, though, he wished he could bring people back from the dead.

~~*~~

Harry sat on the steps of the Entrance Hall, leaning his head on his hands, his bag at his feet. Students from assorted years bustled past him, a few from his own year greeting him on the way past. He had a sort of quiet respect directed at him now since recent events, but many seemed frightened of him somehow. This probably had to do with how overly emotional he'd been, and people generally never know what to do with raw and genuine emotions. It frightens them more than anything.

He sat there until the hall had grown empty, staring at the floor. It was time for Potions. He knew that this lesson would be a catch-up lesson, as Professor Snape had been quite convinced that the entire class didn't learn a thing in the last lesson. For some reason, Harry couldn't bring himself to go down to the dungeons. He knew that all Snape would have to do was look at him funny and he would either throw his cauldron at him or collapse in a fit of tears. It was really bloody embarrassing.

As Harry stared at a floor stone that was a particularly pleasing mix of dappled greys, he felt a presence behind him, as if someone had walked up behind him and just stopped. As a voice spoke, he realised this is exactly what had happened.

"Hmm... yes. I find Scottish granite rather breathtaking myself, though I doubt the intricacies of Hogwarts' flagstones will help you get better marks in your Potions classes, Harry."

The warm gravelly voice floated past Harry, and he sighed.

"I can't go down there," he said, turning his head and looking up. "I don't know why. All I know is that if I have to face Snape today, I'll probably break something."

Dumbledore gazed down at him kindly through his half-moon glasses, nodding.

"It's barely been two months, Harry. I do not expect you to act as if it never happened just yet."

"You're not angry at me for skipping class?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore gave the slightest of shrugs. "It is neither here nor there how I feel about it. What is important is what you are feeling, and quite obviously you are not feeling well at all."

Harry sighed, pulling himself to his feet, feeling as though doing so was a terrible effort. He could sense Dumbledore's ever-observant eyes on him, and he felt a little self-conscious under the headmaster's gaze. It wasn't that it was unwelcome, but he hated to think that he could be disappointing Dumbledore at that moment. No matter how mad or unhappy he had been with the man in the past, he couldn't seem to get past an inherent need to make Dumbledore proud of him.

"Would you like to come to my office, Harry? I'm sure a fresh cup of tea and some peace and quiet should soothe your nerves some, yes?"

Harry stared at Dumbledore. He'd only ever been ordered to Dumbledore's office. He'd never been asked. He gulped, fingering the edge of his robe mindlessly.

"Are you sure?"

Dumbledore looked down at him. "Were I not, I would not have asked."

Harry glanced down at his feet sheepishly. "Oh, right."

This earned a gentle smile from Dumbledore, and he put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Come... I believe the kettle should be boiled by now."

~~*~~

The office was cluttered as always; not messy but a sort of ordered chaos. It was always very interesting to sit in. Harry remembered gazing about it many times whilst waiting for Dumbledore to arrive from - well wherever he was waiting for him to arrive from. There always seemed to be something new in there each time Harry entered it, and this time it was no different. At one 'corner' of the round room, a little distance from a softly snoozing Fawkes was something Harry had never seen in the room before. Looking at it, a Muggle might very easily mistake it for an ornate antique wash-basin. Indeed, it was the right height, and the wide shallow silver basin that crowned the glimmering silver stand seemed perfect for such a task. The edges of the wide basin, however, shone and shimmered with colours uncountable, and a faint eerie song seemed to lift from the water.

Dumbledore was distracted, puttering around with the kettle by the fire. Harry, used to nosing about happily in the office, walked over to the basin and had a good look.

He was surprised to find that the 'water' in the basin was a small mass of undulating light that danced and shifted with itself. It would split, shiver, wind and flow. It divided itself into many colours, and with a fevered dance, threw itself into a cool white mass of light again, its edges bleeding glimpses of rainbow spectrums. Harry watched this play of light for a long time, utterly enthralled. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, but it gave him a sense of peace somehow...

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Harry glanced briefly at Dumbledore before looking back to the colours.

"What is it?"

He heard Dumbledore's steps draw close.

"A very powerful and clever object," said Dumbledore. "In the right hands it could comfort and educate. In the wrong hands..." He paused, enough that Harry glanced up to see why he'd stopped talking. Dumbledore met his look. "It could quite easily torture innocent minds to madness."

Harry hadn't immediately noticed, but there were letters engraved about the edge of the basin, which almost looked woven together from silver ivy. The letters were worn and old, but Harry could just make it out...

"How do you like your tea?"

Harry tore his eyes away from the basin, looking to Dumbledore, who was now by a tea-tray next to his desk, directing the teapot with his wand.

"Two sugars, with cream, thank you."

With a tap-tap, the sugar bowl danced over and emptied two teaspoons of sugar into an awaiting cup. It would have been very entertaining for Harry had he not seen it many times before. Dumbledore offered him a chair by similar efforts, waving his wand in the general direction of the seat in front of his desk.

"Do sit, Harry."

Harry walked away from the basin, somewhat hesitantly, his eyes looking back to the thing.

"What... what is it called?"

"It has a few names, the Pool of Possibilities the most popular, but to explain it simply, it is a Life Path Algorithm pool..." Dumbledore waved a hand at him before looking back to the tea he was serving. "Quite a clever charm has been placed upon it, not unlike a pensieve, but instead of one's thoughts it contains and calculates what could have been."

Harry frowned. "What could have been?"

Dumbledore turned about, and this time he was holding a cup of tea, which he handed to Harry. "Yes. Did you not read the inscription on the rim of the pool?"

"Erm..." Harry glanced back at it and then to Dumbledore. "No, I didn't have time to make it out."

"Let me save you the effort," said Dumbledore, taking his own cup of tea and sitting down at his desk. "The only thing here to be seen, Is what could have, should have, might have been. So close your eyes and air your thoughts - I'll show you what it would have brought." Dumbledore gave a little smile. "Rhyming poetry does amuse me."

Harry would have smiled back at him, but his mind was racing. He was barely aware of the tea in his hands. He could only stare at the beautiful light dancing in the silver basin, imagining what the thing could show him...

"It could show me what life would be like with my parents," said Harry. "If Voldemort weren't around..."

There was a quiet clink of china against china, and then Dumbledore spoke very gently.

"For what, Harry? This wonderful device cannot change your life. It can only show you what might have happened were things different, depending on changing a single moment in time..."

Harry looked to Dumbledore. "Yes, but... then I would know, wouldn't I? I'd know what I'd be missing out on. Sometimes it kills me, just sitting there and wondering about it... thinking..." He frowned. "I've thought about it a lot lately."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, and Harry wasn't sure if he was reassured or troubled by the knowing glint in the old man's eyes. Harry looked back to the basin.

"Can it tell the future?"

"No," said Dumbledore. "It can only speculate on the past."

Harry nodded.

"Tell me Harry... What would you do should you like what you see better than what exists around you?" Dumbledore twitched a brow in askance.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. What difference would it make? I already feel as if any kind of life would be better than this." He looked away from Dumbledore's face, as he couldn't bear to look at it and speak so. "It's sort of like... I'd like to know that in some kind of place and time, somewhere... there's a happy me. With a happy life, a good life."

"I think there is, Harry," said Dumbledore. "It might take a while to find it, but there is. Very well... I will let you use this - but you must make a promise to me, Harry."

Harry nodded numbly. He could see... he would be able to see...

"That you must not dwell too much upon what you may see in this pool. It is only a vision, one possibility of many. The most important thing to remember, Harry, is that things happen for a reason... all things, as fair or unfair as they seem at the time." Dumbledore eyed him, and Harry felt his insides chill. The older wizard really put the wind up him sometimes.

"All right..." Harry stood, abandoning his cup of tea, all but racing over to the silver basin. "What do I have to do?"

"Simply look into the light, Harry, and think about what single thing you would have different if you could..."

The professor stepped over to the basin, and slowly swirling his wand above the light, his lips moved slightly as he whispered a spell Harry couldn't make out. This wasn't surprising as most of Harry's concentration was on the ambling play of magic beneath him, his mind entranced by the flicker of colour and light. The haunting song of distant voices that had been lifting from it gently before was now whipping into a frenzy, a crying chorus of desperation and urgency growing as the light grew brighter and seemed to envelope him...

~~*~~

Harry woke up. For a moment all he could see was the dark grey square of the ceiling and the deep red velvet curtains that surrounded his bed. A glimmer of light caught his eye, and he realised that it must have been dawn; a small shaft of light peeked in through the curtains from the window, refracting a warm red light in the space of his bed. Snuggled and warm in the covers, it was almost womb-like. He lay there for a while, wallowing in disorientation. Had his awful day been a dream? Or was Sirius being dead a dream as well? Was it all a dream - the whole terrible lot of it, and was he fourteen all over again?

No no, it had been real, all of it. But why was he suddenly in bed?

He groaned, sitting up, his mind racing and awake whilst his body was still a little groggy. His stomach was alarmingly empty, and he could have done with a pile of pancakes inside of it. It was far too early for breakfast yet though. He had a Herbology test coming up soon. He should probably study for that...

He got up, yawning, and after changing, trotted down to the Common room, Herbology book under his arm. He felt rather refreshed, and he looked forward to the distance from reality a bit of studying would bring him.

Geez, he thought. I think I'm turning into Hermione. First her voice in my mind and now her eagerness to study...

He wasn't sure how long he'd been there reading up on succulent pus-producing plant forms from warmer climates when Ron ambled in, scratching the hair behind his ear, straightening the jumper of his uniform.

"Morning, Harry," he said, sinking down into a chair near him. He frowned at Harry, staring at the book. "Are you actually choosing to study?"

Harry blinked. "Urm... yes?"

Ron stared at him for a moment. "Man, I thought you said you were takin' it easy, since we didn't have to worry about our NEWTs till next year..."

Harry frowned at that. "I never said that, and even if I did, it doesn't make any sense. The NEWTs are based on what we learn this year as well as the last five years, so if I skimp on it now I'm just going to have to catch up later on." He shrugged. "Better just to get it over with now. Besides, if I do badly in my marks I'll never become an Auror."

There was laughter. Harry looked up and saw Ron giggling.

"Good one, Harry."

"G-good one?"

Ron nodded, chuckling to himself. "You wanting to be an Auror! Hehehehe..."

Now Harry was confused. "But... I thought you wanted to be an Auror too. We were both going to work really hard this year..."

Ron's giggling burst to hearty chortles. "Yeah and Hermione Granger wants to be on the front page of For Wizards' Magazine in a bikini!"

What turned out to be a rather pleasant mental image engaged Harry's mind for a moment, and he battled a smile and knitted his brow instead.

"Well... what do you want to be then?"

Ron's smile froze on his face, and he stared at Harry, wide-eyed.

"... a League Quidditch Player, you barmy git!" he gasped, and he gave an uneasy laugh. "Just like you do!"

Harry gave a snort of disbelief. "Me?!"

"Yeah! And the way you're going at it you're set to be in the International Team, no problems!" Ron grinned at him.

Harry closed his Herbology book, trying not to squirm uncomfortably. This was all weird and wrong.

"An Auror..." Ron giggled again. "Bloody good joke, mate. Hehehehe."

Harry gave a faint smile whilst Ron yawned and stretched in his chair.

"Well! Thank God it's Friday, eh?"

Harry's world jarred for a moment. He frowned. "Friday? But it's Tuesday!"

Ron squinted at Harry. "Did you bang your head or something in the middle of the night? It's Friday! Big game tomorrow, remember?"

Harry's mouth worked, and he sighed. "Uhm... right. Yeah."

"Daft bugger." Ron shook his head.

He had a growing niggling feeling that he was forgetting something... forgetting something rather important.

"Suppose we should go down to breakfast soon. I'm starving."

Harry smiled at that. There. That was more like regular Ron. He felt the thing he should have remembered float achingly close to clarity, and he fought to take a hold of it, to understand it in every way, but ever time he did get close to pinning it down it would slip away like a frog's egg in a puddle. He barely heard the footsteps that came down the walkway from the girls dorms, but it was the familiar smell of her flowery perfume and the Muggle shampoo she used that let him know she entered the room. He glanced up to look at her with a smile.

She was storming through to the Portrait Hole, hugging a pile of books to her chest with even more in her bag. She seemed to have missed that he and Ron were there at all.

"Hey, morning, you!"

Hermione stopped. She turned, very slowly, and as she faced him he realised that there was a scowl on her face. Ron glanced to her and then to Harry, a goading look about him.

The girl just shot an impatient sigh. "What do you want?"

Harry's heart fell, and a jab of hurt stung him. "I-I - I was just saying good morning..."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh I'm sure you were, and then you were going to cleverly segue into some taunt about how my hair looks like something one would see growing from a horse's arse. Well I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I don't have the patience for it today. You're going to have to get your fun from someone else!" With that she spun on her heel and swept from the room.

Harry sat there, mouth working, shock numbing his entire body. Ron was shaking his head, giving a click of his tongue.

"She got you that time. Need to keep your game up, mate."

"What's wrong with her?!" he found himself gasping.

"I gave up wondering that ages ago," said Ron. "Ever since first year I've stuck to my theory that she's totally mental."

"No, she's not..." said Harry, feeling his hackles slowly rise.

Ron tittered. "Yes, she is. What... you like her or something?"

Harry blinked. "Of course I do. She's-"

He stopped. It had to be the distraction of seeing Hermione and having her give him the cold shoulder, as like many things one forgets and fights to remember, it dropped right into the forefront of his mind as clear as day at the most unpredictable and unexpected moment.

This wasn't his home. This was the Pool of Possibilities.

He cleared his throat and waved a hand. "She's not bad."

Ron shook his head and choked. "Yeah… for a hag..."

Harry felt his hackles rise again and he grit his teeth, plastering a smile on his face and chuckling as genuinely as he could. It didn't help that he was having visions of smacking Ron behind the ear for his trouble. He jumped to his feet, eager to change the subject. He rubbed his hands together, smiling probably a little too brightly.

"Let's go eat. We know you don't function if you consume less than your own body weight each day..."

"Haw haw," Ron said with a sourly amused look.

Well... at least Ron wasn't too different here. He'd need something of the same-old to ground him, because if any of the other relationships he had with his classmates were as different as his relationship with Hermione, he wasn't sure if he could cope.

~~*~~

Harry wasn't sure why, but the utter shock of having Hermione turn on him and react in a totally despising way had left him feeling rather numb and unhappy. She might as well have walked up to him and slapped him; it would have hurt less and lasted only a moment. Ron was no help to ease his mood. Obviously the boy had no idea what was bothering Harry and if Harry even mentioned it, it seemed like he'd laugh in his face sooner than try to console him on the matter.

This world he walked through was exactly like the one he left, but there was something imperceptibly different, as if everything had moved an inch to the right.

"Dean, that frigging plonker! If I've told him once I've told him a thousand bloody times - if he touches my sister, I'll kill him."

Harry looked up and was welcomed to the sight of Ron scowling bitterly. Harry couldn't help but chuckle amusedly.

"Is there anyone you would let your sister go out with?"

Ron looked Harry up and down. "I don't know - I'm slowly running out of candidates." He gave a decisive sniff. "They keep ending up to be arseholes."

The corner of Harry's mouth lifted in a smirk. "What about Neville then?"

Ron's scowl cleared, and he stared at Harry like he was a genius. "Hey! That's a great idea!!"

Ron had apparently taken him seriously, and this Harry found surprising. He didn't have long to ponder this, however. They'd rounded the corner into the Great Hall, and the smell of hot breakfast foods hit them.

Harry ambled over to his regular spot, piling bacon and eggs onto the plate before his bottom had even touched the bench. He looked over to Neville's regular spot, ready to say hello to the boy and receive the usual meek greeting in return. He had to look twice, as on the first glance he thought Neville wasn't there.

"N-Neville..." Harry's mouth wanted to stop working and go on strike with his brain. "Morning."

Neville's hair wasn't the usual boring bowl-cut. It was a trim and layered style, combed back neatly from his forehead, ending in light curls. With the hair swept back it didn't make his face look so round, and it was made clear that his brows were actually becoming angular as he grew older. While Neville took a bite of toast he glanced up and nodded at Harry in a manner so laid back and easy that Harry felt immediately uncool.

In fact, the young man across from him reminded him eerily of a young Remus Lupin. Like this, Neville was almost handsome.

Harry looked around him, feeling very disorientated, and immediately laid eyes on Hermione. She was hunched over a book like usual, but she was sitting away from everyone, isolated. Harry leaned to Ron, forgetting himself for a moment.

"Why is she sitting on her own?"

Ron looked up long enough between shovelling food down his throat to spare Hermione an idle glance.

"Cause nobody likes her, of course," he said. "Blimey Harry, did you brains fall out your ears in your sleep or something?"

"Uhm... probably," he murmured, gazing at Hermione.

She looked so very lonely. She seemed to frown almost constantly, and she was missing that self-assured air she was supposed to have. She looked like an animal used to being harrassed and taunted. Maybe if he tried to become friends with her, people would like her too.

It confused him - why weren't he and Ron friends with Hermione? She was so smart and clever and pretty. He had a really hard time coming up with any reasons to dislike her, though he knew Ron was always a bit impatient with her studiousness and caution.

The huge question was - why didn't he like her? This other self of his?

"God, you really must be out of it today," said Ron around a mouthful of eggs. "Starin' at Granger like she's the only girl in the room."

Harry's cheeks burned, and he set his eyes down to his food again. "I just feel bad about this morning."

Ron laughed. "Why? It's the usual charming banter you'll get from her, the crabby old hag."

Anger rocketed through Harry again, and he looked up to Ron.

"Maybe if you weren't so mean to her she wouldn't treat you so badly."

Ron stared at him like he had just said he wanted to fulfill his dream and get a sex-change operation to become Harriet.

"She's been like this since the first day!" he gasped. "None of the girls can stand her either! And for good reason! There's just no befriending people like her."

Harry snorted, digging at his breakfast with a fork. "Not surprising she doesn't like you with that sort of attitude..."

"Listen, mate," said Ron, ears growing red as he became irritated. "I don't mind you letting me know when I'm being a wanker, but turning around and calling me on insulting Granger is a little hypocritical when you've been calling her McGonagall Junior for six years straight, you know what I mean?!"

A hot jolt fell through Harry, and his stomach recoiled. He didn't feel so hungry anymore.

"Well, maybe I might stop calling her names," he said evenly. "And we'll see what happens."

Ron snorted. "You'll be lucky if she doesn't hex you into next week for your efforts."

Somehow, Harry thought he'd rather be hexed for being nice than liked for being cruel.

~~*~~

It seemed that despite some things being wildly different, that his timetable was exactly the same. This was a relief - he'd hate to have to learn it all over again. Harry was distracted enough without having to worry about where he was going. He noticed that wherever he went he was received with a quiet sort of awe. It wasn't the same kind as he had back home. That was tinged with fear. This awe was an automatic respect that people showed him, as if he were a professor himself. It was rather unsettling.

From what he could gather after going to his classes for the day, and spending time in the Great Hall at lunch, he seemed to be vastly popular, and it was a secure and firm popularity based on his great skill as a Seeker rather than his great abilities as a wizard, or the fact that he was The Boy Who Lived. In face everyone seemed incredibly laid back about life, and there was not a trace of evidence that Lord Voldemort ever existed.

That's... that's what I wanted, wasn't it? For him not to have been born... He looked about himself. Well... everyone did seem much happier than in his own world.

After his last class he was on his way back to the Tower, and he had the surprise of his life as a Hufflepuff girl ran by him, meeting up with a girl from Ravenclaw, waving a copy of Witch Weekly madly.

"He made it on the cover, he made it, Jen!"

"Ohhh, my God!"

As the girl drew close, he could see a brightly grinning Cedric Diggory on the cover of the magazine, the words "New Quidditch Heartthrob" plastered all over it. His mind spun sickly, and he barely noticed the girls noticing that he was there. They smiled shyly at him, offering a chorus of "Hello, Harry!"

"Hi," he managed before striding off towards Gryffindor Tower.

He all but slammed the portrait closed behind him, much to the Fat Lady's disgust he was sure. He was in an unbelievably bad mood. Ron had been very much himself all day, but there was a cocky assuredness about him that definitely got on his nerves. Ron's barbs at Malfoy were just as cutting as usual, but disturbingly, their verbal parrying had a friendly undertone to it. It was as if they expected to be like this toward each other, and underneath it all they didn't really care that their families were supposed to hate each other.

As he strode towards the fire the first and second years scattered from his immediate vicinity, and he hated it as much here as he did back home.

He could feel her sitting at the chair by the fire. Had he been back home, he would have expected her to say, "We're in a temper, are we?" or something gently teasing like that.

Here, she was silent, and she pulled the book right up over her face.

He found himself staring at her again. He'd not said a thing to her all day, and he was surprised to find him yearning to hear her chatter about her lessons, about her new study plans... about anything. This quiet, retiring young woman was partly his fault, he knew it. He sat down in the chair across from her.

"What are you reading?"

"None of your business," she replied without pulling down the book.

He gulped. "I was only asking-"

"And I'm only telling you to leave me alone."

Right... that wasn't going to work. He looked about himself. He wasn't sure how much time he was going to spend in this basin thingy... maybe a whole day? Well... if he was going to be stuck here for the rest of the day, he might as well make an attempt to make it up to Hermione. Perhaps it'd teach his other self a lesson or two.

Except... his other self was an algorithm, based in speculative magic.

For now, it was real, as real as anything. Hell, who knew - maybe his 'real' life was a bad dream after all. The longer he spent here, the less real it seemed.

"Did you have a nice day?" he asked her.

"I wasn't aware that you cared what kind of day I have," she muttered from behind the book.

Harry looked from himself to her. They were a good two yards away from each other, and Harry decided this was too far away. He got up and sat in the couch just next to the chair, so close that the armrests were touching. He leant in and looked at the book.

"Oh, Herbology!" he said. "I was reading that this morning. I'm pretty sure I remember enough kinds of exotic pus-producing succulents for the test this week."

Brown eyes glanced to him from behind the edge of the book, and she tutted.

"Very good, Mr. Potter, but that was in last week's test. We're working on thorned blooms this week."

Shit. Well, they were a week ahead of his own reality then. She seemed to have picked up on his disappointment, and Harry was comforted to see that this Hermione could sense his moods as well as his own.

"Don't worry, I'm sure your admirers won't mind if you're thick as two wet planks laid end on end. They'll still love you."

Harry shrugged, looking to the slowly burning fireplace. "Does anyone talk to you?"

Hermione huffed heavily. "Oh, very subtle. Rub it in that I'm unpopular." She pulled the book down and glowered at him. "I don't know if you noticed, Mr. Potter, but I don't care if people talk to me or not."

He hated how she called him that. She said his name like it was a swear word.

"You do," he said, "Or you wouldn't be unhappy all the time."

She snorted. "What on earth gives you the idea I'm-"

"I can see it in your eyes," he said, leaning his cheek on the winged edge of the chair and staring at her mournfully. "They always look a darker colour when you're sad."

He wasn't sure where that came from and he felt quite foolish now he'd said it. Hermione cocked a lip, looking rather horrified and equally suspicious. She even glanced around to see if anyone was watching this. Satisfied that no one was, she leaned in, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not going to work." She snapped her book shut, standing and striding forward.

Harry grabbed her hand, frowning.

"No, stay."

She glared at him. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but I want to talk to you. All Ron talks about is Quidditch and everyone else is too intimidated to talk to me about anything."

She laughed darkly. "Well... that's your fault, isn't it? You reap what you sew, Potter. Better get used to the life you've set up for yourself."

She walked off without another word, and Harry felt very very alone.

~~*~~