Lucky

napalmnacey

Rating: PG13
Genres: Angst, Drama
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 22/02/2004
Last Updated: 22/02/2004
Status: completed

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.

Chapters

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

1. Chapter One

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.

~~*~~

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Harry didn't feel much like dinner. He pushed his food around on his plate with a fork, leaning on a hand, largely ignoring the banal chatter about him. It was mostly about who was saying what to who, who asked who out... blah blah blah...

"Where were you today?"

Harry looked up. Behind him stood Cho, her arms folded, her hair in an utterly shocking bobbed style. He gulped, trying to find his voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Today," she said, "I was waiting for you in the hall for half an hour!"

"I didn't know I - I mean I forgot-"

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously! Listen, Harry. You've been pretty flakey of late, and I know you've been under a lot of pressure in Quidditch, but it's really no excuse." She stepped forward, nuzzling her lips to his ear, speaking very low. "There's been rumours that you've been... well... interested in other options. If I hear you've been exploring those options whilst still engaged with mine, I'll make you wish you were never born."

She patted his cheek, smiling coolly, looking like poisoned honey, before turning and walking off with an unmistakable sashay.

Ron chuckled darkly. "She's a killer, that woman," he said, shaking his head and putting some chop into his mouth. "Don't know how you could stand having someone like her for your girlfriend. Me? I'm happier with a nice pretty girl that won't give me any gyp."

If Ron had said that back home, Harry would have most certainly snorted at him with utter disgust. In this situation, he just frowned at him. He was paranoid about making waves, having some strange fear that they'd find out that he wasn't their Harry, the Harry they knew. Or maybe they'd think he was mentally ill and send him to St. Mungo's.

Still - they couldn't commit him for failing to be a bastard, could they?

Yeah... A chill took him. He was a bastard all right. Just like his dad had been in the vision of Snape's Pensieve.

He shook that thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on anything else. As a result he ended up intensely studying his peas.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry looked up. Neville was speaking to him, wiping at the corners of his mouth deftly with a white napkin and looking for all the world like the Wizards' James Bond.

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

"Well... I know you're probably nervous about tomorrow, but don't worry. I'm sure the new team will do fine this year."

Harry nodded, only half listening to what Neville was saying. He really couldn't give a stuff about Quidditch right now.

"Your parents will be coming to watch, I expect?" said Neville. "Mine will be, they love a good game of Quidditch."

Harry nearly choked on own tongue at that remark, and he felt rather foolish after the fact. Of course Neville's parents would be sane enough to attend a Quidditch match... Voldemort never existed... his Death-Eaters never tortured them to the brink.

Neville sighed, patting his stomach. "Well... I'd best be off. I've got a lot of studying to do for that Herbology assignment." He gave Harry a mildly concerned look. "If you knew what was good for you, you'd study a bit too. Can't depend on Quidditch for the rest of your life, can you?" He smiled a kind, genuine Neville smile before striding off with an unmistakable confidence.

Harry stared at his meal again, mind going over what Neville said. Parents coming to watch... his will be... parents... He felt as though he'd suddenly dropped six feet out of the air. His parents, he would see them! Meet them! Tomorrow! If... if he were here tomorrow.

He deeply wished that he could stay here, just another day, just to see his Mum and Dad. He was sure it'd be worth any more awful things he could possibly find out. He was sure of it.

~~*~~

Just as Harry changed into his pyjamas, there was a frenzied scratching and fluttering at the window. The last he'd known, Hedwig had been in the owlery.

"Harry," groaned Dean sleepily from his bed. "It's for you."

Harry darted over to the window, and opening it a magnificent dappled brown owl with big yellow eyes swooped into the room, landing on his bed imperiously. It walked in a bit of a funny circle, lifting the leg with a letter attached.

"All right... let's see here..."

He pulled away the letter, and with a perfunctory nip, the bird shot out the window again in a flap of its enormous black wings.

"Oh, Apollo dropped off a letter then?" Ron asked, walking over to his bed after entering the room.

Harry nodded quietly. He looked at the writing on the envelope - it was flowing and pretty. Who was it from? Could it have been...? He didn't dare let himself get too excited, but he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he tore open the envelope.

My Dear Harry,

Your father and I shall be popping over to Hogwarts in time to see you briefly before the game. I know you'll be busy preparing yourself for the match, so we won't get in your way. We know you like your space. You're so like your father in that way.

We hope to catch up with you after the match, even if it's just for ten minutes. You'll no doubt have a lot of lovely parties to go to, but we like to see how our son is doing. You grow so fast you know.

Please give Ron and Cho my love, and take good care of Hedwig.

All my love,

Mum.

Not for the first time that day, Harry felt a numb sense of shock. His heart ached within him, and he looked at the letter with utter disbelief. He clutched the letter in his hands, his brain trying to make sense of what he read. Just ten minutes with his parents? Just... just ten?! He fought the sore spot in his throat and stuffed the letter into the pocket of his pyjamas.

"What did it say?"

Harry looked over at Ron, shrugging. "Mum and Dad want to see me tomorrow." Those words felt odd in his mouth. He couldn't comprehend meaning them.

"Great," said Ron. "Your Dad can give me a few tips. My Chasing needs pepping up a bit."

Oh. Ron was a Chaser. Well... this was good.

Harry climbed into bed, the combined shocks and surprises of the day leaving him numb, and a little detached from reality. He prayed, as hard as he'd ever prayed for anything, that when he woke tomorrow, it was in this reality, and not his own. Even if it was just to see his parents, for ten measley minutes.

He was so looking forward to see them it took him a long time to get to sleep, and even when he did find it, it was restless and light.

~~*~~

"Harry!"

Harry frowned. Voice. Voice calling him. Who was calling him?

"Harry, wake up! It's the best day of the week!"

Harry groaned. "What day?"

"Saturday, you daft beggar!"

Something soft and puffy slammed into his head, and he could only assume that it was a pillow. He let an eye crack open, and he wished he had gotten at least a couple more hours sleep.

"Up you get!" Ron cried, yanking on one of Harry's legs. "It's the start of the season!"

Harry rolled slowly out of bed, rubbing his hair with a tired smile. "Thanks for the reminder..."

"No problem, Captain!" Ron playfully saluted him, and Harry nearly choked.

He was captain? Team captain?!

Of course, he thought, of course. I shouldn't be surprised by this sort of thing anymore. Apparently I can be the biggest arsehole on the face of the earth and still considered as the Second Coming...

Ron and Harry trotted down the steps to the Common Room, and Harry felt the familiar fluttering in his chest that he'd get before a game. Unfortunately it was compounded with the nervousness of not knowing the other team's line-up (was it the same as his own reality?) and the fact that he was going to see his parents this morning.

He followed Ron, who determinedly strode towards the portrait hole. In the corner of his eye he could see a familiar figure hunched in the chair by the fire. Clearing his throat, he tapped Ron on the shoulder.

"Uhm... I've forgotten something. I'll meet you in the Great Hall, yeah?"

Ron glared at Harry, then cast a speculative glance at Hermione before nodding. "Sure thing."

Something about the look his lanky friend gave him chilled him to the bone. It was cold... judicial. He waited for the boy to close the painting door behind him before turning about and approaching the chair by the fire.

"I notice you weren't keen to approach me with Weasley around..." Hermione looked over the particularly large book in her lap. "A good thing. You know he wouldn't agree with you spending time with someone like me."

Harry frowned. "What... unpopular?"

She gave a dark, empty chuckle. It frightened him.

"If you want to call it that, sure."

He shifted nervously as he stood in front of the girl in the chair, and after a tense moment, he sat in his spot close to her.

"Can I ask you something?"

She snorted lightly, eyes glued to the pages of her book. "No doubt you're going to ask me anyway."

"I know it might be silly but... will you wish me luck?"

He felt stupid for asking her this, but back home he'd barely gone a game without her wishing him luck beforehand.

Her eyes met his, and she seemed a little incredulous. "Luck? Since when have you needed luck? You're the best Quidditch player ever to have gone to Hogwarts and you know it."

"Well, I'm nervous," he said, ignoring the compliment that sounded suspiciously like an insult. "It's just... I really need to hear you say it, Hermione."

The young woman flinched as he said her name, said it softly, needily, the emotion clear in his eyes. Hermione tutted, looking back to her book.

"You're having me on."

"I'm not, I'm really not," he said, leaning towards her, his hand curling about her forearm. For a moment he forgot that she had no idea that he didn't belong here. All he cared about was having her look at him and not look as though she hated him with every inch of her soul. "I don't know what I've said to you over the years to make you hate me like this... from what I can tell it's really bloody awful. All I know is that I need you, Hermione, I really... It's going to be a tough day today. And before I can face I just need to know... need to know you're behind me."

Brown eyes wide and gleaming from his impassioned words, she peered at him, as if he were someone she had never met before. Her eyes were tinged red, and maybe he was imagining it, but he could swear he saw the sheen of tears rim them. All he wanted to do was lean his forehead against hers, feel her close...

She shuddered, a tear spilling down her cheek. "You're having fun, aren't you? A lot of bloody fun!"

He shook his head, feeling a lump grow in his throat. "I'm not, I swear to God I'm not..."

"Does Cho Chang know about this?"

"I don't give a damn about Cho right now," he said, pulling the book from her hands (much to her annoyance) and clutching her arms in his.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, I suppose you've gotten tired of her and want a bit of a thrill seek by going out with a m-"

His patience flew from his grasp, and he pulled her forward, kissing her soundly upon her trembling lips. Some part of him couldn't believe he was doing this to Hermione of all people, but the rest of him just needed her as close to him as he could manage, and never have her away from him again. He moved his lips against hers, caressing them, pouring all his care and affection into the desperate movements. He could feel her little hands clutch his shoulders, her breath growing quick and her lips moving frantically, until she grew still. Just as suddenly as it started, she yanked herself away, fingers digging into his shoulders as she pushed him away angrily. Before he knew what was going on he heard a loud cracking sound, and his cheek was on fire.

He covered the cheek where she slapped him with a shaking hand, gazing at her with a mystified expression.

"Don't you come near me again!" she hissed, gathering her books into her arms and hurrying off up the stairs.

"Hermione!" he called.

"Never again!" she cried shrilly.

Harry gulped, shamed as a tear tumbled down his face. He wiped it away, a dent in his brow. He hoped that he met up with his parents soon, as this reality was really wearing on him.

~~*~~

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team, or what he assumed was the Quidditch Team since they hadn't changed into their robes yet, all stood and cheered as he entered the Great Hall. All except Ron, that is, who stirred his breakfast thoughtfully. As Harry came close he smiled to his friends encouragingly.

"Are we ready for our game today?" he asked them.

"You bet!" piped up Dean, and Seamus nodded enthusiastically.

Harry was quietly surprised that Ginny wasn't on the team. Then again, looking over at her, she was surrounded by girls in her year, looking rather well-kempt and pretty, looking for all the world like a red-headed Lavender Brown.

Harry sat down, leaning toward Ron, trying to contain the panic he felt rising. He had no idea what kind of side he had, or what kind of game he should play. He didn't even know what kind of team he was opposing. The Slytherin Team ate neatly and whispered imperceptibly to each other, eyes shifty and taking in everything about them. They made Harry really damned nervous.

"Has the line-up changed at all?" he asked Ron, very pleased that he managed to think of such a clever question.

"No," said Ron. "It's the same as it was listed last week."

Ron offered nothing else, and Harry felt a spoiling feeling in his stomach that was only agitated by the suspicious gleam in his supposed best friend's eyes.

He didn't eat much breakfast and he tried to keep his mind on the upcoming match, but it only served to make him feel more nervous, as he had no idea what kind of game he was walking into. It would be like playing blind, not to mention the fact that he'd never captained before in his life. Ron was much better suited to such a task.

He strode out the main doors of the castle with the team, trailing behind them a little as they all made for the Quidditch Pitch. He was concentrating so hard on keeping his head together that the slap on the shoulder he received from out of the blue made him jump in his step and skid to a halt.

"There you are!" came the deeper but scarily familiar voice. It sounded eerily like his own. "Neville said you'd already left..."

Harry was too frightened to turn. It was silly, he knew it, but he was too scared to turn his head and look at who was talking to him. What if it wasn't him? What if this was all a cruel disappointment? Everything else had been.

"Harry... are you all right?"

It was the female voice that broke through the fear, it was that voice that seized his throat and set his eyes burning with tears. He gulped, turning about disjointedly, a slow silent sob in his throat.

"M-" He choked, gulping. "Muh--"

She was so beautiful. Even though she looked older than the reflection he saw in the Mirror of Erised, she looked so incredibly beautiful that it broke his heart. Her eyes were the kindest he'd ever seen, and there was care there, worry, and it wasn't for anyone else - it was all for him. He struggled to swallow, trying to control himself without much success. Lily needed only to glance at him momentarily before she was over by his side in a shot, warm gentle hands at his cheeks, tilting his head to hers.

"Harry," she gasped, pulling him into a hug, and Harry hugged back with all he had, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I love you Mum," he breathed, emotion rattling his words. "I love you so much..."

"Oh I know, darling, I know..." she said in a soft moan of agreement. "What's brought this on then? This is supposed to be a happy day..."

"Nerves," said his father with a short, affectionate smile. Harry looked to the man, and without a care as to how sissy it would be, he broke away from his mother and launched himself into his father's arms.

"I've missed you guys," he said, "I've really missed you!!"

James was still for a moment, seemingly taken aback. Slowly his arms tightened around his son, and he thumped the boy's back fondly.

"Come on, Harry," he said. "You only saw us three weeks ago!" He gave a brash smile as he stepped back out of the hug. "Usually you like us in small doses!"

Harry tried to rein in the horrified look he knew was forming on his face, and he looked back and forth between his parents with teary-eyed adoration.

"Well I'm a spoilt little brat who doesn't know how bloody lucky he is," he said, voice shaking. He wrung his hands as his parents looked both puzzled and overwhelmed. "I'm - I'm really glad you're here."

Lily tutted, cupping Harry's cheek and smiling at him.

"Come on now, sweetie, that's enough of that kind of talk, all right? Now, we'll walk with you to the pitch and after the game we'll stop by the Entrance Hall and meet you there. We can go for a nice long walk and talk about whatever's bothering you..." She tilted her head, green eyes that were just like his staring right into him with so much love, Harry thought he'd burst. "... Okay?"

He nodded numbly, and looking about himself he realised he'd dropped his broom.

"It's here," said James, and picking it up, he handed it to him. "Look after it, Harry, it cost us a fair knut!"

Harry looked to the Firebolt, only noticing now that it had his name painted on in a customized gold decal. His mouth worked helplessly for a moment till it settled on a simple, "I'll... I'll see you guys after the match then."

Lily grinned brightly, tiptoeing to ruffle his hair. "You betcha, my scruffy boy!" She gave a winning gnash of her teeth and poked her fore-knuckle into his cheek. "Fly happy!"

A grin burst on Harry's face, and he squeezed Lily's hand. "I will."

James winked at his son before winding his arm about Lily, leading her away to the game. He stopped suddenly, snapping his fingers.

"Oh, I forgot. I'm not sure if you were told - they wanted to keep it a surprise, but the Minister for Magic will be watching the game today!"

The Minister for Magic? What on Earth? Since when did someone so important care about such a piddling match between two school houses?

"Don't look so confused, Harry," said James. "After being here all those years it's almost his second home. You know he likes to keep a good eye on it now he's in office."

Harry nodded vaguely, wondering who the hell his father could have been talking about. His parents waved at him and wished him good luck as they trod off towards the stands. Harry stood there, an uneasy feeling settling upon him as he thought about all the things that had been strange to him.

Hermione's outcast status... Neville's seeming popularity and coolness... Ginny's popularity and posh attitude... Ron and Draco's ability not to despise each other with a simple look... Harry's own sycophantic following...

He shook himself and started for the Quidditch Pitch. He simply didn't have all day to wonder about this. He wanted the ruddy game to be over already, so he could spend time with his parents again. He hurried off for the change rooms, preparing himself to give a speech to the troops.

~~*~~

He was sure he never felt so bloody humiliated in his entire life. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow, and the unbelieving stares of his teammates gave him terrible goose-pimples. Harry fumbled with the chalk as he pointed it to the blackboard behind him, his voice quivering as he spoke.

"And... with that... with... Malfoy distracted... the Chasers can go in-"

"Not with Crabbe and Goyle beating," piped up Dean. "Don't you remember watching their practice? Those two thugs do the most of the defending!"

Harry's insides turned cold and squirmed. This was no good. Everything he'd said had turned out to be a terrible tactic, and he was convinced he simply did not have what it took to be captain. His place was free and roaming the pitch, eye out for the prize...

He took the chalk and stuffed it in Ron's hand.

"You show them," he said, "You tell them what to do."

Ron stared at him. "Harry... *you're* the Captain!"

"I'm not feeling up to it!" he cried, pulling Ron to his feet and pushing him towards the board. "Do me a favour and just - start this game off for me, all right?"

Ron looked enraged. Indeed, his hands shook as he pointed roughly at the board, drawing savage arcs and crosses here and there and barking names and positions.

Harry sank onto a bench, watching him, relief mingling with terror. His thoughts drifted back to two things; how unbelievable it was to hug his parents after having them on some other side of a mirror or in a stupid black and white picture for all these years, and how great it felt to kiss Hermione, even if she did slap him silly afterwards. He just wished she didn't dislike him so damned much... It made him miss home more than anything else he knew.

"Right!" said Ron. "That's the game. It's going to be a sneaky one, so be careful. Harry - you do your thing, mate, and we'll be fine."

Harry nodded, barely aware of the team chanting to each other and ambling out the door. He followed them until Ron grabbed him and positioned him out the front of the pack. The huge wooden doors loomed before them, and he could hear the cheer of the crowds grow with tumultuous waves of fervour, the rumble and shake of their feet on the stands increasing with each moment. It was the familiar sound that Harry found terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He could understand why his counterpart would want to do this for a living, to hear this cry for always.

He knew, however, that there were much more important things in the world than playing Quidditch.

The commentator's voice rang out and the doors swung open before them. Harry felt like a soldier as he marched out onto the pitch. The cheer was deafening, and Madam Hooch's voice was reedy over the noise.

"I want a clean fair game!" she shouted. "Three... two..."

She blew the whistle and threw the quaffle into the air.

~~*~~

3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Harry was relieved that the team he was playing against was really pretty lousy. Most of the talent left with the last lot of graduates, and all that was left was Draco Malfoy and his band of goons. He surveyed the field, the other players zooming around, their brightly coloured cloaks fluttering (the Slytherins rather aimlessly, truth be told). He cast a brief glance to the stands, wondering which two spots of colour were his parents. He took his mind off that and looked back to the game.

It was amazing. Up here, flying around, looking down on the stands and the other players, there was no difference between this place and the home he knew. Up here he could just fly.

Fly happy.

Something glinted in the corner of his eye, and he surreptitiously turned the angle of his broom so he could see it without noticeably turning his head. It was the snitch, fluttering about midfield whilst all the action was currently taking place up the Gryffindor goal end. Draco Malfoy was soaring about the Slytherin goal posts, obviously hoping that the charmed little ball would dally about there (as they were sometimes wont to do). He was unsure why Malfoy wasn't following him about incessantly like he usually did in a game. It didn't occur to him at that point that Draco - and he himself - might play differently here. There was plenty of time and space for Harry to dip and get the snitch, as Draco was an unrecoverable distance away from it. Without another thought Harry dove, Malfoy only a distant green blur in the corner of his eye. In the blink of an eye the snitch was struggling in his fist, Harry rolling spectacularly on the sod and ending up on his feet.

The crowd had gone quiet and in a split second their roar burst from the stadiums, whistles, screams and shouts drowning Harry's ears. He couldn't help but thrust his hand up in the air, waving the snitch about in his hand, bathing in the glory of such mind-blowing acceptance. He was sure it would be something he could never get over; that many people being happy over something he did.

The sound of feet pounding upon the turf managed to reach him over the cheering crowd, and he was surrounded and embraced by his teammates, all of them hooting, grinning and jumping with joy.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" shouted Ron, "I didn't know you could PLAY like that!"

Harry tried not to be confused, and he tried to act a little offended. "Play like what?"

"It was so fast!" Dean cried. "Usually you dally a bit and taunt Malfoy with your better broom!"

"Yeah!" piped up Seamus. "And when you do catch the snitch, I mean... it wasn't like *that*! It wasn't so..."

"...driven-" supplied Dean.

"...inspired!" said a boy from third year.

"...incredible!!" finished Ron.

Harry looked about him, disbelief taking him over. That was a completely and utterly perfunctory catch. It was simple, basic and any Quidditch player worth their weight in galleons should be able to do it. The fact that this other him wasn't able to do it was rather a worry. Obviously he must have been quite an average player. How he got such a good reputation was a puzzle to him.

"It was nothing," said Harry. "Any good seeker could do it."

"Yeah," said Ron, his cheer dropping considerably.

The crowd in the stands managed to make it down to the field and were now spilling out onto it, all heading for Harry and the other Gryffindor players. Harry had one thought and one thought only - to get back to his parents. Unfortunately the team had other ideas, and they lifted him up onto their shoulders, throwing him up and down and crying with delight. Soon other hands smacked his legs and bottom, and he was surrounded by students, professors and parents alike. Obviously Quidditch was more popular here than back home, which was a strange thing to think of, as it was already pretty damned popular where he came from.

"Harry!"

The cheering of the crowd was so loud, but Harry thought he'd heard someone call him.

"Harry!!"

He glanced around him. A hand clutched his leg, and looking down he saw James, grinning up at him, Lily by his side. He grinned down at them, pushing himself off his friends and landing in front of them. Without thought he hugged them, the feeling in his heart worth a thousand Quidditch wins laid end on end.

"The Minister wants to congratulate you, Harry!" said Lily, squeezing his shoulder. "Come on, he's just waiting over there!"

The fuss around him was confusing, and Harry held onto his mother's robes, trying to keep close to her in the crush. After struggling for a good minute or two he emerged on the other end of the crowd, and they almost spat him out in front of the Minister from the squeeze.

"Good show, Mr. Potter!"

That voice was eerily familiar. The 's' was excessively hissy, the voice was more gravelly but it was the same high tone that chilled his heart. He looked at the face before him. It was healthy, pink-cheeked, the eyes were blue, the face was rounder than that of the one he remembered thanks to age, but it was the same face. The same wretched awful person.

Harry stood there, jaw dangling and working, eyes glaring at the Minister as if his eyes had just popped out of his sockets.

There was a nudge in his ribs, and Harry heard his father hiss at him.

"Say something, Harry!"

His mouth waggled a moment more, and with great difficulty he found his voice. All he could manage was a strangled, "... YOU!"

James chuckled, and he grinned at Lily. "He can't believe who he's seeing!"

"Come on, Harry," said Lily. "Poor Mr. Riddle has come all this way to see you play! You can say more than that!"

He couldn't stop the waggling of his mouth, nor could he help pointing at the man in front of him. "You... you can't be! You CAN'T BE!"

He didn't see the frowns from the people around him, the puzzlement or the amusement at his seeming momentary dementia. He gulped, shaking his head.

He felt ill. The world was almost spinning around him, and he looked around him, glaring at everyone, even his parents, like mad crazy people. For after all, who in their right mind would make a Minister of Magic of Tom Riddle?

His brain began to struggle for sense. His parents were, after all, absolutely gleeful at the prospect of Harry seeing this man - maybe he was good? Maybe that was what happened... Maybe Tom Riddle never became evil...

Minister Riddle stepped forward, extending a slender hand, and he gave Harry a wide smile, shaking his hand thoroughly.

"Good job, Harry!" he said. "Wonderful effort. It's fine young people like yourself that exemplify the value of strong, pure wizarding blood!"

It was like a slap to the face. Harry felt his throat grow tight, and he yanked his hand away. "My mother's parents are muggles," he said coldly. "Isn't that bad breeding in your mind?"

The crowd closest to them had grown hushed. Riddle tilted his head just slightly, and his eyes twinkled. "Is that so?" He turned, looking to Lily, whose cheeks were bright red, horror on her face. "Is this true, Mrs. Potter?"

Her mouth worked for a moment, and before she even got to speak, Riddle nodded.

"I see."

Harry glanced to his mother. She looked away, cheeks flushed, and she looked as though she'd rather be anywhere else than here. Everyone stared at her for a moment, distrust and disgust in their eyes. James' fingers dug into Harry's arms, and there was definite terror in his eyes. He pulled Harry to him, hissing in his ear again.

"Harry... what the bloody HELL do you think you're saying?!"

Harry frowned, confused.

"The truth!" he cried. "She's Muggle-born. What's wrong with that?"

The crowd gasped, a rush of breath rippling through it, until there was dead silence. He looked about himself, fear and confusion building inside of him. People had stepped away from Lily as if she was diseased, and they stared at her with unveiled contempt. Rage burst from Harry's heart and he glared at everyone.

"What's wrong with you people?!" he shouted. "There's nothing wrong with her! She's a great witch! I bet she could do magic better than most of you here!"

"Harry!" gasped James, and tears were in his eyes too. His expression was shock and pride mingled together, and grief, such grief.

"Thank you for your information, Mr. Potter," said Riddle, stepping forward and taking hold of Lily's wrist. "You will be duly rewarded for reporting an unregistered Mudblood."

Harry choked. "A WHAT?!"

"An unregistered Mudblood..." The voice was Ron's. He was beside Harry now, staring at him like a traitor. "You know the rules, and frankly I'm surprised you didn't do something about this sooner."

"Kind of ironic, really..." Draco pushed forward from the throng, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "You're the poster-boy of Wizard Purity and all along you've been keeping this dirty-little secret..."

"He's full blooded, young Malfoy," said James fiercely. "So you watch your mouth!"

Riddle looked to James Potter calmly. "I shall deal with you later, Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped forward. "Deal with him how?!"

Riddle's calm look settled on Harry now. "It's a criminal offence to fail to register as a Mudblood with the Ministry of Magic, young Harry, and to aid such a crime against the State is as dire." A slow, thin, cool smile spread across the pale face. "I'm afraid that they have some very hard lessons to learn within Azkaban's walls..."

"What lesson?!" cried Harry, grabbing Minister Riddle's arm. "That it doesn't matter who your parents are, or whether you're magical or not? That all people are people?! Does that scare you?" He glared at the people around him. "Does it scare you too?!"

Everyone stared at him as though he'd come from another planet.

Riddle sighed, shaking his head. "I'd hoped better from you, Potter. You showed such promise."

From behind Tom Riddle came a pair of tall, startlingly ugly men who bore a striking resemblance to solid brick walls with legs. This was mainly because they were dressed entirely in grey, the robes tied off with silver ropes and their chests gleaming with medals and silver buttons. Their shoulders were trimmed with silver rope, and they bore insignia on their shoulders and chests: A silver snake winding in a complex Celtic knot and biting its own tail.

The huge men were ones Harry recognised, as he'd seen them before in his own reality in a similar role. Once one saw the bulky and dim looking Crabbe and Goyle senior, they didn't forget them. Harry was past ill. He felt like he wanted to fall over, pass out and not wake up. Now was not the time, however, as the big bulky fellows were heading for his parents.

"NO, YOU'RE NOT TAKING THEM!" he shouted, racing at his parents, wrapping his arms around them.

"Out of the way, Harry," said Riddle. "You're not in trouble, only them..."

"Harry, get out of here," muttered James quietly. "I don't know how you found out about Lily and I don't care. Just get out of here before they take you too."

Harry spun about, meeting his father's hazel eyes. "Dad... I didn't know! I didn't know it was like this! Where I come from it's not like this!!"

James' brows knitted, and he looked deeply into Harry's eyes.

"Look, there's no time I - yaargh!"

Crabbe Sr. took James' arms in his meaty hands, pulling them roughly behind his back. A terrible scream shook Harry's ears then - a scream he'd heard enough times to know he never wanted to hear it again. He whirled about, charging for his mother, her arms being bent cruelly at a painful and terribly wrong angle behind her back, tears streaming down her face. Goyle Sr. chuckled dully at her agony.

"LET HER GO!" roared Harry, pounding his fists into Goyle Sr., ignoring the pawing hands about him, the shouting and jeering of the crowd that encouraged the big brutes to take his parents.

"Harry, no!" Lily sobbed. "Run! Just run!"

Harry shook his head, grabbing hold of her as the senior Crabbe and Goyle began to drag his parents away from him. "I won't leave you! I'll never leave you!"

"Please!" she cried. "For me!"

"Listen to your mother, Harry!" cried James over his shoulder. "Run!"

The hands of the crowd pulled Harry back, despite his growling struggle. As he pulled his arms away, more hands would grab him and yank painfully. The big men who had his parents were strong, and no matter how he pounded at their backs and arms and legs, they kept walking as if he'd not hit them at all. His parents struggled too, but it seemed pointless. He almost told them to try to Dis-apparate, but the little voice of Hermione was in his head, telling him that one couldn't Apparate within the borders of Hogwarts.

Hermione... dear God... No wonder she was so unpopular. No wonder Ginny WAS so popular, and Neville, and Ron and Draco... they were so damned popular. How come Dean had friends then?

He lied too... Harry thought. They all lied, the ones that were okay... Only the ones that were honest were...

Harry's heart broke. Damn her. Damn her for being so damned bloody honest. For thinking she could make a difference. It would be just like her, just like Hermione, to buck the world around her and wear her Muggle heritage on her sleeve for all to see.

Harry's arms and legs began to ache as he struggled against the crowd to reach his parents, who were growing farther and farther away from him. His throat burned and tore as he screamed for them to be let go, as he shouted for their sake. But he was one young man against a crowd of hundreds and slowly and surely he was swept away from them, deposited back in front of Minister Riddle like a criminal.

Harry rolled over as all those around him pushed him over and onto the sod. He struggled to get up, but the Junior Crabbe and Goyle, and Draco Malfoy, pushed him to his knees.

Minister Riddle bent over in front of him, peering into his eyes. "I always had a feeling about you, young Potter." He stood, huffing darkly. "I had hoped it meant good things... but now I see that it does not. You've disappointed me gravely today." The old, greying man paced in front of Harry, shaking his head and tutting. "You are very, very lucky that you reported your mother to me; such a favour to the State might just make up for the fact that not only did you seem to be unaware that her Mudblood status was a matter of the utmost distaste and repugnance, but that you didn't intend to get your mother into any trouble at all, and didn't see anything wrong with her disgusting and horrid family background!"

Harry grit his teeth. It would do no good to shout his views. He'd just get dragged off by heavies too. He had to get home... But he had to talk to Hermione first.

"What have you got to say for yourself, young man?"

Harry stared at Minister Riddle defiantly. "Nothing."

Riddle curled a lip, flaring a nostril rather unattractively, looking down his nose at Harry.

"Of course not. Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy... let him go. I'm sure Dumbledore will deal with him appropriately for his indiscretions here this afternoon."

Harry was shoved down to the ground again, and as he lay there, feeling torn to pieces from all that had transpired, he saw the feet of the crowd around him walk away, the voices of his peers low and muttering, darkness in their tones and in their hearts. He wasn't sure how long he sat in the mud, prostrate, smelling the sod under his nose and listening to the world about him. With the crowd gone, he could hear the birds whistling and flitting about on the wing. He could hear the canvases of the colourful Quidditch stands flap heavily in the breeze, and the rustling of the trees in the forest nearby.

He could also hear steps approach him, squish-squishing in the wet grass.

"Look at me."

Harry rolled over, and looking up he saw an enraged Ronald Weasley.

"Get up."

Harry just stared at him. Ron's patience was seemingly non-existent, as he bent over and grabbed Harry by the collar, yanking him to his feet and glaring at him coldly. He leant in close, their noses almost touching, deep hatred chilling the usually warm blue eyes.

"I don't know who are," he breathed, "But lying about Harry's mother and then saying that stuff in the field... you're lucky I don't kill you now!"

"I am Harry!" Harry retorted. "And those things were true!"

Growling, Ron shoved Harry back down onto the grass.

"They're NOT!" he said, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. "Any wizard with an ounce of sense knows that! Muggles are the scum of the bloody earth and HARRY would never say anything otherwise! So tell me who you are before I bloody beat it out of you!"

Ron was angry. Ron was very angry, and Harry knew that if Ron said something, he generally meant it. He quietly thanked God that his own version of Ron was not like this one, and realised slowly that he had to get out of this before Ron pounded him senseless, or worse - hexed him. He looked at Ron, at his clothes... Quidditch gear. He wouldn't have his wand on him, and Harry didn't have his own wand either, but he certainly needed it. Where did he leave it?

The change rooms.

He stared at Ron, extending his hand with a tick of his brow.

"Accio wand!"

"HA!" Ron laughed, shaking his head and stepping over him. "Now, now. If you are Harry, you'd know that he could never do that bloody spell, and that he's terrible in Charms!"

"I assume you're bad at it too then?" said Harry.

Ron's smile drifted off his face.

Harry shook his head. "Too bad."

From the direction of the change rooms came his wand, swooping through the air like an arrow, and lifting his hand up Harry caught it effortlessly. Ron glared at him.

"You're not Harry..."

"Oh, I am Harry Potter," said Harry, standing and pointing his wand at Ron. "Just not the one you know. Petrificus totalus!!"

Ron's entire body went rigid, his eyes snapping open wide. The young man teetered like that for a moment, a wave of a grey stony sheen washing over his body, before he began to lean backwards. After a moment of unsettled wavering he toppled to the floor like an upended plank of wood.

Harry looked to Ron, shaking his head, nudging the fellow with his toe.

Well... he didn't have much time to waste. He wasn't sure if anyone was going to be back for him. After all, just because Minister Riddle said he'd be let off, didn't mean that other people wouldn't think to take justice into their own hands. He would go home - somehow. He wasn't sure how, but he had to find Hermione first.

He ran across the field as fast as he could, broom forgotten, and as he rounded the corner of the Gryffindor entrance, a pair of hands pulled him aside. He cried out in surprise.

A little hand covered his mouth.

"Quiet!"

He looked down. It was Hermione.

"Come with me!" she said, and pulling on his hand she lifted the canvas of the stands that adjoined the entrance walkway and guided him underneath.

He followed her, the pain in his heart for her suffering renewed as he saw her.

"Hermione-"

"You're not him."

He blinked. "That's what Ron said..."

Hermione gave a tutting laugh. "Well! He's not as stupid as I thought he was then!"

Harry thought to ignore that jab. "What makes you think I'm not... I'm not- Harry?"

"Dear me," chuckled Hermione darkly, crossing her arms and arching a brow. "You really should study the subject you're aiming to replace a little better. Unless... you were meant to act completely out of sorts, which is a brilliant strategy in itself, I must admit... Hah." She paced back and forth, running her fingertip over her bottom lip. "So who are you?"

"I'm Harry," he said. "Harry Potter."

She giggled. "Sure you are. The darling of Purebloods everywhere, the most vocal anti-Muggle representative since Thomas Riddle himself, not only turns around and outs his mother as a Muggle-born, not only kisses a Muggle-born" She stepped forward and pushed her face in his to emphasise this point, "But he also mouths off at said Thomas Riddle with the sort of thing that has sent lesser known Wizards into Azkaban for life!"

Harry frowned. "Why didn't he send me there too?"

She snorted, turning away. "Can't do that. You're the darling, remember?" She looked over her shoulder then, brown eyes glinting. "He'll get rid of you, all right, but he'll pull you apart piece by piece and destroy everything you are so he doesn't look bad."

Harry watched her move, watched her think. Like so many times, he read her body language, her behaviour, and he began to know a little more about what was going on.

"You knew the way Wizards looked at Muggle-borns, didn't you?" he said, stepping closer to her. "You knew they hated them when you registered yourself."

"Of course I did!" she said, turning to face him. "Do you really think I'm going to lie and pretend to be something I'm not? To be ashamed of the wonderful people who made me who I am?" She curled a lip. "Like Dean? Like Seamus? Not me!" She shook her head thoroughly. "I made a point not only of registering my status, but being proud of it." She lifted her chin. "And I am proud of it. I told everyone. I didn't shy away. The Muggle-born Wizard movements encourage that, you know. I have the documentation."

Harry smiled. "You would."

She looked him up and down. "So who are you really?"

"I told you," he said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"And I said-"

"No... let me explain..." Harry looked about himself. Underneath the stands stretched post after post, and between them criss-crossed bars and rafters. Behind him was a bar barely a foot from the ground, about a foot wide. "Come sit down..."

He sat down, and leaning aside he offered the place next to him to Hermione. She bent her knees, sitting demurely, eyeing him cautiously. She sat a good three feet from him, and with a roll of his eyes he moved closer.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "Listen... it's all sort of complicated, but I'll try to keep it simple as I can. Basically... I don't come from here. I am Harry, but I'm Harry from... well... this will sound very much like a bad science fiction TV show..."

"Try me," said Hermione, lifting a brow.

"I'm from a different reality."

Her other brow lifted to meet the other one.

4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

It had taken a long time to explain everything, just as he had anticipated. Thankfully Hermione picked things up very quickly, and his explanation of the Pool of Possibilities had hastened her comprehension of the situation quicker than he thought it would. He wished he had mentioned it in the first place.

"S-so I'm not real?" she said.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, I don't think so... but who's to say for sure? Maybe somewhere you are real..." He gulped. "I'd like to think you are."

She blushed, looking down. "The only reason you're like this to me is because there's a Hermione where you come from... one you care about deeply." She gave a tight sigh. "I think I might be jealous of her."

He gulped, taking her hand and wrapping one of his around it. "You don't have to be."

Hermione gave a self-deprecatory laugh, looking down at their hands with a blush. She didn't see Harry tilt his head until his nose touched hers, and she gasped.

"Oh I-"

Harry didn't let her say anything else. He pressed his lips to hers, kissing her soundly, squeezing her hand as his heart soared delightedly. The lips under his were more eager this time, an arm winding about the back of his neck. There was a shock to his soul as her mouth opened beneath his, and it rallied and swelled as he ventured his tongue between her teeth. Just as he felt a warm thrumming through his body at the momentum, Hermione pulled away, shaking her head.

"No... no..."

He frowned. "What?"

She looked up at him, cheeks red. "I think... I think you should save this for the Hermione you know. I think..." She gave a soft smile. "I think you mean it for her anyway."

"You're the same people," he said. "Just the same."

"I know," she said. "But... but you're not the same Harry, and it's no good, me starting something with someone who doesn't belong here."

Harry shrugged. "Who knows... When I go back home, and the other Harry gets back here... he might be in for a bit of a shock. It might knock some sense into him."

Her smile slowly became wider. "I hope so."

Harry nodded. "Me too-"

"Shh!"

Hermione glanced about, her eyes wide, her hands clasped around Harry's arm and digging in. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione shook her head and covered it with her hand.

He soon heard the reason for Hermione's caution. There were voices, a mass of voices, and they were coming closer with every moment. They sounded young and angry.

"Come on!" hissed Hermione, and she grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the other end of the stand. "We have to get back the castle! Now!!"

Harry frowned. "Why?"

Hermione looked to him, no joviality in her eyes. "Because we're in serious trouble now, Harry."

He wanted to go home, he wanted to go home so badly, but he didn't want to leave Hermione here. Logically he knew she wasn't real, logically he knew that this was just an interactive vision in a magical artifact, but his heart tore at the thought of leaving this wonderful girl to the hell around him, no matter what his mind tried to say.

They crawled under the canvas, scrabbling to their feet and sneaking around the corner of the stand - right into Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley.

"Well, well... this certainly makes things clearer, doesn't it, Weasley?" Draco grinned brightly at both Harry and Hermione.

Ron just looked incensed. "You have been poking her!"

Harry stood in front of Hermione, pulling her in closely behind him and glaring death at Ron. "Lovely. I suppose you kiss your mother with that foul mouth of yours, Ronnie?"

His childhood nick-name and the mention of his mother sent Ron into a rage. He jumped forward, looking ready to rip Harry's head off, but the green-clad arms of Draco Malfoy held the angry redhead back.

"Down, Ronald, down," said the boy in a sickly sweet tone. "We don't need to resort to mindless violence, we're Purebloods." A long easy smile spread across the pale pointed face. "Well thought out and viciously cruel violence will do quite nicely."

Ron nodded, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

"I can't believe you're going to do this to your own best friend!" snapped Hermione from behind Harry. "You're an animal, Weasley!"

Ron tipped his head, a grieving look on his face. "I don't know who this git is, but he's not the Harry I know. Whether it's thanks to magical means, or being brainwashed while being between your filthy bloody legs, the end's the same." He pulled himself up to his full and rather considerable height. "He's a traitor and he needs to be dealt with."

"But carefully," said Draco, stepping forward. "Delicately. We're not barbarians, after all."

Harry felt Hermione backing away, and he backed off with her. His eyes watched Draco and Ron, keeping an eye out for their wand hands. His feet kept working backwards, but suddenly he wasn't moving anymore. He heard Hermione squeak behind him, and looking over his shoulder he saw why.

They'd just backed up into a twenty-strong throng of fellow students, and they did not look friendly. Harry could not believe what he was seeing. Mingled together were Slytherins, Gryffindors, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaws, all of them Purebloods. Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Blaize Zabini, Ernie MacMillan, Susan Bones, students he'd seen in his class but had never really talked to... all of them glared at him coldly, viciously.

Hermione huddled to him, shaking terribly, and he wrapped his arms around her, backing away from the students and finding himself pinned against a canvas wall.

Draco Malfoy moved in, shaking his head. "You know, Harry, I really thought that you had better taste than this. I mean... Cho Chang really is a beautiful example of womanhood, and I'm sure she would have been most obliging to you. You didn't have to go ruining everything by going for this waste of magic."

Ron snorted, muttering darkly. "Dipping your dick in dirty blood... it's fucking disgraceful..."

Malfoy glared at Ron. "Quiet. We're dealing with this. Now."

Hermione gasped, and Harry held her tightly to him as the students rushed them. Without another word Harry pulled out his wand, pointing it at Ron and Draco.

"Eicio!"

Both Ron and Draco tumbled away with a blast of red and gold light, as if the force of a cyclone had been pointed directly at them. Hermione gasped again.

"You really aren't from here!" she said. "Harry couldn't duel to save his life!"

"Come on!" he hissed, pulling her with him as they raced away from the band of angry students.

Harry ran for all he was worth, keeping Hermione close to him, his eyes fixed on the portcullis to the castle. In between lay the Whomping Willow, and Harry ran straight for it, hoping to dodge the branches and escape the shouting throng behind him.

As his feet pounded the grass beneath him, the ground exploded here and there, and suddenly Hermione began laughing madly. He glanced behind him only a moment and saw several wands being waved about.

"Finite Incantatem," he breathed, waving his wand at Hermione. "If we're going to make it we have to stop a few of them..."

Hermione nodded, and pulling her wand from her robes she pointed at the crowd as they ran. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Ernie MacMillan toppled back, rigid as a flag-pole.

"Stupefy!" cried Harry. A couple more students tumbled to the ground.

"It's not enough, Harry!" she cried. "There's too many of them!"

"Keep doing it!" Harry hissed. "We have to make it back to the castle!"

They ran on, shouting curses and hexes over their shoulders, picking off students and ducking and dodging wildly aimed magic. By the time they made it to the Whomping Willow there were only nine students left - mostly Slytherins, who would have been free to explore the Dark Arts to their hearts content in this reality. They were far better than Harry anticipated, and this set a dark plunging chill in his heart.

"Harry!" Hermione said. "That tree will pulverise us!"

"Damn it," he muttered. "I should have kept a hold of my broom!"

"Summon it!" she said. "We can fly away from them!"

Harry nodded. "Right! Cover me will you?"

Hermione nodded, shouting curses at their pursuers frantically. Harry lifted his wand, calling out for his broom, the wand emitting a burst of fiery light at his command. He held Hermione close and kept running, glancing behind him to check for his broom.

From over the edge of the stadium down the hill soared his broom, and shooting through the air, gold and true, it hurtled towards Harry.

Harry unwittingly slowed, keeping his eye on the broom, trying to keep clear of the magic being shot at him and still trying to run with all his might. The broom began to soar low, and he shook his head, disbelief taking him at the course the thing took. It wasn't supposed to dip down and travel across the ground like that... It wasn't supposed to go so close to the people he was running away from.

It most certainly wasn't supposed to be caught by Draco with frightening ease. The angry mob of students had had time to catch up now, and there were only a few yards between them and Harry and Hermione. He sped up, pulling Hermione with him, swearing at himself for even trying the accio stunt. Damn it, he thought, I should have kept running!

"I've got your broom, Potter!"

There was a sickening crack.

"Whoops!"

The students behind them laughed and jeered.

"Daddy will buy you another one, won't he, Potter? Unless..." There was a cruel pause. "He's in jail!"

"Keep running, Hermione," he said, feeling the girl tense up with anger next to him. "Just keep-"

"Funibus Conligaris!"

Something curled about Harry. It was insidious, writhing and wriggling between him and Hermione, the girl being pushed away from him. Looking down he saw shimmering magical rope, binding about him so tight he could barely breathe. The stuff wound about his hand, easing his wand from his grip.

"No!"

"Harry!"

Hermione stopped, crouching next to him and grabbing his wand. She stood over him, glaring at the oncoming group with defiance.

Harry struggled, wriggling as much as he could, but he could barely move. He turned his head, looking up at her.

"Run, now... Run!"

"I won't, Harry!" She glanced down at him, brown eyes glinting fiercely. "I'm staying right where I am!"

"No!" he cried. "Please! Please run! They'll hurt you!"

"I'm not leaving you."

"Don't be a stubborn witch!" he growled. "For God's sake! I'm not from here! I can leave! You can't! Go to Dumbledore and save yourself!"

"And what if you can't?!" she cried. "What if you CAN get hurt by being here? I'm not risking it!"

"Why?" Harry said "Why risk yourself for me? You wouldn't even talk to me yesterday!"

"Cause you're not him," she said. "And I know that if you were my friend... like you're her friend... I'd do this."

Damn her stubborn bloody heart! Before he could try to persuade her again, hands were all over him and pulling him to his feet, the girl being snatched away in the bulky arms of Crabbe and Goyle, Draco stepping up to the point just outside of the Whomping Willow's reach, grinning maliciously.

Hermione managed to stun Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode before Crabbe yanked the wands from her hands, snapping them over his knee.

"Tch tch," Draco tisked, shaking his head and standing in front of her. Crabbe and Goyle had hold of her arms, pulling them apart and to a wide uncomfortable angle so she couldn't move without it hurting. He looked over her face, a furrow of thought on his brow. "I do wonder what Potter sees in you. You're not much to look at, are you?"

"Speak for yourself," spat Hermione.

Draco's mouth twitched to a pucker, and with a terrible cracking noise, brought the back of his hand across her face in a fierce blow.

"Get your hands off her, Malfoy!" cried Harry, his blood thrumming in his veins, rage making him feel as though he would burst from his very own skin. Draco afforded him a brief, mildly annoyed look before putting his attentions back to Hermione.

"You better show me a little more respect than that, Mudblood." He stood tall. "I'm your only hope of a nice painless time of it. Hmm?"

Her head lolled forward, no sign of her face amongst the ample tresses of thick mousy brown hair. After a moment she lifted it, enough so that her face could be seen. Blood trickled down her chin, and narrowing her eyes, she spat all that she could at his feet.

Without warning Draco struck her again, this time the other way, and Harry thrashed and flung himself about on the ground. He'd get to the bastard, even if he had to chew his bloody feet off at the ankles...

"Keep your dirty watery blood away from me, you filthy little whore. I was going to be nice. I was going to keep it short for you since you kept your place all these years and stayed out of the way. It's a shame really," he sighed, shaking his head. "Could have been all over like that." He snapped his fingers.

The other purebloods gathered around her, ignoring Harry for the moment.

"Keep out of the way," Draco snapped, pushing the students into a wide circle. "I want the traitor to see this..." He looked to Hermione, flaring a nostril and huffing in satisfaction. "This is the best time I've had in quite a while. Now..." He looked to his classmates, wagging his wand at her. "You all get one shot. Any of you finish the job and I'll do you myself... all right? We're saving that."

The students murmured amongst themselves, getting rather excited. Draco looked to the first student in front of him - a rather incensed Blaise Zabini - and tipped his head towards Hermione.

The handsome young man strode forward and without a twitch of restraint, sent his fist slamming into the young woman's stomach.

"NO!" Harry roared.

She let out a strangled wordless cry, knees giving out underneath her. After a harsh cough she dangled in Crabbe and Goyle's arms.

"Ooh, nice," said Draco.

Another student stepped forward, a Slytherin Harry didn't know by name. Harry grit his teeth, ignoring the hot burn of his face slick with tears, the pounding of his heart in his throat. All he cared about was getting out of the bloody ropes...

The student grabbed a handful of Hermione's hair and yanked with all her might. He saw Hermione squeeze her eyes shut, biting her lip, not saying a word as the huge clump of hair was pulled right out of her scalp.

Harry struggled, trying to worm his way forward to do - well, anything he could manage. He threw his body forward like a silvery-looking seal, rage building as one by one each student doled out their punishment to Hermione. She was slapped, punched, scratched, kicked. One student even bit her on the shoulder so hard it drew blood. Each time it happened Harry felt his heart being torn a little more.

"All right!" shouted Malfoy, looking down at Harry's progress and lifting a brow. "Well. That's good. You saved me moving you to a better vantage point." He went back to Hermione, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back savagely, meeting pain-glazed eyes.

"I think you've had enough... but it's still not going to be completely painless. No. No quick little spell for you. That's too good for you. Too... magical."

He wasn't sure how she did it; she remained stoic, tears in her eyes but defiance making them gleam so beautifully it broke him. It seemed that nothing they did could defeat her spirit.

"Stand him up!"

Blaise and another boy pulled Harry to his feet, and Draco looked to Crabbe and Goyle, looking almost bored but an unmistakable look of victory in his eyes.

"Throw her to the tree."

Harry's throat seized up, his body wracking to get out of the bonds.

Crabbe and Goyle strode forward and without any ceremony whatsoever, threw Hermione up into the air so that she flew up, then sailed right down into the tangled, sharp and vicious branches of the Whomping Willow. They did this as if they were throwing a wayward and annoying stray cat out the door of a city kitchen, and her pain-addled body was limp as she collapsed into the knot of branches.

Harry roared, no words for his rage and utter agony while the tree dealt with the already battered Hermione as it dealt with all things -- huge knobbly branches swinging with scratching angry little ones swiping madly. He watched every impact, every thump, whack and brutal pounding. He felt himself slowly growing numb to the world, watching her get spat out unceremoniously by the savage branches onto the grass, her body flopping about like a rag doll.

Draco turned his eyes to Harry, a smirk sliding across his face. He pulled his wand from his cloak, and pointed it to Harry. "Finite incantatem."

The ropes slid back into Draco Malfoy's wand, and at that Blaise and his friend threw Harry roughly to the ground.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Potter," said Malfoy, pocketing his wand and turning away. "The world hates a Mudblood."

Harry didn't see Malfoy, or the other students moving away, leaving their toppled and momentarily stunned comrades to the Scottish elements. All he saw was Hermione in a crumpled and unmoving heap.

He ran to her, rolling her onto her back, out of the twisted curl she had been in. Her face was scratched and one eye had swollen shut. He gasped, a vocal sob taking him. He cradled her cheek, shaking his head over and over, pulling her into his arms.

"No," he moaned, grief breaking his voice. "No, no, no, no..."

Slowly, her other eye blinked.

"Hermione!"

Her mouth edged open, and as it did, a trickle of blood spilled out. She coughed, a deep thick cough, her brow furrowing. He felt himself shudder, and he pulled her close, rocking back and forth and stroking her face.

"You'll be okay," he moaned, "You'll really be okay..."

The faintest of smiles fluttered across her bruised lips. Her brows tilted then, and she gave a tiny huff of effort. He frowned, trying to understand what she wanted to do. He then saw her trying to move her arm, her hand twitching, but it was broken. He took her hand, and she gave a small nod. He felt her shift her hand again, and he lifted the hand, moving it where her twitches directed him. She moaned a moment, and he was sure he'd hurt her.

"We'll get you to Pomfrey," he said, "I'll go-"

"Nnngh," she moaned. With a final burst of effort, she placed her hand on his cheek.

Her skin was so cold. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, his throat aching and on fire with sobs.

"You'll be okay, Hermione," he breathed, desperation filling his voice. "I just have to go get Pomfrey! And when you're better we'll show Malfoy, we'll-"

Her hand slipped from his face, and her unswollen eye became glassy, losing focus, drifting from his features. The hand dropped onto the ground, and her chest rattled one final time.

His mouth dropped open, his entire being clutched with a shock so deep he had barely known the like. His eyes searched her form, disbelieving, looking for any sign of life. He stared at her mouth, at her chest... there was no movement. He kept staring at her face as he scrabbled for a wrist... He kept pressing into the cooling flesh, kept searching for the pulse of life that never came.

There was no mistake to be made, no doubt to be had. From deep within him came a cry so unbidden, so filled with agony and grief that one would have easily mistaken it for the howl of an animal from the forest. He crushed her to his chest, burying his face in her hair, willing his warmth into her quickly cooling body.

"NO!" he whimpered. "No, Hermione... no... y-you can't... not my Hermione... please! Please! PLEASE!"

He collapsed over her, deep shaking sobs wracking his body. Pain took every part of him, his heart no longer there and an empty chasm in its place. He felt nothing now, he was no one and nobody, a hollow shell of a man, the other half of him lying dead in his arms.

He wanted to die too. He wanted to follow her, for there was nothing now.

5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Light rushed around him, and with a force entirely magical, was thrown some distance and onto a hard floor. He wasn't sure if it was the ground, or the castle. He didn't really care.

He had felt the world topple around him, and now he laid there, his soul in tatters. He could lie there for always, he knew it. And he would have, had a soft gravelly voice not wafted past him.

"Harry..."

The voice broke his grief-induced stupor and he was on his feet, hands shaking as he balled them into fists.

"Why did you let that HAPPEN!?"

Dumbledore looked to Harry calmly, and he offered him his hand.

"You are back home, Harry. You are back where you belong."

Harry looked to Dumbledore, to his hand, putting it altogether. He ignored the hand entirely, striding forward and collapsing into the old man's arms. Any other time he would have felt completely stupid doing such a thing to Dumbledore, but as he had looked into his eyes, he'd seen a complete understanding there, a knowing. He was the only one in the world who would understand, and as such he could be the one to shoulder Harry's grief.

They stood there for a long time, Harry sobbing into his headmaster's shoulder, and when Harry felt a dull numbness instead of the aching raw pain, he stepped back, looking quite apologetic for his behaviour.

"S-sorry," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "I just - I"

"I completely understand, Harry," said Dumbledore gently. "I have seen what you saw. I know the atrocities that haunt you."

Harry's mouth worked soundlessly a moment, and looking about himself, he found a chair and collapsed into it.

"It was awful... it was utterly awful..."

Dumbledore nodded, sitting down in his chair and pushing a hot cup of tea across his table towards Harry. Harry frowned.

"How- how long was I gone?"

"You were not gone any time," said Dumbledore. "The vision was only momentary. That is the cup of tea I made you a moment ago."

Harry gulped, shuddering. "I felt like I was gone two days."

Dumbledore nodded. "The Pool was built so that the participant does not lose any time. One stays as long as they need, and can leave at will."

"Then why didn't I leave when things started going wrong?" asked Harry incredulously.

"Think, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Did you really want to?"

He looked down, shaking his head shamefully. "No. I wanted to..." He felt his cheeks burning as he thought about his reasons for not wanting to leave. "I wanted to take Hermione with me. To stay with her."

"Aah... one must keep their wits about them upon entering the world of the Pool," he said. "And in every moment therein, wish to leave its secrets behind."

"That's the trick, isn't it?" asked Harry. "If you're happy with what you see, you'll stay there... you'll..."

"Wither away," supplied Dumbledore. "Or go mad."

"How could you let me risk something like that?" asked Harry, voice rising a little in panic.

Dumbledore looked over the top of his glasses, eyes twinkling. "If I told you not to look into it, I daresay you would have found a way to look into it despite my wishes. You are that sort of lad."

Guilt swept through Harry as he realised that Dumbledore was absolutely right. The thought of being able to see what life would be like with his parents would have eaten away at him until he'd gone crazy.

"This way," said Dumbledore, "I could at least advise you, supervise you, and counsel you upon your return."

Harry nodded silently. He thought about it all, hand resting on the saucer of the teacup in front of him. He took the tea, sipping it pensively, and after a moment, stared about the office. It was the same as always, the portrait subjects snoring soundly, Fawkes in the corner, watching him with keen yet gentle eyes. He looked back to Professor Dumbledore, his reason for looking into the Pool of Possibilities in the first place flooding back to him.

"My ... my vision, you called it ... I was supposed to see a world where Voldemort didn't exist... where he wasn't born!"

"And you did," said Dumbledore. As Harry looked confused, Dumbledore lifted a hand. "Let me explain. In the world you saw, bloodline purity was of the utmost importance."

"But how-"

"There was a most fragile period of time between the dissension of the Founders of Hogwarts, and their eventual expulsion of Salazar Slytherin. In that timeline, Slytherin murdered Godric Gryffindor before any dissension occurred." Dumbledore sniffed, looking down to his cup of tea a moment. "Over a disagreement about a curse, of all things." He looked back to Harry. "Because of this, his main opponent was cleared from the field, and being the most powerful wizard left at the school, Slytherin was able to run it his way, despite the protests of his peers. He influenced generations of wizards, teaching them dark magic, and slowly, those that thought like him gained important positions in wizard authorities and publications." He shrugged, clasping his hands together. "They say that history is written by the victors. It seems that it is also shaped by the victors. With Salazar's contribution, Muggles and Muggle-borns were viciously discriminated against, kept under the wizard's heel. As such, there was no need for the young Tom Riddle to turn sour and become the Lord Voldemort you and I know. He remained Riddle and with such fine heritage had no troubles becoming the Minister of Magic. So, in essence... Voldemort was never born."

"I asked the wrong question," Harry said darkly, staring at his tea. "I should have asked it differently..."

"No, Harry," said Dumbledore. "There is no right question. Life takes the path it will for reasons we do not understand. It is unwise to try to make sense of it, for you will go mad. Many have before." He leant forward, meeting Harry's sad gaze, narrowing his eyes so that they twinkled. "Know that you follow the best course it can manage, and that there are blessings around you that you haven't counted for being distracted by your curses."

Damn it. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have ignored all the good things? How come it took that God-awful vision in the Pool of Possibilities for him to understand what Dumbledore was saying? He felt like an utter idiot, but at the same time he felt so very lucky and charmed that he couldn't bear to think about it any longer without wallowing in it. Harry's heart thumped thickly in his chest, and he jumped to his feet, nodding.

"You're - you're right." He gulped, glancing to the Pool, and then back to Dumbledore. "Thanks for letting me see my parents."

Dumbledore smiled warmly, nodding.

Without another word Harry raced from the room, bound and determined to find his most treasured blessing of all.

~~*~~

He was halfway down the corridor from the Entrance Hall to Gryffindor Tower when someone bowled into him, propelled forward even harder by a bag almost splitting with books. He staggered, bumping into the wall, while the person whose limbs he was tangled in growled lightly.

"Oh for heaven's sakes, watch where you're- Harry!"

Dear God, she looked so incredibly beautiful. Her skin was soft and pink and warm looking, her eyes bright, her hair wild, her body strong and unhurt. He grabbed her, pulling her into his arms and hugging her with all his worth.

"Harry!" she cried, gurgling a little at the force of his embrace, "What are you-"

He leant back, taking a look at her surprised face, and laughing, he hugged her again, sighing happily.

"You are the most wonderful human being in the entire world, and I love you so much," he sighed.

She wriggled out of his arms, frowning and gasping at him. "Harry! Are you all right?!" She put her hand on his brow, then on his cheeks and neck, and satisfied that he wasn't running a fever, sniffed about him.

Harry let her do this, smiling blissfully at the attention.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked. "You didn't turn up for Potions, Snape is furious!"

"Dumbledore will cover for me," he said. "I was..." His smile drifted away, and he leant against the wall behind him, sighing. "I was upset about Sirius."

Her mouth dropped open, and she sighed softly. She tilted her head, putting a hand on his shoulder, saying nothing.

"We'll go somewhere," he said, wrapping his hands around the one on her shoulder. "I'll tell you about -- well... it'll take a while to explain."

Hermione nodded, frowning a little in curiosity. "All right."

~~*~~

It was very early autumn, and summer had been lingering as if unwilling to leave the rough tumbling highlands. The days had been warm, but the nights had been increasingly chilly. A soft thick woolen blanket lay beneath them, and they both wore warm cloaks and wrapped themselves in blankets, looking back at Hogwarts blinking warmly across the lake. Their chilly aerie amongst the shoulders of the mountains hugging the lake was a place Harry had come to often to think, and he would have gotten in trouble for such a thing except for the fact that it was just inside Hogwarts' magical boundaries. His beloved broom lay nearby, as did their wands and a plate of pumpkin pasties and mince pies from Dobby, who had refused to let them go wandering off from a direction other than the Great Hall for their dinner without a good meal to take with them. (The little elf popped up at the most unfortunate, or perhaps in this case fortunate, times). On a rock in front of them was perched a lantern, and a soft warm orange glow lit the scene, stretching over and around them like an embrace.

Harry huddled to Hermione, both of them trying to keep warm inside their blankets, and he told her about his inability to face Snape, about Dumbledore seeing him on the steps and inviting him into his office, about the Pool of Possibilities and all that took place in the magical world within. It was hard to tell her what happened after the match, and he deliberately skipped over any romantic moments between himself and the other Hermione. He didn't want her to learn of his feelings in such a way.

A chill wind whipped about them, and they both shuddered, huddling like little penguins. He grimaced in the cold, and he lifted his arm, wrapping it tightly around her. She settled to him, a blush in her cheeks (from the cold or the proximity, he didn't care which), and he went on.

"They left me there with you, and you uhm," He frowned, trying to clear the soreness from his throat. "You didn't make it."

Hermione breathed the softest, "Oh..."

He nodded. There was a solemn silence for a moment, and Harry pulled his arms tighter around her, nuzzling into the nape of her neck and sighing deeply. He felt her hand run over his head, down to the arm around her, and she clutched it. He looked up, meeting her eyes.

"When you... when you died I felt like everything inside me died." He shuddered a sigh, feeling his eyes prick with tears. "I couldn't breathe... I didn't even want to live."

Hermione's brows tilted, tears welling in her own brown eyes. "Harry..."

"I don't ever want to feel that again... ever." He let out an aching sigh, closing his eyes tightly and leaning his forehead against hers.

They stayed like that a moment, until Hermione wound about, wrapping her arms about him and leaning her head on his shoulder, settling to his form, tangling her legs amongst his under their blankets. It was a warm, tight and secure embrace, and Harry savoured each moment as the first and last.

He tilted his head, a frown creasing his brows. "Hermione..."

"Hmm?"

He shifted a little to meet her eyes. "W-would you have done that?"

She frowned. "Done what?"

"What the other Hermione did."

Her frown cleared and licked her lips, swallowing nervously. "Yes."

His eyes fell shut, and he sighed deeply. "Promise me you won't."

"I can't, Harry," she said, tightening her arms around him.

He shook his head, fighting the tears in his eyes, a fear rising in him that he'd feel that pain all over again.

"I couldn't take it if I lost you," he said, gazing at the vista before him. "I couldn't - I think I'd go mad."

"Hey..."

He looked to her, and she snuggled closer, eyeing him.

"Did it ever occur to you that I feel the same way?"

His cheeks flushed, her brown eyes glinting in a way entirely unmistakable. He had barely slid a hand to her shoulder and she'd already leant in, parting her lips ever-so-slightly. He tilted his head, pulling her to him and taking her lips in his, sighing deeply in relief, in utter joy and delirium that she wasn't gone, that she was in his arms and it was the same Hermione he'd always adored. She tilted her head underneath him, opening her lips, searing a promise with her caresses that she wasn't going to abandon him, ever.

He returned that promise with his own lips, and in the little heaven they had in that second, wrapped up in blankets on a blustery Scottish hilltop, everything was perfect. For a time, their life paths had found a beautiful moment to rest together.

~~*~~

Harry lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the past day and visions within his mind a blur. He knew he wouldn't sleep well, however, unless one last loose string was tied off and snipped accordingly. He waited patiently, knowing Ron was busy studying with Lavender this evening. The redhead had been worried about Harry too, but Harry had left word for him and said he'd meet him later.

It was later and Harry missed the silly bastard.

After a little while longer of waiting, Ron stomped into the room with his usual laddish air, his eyes popping wider as he saw Harry lying on the bed.

"Hey! I was dead worried about you! You all right?"

Harry nodded, and this time around when he explained things, his heart didn't ache so much, for the memories of Hermione in the here and now warmed and comforted him more than anything else could. As he finished, Ron sat there, mouth hanging open, shock on his face.

"I... I was awful!"

"It wasn't your fault," said Harry. "I mean... if Salazar Slytherin practically shaped the culture of the Wizarding World as we knew it, then it's just obvious that people would be like that, even the good people... right? I mean... you get angry at the Death Eaters and that lot. You wouldn't hex them without a second thought."

Ron nodded slowly. "Yeah but I wouldn't be cruel - I wouldn't want to kill them."

"You would if they were threatening the world you knew," said Harry. "I was doing that. I mean, if it were this world, I may as well have been publicly claiming my belief in Voldemort's ideas."

Flinching a little, Ron nodded. "Yeah... I guess so. I dunno. It still bothers me."

"Hey..." Harry smacked him fondly on the shoulder. "As long as you're a good person here and now, it doesn't matter what happens in some wonky reality made up in a silver bowl, does it?"

Ron wrung his lips, looking doubtful.

"Would you betray me, Ron? Would you leave me to die?"

Ron met Harry's eyes and shook his head. "No. Never."

"Then it's not an issue," said Harry, and he smiled. "Okay?"

"Yeah..."

Walking about his bed, Ron began to get ready for sleep. He frowned as he got changed for bed, and as he climbed into his covers, he looked over to Harry, who was already settled down and ready to drift off.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

He frowned. "If you lived all that... Me being an arsehole and Hermione hating you and... and then not hating you and dying in your arms... how can you be so calm now?"

Harry rolled over to look at Ron. "It still hurts but... it's like waking up from a bad dream, you know? And I know that things are different here. We're stronger than them, Ron, because we care about each other. I've got Hermione and she's not going anywhere. And I've got you too."

Ron nodded, and a warm smile drifted sleepily across his features. "Well... I'm glad you're 'back' mate. Here's to tomorrow, eh?" Smiling broadly, he rolled over, settling down to sleep.

Harry smiled faintly, rolling onto his back and gazing at the ceiling. He missed Sirius more than words could say, but unlike all the other times when he thought about it, the feelings of rage and the futility of life did not accompany the memories. He still felt cheated, still wondered if it could all possibly true, yet at the same time he had hope that not everything would be so bleak. After all he had seen he had the strange sensation that for him, things were actually on a pretty good footing. It was madness, as he knew he'd felt like the world had fallen down about his ears and abandoned him for months, but thinking about the world he was in, the friends he had, the girl he loved... it wasn't so bad. Sure, there were some pretty heavy things to deal with. He knew now, however, that with all his blessings behind him, he could deal with it. It was a world that deserved nothing less than his best efforts to preserve it.

He rolled over, closed his eyes and remembered warm kisses on a windy Scottish night.

Finally, after two months of pain, he looked forward to tomorrow.

~~*~~