A/N: Thanks for everyone's feedback and encouragement. We really appreciate the reviews. As a bit of a clarifying point, Harry and Hermione have, essentially, been pulled about two and half years into the future. So that's why they have no memories of what happened to them in those couple of years. Other than that, we know you're confused, but we hope you'll stay with us.
Chapter Three
This is a forgery, this is a forgery
Every single word is plagiarized.
Copied twice and thrice inscribed
This is a forgery
- This is a Forgery, Dashboard Confessional
He was in an ornately decorated room. Silk drapes, lavish pictures on the walls, Persian carpet. It was a symbol of wealth, of power.
He was proud of it.
Bowing at his feet was a small, lump of a thing… what used to be a man.
If he could even be called that much.
"Get up," he snarled.
The trembling lump rose. "Yes… yes, my Lord."
Disgust rose in him. He was tired of dealing with such waste.
He went to the window, pleasure rising in him. Here it was, everything he'd envisioned for himself when he was only a boy and had barely grasped the reaches of his power.
The Mudbloods. The Muggles. Anyone that dared stand against him.
Now his.
For there were things worse than death.
He made sure of it.
This was his world now. The Rebel camp led by Weasley would not last much longer.
Especially not when he had his weapon on the inside. A beautifully, well developed weapon-fooling them all.
"Wormtail… it would be unacceptable for me to lose now."
"Impossible, my Lord. This world belongs to you. The Rebels-more are falling at your feet every day."
"Idiot," he snapped. "Nothing is for certain. Do you think that I got where I am without sacrifice?"
"Of-of course not."
"No-I have shed blood. I have faced pain and torment that would have destroyed thousands of other men."
"Yes, yes, you have my Lord… you have faced multitudes of hardships, you have-"
"Potter," he spat out, ending Wormtail's useless drivel. "Potter's alive."
***
Harry jerked awake, his forehead burning in pain. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took several deep breaths as he waited for the pain to subside.
Lingering emotions dueled inside him. Anger, determination, pleasure at the suffering he caused….
Sitting up, Harry grit his teeth until the room slid until a dull focus.
He was alone.
For a moment, he felt a gnawing despair. Alone when he still felt Voldemort clinging to him. Alone when he most needed…
Hermione.
He got up, still feeling shaky. He splashed cool water on his face from the basin, blinking the water out of his eyes. The pain from his scar was gone, leaving a dull headache in its wake. Chilled, he sat back on the bed, feeling exhausted despite having just woken up.
If possible, the room looked even smaller and more oppressive. There were no windows, and Harry missed the way the sun would stream into his dormitory in the morning. He didn't even know what time it was.
Not that it mattered. He suspected that time of day held very little meaning in this world.
He couldn't believe that he was only two years in the future. If he were still back at Hogwarts, he would have only had a few short months before losing to Voldemort.
There was a whoosh of noise and the door slid open. Harry looked up, relieved to see Hermione.
"Hi," he said. His stomach sunk when Ron came in behind her.
"Potter," he greeted, eyes lingering on him. "Funny seeing you here. Spend the night?"
We are not friends.
Harry swallowed. "Er…"
"Yes, he did, Ron," Hermione said quietly. "But not in the way you're thinking."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "It's probably for the best-saves me time having to track him down. There's something you both need to know."
Hermione looked a little weary and Harry wondered how long she'd been up. She looked tired, dark circles hung under her eyes, her Hogwarts robes were dirty and rumpled, and her hair was a tangled mess. He couldn't imagine that he looked any better. She sat down next to him and Harry froze. He could still remember what it had felt like to sleep next to her, aware of every breath she took, but the awkwardness resting as a barrier between them.
"Neville's alive," she said without preamble.
"Neville's… what?" Harry said.
"Alive," Hermione repeated. "I talked to him."
"Alive?" Harry croaked.
She nodded. "He's… oh, he's so different, Harry. He-he has a tattoo and-"
"I don't trust him," Ron broke in.
Hermione set her jaw. "He seemed perfectly fine to me."
Ron looked unimpressed. He shut the door before turning back to face them.
"Listen," Ron said. "What I'm about to tell you… no one else can know."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a look.
"Obviously," Ron said, beginning to pace in front of them. "This… experience has not been easy on either of you. I understand that. I understand that you're in a world that you don't know."
We are not friends.
"Wow, Ron, good job," Harry said. "You're powers of reasoning are astounding."
"Shut up, Potter," Ron snapped. "I'm doing my best here, alright?" Ron shook his head. "I'm not meant for this, you know. Leading people." He gave a strained sort of smile that was nearly a grimace. "This is… this was your job. Every bloody decision that I make ends up being a fuck up of epic proportions. You were always better at this leading stuff than me."
Ron scowled when he finished and then looked at Harry, as if daring him to say something biting.
Harry couldn't help the stirrings of pity he felt for his best friend. He felt as though he was beginning to understand the man-the stranger-in front of him.
Ron didn't hate him.
Ron wanted to hate him, Ron wanted to pretend that they weren't friends but Harry was beginning to suspect he wasn't doing a very good job of it. Looking at Ron, Harry could see-and understand-what it must have been like for him after he and Hermione died.
Harry couldn't imagine having to go on living if he lost Ron and Hermione.
"Ron…"
"I don't want your pity, Hermione," Ron said, clenching his jaw. "I don't want-things are what they are. And we can't change them."
Whatever emotion Ron might have shown was completely covered up. The scar seemed to stand out on his skin, giving him a rough, hardened appearance.
"We have a mole."
Harry stared and Hermione gasped. "A… excuse me?"
"A mole, you daft git. A traitor. Someone working for the other side. Whoever it was fucked up our evacuation of Hogwarts." Ron's eyes slid over to Hermione. "And we're nearly certain that the same person was responsible for Hermione's death."
"Killed Hermione?" Harry said sharply. "You're telling me that the person who murdered Hermione is running around among us? And you have no idea who it is?"
"Good to see you playing the part of the concerned best friend," Ron said bitterly. "And I have my suspicions as to who it is."
Hermione's head snapped up. "No."
Ron stared back at her. "You have to admit, it's awfully suspicious. He was the one that found your body."
"They killed his wife, Ron," Hermione said. "How can you possibly accuse him of joining Voldemort after that?"
Ron shrugged. "I'll tell you this much, Hermione, I don't trust him. And you shouldn't either. For all you know, he could be the man that killed you."
Hermione stood up. "Then why aren't I already dead? He had his chance!"
"Whoever the mole is, he's smart," Ron said. "He's eluded us this far… he fooled both of you while you were still alive. He's good. He waits for his moment."
"You don't have any proof," Hermione whispered.
"No, I don't," Ron said. "I'm at a loss, okay? All I know is that someone here is working for the other side. Someone in the inner circle. We can trust no one. Do you understand that?"
Hermione bit her lip and nodded. Harry's head was swimming with all the information he was trying to take in.
"The weapon," he blurted.
Ron and Hermione turned to stare at him.
"I, err… I had a dream," Harry explained. "About Voldemort. He was… he called the mole 'his weapon.'"
Ron went deathly still. "A dream?"
"Yeah, I reckon… Voldemort knows I'm alive."
"What?"
"Voldemort knows I'm-"
"Bloody hell!" Ron said. "You… you… what the fuck happened to taking Occlumency?"
"My connection to Voldemort isn't something you can just turn off," Harry said irritably. "He was bound to find out one way or another-especially if he has a spy in the Compound."
"It puts him one more step head of us," Ron mumbled. "It doesn't matter what we do. He's still one step ahead. Always one bloody step ahead."
"It goes two ways," Harry said sharply. "What aren't you telling us, Ron?"
Hermione glanced over. "Harry, what's-"
"Come on, Ron," Harry said. "Not everyone is dead, are they? At least-not as many as you led me to believe."
"They may as well be."
"Yeah, well, they're not!" Harry said. "And you-you've just left them there to rot!"
"They're gone, Potter. A rescue mission, it's suicide. There's a point when you have to stop and look out for the people you have left."
"You never give up hope, Ron… you never… those people are alive!" Harry broke off, remembering the pleasure he'd experienced at the suffering.
Hermione covered her mouth. "He's-he's… Voldemort's keeping…"
"People, yeah," Harry said. "Hundreds of witches and wizards he's captured. For fun. For amusement."
"He gets off on it," Ron said. "He feeds on their pain." He looked at Harry. "These people will only go free when Voldemort is dead. Do you understand that?"
Harry nodded, though his stomach revolted at the idea. Ever since fifth-year he'd known that it would eventually come down to his final fight with Voldemort. But now there was a sense of urgency to it-hundreds of lives rested in the balance.
If he lost…
"That's a lot of responsibility."
"Yeah, it is," Ron said, without sympathy.
"I'll fight him," Harry said, not feeling very brave. "But I can't… I lost when I had years more of experience. I don't-I can't promise anything."
"You better win," Ron said quietly. "Or else this-this whole thing will be for nothing."
Silence fell upon them. Harry remembered days with the three of them-alone, together-just like this. Days when they would laugh and play chess and Ron and Hermione would bicker. Not this silence.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because Ron heaved a giant sigh.
"Look, I know you need time to settle in, but you two… you're the only people I trust with this information."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because things always come down to the three of us," Ron said simply. "One way or another."
***
Over the next couple of days, Harry learned bits and pieces of what life had been like for his other self. He commanded a good amount of respect, fear, and awe from others and it was obvious that he'd filled the role of leader after Voldemort killed Dumbledore.
He grew used to the dull gray colours and the solemn faces of the people around him. He learned to barter for food and supplies in the open hall. He met several leaders of the Resistance-all of whom treated him as their superior.
He understood that when they went off to take the fight to the Death Eater's, most never returned.
He learned that Severus Snape was still alive and active as a spy. He dealt directly with Ron-much to both their distastes.
He discovered that Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Luna Lovegood were among those that Voldemort held captive.
But he couldn't fight against the doubt in his mind. The fear that he was horribly inadequate. The entire wizarding world was depending on him-for their lives, for their futures. Everything boiled down to his ability to kill Voldemort-and Harry had no idea how to accomplish that.
"Once you win, we can go home," Hermione said, face pleading with him to agree with her.
"I don't feel very strong, Hermione," he admitted-unable to take the pressure from her as well. "I-I don't know how to win this."
"I'll help, I'll do whatever it takes… you're not alone, Harry. I promise. We'll do this together and we'll get home together."
Harry felt a rush of relief. He looked into her face and felt a sense of… partnership. For the first time, his responsibility seemed lighter.
"Together?"
She nodded. "We'll get back home-we must. I don't understand what happened to us in this place. I need to believe that I can set things right."
"So this… this was my room?" Harry asked, glancing around him. "Seems pretty empty."
Ginny shrugged. "You never were much of a collector."
Harry entered the-his-quarters slowly, feeling as if he was intruding. Ginny waited patiently in the doorway.
There was nothing in the room that called out to him or reminded him of himself. White walls. Cold wood floor. A single bed with a frayed cover and a small pillow. There was as desk in the corner. On it he found a map of the Compound. A field report. A list of names he didn't recognize.
He felt like he was in a stranger's room.
Desperate for some kind of connection with his other self, Harry opened the closet and exhaled in relief.
His Firebolt. Old school uniforms. There was a cardboard box on the floor. Harry bend down and removed the lid, the contents tugging at his heart.
His Broomstick Servicing Kit. Photos of his parents. The quill Hermione had given him in second year. The two way mirror from Sirius. He shuffled around in the box, pausing on a worn sheet of parchment.
His diploma from Hogwarts.
I, Albus Dumbledore, hereby declare that Harry James Potter has successfully completed seven year of training at the Hogwarts Schools of Witchcraft and Wizardry…
Quickly, Harry shoved the diploma back in the box, throat burning. He fingers brushed another slip of paper and he pulled it out, frowning. It was a note.
Harry,
I wish I could say I'm sorry for what happened between us last night.
But I can't lie.
I hope this gets to you… I want you to know, I don't care anymore. Not about Ron-none of it. What happened… it was right. I know you felt it too.
Waiting for you,
Hermione
"You charmed the closet, you know."
Harry jumped, thrusting the note back in the box. Getting up, he made sure to shut the closet door before turning.
"Pardon?"
Ginny smiled. "The closet-where you kept everything that was important to you. You always said you didn't care about who snuck in your room, as long as they couldn't get the closet open. As far as I know, you're the only person who can open it."
"Oh," Harry said. "Well-that sounds quite paranoid of me."
Ginny shook her head. "Harry Potter and his secrets. I sometimes wished I was able to read your mind."
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "My mind's a rather boring place."
"Somehow, I doubt that," Ginny replied. She gave him a long look, as thought struggling with herself. "Harry, I want… there's something I want to ask you very badly. But I… I don't know if it's appropriate… I understand how hard this-Oh-"
To Harry's horror, Ginny's eyes filled and she turned away from him. Shoulders shaking, he heard her trying to collect herself.
"Ginny?" he asked tentatively.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, turning back around and wiping at her eyes. "It's just-you can't understand what it's like for me to see you like this."
"What-what do you mean?"
"Oh, Harry…" she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. "I'm sorry-I wish I was stronger than this."
Harry felt horribly guilty for the look of pain on her face. Feeling awkward, he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Her bottom lip trembled and she looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. "I'm alright," she said, voice trembling.
"You don't look alright. You can tell me, Ginny, whatever it is…"
She sniffed and, before Harry had finished getting the words out, threw her arms around him, breaking down in earnest. Her arms gripped the back of his neck and he could feel her warm tears soaking through his shirt. Forcibly reminded of Cho back in fifth year, Harry patted Ginny on the back, feeling completely useless.
"I'm sorry," he said. "Really, Ginny… I'm sorry."
Her sobs quieted, but she didn't move away from him. Harry swallowed, suddenly aware of how closely pressed up against him she was. She lifted her head up and he looked down into her eyes. They were red with her tears, making her look open and vulnerable.
"Ginny?" he managed.
His voice seemed to snap her to attention. She pulled way, looking horrified.
"Oh, no!" she said. "I didn't… you shouldn't have… I'm so awful!"
Harry took a deep breath to steady himself. "Of course you're not awful."
For a moment, Harry was afraid that Ginny was going to burst into tears again. "You must be so confused," she said, her voice choked from her tears. "I should never have lost control like that."
"It's alright, Ginny," he said. "I just wish you would tell me what's wrong."
She hung her head and hugged her arms to her chest. "Harry, before you died… we were…"
"We were what?" Harry prodded, his mouth feeling very dry.
She gave him another anguished look. "We were involved."
Harry stared. "We were… what?"
She bit her lip. "We were in love."
Harry felt himself grow cold. He thought of the note from Hermione.
"We were… you and me… we were together?"
"I'm sorry," she said sincerely. "I didn't mean to tell you. I'm not strong enough, Harry. Seeing you here… it's so hard. I miss you so much."
We were in love.
Harry had no idea what to say. He felt terribly confused. The note, the spell… it seemed to contradict what Ginny was saying.
We were in love.
Ginny looked up, eyes pleading. "You don't… I don't suppose you see me that way yet, do you?"
Harry couldn't look at her any longer. Dropping his eyes to the floor, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ginny."
"It's fine," she whispered, voice breaking. "Thank you for being so… you." She took a breath. "I'll see you later, alright?"
"Yeah," Harry said, trying to smile.
Ginny gave him another pained look before bolting from the room.
We were in love.
***
A half hour later, Harry found himself standing outside of Hermione's door. She'd moved into her other self's quarters, a move that had prompted Harry to ask after his.
Harry took a breath and knocked.
He needed answers.
Hermione opened the door, eyes lighting up when she saw him. Harry felt a twinge of guilt, feeling like he'd been horribly disloyal to her.
Ridiculous, he thought. I don't love Ginny. I'm not with Ginny. And, besides, she's engaged to Ron. I didn't do anything wrong.
He pushed his guilt off to the side. I need answers.
"I'm ready to talk to Neville."
***
It was something Harry had been avoiding. After everything with Ron, Harry wasn't certain he could bear another one of his Hogwarts' friends calling him "Potter" and looking at him in apathy. Ron's warning had only made him more reluctant.
He paced the inside of Hermione's quarters, waiting for her to come with Neville. He resisted the urge he felt to look through her things. Hermione was trusting him.
Not that these things truly belonged to her. They were her other self's. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd discovered any notes that he'd written her…
We were in love.
The guilt came flooding back.
We were involved.
Movement caused him to look up. Hermione had come back, Neville with her.
Neville Longbottom.
Only he didn't look like the Neville that Harry knew from school. That Neville was a fumbling, round boy who was constantly misplacing important things.
This Neville was full of confidence. Power. This Neville had control.
Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to let on to the intimidation he felt. His eyes were drawn to the tattoo plainly visible on Neville's arm.
It reminded him of the Dark Mark.
I don't trust him.
Neville smiled wryly. "You summoned me, Potter?"
"Er… no, course not," Harry said quickly. "Well-sort of. I just… I wanted to talk to you."
Neville seemed to relax. "Alright," he said. "That's understandable-Weasley was never much good at making things clear."
"He's doing his best," Hermione said.
Neville snorted. "Then Weasley's 'best' is a piss poor job."
Harry silently agreed, but the part of him that was still loyal to Ron forced him to keep his mouth shut.
"So," Neville said. "What's going on?"
Harry flushed. He very carefully avoided looking at Hermione. "Er… I, um… I was talking to Ginny. And she, er… she said…" Harry swallowed, cheeks heating up. "Before my other self died… was he-I-er… involved with Ginny?"
Neville grinned, looking somewhat amused. "What did she tell you?"
"That we were… that we-that-that-will you just answer to the question?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see that Hermione had gone absolutely still. "You were with Ginny?"
"No!" Harry said quickly. "Well… maybe… I don't know!"
"Ginny Weasley," Neville said. "Is a lying bitch."
Stunned silence met his words.
Hermione's hands were fisted together, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. "So she and Harry weren't… together?"
Harry's heart was beating very fast and he looked at Neville for the answer.
We were in love.
Neville let out an ironic snort. "I assure you, it wasn't for lack of trying on her part. But, no, they were never together in the way Harry means."
"In the way I mean?" Harry asked, half in dread.
"You shagged," Neville said bluntly.
"What?" Harry and Hermione said in unison.
Neville's eyes were apologetic. "Once, you two shagged once."
"Once?" Harry repeated, slightly relieved.
"That I know of," Neville said.
"Why?"
"You'd know the answer to that better than me."
"Isn't it obvious?" Hermione broke in coolly. "Ginny's a very attractive woman. It's not like you were tied to anyone, Harry. I don't see why this is such a surprise, frankly."
She's hurt, Harry thought to himself.
And some part of him felt a twinge of triumph for her pain… the part of him that wanted her to suffer like he did every time he saw Ron's ring on her finger.
"We both know exactly why this is a surprise," Harry said calmly, finding her eyes.
The spell only works with two people. Two people with a connection.
A faint blush rose in her cheeks. "I don't know what you're taking about."
"You're jealous," Harry explained simply. "And don't tell me you aren't-I have enough experience with it to know what it looks like."
"I just don't understand," she said. "Why would Ginny lie about something like this?"
"Because," Neville said, with some disgust. "Ginny Weasley was always a bit of a thick bitch. Because she knows Harry's vulnerable. Because it was never just 'a shag' to her-that's why."
Harry felt sick. "That… doesn't sound like me," he mumbled.
He couldn't take their stares any longer. He didn't want to see the hurt in Hermione's eyes or the slight challenge in Neville's. He turned away and his eyes landed on Hermione's bookshelf as a distraction. The Brontë sisters. Jane Austen. Books that belonged to a Hermione he never met.
But a Hermione he'd set out to hurt when he shagged Ginny.
"I used her," Harry said softly. "Ginny. I used her."
"Yeah, well, don't beat yourself up about it, Potter. She wasn't exactly unwilling."
"It wasn't you," Hermione said. "Harry… it wasn't you. We must remember that. Whoever we were… we're not responsible for what they did."
"We just have to pay for it," Harry muttered. "I used her."
"Look, Potter," Neville said. "I don't know exactly what happened, I wasn't with the two of you when this went down-thank Merlin. But I will tell you that if there's one thing Ginny is excellent at, it's manipulation. You can't change the past. Especially a past you have no part of."
"But-but it doesn't make any sense," he said, voice rising. "Why would Ginny lie to me about something like this? She… you didn't see her… she was so… so… sincere!"
"It's tough, Harry," Neville admitted. "I can understand-who can you possibly believe? But I don't bother with any bullshit. I'm just telling you what I know."
Startled at hearing his name, Harry turned back around. Neville folded his arms across his chest, leaving his tattoo in plain sight. His eyes were compassionate when he looked at Harry. For the first time, Harry felt like he was looking at the boy he'd known back at Hogwarts.
"Thanks you, Neville," he said. "I appreciate it."
Neville grinned. "Nah, no prob. It's actually really good to see you again, Harry."
When Neville left, Harry found himself alone with Hermione. He knew they had to talk, but he couldn't even begin to fathom where to start. She drifted over to the bookshelf, idly flipping through her copy of Pride and Prejudice.
"My mum gave me this for my tenth birthday. I always brought it to Hogwarts with me. I must have read it a hundred times." She placed the book back on the shelf before turning to him. "How can some things be so much the same and others so different?"
Harry shook his head. "I wish I knew."
Hermione took a deep breath, as if summoning her courage. "Do you believe what Ginny told you?
We were in love.
"No."
Hermione bit her lip. "How can you be so sure?"
Harry studied her. The teeth worrying her upper lip, her hands clutched nervously in front of her, her bushy hair-always in constant sate of disarray. But it was something that he'd come to associate as being uniquely Hermione.
Because I love Hermione.
It was the first time Harry had truly been able to admit it to himself. He's said it aloud, he'd recognized it in some part of himself, he'd heard her say it… but he'd never truly allowed himself to think the words.
I'm in love with Hermione.
Ginny lied to me.
For the first time in days, Harry felt like he was thinking clearly.
I love Hermione.
Feelings that he'd been resisting for years built up inside him. He was filled with the overpowering urge to protect her, love her, make sure he could bring her home, stay with her in this place they didn't understand.
Instead of answering her question, he closed the distance between them. Her eyelids instinctively fluttered closed and he bent to touch his lips to hers in a feather soft kiss that was barely there at all.
Pulling away, his lips tingling where they'd been pressed against hers.
He wanted more.
The look in her eyes told him she did too.
"That's why I'm sure," he said simply.