Harry rushed into the sky while the sun was beginning to set; the air had grown cooler. His first though was to interrogate Hermione Granger. She might have some idea where the madman called home. His trip back to the Burrow could have been faster by apparating, but from the middle of London, he could be traced. His flight lasted only a half hour, to a point on the outskirts of the city. He landed and instantly vanished only to reappear at the familiar home of the Weasleys.
Ceremony had to wait, as well as common courtesy as he ran into the dwelling and up the stairs. She was now awake, but gagged and faced away from the door. Fred stood over her, wand in hand with the look of a scarp yard dog about to rip into a trespasser. He had a bandage around his other hand.
"The fucking bitch bit me, damn near to the bone. Had to gag her too, she's been screaming since she woke."
"Did she say anything? Think, they have my wife," Harry answered.
The sound of his voice caused her to flinch inside her bindings. She turned to face him and hissed through the gag; traces of blood still remained on her chin. Harry stepped closer and waved his hand over her face, the gag vanished. She sat amazed, when she realised he didn't have a wand.
"Hermione, I need your help where else would I have taken you, besides Grimmauld Pace?"
"Why should I tell you what you already know, figure it out yourself," she barked in Ron's voice.
Fred laid his fist across her jaw, knocking her over.
"Fred that was unnecessary, hurt her again and I might return the favour." His order rang from his Auror training, and even though she wasn't his Hermione, he still felt the need to protect her.
"She's trying to trick us with Ron's voice. I won't stand for that deceit."
Harry pulled Fred aside, and cast a silencing charm over them. "Fred, that may well have been Ron talking, I believe part of him and possibly part of Ginny is still alive inside her. That's part of her special gift, to draw others souls and, well, feed on it."
"She's a vampire?"
"Closer to what a dementor does, but she can control that and channel that to another. The problem is historically anyone on the other side of that power never survived. That's what happened to Ron and Ginny, she simply fought to survive."
"And you're married to that?"
"She's not an evil monster, this," he pointed to the woman on the bed, "is the product of a decade of mental torture. My Hermione has done the same."
"Who did she kill?" he asked not believing a word.
"Me. But she took what she needed to survive; my guess is that this one was almost too far gone and needed far more to come back and stop the other me."
Fred shook his head, "I don't, no, I can't believe that, she's a murderer and I'll kill her myself if I have the chance," he shouted.
"As long as I'm involved, you won't get that chance." He snapped his fingers and the silencing charm disappeared.
"Now, Hermione," Harry commanded, "we can do this the easy way or the difficult way."
She shook her head and grinned, "Don't even remember your own home? After all the times you bragged how impregnable it is?"
"I don't have time for games."
She sat on the bed, quiet. Something inside that mind was still burning.
"I'll tell you want you want, if you tell me the name of the bitch you call your wife. WE were supposed to marry," she now hissed in her own voice.
"You won't believe me."
"You marry some bitch and hold me against my will, and…" she caught her words; she could hardly verbalise his actions. "And… now this?"
"Granger," Fred now asked, "Do you still have feelings for him?"
"Stuff it, Weasel, what do you care?"
"Murderous bitch. You deserved everything you've received." He started to lung at her again, but froze in his spot.
"Fred, enough. No one deserves to be treated this way. Hermione," he knelt to her side, "believe me that seeing you like this hurts me. As for Fred's question, do you?"
She turned away and refused to answer.
"I understand," he whispered, and stroked her hair.
"You beat me almost to death, and then rape me just to make yourself feel like a man, does your bitch know what you've done to me?"
"She knows what he did. She cares more then you'll know."
She turned to look at him, to stare into his eyes again, the hate she knew was not there. The anger wasn't there. "You keep calling yourself 'him', why?"
"Just understand that I'm not the one that's done this to you, and I think you know where he took my wife."
"Her name and I'll tell you what I know," she said defiantly.
"Hermione," Harry said.
"What?"
"You asked her name. Her name is Hermione, she's you, a different you. We are not from this reality."
"Nice try," she spat back. "Take me for a complete fool now?"
"I never have before. How else would you explain how we got you here, and she had to remain?"
"You set the ward, you can remove them, simple as that," she said smugly.
He pulled the mirror fragments, and unwrapped them. One was still blood red, but the other clear. His thought was if she had a fragment that might convince this Hermione. "Spirit? Can you hear me?" he called into both fragments.
"She's at Hogwarts," a voice replied, a familiar but distant voice.
"Who are you?" Harry asked into the clear mirror, no face was visible.
"Meet me at the shack." Was the only reply.
"Hello?" he called back without response.
"So there's someone watching you too?" she now taunted. "You're not the great one after all."
Harry looked at Hermione, and thought for a moment. 'She might be dead, and this could be a trap. No, if he hadn't done that before, why would he now?'
"Fred, can I count on your help?" he asked his friend, and received a nod in return. "Hermione, I can't leave you alone here, he may find you."
"How noble, Mister Potter," she said sarcastically.
He still had his rucksack over a shoulder, and looked to the woman sitting is a dressing robe, during the discussions and more as a result of Fred's attack, that robe hung open. Harry waved a hand over her and the bonds around her hand and legs vanished. He opened a drawer and produced a some fresh clothes.
"Put these on, we're all going."
Hermione remained bound; her hand throbbed where she jammed the mirror under her flesh. A minor wound she healed to hide the glass. It still stung and she was careful to not move that hand, for fear of breaking the glass under her skin. The trip was quick and she pretended to be unconscious, hoping to gain some strategic advantage.
They had gone from the house in London to a green field, and she could see through slight cracks in her eyes the change to a path, then to a stone walkway. Soon the stone floor had stone walls, the very walls she spent her youth learning to be a witch. They were inside Hogwarts.
'He didn't Apparate directly; the wards must still be intact,' she thought. She remained in her false state, feeling the journey descend into the dungeons. They paused at a great stone door, and he gave the password to the door.
"I am Lord Voldemort," he hissed in parseltongue, secure in the belief no one else could understand and repeat it.
They continued inside this chamber, she could see the distinctive green décor of Slytherin. 'This must be his new home,' she thought. The journey ended abruptly when she felt herself thrown into a room, and heard the door sealed behind her. The room had no windows, just the door.
"Bugger," she whispered to herself as she lay on the floor and waited for his footsteps to fade. She rolled over to finally rest on her knees; the stone floor had a cold bite.. In the dim light she could make out the various vials and containers on the wall. Over in the only corner visible, a glass jar held a collection of painting utensils. One notable object she could identify was a pallet knife, not terribly sharp, but it gave an edge that might work.
She inched over and turned her back. The pallet knife was not as simple to use to cut the bonds as typically shown in the movies, but it did the trick with minimal slips to her wrists. The rope around her ankles was easily untied.
Still sitting on the floor, her hand reached into her wand pocket but came up empty. Her other hand stung sharply from the shard, and there was no light.
"Lumos," she whispered, with her palm held open. It glowed, illuminating the small room, it was little more then a cupboard two metres by one metre.
She turned a pail over for a seat, and cast the light into a small jar. Her other palm still stung whenever she moved her hand, and now she held it flat on her leg. This was going to be painful and she knew it, another jar near her light revealed a collection of paintbrushes, used for smaller details.
She sucked a lungful of air, and ignored the twinge in her side and placed a brush between her teeth and bit hard. Carefully, she squeezed the spot in her hand, until the mirror shard poked through her skin. Tears rolled from her cheeks at the new pain, as she pulled the glass free. The moment it was free from her flesh, she spat out the now broken brush handle, and wiped the blood from the mirror.
"Stag," she whispered into the glass, hoping it would still work. She paused a moment ant tried to clean the glass, thinking there may be traces of her blood preventing the mirror to work.
"Stag, I'm in the dungeons. Can you hear me?" she called again, the confidence in her voice all but gone. She forced herself to remain calm, and not consider the possibilities.
"STAG…"
"Shhh… Keep quiet," came a reply. The same dark eyes came into view.
"Who are you?" she asked.
"Not now. Keep quiet," came her only reply.
"Please, who are you? I need help," she pleaded; any help at this time was preferred.
"He's coming soon, 'Spirit' is it?"
"You've talked to Harry? When is he coming?" she asked, her voice getting noticeably worried.
"I can't help, not yet. I'll try to tell 'Harry' your state.
"Wait, there's a password. Can you tell Stag?"
"I should be meeting him in a few moments, stay quiet if you want to stay alive."
The glass faded, but she kept calling the stranger.
Harry needed to put a silencing charm on her, and she needed to be restrained. Her last attack on Fred left him more than eager for revenge; it was a side of his old friend Harry wasn't fond of. Harry had an idea which shack that voice meant.
The Shrieking Shack still held its reputation; it was still feared by many since only a few people knew its secrets. They arrived in Hogsmeade in one of the side alleys, and remained hidden as they made their way to the haunted building.
"So that's the 'shack' he meant. Should have guessed," Fred commented.
Harry led the small group to the front door, there was evidence it had been opened recently, Fred pulled out his wand, ready for anything. Harry simply raised his hand and stretched it out, palm forward. "Shhh. You two stay put, I'm going to look around," Harry commanded and walked up the stairs, following the disturbed trail of dust.
The trail was fresh, and it appeared someone had been here recently. He appeared defenceless without a wand, a position he used to his advantage. He came to that same room where he first met the three remaining Marauders, he hadn't retuned to this room since that day fourteen years earlier.
He stepped into the room reminiscing of that day, his first indication the day was to turn bad was when he felt the tip of a wand in the back of his neck.
"Potter," the same voice spoke with venom. "How foolish you are to come here, and to use those foolish code names."
Harry froze in his spot and raised his hands, to surrender. "I'm not alone. There are others here," Harry offered.
"Oh? 'Spirit', is that who you mean? That was amusing, watching you pretend you and Granger were working together, how did you do it? Polyjuice? Yes, that's got to be the solution."
"She said she heard something, I should have listened," he muttered to himself, "can I at least see who you are, or are you going to stab me with that thing?"
"Slowly, turn slowly," he said as he took a couple steps back.
Harry turned to see a man his height, grey streaks in his unkempt black hair and beard. The voice harsher then he remembered, but the face was the same one he had last seen a month earlier.
"Sirius?" he asked.
"Why? Harry, why?" Sirius asked.
A grin broke Harry's formidable shield. "Sirius, I heard you were killed. How?"
"And I heard Santa Claus is shagging the Easter Bunny. I've always wanted to ask you why, why did you do it?"
"What?"
"Do what?" Harry asked back, confused. "Sirius, I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Kill all those people, and Dumbledore?"
"I didn't… Sirius, I'm not who…"
"And how did you know about the mirror?" he snapped, not allowing Harry time to finish.
"The mirror? I've had it since you gave it to me," he replied. He took a step forward, only to have the wand again pointed in his throat.
"I should just kill you here and now, save the world from your terror." Sirius snapped, his determination to rid the world of evil shown on his face.
"What? No, wait." Harry suddenly realised Sirius believed he was the other one. "I'm not who you think. Ask Fred, he's downstairs."
"I'm no fool. I'm shocked you let me twist your trap to allow me to trap you instead."
"Sirius, Padfoot, listen for a moment. I'm not from here, Hermione and I fell through the arch, and came here. She's traded places with the Hermione of this world. You have to believe me."
He stood statue still and stared.
"Sirius? Please."
"Arch?" He lowered his wand slightly.
Harry sighed heavily, "Yes, about four or five months back, but that's not important."
"The hell it isn't. If you're not the 'Harry' from this world, as you say, then where did you come from?"
"I followed my wife in a desperate act, she thought she was taking her life and I followed her, but fell into different worlds, like this one. In my world you also fell through during the battle at the Ministry."
"With Bella, I know."
"And I was told that you were killed outright in that duel."
"Yes, that's what happened here."
Harry paused a moment. "Then if the Sirius from here is truly dead, then are you…" he stared at his godfather, and raised his hands in friendship.
"I came through the arch more then twelve years ago. I tried to find you but everyone assumed I was dead. I figured it might work to an advantage, with Voldemort. I've watched you begin to grow into the man your father would have been proud of, until…" he lowered his wand completely.
"Sirius?" Harry now became choked with new emotions, "Is it possible you came from my reality?" Harry threw his arms around his godfather, around an old friend, not a copy.
"I can't say, but the Harry from this world would have gone into a rampage by now. My god, Harry, you do look good." Harry broke from the embrace showing a tear running down his cheek. Harry's bottled feelings and emotions toward Sirius surfaced.
"So, this 'Spirit' is…"
"Hermione, my wife, we married after Hogwarts. And the woman downstairs is the Hermione from here. You said she's in Hogwarts?"
"I watched you, the other you, beat her in my old house then you left returned again. I thought I went round the bend when I saw her show up shortly after you did, I've been listening too."
"Then you're the one that covered Kreacher?"
"I followed you… umm him and Hermione to the castle, then came back to the house and covered his body. Then you showed up moments later."
Harry broke free, "Sirius, we need to get inside, is the tunnel there?"
"No, it's been block since he made the castle his home. And we have no idea where she is," Sirius replied. "Come, let's get the others and work on getting inside the grounds."
"'Keep quiet' he said, 'stay put' he said, bugger that," Hermione muttered as she paced in the tiny dark room. The light in the jar faded and new attempts seemed to fade much faster. There was barely room to stand and turn, but the simple movements had a calming effect. Just doing something felt better then sitting and waiting for him to return.
She pressed her hand to her side; it was still tender, but better. Her abilities to heal others and herself depended on being able to draw reserves from the surrounding sources. This room was void and any living thing. The adjacent rooms also seemed to be void of life, her own strengths were weakening. She tried to concentrate on his current location, but he was either able to block her thoughts or he had left her totally alone or she was growing too weak.
She rubbed her hand; the fresh cut where she hid the mirror shard had stopped bleeding. Her lack of magical resources had been forced to use normal Muggle means of first aid, pressure points and a tightly wrapped bandage. A bundle of towels she found in the small closet served as bandages, but it still hurt.
She paced for a few moments in the dark and decided to try again. By her best calculation, she's been locked away in this room for a couple hours. Since she was a skilled Healer and continued medical training in Muggle methods, she knew a wound like her hand would need an hour at least for the blood to coagulate and the throbbing was a clear indication. She also knew the throbbing was an indication of infections. Her hand slipped from her side injury to her stomach; that queasiness was returning.
She held the mirror and thought for a moment. "Stag," she called quietly.
Nothing.
"Stag, please, I need you," she pleaded into the mirror, her voice no longer had the confidence she'd only a few hours earlier.
Fear.
She began to feel fear.
She recently witnessed the brutal treatment this man was capable of, and in her condition, she became more then concerned. She knew fear. She sat on her makeshift stool; she looked at her hand as she held the mirror. It began to shake with fear. She steadied her hand as she called again. He still didn't, or couldn't respond.
Her fears from her youth were returning. Her deepest fear was of failure, she failed to stay where she was needed most, at his side, she failed to keep the other one at bay. She was failing Harry and his dreams, again.
"Harry," she cried again into the glass, she thought it may have lost its charm when it broke, or her waning powers had an effect. Her growing fear began to turn to frustration. Her frustration at being unable to defend herself and being taken so easily grew into hate for the other Harry. His hate of her other self was the cause of this suffering.
She stared into an empty mirror again.
"Harry," she cried for the last time.
The mirror remained silent as she looked at it sitting in her hand. "Bloody worthless shit," she said and raised her hand to launch it across the small room, and started to bring it down in a perfect arch over her head.
"I'm not bloody worthless, but sometimes I may be a shit." The glass called to her.
She had to squeeze the glass tightly as her arm arced, it dug into her flesh.
She held it up and nervously called into it. "Harry? Is it really you?"
"Stag, remember? Yes, I'm here," his reassuring voice tried to ease her declared condition.
"I'm frightened. He's worse then either of us imagined," she began nervously.
"Shhhh, easy. We're working a plan to get inside."
"He's put me in a cupboard somewhere in the lower dungeons." She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, and managed to calm her fear. "He's set a password, one only you or I can repeat. 'I am Lord Voldemort'. Got it?"
"Yes, I can manage that. I have to apologise for not believing you."
"Come again? What?"
"Someone's been listening to us, I can't tell you who, but he's with me now."
"Can we trust him?"
"Without fail, once we get inside, we'll work our way into the dungeon."
"Harry, I have something important to tell you," she said hesitantly.
"I know, you love me, we have to go, it's not safe here. We're out in the open so you can hear us." He said quickly. "We'll call when we're near."
"Wait, Harry?"
The mirror was silent.
She let a deep breath escape, blowing as much of her fear out with it as possible, they were coming but she couldn't imaging who he found. She closed her eyes tightly to block the darkness of the room, to wait in silence.
She had no idea what waited on the other side of the door. A simple table outside the small cupboard he now employed as a holding cell became the desk for the individual in her thoughts. He sat at the table and grinned. He waited to see who these intruders were that were bold enough to take her from his own house. Her very notes sat in a pile on the side, but spread in front was an old map.
He watched the names as they scurried across the sheet, only a few teaching staff and others remained. His interest had peaked by the name displayed on the sheet.
"Interesting, the map never lies," he mumbled, "The map is never wrong, seems the bitch has a new trick," he continued.
He looked at the name again, "Hermione Potter+."