Harry approached the school, with Sirius and Fred close behind, escorting Hermione Granger. It was a gamble, hoping he could bluff his way into the castle, with the others as his newly appointed guard and a transported prisoner as well.
The motley group passed the front entrance leading from Hogsmeade, past the sentry post with merely a nod. Sirius was nervous; he had last slipped into the grounds the day Harry had battled Voldemort. Hermione too had not been on the grounds since that day.
Fred and Sirius walked on either side of Hermione as she was levitated into the grounds. They both kept their hoods pulled over their faces in order to remain unidentifiable. The gag remained over Hermione's mouth, and Fred's dried blood remained on her chin. She was tightly bound, even though they had her cooperation. Harry sported a wide grin as if he had been victorious in a rabbit hunt.
The sentries returned Harry's nod, and waved the trio behind him through the gate. The walk to the front doors would prove the most nerve-wracking for any of them, as they remained in the open.
"Keep in step. If anyone stops us, I'll do the talking," Harry whispered to the others.
Once inside the massive double doors, he noticed a plaque that had been defaced, a name gouged off. The immaculate front hall of Hogwarts no longer held a welcome and warm feeling. Instead, it had the charm and appeal of dungeons used for torture.
Hermione kept her role in character as she struggled and fought each step inside the building, without being asked.
"She said she was being held in the dungeons. We should go there first," Harry commanded. There was only one person alive that could spoil the clandestine attempt to save Hermione Potter; that was the other Harry. The plan was as simple as it could get: walk in, find Hermione, and get everyone out. A side mission was considered to capture Harry's other self, and hope to find a way to correct this twisted world.
Once inside the building, little changes came to light. The Hogwarts crest containing all four houses was gone. In its place was the letter 'P' formed with a lighting bolt. The eeriness and emptiness of the between-term castle echoed with each footfall.
Harry's next shock came with the myriad statues that had replaced those of the founders, all in his image. In the Great Hall where the Goblet of Fire once stood, a statue of Harry, with the Gryffindor sword pointed to the sky, greeted all into the castle. At the base of the statue the likeness of the two youngest of the Weasley's stood over the body of an unidentified woman, all remained in Harry's shadow.
"See, here's Ron and Ginny standing behind you. It was supposed to show your greatest victory as well as those that sacrificed themselves for your 'glory'," Fred commented. "He forced the rest of my family to watch the dedication. To 'honour' Ron and Ginny."
"What I don't understand Harry, is why did we bring her along?" Fred asked quietly, pointing to his charge.
"She obviously still means something to him, or he would have killed her a long time ago, I thought we could have her help him see reason," Harry replied as they came to the main passageway to the dungeons.
"Don't underestimate him, Harry. Since he's assumed power, he uses people as playthings," Sirius warned.
"This used to be the path to Slytherin House, but after he took over the school, there were changes, the four Houses were eliminated. There were no more inter-House competitions or rivalries," Fred added.
They continued the procession down into the lower chambers, past the Potions classroom. Harry smiled at his plan; it was working.
"MmmMMMmMHMhmm…" Hermione tried to scream through her gag, rewarded with a backhander from Fred.
"Shut up," he hissed.
Harry stopped and turned, and pointed a single finger at one of his oldest friends. "Lay another finger on her and you'll deal with me," he warned. He reached a hand for her gag, "No noise, understood?"
She nodded her compliance, and the gag was removed. "You all are fucking crazy, going here? He knows you're here, he must. There should be guards, but it's empty."
"It's half-term, why would he need them?" Harry asked.
"You…you don't know him like I do," she replied in a rough whisper. "He's been afraid someone is going to do to him what he did so long ago. That's why he won't kill me. He thinks it'll bring him bad luck."
Harry shook his head. "I think you're wrong-" he started to say as a red stunner hit him square in the chest.
"Ennervate" he heard as his eyes started to open. Nearly every muscle ached. The metallic taste of blood danced in his mouth. What he saw first was his feet dangling in mid-air, and a pair of feet on either side of him.
He raised his head, and looked to the left: Sirius hung by his arms; his head drooped from his shoulders. He looked right, to the unmistakable shape of the man that led him into this folly. On the floor at his feet a few metres away, lay the nude form of the woman they had brought, curled into a ball, fresh welts oozing blood down her side. Standing directly over her, the Harry of his reality was buckling his belt, sporting a wide grin and four parallel gouges in his cheek. He could hear Granger's soft sobbing from the brutal treatment she had just endured.
"So, Weasley, I always thought you had better sense than to follow some imposter to your end."
"S-Sire?" Fred stumbled over his words, still trying to understand what had happened.
"You have one chance to live. Who is this 'man'?" he said as he grabbed Harry by the hair and turned his face to Fred.
"H-H-e claimed to be you."
He chuckled at Fred's reference. "How could you possibly mistake that for me?" Harry jeered at his unconscious counterpart.
"He… he told us he was you. He had a woman with him and claimed she was that, from an alternate world," Fred finally choked out, as he pointed with his chin to Hermione lying on the floor.
A twisted grin broke across the tyrant's face, "Alternate world? How did they get here?" he demanded.
"He didn't say, sire."
"Hmmm, that does explain some things. Thank you, Weasel, I will reward your loyalty later." He turned, picking up a sheet of parchment from the table and moved towards the door. Hermione lay on the floor a few metres away, and he deliberately went out of his way to land one last kick to her side before leaving the room.
Fred looked at the table; a pile of parchment, old clothes, and an empty pack remained. He recognised the pack as Harry's backpack. He could still taste his own blood, and his tongue circled the inside of his cheeks, looking for the injury. He found his lip had been split open at the corner; the cut had his own teeth's imprint. Blood also continued to leak from his nose, but strapped to the wall as he was, he could not do any more than spit the offensive fluid to the floor.
He could see both Harry and Sirius were unresponsive, and Granger continued to silently sob in a lump on the floor.
"Happy now, bitch?" he snapped.
She turned her head to his voice, her matted hair covering her face. He was not able to see her clearly as she tried to hide in the shadows, and she could not see him at all through her swollen eyes.
"George?" she whimpered.
"No, Fred. Why did you kill them?" he demanded.
"Fred, I… I never meant to hurt them; you must believe me. I loved them both."
"Fuckin' whore, you enjoyed every second you led me on," she barked back in Ron's masculine voice.
"And you called yourself my friend, jumping Harry as soon as he dumped me? You always were a cold, scheming bitch," she hissed in another girl's voice, one Fred recognised as his baby sister's.
Hermione pulled her knees into her chest, ignoring her lack of clothes. She gingerly reached for a foot bent at an awkward angle, and winced. Fred could see the streaks falling from her eyes cutting a path through the filth on her cheeks. He saw her clearly for the first time in ten years, her healthy frame reduced to an emaciated form, her skin hanging from her bones showed the years of abuse and neglect. The voices she had screamed at herself were familiar; he had recognised traces of both Ron and Ginny. All these years he had blamed her for murdering them; he did not completely believe the explanations he had heard only a day or so earlier from Hermione Potter.
"Hermione," he began in a softer tone, "did you intend to kill my sister and brother?"
In a barely audible whisper she managed her answer,"No." She tried to cover herself with one arm and clear her eyes to see him with the other. The caked blood held one eye shut, but she managed to see some light through the other.
"Fred, help me? I can't see," she begged.
"Why Ron? Why Ginny?" he asked.
"They came to help me, and I was hurting so much. I could see the faces. Faces of the young children. They screamed past me. I could tell they were dead."
"I was there too. There were no children, except where Harry was." He paused to reflect. "Where were you?"
"I don't remember. I don't remember many details anymore," she paused to think for herself. An obvious struggle in her mind raged. "I tried to write what I remembered, but the notes kept vanishing. I ran out of ink, and used this." She held her arm out; he could see scar after scar, the freshest one newly infected.
"Where are you? I can see some light."
"On the wall," he replied.
"Who else is here?" she asked. She rolled to her knees and tried to stand, but screamed in agony. In Harry's rage and sexual frenzy he had broken her ankle, either to keep her from moving or just for the pleasure it gave him. She returned to a sitting position and tried to cover herself with her arms and legs.
"Easy, stay there, you can't help anyway. Harry's here and…"
She screamed again, and hissed some unintelligible sounds at Fred. She tried to push herself away on the floor, but ended directly in front of the unconscious Harry, a trail of her blood marking her path.
"It's not the Harry we know, he's someone else. I thought he was more powerful, but he was tricked, and stunned before we got too far. He's just a clever imposter."
Silence covered the room. Neither knew what to say after ten years of hate.
"Fred?"
"What?"
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the cracking in her voice rang with sincerity. "I'm sorry they were the ones that died because of me."
"Mmmm…" the body to Fred's right moaned. Hermione turned towards the sound, and looked up, one eye barely open.
"W-Who is that?" she asked Fred.
"Him, the imposter," Fred answered. Harry's return to consciousness was slow as he shook off the stunner.
"Fred? Where are we?" he asked before he could look around. His glasses lay on the table with his other possessions. Unlike Fred, his arms were chained to the wall, and the weight of his body pulled on his wrists.
"We're right where you led us, into his trap. Nice work, hero."
"Who else is in here?" he asked, trying to get his bearings.
"Sirius and Granger."
"Hermione? Spirit?" he called out, his vision blurred. "Where are my glasses," he asked.
"They're on a table two metres away to your right," Fred replied. "But it might as well be miles away for what good…"
"Accio glasses," Harry commanded, and they flew into his hand. He managed to slip them on, and took stock of the situation.
"How? You don't have a…"
"Shhh, don't say it, it's our advantage," he barked. He looked at his manacles and closed his eyes. "Alohomora," he said, and pulled at his chains.
"It ain't gonna be that easy; they're charmed," Fred said.
Harry pulled at his chains again, then looked to Sirius and called, "Ennervate," waving a hand at his godfather.
Sirius began to move, and also shook off the grogginess of the stunner. "Where?"
"In some dungeon or torture chamber, inside the castle, I suppose," Harry informed him. "Where is he?"
"He left a short while ago; picked up a sheet of parchment and left."
"Then we don't have much time," Sirius added.
"Then, what do you suggest we do? Gnaw our arms off to escape?" Fred asked sarcastically.
"Let me think a moment," Harry answered.
Hermione listened at the door, trying to detect any sound. Her lights had died hours before, and Harry's mirror had been silent as long. She ran her mind over other thoughts, remembering floor layouts and itemising all the available objects. Her training with Harry and Ron had taught her to focus on finding solutions, not to dwell on how desperate the situation might seem. There is always a way out.
"Think, Hermione. There's bound to be a solution here," she tried to encourage herself.
Pacing did not help, the room was too small. She pushed every thought of Harry to the back of her mind, not wanting to lament on the things she never told him. She refused to think of a life without him; she focused on escape.
The door finally opened and a flood of light momentarily blinded her. In the door stood Harry. She squinted, looking at him, and could tell he looked exactly like hers, except that he held a wand.
"Come on, it's time for you to tell me the truth, and to answer for your personal attack." She could see his grin on the face she knew so well, though this face was so foreign. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from her confinement.
"Where are you taking me?" she insisted as she stood outside her cell.
"SILENCE, whore, I'll ask the questions." She felt a sharp sting on her cheek from his hand. He was as surprised as she was at the results of the slap.
"That should have sent you to your knees, bitch," he said to a standing Hermione.
"You'll have to try harder," she hissed back, swallowing the pain as she spoke.
He let out a silent chuckle, "Who the fuck are you? The map says you're 'Hermione Potter,' but that's impossible. I never gave you my name."
"So it seems. And given the current situation, I'd have a difficult time wanting it."
The defiance she displayed was refreshing, and stimulating. In the years he had ruled, no woman had aroused him the way she now did.
The glint in his eye, although familiar to her, also repulsed her. This man looked like Harry and sounded like him, but was not her husband. He grabbed her arms in a dominant grip, and forced his lips to hers. She held her jaw shut tight, refusing his tongue entry to her mouth.
He maintained his forceful attack on her, shoving a hand up her shirt. He ripped at her clothing, leaving her chest exposed. One of his arms still held her close as he forced another kiss, his other hand freely groping her. She managed a well-placed knee to a vital region, forcing him back.
"Try that again, and I'll kill you, you bastard," she hissed as she attempted to cover herself.
The blow doubled him over momentarily, giving her a moment to think. He shook his head to clear the newfound pain, and his grin returned. "So, it seems you've forgotten your place as well as your past." He straightened, and without warning punched her square in the stomach. She grabbed her stomach, forgetting her modesty and the pain in her side.
"Did that hurt? Afraid to lose something, whore?" He punched her again, this time in her face, splitting the inside of her cheek. "Maybe I'll wait a while before I take that from you. Yes, I figured out your little diagrams."
She fell to her knees and held her stomach, tears from the pain welled behind her eyes, but she forced them back.
"Here, I have a little surprise, to help you remember your place." He grabbed her by her hair and pulled. She lost her balance as he dragged her by her hair to a smaller chamber. He kept pulling, and lifted her into a chair in the room. Belts and chains wrapped around her, securing her legs, arms, and body.
There was a table against the wall, and a towel covering something on it. He pushed her to it, and pulled the cloth, revealing a stone basin. It resembled Dumbledore's Pensieve, but the carvings on the side were different.
"You seem to have forgotten this little exercise. Surely, you remember how this works?"
She glared at him, a tiny trickle from her scalp telling the tale of the force he had used. This can't be good,' she thought to herself.
He tipped her forward, and shoved her face into the urn. Additional straps wound around her, securing her to the table, rendering her unable to move. He turned and left her alone, locking the door.
"Enjoy your afternoon. I have to see to my other 'guests,'" he called as his laughter faded.
The first image forced itself into her mind, from the battle at the ministry when she had been wounded by Dolohov's spell. The pain from the burn raged through her mind, as if it were real. Instead of becoming a bystander in the memory, as with the Pensieve, Hermione felt the pain and watched the events as they happened to her. She could remember the smell of her singed flesh. Unlike that time, she was now alone with her pain. She tried to close her eyes, but the memory burned into her mind. She screamed from the intense agony.
The scene began to fade, replaced now with a new memory, from that night on the beach when she had wanted him. The pain from the burn turned into the pain of desire she had felt. She imagined him holding her, and then pushing her off. 'No' he said in her thoughts. 'You still want Ron; you're only here because Dumbledore ordered you here,' his voice said in her head. But that was not how she remembered that night! As painful as his initial rejection was, that night in his arms was more memorable then the night they had first made love.
That is when the realisation struck. These were her thoughts and memories, the other her; this was how this reality differed. 'He resented how this self felt for Ron,' she now thought. 'That's why they never became close.'
Now, instead of merely suffering passively, she watched the images, and fought the physical pain they delivered. She watched the next vision, and sobbed as she saw her parents being murdered.
She remembered the event, but her Harry had helped her past that memory so that it was almost totally forgotten. She now remembered every second: her father hit simultaneously with two spells, the sickening crunch of bone on bone; the image of her mother flying through the air, and into the table. She heard the sickening snap as her mother's body folded around the desk. She had almost forgotten how they had died. She watched Goyle's foot crash into her father's broken face. She had never before recollected the blood. She watched as, in her dying moment her mother reached for her life's companion and held his hand into death.
Hermione retched into the bowl. The bile vanished as it entered, but the smell lingered.
The next memory started as a silver hand plunged a blade deep into her chest. She felt the initial sting as it cut; she felt the snap of the rib that had prevented the blade from severing her heart. Her breathing became labored and she felt the gurgle of blood in her lung as she began to drown. She watched herself die in his arms. She felt his warm lips on her cold ones.
He held her, and screamed. Then, she watched and listened to Dumbledore console him, pulling him away from her. He dropped her body and she was alone. 'Another change,' she forced her mind to register. She watched from above her body as Harry killed Albus Dumbledore, the green beam of death striking Harry's mentor square in the chest. Harry walked past the body, and Hermione watched him raise his arms, and unleash red tendrils from his fingers, which sliced through the younger students that had just emerged from hiding.
The bodies fell where they stood, some sliced in half. Now, the upper torsos of the dying tried to crawl away from the carnage, dragging their entrails. Faces began flying past, screaming in pain. Faces of the children Harry had murdered. Nearly everyone was a first or second year, too young to aid in defending the school. Hermione tried to cry for those lost, but had no tears left.
She continued to watch as her body was lifted, the blade removed. She saw the crimson hair of a brother and sister over her body. She knew what was next. She felt her soul pull on an unseen force. She heard a pair of screams as two of her closest friends fell dead across her body. A crimson wave engulfed her and she felt power surge through her, a power that came from two separate directions and tore into her soul. The burn of the three souls created a blinding flash as the three were welded into one. In that moment she felt both Ron and Ginny inside her, but watched as their images turned their backs to her and walked away into oblivion. That image faded when Jake lifted her body and began to carry her off.
Mere moments had passed, but they lasted an eternity. She prayed this would not last much longer.
The next vision came into view. She was standing on a beach, and felt a distant sense of peace. A flower-covered altar was positioned a few metres away, and Jake and Eileen stood at it, facing the ocean. Hermione looked down at the lavender gown she wore. A clergy member stood before the couple, and she listened to them exchange vows. There were only a few people accompanying them, sitting behind her, watching the joining of the two. Jake and Eileen had just exchanged rings, and the clergy announced to all assembled that they were now husband and wife, and then the couple shared their first kiss in matrimony.
Screams erupted from those sitting behind her, she turned in time to see the green beam fade from view and the people fall from their seats. She turned back to the bride and groom, who had also turned in the direction of the screams. A silver flash passed from Jake to Eileen; they looked at each other in the confusion. Eileen's white dress streaked with red lines of blood, and then a thin red line encircled her neck. Jake stood frozen, still holding onto his wife's hand. Then, her wedding ring slipped from her finger into the sand. Jake turned and looked at the source of interruption, and his head rolled from his shoulders, coming to rest at Hermione's feet. A second head wearing a now red veil stopped next to the first. Two pairs of eyes stared at her, mouths open in a soundless scream of pain.
Hermione screamed, reaching for the woman to comfort her, but her hand passed through the memory.
Harry stepped from under his cloak, a red-stained sword in his hand, the one he had used to slay the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. 'See what you've done now, bitch? You made me do this. Why did you run and hide from me?' he asked as he slapped her across the face.
'The bloody bastard, how dare he!' Hermione muttered as she felt her heart fill with anger. Her other self was not responsible for all the crimes of which she had been accused. "This must be what we have to change," she thought.
'Clean this mess up, and wait for me,' the other Harry commanded before vanishing. Her counterpart fell to her knees, and using her hands, dug two shallow holes. Tears streaming down her face, she managed to roll Jake's still-warm body into the first pit, and then pulled her last blood relative on earth into the other. She closed her eyes and gently lifted the two heads from the ground and placed them where they belonged. She covered the two bodies with the sand she had scooped from the beach moments earlier, finding a gold ring in one of the piles. She slipped it on her hand and stared at it. It was her cousin's wedding ring. She knew he would never honour it, but he was bound by the wizard's promise he had made to her.
Hermione rubbed her ring with her thumb and felt some reassurance that it was still there after viewing these images.
She pulled herself to her feet and trudged her way across the beach, away from the two fresh graves, and through the small town. Her lavender gown, now stained with blood, went unseen by anyone. Once inside the apartment that she had called her new home, she curled up on her bed and cried herself into a fitful sleep. The last thing she remembered was reaching for a worn teddy bear for comfort.
Hermione stared at the teddy bear and the young woman lying on the bed, still except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She only remembered descriptions of that time in her life, told by her Harry, who had cared for her; this young woman would have to suffer alone.
The images faded again, into a library. She sat in a chair, with many stacks of books strewn on the floor; each page, she noticed, was blank.
This thought bled into other memories of constant beatings and repeated sexual abuse, all from the same man.
She tried to block the emotions that came with these images; they were as painful to watch as her own memories. Her mind numbed to the repeated images until all went blank. Then, nothing. No thought, no sound, no light. She was in a void.
Then, the images swirled back into her conscious mind, and she was in the ministry facing Dolohov again. She felt the pain from the spell burn through her mind again, but now it was with an objective view. She began to make mental notes of all the minor and subtle changes. The cycle of memories had begun over, and they would repeat, over and over, until he would return to pull her from the Pensieve. Each new viewing let her see additional facts others had missed, until she knew the full truth.
Harry returned to his special Room of Requirement, one he specifically outfitted for entertaining special guests. He had only been gone a short time, maybe half an hour; his first guest was safely tucked away in the dungeon, being entertained with certain memories he had saved.
He expected the lot of them would be awake by now, and he was not disappointed. There were some signs that they had attempted to free themselves, and he looked startled to see his alternate self wearing his glasses. His first reaction was to blame her, but she had moved only a metre or so from her spot, her foot swollen. Obviously, she could not move that well.
"Weasel, I must thank you for bringing these entertaining imposters here."
"But, I…"
"Silencio," Harry shouted, while pointing his wand at Fred. "I have the perfect reward for you. Titillando," he roared, and feathers appeared around Fred.
"Hmmm, that's not going to work, is it?" He walked over and produced a familiar jewel-encrusted dagger, and slit Fred's clothes from his neck to his feet. He worked easily, and every stitch of cloth was removed, allowing the feathers to continue their task.
Fred began to laugh silently. He laughed at being tickled by the feathers, while the other Harry sat back in a chair and watched.
"NO! Let them go," he screamed as he struggled with his chains. "I'm the one you want. They have noting to do with-"
"I'm afraid I'm enjoying this too much. Why don't you just watch the fun? Immobulus," his counterpart called, freezing Harry in his place, rendering him incapable of stopping this torture.
"Tickle, tickle… hahahahaha," Harry's reflection taunted, and leaned back in his chair to watch. The others too were forced to watch the abuse done to their friend.
An hour passed, and Fred's skin was showing signs of welts from the constant tickling in static spots. He had a bloody froth from his mouth, and his convulsions caused by the forced silent laughing did more than make his side ache.
Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, and watched the laughing Weasley, whose side now started to bleed as it split open. The other Harry stood and watched the scene, then chuckled to himself and left the torture chamber, saying, "You boys just hang around for a while, I'll be back with a friend."
No sooner had the door shut then Hermione had crawled to Fred and pulled herself up. She grabbed each feather and tried to stop it, yet each time she removed one, another would take its place.
She turned to Harry, "I don't know what to do! He'll die! I can't let that happen. Please, help me!"
"He can't talk," Sirius told her. "He's immobilised. You need to cover Fred, and then the feathers won't have an effect."
She stood on one foot, and then hobbled to the table by where the clothing Harry had given her at the Burrow lay on the floor. She picked up the tattered blood-stained shirt and put it on, then picked up the cloak she had worn. She hobbled back to Fred and draped his body with the cloak, creating a barrier which blocked the feathers.
She stood in front of him, the shirt dripping over her thinner frame, covering her as effectively as it could. She tried to smile at him, but simply could not.
"Hermione, is there a wand there?" Sirius called.
She looked up at him and shook her head, "No, and I don't think I could manage to use one even if I tried." She could see Harry's eyes move, but nothing else. She reviewed the cumulative situation they were all facing and slumped to the floor, to wait for his final retribution.
Their wait was short. The door opened, and he strolled into the room, giving her a questioning glance. He carried a bowl, covered with a dark cloth.
"Thought I forgot about you?" He turned to his mirror image, "I was having a nice chat with that woman you brought. She reminds me of someone, can't place her for the life of me." He laughed at his own joke, and walked to where Hermione sat, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her to face his counterpart.
"Here. This is what I saw." He shoved her into Harry's bound form. He then glanced at Fred, who had passed out from his torture. Blood had pooled beneath him. Harry shook his head, "Disgusting, Weasel. Simply disgusting."
He strolled to the table, and let the dark cloth fall to the floor. He reached into the bowl and removed a length of thin chain threaded through a chunk of meat. It dripped a thick dark liquid as he held it. He turned to Harry and his grin returned.
"She was quite entertaining, a decent sport all around. And I thought about bringing you two together." He looped the chain over Harry's head, allowing his prisoner his first close look. "Yes, it is what you think it is," he gloated.
Harry squirmed and tried to break his invisible bonds, managing a guttural growl as he felt the organ beat on his chest.
"I cut her heart out, just for you," his other self started to laugh. "Oh, and by the way she wanted to tell you that you were going to be a father. I guess you won't have to worry about any snot-nosed brats now."