The room was dark. The body of a young woman lay in a pool of her own blood, her short, well-kept hair masking her face, her heart ruthlessly butchered from her body. The stench of death filled the room. Her murder was sent as a message.
The silence in the room would have been absolute but for the slow, steady breathing coming from the small table in the corner. Another woman sat bound and unconscious; her head fallen to her chest from the stress she had endured.
"Hermione…"
"Ron?" the woman mumbled as if in a dream. "I can hear you…"
"Come back, please," she heard clearly.
Her head snapped up; she had just remembered seeing him in a dream.
She still remained strapped to the chair, though no longer forced to endure the memories in the Pensieve. Relief spread across her body as she realized she had passed out at some point and had fallen away from the images.
She sighed heavily, recalling every detail of every memory from the Pensieve. She knew why this world ended in this state; almost everything seemed to fall into place, except her dream of Ron. She tried to remember what he said, and why she had dreamt of him and not Harry.
She sat in the dark, gathering her thoughts while giving her tired body time to regain its strength. Her brief nap had allowed her side to heal itself; and though the phantom pains from her counterpart's memories still lingered, she knew them to be only in her mind. The longer she rested, the stronger she felt. Her daily nausea had returned, and now she knew why, it was morning-sickness. But she had only partial answers to the likely questions she knew her Harry would ask.
All she could do was wait for him to find her. She assumed the chamber into which she was taken was near the classrooms of her past mentor, but she was not absolutely certain where Harry and the others were in the castle or for that matter if they were even still in the castle.
Now rested, she finally felt ready to try to break her bonds. She knew she had some of Harry's abilities; now was the time to exercise one of them. She closed her eyes and concentrated, just like she had once taught him. She felt a tingle in her arms concentrate around the straps that bound her arms. Those straps began to loosen, just enough for her to slip one arm free.
"That was tougher then I remembered," she mumbled.
She had used unfocused magic before, in the distant past to save a friend; it was as exhausting then as it was now. But she had an arm free. She reached for the buckles of her restraints and worked them loose until all the straps fell to the floor.
Then, still in the chair, she squinted as she tried to survey the room. A moment of concentration and a blue flame appeared on the table, illuminating the room. She saw the desecration of life on the floor; the young woman lost her life for little more than a dark prank. Hermione found an old sheet covering a pile of crates to cover the corpse, and managed to move the body to the side of the room. Under normal circumstances she would have felt more for the unknown woman. Now though, her concern remained preoccupied with her own unborn child's safety. A hand found its way to her stomach, still tender from the earlier blow. It was too soon to begin to worry; enough time had passed without serious repercussions. Their baby was still safe.
Her thoughts drifted back to a time in the recent past, and she clapped her hands once, rubbing them together. A golden glow surrounded them as she found herself lost in the flow of energy that streamed throughout the castle. Only this time, she was not searching for additional souls to drain; she was looking for someone special.
She concentrated, in her field of vision, still watching the life force signatures in the surrounding castle. She again could detect weak sources nearby: trees outside, house-elves scurrying through the hidden halls. Other sources began to filter into her thoughts, some familiar and some foreign. She saw two nearly identical images: one with an image she recognised as herself, though a very faint, almost gone version of herself; there were also two others. These figures were deep in the dungeons, not on the seventh floor, where the Room of Requirement existed. The other image she felt was nearby and getting closer.
It was he; he was returning.
She made an attempt to warn her Harry before the other returned, her strength weakening with every passing second that she thought of only him.
"Stag… can you hear me?" she ventured. "Harry? Please…" she tried to connect to his thoughts, but lacked the strength. She wanted to warn him, and tell him she was safe, but lacked the ability. In a flash, she remembered the mirror, she reached into her pocket and held the fragment in her hand, hoping that he had his. "Harry? Are you there?"
The mirror was blank, but desperate, she waited for any response.
Nothing.
She could hear footsteps approach the door. It was too soon for her Harry, and she cringed at the prospect of another session with the other Harry's temper. The voice on the other end of those footsteps began yelling at unknown targets. The doorknob turned, and she waited for him to throw the door open and resume his torture with the same demonic pleasure he had before exhibited. The latch, however, remained locked. The yelling continued, then began to grow softer as the voice retreated down the hall.
Feeling mildly dizzy, she released the lungful of air she realised she had been holding. The chair she to which she had been strapped at the Pensieve looked far too appealing; her tummy began to rumble, and she began to notice how dry her mouth was. She sat in the only chair in the room and tried to imagine how her counterpart had managed for ten years. The tension of the past day's experience and the experience in that very chair left her unable to relax.
Glancing around the room, her gaze fell upon the piles of crates and picture frames that had been hidden beneath the sheet with which she had used to cover the dead woman. The backs of the pictures faced her, and her curiosity grew.
"I wonder who these unfortunate people were," she mumbled to herself. The first portrait was slashed, the occupant long gone. The next she recognised from Dumbledore's office many years ago, Headmaster Dippet. The next couple of pictures were also former Headmasters and Headmistresses of the school, in each portrait the occupant appearing stunned or unconscious. The last one she turned though held a familiar face.
"Albus!" she exclaimed. The figure in the picture looked up to her and gave half a smile.
"Miss Granger, it has been too long. Are you well?" the voice asked in a sincere tone.
"Sorry, Professor, I haven't used that name in ten years. It's Potter. Harry and I married straight from school. But I don't expect you would have known that."
"How is Harry? The last I remember he locked all the portraits in this room. I remember he was in considerable pain, and I truly don't hold him accountable for his actions of that day."
She nodded in understanding. "There's a lot I have to explain. I'm not that Hermione Granger; Harry and I are both here from another reality. The best I can tell, it all started five years back. Events from our lives evolved us, well, me, really, into an act of desperation and thus ending up here. To us, this is an alternate reality. We've experienced two others as far as we can recall." She proceeded to relate as much as she knew of this world, detailing the changes she had identified in the Pensieve.
"Extraordinary story, Miss Gran-er, Mrs. Potter."
"Please, Albus, we've been on a first name basis for years back in my world. It's good to hear your voice, though."
The portrait smiled warmly at her, "So, you've met my old friend Myrddrin?"
She nodded in reply, "He hasn't shown himself, so I doubt he's still alive."
"I'm certain he is, but if he hasn't seen fit to help you in these troubled times, he must have his reasons. Have you tried to talk to him?" Albus asked.
"I have no idea where to find him if he's still alive. When he talked to me last it was five hundred years ago," she replied.
He smiled again, "Next time you're in Diagon Alley, look for him. He lives near the Leaky Cauldron; I'm certain he would help you."
"I wouldn't bet on that. He hasn't lifted a finger in the past, so why would he help now?" her tone held a dash of resentment.
"I'm afraid only he can answer that question. When you're in the Leaky Cauldron ask for-"
The door flew open, flooding the dim chamber with light. The figure that stood in the doorway was a familiar one, but in the glare she could only make out his outline.
"Talking to strangers, now? I'm a bit shocked," Harry said.
She pushed the portrait back, stood, and faced him, defiantly standing her ground. Harry walked into the room and grabbed her arms; she could see his face now, even in the shadow. He pulled her to his chest and held her tightly. She felt the clammy, sticky shirt press into her.
"Mione?"
"Harry?"
"Yeah, it's really me."
She felt him tremble in her arms, her palm as cold as ice as he released a long held sigh.
"Harry, are you ok?"
"He said you were dead," he said, embracing her tightly.
"Harry, he's had locked me in this room. There's a dead girl on the floor over there. He butchered her and left."
Hermione's palm began to tingle pleasantly as Harry held her; a warm feeling washed through her, reassuring her that this was truly her husband.
"He said he cut out your heart," he said, thinking of the bowl on the table in the dungeon. He could not bear to tell her what the other him had did and said.
"My God, Harry, I'm perfectly fine. He tried to torment me with my counterpart's memories, except he forgot some are mine as well and that I could see the variations. I know where and how things here changed."
"You're safe, that's all I care about." A weathered smile grew on his face, his concern about the accusations pushed aside momentarily. "Sirius created a diversion to draw that maniac away; he'll be looking in the Astronomy Tower for hours. Sirius planned to fly off on my Firebolt from the rooftop; I left Fred and the other ' you'in the broom cupboard near the entrance. If he doesn't read the Map, we all should be fine."
"Harry, listen to me, I know why this happened," Hermione said as she pulled his face to hers.
"I do as well. He did to me what he thought would hurt me. He was wrong. And that's his mistake. I underestimated him. That was my mistake."
"We're together again, darling, that's all that's important," she said to console him.
Harry's smile faded as he remembered one thing from his session, 'she admitted she had recently found another guy, an older bloke'. That accusation, however much he knew in his heart was unfounded, shook his resolve. His faith in her marred. His look now sending shivers of fear into her. "Mione, please tell me, is it true?"
"What?" she asked.
Her palm's tingling faded with his smile.
"Harry, I have to tell you, I have no idea how or when …" she began, but he put a finger to her lips.
"Later, we will talk later. Right now, we have to find our way out."
He kept holding her, as though she would vanish once he let her go. All the pain they had endured, all the suffering seemed to disappear with his touch.
But as he held her, his mind began to once more accuse her. He stopped himself, reasoning, 'She's my life, my love. He was lying about her; he had to be lying.'He felt the warmth of her breath on his neck and banished those lies from his mind.
Together, they left the room, disregarding the Pensieve on the table. The first statue they passed was the one-eyed witch; there, they turned and slipped into the hidden tunnel, down to the lower floors to retrieve the others. Fred and Hermione Granger were still in the small room, now sitting on the bare floor. Although both weak from the ordeal, Fred's condition seemed more desperate; he continued to drift in and out of consciousness while the other Hermione gently stroked his hair, attempting to soothe his pain.
Hermione Potter stepped into the cupboard, helping them both to their feet; and with Harry's support the four left Hogwarts Castle .
"I want them found," he screamed, and the remains of the unfortunate house-elf who had delivered the news of their escape received another brutal blow, the torture spell still causing the carcass to quiver.
The tyrant's unfocused anger rivaled that of the time he had first tasted the intoxicating power surge of killing. He had killed for sport, and from mere boredom; he had killed for the shear pleasure of feeling his victim's life yield to his hand.
But now he was angry.
"I want that bitch brought before me; I want those Mudblood-loving Weasleys' heads, just their heads."
An unfortunate guard caught his eye, and without a word he sent a purple flash from his wand, which seared his victim's flesh to the bone. The guard gave a brief scream of pain before another beam severed his head.
"I want that imposter here to answer to me for his treason," he screamed.
He fell back into the ornate throne he had installed in the outer chamber that had once housed the Slytherins. His rage seethed internally, the room devoid of life save for himself; the guard lay smoldering in a growing crimson pool, the only sound left being the rhythmic tapping of his fingers on the throne's arm.
"Guard!" he screamed. "Order the trolls out to find them," he bellowed, sighing heavily.
They had planned to rendezvous at the Burrow; Sirius was already waiting for them, having escaped as planned. He had led Harry's evil twin on a wild goose chase deep into the Astronomy Tower before flying off to a point from which he could Apparate away, wisely making stops at Diagon Alley and then at points in Sussex and Leeds before reaching Ottery St Catchpole. At each stop Sirius had made certain he had been spotted, and since his criminal status had never been overturned, his simple appearance had caused a mountain of turmoil. Harry had given him explicit instructions to leave him and Hermione if they failed to show in thirty minutes and to disappear abroad in the Muggle world.
While waiting for his godson and the others, Sirius quickly explained as much as he could to Percy and George about the events that had led to Fred's condition. Twenty minutes into his story, they arrived, much to his relief.
Harry carried Hermione Granger, with his wife close behind, levitating Fred.
Sirius had hoped, through his story, to lessen George's shock, but his twin still looked extremely weak, and needed care and rest. The results from Fred's torture session were not life-threatening by themselves, but left untreated could cause lasting complications.
Physically, the others had fared better; the other Hermione seemed to be managing her internal demons, at least for the moment, while Hermione Potter seemed to feed off her husband's strength.
"Hurry with what you absolutely need to bring. We won't have much time, possibly less than an hour," Harry warned George and Percy. Even exhausted, he managed to maintain a commanding stance.
"Look, mate, there's too much here to leave behind. You don't expect him to come here anyway?" Percy protested. It was a daunting order, forcing them to leave their family's ancestral home, possibly never to return.
"I absolutely expect it, but we're not in any condition to face him. He's stronger then we expected," Harry replied. Hermione had left her counterpart and Fred to rest in the front room, and now hurried to gather as many items as she could. Each new stack she compiled, she packed into a different compartment of the seven-lock trunk from the attic.
"And you expect us to just believe that you're not him? Not that I completely understand how this happened," George argued. "First, you two show up and expect us to believe you, then you damn near get my brother killed and drag those other two here," his rant and his rage beginning to build, "And now you expect us to abandon our home because you staged a half-witted rescue attempt."
"George, yes, that's exactly what must be done," Hermione replied. She continued pulling objects from the cupboards that both Molly and Ginny had told her were important family heirlooms.
Past the need for words, George stormed from the room half-expecting a spell in his back. Harry let him go, shaking his head; he knew George was right.
The activity in the house was furious; George and Percy left to pack their own possessions, leaving Hermione and Harry to finish salvaging what precious items they could. Photographs were the mainstay of artifacts saved, as was a small box from the family clock containing the fallen arms of past Weasley's, Harry's realizing its importance immediately, as it listed the entire ancestry of the ancient wizard family.
"Come on, we have got to leave," Harry called again to Percy. All the others had finished packing, but Percy remained in his room still sorting through his personal things.
"I'm going to need a few more minutes," he called, hurriedly putting his quill down.
"No, now. He's coming," Harry said as he stared into the distance. "If it's not packed, it's not of importance. We must leave."
Grumbling, Percy neatly folded a sheet of paper and hid it in his pocket before joining the others in the lounge, Harry pulled out the small table from in front of the sofa. Silently, his hands glowed blue. He pressed his hands to the object and it trembled briefly before returning to normal.
"It's time. As soon as everyone touches it, and everyone must touch it, we'll leave for a safe location."
He began piling the chests, shrunken so that they could all fit, into a valise on top of the table. His wife helped her other self and Fred, as both were still weak. All of them took hold of the Portkey and were instantly transported away from the Burrow, with only one person in the group having a clue as to their destination.