Unofficial Portkey Archive

Sorry for the delayed post. I got knocked flat by a flu bug on Sunday, and I couldn't have felt worse if I'd had the Cruciatus placed on me. I'm on the road to recovery now, so I hope everyone will forgive my unplanned absence.

"It's so obvious now," Hermione said in a ghostly voice, her eyes staring blankly into space. "It's all so perfectly obvious."

"What?" Harry said vacantly. Even with both hands bracing himself on the bed, it was all he could do to sit up straight. His bones seemed to have turned to rubber.

"The way everyone's been treating us," Hermione said. "It all makes sense now."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said.

"Don't you see?" Hermione said. "Everyone who's recognized you has called you Mr. Potter, right? But not Harry Potter! Look at yourself in the mirror, Harry. Your face...your hair...your glasses...it's as plain as the scar on your forehead. Everyone around us thinks you're James Potter!"

"They think I'm...my dad?" Harry exclaimed.

"Of course!" Hermione said. "What else are they to think? Your dad is only a couple of years out of school right now. There would scarcely be an atom of difference between you. Height, features, hair color..."

"What about my eyes?" Harry challenged. "My dad's eyes are hazel. Wouldn't someone notice the difference?"

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said shortly. "Who really looks closely at eyes? Even at a short distance, eye color is almost impossible to determine. And with your glasses reflecting the light, even someone looking right at you would scarcely be able to discern such a subtle shade of difference. The only thing that's keeping you from being your father's virtual twin is your scar, and no one can see that under your hair, can they?"

"That still doesn't explain why Madam Malkin treated me - I mean my dad - like something that just fell out of a hippogriff's backside."

Hermione shook her head with mild exasperation. "Harry, this is the year 1981. Where do you suppose your dad is at this very moment?"

"Well," Harry said slowly, certain that there must be some unseen snare in such a simple question, "I suppose he's at home, at Godric's Hollow, with my mum - "

"Exactly!" Hermione said. "And tell me: What does your mum look like? Does she look anything like me - anything at all?"

"No. But what does - "

"Harry!" Hermione said impatiently. "Everyone who knows your dad knows he's married to a tall, attractive, green-eyed redhead - and not one of those adjectives applies to me!"

Harry was about to dispute Hermione's assertion that she was not attractive, but she cut him off.

"Everyone who knows James Potter also knows Lily. So what in the hell is James doing in Diagon Alley with a witch who is obviously not his wife, yet at whom he is just as obviously making lovey-eyes every time he so much as glances at her?"

"I don't do that," Harry said, embarrassment reddening his cheeks to an even greater degree than the sharp October wind had already done. "Do I?"

"Harry," Hermione said, her smile equal parts amusement and adoration, "Ginny, Lavender and Parvati are always telling me how you can't look at me, even a casual glance, without making love to me."

"I never!" Harry said indignantly. Hermione giggled.

"Not like that," she said. "I was using the old-fashioned terminology. 'Making love' used to mean making romantic overtures...conveying feelings of affection without words. My grandmum used to call it 'pitching woo.'

"Anyway, what was everyone to think when they saw James Potter expressing these feelings toward another woman?"

"We know what Tom was thinking," Harry grunted.

"The old reprobate thought it was quite a lark, I imagine," Hermione agreed. "It's no wonder he asked you straightaway if you wanted a room. He probably thinks my knickers are draped over the bedpost even as we speak, and not for the first time."

A low growl issued from Harry's throat as he thought again how he would like to wipe that simpering smile off Tom's smirking face with brutal finality.

"As for Madam Malkin, you'll remember that she was perfectly friendly toward you when you first walked in."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Why did she go 'round the corner so quickly?"

"Because when you came in," Hermione said, "you were alone. I was already there, remember? I was just another customer - a stranger. But then, when you sat down with me and made with the lovey-eyes, suddenly you became Bluebeard in her book. She knows perfectly well what Lily looks like, and whoever I was, I most definitely was not Lily Potter."

"Madam Malkin supplied the dress robes for my parents' wedding," Harry said. "That's one reason why I went to her for our wedding. I figured it would be good luck. I mean, before Voldemort went and mucked things up, my mum and dad were happy."

"And when Madam Malkin saw you with me," Hermione said, "what was she to think? And then when we mentioned the Halloween Ball? Well, that really tipped the inkwell. Not only were you cheating on your wife, but with a schoolgirl! It's a wonder she didn't pull out her wand and chuck you into the street with a Banishing Charm. And knowing what I do now, I can see that she was holding back considerably when it came to me. In her eyes, I was obviously some cheap little bint who was destroying a happy family, not caring who I hurt so long as I got what I was after."

"But there's one thing you still haven't explained," Harry said. "How did we get here? Why are we in the past and not the future?"

Hermione sighed with exasperation. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Not to me, it isn't," Harry said uncomfortably.

"Our rings," Hermione said, holding up her left hand. "The Inversion Charm!"

Even as awareness spread over Harry's face, his expression closed slightly. "But you didn't have time to put the Charm on my ring. Why didn't I go into the future while you ended up here in the past?"

A chill seemed to spread through Hermione, as if a gust of icy wind had just swept through the room.

"If we had gone separately, using two pinches of powder," she said hollowly, "that's exactly what would have happened. And even using the Floo together as we did, it might've happened anyway - if not for our rings." Hermione looked up, her eyes embracing Harry's. "Our rings, Harry! Bonding Rings. If I had used the spell on any other object, it would have remained locked in that object. But the special Bonding Charm linking these rings together acted as a conduit for the Inversion Charm so that it 'arced' from my ring to yours. But it was a near thing even so. Thank Merlin we were hugging each other so closely when we jumped into the fire. If we'd been separated by even an inch, we might have been torn apart, lost to each other forever. But as it was, the Inversion Charm covered both of us, sending us here instead of where Voldemort intended us to go.

"But why are we here?" Hermione now puzzled. "The spell was supposed to take us to a time when we would be rendered superfluous. But if it worked in reverse - does that mean that we've come to a time when we can do something good?"

"OF COURSE!" Harry shouted, leaping up in a billow of black robes. "The Charm sent us here and now because this is the day when Voldemort killed my parents! But now they don't have to die! We can stop him! I don't know how, but we wouldn't be here if we couldn't do it somehow!"

Hermione was now looking at Harry with alarm. "Harry," she said with a forced calm, "we can't. We can't change what's already happened."

"The hell we can't!" Harry shouted. "If you think I'm going to just stand around and let Voldemort destroy my life again, when I can do something to stop him, you're barmier than Trelawney!"

"Harry," Hermione said pleadingly, "what can you do? This is Voldemort we're talking about! You can't face him alone, without help from the Aurors or the Order! Without Ron, we don't even have the protection of the Blood Circle! It's suicide!"

"I faced him once before," Harry said defiantly.

"And you were nearly killed," Hermione returned. "Only a miracle saved you that time."

"I'm better prepared this time," Harry said stubbornly. "We still have the protection of Snape's potion. As for the Blood Circle - well - nothing against Ron, but he was never really as good as you and I. We don't need him. The two of us can - "

"Harry!" Hermione said, her voice cracking. "Whatever his shortcomings, we do need Ron! Without him, the Blood Circle is broken and useless. That's why Voldemort wanted us out of the way in the first place, to break the circle. Draco probably learned about it through Snape, and he told Voldemort straightaway. We were sent away so we couldn't complete the circle. And if we couldn't defeat Voldemort without it in our time, what can we do against him here in the past, when he was at the peak of his power? Please, Harry! You simply aren't powerful enough to defeat Voldemort. The only wizard in the world strong enough to face him is Dumbledore."

Harry stood still as a statue for almost a full minute before his quivering muscles relaxed. "Right, then," he said at last. "That's what we'll do. We'll go to Dumbledore. I know we'll be able to convince him we're telling the truth. It's a wild story, but if anyone will believe us, Dumbledore will. Isn't Hagrid always saying that Dumbledore trusts where others don't? Yes, I'm sure we'll be able to convince him."

"Harry," Hermione squeaked, "you still don't understand. We - we can't change - "

"DON'T TELL ME WE CAN'T CHANGE HISTORY!" Harry roared as Hermione shrank back in her chair. "I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT HISTORY! THE WHOLE BLOODY UNIVERSE CAN JUMP DOWN THE FLIPPIN' LOO AND PULL THE LEVER FOR ALL I CARE! I AM NOT GOING TO LET MY PARENTS BE MURDERED IF THERE'S A CHANCE I CAN STOP IT!"

Hermione's face was now buried in her hands as her shoulders trembled with quiet sobs. Instantly cut to the heart, Harry dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Hermione.

"Hermione, I love you," Harry breathed into her ear. "I love you more than my own life. But don't ask me not to try. If you love me, please don't ask me to just stand by and - and let that bastard murder my parents all over again. Please."

Harry felt Hermione's arms slip around his waist. He pulled her from the chair, and together they sank onto the floor and held each other for a long time. At length Harry loosed his firm but gentle grip and allowed Hermione to draw back until he could look into her eyes, which were bright with wetness.

"Tell me honestly and truly, Hermione," Harry said. "If it were your parents, wouldn't you want to try? Even if you failed, could you live with yourself if you didn't at least try to change it?"

"No," she said at last. "I couldn't."

"And you know you wouldn't have to go it alone," Harry said. "You know I'd be right there beside you, all the way."

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Just as I'll be right beside you. All the way."

Harry kissed Hermione tenderly, holding her against him as if he never wanted to let her go. But though he would have gladly spent an eternity thus, time - ironically - was now their greatest enemy. He sprang up as if his legs had been Transfigured into steel springs, drawing Hermione to her feet alongside him.

"What time is it?" he asked urgently. Hermione looked at her watch.

"Almost three."

"That gives us plenty of time," Harry nodded. "Dumbledore will be at Hogwarts. We'll have to go to Hogsmeade and run all the way to the castle. He'll probably be in his office. We won't know the password, but McGonagall will tell us. My dad is a member of the Order of the Phoenix, so she'd have no reason not to tell him the password. McGonagall's shrewd, but I think I can pass for my dad long enough, don't you?"

"Harry," Hermione said haltingly, her face etched with worry, "how are we getting to Hogsmeade?"

Harry stared stupidly for a moment. "By portkey, of course. You said you learned the enchantment, right?"

Hermione's legs gave way, and Harry quickly steered her back into her chair.

"Harry," Hermione said weakly, "I - I can't enchant a portkey."

"What?" Harry burst out. He looked almost exactly like Malfoy had looked when Hermione had gone off on him four years ago and slapped his face. "But - you said you learned the spell!"

"I know the spell," Hermione nodded in agreement. "But I can't do it."

"That's nutters!" Harry barked. "Since when did any spell you ever learned not work?"

"Harry," Hermione said, "you don't understand how portkeys work."

"Sure I do," Harry said. "I watched Dumbledore at the Ministry. You just say, 'Portus,' and - "

"No," Hermione shook her head, "there's more to it than that."

"You mean like the Summoning Charm, or the Unforgivables?" Harry said. "So, you'll just concentrate extra hard - we'll do it together -- "

"Listen to me!" Hermione shouted. Harry fell silent. Sighing heavily, Hermione said, "In order for a portkey to work, it has to be linked magically to its destination. The way that's done is, the spell-caster reaches out with his mind and 'touches' the portkey's destination. When he speaks the incantation, his mind automatically creates a link between the destination and the portkey. Without this link, the incantation is useless and the object being enchanted can't become a portkey."

"Why can't you do that?" Harry asked.

"Because the mind-touch is the first phase in Apparation," Hermione said. "In Apparation, the mind reaches out and touches a destination, and the body follows it like an elastic band snapping back to its original shape. In the case of portkeys, the enchanted object simply takes the place of the Apparating body."

"Then how did Dumbledore send me back to his office with that portkey?" Harry demanded. "He couldn't possibly have 'touched' his office with his mind, since Hogwarts is surrounded by anti-Apparation wards. And Crouch turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey while it was inside the Hogwarts grounds."

"Crouch never said that," Hermione countered. "It's almost certain he enchanted the Cup off the grounds - most likely in Hogsmeade. As for Dumbledore, he didn't need to 'touch' his office. The spells permeating his private chambers maintain a sort of permanent link between them. It's probably the only place in Hogwarts where he can come and go like that - and as I said before, none but the spell-caster can breach such a personal barrier."

Harry felt as if he had been stabbed through the heart. He felt a sudden upsurge of hatred for the Dursleys. Hermione's birthday had come after the beginning of term, but he had turned seventeen on July 31st. If the Dursleys had let Harry go to the Burrow earlier, he might have been able to take Apparation training with Ron, who was himself now fully licensed to Apparate (even if the wards surrounding Hogwarts prevented him from actually doing so). Even had Harry been unable to complete the training, the preliminary exercises - the first phase, as Hermione had called it - would have enabled him to provide the mind-link for a portkey while Hermione performed the actual spell. Harry cursed silently, his teeth grinding together like millstones.

"What can we do?" he said, his voice pregnant with anguish. "How can we get to Hogsmeade? The Floo? I know most of the shops will be closed for the holiday, but surely the Three Broomsticks will be open? Maybe even the Hog's Head."

"And where are you going to get Floo powder?" Hermione said. "All of the shops that sell it are closed, and ours is so much rubbish."

"Wouldn't Tom have some downstairs?" Harry said desperately.

"Tom's clients are all mature wizards who can Apparate," Hermione said. "Why do you think that old witch tried to bum a pinch off of us? Because she knows neither Tom nor anyone else in the pub has so much as a gram."

"This isn't happening," Harry moaned. "Damn, I wish I had my Firebolt. Maybe if I broke into Quality Quidditch Supplies - "

"You'd set off a bunch of magical alarms," Hermione said. "Maybe get yourself stunned, or worse. And how much success do you think you'll have convincing Magical Law Enforcement wizards that you broke in so you could go stop a murder that happened sixteen years ago, but hasn't actually happened yet? They'd chuck you in a cell faster than you can say, 'Dobby wears mismatched socks and a tea cozy for a hat.'"

Suddenly Harry pounded his fist on the table, his face exultant.

"The Knight Bus!"

"Brilliant!" Hermione beamed, clapping her hands together with a report like a wizard cracker. "Only…"

"Only what?" Harry said quickly.

"The Knight Bus can't actually come into Diagon Alley," Hermione said. "We'll have to go through the Leaky Cauldron and out into Muggle London."

"Let's go," Harry said.

They ran through the crowded pub, Harry resisting the urge to pause just long enough to cave in the bartender's leering face with a Herculean effort of will, and dashed out onto the sidewalk. The Leaky Cauldron did not sit on a busy street, allowing it to maintain a low profile in the midst of Muggle surroundings. When none of the sparse litter of pedestrians appeared to be looking his way, Harry raised his wand arm. Almost immediately there was a loud bang, and, with a squealing of tires, the Knight Bus appeared out of thin air.

It was three decks high, painted a violent shade of purple that pained Harry's eyes. Dobby would have loved it.

The door sprang open, and a young wizard in a purple conductor's uniform jumped out. Actually, Harry thought, it was more like he was pushed out. Harry gawked for a moment. He had never seen the Knight Bus so full to overflowing. He could not even see where the conductor (who was very like Stan Shunpike, with big ears and a long, scrawny neck ) had found the room to stand inside the bus in the first place.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," the conductor said as he adjusted his cap and straightened the shoulders of his uniform jacket (which appeared to be at least two sizes too big). "Emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. My name is Reggie Mac - "

"Yeah, right," Harry said impatiently. "We need two fares to Hogsmeade."

"Right y'are," the young wizard said cheerfully. But his face became apologetic as he said, "There ain't no seats left. This is our busiest day, it is, Halloween."

Harry wondered if there was even standing room, but there was no time to quibble. He would ride on the roof if he had to, fixing himself to the metal skin with a Sticking Charm.

"How long will it take?" Harry said as he fished around in his pocket for some coins.

"Wot? To Hogsmeade?"

"No," Harry snapped, "to Buckingham Palace, you git!"

"'Ere, now," Reggie said testily. "No need to take that tone."

"Please forgive him," Hermione said, stepping up now with a Galleon procured from her money pouch. "He's upset. We're going to see his parents. They're...not well."

Reggie's indignation faded as he took the gold coin from Hermione. "Sorry, folks. Well, never you fear, we'll arrive in Hogsmeade, oh, sometime before eight, I reckon. Now, if you'll step up - "

"EIGHT?" Harry exploded. "Eight o'clock? That's five bloody hours!"

"O' course," Reggie said. "It's way up in Scotland, innit? An' we got all them other blokes to drop off 'tween 'ere an' there, don't we? All three decks is full to burstin', they is, and them as has the nearest destinations 'as got to be delivered first, don't they? An' you bein' last on an' all...I mean, it's only fair, innit?"

"What's the hold up?" a witch barked peevishly from somewhere in the mass of humanity squeezed into the bus.

"My ol' Trouble 'n Strife'll have my kidneys for cat food if I'm not home by six," a hoarse-voiced wizard announced from an open window on the second deck just above Harry's head.

"Shake a leg, lad," admonished the driver, Ernie Prang, who looked no different now than Harry remembered him from his last trip a couple of years ago. The old wizard squinted through his thick glasses, and Harry was unsure whether it was Reggie or himself who had been addressed. "We got a schedule to keep."

His eyes spitting green flame, Harry snatched the Galleon from the conductor's hand and whirled about in a billow of black robes. But a sudden tug on his arm brought him around again.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "If we can't go to Hogsmeade, there's only one other place to go."

Harry stared at Hermione with a mixture of disbelief and something akin to worship.

"Do you mean it? You were against it before."

"It's the only way," Hermione said, masking her fear with an effort.

"You getting' on er not?" Ernie called out.

"Yes," Harry said as he squeezed Hermione's hand appreciatively. "Never mind Hogsmeade. We're going to..."

Harry choked abruptly, his words catching in his throat like coarse sand. He looked desperately at Hermione, only to see the same terrible realization stamped on her own features. He let out a strangled sob.

The Fidelius Charm! How could he have been so stupid? In the time they had stood arguing over a course of action, the Charm had been engaged, wiping out all knowledge of the Potters' location to anyone except the Secret Keeper, Peter Pettigrew! Only a short time ago, Harry had been relating the story of his parents' demise at the hand of Voldemort. During that narrative, the image of the location of which he spoke had been clear in his mind. Now, it was if a hand had reached out and erased the knowledge from his brain as easily as Hermione had swept the Floo dust from their table in the Leaky Cauldron.

And even if either of them still remembered where James and Lily lived, neither of them could have divulged that information to Ernie. The only person on Earth with that power was even now scurrying rat-like to betray his precious knowledge to his master, Lord Voldemort.

Hermione gently pried the Galleon from Harry's clutching fingers and pressed it into Reggie's hand. "For your trouble," she said in a faint, distant voice. "Thank you."

His fingers closing on the gold coin, Reggie nodded with a smile, lifting a finger to the bill of his cap. Straightening the shoulders of his lopsided uniform, he stepped back onto the bus. There was a roar, a squeal of tires, a loud bang, and the bus was gone.

Harry had collapsed into a heap on the sidewalk, his back pressed against the ancient stones of the old pub. Hermione knelt and slipped her arms around his neck.

"What are we going to do?" Harry said, his voice perilously close to a sob.

"Let's go inside," Hermione said.

Harry shook his head violently.

"We can't sit here," Hermione said. "Sooner or later, a policeman will come along, and what will we tell him when he asks why we're wearing black robes and traveling cloaks instead of Muggle clothes? Come on, let's just go through the pub and into Diagon Alley. Maybe a walk will help us to think."

Rising to his feet grudgingly, Harry paused with his hand against the door to the pub, his face turning slowly toward Hermione.

"If everyone inside can Apparate," he said with a spark of hope, "could one of them Apparate us to Hogsmeade? I'll give him gold - my entire vault - "

"No," Hermione said. "It's against the law. But there's more to it than simple illegality," she added quickly as defiance flashed in Harry's eyes. "Remember that Arthur and Molly couldn't Apparate you and the rest of the family to Diagon Alley on your first visit to the Burrow. Apparation requires a trained mind to work properly, even if someone else is supplying the magic. A wizard can Apparate with solid objects, like parcels and such, but the process would mentally splinch another human who wasn't actually participating in the Apparation process, perhaps beyond repair. It would be different if we'd learned how to cast our minds out, but in our present state, it would be like we're rooted to the ground. If an Apparating wizard tried to carry us along, our minds would be torn apart like a storm ripping a tree out of solid rock. Someone with mind powers, like Dumbledore, might be able to erect a protective barrier around his charge to block the destructive effects. But an ordinary wizard could never...I'm sorry, Harry."

"My mum was going to Apparate out of the house with me when Voldemort attacked," Harry said argumentatively, determined to clutch at every straw within his grasp.

"A baby's mind is open and uncluttered," Hermione said patiently. "And its body is small enough to be included in the magical aura that surrounds an Apparating witch or wizard. Without that protection..."

His shoulders sagging as under a terrible weight, Harry pushed open the door and trudged into the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione guiding his leaden step.

"Back fer more, eh, Mr. Potter?" Tom cackled. "I tol' ye, them little 'uns is the best!"

His bile rising, Harry plunged through the pub and out the back door, where he opened the back wall by slamming his fist angrily upon the enchanted trigger-stone.

After a few minutes' walk, the silence enveloping them broken only by the echo of their footfalls on the sidewalk, Hermione steered Harry onto a stone bench sitting on the patio of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Harry sat with his face buried in his hands, trying desperately not to cry.

"They're going to die," Harry croaked. "Voldemort's going to kill them again. If there was only some way to warn them." Harry let out an anguished sob. "I could have taken the Knight Bus straight to their house!" he squeaked piteously. "I know it's closer than Hogsmeade! Even though I don't remember where it is, I can feel how close it is! I could have warned them, made them understand! But it's too late now. If only I hadn't waited! I'm an idiot!"

"If you are, then so am I," Hermione said gently, "because I didn't think of it straightaway, either. So much for being the smartest witch at Hogwarts."

"What are we going to do?" Harry said as he raised his head and pulled off his glasses to wipe his eyes. "We don't belong here. This isn't like with the Time-Turner. Then, all we had to do was hide out for a few hours until time caught up with us and step back into our lives. But how can we stay hidden for sixteen bloody years?"

"We can't," Hermione said flatly. "We'll have to leave England."

"Leave?" Harry said incredulously, his head jerking up. "We're not going to stay and fight?"

"After tonight," Hermione said, the words burning her heart like iron brands, "there won't be anyone to fight. Not for another thirteen years."

She looked at Harry, whose eyes were now red and puffy.

"If we stay, people will wonder how 'James Potter' can still be walking about after he and his wife were killed by Voldemort. We'll have to go far away. The states...maybe Canada, where our speech won't brand us so obviously as outsiders. We'll change our looks. I can cut and dye my hair. Maybe you can grow a moustache or a beard. And while we're waiting, we'll work. We'll study. We'll prepare. And when the moment is right, we'll be ready.

"We don't know exactly where Voldemort will be during his 'exile.' There are too many wild places, forests and mountains, where he can hide. We could try to stop him when he goes after the Sorcerer's Stone. Maybe we can stun Quirrell in Diagon Alley, before he tries to steal the Stone from Gringotts." She sighed. "But he may attack innocents to cover his escape, leaving us worse off than before. And once he's at Hogwarts, it would be much too dangerous for us to go after him. Anyway, we know Voldemort was defeated and went back into hiding, so I suppose we're better off just biding our time.

"But we do know exactly where he'll be prior to the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament!" Hermione's eyes were dancing with dark fire now, the way they always did when she was on the verge of some intellectual triumph. "When Pettigrew brings him out of hiding, we'll be ready for him. Maybe we can surprise him in his parents' house, the way old Mr. Bryce did. Failing that, we'll try to prevent Barty Crouch from replacing Mad-Eye Moody. That would be a major setback for him. And even if that doesn't work, we know the 'other Harry' will be in no danger until he enters Hagrid's maze. We needn't grow careless. We know Voldemort will be waiting in the cemetery at Little Hangleton on the night of the Third Task. But instead, we'll be waiting for him."

"Wormtail," Harry said coldly. "Yes. It'll be worth waiting thirteen years to kill him. And when he's dead, I'll stamp on that vile slug that Voldemort will have become. I won't even use my wand. I'll crush his skull under my heel, like a cockroach. Yes. That will be worth thirteen years of my life. And to think it will have been Voldemort himself who brought about his own demise with that damned Dust of Set. Maybe I'll tell him that, just to see the look on his face before I stamp his brains out."

The ice in Harry's voice chilled Hermione's blood.

"I've been thinking," Hermione said slowly, "what would have happened if we could have saved Lily and James tonight. What would happen to us, I mean."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, coming fully alert now.

"I was thinking," Hermione said as she looped her arm through Harry's and held him possessively to her, "that it's only through the strangest and most unusual of circumstances that we became friends, much less fell in love."

Harry placed his hand on Hermione's arm comfortingly. "We were meant to be together," he said unyieldingly. "Nothing could ever change that."

To his surprise, Hermione laughed.

"What did you think of me when we first met?" Hermione asked.

"I thought you were a smug, annoying, bossy little know-it-all who couldn't have been more prim if you'd had a ruddy broomstick stuck up your arse," Harry said without hesitation.

"That's exactly what I was," Hermione smiled. "What happened to change that?"

"To begin with," Harry said, "Ron and I rescued you from a twelve-foot mountain troll in the girls' loo."

"A mountain troll let in by Professor Quirrell, on orders from Voldemort, as part of a plan to steal the Sorcerer's Stone."

Harry's expression remained blank.

"Don't you see?" Hermione said. "If Voldemort hadn't lost his body when he failed to kill you, there would've been no troll to bring us together. Hagrid never would have gone to fetch the Sorcerer's Stone on Dumbledore's orders. It would've remained locked in its vault at Gringotts. It never would have been at Hogwarts, where Quirrell tried to steal it by using the troll as a diversion. And if none of those things had happened, you and I...well, there never would've been a 'you and I.' "

"What about the Chamber of Secrets?" Harry argued. "Even if we weren't mates, your curiosity would have led you to search the library until you found out all about the basilisk."

"Probably," Hermione acceded. "But who would I have told if you and I weren't mates? For all we know, it might've been Ron and I who rescued Ginny from Tom Riddle while he was busy killing you."

"That's a cheerful thought," Harry grunted.

"Or no one might have rescued Ginny," Hermione added gravely. "Her bones would have lain in the Chamber forever, just like the message she wrote on the wall said.

"And what about Sirius?"

"What about him?" Harry said.

"It was when we worked together to save Buckbeak, and thereby save Sirius, that I..." Hermione hesitated a moment before she said in a low, aching whisper, "That was the night when I...when I fell in love with you."

Harry tried to speak, but only a soft hiss of breath escaped his throat.

"If James and Lily had lived, " Hermione said, "Sirius never would have gone to Azkaban. The incident that brought us together in Third Year never would have happened. We never would have happened."

"No," Harry said firmly. "We would have come together, somehow. It took me a while, but I did come to see just how important you are to me, and always have been."

"Exactly," Hermione said with a sort of pained triumph. "Always have been. But as I just pointed out, I wouldn't have been important to you without those mitigating circumstances. Before you and Ron saved my life...well, Ron told the truth that day when he said I had no friends."

Harry gave Hermione's hand a comforting squeeze, which she returned.

"And there's one other factor to consider."

"What's that?"

"Your dad."

"My dad?" Harry puzzled. "How could my dad have any bearing on my feelings for you?"

"Do you remember what you were like when you came to Hogwarts, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I wish I could forget," Harry laughed softly. "I was timid, scared, unsure of myself...I was the very definition of uncool."

"Precisely," Hermione said. "You didn't feel like you fit in anywhere. You were a lot like me. And Ron. I've always thought that one of the reasons we bonded as we did - all three of us - was because we didn't fit in anywhere else. We became a sort of three-person support group. Us against the world.

"And tell me now - what was your dad like in school? What was he like when you saw him in Snape's memory when you entered Dumbledore's Pensieve?"

"He was everything I never was," Harry said. "He was confident, sure of himself, popular - with everyone but my mum, that is."

"Why did your dad fancy your mum?" Hermione asked, rather like a barrister in a judicial chamber. "It was plain that she didn't give a hippogriff's toenail for him."

"She was...I dunno...dynamic. Fiery. And maybe my dad fancied her because she didn't fall all over him like the other girls." Harry's voice trailed off. Hermione smiled.

"You left one thing out, Harry. Your mum was beautiful. She was tall and graceful. She had poise and spirit. Just as James was everything you were not, Lily was everything I am not."

"I don't - "

"Harry," Hermione said with an amused lilt in her voice, "if you had grown up with your dad as your role model, you would have been just like him when you arrived at Hogwarts. You would have been confident and self-assured. You probably would have been an arrogant prat like your dad was before Lily sorted him out, although your mum might have succeeded in keeping your head a few sizes smaller than your dad's was at your age. And even the things that remained the same would still be different. I'm sure Oliver would have recruited you for the Gryffindor Quidditch team straight off, even if you hadn't gone chasing after Neville's Remembrall. More likely, you would have lobbied for the Seeker position halfway through the Welcoming Feast, using your dad's reputation as leverage. And you would have won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor - except that, instead of being humble about it, you would have eaten up the glory and adoration like Ron eats Honeydukes chocolate. Just as your dad did." Hermione giggled lightly. "I can see you now, raking your fingers through your hair, just like James. And the girls would all oooh and aaah, and you would flash them a bright smile and swagger off - "

"I would not have swaggered," Harry said peevishly.

"You would have swaggered off with your broomstick over your shoulder," Hermione resumed determinedly. "You would have been an amalgam of your father and Sirius. The ultimate Marauder." Another tiny giggle echoed in the back of Hermione's throat. "You know, that Harry might well have stolen Cho straight away from Cedric." She giggled again.

"I know you're trying to make a point," Harry prompted. "But your Disarming Spell is missing the target."

"Is it?" Hermione said quietly, looking directly into Harry's eyes. Without preamble, she asked matter-of-factly: "Am I pretty, Harry?"

"You're the most beautiful - "

"If you sent my picture into Witch Weekly's prettiest witch contest, how high do you think I would place?"

"That's a load of rubbish," Harry snorted.

"James was attracted to Lily from the first because of her looks." Hermione said. "Later, he discovered her inner beauty and fell in love with her. But he wouldn't have given her a second glance if she'd…if she'd looked like me."

"Hermione - "

"I'm not bitter," Hermione said, her smile warm and genuine. "But I am pragmatic. Like those Egyptian generals I was telling you about, I always know which way the wind is blowing. The truth is the truth. And the truth is, the Harry Potter I just described would have sought out the prettiest girls in the school and ignored everyone else - especially a certain bushy-haired, buck-toothed Gryffindor who would have been as invisible on his radar as if she were wearing his father's Invisibility Cloak.

"But, of course," Hermione said with a small sigh, "that wouldn't have been you. Not really. That would have been another Harry Potter."

"What are you talking about?" Harry said, his brow wrinkling beneath his wind-tossed bangs. "Unless we jumped into some kind of parallel universe, like in those Muggle paperbacks Dean is always reading, that 'other Harry' whose parents are going to die tonight is me!"

"He is now," Hermione said. "When - when Voldemort kills Lily and James tonight, that Harry will be sent straight to the Dursleys, to be tormented by Dudley for ten horrible years until Hagrid delivers his Hogwarts letter and sets him free. That Harry will meet Hermione and Ron on the train, and together they'll save the Sorcerer's Stone from Quirrell. He'll kill the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, save Sirius from the dementor's kiss, give his blood to resurrect Voldemort. He'll go to the Ministry of Magic, fight for his life against Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange...watch Sirius fall through the veil and never return. And eventually, when Halloween 1997 turns up again, he'll go up the Floo with his fiancée and end up here. The circle will be complete.

"But what if we could have saved Lily and James tonight? As we sit here on this bench, feeling each other's warmth, I know we're real. I know because I can remember everything we've been through together over the last six years. I can remember every detail of our journey through the bowels of the castle to save the Sorcerer's Stone. I can remember how it felt to put my arms around you and press up against you when we rode Buckbeak up to Professor Flitwick's window to rescue Sirius. Those memories are a part of me...just as they're a part of you. But what if that suddenly never happened? How could we remember something that we never did?"

Smiling, Hermione squeezed Harry's hand as she gazed into his brilliant green eyes.

"Like everyone in the world, wizard or Muggle, we are what we are because of the things we've seen and done. We're like patchwork quilts, with each patch representing the events that have shaped our lives. We're the product of our experiences. Different experiences equal different patches, equal different quilts. Which equals a different us. And if the world we know were to change to create a new and different Harry Potter and Hermione Granger - where would that leave us - the you and me sitting on this bench right now?"

"We're here," Harry said resolutely, his fingers folding about Hermione's emphatically. "You and I. Nothing can change that."

"We can change that," Hermione said. "Or we could have. If we had changed what was into what will be, we would automatically create a new Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. As you just said, we are in the same universe. And in any universe, no matter how big, there's room for only one of each of us.

"Look at it as a writer creating a novel. He writes it from beginning to end, all the chapters connected from first to last. Then, suddenly, he radically changes the first chapter so that someone who originally died now lives. All of a sudden, the end of the story doesn't mesh with the beginning. So what does he do? It's simple. He tears out the last chapters, chucks them in the dustbin and writes a new ending. The old is gone, as if it never was, replaced by the new. And that's what would have happened to us."

"Are you saying," Harry said through lips suddenly dry, "that if we had found a way to save my parents, we...you and I..."

"We would erase ourselves," Hermione said, supplying the words for which Harry struggled in vain. "Like an essay from a blackboard. A new essay would take our place on the slate of the universe. The you and I who are having this conversation right now would cease to exist. In time, even the memory of our presence here would fade from the world. Like an almost-dream that never was. A nocturne in a minor key."

This was more than Harry could comprehend. He was real. He could feel his heart beating, hear his lungs drawing breath - he could see that breath fogging the chill October air. Hermione's flesh was warm and alive beneath his hands. What she was suggesting was impossible. Wasn't it?

"If all that was true -" Harry said slowly, "- and I'm not conceding anything, mind - would it change what we were about to do before the Fidelius Charm erased our memories? Could we do what we intended, knowing what we'd lose in the bargain?"

"I should be asking you that, Harry," Hermione said. "Would you trade what we have here and now - the lifetime we can share - for a new life with your parents - a life without me?"

Harry could not answer such a question, even if he believed the truth of it.

"You don't have to answer," Hermione said, her head tilting to rest on his shoulder. "But for my part, I would stand by you, whatever your decision. I love you. And if that love was destined to last only a heartbeat instead of a lifetime, I'd still be better off than that other Hermione who might never get to love you at all. Even if she lived a hundred years and I died tomorrow, I still wouldn't change places with her."

"If that other Harry never saw what a treasure you are," Harry said softly, his cheek nestled against Hermione's bushy head, "he's a git. It would serve him right to stand in the back aisle, all alone, watching you marry someone more deserving, like Ron, or Cedric…"

"Cedric?" Hermione echoed with a laugh.

"Why not?" Harry laughed in his turn. "You said you were impressed with him, with his good grades and the fact that he was a prefect. Think about it. If he hadn't died during the Triwizard Tournament, you and he would have spent a bit of time together in prefect meetings once you got your badge. He'd have got to know the real Hermione Granger a lot quicker than a certain green-eyed wizard who shall remain nameless." Harry grinned broadly. "If that other Harry were to steal Cho away from him, the way you reckoned, he might marry you on the rebound, and do a lot better for himself in the exchange in my opinion."

Harry felt Hermione start as suddenly as if she had been pricked with a needle.

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head so he could see her face.

"Harry..." Hermione said, her eyes fixed on something Harry could not see, "...empty your pockets."

"What?" Harry said, unsure he had heard right.

"Empty your pockets," Hermione repeated.

Sensing that compliance would be simpler than arguing, Harry began turning his pockets out. Hermione examined every item closely as it emerged. Like herself, Harry had brought little with him, expecting to be away from school for only a couple of hours. His coin pouch contained only a few Sickles, most of his money having gone to pay for their room over the Leaky Cauldron. He found a couple of Chocolate Frog cards in the pocket of his cloak, their rounded corners indicating that they had been carried around unsuspected for quite some time. Two toffees appeared, their gold foil wrappers emblazoned with the Honeydukes legend, but Hermione ignored them.

Without warning, Hermione pounced like Crookshanks upon Scabbers.

"Harry, where did you get this?"

The frantic note in Hermione's voice surprised Harry. "What, that? It's only a butterbeer cap."

"Where did you get it?" Hermione said more urgently. "Did it come from the Three Broomsticks?"

"Why?"

"Think, Harry! Did it come from the Three Broomsticks?"

Harry could not imagine why the point of origin of a butterbeer cap could possibly be of any importance, but he concentrated as best he could.

"No," he said at last. "It came from the Burrow. Ron's collecting them. Inside the cap is a picture of a famous singer or musician. Ron gave me that one because it was a double."

Hermione sighed as she looked inside the cap. A moving photo of Celestina Warbeck mouthed silently in a parody of singing.

Knowing better than to ask too many questions, Harry tried his left-hand pockets. He expected to find very little on that side, as he was right-handed and tended to favor that side of his robes. His wand was on the left, of course, as it was easier to draw from that side.

Without warning, Harry's mouth fell open. Alert now, Hermione watched as Harry drew from his pocket...

"Tom Riddle's diary?" Hermione said, her amazement matching Harry's expression. "You brought it with you?"

"I must have stuck it in my pocket without realizing it," Harry said as he stared at the worn book with the gaping hole through its center. "We left in a hurry. I didn't give it a thought. Must have been a reflex action. Is it important?"

Hermione thought for a moment before shrugging. "No. I don't think so."

Harry returned the diary to his robes, along with everything else. He ached to ask Hermione what that had been all about, but if she hadn't volunteered the information already, he knew it was pointless to ask. If it was important, she would tell him. If it was not, then what did it matter? Harry's curiosity was aroused, but he reined it in with the sureness of long practice. This was not the first time Hermione had left him dangling over something trivial, and God willing, it would be far from the last.

"I know it's early," Harry said, "but all this has taken a lot out of me. Fancy a kip? The room's paid for until tomorrow morning. And in any case, we can't leave until we've decided just where we're going, can we?"

"I knew there was a reason Dumbledore made you Head Boy, Potter," Hermione smiled. "After a little lie-down, I might even be able to face up to Tom's fish and chips."

"Bugger that," Harry sneered. "Gringotts is still open. We'll change some of your Galleons into pounds and eat somewhere in Muggle London."

"Dressed like this?" Hermione chuckled.

"Well," Harry mused, "Uncle Vernon once said that the first time he saw a bunch of wizards in robes and cloaks, he thought they were some sort of cult, until he didn't see any collecting tins. If anyone stares, we'll just bow and smile a lot."

Laughing in harmony, Harry and Hermione walked arm-in-arm to Gringotts. When they left the bank shortly after, Hermione's pouch was considerably lighter with half her coins replaced with pound notes as they mounted the stairs in the back of the Leaky Cauldron and entered their room for what they were sure would be the last time.

So, were there any new clues this time, or is it all in your imagination? Think on that until next time. See you then.