The Next Door by Penelope

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 31/03/2007
Last Updated: 13/01/2009
Status: In Progress

An 'under the radar' experiment in the Ministry of Magic goes horribly wrong, and Harry
and Hermione find themselves lost in histories and futures that are not their own.




1. A Mistake in the Ministry of Magic
-------------------------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**A Mistake in the** **Ministry of Magic**

**Chapter One**

*Two years after* *completing* *Hogwarts*

Hermione's office door was open. Voices filtered in from the hallway. She sighed. She had a
stack of papers on her desk that threatened to spill over onto the floor at any moment. But she
tucked her quill behind her ear and leaned back in her chair to stretch and reach for a moment of
peace.

She loved her job. Though working at the Ministry of Magic had not been her first choice in
occupations, when they offered her the head position of the Department of Magical Research and
Logical Applications, she could hardly refuse. Especially after she'd seen her office tucked
away on the eighth level with its magicked windows and blooming plants in painted pots. And the pay
wasn't bad either. Never mind the `complete access' she'd been given to the Ministry of
Magic's library (it was a well-kept secret), and Hermione's private Heaven.

Hermione signed her signature to a few papers and walked them to the door. Ellie, her bubbly and
pink cheeked secretary, stood in the hallway flirting with Edward Schotte from the Department of
Magical Games and Sports on the seventh level. Edward was a tall gangly man whose eyes were wild
and blue, and his brown hair was always in need of haircut. He loped around their office door too
often to be mistaken as anything other than proof of his monumental crush on Ms. Ellie
Tangleton.

“Oh, Hermione,” Ellie said and blushed profusely. “You've met Edward.”

“Hello, Ms. Granger,” he said with a nod. Hair fell into his eyes.

“Hi, Edward,” Hermione returned, “how's Ludo treating you?”

“The same. The same,” he answered. “I can't complain.” He pushed his brown hair off his
forehead with a long fingered hand.

“That's good to know,” Hermione said and then turned to Ellie, “did you finish filing those
reports from Dr. Kakosovytch's last documented experiment?”

“I did,” Ellie said with an enthusiastic nod. “I was just telling Edward here that Dr. Nylan
wants me to scoot down to the labs and catch a doxy.” Ellie looked up at Edward. “Someone lost
twenty last week. We still haven't found all of them.” Edward winced.

“If you don't mind, Ellie,” Hermione said as she held out the signed papers to the young
witch, “I really need these owled over to the labs in Greece. Then, if you could send the same
papers in an interoffice memo to Drs. McCain and Rogers. They're waiting for permission to
borrow flames from the Fires of Constant Combustion.”

“Would you like me to do that *before* I track down the doxy?” Ellie asked as a floating
quill and notepad hovered near her head and took notes of her assigned tasks.

“I have to speak with Dr. Kakosovytch, so I'll check out the suspected doxy problem.”

“Thanks,” Ellie said in relief. “That last doxy bite really set me back a couple of days.”

“Good to see you again, Edward,” Hermione said.

As Hermione turned to leave the two flirting Ministry workers, Harry called out her name. She
glanced over her shoulder in surprise as Harry rushed up the hallway.

“Harry,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“I had to visit Nigel in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” he said with a grin, “and I
thought I would stop in to see what you were doing.”

“Oh, work as usual.”

“Good thing I caught you,” he said as they walked down the hallway together, “it appears
you're heading out.”

“To the labs,” she said. “Feel like tagging along? I need to catch up on everyone.”

“If you'd come home from work every now and then,” Harry said with a playful grin, “I
wouldn't have to catch you up on anything.”

“Give it a rest,” she warned teasingly.

“Ron's keeping a calendar of all the days you've actually slept in your own bed,” Harry
said.

Hermione pressed her wand to a keypad mounted halfway up the wall. Part of the wall recessed and
slid open to reveal the foyer of the laboratories. Once they were through the door, it closed
behind them with a soft *whoosh*.

“Wow,” Harry said. “I've never been down here.”

“Of course you haven't,” Hermione smiled. “It's top secret.” She waved to the wizard
seated behind the reception desk and he waved in return, but not before eyeing Harry with
suspicion.

“Does this mean you'll have to kill me now?” Harry asked.

“That depends on if you're buying me dinner or not.”

“You're actually *leaving* the office?”

“Would you *give it a rest*?” Hermione said as she rolled her eyes. They approached another
keypad and once again, Hermione pressed her wand into the buttons in an obvious pattern. “Besides,
I don't spend *every* night here. Tell Ron he needs to fix his calendar to include the
nights I don't spend in my bed *or* at the office.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

Hermione smirked. The wall recessed and another hidden door opened. “Think about it. I might be
sleeping in someone *else's* bed.”

Harry paled and stumbled over a series of words that were garbled. Hermione laughed. He finally
gathered his wits and asked, “So, I suppose that means you and Conner are doing well.”

Hermione huffed. “On the contrary, he's a self-righteous pig.”

“That good, eh?”

“Don't get me started on him,” Hermione said in disgust. “If I had known he was merely
trying to *get a job* with the Ministry, I wouldn't have wasted an entire month on
him.”

“He was dating you *for a job*?” Harry asked incredulously.

Hermione knocked on a closed, windowless door. “Sad, isn't it?”

Harry glared at her. “You want Ron and me to hurt him? He wouldn't have to know it was
us.”

Hermione laughed just as a voice behind the door spoke a muffled `come in'. She turned the
knob and poked her head inside the laboratory.

“Dr. Kakosovytch?” Hermione called.

“He's in the back lab,” another wizard answered.

“Mind if we go through here?” she asked. The wizard shook his head and Hermione grabbed
Harry's arm. “Don't touch *anything*.”

“Why?” he whispered to match her quiet tone.

“Because some of these experiments are dangerous,” she said. “*Really* dangerous.”

“Why are dangerous experiments allowed?” Harry asked as Hermione lead him through the busy
laboratory. Wizards and witches bustled around, and the myriad of noises was enough to distract
anyone from the most focused concentration.

“Betterment of the society, I suppose,” she answered. “There's always that chance one of
these experiments could turn out to do a lot of good for a lot of people.”

“Why are we looking for Dr. Kaposopitch?” Harry asked.

Hermione spotted the wizard she was searching for in the back corner. “Dr. Kakosovytch,”
Hermione corrected. “He hasn't filled out his paperwork in three weeks,” she said as she leaned
close to Harry. “And some of the other scientists are complaining about his work. They say they
think he might be dabbling.”

“Dabbling?”

“In the Dark Arts,” Hermione whispered. Then, she smiled and waved at Dr. Kakosovytch.”

“Ms. Granger,” he said, his English thickly accented, “what is the honor?”

“Business, I'm afraid,” she said cordially. “Dr. Kakosovytch, this is Harry Potter.”

The doctor held out his hand and Harry shook it. The man had a grip like a grizzly bear. “Nice
to meet you, Mr. Potter.” His dark eyes were devoid of warmth though his voice sounded friendly and
welcoming.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Kakosovytch,” Hermione continued, “but we need your last few
weeks' paperwork. Do you think we could walk to your office and retrieve it?”

The doctor frowned, and his bushy black brows knitted together. “I do not have time,” he said,
and then he softened his expression, “but I will do it for you. Come with me,” he said, and he
motioned them around his lab table and through another door.

The three of them walked down a long hallway. They turned down so many alternating corridors,
that Harry felt as lost as he did when riding the tunnel cars in Gringotts. Finally they stopped
inside a room that was shaped like a perfect square. Four doors lined each wall, and Hermione
frowned.

“What is this?” she asked curiously.

“An experiment,” Dr. Kakosovytch said easily. He walked toward the wall directly in front of
them, and opened the second door from the right. “I will be right back. Wait here.” Before he
disappeared through the doorway he added, “Don't go anywhere.”

Hermione laughed uneasily. “Of course not.”

He closed the door and Harry turned to her. “Batty old wizard, isn't he?”

But Hermione wasn't concentrating on him. “What do you think all these doors are for?” she
wondered aloud.

“It reminds me of the revolving room in the Department of Mysteries,” Harry said quietly. “Do
you remember that?”

“Of course,” she said. Then she shrugged, and they waited. And waited. Until finally, Hermione
began to lose her patience. “Where *is* he?”

“Dunno.”

“Do you think we should go get him?”

“He said to wait here.”

“He isn't our boss, Harry,” Hermione said in snippy tone, “we *can* do as we
please.”

“So, go get him,” Harry said dismissively.

Hermione walked toward the door she thought Dr. Kakosovytch had entered, but Harry reached out
and grabbed her arm. “That's not the one he opened.”

“Yes, it is.”

Harry shook his head. “No, it isn't.”

“I *know* this was the door.”


”I'm not so sure,” Harry said with hesitation. “I wouldn't open it.”

“It's only a door,” Hermione answered. “What's the big deal?”

Harry stepped up beside Hermione as she opened the door. The room on the opposite side of the
opened door was dark, and she glanced up at Harry. “Maybe you were right.” She stepped forward with
Harry beside her and called out, “Dr. Kakos—“

But she never finished. The breath rushed out of her lungs, and her blood chilled straight to
the marrow. Her body felt crushed beneath the weight of a hundred thousand men. Hermione wanted to
scream but her brain could not properly access her voice, and she and Harry fell forward through
space and time.aHarr

-->



2. Meet Mrs. Viktor Krum
------------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**Meet Mrs. Viktor Krum**

**Chapter Two**

Hermione's face felt frozen solid. She pushed her body up on shaking arms, and it took her
several long confused moments before she realized she was half buried in snow, and she was steadily
covered more with falling snowflakes. White covered hills rose all around her, and mountains soared
in the distance. The sky was overcast and grey, and the sun looked to be setting quickly.

Harry was already striding toward her. She reached up fingers that felt like brittle twigs and
allowed Harry to tug her to a standing position. Immediately, she hugged her arms across her chest
and shivered. They were poorly dressed for such savage weather.

“Where are we?” she asked through chattering teeth.

Harry pointed to a stone mansion at the bottom of the hill. “Let's find out.”

He and Hermione traversed the hill at a slow pace. The last thing they wanted to do was tumble
down a frozen hill and break bones. Hermione kept glancing around with a nervous twitch in her
eye.

“What's going on, Harry?” she muttered, barely parting her freezing lips.

Harry grimaced and slid his arm around her shoulders. He didn't think Hermione looked too
good. Her skin was pale and blotchy. “We're almost there,” he said reassuringly, but he could
not answer her question any better than he could answer the questions that arose wildly in his
mind.

They stood in the alcove created by the front porch. Two torches flanked the large medieval
front door and burned through the gloom of the approaching evening. A grouping of three stone pots
guarded a corner of the alcove, the plants inside had not survived the brutal cold of the land.
Harry reached up for the door knocker, but Hermione shook her head.

“Maybe we shouldn't,” she said as she shivered on the shadowed porch.

Harry glanced at her with his bright green eyes. “You'll freeze to death if you stay out
here much longer,” he said. “Whatever is inside is a better fate than chancing it out here.”

Hermione exhaled a chilled breath. She knew he was right. Harry grabbed the door knocker and
gave it a couple of steady bangs. They stood and waited. The wind howled around the corners of the
mansion, and Hermione unconsciously huddled closer to Harry.

“You think no one is home?” he asked.

Hermione stared at the three stone pots. She blinked snow out of her lashes and a distant memory
floated like mist into her mind. She crouched down and grabbed the edge of one of the pots; then
she tilted it slightly. A bronze key had been tucked beneath the pot.

“How did you know that was there?” Harry asked in shock.

“I…I don't know,” she answered before passing the key to Harry.

He shoved the key into the lock on the front door and turned it. The door clicked open, and
Hermione returned the key to its hiding place beneath the stone pot.

“Lucky us,” Harry murmured. Then he pulled out his wand and stepped into the foyer of the
mansion. “Very Muggle-like to need a key to the front door.”

Hermione closed the heavy wooden door and stared up at the chandelier of floating candles
glowing above the center of the foyer. “But a very wizard-like chandelier.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

Hermione pointed to a flag that waved from its post on one of the dark paneled walls.
“That's the Bulgarian flag,” she whispered.

Harry turned to her. “How could we be in Bulgaria?”

A door opened somewhere in the house and music blasted out, echoing through the cavernous foyer.
“Someone's coming,” Hermione said in a panicked whisper. She grabbed Harry's hand and they
dashed into the nearest room, which appeared to be a small, tidy library.

“Mum?” an accented young man's voice called. Then, the young man proceeded to call for his
mother in Bulgarian.

“Can you understand him?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded and searched for a good place to hide. “The closet,” she said, and they hurried
over to the closet as footsteps sounded across the foyer and carried in to meet them. Harry and
Hermione jumped into the library's closet and closed the door.

The closet turned out to be spacious and full of an extensive collection of heavy winter coats.
“We could have used these,” Harry mumbled.

“Too bad we didn't know we were going to Bulgaria,” Hermione whispered bitterly. “I
don't know what is going on here but—“

“—ouch, Hermione,” Harry said. “Let go of my hand. Your fingernails are cutting into me.”

“I don't have long fingernails,” she replied, but she let go of his hand just the same.

“Something on your hand is sharp,” Harry continued. He lit his wand and moved it down
Hermione's arm. Her hand glistened, and Hermione followed the light with her eyes. A large
diamond shined on the fourth finger of her left hand. “What the hell is that?” Harry asked.

Hermione started to voice her shock just as the closet door opened. She stumbled backwards into
Harry and sent him sprawling behind a row of coats.

“Mum?” the young man before her asked. “What are you doing in here?”

Hermione stared at a much younger version of Viktor Krum. He appeared to be barely fifteen. He
slouched less, and his hair was lighter.

“Viktor?” Hermione gasped in shock.

The young man's expression was surly and he frowned. “Ivan,” he said, obviously irritated.
“My name is Ivan, Mum. Татко wants to see you.”

“W-who?” Hermione stammered.

“Dad,” Ivan said, looking even more annoyed. “Your husband, my dad, Viktor.”

“Krum?!” Hermione shouted. The young man stepped back in surprise.

He eyed Hermione suspiciously. “That's right, Mum. Viktor Krum. Been that way a few years
now,” he said sarcastically. “And did you know you have snow all in your hair?”

Before Hermione could question the boy any further, he stalked off, muttering in Bulgarian.
Harry stepped out of the shadows. “Was he calling *you* Mum?”

Hermione nodded her head but didn't answer.

“You don't suppose…” Harry hesitated, “…you don't suppose we leapt through time, do you?
I mean, it sounds perfectly nutters, but you're wearing an engagement ring, some kid who looks
like Viktor Krum is calling you Mum, and we appear to be in Krum's mansion.”

“Don't be absurd,” Hermione said, releasing a tight unnatural laugh. “That would suggest I
marry Viktor in the future—“

“—that could happen—“

“—No!” Hermione shouted and then lowered her voice. “Don't be ridiculous, Harry. There's
a good explanation for all of this. A portkey! Yes, that's it. The door in the labs acted as a
portkey. We've traveled to Bulgaria. Now, we can go find Viktor, explain all this to him, and
get back home.”

Harry frowned. “That's all and good, but why is that Ivan kid calling you Mum? He said…he
said Viktor was your *husband*.”

“I don't *know*, Harry,” Hermione said and tossed up her hands. “Let's just get out
of this closet and go find Viktor. I'm sure he can explain everything to us.”

Hermione walked out into the library with Harry close behind. A young girl, perhaps ten, stepped
into the room from the foyer. Hermione's eyes widened to the size of bludgers. The little girl
looked exactly like a miniature Hermione except that her hair was black and she was taller than
Hermione would have been at that age.

Hermione screamed. The little girl looked from Hermione to Harry and ran from the room screaming
holy murder. Harry clamped his hand over Hermione's mouth, and he could feel her trembling in
his arms. When she stopped shaking, Harry released his hand.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Did you—did you *see* her?”

Harry nodded.

“She looked like me.”

Again Harry nodded.

“What is going on?”

Before Harry could answer, a voice boomed through the foyer. “Her-my-oh-knee!”

She could recognize that accented voice anywhere. “It's Viktor!” Without thinking, Hermione
rushed into the foyer and looked up the staircase. A much older Viktor glared down at her from the
second floor balcony. She was startled by how much he had aged. He looked nearly 40.

“Viktor!” she shouted at him. “Thank good—“

“—what is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Why do you make Elisaveta cry?”

“Who?” Hermione asked, suddenly confused.

“Elisaveta,” he said slowly, as if Hermione had not understood his word, not that she had not
recognized the person's name.

The little girl stepped out onto the staircase beside Viktor. Her light eyes were red, and
again, Hermione was shocked into silence by how much the strange girl resembled her.

“She said you were not alone,” Viktor said. He leaned down to the little girl and spoke in
Bulgarian. The girl nodded and ran off, out of Hermione's view.

“She said there was a man,” he said as he descended the staircase. He pulled out his wand and
tapped it in the palm of his other hand.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “It's Harry. Something's happened. Something's gone
wrong—“

“Yes,” Viktor said, now slouching his way across the foyer. “Something is indeed wrong.”

Viktor's eyes were dark and wild. Hermione began to feel uneasy. “Viktor, you have to listen
to me,” she said gently.

“I have listened until my head explodes,” he said darkly. “First, I listen to you talk of
nothing but Potter. Then, I must endure you carrying his child—“

“—his *child*!” Hermione screeched. She walked backwards toward the door of the library as
Krum moved closer and closer.

Viktor dropped his voice and eyes as he whispered, “Elisaveta. She is not my own.” He glared at
her with furrowed brows. “But she is mine. And you are mine. I will take no more of this. Where is
Potter?” he growled.

Hermione whipped out her wand and pointed it at Viktor. She cast a Stunning Spell, and he
dropped to the floor like a deflated balloon. She rushed into the library and snatched at
Harry's arm.

“What is he *talking* about?” Harry asked.

Hermione dragged Harry through the library and to a side door. “We *have* to get out of
here! Something is terribly wrong. I don't know what Dr. Kakosovytch did, but Viktor has lost
his mind!”

The adjacent door led down a staircase that dumped them out into a dark, narrow hallway. “That
little girl,” Harry said. “Did Viktor say that…she was *our* child?” Harry stammered.

“Obviously, he's completely mental!” Hermione said. “There!” She pointed to a door at the
end of the hallway. She paused long enough to wrench it open, and she and Harry blindly rushed into
darkness.

The heat stifled them immediately. Breath pulled from their lungs and vaporized into
nothingness. Hermione felt imaginary walls of suffocation close around her and sweat rolled between
her shoulder blades. She and Harry dropped away from Viktor's mansion and were yanked again
through time and space.

-->



3. The Slytherin Sort
---------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**The Slytherin Sort**

**Chapter Three**

Harry stared at a jar full of putrid green liquid nestled on a shelf full of other disgusting
oddities. Inside the decomposing liquid a watery, bloated shape took form. He blinked a few times
in the lingering silence. It took a moment for him to realize he was standing inside the supply
cupboard in Professor Snape's dungeon classroom.

The jolt through time reentered his mind, and he instantly thought of Hermione. He spun on his
heel and saw her. She was crumpled in the corner of the storeroom, her mouth hanging open as though
she were sleeping under the influence of a heavy narcotic.

He knelt down beside her and shook her shoulders. She did not respond. Harry was on the verge of
panicking when Professor Snape's shadow fell across the crowded storeroom. Harry glanced up,
unable to find the right words to convey his absolute confusion. And on the one hand, he was afraid
the man before him was not actually a Snape from his past. After all, Viktor Krum had been a
middle-aged man married to some alternate, perhaps future version of Hermione.

“Leave her, Potter,” Snape snarled, eyeing Hermione with disgust.

“But, sir—“

“—Potter, don't make me tell you again,” he ordered. “And wash your hands.”

Harry stood slowly, not quite comprehending Snape's orders.

“Wash my hands, sir?”

Snape nodded his head curtly. “What has gotten in to you, Potter?” he asked in a low voice that
did not carry to the other students in the classroom. “Since when do you dare touch a Mudblood?
Much less a know-it-all Gryffindor? Now out! And wash your hands!”

Harry skirted passed Snape and glanced over his shoulder long enough to see the professor
reviving Hermione with a spell. Harry rushed over to the sinks and washed his hands, but nothing
made sense. Although they had landed in a familiar location, Snape's words were out of sync,
and Harry felt extremely uneasy.

Harry dried his hands on his robes and found Ron's face in the crowd of busy students.
Cauldrons bubbled and emitted a nasty pungent odor, and Harry crossed the room to sit beside his
best mate. Seamus coughed loudly, and Ron turned to look at Harry with an expression of shock.

“Can I *help* you?” Ron asked in a skeptical voice.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked quickly. He suddenly noticed all the Gryffindors were staring at
him with their mouths agape.

“Come to drop something into our potion, Potter?” Dean Thomas said angrily.

“*What?*” Harry asked, clearly surprised to see his best mates had turned on him. “What are
you on about?”

Someone tapped Harry's shoulder, and he looked up into the cold, grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.
“What do you think you're doing?” Draco hissed. “Why are you sitting with these…these
*worthless things*?”

“Listen, Malfoy—“ Harry began, but he caught a flash of green. He stopped talking and stared at
the emblem emblazoned on the front of his school robes. “These are *Slytherin* robes,” he
muttered.

“That's right,” Ron said and puffed out his chest. “How about sodding off from the
Gryffindor table?”

“Slytherin,” Harry repeated.

“Careful, Weasley,” Draco warned, “we wouldn't want Potter to hex your arms onto your back.
Wait…actually that sounds like an *excellent* idea. What do you say, Potter?”

Ron paled, and Harry continued to stare at the front of his robes. Finally he looked at Ron and
asked, “We're not best mates, are we?”

“No,” Ron incredulously.

“I'm not in Gryffindor?” Harry continued.

“You *chose* Slytherin, remember?” Ron said bitterly.

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him away from Ron's table. Professor Snape emerged
from the supply cupboard with a bedraggled Hermione. She rushed over to Harry, and Draco jumped
back to avoid being touched by her.

“Harry,” she said, “are you okay?”

He shook his head and pointed to the front of his robes. Hermione gasped. “Why are you wearing
those?” she asked.

“I've been sorted into Slytherin.”

“No,” she said and clasped her hands over her mouth while shaking her head. Then, she glanced
down to see what house adorned her robes. The scarlet and gold lion stared back at her.
“Gryffindor.”

“Don't you know better than to touch him, Mudblood?” Draco said viciously.

Hermione ignored him. “What year is this?”

“No idea,” Harry answered.

“Do you think we can—“ she started.

“Hermione!” Ron called, and when Harry and Hermione looked at him, he was beckoning her over
urgently.

She leaned close to Harry and whispered, “Meet me in the library as soon as this class is over.”
Then, she rushed away to join the Gryffindor side of the room, and Harry reluctantly joined the
Slytherins where Malfoy gloated over him in a way Harry could have never imagined.

Hermione sat down between Ron and Neville. She kept a close eye on Harry while Seamus dropped an
eye of newt into the boiling cauldron.

“I can't believe he's in Slytherin,” Hermione mumbled. “He's not *like*
them.”

Ron laughed bitterly under his breath. “He's *exactly* like them. Power-hungry.
Attention-seeking. Disgusting, the whole lot of them.”

“Ron,” Hermione scolded, “Harry isn't like that *at all*.”

Ron looked at Hermione as though she'd sprouted tree branches on her head, and he passed
glances around to Seamus, Dean and Neville. “Since when have *you* been on a first name basis
with the Boy We Wish Had Died?”

Hermione's stomach knotted. “*What* did you say?” she asked in a strangled voice.

“You heard me,” Ron grumbled, “After what he did to Ginny—“

“—Weasley,” Snape snarled, “fifty points from Gryffindor for the inability to shut your mouth in
class.”

Ron whispered such obscenities under his breath it caused Hermione to blush. Then, she said, “We
have to get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Seamus agreed, “I *hate* Potions.”

Hermione nodded her head, but Seamus had misunderstood. Hermione knew she couldn't stand
living in a world where Harry was a Slytherin, and their friendship had never existed. As soon as
they met up in the library, she would research as much as possible and try to understand what was
happening to them before things got any worse.

-->



4. Small Things
---------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**Small Things**

**Chapter Four**

Hermione tapped the tip of her quill on a sheet of parchment where she had scribbled copious
notes. *Where was he?* she fumed. Potions had been out for half an hour, she had looked
through twenty books already, and Harry still hadn't arrived. Her anger quickly turned to worry
as half an hour slipped into forty-five minutes. Finally she heard someone approaching, and she
held her breath, waiting.

Harry rounded the corner and immediately, she noticed the sulky expression on his face.

“Harry,” she breathed in relief, “where have you been? I was growing worried.”

He slumped down into a chair opposite her and groaned audibly. “I've been stuck with a pack
of arse-kissing Slytherins. Can you believe this lot?” he whined. “I've helped those slimy gits
win five house championships and five Quidditch Cups. *Five!* Oh, and in case you hadn't
heard, we're fifth years, Ron hates me, I've done something horrific to Ginny because she
tried to stab me in the eye with a blunt quill in the hallway just now, Malfoy is my best mate, I
apparently have an on again-off again relationship with Pansy `Pugface' Parkinson, Sirius was
given the Dementor's Kiss in third year, and I have secret plans to kill Voldemort and lead a
Dark Army across the world.”

Hermione stared at him. Her mouth hung open for a long moment before she chewed on her bottom
lip. “I'm afraid I have something yet to add.”

“More bad news?” Harry asked in a strangled voice. “I don't know if I can take any
more.”

“If you want to get out of here, you'll have to hear it,” she said in a hushed voice.

“I don't even know *where* we are or how we got here,” Harry said.

“I think I've found the answer,” she explained, “or at least *part* of it.”

Harry groaned again. “If you think it will get us out of this alternate dimension of Hell, then
by all means, let's hear it.”

“I'm glad you said that,” Hermione said with a wary smile, “because this *is* an
alternate dimension. At least I think that's what has happened to us. Dr. Kakosovytch must have
created a door that would lead whoever entered it into different realities. This particular
scenario *could* have been the outcome if on the night you were sorted, you had *chosen*
to be in Slytherin—“

“—but I *didn't*.”

“Of course you didn't. Not in *our* reality. But at the very moment you decided to be
placed in Gryffindor, in some alternate universe, you also chose to be in Slytherin.”

Harry shook his head, slipped his fingers behind his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Let me get
this straight, this is what *would* have happened if I had chosen to be in Slytherin.”

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded. “It's the small things that sometimes make the biggest impacts
on our lives.”

“But I *didn't* choose Slytherin, yet in some alternate dimension of reality a
*version* of me chose Slytherin and that's the reality we're in right now?”

“Yes.”

“That's too absurd, Hermione,” Harry argued.

“Do you have a better idea?” Hermione asked, perturbed at Harry's lack of trust in her
conclusion.

Harry sighed. “Not exactly. My idea was that I'm having a nightmare and any minute now
I'll wake up.”

Hermione scoffed. “Well, that's loads better than my idea,” she said sarcastically.

“Fine,” Harry said. “You're probably right. In fact, when are you not? I'll play along.
If we're in my Slytherin reality, how to we get back because this world is nutters.”

Hermione's face fell. “That's where the problem arises,” she said. “I've searched
through every book I could find on the subject. And I've found the idea mentioned a few times,
but all the entries have pointed to one book.”

“And the catch with acquiring that one book is?” Harry asked, knowing Hermione was holding back
information.

“It's in the Restricted Section,” she said in a rush of breath. “And I need you to ask Snape
to get it.”

“*Snape?!*” Harry shouted, and Hermione shushed him quickly. “Are you out of your mind? He
*hates* me.”

“He hates the *real* you,” Hermione said. “He doesn't hate *Slytherin* Harry.”

Harry dropped his head onto his folded arms. “I give up,” he mumbled. “I would rather fight
Voldemort a million times again than ask Snape for a favor.”

Hermione reached over and touched Harry's arm. A shiver passed over her features. “You
don't mean that,” she whispered. “I would never want to live through that again.” Harry peered
up at her with bright green eyes. “I would ask Snape if I could, you *know* I would. But he
still hates *me*. If you want to get home, Harry, you'll have to ask. I don't see any
other option.”

Harry nodded and placed his hand on hers. “I'll ask. Let's say we'll meet here after
dinner,” Harry replied. “I doubt I'll be able to stomach food while being fawned over by
Malfoy, but I'll deal with it for now.”

Hermione smirked. “You have to admit that it's nice to have a version of Malfoy who is
willing to lick the scum off your shoes.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, it is.”

* * * *

Harry tossed out a lame excuse as Malfoy tried to pressure him to sneak out onto the
Hogwarts' grounds for a game of pick-up Quidditch in the dark.

“I have to get a book,” Harry said, and he watched Draco eye him with suspicion. Harry held out
the note on which Professor Snape had scribbled his name. “It's a *restricted* book,”
Harry added, and Malfoy's eyebrow rose beneath the pale hair on his forehead.

“Plotting, Potter?” he asked, clearly approving of Harry if he had sinister plans.

Harry sighed. “Keep it to yourself, okay, Malfoy?”

Draco nodded and pushed Crabbe and Goyle toward the doors of the Entrance Hall. Harry hurried
for the library and stopped abruptly when he heard someone whispering from behind a suit of
armor.

“Hermione?” he asked.

She peered around the armor. “Did you lose him?”

“Thankfully,” he answered. Harry pulled a long silvery piece of fabric from beneath this robes.
“Dumbledore still gave me the cloak. I found it in my trunk. This way no one will see us. I'll
give the note to Madame Pince and then we can study the book in private.”

Hermione smiled. “Good thinking.”

They entered the library, and Harry agreed to meet Hermione in the adventure section of the
stacks. He gave the signed note to Madame Pince, and she held it up to a candle flame as if
expecting to prove it a forgery.

“It's the real thing,” Harry said impatiently.

Madame Pince huffed and pursed her lips, looking like Aunt Pentunia, and she pushed back from
her chair and strode off toward the Restricted Section. Harry followed quickly in tow. When Madame
Pince at last found the book in question, she handed it to Harry, and informed him he must return
it that same evening. He didn't bother arguing with her, and he set off to find Hermione.

She was seated at a table, but when she saw Harry, she stood and motioned for him to follow. She
found an empty back corner of the library where the light was dimmer and the students were not, and
she sat down.

“On the floor?” Harry said as he passed the heavy book down to her.

“No one will stumble upon us down here,” she said and flipped to the table of contents while
Harry pulled out his Invisibility cloak. “Besides if someone sees two chairs pulled out at a table
and two voices talking, they'll be suspicious. At least we'll be out of the way here.”

Harry sat down beside Hermione and stretched the cloak over their heads. It was a bit like a
child's play tent, and they had to sit very close in order for the cloak to cover both of their
bodies. Hermione's body felt warm against his, and he shifted uncomfortably as the warmth
spread.

“You'll need to be still, Harry,” she whispered. “I can't read the book if you keep
bumping my arm.”

Harry muttered an apology and peered at the book as she scanned the pages. Finally, after what
seemed like long minutes of pressing too close to Hermione's warm body, she found what they
were looking for her.

“It's just what I thought,” Hermione said. “As soon as we get home, I'm going to have
Dr. Kakosovytch put up to trial for this. I can't believe he would do such a thing. If the
other wizards knew—“

“—Hermione,” Harry said, trying to stop Hermione's rant before she continued any longer,
“does it say how to get home?”

Hermione sighed and slid her finger along the page as she read. “No,” she said. She moved the
book into Harry's lap and leaned back into his chest so he could see what she was reading. The
sudden shift in closeness halted Harry's breath halfway up his throat. He could smell the scent
of her shampoo, and he was instantly distracted by the realization that she was very much a female,
and she was very, *very* close. He cleared his throat, and she turned her face up to his,
though her nose knocked into his chin. Harry drew away from her suddenly because the first thought
that jumped into his mind was the idea that Hermione was trying to kiss him. He laughed
nervously.

“Why are you so jumpy?” she asked innocently. Harry bulleted out a laugh again, and he wished
his cheeks didn't feel so hot. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Err….yeah,” he said quickly, and pushed improper thoughts of Hermione out of his mind, “what
were you saying? How do we get home?”

“There's no definite way home,” Hermione said quietly.

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that we're dealing with the Dark Arts,” she explained. “Dr. Kakosovytch
created a Looping Portal. We could spend the next three days going from one possible reality to
another based on decisions we've made or we could spend the next three years—“

“—*three years?!* No way, Hermione,” Harry argued. “That's impossible. There has to be
an alternative.”

“These are the Dark Arts, Harry,” she said through a weary sigh. “There is rarely a guarantee of
fairness.”

“So, what are we supposed to do?”

“Stick together.”

Hermione closed the book and shifted away from Harry. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed. He
exhaled deeply, and his chest felt cold in her absence. “Is it possible that we could open a door
without each other? I mean, can I, say, open the bathroom door and vanish away without you going
with me?”

“It's possible.”

“I don't think that's a good idea.”

“What isn't?”

“If it's possible that we could loop through time without each other, then I don't think
we should be apart. I think we should be together at all times.”

“I don't see how that's possible,” Hermione began. “What will we do until we stumble
upon the next door? Because honestly, that's all we'll be doing… opening one door and
either walking into a room or falling into the next reality. What will we do until then? We
can't sleep in the library—“

“—why not?” Harry asked suddenly. “Hermione, this is serious. What if we get separated?”

Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. “I don't know, Harry,” she said. “I just don't
know.”

Harry nodded his head. “I'm hungry. I didn't eat at dinner because watching you laugh
and carry on with the Gryffindors made me nauseated to know I was sitting with the Slytherins.”

“I'm sorry,” Hermione apologized. “I didn't even think how difficult it was for you to
be separated from us. At dinner I almost forgot what had happened to us. Though when Ron started
cursing your name, it was hard to forget…”

“Go with me to the kitchens, and we'll think of ways to stay together…no matter what.”

Harry pulled Hermione to her feet and noticed how small her hand was inside his palm. Her smooth
fingers felt soft against the callousness of his own hand. He folded the cloak up, stuffed it into
his robes, and wondered about the tingly feeling he felt deep inside his stomach. He chalked it up
to hunger, and Hermione followed him as he returned the restricted book to Madame Pince. They
walked together for the doors.

“There could be loads of alternate universes out there,” Harry said. Hermione nodded and he
continued. “Think of all the decisions we've made that have created other realities.”

“Millions really,” she added thoughtfully.

Harry reached out for the door handle and paused. He wrinkled his brow before saying, “The first
reality. That must have been *your* decision. You must have somewhere in the past altered your
course by *not* choosing Viktor Krum. Because there is a version of you that marries him.”

Hermione laughed quietly. “A bit strange, isn't it.”

“And the little girl,” Harry added. “Elisaveta he called her. He said she was mine…you suppose
that means…”

Hermione jerked her head up and looked at Harry. Her cheeks were flushed pink. She could feel
her ears warming in embarrassment at the idea of some alternate version of herself in an extremely
intimate situation with her best friend.

“Seems as though that would mean if you *had* chosen Krum…you and I…me…you…she was…that
little girl would have been …yours…and *mine*.” Harry glanced at Hermione's blushing
cheeks, and once again he felt the tingling deep down in the pit of his stomach. The moment
stretched out too long, and he ended it by pulling open the door.

Instantly, they were both aware of falling forward in a spiraling motion. Wind whipped the air
from their lips and dried the tears in their eyes. A cyclone's storm ripped them from each
other, and Hermione tried to shout out Harry's name as his hand was snatched from her grasp,
but she could hear nothing other than the great roaring of the tempest and the terrified pounding
of her heart.

-->



5. H. J. Granger; Quidditch Star
--------------------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**H.** **J.** **Granger; Quidditch Star**

**Chapter Five**

Hermione collapsed into the wall. She whipped out her arms in an attempt to catch herself, and
she found the walls were close. She was in a confined space. Her heart raced, and she felt on the
verge of a panic attack until she opened her eyes. She stood, leaned half against the wooden wall
of a bathroom stall.

“Harry?” she called.

Someone knocked on the door to her stall, and Hermione yelped.

“Merlin, Hermione,” a female voice said. “Are you finished? The game starts in two minutes!”

Hermione inhaled deeply and pulled open the stall door. Ginny stood on the other side, hands on
her hips and toe tapping.

“Well?” Ginny asked.

Hermione glanced around the bathroom, and didn't recognize their surroundings. “Where are
we?”

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Did you take something?” she asked. “You know athletic drugs and
potions are illegal. If Madame Hooch finds—“

“—I'm not on drugs,” Hermione said indignantly.

“Come on, then,” Ginny demanded.

Hermione noticed Ginny wore Gryffindor Quidditch robes. “I must be in fifth year,” Hermione
said. “You've made the team.”

Ginny frowned at Hermione. “Be honest,” she whispered, “did you take something?”

“No!” Hermione said. “I was merely commenting on the fact that you didn't try out for
Quidditch until your fourth year.”

Ginny shook her head. “Here's the new plan. I do all the talking,” she said. “If you open
your mouth and continue to babble like you are now, *no one* is going to believe you
aren't doing illegal potions.”

“Ginny,” Hermione said in exasperation, “why would *I* ever need the aid of drugs?” When
she lifted her arms in question, Hermione noticed the scarlet and gold robes of the Quidditch team.
“Why on earth am I wearing Quidditch robes?”

Ginny burst out laughing. “Okay, I get it,” she said, grinning, “did Ron put you up to this? Did
he tell you to act brain dead just to freak me out?” Ginny grabbed her stomach and laughed loudly.
“He *knew* how worried I was about our match against Slytherin, didn't he?”

Hermione's face paled. “I'm on the Quidditch team,” she said dully.

Ginny stopped laughing. “This *is* a joke, right?”

Hermione forced a smile. “Yeah,” she said unenthusiastically, “funny, huh?”

Ginny pulled Hermione out of the stall and walked her through what appeared to be the
women's Quidditch changing rooms. She grabbed two brooms that were resting near the doorway and
handed one to Hermione.

“A Firebolt?” Hermione muttered. “I fly on a *Firebolt*?!”

“Thanks to your Mum and Dad,” Ginny said. “I still can't believe you talked them into giving
the whole team Firebolts. Ron has yet to have anything top that gift. I bet you anything he sleeps
with his in the bed. Does that make you jealous?” she asked with a wink.

“W-what?”

Ginny opened the changing room doors and sunlight burst in and momentarily blinded Hermione. She
could hear the extraneous noise of hundreds of students gathered in the stadium. Hermione's
stomach gave a horrible jolt. She was *terrified* of flying and had been ever since being
introduced to it in first year. When her eyes adjusted, she saw Harry. Without thinking, she rushed
over to him and latched onto his arm.

“Harry,” she breathed in panic, “I'm a Quidditch player.”

Harry grinned at her. It was lopsided and looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “I know,”
he whispered, “Ron mentioned you were the best Chaser to grace Hogwarts in 200 years.”

“But that's *impossible*,” Hermione answered. “I *hate* to fly.”

Harry winked at her. “Not *this* Hermione,” Harry said. “Obviously you decided you
weren't going to be lousy at anything and you secretly trained at night and surprised everyone
by trying out for the team.”

Hermione shook her head and bit down on her bottom lip. “No, Harry,” she said, “you aren't
hearing me. I *hate* to fly. I really don't know how. I'm no good. I'll fall
off—“

Harry shook his head and cut Hermione off abruptly. Ron approached them, and Harry said,
“I'll catch you. Don't worry, okay?”

Ron slipped his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she felt her shoulders tense.
“How's my best player feeling?” he asked. “Ginny said you were acting nutters in the loo.”

Hermione laughed, but it was more nerves than humor. “I was pulling a prank.”

“Time to march the field,” Ron said. “And whatever you do, don't let Malfoy's remarks
get to you.”

Hermione tugged Harry's sleeve as the Gryffindor team marched onto the field. “What position
am I?”

Harry chuckled. “Chaser. I think Ginny is a Chaser, too,” he added. “Evidently in *this*
reality, Umbridge hasn't banned me from the game. I'm still the Seeker.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Other than *not* plummet to my death?”

Harry patted Hermione's hand to reassure her. “You try to get the Quaffle through the hoops.
That's all.”

“That's all,” she muttered sarcastically. “A real piece of cake that one. Toss the ball
through the hoops and don't die.”

Harry laughed, and Hermione felt like her heart was going to burst right out through her
Quidditch robes and flop about on the pitch like a fish out of water. Madame Hooch waved the
Gryffindors over to stand near the Slytherin team, and Hermione's ears pounded with the stadium
noises.

* * * *

Hermione watched Harry mount his broom, and she copied his movements. Her knees were quaking,
and the ground vibrated beneath her feet. The Firebolt felt light and controlled between her knees.
She almost laughed madly when she thought of what everyone would say when they saw how poorly she
was bound to fly today. Wouldn't they be surprised?

Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and somehow Hermione was able to hear Harry yell, “Kick off the
ground.”

And she kicked. The Firebolt lifted into the air with ease. Hermione wobbled for one second, and
then a strange sensation rippled through her body. Her muscles reacted, and somehow she *knew*
how to fly. It was as though a part of `Quidditch Hermione' now resided in her body. She leaned
to the left, and the broom zoomed that way. Then, she tilted ever so slightly to the right, and the
Firebolt zipped with skilled control. She couldn't stop the smile that stretched across her
face.

The rush of wind was exhilarating. The feeling of rising above everyone momentarily pushed her
worries aside. She felt in the air, flying on her Firebolt, anything was possible.

“Hermione!” Ginny shouted beside her. “Are you going to sightsee or play?” She watched Ginny
take off in pursuit of the Quaffle. A Slytherin Beater pounded a Bludger in Hermione's
direction. Without thinking, she dipped the Firebolt down and rocketed away. The broom's
acceleration was amazing. She laughed into the wind.

Hermione made eye contact with Harry, and he was balanced on his broom, staring at her with
wide-eyed amazement. She bent low over her Firebolt and flew toward him. At the last second, she
tilted to the left and circled his body before hovering beside him.

“I'm not so bad,” Hermione said to him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her brown eyes were
alive with excitement.

“*Bad*?” Harry muttered. “You're bloody amazing!” A flash of gold caught Harry's
eye. Hermione saw it, too.

“Go get it, Harry,” she said in a competitive voice she had only reserved for test-taking before
now. “We can't lose to these Slytherin gits.”

Once more, Harry's mouth dropped open, and he rushed off in pursuit of the Snitch. Hermione
turned her eyes to the Slytherin Chaser who cradled the Quaffle, and she flew directly at him. The
Slytherin Chaser was so startled at her approach, he dropped the Quaffle, and Hermione caught it
easily. She soared around the pitch, dodged Bludgers and Slytherin players, and tossed the Quaffle
through Slytherin's hoops. She scored the first point for Gryffindor, and the stands erupted in
wild applause.

Hermione went on to score five more goals to Slytherin's one. Then, half an hour into the
game, Harry caught the Snitch. The Gryffindors stormed the field before Hermione could land her
broom. They encircled her and chanted her name. She was so surprised with their behavior she could
do nothing but laugh and smile. Finally, Harry tugged her aside. He was winded, and his green eyes
reflected her own excitement.

“You were excellent,” he said. “I never thought I'd see the day when you could outplay me in
Quidditch. But I think today's that day!”

Hermione laughed and threw her arms around his neck. Harry's stomach filled with a fluttery
sensation he couldn't quite get a grasp on, but he encircled her in his arms and lifted her
from the ground. She laughed harder.

“Hey, now,” Ron said as he slapped Harry on the back. Harry placed Hermione back on her feet,
and Ron reached for her hand. “Excellent game, Harry. Wish you would have prolonged catching the
Snitch. The way Hermione was scoring, we could have beat an all-time scoring record.”

“You were excellent guarding the posts as well,” Harry complimented. “I see the nerves
aren't an issue anymore.”

“Nerves?” Ron laughed. “You must be confusing me with Ginny. Now, how about my girl? Hermione,
you should have seen Draco's face when you dodged that Bludger and it smacked him dead in the
nose.”

“I'm sorry I missed that,” Harry laughed. “It's hard to believe Hermione enjoys
Quidditch this much.” When he caught Hermione's eye, she giggled.

“I know,” Ron said. “Couldn't have asked for a better girl. But that's my Hermione, the
Quidditch Star.” His ears turned the color of raspberries, but his obvious embarrassment didn't
stop him from planting a kiss right on Hermione's lips.

She froze in absolute shock. Harry made a strange squeaking noise in his throat, and the
fluttery feeling in his stomach turned dark and uncomfortable. Hermione's eyes were wide and
stared past Ron's face where she and Harry stared at each other, dumbstruck. Harry turned away,
unable to watch them together. He didn't know if his feeling of unease was do to seeing his
best mate kiss his other best mate or if it was because there was something horribly wrong with the
idea of Hermione kissing *anyone*.

“Come on, you three,” Ginny shouted over the excited fans. “Party in the common room!”

Ron pulled away from Hermione and smiled at her in a way Harry had never before witnessed. It
made his cheeks burn. Hermione stared at the ground. Ron cleared his throat.

“You don't mind if we come up a bit later, do you,” Ron asked, clearly looking at Harry.

“Er…”

“Whatever for?” Hermione laughed nervously. “Don't you want to join in the festivities? I
know I do,” she said, but Harry could hear the panic in her voice.

Ron passed a glance at Hermione. “We'll go up *later*,” he said in a quiet voice.

Hermione looked at Harry, begging him for help with her eyes. He shrugged.

“Sure, okay,” he said, and Hermione narrowed her eyes, but Harry shrugged again.

He rubbed his stomach as he strode away, wondering why he felt so knotted inside. He glanced
over his shoulder to see Ron pull Hermione into a close hug. He quickened his pace and his mind was
so overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, he was upon the portrait of the Fat Lady before he
realized he'd even entered the castle.

-->



6. One Bed For Two
------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**One Bed For Two**

**Chapter Six**

Harry stared at the Fat Lady. She stared back. “Password?” she asked in a sing-song voice, but
Harry didn't respond. For the first time, he realized how many doorways he had passed
through…without Hermione.

“What was I *thinking*?” he cursed aloud.

“I hope you were thinking of the password,” the Fat Lady responded. “Otherwise, you'll miss
the party.”

Harry backed away from the portrait and spun around on his heels. He slammed into Ginny.

“Oof,” she said. “Oy, Harry, where are you going?”

“I…” Harry stammered, “…I forgot Hermione…”

“You forgot what?” Ginny asked with a confused expression.

“Hermione,” Harry said in a rush. “There's something I needed to tell her.” A feeling of
panic and separation doubled at the thought of the doors Hermione would be walking through—or had
*already* walked through… *What if she's gone*? he thought.

Ginny smiled. “She and Ron will be up for the party. You know they always…spend time together
after a game.”

“They do?” Harry asked stupidly.

Ginny laughed. “Best if you block it out, eh? I feel the same way,” she said. “You want to come
on inside?” She spoke the password and the portrait swung open. Loud voices and laughter filled the
hallway.

He shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I'll be back.” Without saying another word to
Ginny, he rushed toward the Entrance Hall and tried not to walk through a single door.

When Harry burst into the Entrance Hall, he saw a frazzled Hermione and a red-faced Ron hurrying
through the front doors. Ron wore an expression of bewilderment, but he was close on Hermione
heels.

“Hermione,” Harry shouted immediately. She made eye contact with him and made a bee-line in his
direction. He hurried toward them. “The doors,” he said in a rush, “I wasn't thinking. I was
worried that you'd—“

“—what's going on, mate?” Ron asked as his expression changed to concern.

“Er…” Harry stammered.

“The party is out of canapés,” Hermione said.

“Cana-whats?”

“Hor'dourves,” Hermione explained, and when Ron still looked perplexed she sighed in
exasperation. “Finger foods, Ron. Little sandwiches, sweets…”

“Oh,” he nodded, “you're going to the kitchens then?”

“I…” Harry looked at Hermione, and with a slight headshake from her, he answered, “no,
that's okay. Someone else can go. Unless you *both* want to go, too.”

Ron shrugged. “Sure, mate. I'm starved.”

Harry tickled the pear and the three of them walked into the kitchens. They were immediately
bombarded by house-elves, and Ron took the opportunity to tell them everything he would like to
eat. As the house-elves bustled happily away, Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, “You noticed
anything *weird* going on with Hermione?”

Harry's stomach dropped. He glanced around the kitchen and found her watching him closely.
She half-smiled, and he could almost hear the sigh that escaped her lips.

“Er…no, why?”

“Well, at first she was…” Ron's ears reddened, “…she was into it and then like lightning she
panicked and acted beserk and said we needed to get back to the common room and talk to you about
the game…”

Harry couldn't follow Ron's quick succession of words. “What are you talking about?”

Ron's face, neck and ears matched the vivid red of his hair. “*After the game*,” he
whispered as a house-elf shoved a bag of éclairs into his hands, “we…well, you *know* what we
always do…”

Realization dawned across Harry's face. The dark, uncomfortable feeling returned to the pit
of his stomach.

“That's right,” Ron said quickly when he saw Harry understood. “And she acted nutters
halfway through and insisted we leave and get back so we could discuss game strategies with
you.”

Harry glanced back at Hermione. She was staring pointedly down at her fingernails, but Harry
could see the pink blush to her cheeks. She *knew* what they were discussing, and Harry's
cheeks flushed in response to the awkward feeling sliding around in his chest. He swallowed.

“I don't know,” Harry said finally. “I don't think *anything* is different. Not to
me,” he lied but felt uneasy.

Ron nodded and took more bags of food from the helpful elves. “Think we have enough.” He looked
to Hermione. “You ready.”

Hermione rejoined them and they wound their way up to Gryffindor Tower. Harry and Hermione
released a sigh after each doorway they passed through without being transported away. And yet,
this new reality, though less abrasive than Harry sorted into Slytherin, was awkward and
ill-placed, and each passing minute, was one minute too long.

* * * *

The Gryffindor common room party was uneventful unless the round of Filibuster Fireworks Fred
and George let loose were taken into account, but the explosions of color and noise caused
Professor McGonagall to bound in and order some peace and quiet.

Hermione slid her way around the common room and squeezed into a seat on the couch next to
Harry. The couch was already crowded, and her body barely fit onto the cushion. Most of her body
seemed propped on Harry's. He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his fluttery stomach. *Must be
the canary creams*, he thought.

She turned to him and whispered, “Harry, you shouldn't have left me.”

Harry nodded and swallowed. An image of Ron and Hermione kissing entered his mind, and his
throat tightened. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I figured something out,” she said.

“Have you, now?” he said with more bitterness than he'd intended. He couldn't seem to
rid his mind of Hermione and Ron doing inappropriate things alone together…*after every game*
as Ron and Ginny had felt fit to inform him.

“I think,” she said, and leaned closer, “I think we absorb a bit of our altered reality
selves.”

Harry's brows knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she explained, “clearly *this* Hermione knows how to fly and I, however, do not.
Yet, I was able to fly and play Quidditch today.”

“And *this* Hermione is in love with Ron,” Harry said without meaning for the words to
spill out.

“What?” she questioned and then she blushed. “Yes, I think so.” She looked away from Harry.
“After the game…”

“*I know*,” Harry said a bit louder than he should have. Several people around them turned
to stare. “The Slytherins are always trying to cheat,” he said to them, and they took his statement
as the reason for his raised voice. Several people agreed with him and then went back to their
conversations. He glanced at Hermione and repeated, “I *know*.”

“No, you *don't know*,” she said, and he could hear the annoyance tinting her voice.
“You have *no idea* what happened after the game. If you had not left me, then none of this
nonsense would have ever happened.”

He glared at her. “You're blaming me for Ron trying to get your knickers off?”

“Why *you*…what on earth…I can't *believe you*…” she said, clearly flustered. She
pushed herself off Harry, but he grabbed her, and she plopped back down, half on the couch cushion,
half in his lap.

“I didn't mean that,” Harry said apologetically.

“It's not like *I* have control over this hair-brained Hermione,” she spat in an angry
whisper. “Do you *also know* that Quidditch Star Hermione has let her marks suffer? Can you
*believe* that?!” She was obviously affronted to have learned that she had let her marks
suffer even in a *alternate* reality.

Harry chuckled. He couldn't help himself. Hermione glowered at him. “Come on, Hermione,” he
said, “this isn't the *real* you.”

“Apologize for saying that…for saying that about my knickers,” she said. Her face pinked in
embarrassment.

“I didn't mean it,” he said.

“Because you…you sounded like a jealous boyfriend,” she said.

“A what…” he trailed off, but his thoughts began to wonder. *Had he?* He shook his head in
response to his silent question.

“We can't be separated again,” she said as she skirted any more discussion on what had
actually happened after the game.

“What do you suggest?” he asked. “Hide out in the library?”

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and as an idea came to her, she gripped Harry's hand. “We can
hide in the same dormitory.”

“How?” he wondered.

“I can tell Ron that I'm not feeling well,” she began in a rushed whisper, “and that I'm
going to the Hospital Wing. You can meet me at the portrait hole and give me your invisibility
cloak, and I can sneak back up to your dormitory.”

“*My* dormitory?” he asked in a strangled voice.

“You clearly can't get into mine. Remember the stairs turn into a slide?”

Harry nodded, but the fluttery sensation had returned to his stomach. “What are you going to do
in my dormitory?”

“Sleep. If we don't get home before then, I'll need to rest,” she said. “And I'm
afraid for us to separate.” She turned her brown eyes up to his. “Aren't you?”

“Well…yeah,” he said honestly. “You want the cloak then?” She nodded. “Give me a second to find
it and then I'll meet you at the portrait hole.” Hermione eased off Harry's lap and scooted
through the crowd in search of Ron.

Harry found his invisibility cloak stashed away at the bottom of his trunk. He pushed through
the crowded common room and tried to appear nonchalant as he walked to the portrait hole. He
crawled through and found Hermione waiting on the other side.

“Find it?” she asked, a breathless quality to her voice.

He handed her the cloak. She draped it around her shoulders and then pulled it over her
head.

“You're okay with this right?” she asked.

Harry stared at where he thought her invisible form stood. “Sure, you can borrow the cloak
whenever.”

“No, I mean with me sharing your dorm bed.”

Harry's stomach floated into this throat and then dropped straight into his trainers. “My…my
bed,” he muttered numbly.

“You're okay, then?” she asked, and Harry sensed her nervousness.

“S-sure,” he answered though he didn't feel sure of anything. Sneaking Hermione into his
dormitory under the cloak seemed perfectly reasonable. But he had never thought what would happen
*after* she was in their dormitory, and the idea of her sharing his bed made his insides
squirm.

Hermione spoke the password, and the Fat Lady swung open. “Make up your minds, will you?” she
asked in annoyance.

“I'll—I'll need to say I'm going to bed,” Harry said. “I'll meet you up
there.”

Harry found Ron and explained he had a headache and needed to lie down. Harry pretended it had
something to do will all the sweets he had inhaled. Ron appeared to understand, but was too
involved in a chess game to say much more.

Harry walked up the stairs to the 5th year boys' dormitory with leaden feet. A
buzzing filled his ears, and his heart beat too quickly for bedtime. The door stood open at the top
of the stairs. He stepped cautiously inside.

“Hermione?” he called.

“Over here,” she answered.

He could see the slight sink of his mattress where she sat waiting for him. He cleared his
throat and crossed the room.

“Suppose we should cast Silencing Charms on the curtains,” Hermione said. “That way they
won't hear my voice.”

“Good idea,” he agreed in a voice that came out much higher than he'd intended.

“You're okay with this, right?” she asked again.

Harry cleared his throat again. “Sure,” he said as nonplussed as he could. “It's not a big
deal.”

Hermione exhaled a shaky sigh. “Good,” she said. “I know it might seem odd, but
we're…we're best mates. And given the circumstances, I don't see an alternate choice.
We can't risk being separated.”

“I agree,” Harry said, and he did agree with her; he just felt strangely unsettled with the idea
of them sharing a bed for one. There would be no way to have space, no way to not touch bodies.

Hermione slid the cloak from her body and scooted back on Harry's pillow. Harry kicked off
his shoes and crawled in beside her. He closed the curtains around his bed. Hermione cast a
Silencing Charm and a Locking Charm to prohibit anyone from hearing them or from pulling the
curtains aside.

Hermione eased down onto his pillow. She yawned. “I'm exhausted,” she said.

Harry said nothing. With his heart pounding in his chest, and his stomach in a Gordian knot, he
didn't think he'd be able to fall asleep without someone clubbing him.

“Perhaps if we slept back to back,” Hermione said, “you would have enough room.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbled. He rolled on his side and tried not to tense every muscle in his body as
Hermione's backside pressed into his. He felt her nestle in and within minutes, her breathing
was slow and steady. She had fallen asleep. Harry lay awake long after Hermione had drifted off to
sleep. He heard the remaining 5th year boys enter their dormitory, and as soon as he
heard Ron's voice, guilt rose in his chest like heartburn. Then, he felt foolish for his
reaction. After all, this was an alternate reality; this was a reality where Hermione made better
Quidditch plays than marks and where she was in love with Ron. And Harry…well, he was the jealous
non-boyfriend. He tried to shake off the dark thoughts that rose steadily to the surface.

He closed his eyes and forced his mind to relax. Soon the warmth of Hermione's body eased
the tension in his body, and he drifted off to sleep thinking of an alternate reality where
Hermione in his bed wasn't such a far-fetched idea.

-->



7. The Closeness of Friends
---------------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**The Closeness of Friends**

**Chapter Seven**

Hermione wrapped her arms around a warm body. She nestled in close and a muffled moan slipped
between her lips. She felt comfortable and content between the sheets, lying in a cozy bed. Her
dreams were lucid, and she drifted in and out of consciousness, thinking of nothing particular,
only that she was so very comfortable. She slid her hand up the man's chest and sighed. It was
a sweet sound, and it nearly stopped Harry's heart.

His eyes were open, wide and full of panic. He had been awake for at least an hour. He
hadn't been able to sleep through the 5th year Gryffindor boys tromping out of bed
and down the dormitory stairs for a Saturday morning breakfast. Ron had called to him. Harry had
lowered the Silencing Charm long enough to tell his best mate he still wasn't feeling great,
and he would be down later in the morning. Ron said something about bringing breakfast back up for
him, and Harry had looked down at the top of Hermione's head and felt guilt claw its way up
from his toes to the crown of his head. Then the dormitory had been silent—except for
Hermione's gentle breathing and the almost cute snuffling noises she made when she fell in and
out of dreaming.

He should have gotten out of bed minutes ago. After the others had left, he should have gotten
up, but, if he was to be completely honest with himself (which was difficult under the
circumstances), he hadn't *wanted* to get up. Not really. The bed was warm. He was
comfortable, and then, there was the problem of Hermione. She had completely draped her body across
his. Her knee slung over his thighs. Her hand had crept up his chest and felt to be burning a hole
straight to his heart. Now she was *moaning*. Sweet Merlin, the control he had over his more
embarrassing anatomy threatened to be ripped away. He tried thinking of Quidditch, of how to
properly polish the handle… *Nice Potter*, he swore to himself. His thoughts struggled to run
away with Hermione in tow. He squeezed his eyes closed, and he was almost calm again until her hand
slid up his neck and began to rub through the hair at his temple. Harry was paralyzed.

Hermione sighed heavily against his chest. Her body shifted and stretched, and Harry knew she
was waking. She yawned but continued to run her hand through his hair. His cheeks felt hot and he
knew they must be burning red.

“Mmmm, sleep well?” she murmured and adjusted her leg across his thighs. She scooted even closer
into his body though Harry would have sworn that was impossible.

“Err…yeah,” Harry answered. He was amazed he could say anything given the tightness of his
throat and the control he was losing over the lower half of his body.

Hermione's hand froze in place. Harry could feel her body stiffen. The silence was
maddening. “H-Harry?” she asked.

Harry swallowed. “Yeah.”

“I—uh—I…” she stammered. She lifted her hand from his hair and pulled it down toward her body
without touching him with it. With the stiffness of a man frozen in ice, Hermione lifted her leg
from his thighs and tucked it beside her other leg. They lay in an awkward stretching silence for
longer than Harry could stand. Then, Hermione jolted upright and covered her face in her hands. She
laughed but it sounded tight and embarrassed.

“I…I am *so* sorry, Harry,” she said into her hands.

The heat evaporated from his body almost instantaneously with Hermione moving away. He propped
up on his elbows and made sure his obvious arousal wasn't *obvious*. He tugged at the
sheets a bit.

“What for?” he asked.

“For…for…” she dropped her hands, “for lying all over you. I had *no* idea.”

Harry's embarrassment released into a laugh. “No worries, Hermione. You were sleeping. I was
sleeping.”

She turned her brown eyes to him. “I wasn't trying to—I didn't *mean*—I didn't
know—“

“—Hermione, it's okay. *Really*.”

She released a ragged breath. Then, she smiled, and for the first time he could remember, Harry
saw the wonder in her smile. Her eyes relaxed. The tension in her forehead disappeared. He felt his
stomach flip flop. He wanted her close to him again, to feel her warmth. Then, he closed his eyes
and shoved those thoughts into an already packed area of his mind.

“These alternate realities are interesting at least,” she said, half-joking, half trying to ease
the tension that surrounded them.

Harry sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Interesting.”

“Is everyone—“

“—they've all gone down to breakfast,” Harry said. “Ron included.”

“Should we try to sneak out then?” she asked.

“Probably a good time.”

Harry opened the curtains and dropped his feet onto the floor. Hermione eased out of the other
side of the bed. He cast a glance at her over his shoulder and saw she was twirling a curl around
her finger—a nervous habit.

He leaned his arm on the bed and eased toward her. He touched her shoulder, and she jumped in
surprise.

“Hermione,” he chuckled low, “it's okay.”

“But…I was…”

“All over me?” he asked with a wink. “I know. I get that *all the time*.”

She shoved him away but she was laughing. Her cheeks reddened, and it made her eyes bashful.

“Really,” he said. “It's not a big deal. It's just…*me*,” he added, but even as he
said it, the intonation he had used made him wish that he could have said the very same phrase and
it meant *more*. That `just Harry' wasn't the same as a dismissive hand wave…his
stomach tightened at the thought.

“You okay?” she asked.

Harry looked back up at her and smiled. “Sure. Here's the cloak. You'll need it to get
out of here, and then we should be okay.”

Hermione took the cloak and slipped it around her shoulders. Harry laughed at her floating head
and the absurdity of the sight. He knelt down in front of his trunk and flipped it open.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting a clean shirt.”

“Do those clothes even fit you anymore?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. He pulled out a Gryffindor t-shirt and stood up with it in his hand.

He dropped the shirt on the bed and tugged at the one he was wearing. Hermione made a tiny
`eep' noise and pulled the cloak over her head. Harry heard her steps moving toward the
door.

“I'll wait here,” she said.

Harry grinned. “I'm only changing my shirt.”

“Still,” she said from somewhere across the room. “I don't need to take part.”

Harry heard the amusement in her voice. He tugged off the shirt he had slept in and draped it
across the bed. Across the room, Hermione tried to stare at the door, but she turned back to Harry
though she didn't know *why*. He stood with his back to her. Then, he leaned down and
picked up the t-shirt from his trunk. With t-shirt in hand, but still shirtless, he turned toward
Hermione. She stiffed in shock before she realized he didn't know *where* she was
looking.

“I think you should wear the cloak until we get to the common room,” Harry said. “If it's
empty then you can take it off, but if it's not you should wear it until we find a place where
it's clear of people. Don't you think?”

Hermione stared at Harry. She didn't know if she'd ever seen Harry without his shirt
on…or if she'd ever *seen* Harry without his shirt on. He was muscled from his undying
stubbornness to play Quidditch until his body gave out. When he moved, his muscle definition shone
with such clarity that Hermione's stomach felt hot and then the sensation spread lower. She
instantly imagined her hands on his chest. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.
*What am I thinking?* she scolded herself.

“Hermione?” Harry asked.

She blinked her eyes and saw he had pulled on his Gryffindor t-shirt, and it looked about two
sizes too small.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think?”

“I think it's too small,” she answered.

“What?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“The shirt,” she said. “It's too small.”

“I asked you about the plan with the cloak and the common room,” Harry said, and then he flexed
his muscles in an overly dramatic way, “but you don't like my shirt?”

Hermione laughed and rolled her eyes. “It fit you when you were 15.”

“And now my sexy physique is too much for it?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly and squeezed her lips together to stop herself from cursing aloud.

“Really?” Harry asked in such a surprised innocent voice, Hermione knew they needed to get out
of the dormitory.

“We should go,” she said.

Harry nodded and walked to the door. “Where are you?”

She touched his arm, and he opened the door. Voices carried up the stairs from the common room
below. “Leave the cloak on until we get out of the portrait hole,” he said and they walked down the
stairs.

When they reached the common room, Ron was in a tirade, surrounded by Ginny and Fred and
George.

“Calm down, Ron,” Ginny said, “I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation.”

“Yeah?” he asked bitterly. “Like what?”

Ginny didn't answer, but she looked up as Harry entered the common room. He could feel
Hermione pressing closely into his back.

“Harry,” Ginny said in exasperation, “*talk* to him.”

“What's going on?” he asked Ron, but his best mate paced in front of the hearth with an
expression of barely suppressed rage on his face.

“Hermione didn't sleep in her dormitory last night,” Ginny said quietly, and Ron mumbled
something incoherent.

Harry felt his mouth dry. He licked his lips and inhaled deeply. He tried to look unaffected.
“Wasn't she ill?” Harry asked. “Didn't she mention the Hospital Wing?”

Ginny glanced quickly at Ron. The twins looked at Harry, and his heart raced.

“We were down there,” Fred said.

“Tested out a new sweet,” George added.

“We sprouted lamb ears,” Fred continued.

“Out of our ankles,” George said while he pointed to their bandaged feet and lower legs.

Harry still said nothing. But Ginny looked at him and whispered, “Hermione wasn't in
there.”

“Maybe she had already left,” Harry said.

Ron scoffed by the hearth. “Hard for her to leave when she never arrived.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. Hermione pressed harder into his back. He felt she was cowering
behind him even in her invisibility.

“Ron went to see how she felt,” Ginny answered. “Madame Pomfrey said she hadn't seen
Hermione.”

“Oh,” Harry said.

“Yeah, *oh*,” Ron said sarcastically. “Where do you suppose she is then?”

“Did…did anyone check the library?” Harry asked quickly. Panic arose inside Harry as he thought
of the myriad of complications this alternate reality could hold.

No one said anything until Fred and George glanced at Ron. “You didn't think of that, did
you?” they asked together. Ron stopped pacing and shook his head.

“She's probably there,” Harry said. “Probably wanted to research why she was feeling off and
she was going to take it to Madame Pomfrey, only she probably fell asleep before she got to the
Hospital Wing. You know Hermione, always in the library researching.”

Ron looked less angry. Perhaps he thought Harry's explanation held weight. Fred and George
shrugged and patted Ron's back before leaving the common room.

“That *would* make sense, Ron,” Ginny said gently.

“I—I could go check,” Harry said. “I haven't eaten, so I'll nick some food and then
search the library. It's probably nothing, mate.” *It's not like I slept in the bed with
her last night…* Harry's mind voiced. He rubbed his neck and waited.

“I'll go, too,” Ron said.

“No!” Harry said. “Er…you're not in the best mood. If she *is* in the library and she
fell asleep and you show up angry, you're bound to have a row. And…and I don't think
it's the best idea.”

“Harry's right, Ron,” Ginny agreed. “You should wait. He'll hurry, won't you,
Harry?”

“That's right,” Harry said. “I'll be back before you know it. I'm sure there's a
good explanation.”

Ron nodded and mumbled something else, and Harry dashed for the portrait hole. He prayed
Hermione was behind him. When the portrait swung open, the hallway was crowded with students
milling around and laughing. Dean played Muggle jacks on the floor with Seamus, who kept
complaining he was bored with such a dull game.

“To an empty room,” Harry mumbled out the corner of his mouth. Hermione pressed an invisible
hand into his back to let him know she heard.

They wandered down the hallways until Harry poked his head into an empty classroom. He walked
inside and closed the door behind him. Hermione let the cloak fall from her head. She looked
pale.

She reached for his hand. “That was almost terrible,” she whispered.

Harry was distracted by her hand in his. She had held his hand a million times before now, but
her touch had never made him feel warm…or *aroused*. And then he wondered *why*.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, looking up at him.

Harry tried to focus his attention on her. “We'll have to sneak down to the library, and
you'll have to go along with my story. You wanted to get a book and you feel asleep. He'll
believe it because he *wants* to believe it.”

“He looked so…angry.”

“It's jealousy, not anger,” Harry said plainly.

“He should *know* me,” Hermione said, looking offended. “I'd *never* run around
with two men at once.”

“Not you,” Harry said, “but maybe *this* Hermione is different.”

“Surely not,” she argued.

“You *were* sleeping in *my* bed,” he said.

Hermione glared at him. “Out of necessity.” Harry's smiled faded, and the look of it knocked
Hermione off balance for a moment. *Did Harry look disappointed?* she wondered. “I—well—you
know what I'm saying. If I *was* dating Ron and I was okay with it, I wouldn't have
been…”

“I get it, Hermione,” Harry said, but he sounded annoyed. And he was—mostly with himself. He
couldn't understand why Hermione's comment `out of necessity' had irked him so.
“Let's get this over with. Put the cloak back on and we'll go to the library.”

Harry's voice was brusque. He reached for the doorknob once Hermione was covered with the
cloak again. She grabbed his arm to apologize…or explain to him *exactly* what she had meant.
She felt something in her words had struck a nerve with him, and the need to fix whatever she had
done wrong swelled up inside her.

“Harry—“ she began, but Harry had already opened the door, and they were already tumbling away
from the alternate reality.

The feeling of falling slammed into Hermione with a force unlike she had ever experienced
before. She felt as though an invisible hand reached into her chest and pulled her beating heart
from her body. Cold sorrow seeped into every nerve. She felt doubled over in a grief-stricken agony
so strong, she could not summon the strength to breathe. Hermione fell deep into darkness.

Harry fell forward, fully aware of their drop through space and time. Heat enveloped him. A
tight, twisted sort of exhilaration gripped him. Though he fell forward, his body released itself
and soared and spread into a hundred alternate directions. Though the darkness closed in around
him, he felt trapped inside a feeling of security and love he had never before known.

-->



8. One More, One Less
---------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**One More, One Less**

**Chapter Eight**

Hermione awoke gasping for breath and shrouded in darkness. She sobbed aloud and pressed her
hands to her chest. She felt a desperate separation from her parents, a brutal severance. Grief
ripped at her insides, and she doubled over, covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks were wet.
*Tears*, she thought as she struggled to control her breathing. Disorientation fogged her
mind, and though she knew she was home, it felt foreign and misaligned.

She was in a bed. That much she knew. But all was dark except for a sliver of light that crept
beneath the door and barely reached across the bedroom floor. She swung her legs out of the bed and
dangled her feet toward the cold wooden floor. Sorrow once again clutched her body, and she
trembled beneath the burden of despair.

“Mum?” she called in a quiet, shaky voice. Her inhaled breath felt ragged in her throat. “Mum!
Dad!” she called louder. The desperation in her voice echoed in the empty room. Loneliness, bitter
and harsh, swirled around her. She shivered.

The bedroom door opened. Pale light from the hallway spilled into the bedroom. A woman stood in
the doorway and hurried toward the bed. She sat beside Hermione and reached for her hands.

“Are you okay, dear?” the woman asked.

Hermione tried to speak, but tears rolled down her cheeks. The woman's hands were warm and
filled Hermione's body with comfort.

“I…I…” Hermione stammered as horrid memories rushed through her mind—memories she had never
before experienced. It could only mean one thing. “I had a nightmare, Mum.”

The woman reached toward a nightstand. She pulled the cord on a lamp, and Hermione blinked in
the light as her eyes adjusted. The woman pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed Hermione's wet
cheeks.

Hermione took one long look at the woman on her bed and gasped. “You're not my mum—“

The woman's eyes filled with tears, and she pulled Hermione into a hug. “I'm *so*
sorry, dear. I would bring her back if I could. You *know* I would.”

Hermione heard the breaking sorrow in the woman's voice, the utter sincerity of her words.
But Hermione trembled in the woman's arms. She pulled away from the embrace.

“You're…you're Lily Potter,” Hermione whispered in disbelief. “*Harry's*
mum.”

Lily tucked Hermione's curly hair behind her ears. “Can I get you anything? Water?” she
asked gently. She dabbed at Hermione's cheeks again, then she held her hands. “Something to
eat?”

Hermione shook her head. The feeling of mourning returned. Hermione closed her eyes and
whispered, “Where are my parents?” When she opened her eyes, she saw Lily's eyes were pooling
with tears and her smile was sad.

“I'm sorry, Hermione,” Lily said. “I know I'll never be your mother, but I'll be
there for you, whatever you need. You've always been like a daughter to us. James always said
he wanted a girl, and you've been like the one we never had. Truly you are always welcome
here.”

“What *happened* to my parents?” Hermione asked. Her heart told her they were dead. Even in
an alternate reality, even though Hermione *knew* her parents were not really dead,
*this* Hermione was grieving and she could not escape that kind of pain. It became a part of
her.

Lily's expression was pained. “Voldemort,” she said quietly, as though speaking the name
aloud might call forth dark things.

Hermione snapped her head up and stared at Lily. “But that's…that's *impossible*,”
Hermione said. “Voldemort is dead. If I'm here and you're here…then…then he's dead
because Harry…he couldn't kill Harry…but you and James…”

“Shh,” Lily said as she smoothed her hands up and down Hermione's arms. “It's okay,
dear. Just relax. It's okay.”

“No!” Hermione said forcefully. “I *have* to know. Voldemort tried to *kill* you when
Harry was a year old. I *know* he did. What happened? How can he…how are my parents…what
*year* is this?”

Lily looked extremely worried. She was moments away from calling for James or from giving
Hermione a sleeping draught. “Hermione, you must calm down. You need to relax.”

“Voldemort isn't dead?” Hermione whispered and wiped at more tears.

“No.”

“*Why*?”

“We have been unable to stop him.”

“How old am I?” Hermione asked. She hugged her arms to her chest and trembled.

“Hermione—“

“—please. I *need* to know. I don't understand. I feel…so *lost*.”

“Sixteen.”

“And Hogwarts?” Hermione wondered.

“You and Harry are to catch the train tomorrow morning.”

“Sixth year?”

“Of course.”

Hermione nodded. “My parents? They're…Voldemort *killed* my parents?”

“Yes.”

Again Hermione nodded. She inhaled a shaky breath and dropped back onto the pillow. Tears leaked
from her eyes and slid down the sides of her cheeks. She shuddered in sorrow.

“So that's it, huh?” she whispered as she stared at the ceiling. “One more, one less.”

Lily patted Hermione's hand. “What do you mean, dear?”

“Harry has his parents,” Hermione said as a new wave of sorrow made her squeeze her eyes closed.
“And I lost mine. One more set of parents, one less. I know—I know he'll be *so* pleased,”
she said, and her voice broke into a million pieces.

* * * *

Harry jerked awake. He was on the couch in a strange living room. His glasses were askew on his
face, and he quickly swung his feet onto the floor. He stared across the room at a wall of moving
pictures. In the dim light of the lamp on the end table, Harry could see himself in the frames, and
he wasn't alone. In most of the photographs he was with either one of his parents or
*both* of them. Something was terribly wrong.

Harry jumped to his feet and promptly lost his balance when his father, James Potter walked into
the living room. Harry tipped over and landed harshly on the floor.

James hurried over to him. Harry couldn't stop the shock that stole his breath and his
thoughts.

“Careful, son,” James said. “Let's get you back on the couch.”

Harry allowed James to pull him to his feet and sit him on the couch, and all he could was stare
at his father, the living ghost.

At last Harry found his voice. “Dad?”

“What is it, son?” James asked as he sat in an armchair. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses
and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Wh—where are we?”

James dropped his hand into his lap and frowned. “You're home.”

“Home…” The word felt strange on Harry's tongue. It was an unused, foreign word that rattled
around in his brain like marbles. It warmed his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Mum…?”

James thumbed over his shoulder. “She's in the bedroom,” he answered, and then his face
filled with sadness. “I think Hermione had another nightmare.”

“Hermione's here?” Harry asked, and suddenly he remembered he and Hermione had fallen into
another reality—a reality where his parents were still *alive*. Exhilaration gripped him so
tightly, he thought his heart would burst.

“Of course,” James said. “You brought her back with you. And frankly, I'm glad you did. She
was in a right state, not that I blame her, but I think she would have gone mad if you hadn't
brought her here to your mother.”

Harry's happiness faltered. “Mad? What's wrong with her?”

“Harry…isn't that obvious?” James said, eyeing his son with concern.

Harry shook his head. “I…I don't understand. You and Mum…we're home?”

“Did you knock your head when you fell?” James asked.

“What? No,” Harry said quickly. “I…I…*what's* going on?”

James stood. “I'm going to get Lily,” he said. “Stay here.”

Harry dropped his head into his hands and tried to slow his heart. It raced in his chest. *My
parents!* he thought. He couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips. He heard feet
returning down the hallway, and he looked up to see his mother and father, standing together.

“I can't *believe* it,” he mumbled to himself.

“Are you okay?” Lily asked him, and she hurried over to sit next to him on the couch.
“You're shaking.”

Harry hadn't realized he was trembling, but he was. He held his hands out in front of him
and watched his fingers shake. “What's happened?” he asked. “How are you…how are we
*here*?”

“I don't know what you mean, son,” Lily said. James sat down in the armchair but he watched
Harry warily.

“*Where* are we?” Harry asked.

“You're home,” Lily said. “In Godric's Hollow.”

“But Voldemort *found* you…found *us* here when I was a year old,” Harry said quickly.
“Peter told your secret.”

Lily's eyes were wide. She passed a glance at James and then looked back to Harry. She
touched the back of her hand to Harry's forehead. “James, get the Pepper-up from the cabinet.”
James stood and walked out of the living room. “Harry, are you feeling okay? Your dad said you fell
down. Did you knock your head?”

“No,” Harry said. “I—I don't know what's happening.”

“I know it's all very confusing,” Lily said soothingly. She rubbed Harry's back, and the
feeling of comfort she gave was unlike anything he could compare it to. It was unique and yet
familiar, as though a mother's touch could always be recognized.

“How did you escape?” Harry asked, and Lily stopped rubbing his back.

“Escape what?”

“Voldemort,” Harry continued. “October 31st, 1981. How did you and Dad escape
Voldemort?”

“You *know* this story,” Lily said quietly though Harry heard the worry in her voice.

He knew he must sound completely mad to her, but he did not *know* the things `this'
Harry knew. “Tell me again,” he asked simply. “Please.”

Lily cleared her throat and James brought in the Pepper-up potion. “You wouldn't stop
crying,” Lily said. “It was Halloween and your father thought you must have been spooked. We tried
to get you to sleep, but you refused. Your father and I snuck out of the house for a walk though we
knew it was quite dangerous. You wailed and wailed until we stepped out of the house, and within
seconds you were quiet and content. We thought it odd,” Lily said and reached for James' hand,
“but perhaps you knew things we did not. Minutes later, Voldemort burst into our home and finding
us gone, he burned it to the ground. We learned later that he kill—“ she paused to swallow, “he
*killed* Peter. He thought Peter had lied about our whereabouts. So…that night, *you*
saved us, Harry.”

Harry sat for a long while in the silence. He could hardly wrap his brain around the idea that
he had saved his parents because when he was a year old he'd had a crying fit. He rubbed his
forehead where his scar should have been.

“And Voldemort?” Harry asked because he knew if *he* had not stopped Voldemort, then… “Is
he gone?”

James made a choking noise in his throat. Lily put her hand to Harry's forehead again.

“*Is* he?” Harry asked. “Is Voldemort gone?”

“No,” James answered.

Harry's stomach sank. He felt incredibly happy to be in the same room with his parents who
were living and breathing, but the idea that Voldemort had not been stopped filled his heart with
darkness. Then, he remembered Hermione.

“And Hermione?” Harry asked. “How is she? What's happened to her?” He stood so quickly that
Lily gasped. “Can I see her?”

“Harry,” Lily said as she stood up beside her son, “she's had a long day and night.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked as he maneuvered around his mother and passed his father who had
stood from the armchair. “What's wrong with her? Is she down this hallway?”

“Harry,” James said sternly, “let her rest.”

“*Why*?” Harry demanded. “What's *wrong* with her?”

“Your father's right,” Lily agreed. “She needs her rest. You cannot imagine what it's
like to lose your parents. She has lost them both in one night.”

Harry felt as though he'd been knocked full-on in the face with a Bludger. “Her—her
*parents*?” Harry stuttered and reached out to the wall for support. “What do you mean?
What's happened to her parents?”

“Harry, don't you remember?” James asked, and Lily wrung her hands, darting her worried
green eyes from her husband to her son. “You brought her here. The two of you went out for lunch
and when you returned her home, there was nothing left.”

“Nothing left?”

“Voldemort,” Lily whispered and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “The Dark Mark, Harry. You
*told* us you saw the Dark Mark hovering above her house.”

Harry's stomach turned to lead. He dropped his hands to his knees and gulped in air. Lily
rushed to his side.

“I'm fine,” he said. “I need a minute, that's all.” When he finally stood, his parents
were watching him, and he shook his head. Then, he strode up the hallway and opened the only closed
door. Light from the hallway poured into the bedroom, and he saw someone lying prone in the
bed.

“Hermione?” he whispered.

He heard a quiet intake of breath, then its shuddered released. “Harry…” she whispered.

The sadness inside the room was overwhelming. He moved to the bed and sat down. Before he
realized what was happening, he wrapped his arms around Hermione and pulled her to him. He rubbed
his hands up and down her back. She cried softly into his shoulder.

“It's okay,” he murmured. “It's okay. It's not real, Hermione. None of this is real.
You *know* that.” He felt her nod against his neck. “We'll get home. Somehow, we'll
get back to where your parents are still alive, okay? We'll get back. I promise.”

“But—but,” Hermione cried as she pulled away from Harry so she could look at his face, “but your
parents are *here*.” She sagged forward. “I know it isn't real, but the sadness. It's
*hers* but it feels like *mine*. I keep trying to tell myself this is some alternate
place, and we're only here for a little while, but *this* Hermione grieves so deeply.
It's…it's overwhelming.” Hermione covered her face in his hands.

Harry reached out for hands and pulled them into her lap, but he didn't let go of her.
“It's okay, Hermione,” he said softly. “Just keep breathing. It's going to be okay.”

“Is this…is this how *you* feel?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Because your parents…because they aren't…”

Harry wiped at Hermione's wet cheeks. “It's different,” Harry said thoughtfully. “The
intensity is different. I never *knew* my parents. I didn't get to love them as you have
yours.”

Hermione nodded, and Harry saw her sad eyes in the dim light. “But…here you have them. You must
feel…happy.”

Harry shook his head. He cupped his hands around Hermione's face. “I would *never* want
this reality for the one we know. Yes, I have an unbelievable feeling of joy to see them, to
*be* with them, but this sorrow…I would never trade my sorrow and know you had to endure this
in exchange.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, and she threw her arms around his neck again. He could feel her
tremble against him, and he thought he would do anything to never have to see her so grief-stricken
again. He felt he would do anything to keep her happy, to keep her safe. “I'm *so* sorry.
I feel so selfish. You have your parents here. I should feel grateful for this moment *for
you*.”

Harry laughed despite the knot in his throat. “You're not selfish,” Harry said. “Maybe you
should rest.”

“Can you stay in here?” she asked softly. “For a little while?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed.

Hermione laid back on the pillow, and Harry crawled into the bed beside her. Hermione scooted
close to him and pressed her back against his side. She sighed one last time, and soon he could
tell she had fallen asleep. He rolled onto his side and slid up behind her. It felt natural for him
to drape his arm over her. It felt like protection. It felt *right*. In minutes, Harry's
restless mind quieted, and he fell asleep.

A bit later, James and Lily stood in the doorway of the bedroom. They saw the two teenagers
asleep in the bed, Harry's arm pulling Hermione close to him.

“They shouldn't be in the same bed,” James said with a frown.

Lily sighed. “They've had a hard day.”

“Her mother would *never* agree to this.”

“We're her parents now, James,” Lily said sadly.

“I know,” he said. “And I *know* what sixteen year old boys think about when they lay in
beds with girls.”

“Do you now?” Lily said with a hint of playfulness in her voice.

James' cheeks reddened slightly. “Well…I…”

“Just because you were a walking hormone doesn't mean your son is the same.”

“All boys are the same!” James protested.

“They're *sleeping*, James.”

“But they're…they're not even *dating*.”

“Not yet,” Lily said wistfully.

James sighed. “Fine,” he said reluctantly.

“Let them have a moment of peace,” she said. “We all need a moment of peace now and then.
Especially now.”

James pulled Lily into an embrace, and he smoothed his hand down her hair. She sighed into his
shoulder. “You're right,” he whispered. “As always.”

The Potters stood embracing in the hallway and hanging on to their brief moment of respite in a
world troubled by dark days, and Harry and Hermione slept unaware of how dark the world had become
in this alternate reality where James and Lily Potter had not yet died and Voldemort was very much
alive.

-->



9. An Additional Branch on the Tree
-----------------------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**An Addition****al** **Branch on the** **Tree**

**Chapter Nine**

Hermione blinked her eyes and inhaled deeply. The bedroom came into focus and the air smelled of
breakfast. Sunlight trickled through the sheer curtains hanging from the large bedroom window.

The memory of the previous night crept back into her mind, and she exhaled a breath broken by
sadness. An arm draped across her chest and it wasn't her own. She turned her head to see
Harry, his glasses half-hanging from his face. Strange how the closeness of his body to hers did
not bother her in the least. In fact, she felt *safe*. She smiled slowly and adjusted his
glasses. He stirred beneath her touch and opened his green eyes. He smiled sleepily.

“Morning,” she said quietly.

Harry rolled away from her and stretched. She could tell when he remembered their situation
because he quickly turned back to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

Hermione nodded. Then, she rubbed her chest with gentle fingertips. “It still aches, but I
*know* this isn't real.”

Harry propped himself up on his elbow and brushed stray curls from Hermione's face. Her
stomach fluttered and she blinked her brown eyes up at him. He continued to brush his fingertips
down her cheek. Heat bubbled deep in Hermione's body. Their gaze was unbroken until someone
cleared his throat in the doorway.

“Breakfast,” he said.

Harry and Hermione jerked apart. The tender moment was lost, and James Potter eyed his son.

“Your mother has already packed your trunks. J.P.'s been up for an hour. I think you two
have slept long enough,” James continued. “If you don't eat breakfast now, we'll miss the
train.” James walked away and disappeared down the hallway.

“Who's J.P?” Hermione asked as she jumped out of bed and tried to smooth the wrinkles from
her clothes.

“No idea,” Harry answered.

Hermione hurried over to the mirror above a set of drawers and upon seeing her reflection, she
yelped.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked as he tied his trainers.

“Come here,” she said seriously.

Harry stood beside her, and together they gazed into the mirror. Harry's mouth dropped
open.

“Exactly,” Hermione said.

“But we…we look so *young*,” Harry said.

Hermione nodded. “That's you at sixteen. And me…why didn't someone *tell* me my
hair was so frizzy?”

Harry looked from his reflection to Hermione and back again. “But you look like *you* now,
but in the reflection….”

“This is what we look like to everyone in *this* reality,” Hermione said. “After all, if we
looked twenty, they would be suspicious.”

“Weird,” Harry said.

“Harry!” Lily yelled up the hallway.

“We'd better get going,” Hermione said and dashed out of the bedroom.

Harry was close behind, and he and Hermione entered the kitchen at the same time. A young boy
with black hair and dark eyes sat at a rectangular dining table with six carved wooden chairs. He
shoved eggs into his mouth and glanced up as Harry and Hermione walked in.

Hermione was stunned and stopped walking. Harry bumped into her, and he also stared at the young
boy.

“What?” the boy asked through a mouthful of eggs.

“You two fix your plates,” Lily said, “because we can't be late.”

Hermione squeezed Harry's bicep. “You have a *brother*,” she whispered through barely
parted lips.

Harry could do nothing but stare and shake his head. His mouth had gone dry. The boy at the
table looked like Lily but had his father's dark hair and eyes.

Tears welled in Hermione's eyes. “You would have had a *brother*,” she said in awe. “I
hope we can stay here a bit longer so you can get to know him.”

Harry nodded and Lily scolded them for standing around. They hurriedly fixed their plates and
sat at the table with Harry Potter's little brother.

Hermione lifted her glass of orange juice but didn't drink. She cleared her throat and
glanced at Harry. He was busy pushing his eggs around with his fork.

“So…” she said, feeling odd to be sitting at a dining table with a Potter who would have been
had Lily and James not died when Harry was a baby, “you're J.P.”

J.P. frowned at Hermione and raised an inquisitive eyebrow at Harry as if to ask, *`has she
gone over the bend?'* Harry pressed his lips together and stopped shoving his eggs
around.

“What does J.P. stand for?” Hermione asked.

The young Potter bit into a biscuit and swallowed before answering. “Jonathan Paul.” Then, he
glanced at his mother. Lily quickly shook her head as if encouraging J.P. not to tease Hermione who
obviously should have *known* such things.

“And you're…how old again?”

This time, J.P. smiled. “I'll be 14 in four days.”

“Big party plans?” Hermione asked. Harry had now placed his fork down and sat watching his
*brother* answer Hermione's questions.

J.P. leaned in closer toward Hermione and whispered, “Yeah. Fred and George said we can nick
loads of stuff from the kitchens after everyone has gone to sleep—“

Lily whirled around, “—Jonathan Paul Potter, you will do *nothing* of the sort. You
*know* you cannot wander the halls at night without supervision!”

Harry jerked his head toward his mother. “Why not?” he asked.

Lily frowned at her oldest son. “You *know* why. I would have expected better of you,
Harry. Don't encourage your brother…not when it isn't safe.”

J.P. sighed and dropped his chin onto his fisted hand. “Why don't you let the Dementors suck
the life right out of us, then, Mum?” he said in a sulk. “There's nothing fun left at Hogwarts
anymore.”

“What about Quidditch?” Hermione asked quickly when she saw the anger rippling across Lily's
face. Obviously the Dementor comment was nothing to joke about.

“Yeah,” J.P. said, “at least we still have Quidditch.”

“You play then?” Hermione asked. Harry's interest was clearly piqued because he leaned
toward his brother.

J.P. smirked at Harry. “Better than him.”

“You wish,” Harry retorted.

“Care to take a wager?” J.P. prodded.

“Any time,” Harry countered. “I could beat you playing Quidditch with my eyes closed.”

J.P. laughed loudly, and Hermione was reminded of Sirius' barking laugh. “You
*can't* be serious, Potter,” J.P. said haughtily, “don't embarrass yourself in front
of your girlfriend.”

“Girl-girl—” Hermione spluttered, and J.P. laughed harder, snorting milk up his nose. He
promptly had a coughing fit, and Lily rushed over to smack him on the back a few times. Harry would
have chuckled if his stomach hadn't dropped out of sight at the mention of Hermione being his
girlfriend.

“Don't tease your brother,” she said seriously. J.P. nodded his head and wiped his mouth
with a napkin. “Hermione's *not* his girlfriend. You three get ready,” Lily continued.
With a wave of her wand, their dirty dishes flew to the sink and began washing themselves. She
checked the clock on the wall, “We'll need to leave in five minutes.”

Harry and Hermione stood from the table and walked in to the living room. J.P. walked up behind
them and punched Harry in the arm. Harry whirled around, fist raised.

J.P. grinned wickedly at his brother and punched Harry playfully in the stomach. “You're
*always* getting me into trouble.”

Harry grabbed J.P.'s hand before his little brother could swing another punch. This turned
into a laughing wrestling match where each brother tried to best the other. Hermione moved away and
watched the two of them in amazement. Harry had been given a brother, if even for a short time, a
brother who loved him, teased him, punched him, and most likely admired him.

“What are you two doing?” Lily fussed. “Get up! Where is your father? James!” she shouted up the
hallway. The front door opened and James walked in.

“We're ready,” he said. “Everyone set?” he asked and then frowned at his two sons who were
crouching on the floor, panting and clearly ruffled from physical exertion. “*What* are you
two doing? Get up,” he said, echoing his wife's words.

“Is the guard ready?” Lily asked, pulling on a traveling cloak and grabbing a broom from the
closet?”

“Yes,” James answered.

“Guard?” Harry wondered.

“It's the same thing every time we travel to Hogwarts,” J.P. said. “You'd think they
*never* want us to have any fun,” he whined.

“We're *trying* to keep you safe,” Lily said, clearly displeased. “Now get your brooms.
We are barely going to make the train.” They hustled the children out the front door. “I need to
speak with Molly during the train ride.”

“Are you—are *you* both taking the train?” Harry asked.

James and Lily glanced at each other. “Did you think we wouldn't?” Lily asked.

“I…er…just curious,” Harry answered.

“Mount your brooms,” James ordered.

“The parents *always* take the train, “ J.P. grumbled. “We'll be lucky if they
don't force us to sit with them.”

“You'll be happy to know, J.P.,” Lily said, sounding mildly hurt, “your father and I
won't be staying at Hogwarts the *whole* school year.”

J.P.'s face lightened. “Really?”

James frowned at his youngest son, and J.P.'s smiled faded. “I'm only joking, Mum,” he
added. “You're much cooler than *most* of the parents.”

James looked to the sky. He tapped his wand on each of the children and Harry instantly
recognized the awkward trickling effect of a Disillusionment Charm. “Time to go,” he said and
kicked his broom from the ground.

“You going to be okay?” Harry asked quickly, looking at Hermione.

She kicked from the ground. “What do you know? I *still* know how to fly,” she said with a
grin. “Thank you `Quidditch' Hermione.”

Harry smiled at her and kicked off from the ground. He hovered beside Hermione, and together
they soared after Harry's parents and brother. For the short flight to King's Crossing,
they felt their troubles slip away into the clouds, still greatly unaware of how shadowed the halls
of Hogwarts had become in these troubled days.

-->



10. The School for Orphans
--------------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**The School for Orphans**

**Chapter 10**

Hermione and Harry landed their brooms beside the Potters outside Kings Cross Station. It only
took a moment for them to realize the atmosphere was…*different*.

“Everyone looks so,” Hermione paused, “gloomy.”

Lily nodded her head and herded J.P. in front of James. “Even the Muggles are at war,” she said
solemnly, “though they have no idea who they *should* be fighting.”

“So, they fight against themselves,” James said bitterly.

“This way,” Lily said. James ushered the three teenagers in front of him, and Lily lead them
through the crowd.

“The Muggles are at war,” Hermione whispered so only Harry could hear her.

“Because *we're* still at war,” Harry added.

“And another thing,” Hermione said, struggling to keep up with Harry who was hustling to keep up
with Lily's pace. “Where are our trunks?”

“Already being sorted through on the docks,” James answered. “J.P., keep up with your
mother.”

“Sorted through?” Harry asked.

“For safety precautions,” J.P. said with a roll of his eyes. “Last year, Mildredine Gnotte
confiscated my best Quidditch socks because she said they were bewitched.”

“They could have been,” Lily said over her shoulder. “Now, move along or we'll *never*
make the train.”

“They sort through our trunks?” Hermione whispered to Harry in disbelief.

He shrugged. “Must be heightened security measures.”

Hermione nodded. “There's something else,” she said in a hushed voice, “what's with J.P.
saying Fred and George would help him nick food from the kitchens?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked as they dodged Muggles and trolleys.

“We're in sixth year,” Hermione stated plainly. “Fred and George aren't at Hogwarts
anymore.”

Harry frowned and nodded. “Hadn't thought of that.”

Hermione slid her fingers around Harry's forearm. “We should be prepared for a lot of
different things.”

“Yeah…” Harry's voice trailed off. He saw the wall that lead to Platform 9 3/4, but he was
surprised to see two large, gruff-looking wizards flanking the hidden entrance.

“What are *they* doing there?” Hermione asked.

Lily stopped walking and motioned the children forward. “Let them check you quickly, and
we'll be off.”

“Check us?” Harry mumbled, but J.P. had already stepped up between the two wizards. The grown
men pulled out their wands, and Hermione gasped. Harry pulled out his wand in defense.

“Put that away,” James said, shoving down Harry's wand arm. “Don't make them think
you're hiding something.”

“W-what?” Harry stammered.

“Won't the Muggles…*see* us, and see their *wands*?” Hermione asked
incredulously.

Lily looked momentarily panicked. “James, the Disillusionment Charm hasn't worn off, has
it?”

“Of course not,” he said.

Hermione nodded her understanding and stepped up between the two wizards just as J.P.
disappeared through the wall.

“Can we...can we go through together?” Hermione asked the two wizards. They shrugged, passed
their wands over Harry and nodded for them to walk through the wall.

Hermione grabbed Harry's hand. “Just in case,” she said, and they stepped onto Platform 9
3/4.

* * * *

Hermione and Harry rushed through the wall and stepped out onto a very different platform 9 3/4.
Feeble sunlight filtered through scattered clouds and cast grey light down onto the Hogwarts
Express.

“It's black,” Hermione said in shock. She and Harry had stumbled forward onto the platform
and now stood, gaping at the now black Hogwarts Express.

“Why do you suppose…” Harry mumbled.

Grown wizards and witches stood guard around the train. Other armed wizards and witches herded
children onto the train, took off the Disillusionment Charms, sorted through trunks, checked all
animals before allowing them to board, checked adults names' off the list before allowing them
to join their children, and there were even a few wizards flying in circles above the train.

“Oh my goodness,” Hermione said. She squeezed Harry's hand.

The security on the platform was tight and the atmosphere was tense. J.P. walked back to get his
brother and Hermione.

“Are you two coming?” he asked impatiently. “Mum is going to have a stroke if she catches you
standing around. Mr. Shacklebolt said our trunks have been cleared.”

“Kingsley?” Harry asked.

J.P. raised an eyebrow at his brother and smirked. “On a first name basis, now?” He leaned in
conspiratorially. “Don't let him hear you say that. He'll rearrange your feet onto the top
of your head. Come on. Ron's already boarded.”

Hermione didn't dare drop Harry's hand. It was the only pleasant sensation in a world
that had somehow gone terribly wrong. She felt a minor twinge of guilt at the idea of how Harry had
a family in this world, yet if his parents had died, this world would cease to exist.

J.P. deserted Harry and Hermione and joined his friends in a separate compartment. He mentioned
something about only having a few `parent-free' moments to spend.

Harry heard Ron's voice and tugged Hermione along the corridor until they stood in the
compartment doorway. Ron looked up at them and smiled wearily.

“Hey,” Harry said, slightly relieved to see a familiar and friendly face. Ron nodded his
greeting.

Ron's expression was one of discomfort before he said, “Sorry about your parents.”

The alternate death of her parents had slipped her mind. But at the mention of it,
Hermione's eyes filled with tears immediately. She swallowed and nodded.

“It's okay,” she said quietly.

She and Harry dropped hands and sat down across from Ron. Hermione cleared her throat. “So…how
was your summer?”

Ron blanched and then his expression darkened. He turned his eyes away from them and stared out
the window. “You mean other than Percy's torture or Bill dying?” he asked sarcastically.

“Bill?” Hermione squeaked. She slapped a hand over her mouth and more tears filled her eyes.

“It's wasn't your fault, Hermione,” Ginny said.

Hermione glanced at the compartment door. Ginny strode in and plopped down beside her brother.
Bitterness shone in her eyes. “No one blames you.”

“Why would they?” Harry asked quickly.

Ron exhaled loudly. “Because he was protecting *her*.”

Hermione looked at Harry with a pained expression.

“Sorry about your parents,” Ginny said, her voice much softer. “Mum told us this morning.”

Hermione wiped at tears. “Thank you.” It was odd feeling an ache that did not rightly belong to
her.

“I-I'm sorry about Bill,” Hermione said more to Ron than to Ginny. Ron glanced up at her and
scowled. Then, his squared shoulders sagged and he sighed.

“I know,” he mumbled. “I know. The stupid bastard just *had* to play hero.”

“Ron,” Ginny scolded, her eyes flaring with anger, “don't talk about Bill like that. He
*saved* one of your best mates.” Ron said nothing else, but Ginny slid closer to her brother
on the bench when Neville walked into the compartment.

Hermione gasped, and Harry stared at Neville. He looked practically the same except for the
long, deep scar running from his right ear, across the bridge of his nose, and on to the left
ear.

“'Lo,” he said glumly. He sat beside Ginny and nodded hello to Hermione and Harry.

Before Hermione could wrap her thoughts completely around Neville and his deeply scarred face,
Dean stepped into the doorway.

Harry thought Dean looked taller and gaunter. His dark eyes were sunken deeper into the sockets.
His lips were thin and frozen in an unhappy expression.

He walked in without speaking and dropped down onto the bench beside Harry. He slid back on the
seat and crossed his arms over his chest. With a sullen tone, he said, “Welcome back, Gang. Just
heard that the Patils' home was attacked last month. Padma and her parents were killed.
Parvati's two compartments up and a sobbing mess. Suppose it's about time to call Hogwarts
the School for Orphans.” Dean leaned forward and stretched out his large, calloused hands.
“What's that now? The Longbottoms, the Patils, the Boots, the Bones.” He counted the families
on his fingers. “I *know* I'm leaving out at least twenty,” he said angrily. “Oh yeah,
let's not forget *mine*!”

Ginny shook her head at Dean in an attempt to get him to stop his ranting.

“What?” Dean asked.

Neville cast his eyes toward Hermione. Then he released a breath full of sadness. Dean jerked
his head toward Hermione.

“What happened?” he asked in concern. His angry expression vanished for one of worry. “No…not
you, too.” Hermione nodded sadly, and Harry patted her leg in an affectionate manner. Ginny's
eyebrows rose behind the copper hair on her forehead before she closed her eyes and leaned her head
back.

“I'm losing faith,” she said with a slight tremor in her voice. “What if it *never*
ends?”

“Everything ends,” Neville said, rubbing his fingers across the serrated scar on his face.

Ginny swiped at her tears. “Does it?” she asked, rubbing tears between her forefinger and thumb.
“These don't.”

The compartment fell silent. Hermione glanced at Harry. He shook his head in response. The
amount of changes brought about by a one-year-old's crying fit was unreal to him. In his
wildest dreams, he could not have imagined such differences.

The sadness filling the train bordered on suffocation. Hermione slipped her hand into
Harry's. Across the compartment, this discreet motion did not go unnoticed. Ron watched his two
best mates in the window's reflection. Ginny watched through barely open eyes, and Neville
watched with a strange expression on his face.

The Hogwarts Express began to move, and Hermione wondered what other surprises were waiting for
them at Hogwarts, School for Orphans.

-->



11. The Darkest Halls
---------------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**The Darkest Halls**

**Chapter Eleven**

Hermione and Harry stuck close together as they exited the train. The customary dark carriages
were waiting for the older students, but instead of being pulled by Thestrals, they were all
attached to Hippogriffs, and a guard of four witches or wizards flanked each carriage.

Hermione and Harry made to climb into one of the carriages until Ginny called out to Harry.
“Aren't you going to wait for Cho?”

Hermione noticed a strange look in Ginny's eye. She moaned softly, and Harry cut his eyes
over at her. “Er…why?” he asked.

Ginny looked surprised. “Because she'll be wondering where you are.”

Harry closed his eyes and exhaled. He leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, “I'm really
beginning to *hate* not knowing what is going on.” Hermione nodded.

Hermione was going to tell Harry that it might be best if they waited together for Cho but then
someone was calling Harry's name. They scanned the crowed of students that were being herded
onto carriages. Cho's face appeared and she hurried over to Harry.

Then Cho threw her arms around Harry's neck and began planting kisses all over his face.
Harry stood rigid in her arms, and Hermione backed away in shock. Suddenly Ginny was at
Hermione's side, gripping her arm tightly and pulling her away.

“What are you *doing*?” Ginny hissed in Hermione's ear.

Hermione stumbled backward into the nearest carriage. “What?”

“With Harry?”

“N-nothing,” she said in confusion.

Ginny glared at her. “I'm not stupid. You know better than to play these games again. Cho is
a good, decent person. I think one affair is enough to last us all a few years, no?”

Hermione's mouth fell open. “A-affair?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “For Merlin's sake, Hermione, I realize you've been through some
trauma, but you're not brain dead. None of us are unfortunately.”

Hermione had no idea what Ginny was referring to. What affair? With whom? “I-I'm sorry,
Ginny,” she finally said. “I'm a little out of sorts.”

Ginny looked relieved for a moment. “Look, I'm sorry. I just don't want us to go through
another situation like we did at the end of the year. Cho loves Harry, and he loves her. Even if he
gets a little sidetracked and wants to have a different woman in his bed, you shouldn't let him
do that to you again, okay? Your friendship should mean more to him than a few weeks of sex.”

Hermione gasped. “Sex!”

“Shhh!” Ginny hissed. “Merlin, Hermione keep your voice down. Don't forget about Cedric
okay? Because he was *livid* with you. The black eye? Remember?””

“Diggory?” Hermione's head whirled and she wavered on her feet. “He-he hit me? Why?”

Ginny looked like she was about to implode. Her face was beet red. “Have you been drinking
again? Cedric would *never* hit you, but you hurt him. You're lucky you didn't get
pregnant with Harry's kid like that other bird.”

Hermione felt faint. The cloudy morning spun around in a grey circle until the whole world faded
away. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the cold ground, and Cedric Diggory was leaning
over her and yelling at someone else.

“Back off, do you hear me?” Cedric yelled. “She doesn't want or *need* you. She has
me.”

Hermione tried to talk, but her tongue felt fat and it garbled her words.

“Potter, I mean it! Back off!” Cedric pointed his wand. And Hermione felt panicked.

“No,” she said feebly. “Cedric…” She tried to sit up and Cedric finally noticed her.

“Oh, love,” he cooed. “Are you okay? We need to get you on a carriage, yeah? We can't hold
up the group any longer.”

He helped her to her feet, and her vision cleared. Harry was standing nearby with Cho hanging
onto his arm like a little girl. Hermione didn't miss the fact that Cho was glaring at her.
*If looks could kill*, Hermione thought wearily.

Cedric led Hermione toward a carriage, and then he whipped around and pointed his wand at Harry.
“Don't even think about getting on this carriage.”

Hermione grabbed his arm. “Don't, Cedric. It's fine. It doesn't look like there are
any more carriages left,” she said, quickly trying to figure out what she and Harry were going to
do. She couldn't be separated from Harry. “Really, I'm with you,” she said in an attempt to
relax him. “You're all I need. We—we can ignore him.”

That seemed to work. Cedric rubbed her face, and for a moment, it made Hermione want to cry.
Looking up at Cedric, who was alive in this reality, she wished she didn't have to be with him
under such terrible circumstances. What had she and Harry *done*?

* * * *

Harry clenched his teeth while he sat across from Hermione and Cedric. He could barely stand to
watch them pet and baby talk each other. Cedric was clearly crazy about Hermione, and for some
reason, he deeply hated Harry. Had he done something to Diggory? Harry had been so shocked to see
him alive, that it had taken him a moment to realize that Diggory hated him so intensely.

They arrived at the castle, and again, Harry was shocked to see how much everything had changed.
The whole castle looked…darker, more sinister. He noticed a strange bubble over the Quidditch
pitch.

“What the hell is that?” he said aloud.

Cho nuzzled close to his neck, and Harry tried not to jerk away. “What dear?”

“What's going on with the pitch?”

She squinted her eyes and looked in that direction. “Have they cleaned the dome?”

“The dome?”

“New spells perhaps? They must have had another threat to the safety of the pitch. I suppose we
shouldn't be surprised if they ban Quidditch altogether this year,” she said dismally.

In the Entrance Hall, Harry was not sad to see Cho go a different direction, but he was
momentarily nauseated to see Diggory pull Hermione into a long and very wet kiss. Harry had to grip
the banister with both hands to keep from yelling at Diggory to let her go. But why? Why did it
bother him so?

Hermione said goodbye to Diggory and walked slowly up the stairs. She passed Harry very slowly,
but spoke to him out of the corner of her mouth. “Meet me upstairs in five minutes. Outside the
portrait hole.”

Harry waited as long as he could stand, and then he ran up the stairs so that by the time he
arrived at the portrait hole, he was gasping for breath. Hermione was waiting for him, but as soon
as she saw him, she dragged him around the corner.

“*Harry*,” she said. “It's awful.”

“What is going on?” he asked. “Why does Diggory *despise* me?”

Hermione blushed. “Well…I-I think you and Cho are together.”

“I gathered that, Hermione,” he said dully.

“And you—well, you…you're—you keep yourself busy,” she stuttered.

Harry frowned. “What does that mean?”

Hermione leaned close to him and whispered, “You get around.”

“Around where?” he whispered back.

“Merlin, Harry, are you really that thick? You like to have sex with other girls and me and
you've gotten some poor girl pregnant!”

Harry's mouth fell open, and every sensible word left his brain. He was trying to piece
together what Hermione was saying, but it didn't want to compute in his brain. “I…I…”

“Yes,” she whispered. “And Cedric hates you—well, because of me.”

“Because you and I…because I'm dating Cho and…you and I—did stuff?” He fumbled over the
words. His stomach felt hot and he wiped his palms on his pants.

Hermione's cheeks burned. “Yeah.”

“But you're—you're my best mate.”

“Not here.”

Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. “This reality is a bit harsh. The
only thing that's good is that I have my parents.”

“And a brother,” Hermione added.

“Yeah.” He looked at Hermione and reached for her hand. “Let's go home,” he said quietly. “I
don't want to stay in a reality where I've abused you.”

Hermione looked at the ground. “You haven't abused me, Harry.”

“But you said—I mean, you're with Diggory, and I'm with Cho. And some girl…” He
couldn't even finish his thought.

Hermione smirked and felt a bit rebellious. “Maybe I wanted it.” Then she slapped her hand over
her mouth and gasped.

Harry jerked his head up and looked at her in shock. He opened and closed his mouth a few times,
saying nothing. Hermione cleared her throat and tugged Harry toward the portrait hole. Her words
echoed in his head. Why did his stomach feel knotted?

“We have to stick together somehow,” she said. “I have a feeling this world is awful.”

“And dark.”

Hermione nodded. She spoke the password she'd heard the other Gryffindors using, and the
portrait swung open. Hermione crawled through and Harry was right behind her.

Suddenly, Hermione felt sucked beneath an ocean of water. Her breath expelled and she felt as
though she inhaled salt into her lungs. The skin on her body felt whipped with sheets of blowing
sand, and she lost consciousness.

Harry followed Hermione through the portrait hole, and he reached out to grab her foot as she
slid in front of him. Then without warning he was falling through what felt like a cold tank of
water. It was like being submerged in a bath of salt. His skin itched and burned. His breaths were
short, and he choked on a throat full of brackish water. Then everything stopped.

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12. The Tempest
---------------



**THE NEXT DOOR**

**The Tempest**

**Chapter Twelve**

Hermione opened her eyes. She was splayed out on a hard wooden floor that seemed to be covered
in water, and the whole world sloshed around her. It was dark, possibly night, and it took a moment
for her eyes to adjust. She called out to Harry as she struggled to stand—why was the floor
rocking? She stumbled left and then right, finally slamming into a thick wooden pole. Was she on a
ship? Rain pelted her face.

“Harry!” she yelled. She panicked. Looking around she realized she was, indeed, on a ship, and
apparently they were in the middle of a tempest. People scurried about and shouted to each other.
She recognized George, Lee, and Oliver. With both arms around the pole to keep herself from falling
over, she looked behind her. Ginny and Fred gripped the ship's wheel and fought to maintain
control. It looked like they were losing.

Suddenly Harry was stumbling into her just as a large, black wave rose like a monster from the
abyss and crashed over the side of the boat. They were drenched with the salty water.

“Harry,” she shouted over the howling wind and she clung to him. She tried to help him to his
feet.

“Where are we?” he choked, spitting water from his mouth. Hermione shook her head. She
couldn't imagine what reality this would have been or why they would have ended up on a ship in
the middle of some ocean.

A terrible cracking noise sounded, and the wooden beam Harry and Hermione were gripping snapped
nearly fifteen feet above their heads. The beam was part of the mast, and when it tipped over, it
brought down most of the sails and the rigging. Harry pulled Hermione out of harm's way.
Another monstrous wave slammed the boat. Hermione slipped, and salt water filled her mouth and
lungs. It burned her chest, and she fell to her knees, coughing and wheezing.

Panic seemed to have ensued on the ship. There were people running and slipping all around her.
Hermione reached out for Harry. A bolt of lightning split the sky above them in half. It lit up the
water-logged deck for a brief second—long enough for Hermione to see Harry slip off the side of the
boat. She screamed, but the sound of it was lost in the roaring wind and blinding rain.

Hermione slipped across the deck and slammed into the wooden side rails. Lightning flashed, and
Hermione saw a body in the water. The body rose and sunk with each crest and trough. Hermione
gripped the railing and shouted—it looked like Harry. One more lightning bolt confirmed it. She had
no choice but jump over. She couldn't leave him in the water to drown; they entered this world
together, they were going to leave it together…dead or alive.

Hermione back away from the railing and tried to get a running start. Before she could jump,
another wave crashed onto the deck and slammed her onto the slick boards. She heard a splitting
sound. The boat began to rip and crack apart. Hermione cried out for Harry again. Then she flung
herself overboard into the violent sea.

Instantly, her head slipped below the water. The sound of the ocean reminded her of the Hogwarts
Express roaring down the tracks. She kicked her legs and pulled with her arms for the surface,
hoping she wasn't swimming downward. Finally her head broke the surface, and she spit water
from her mouth. The salt burned her eyes.

“Harry!” she said, and a mouthful of seawater rushed into her mouth. “Harry!”

The waves were so strong, and she grew tired of treading water very quickly. She didn't want
it to end this way; she didn't want to sink without finding Harry. But she was so tired. She
closed her eyes and began to fall beneath the waves. Then someone grabbed her and yanked her back
up.

“Hermione, don't you dare give up,” he demanded.

She couldn't see who was speaking to her, but she could hear him. “Harry,” she choked.

“Grab on.”

She blindly reached out and her fingers felt hard wood. Harry was floating on a piece of the
broken ship. She kicked with what little energy she had left, and she and Harry managed to pull her
body onto the board with him. She gasped for air, and Harry pounded her back with a fisted hand in
order to help dispel the water from her lungs.

A wave lifted them and tossed them aside, dropping them nearly ten feet. They slapped the water
painfully hard, but Harry gripped Hermione and kept her on the board. Hermione's knees knocked
into something metal. She fumbled in the dark, and her hand rested on a smooth, bulbous piece of
metal protruding from the board.

“Harry, it's a door!”

“What?” he shouted.

“We're floating on a door. Do you think…” Hermione grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn
it. It was nearly impossible to get the knob to do anything, but she finally felt it release in her
hand. The inner part of the board they were floating on gave way, and Hermione and Harry fell into
the angry sea, but they didn't fall for long.

The sting of the salt disappeared, and a sensation of floating instead of falling filled
Hermione from her toes up to the roots of her hair. The heavy crush of water was gone, and
Hermione's chest warmed immediately. She drifted in to a calm blackness and no longer felt
afraid.

When Hermione opened the door, Harry fell against Hermione's back, and their heads rushed
beneath the sea. He wanted to breathe, but he knew he couldn't risk sucking water into his
lungs. But the bitter cold was instantly gone. His eyes stopped burning. He felt…hot—a different
sort of burning. His toes tingled, and the tingles zinged up his spine in a way that made him feel
like he was flying. He glided into comforting peace surrounded by darkness.

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