Anyone But Me

Chapter 6

The Friends He Lost

"So, what was it like being petrified?" Nadia asked Naomi the moment dinner ended. The adults were walking behind them as they journeyed up to Hogwarts, out of hearing distance. Harry figured they had a few things that they wanted to discuss themselves.

"Nadia!" Nadine scolded their youngest sister.

"I don't really remember," Naomi said, smiling at her sisters. "I saw a reflection in a window and then I woke up."

"You don't remember anything else?" Nadia sounded disappointed. Naomi shook her head. "Well, I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," Andy said, and everyone went around saying how grateful they were until the parents caught up and they reached the castle. Then the two families split, the children saying goodbye to the parents.

"We'll be in Hogsmeade the first weekend in October to check on the store. Visit us," Matt said. Christine nodded and hugged them all in turn--Harry as long as the other two boys.

It wasn't until they were walking back to the common room that Naomi naturally fell into step beside Harry. Together they walked in silence for a time, as they had during all their daytrips in Italy and the meals they shared in the mornings.

"Dinner was nice," she said, looking down the corridor and not at him.

Harry nodded. "It was like the summer holiday again."

Naomi smiled her soft smile. "That was a good holiday, wasn't it?"

Harry nodded. Italy had been a great holiday. His first real one unless he counted going to Aunt Marge's, which he didn't.

They reached the common room together, Harry saying the password, and walked through. They'd obviously been walking slower than the rest of their respective family members; none of the Ryan or the McGrath kids were there.

"I'll see you in the morning, then," Harry said.

Naomi nodded as her jubilant friends swarmed around her asking for details, exclaiming over her return, and offering tight hugs. Duncan Moran was also there, and when he wrapped his arms around her it look as if he were trying to shield her from the world.

A hand yanked Harry's arm, and he gave himself enough time to acknowledge how weird it was that Parvatii Patil was dragging him back out of the portrait hole backward.

"So you're after a Ryan now?" Parvati asked, letting go of his arm in order to cross her own over her chest.

"What?" Harry asked, confused. After living with the Dursleys, surviving Snape and Umbridge, and even Hermione on occasion, Harry was rather used to being yelled at randomly and had found repeating the accusation to be essential.

"You want to date Naomi Ryan!" Parvati yelled, trying to shove his shoulders. Harry stepped out of her reach the moment her fingers touched him. Parvati stumbled forward.

"She was petrified," Harry said, reaching out to steady her.

Parvaati shook off her hand. "And that makes her attractive?"

"It makes me happy that she recovered," Harry said, very confused about her line of thought. Parvati was a very pretty witch herself.

"So you are happy to see her!" Parvati accused. Her eyes flashed like Hermione's cat.

"Of course," Harry said. "What business is it of yours?"

"What--what business is it of mine?" Parvati looked ready to shove him again. "I'm your girlfriend."

"No, you're not," Harry said quietly, not wanting to say that too loudly. A strangled gasp and an almost-sob later, Parvati was blinking back tears. She took several deep breaths and shook her head at Harry.

"I don't know you anymore," Parvati said, backing away as she look up at the ceiling.

"Parvati--"

"Where's my boyfriend?" Parvati asked, her back against the wall. "Where's the boy that sends me gag gifts every year for my birthday and sends my mother roses on hers? Where's--where's the boy who asked me out with a banner in the Great Hall?"

"Probably off bragging about himself," Harry muttered.

Parvati threw her hands out. "What does that mean? What are you talking about?"

Harry breathed deeply and tried to think of what Hermione would tell him to do in this situation. She'd probably have some really complicated explanation for exactly what Parvati was feeling and why, but Harry couldn't even begin to fathom the way girls worked, so he settled for saying nothing.

"Why do you keep looking at me like you don't know me?" Parvati sank to the ground, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. "It's like my best friend doesn't even see me any more and I hate myself a little more each day because"--here a sob cut off her words and slashed at Harry's heart--"because I trusted you and I hate that I trusted you. I told you everything and I thought you would always be there but you aren't. And I hate that."

The portrait of a dinner party above Parvati's was filled with people either glaring at Harry over looking pityingly at Parvati. One particularly prominent woman was motioning for Harry to hug Parvati, but he wouldn't do that. He knew he probably should, but he had never been very good at giving hugs and the thought of giving one to Parvati felt weird.

"Why aren't you saying something?" Parvati whispered, staring at her knees. "Why aren't you making this better?"

"I don't know how," Harry said truthfully.

"Do you like Naomi Ryan?" Parvati asked, looking up at him. He shook his head. "Ginny Weasley?"

"No," Harry replied, deciding to relax and sit on the ground. "I don't want to date anyone."

"What about Hermione?" Parvati asked, wiping the trails of tears off her cheeks.

"No," Harry said a bit forcefully, almost laughing.

"Then why didn't you write me? You didn't send a single letter all summer? Now you're ignoring me and making me look like a fool." Parvati was looking at her feet again, but Harry was remembering what she looked like in her Yule Ball dress. She had always been a bit stunning, hadn't she?

"I didn't write to anyone." That was true, at least.

Parvati smiled. "I suppose that makes it a bit better."

They sat side-by-side together for a while, heads resting against the cool stone wall.

"What happened?" Parvati asked, tilting her head to look at his profile.

Harry shrugged. "A lot."

So these two students who might have been close sat together and began their first real conversation. Harry learned that she had been bothered by his quietness in class and the way he skipped Divination. She had thought he was avoiding her. She learned that Harry was really quite sincere in his desire to be alone. And she calmed down considerably once she was convinced he wasn't leaving her for someone else. Harry also learned that if he didn't forcibly insert himself, he couldn't get a word in edge-wise. But he didn't mind just listening, it meant he could process new information.

"It's just strange is all, the way you're acting," Parvati said, "like you're pretending not to know me at all. It hurts."

Her honesty made Harry cringe. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

She nodded. "I know. You've never been cruel."

The pair began walking back to the common room.

"I've sent you gag gifts every year for your birthday and you never thought I was cruel?" Harry asked. Parvati laughed and it was a pretty sort of laugh, not the stupid giggling that Harry was used to hearing from her in his world.

"You said you'd always come back to me," Parvati said as the Fat Lady opened. Harry didn't know what to say, but Parvati hugged him close. "I knew you'd never hurt anyone on purpose, but I can't keep waiting for you."

They broke apart and walked into the nearly-empty common room. Parvati went toward the girls' dorm with Lavender right behind. Harry, wanting to sink onto the ground and put his head in his hands, turned toward his own dorm, hoping to fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.

But alas, it wasn't to be.

"Who did you tell?" Neville asked, walking up to Harry in a fury the moment he entered the dorm.

"What?" Harry asked. What had he done to evoke these kinds of reactions in Parvati and Neville?

"I know you were the one who told," Neville said, poking a finger at Harry, who reflexively shoved Neville's hand away from his body. And why did they both feel like physically attacking him? It reminded him of Uncle Vernon.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Neville, but you sound crazy," Harry said, letting his right wand slip into his pocket and wrap around his wand.

"They all know, Harry," Neville said, "that I speak Parseltongue. The whole school knows and thinks I'm evil. How did they all find out? No one knew. The professors wouldn't tell!"

It was hard to think Neville's abilities could be kept a secret. Sure, Harry had used his in front of everyone and so that made any past experience with this situation tainted, but nothing remained a secret in the castle for very long. Hell, people had even found out about Harry, Ron, and Hermione going down to save the Philosopher's Stone.

"And I know you're the one that knew I spoke it and you're the one who came to get me and you're the one who had me talk to the sink and you're obviously to one who told everyone," Neville accused. "What was it, Harry? Were you jealous because I'm more famous than you? Were you upset that I saved the world and you were stuck on the sidelines? Did you just want to hurt me? Does this have to do with you not talking to me?"

"Calm down!" Harry said, cutting Neville's rant off. "What's the matter with you?"

"What's the matter with me?" Neville repeated. "What's the matter with me?"

Neville took a deep breath and Harry fully expected another burst of nonsensical questioning, but suddenly Neville did something Harry hadn't expected: he broke down.

"They hate me, Harry," he said, shoulders slumping as his posture faded. "They all think I'm a freak, or evil. Some of them even say I might be the heir of Slytherin. That I controlled the basilisk."

"I don't believe that," Harry said awkwardly.

"How would you know?" Neville asked, sitting down on the foot of his bed. "It might be true. I might be the next dark lord, Slytherin's heir. Maybe that's why Voldemort tried to kill me, because I was competition."

After briefly wanting to hex Neville, Harry thought back on his second year and remembered the doubts that plagued him. He remembered how desperately he had wanted to try on the Sorting Hat, how much he feared that he just might be Slytherin's heir. He even worried that he was evil. That year was the first of multiple times when the student body had turned on him, whispered behind their hands as he walked by.

Well, except for Ron, Hermione, and a select few others. Harry smiled as he thought about the twins ("Make way. Watch out. Seriously evil wizard coming through").

"You're not evil," Harry said, leaning against the post on his bed across from Neville. "And being a Parseltongue means just means that you can talk to snakes. It doesn't mean you're powerful or anything."

"Hurumph," Neville muttered before looking up at Harry. "But I still might be the heir of Slytherin."

"Voldemort is Slythiern's heir," Harry said, meanly pleased to see Neville flinch at the name.

"How do you know that?"

"Dumbledore told me," Harry said, "and Voldemort opened the Chamber out of a memory in a diary. Dumbledore will have the whole thing sorted out soon." But Harry wasn't so sure about that last part. He wasn't even sure if Dumbledore was looking for the diary and the headmaster obviously wasn't very close with this world's Harry.

"So--so Voldemort"--he seemed determined to say the name, though it was obviously difficult for him--"He didn't kill me for my power?"

"You have to talk to Dumbledore about that, but trust me when I say your ability with Parseltongue has nothing to do with you being the next dark lord."

"Then, you're still my friend?" Neville asked, ignoring everything else Harry said.

"Yes," Harry said, rolling his eyes at the fact that Neville could believe Harry would turn on him because of this. Actually, after thinking a moment, Harry was more surprised to find that Neville considered Harry a friend at all in this world.

But Neville was suddenly hugging Harry, and so Harry could do little more than feel uncomfortable.

"I'm so glad!" Neville said, tightening his grip briefly before letting go and stepping back. "I tried to talk to Dumbledore and then I owled my gran and uncle. I even wrote to one of my bodyguards, but none of them have gotten back to me and everyone's looking at me like I might blow something up. Trisha and Sandy just waved at me in the corridor and then walked right past me! Some people even outright ignored me!"

And for the first time it occurred to Harry that Neville had never had a 'thing for saving people,' as Hermione might put it. He had grown up in a home with grown-ups who wanted to know his every problem, a home in which those grown-ups helped fix those problems. He had never feared losing the people he loved. Instead, he had attention and fame and security that most other people only wish they had.

Growing up in Neville's world, listening to adults was the way to be happy. Disobeying them landed you with an assassination attempt.

In first year, when Neville was told to stay away from the third floor, he stayed away from it. When he realized Hermione was crying in a bathroom, he had gone to get an adult to help her. And things had worked out because the other students liked him and the figures of authority respected him.

-----

"Hermione," Harry said, sliding into the seat next to her in Transfiguration, "what the hell am I to Neville?"

Hermione stacked and straightened her parchment. "What do you mean?"

"Everyone keeps saying that we're best friends, but I thought he hated me," Harry said, letting his bag fall off his shoulder and onto the ground.

"That's because everyone found out he was a Parseltongue and he thinks you told people," Hermione said, holding up and examining the tips of two quills before laying them on the parchment.

"Well, I didn't."

"I know." Hermione took out two bottles of ink and put them in the center of the desk. Then she squinted at them and moved them.

"It's not like it means he's evil or anything," Harry said, roughly swinging his bag off the ground and onto the table.

Hermione looked up from placing her ink in the upper left corner of the desk. "I'm not sure about that. I've done some reading and did you know that--"

"Yes, I do know the history of people with Parseltongue and I know that the recorded history isn't fair," Harry said. "Besides, Neville wasn't born with the gift. Voldemort gave it to him when he tried to kill him."

Hermione grimaced and shook slightly when Harry said Voldemort's name. "Don't say that." She paused a moment. "Does this mean you spoke Parseltongue in your world?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Well, that complicates things," Hermione said distractedly, turning back to her perfectly ordered desk. She had that look on her face like she was trying to work out a particularly difficult riddle.

"Complicates what? If Neville hates me, why was he so upset that I ignored him and why did he come running to me with all of those stuck up stories?"

Hermione turned back to him rather impatiently and opened her mouth to say something before obviously deciding to explain a different way. "You have to understand, Neville and you skate the line between enemy and best friend. You're rivals, to say the least. He tells you all those stories about himself to impress you and normally you'd tell him your own stories. Since you quit telling him about them, he probably thinks either you have a great story or you've decided fighting with him is beneath you. Either way, you're certainly bothering him with the lack of attention you're paying him."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione continued speaking.

"And the rest of this school just doesn't know how to respond to you either. You've never"--Hermione seemed to reconsider what she was about to say. "Listen. The Harry I've known wants to be everyone's friend, whether they are Slytherin or Hufflepuff of Gryffindor. He talks to people. That's probably why he loves dating Parvati so much: people adore her. His greatest challenge is Snape because nothing he did ever made the professor like him. But he doesn't hate Snape. He tries harder in Potions than any other class just to when Snape over. And Harry doesn't hate Neville, he competes with him for attention and laughs the competition away at night to ensure a friendship."

"What about Malfoy?" Harry asked, grasping at straws. "He hates Malfoy, right?"

"No."

"Why not?" Harry asked, mildly disgusted with himself.

"Because that's not what Harry does," Hermione said. "Harry makes people laugh, sometimes inappropriately and sometimes at other people's expense, but always in a way that makes sure people have a good time."

It was impossible to feel comfortable while a person described himself in the third person. Yet it was also impossible to think of this funny Harry as a part of himself. Not that Harry didn't laugh, he did. He thought the twins were a riot. But to be the riot? That was different.

"He isn't annoying?" Harry asked, just to be sure.

"Well, he is," Hermione said, "and I don't trust him. Which is to say that I don't really trust you or really believe this hogwash about another reality necessarily. I'm going along with it because you seemed so desperate, but I'm fully prepared for the day when you pull out the rug and announce the joke."

Harry could do little more than stare.

"I think I'd hate someone like that," Harry said.

Hermione shook her head and straighten her parchment again. "No, you don't understand. You can't hate Harry. No one really hates Harry. Neville's the closest to hating him, actually, and he's his best friend."

"What about Snape or Malfoy or Parvati or Naomi?"

"Parvati's Harry's girlfriend and they really like each other. Malfoy doesn't even register on Harry's radar since Malfoy's too busy with his Slytherins. Naomi and Snape--well, Naomi's quiet, but I don't think she hates Harry. Harry worked so hard to get Snape to like him and just smiled and winked at Snape whenever he took points off. Snape got so frustrated that he gave up taking points off and now just ignores Harry."

"This doesn't make any sense to me," Harry said, feeling vaguely dirty after learning that his other self wanted Snape to like him. "The professors took so long to actually listen to my suggestions about the Chamber that I assumed they all hated me."

Hermione straightened her parchment and then glanced at her watch. McGonagall was a minute late to class.

"And the students seemed like zombies around me for a while," Harry noted.

"That had nothing to do with you," Hermione said, looking at him. "That has more to do with the fact that people aren't used to being afraid. There was never a rumor of a student in the basement saving a stone, never a rumor that Voldemort might have infiltrated the walls, never a hint that anyone--a student, cat or other--could be hurt within these walls. The Chamber opening was terrifying."

Soon thereafter McGonagall arrived with a note for Harry, asking that he report to the headmaster's office, which was really a bother. Getting to the seventh floor with all of his Transfiguration books (and his book for the classes he had been planning to ask McGonagall to drop after class) sucked. And reaching the statue, Harry realized he had no idea what the password was, so he started guessing.

Twenty seconds into the guessing and making very little headway, the statues moved aside on its own as Severus Snape left. Feeling the brief but intense hatred that Snape evoked, Harry walked past him, up the magical escalator, and knocked on the headmaster's door.

"Come in, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. It was strange being in this room again. The last time he's been here--well. Harry preferred not to think about the last time.

"You wanted to see me?" Harry asked, standing awkwardly near the door. Dumbledore motioned to the chair in front of his desk. Taking a deep breath, Harry walked toward the chair.

"Yes, Mr. Potter. I wanted to discuss what happened with the Chamber." Oh. Right. Of course. Harry's stomach tightened. "Can you tell me how you came by your information?"

"Do you remember a different history?" Harry asked in return, hoping the rational side of his brain was wrong and that Dumbledore was the one he trusted. Harry did trust Dumbledore, and whom would the headmaster tell? No one. He was very good at keeping secrets. Yet Harry remembered the way Dumbledore looked at and spoke to Harry in Moaning Myrtle's loo.

"I am afraid I do not," the headmaster said, folding his hands together on his desk. "Should I?"

Harry didn't understand the sudden dull pain in his left temple or why he had to blink so much. He just felt alone, at that moment. Felt like he had for the first eleven years of his life, living in a cupboard with no friends and a family that didn't acknowledge him. It hurt each time he saw this world's Ron glaring at him or Hermione look at him like he was a stranger. It hurt that Dumbledore called him Mr. Potter and that the McGraths loved a person he couldn't be. That Parvati and Ginny loved the Harry he could have been but wasn't.

"I come from a different world, and in my world the Chamber opened in my second year and so I knew how to close it again," Harry said, just sort of giving up. He was sick and tired of pretending to be this Harry he wasn't, he couldn't be.

"How curious," Dumbledore said.

Harry looked up at him quickly. "Do you remember the other world?"

"I have said I do not," the headmaster reminded him, but Harry wasn't sure he believed him. Dumbledore had a tendency of protecting Harry from dangerous truths and if he thought Harry would have a better life here, he might lie.

"If you did, would you tell me?"

"I cannot say for certain," Dumbledore said.

"But you don't think I've just been Confounded or anything?"

"That is a possibility," Dumbledore acknowledged with a dip of his head, "but your knowledge of Tom Riddle confuses me."

Harry wanted to believe the headmaster was lying, but Harry knew Dumbledore better than that. He knew the headmaster abided by a moral code that created a level of formality and politeness that would never let him openly lie to Harry. Dumbledore had never done that. As hard as it was for Harry to realize and accept, the headmaster always had looked out for him. It was Harry himself and his own poor life decisions that created the problems.

"I know about Tom Riddle because he tried to kill me once and spent a great deal of time talking before the attempt," Harry said, standing. "I don't want to talk about it. I have some other things I need to take care of."

And Harry left, his heart breaking as he did so.

-----

Harry spent the better part of the rest of the week with his two lists, upset that Dumbledore, who he trusted most explicitly to keep a secret, was not the one. Harry looked absently at Hermione across the room at a table studying. Possibly the most frustrating thing about this world was that the one person he had trusted enough to tell the truth to wasn't at all what he thought she would be. His Hermione had long since straightened her priorities. School didn't run her life and Harry had never questioned her friendship. This Hermione was distant, conceited, and pompous even as she tried to help him along.

She was so close to being his best friend and yet so very different.

Harry looked around the room.

The person he was most comfortable with was the one that neither he nor his other self was especially close with in his world: Naomi Ryan, who ate breakfast with him every morning in silence. Everyone else was just frustratingly different than he remembered. Ron was standoffish. Hermione was like her first year self. Parvati was terribly sad. Andy acted like he was Harry's best friend. Remus acted like Harry was a delinquent. And, though Neville had become considerably more human in the past week while people ignored him, he was exactly what Harry never wanted to be come: inflated with his own greatness.

What a strange life he might have led.

"Want to see something really interesting?" Naomi asked, walking up to where Harry was lounging in a sofa, trying to think of names for Hermione's lists. She tossed two photos onto the table in front of Harry. He righted himself in the sofa and picked them up.

"What're these then?"

"The first is a picture of you and Neville getting off the Hogwarts Express last June," she said, pointing to the photo that showed Harry and Neville laughing and waving at the cameras. "The second is you on September first this year."

That photo was empty except for the train.

"And?" Harry asked.

"And something's different," Naomi said. She had this ability, Harry had noticed, to make her tone sound upbeat no matter what she was saying. It made it possible for her to be snide and quietly rude without anyone catching on fast enough to be really offended.

"Different how?"

"Different in the way that you don't irritate me anymore," she said in that same matter-of-fact yet not upset tone. "You don't tell me I ought to talk more, but somehow now I want to talk more with you. You and Parvati aren't yelling at each other and making up everywhere. You study in public now, openly admitting that you aren't some sort of divine student. You never complain about Matt and Christine. You came to visit me in the hospital, not to mention what you did with the professors--"

"Okay, it's a lot different," Harry muttered, still looking at the two photos.

"Yes," Naomi said calmly. Harry looked up at her. "It is."

"What do you want me to say, Naomi?" Harry asked, tired and angry and sick of this entire world.

"Nothing. I only wanted you to know that people are beginning to notice these new choices you're making."

"People meaning you?" Harry asked.

"People meaning people." She put a Daily Prophet in front of Harry, opened to an article that bore his name. Harry put her pictures down on his Transfiguration book and picked up and read the article.

What's Happening to Harry Potter?

By Norbek Warington

The June day is hot and a group of reporters sweat as we wait for the arrival of the red steam engine that brings with it the Boy Who Lived. But before the Hogwarts Express fully stops, two boys jump off the train and set off a load of firecrackers, laughing hysterically as reporters run and cameraman snap fast photos. And those photos rule the headlines of the papers the next day: Neville Longbottom, the Boy Who Lived, and his best mate Harry Potter.

There friendship has always been extraordinary, and for an older generation, it is easy to remember the connections the boys share: both nearly orphaned, both the sons of prominent anti-You-Know-Who fighters, both Gryffindors, both living very public lives. They were even born only a day apart. It was hardly a surprise that they gravitated to one another during their school days.

Yet something has changed recently.

While Neville still calls press conferences to announce his departure for school and still answers all requests for interviews, Harry Potter has become a recluse. He denies all interviews. He declines opportunities to be photographed. He has requested that his legal guardians, Christine and Matthew McGrath, tell reports that he wishes to lead a more private life.

Even his photographic self is different: while his pictures arriving at the station after his fifth year still show a laughing, waving, happy Harry Potter, his more recent pictures of boarding the train are empty. He now flees from photos. All of this begs the question: what happened to Harry Potter?

Mrs. Charlene Carmichael recently ran into Potter in Diagon Alley and says, "He was nice. Quiet and shy, almost. Not the rambunctious boy the papers say he is. [He was] just shopping for books. Looked uncomfortable talking to a stranger."

Recent unconfirmed reports of a disturbance at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-- which ended as suddenly as they began-- fueled rumors about Harry Potter again, almost a year after his famous aid to the Aurors. One source claims Potter helped Headmaster Albus Dumbledore defeat a danger poised to attack the school. Yet, if this is true, why is Harry Potter keeping quiet about the affair? Is the headmaster suppressing one of the wizarding world's greatest heroes?

The article was utter trash. Harry hated the Prophet. It wasn't even reporting any news, just gossiping about Harry. And why would anyone care enough about Harry to print information about him on page four of the Prophet?

"Damn," Harry muttered to himself, putting the paper down.

"There was another article yesterday," Naomi said, "but this one is more specific."

Harry asked, "Who cares what the Prophet says?"

"You," Naomi said simply. "You used to, Harry, not that long ago."

"You were petrified for a while." Harry looked up at her. "Some things change."

"Harry," Naomi said, leaning forward. "I've known you since you were clinging to your mum's leg, sitting on her foot as she went about her errands. You can talk to me."

Naomi stood up and nodded at Harry. He nodded back, not knowing what to say.

After she had gone, Harry spent a good while glaring at the Prophet on the table. Why would they print an article about him not wanting articles written about him? Idiots. He glanced at the lists. He realized that if he weren't sure his seeker keeper needed to be someone he knew before he switched worlds, Naomi Ryan would top that list.

He sighed and pulled the lists out, running over the names he'd already written once. As he did so, his eyes caught on a set of names that he couldn't believe he hadn't questioned yet. He'd written them down with a sort of bitterness, but without any real consideration. Yet, they were perfect for each position. Of course they were. What had Harry been thinking?

He stood up out of his chair and scanned the room for Hermione, finding her sitting alone in a corner near Andy, Ginny, and Nadine. He walked over.

"What do you know about Sirius Black?" Harry asked.

Hermione's eyes widened, and was it just Harry or did the common room just lose a couple of decibels? Harry wrote it off as a freak occurrence and thrust his secret keepers list into Hermione's hands, leaning over to point out Sirius's name. He sat down next to her and lowered his voice.

"I can't believe this thought hadn't occurred to me earlier, but he's my godfather and I'd trust him with my life. He wouldn't tell anyone. Well, maybe Lupin, but not if Lupin were at Hogwarts, right?" Harry said, trying to ignore the sadness when he remembered the real reason why he hadn't thought of Sirius: he was dead in Harry's world and in trying to block out the pain that came with remembering that, Harry had pushed all thoughts of Sirius away as quickly as he could. Well, not quickly enough that he hadn't written his name on this list though.

It only just occurred to Harry that Sirius was alive here. Alive. It filled Harry with hope and fear: hope that Sirius might actually be alive, fear that he might not be, that it might just be a cruel trick of fate to bring them this close, but not close enough.

Hermione was saying something, but Harry wasn't really listening. Her terrified look, though, worried Harry.

"What is it?" Harry asked. "Is he--oh! Is he in Azkaban for the betrayal of my parents? He didn't--"

"What are you playing at, Harry?" Andy asked, walking up to stand behind Hermione.

"I'm not playing at anything," Harry said, aware that siding with a convicted murderer would look bad. Hermione opened her mouth to talk, but shut it. Harry looked at her, noticed her sickly pallor, looked at Andy and realized he didn't look too happy either. Harry got worried again.

"What happened to my father's friends, Hermione?" Harry asked, stealing himself against the answer, keeping his hopes for Sirius caged in a corner of his brain.

"You know all of this," Andy said. Hermione looked like she hoped Andy was right.

"I just want to be sure I understand everything," Harry said doggedly. "What happened to Peter Pettigrew?"

"Harry, this isn't funny," Ginny said, now standing beside Andy and looking angry. "He died. You know that. Sirius Black murdered him."

All right, so it was the same cover. That was good. That let Harry feel less ignorant. "And Sirius? What happened to him?"

"Oh, I understand," Andrew said, shaking his head and grinning. "You just want to remind us all that you're famous. I understand."

This was the reason he was famous? Something to do with Sirius and Pettigrew? Harry turned to stare at Hermione and asked, "What happened to Sirius?"

"Harry, how many times do you want to hear this story? How many times have you already recounted everything for the newspapers?" Andy asked, rolling his eyes and he leaned against the couch.

"What happened to Sirius?" Harry repeated, still staring at the trapped-looking Hermione.

Finally, Andy and Ginny seemed to understand that Harry wanted a real answer. Hermione seemed to understand too as she said, "He escaped from Azkaban. You helped the Aurors catch him when you read your dad's journal and realized he was an unregistered Animagus dog."

Harry felt like he had been hit by a bludger. A hundred bludgers.

"What?" Harry whispered, shaking his head and staring at Hermione, daring her to tell the truth.

She looked sadly at him. "You read your dad's journal, went to the Ministry and told the Head of Magical Law Enforcement what you'd learned. After that it was easier for them to find him."

"So," Harry said, trying to breathe, trying to process this crushing information, "so he's in jail. Sirius is in Azkaban."

Hermione looked sadly at him as Andy said, "Are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"Why?"

"Because you were there when they administered the Kiss and you were notified when he died--"

But Harry couldn't hear the rest of Andy's sentence. He was shaking and hearing a loud whirring noise in his ears. And in front of his eyes, instead of the common room, he saw that veil and that thousand-second fall.

Before he knew it, before he planned it, Harry ran out of the common room, headed for nowhere as the sun set outside.