A Dose Of Reality

A Dose of Reality

Part Four: The Spy

'My Lord?'

The Headmaster's study was lit only by a roaring fire, flickering in the night and casting great waves of warmth across an otherwise draughty room. It was as far from Dumbledore's abode as Harry would possibly have imagined: The frames of the previous Headmasters and mistresses were either strangely empty of their occupants, or the fallen figures lurked in the corners of their canvases, heads hung low, ashamed of what had become of their dream. The office's current occupant said nothing to this address, staring blankly at the flames, a face remaining cold and unemotional. He simply waved a hand for his servant to continue.

'I was just doing the evening rounds, in the Gryffindor tower, just like you asked, and, and...' he was so eager to spill the beans that he stuttered on the simplest of words. His master sighed impatiently.

'Get on with it.'

'And I was in the Gryffindor tower, and I overheard... something.'

'Do you wish to maintain your limbs for the remainder of the evening, or are you such a pathetic excuse for a wizard that...'

'My humblest apologies my Lord... anyway, the useless mudblood girl, Granger - I never really understood why your Lordship let such Muggle scum into such a prestigious establishment, but anyway - '

The spy was cut off by a yelp of pain, the Headmaster swooping his wand across him for daring to question his method. He whimpered upon the floor for an instant, while his master stood over him and growled.

'The Granger girl is here,' he spat, his nostrils flaring, 'because she may be a mudblood, but the sources state she has potential. If she applied herself, she'd be a very powerful witch. I have given her the opportunity to redeem herself. But I sense now that her time is running out. Continue.'

The servant struggled to his feet, panting, and resumed his tale. 'Granger, and the Potter boy, were having the most interesting conversation. It would appear that they are engaged in a little twilight studying which is certainly not on the approved reading list.'

'Such as?' said the Headmaster lazily. He was beginning to lose interest.

'I think they'd totally ransacked the restricted section, my Lord. Standard Grade books. Dark Arts defence books. Something of a light arts revival going on, methinks.'

At this, the Headmaster bolted from his seat, not out of shock, but in a determined manner, set to action at the mere utterings of his servant's word. He stood and faced him, his shielded eyes unknowingly focused on the informer's face, pale and disturbed.

'Granger and Potter... Granger and Potter...' he began to pace his office, in deep thought. 'That's a combination I wouldn't have thought of. Any idea what exactly they were researching?'

'I'm afraid,' he began, true to his word as he began to shake with fear, 'that was all I heard. I will keep my eye out, of course my Lord. I do not want to fail you. That would be a pain beyond death, for I am forever pledged to your faithful service and...'

'Stop your ramblings Wormtail. You're no better than that excuse for a squib that preceded you. Continue with your deployment. For now, you are excused.'

Wormtail, his watery eyes closed in gratitude, murmured his thanks and slipped out the office. The Headmaster made a mental note to keep a closer eye on the Potter boy for the foreseeable future. He was still young enough to give in to his natural tendencies.

*

'Any luck, Ron?'

'Not a sausage.'

Harry had to suppress his grin despite the group's inability to produce anything that might be remotely useful. For a minute or two, when engrossed in his own neglected volume freshly plucked from the restricted section, he could have been back in his world, solving the year's latest mystery, the most contemporary scam, researching the most modern Quidditch plays. Encouraged by a more positive slant to his study, the gleam of mischief so normally prominent in his twin brothers seemed to be just as great in the eyes of Ron, who was currently enthralled and distracted by the wild possibilities of engorgement charms. It looked as if Hogwarts was well on the way to being introduced to the wonder of Canary Creams. The talk, although minimal due to the sheer amount of spells to learn, was as close to normality as Harry had experienced since the nightmare had begun. But the over-exposure to the Dark Arts had obviously taken its toll. Ron was much less willing to lash out without thinking, and Hermione lacked her usual insurmountable confidence, in its place a shy and retiring girl who was only just emerging from the chrysalis. Their experiences had given both his companions a much sharper edge, now converted to a greater thirst for change. It was as much an advantage as it had previously been a hindrance. It gave everything a different dimension somehow.

They were putting together a plan, step by step. They'd found nothing specific about drawing someone out of a fever induced reality nightmare to the likes Harry believed he was experiencing. The medical references, of course, had information regarding the treatment of the sleeping patient, but none on what to do with a victim stuck on the wrong side of consciousness. It was certainly to be a hit and miss attempt. Maybe some form of dimension-jumping ritual. But Hermione refused to risk it, and didn't want to be scraping Harry's remains off the Quidditch pitch unless it was for a far more worthy cause. Harry had blushed a little at Hermione's concern, giving colour to his cheeks for the first time in days, while Ron rolled his eyes at her party-pooper thesis. All three had concluded their best bet was to re-design the ritual, better known as Actuallis, but it was dangerous and experimental. And despite his obvious fondness for Hermione, Harry was still a little apprehensive of her magical abilities in this reality.

Such a judgement hardly acted as discouragement for the newly revived witch. While Ron and Harry continued to trawl through the forbidden texts for anything useful, her own magical repertoire had grown immensely. She was almost back on form, yet five years of intellectual knocking still had its drawbacks. But Harry had taken on the task of destroying that particular demon. It felt like they'd covered the first three years in only a couple of days: Hermione's talents had been so down-trodden by the strain her existence put on her that once unleashed, there was no stemming the tide. The floodgates were well and truly open.

Harry stopped his pondering when he had to dodge a flying pillow, Hermione getting the bansihing charm down to a perfected art. Harry sighed as the pillow collided with the side of Ron's head, getting an exclamation that Mrs Weasley certainly would not have approved of and a giggle out of Hermione, now returning to the books with a vengeance. Suddenly her eyes grew wide.

'Harry,' she began, 'Did you ever tackle Dementors in your, erm, Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons?'

Harry's face temporarily greyed at the thought of the hideous creatures, their scaly faces masked in black and breath whistling during that fateful encounter by the lake so long ago. He nodded.

'Well, then you should remember how to defeat them, according to this...' she began to quote from the lengthy text. 'Dementors drain a wizard of their happiest memories, leaving only nightmares and the ultimate in despair... a Patronus needs to be conjured using an individual's happiest memory to draw the Dementor's attack... Expecto Patronum is the desired incantation... and so on.' She paused for a minute, as Harry's mind went into action making a connection.

'So what you're saying,' he said slowly, 'is that if we summon our own Patronus when we do the Actuallis ritual...'

'Then we may be able to dictate which reality we open up for access. The best one, if we follow the idea that no world can be utterly perfect. We'd literally guarantee which reality you'd walk into. It's a long shot, but...'

'Hermione,' Ron said suddenly, coming over to the book and examining it with a frown, 'I hate to put a damper on things, but I feel it necessary to point out the fatal flaw in your logic. Think about it. Number one: The Patronus spell sounds a little complex. Advanced light magic stuff. We've barely been at it a week. Number two: I'm not even sure I have a memory that would qualify as happy, especially to the extent the spell is demanding. We're up the creek without a paddle.'

They were silent for a while, all absorbed in their own thoughts. Then Hermione spoke in a quiet voice, still filled with a determination that seemed alien to her softer tones. She drew herself up to her full height and addressed the boys like an army commander.

'Yes, the plan is a bit hit and miss. But it's all we got. There is a need to be flexible. We may not a have a memory, but at least now, thanks to Harry, we have aspirations. Hopes. Dreams. And in a world like this, they can be as strong as any form of happiness. And logic isn't really our forte around here.'

'Honestly, Hermione...' said Harry, grinning from ear to ear, 'I never thought I'd hear you say that. Logic queen as you are...'

'Drastic times call for drastic measures,' she mumbled as she cleared up the unused books. 'I think it's time to call it a night.'

Ron stood up, yawned and stretched. 'I won't argue with that.'

Hermione watched him disappear up the stairs to the boy's dorm with a bemused smile on her face. He sighed and turned to Harry.

'Ron would stay in his bed all day if we gave him the chance, wouldn't he?'

'Some things never change.'

Suddenly the expression became puzzled.

'Harry, what did you mean just then?'

'About what?'

'Logic. You said I was the logic queen. What makes you say that?'

'Oh...' Harry looked down at his feet, embarrassed. 'Its just that my Hermione has more logic than most wizards put together. Most of us wouldn't be able to work our way out of a wet paper bag. There was this one time when we had to work out this complex riddle Snape had invented to get to the Philosopher's stone...I told you about that, didn't I? Anyway, she worked it out in a flash, kept muttering to herself, reciting the riddle and then...'

'You miss her, don't you?'

'I suppose...' Harry was attempting to be macho, but she could see right through it. In reality, he was holding back tears. 'But in theory, I shouldn't, should I? I mean you are her. She's you. You're the same person. You said the other day she exists in you as potential, but...'

'It isn't the same. Is it?'

Harry silently shook his head. He remained staring at the floor. Hermione suddenly grabbed his arm and began leading him toward the portrait whole.

'Where are we going? Don't you think we need to take a low profile at the moment? I...'

'I want to show you something.'

Harry barely had the chance to protest at Hermione spontaneous outburst before he was dragged headfirst past the fat lady and into the dark corridor. The new model certainly had its advantages.

***

'Harry, it's Ron. You know, redhead freak, more brothers than you can shake a wand at, Whomping willow and all. Look, I know that we all enjoy a bit of a kip at the best of times, but you do pick your moments, don't you? Just wake up for Merlin's sake. Well, in time for the Slytherin match anyway.

'What am I doing? Dumbledore said me and Hermione are supposed to remind you about what you're missing out on, not scolding you for your lack of internal alarm clock. I feel like an idiot doing this, but I suppose we just have to trust the barmy old git on this one. He's normally right. Why break the lucky run this time?

'Let's face it Harry, you're far from insignificant and you know it. I won't give you all the rubbish about the world needing you with You-know-who's return and all of that because I know it's been drummed into you like there's no tomorrow. As if there wouldn't be a tomorrow without you kicking up a fuss. But on second thoughts, that's probably good encouragement to stay asleep. It's the most peace you've had in years.

'But let's hit the nail on the head. With you out of the frame, You-know-who's Hogwarts campaign will be a walk over. Let's at least give it a fair fight. Hey?'

Ron felt incredibly stupid, talking to a sleeping body whose mind was locked away in cloud cuckoo land, too far gone to take any notice. He sighed and leaned forward in his chair, looking Harry's sleeping form earnestly in the face.

'There's something else though, Harry. As much as the school needs you, and you know damn well the Quidditch team does, there are other things worth getting up in the morning for, and she's just jumped out the window.'

He paused, unsure whether to carry on, but somehow he found the confidence.

'Hermione's worried sick. I've never seen her like this. She refuses to sleep, talk to anyone, even eat a decent meal. She's looking really bad. Just this morning she flipped out and went off on your broom out the window, wanting some 'air' so she said. Yeah right. She can't stand to see you like this. It's breaking her heart. It's like she's already gone into mourning. I think its time to face reality here. I've got to spell out a few home truths. Hermione really cares about you, Harry. Me and her are friends, best friends I'd like to think, but I don't even come close to what you and her have. It's something else. You two have that little bit extra, and that is what's coming into play here. She needs you. You are everything she believes in, her own private rock that she's currently using to break herself against, punishing herself for merely acting in a way she can't help. She's blaming herself, and even as a friend I can't stand to watch her put herself through this. Harry, you've got to wake up. If not for everyone else, at least for her. Don't put her through this. She can't help how she feels. And neither can you. Just wake up.'

***

'What's the big surprise then?'

'Keep your voice down - we don't want to get caught...'

Harry was following Hermione through Hogwart's dimly lit corridors, the torches in their many brackets now fading into cinders in the progress of the night. He looked at his watch.

'This is your idea of an early night?'

'Shush!'

She pushed him up against a wall as a small, huddled figure of a rodent crawled out of a tiny hole in the woodwork, slipping to the floor with a muffled thud and scuttling out of sight. Harry turned to Hermione, confused.

'What was that about? Are you scared of mice or something?'

'Look, I'll explain when we get there. Come on.'

They continued along their chosen path, a little hurried now, until they ascended the steps of one of the towers into its murky depths and were unable to see where they placed their feet. Luckily there were no trick steps here to catch them out. They finally reached the top of what Harry now recognised as the Astronomy tower, covered in cobwebs and obviously underused. It was a shame: This was one of Hogwarts most splendid extensions, with a wonderfully elaborate deck and glass dome and the panes of glass framed in ancient iron. The dark but rusty metal formed a circle in the middle of the dome that perfectly framed the night's crescent moon. The other windows in the room looked out across the different points of the compass. As the large room was also the highest point in the school, the view in daylight went on for miles.

It was clear that night: A first since Harry's own arrival. It was obviously normal for the castle to be shrouded in a field of heavy mist, adding to those ancient muggle-repelling charms placed on the grounds by the founders over a millennium ago. Hermione was strangely silent, engrossed in the view that towered above their heads, as if she'd never seen the stars before. Then it occurred to Harry that this could possibly be the case. He smiled sadly and walked over to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She turned suddenly at his touch, nervously, as if she'd forgotten he was there. Her shoulders fell as she sighed heavily, taking a seat at the window that overlooked the lake and Forbidden forest. Harry sat opposite her as she gazed out across the grounds.

'Why'd you bring me up here?' he queried. 'Looks as if Astronomy is off the agenda...'

'Is that what this tower was used for? I'd figured as much.' She was reading Harry's face, obviously portraying that an explanation was needed. She complied. 'I found it in my second year. I've only just got the hang of this castle, as most of the portraits like to see you end up in trouble and would always give the wrong directions in every circumstance. But once I found it, I knew I had to come back. It's my own thinking place. My little sanctuary. I just took one look at your face back there and thought it was time I shared it.'

Harry didn't know what to say. He merely stared out across the grounds, grateful for her careful consideration. It looked so familiar, right down to Hagrid's hut, now falling rapidly into disrepair, as well as the Whomping Willow, swaying gently in the winter breeze. The take over by Voldemort's forces had obviously been a silent one. He swallowed hard. He continued to stare at the Whomping Willow, remembering its significance, what lay beneath and all the chaos it caused when its secrets were uncovered.

Hermione wasn't admiring the view. Although it was rare sight to see Hogwarts out of its foggy fist, there was a sight far more unusual merely feet away from where she was sitting. She'd always known what Harry looked like. He was far from a stranger. She'd just never known him. He'd been this figure in the corner of her eye, almost a kind of forbidden fruit. Everyone had known about him, about his legacy, his parents. The Slytherins spoke of him like he was the scum of the earth, wondering why he was ever allowed to come to Hogwarts. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs didn't even do that, just kept well clear and concentrated on their own survival. But the Gryffindors could hardly avoid him: He was in their common room, their dorms, their classes and dinner table. Their eyes portrayed a message of desperate sympathy, a strong desire to speak their support, but knowing hideously the extent of the consequences. She knew she was risking her education, even her life by sitting with him like this. But deep down, for a reason she was yet to realise, she just didn't care. So many other things seemed more important right now. She cast her eyes down from the characteristically untidy hair to the emerald green eyes, lingering for a moment as they focused behind the glasses. They were examining the grounds like a seeker for a snitch, almost trance like in his concentration. For years she had almost been scared of this boy, the infamous Harry Potter, taken right from the light forces ranks, a political prisoner, a token pupil, an example to all those considering treachery that the Dark Arts always win. But now she felt she knew him. Even if this was a Harry from an alternate universe, the pure possibility of his existence in this one was exhilarating.

Her thinking place was always hideously provocative. As he continued to stare, thoughts of his own forming in his mysterious mind, she was beginning to see the extent of the plan they were about to undertake. As well as risking so much through doing large amounts of light magic right under the nose of the authorities, he was going to leave. He was going to walk through that vortex and never turn back, return to a world where he belonged, do what so many longed for by escaping this idea of a madman's nightmare. She could no longer look at him as the possibilities ran through her head, the plan could fail, then he'd be stuck here forever, unable to do anything other than live out his existence, with her and Ron. And by the sound of his stories, maybe, eventually, help defeat Voldemort. No, she scolded herself. That's ridiculous. But it didn't eclipse the notion that, deep down, she now felt dependant on him. She didn't want him to leave, not just yet.

'Hermione,' he said suddenly, piercing the freezing night air with his voice, 'You were going to tell me why were hiding from small furry rodents earlier in the proceedings...'

His eyes didn't leave the Whomping Willow, as if it was a prompt for his thoughts.

'That wasn't any ordinary rodent.' She replied quietly. 'No one knows it's name, but if there's something going on, it's always there, spying, eavesdropping, and before we can stop it the whole staff room knows. Reports it to the Headmaster I think. Of course we can't be sure because...'

'Wormtail.'

Harry said this in a dangerous whisper, bitterly even and through clenched teeth as his eyes narrowed in an anger she never knew he could posses. It scared her.

'Wormtail? What are you talking about?'

'I'm right in thinking everything about this world is the same, except Voldemort never found my parents. That they escaped and remained hidden, probably with Dumbledore?' Hermione nodded, and Harry turned to fix her with an emerald stare. 'Then that means the Fidelius charm must have worked. You know about that, don't you?'

'I think so,' said Hermione, unsure where this was heading. 'Isn't that where a secret is hidden in a wizard's soul, irretrievable unless they wish to reveal it?'

'Yeah... anyway, in my reality, my parents performed this spell, initially with his best friend, my godfather, Sirius Black. But they changed at the last minute. Their new secret keeper betrayed them, Voldemort was able to find my house and - '

'It's all right Harry, I get the idea.'

'The other secret keeper faked his death, after a confrontation with my godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius was blamed and sent to Azkaban. He escaped at the beginning of my third year, and then all this came to light. It turned out that the other secret keeper was right under my nose, in my dormitory, on my pillow...'

'What?' she whispered, wide-eyed.

'Peter Pettigrew, along with my Father and Godfather, is Animagus. Pettigrew can change into a rat. He turned to the Dark side secretly after leaving school, playing spy. The day he was made my parent's secret keeper, they'd signed their death warrants.'

'Oh Harry...'

They sat in silence for a minute, as Hermione absorbed this alternate stance on events.

'So you think that rat is this Peter Pettigrew?'

'Wormtail, yes. That's what my father called him at school. In my reality he's returned to Voldemort and helped him come back at the end of my fourth year. They almost killed me. They murdered a Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory, before my very eyes.' Harry paused for a moment, not wanting to talk about it. It had obviously been very painful.

'So the rat is an Animagus,' she said finally, 'and is reporting everything to the Headmaster. That makes sense.'

'Who is the Headmaster anyway? I haven't heard him mentioned.'

'That's because nobody knows...' Hermione replied. Harry stared as a cold breeze swiftly toured the room, causing her hair to sweep over her shoulder and catch the moonlight. 'Snape is deputy, and he seems to run the shop. But no one has ever seen the Headmaster. People think he's just one of You-Know-Who's hand puppets, being dictated policy from his hold at the ministry, but I'm not so sure. I don't think even You-Know-Who could entrust Hogwarts to anybody but himself... You control Hogwarts, you control the wizarding community. That's how it used to be anyway.'

'But whoever it is, they have Pettigrew well under their thumb, that's for sure.'

'Hmm.'

Silence engulfed them yet again, as now both Harry and Hermione stared out across the grounds. It was a comfortable situation. Hermione had her knees drawn up against her chest as she gazed across the lake to the forest beyond, imagining a world where she could enjoy its beauty. The moon was now catching its rays in the lake, making the water sparkle unnaturally bright for a cold winter's night. Harry's warm breath now was steaming up the window, eventually hiding the grounds from view. This seemed to be his cue to leave. He stood, and was about to turn to go when something stopped him.

'Harry, will you promise me something?'

Hermione was standing now, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen her. She looked as though she was about to cry. He stepped towards her.

'What is it?' he whispered.

'If everything goes to plan tomorrow...' she began, quiet but demanding, 'all this will be a dream. It will simply be a memory to you, that you'll probably want to disregard forever.'

'Hermione...'

'No, let me finish. I don't want you to forget about us. If you learn anything about this situation, just remember that out there, someone is always worse off. That the best things in life are often the worst for you. Your greatest desire can drive you mad if gaining it is too easy. Just don't forget about us.'

'You have my word.'

'And Harry?'

'Yes?'

'Talk to her. She deserves that.'

Harry didn't need her to fill in the blanks. He nodded timidly and left Hermione alone to her thoughts, and her own tears and demons. She muttered a silent prayer, to a God that had seemed so absent, that things would get easier. For everyone. The thundercloud that had been gathering on the horizon let out a low, foreboding rumble.

*