To Dwell on Dreams

Chapter Two -

Lean On Me

The thing about chess was...well, actually, Harry didn't know what the thing was about chess - that was Ron's department. What Harry did know was that, probably after investing a good many hours in the game, his dad and sister played some pretty mean moves.

For quite a while, as the sun slowly dipped, Sarah and James had played chess - they in the living room, Harry perched by the fireplace, watching. After a time Lily called Harry into the kitchen to help with dinner. Apparently his mother was going some sort of Italian faze; last night it was lasagne, tonight spaghetti bolognaise. They chatted mainly about the European Quidditch League - something Harry thankfully knew about - if she'd brought up something like last week's potions homework he would have been a bit stuck. They were occasionally interrupted by the odd "That's cheating!" and "Do that again missy you'll end up with donkey ears," from the other room.

By the time dinner was ready the sun had long disappeared, as well as the maturity from the living room. Instead of laying the table like she was supposed to, Sarah presented her mum with several rather battered pawns and a irritated knight, saying that dad had been a little over zealous in his duelling and could she please stop the shinny black pieces from dancing the can-can?

During dinner his parent's talked about work. Harry mainly just listened, watching his family. He learned that his mum was a self-employed professional charms designer, off to Hong Kong in a couple of weeks to set up protection wards on some rich minister's house. His dad worked for the ministry - a type of security or intelligence position from what Harry could gather, though he talked less about his actual job and more about the bachelor party he and some bloke called Trips were throwing for some other bloke called Martin. Lily asked slyly if they were going to invite the infamous 'Milly the Minx' again as she apparently so enjoyed his own bachelor party; at this James coughed into his Butter Beer and went pink around the ears.

Dessert was sparkly strawberry and pretzel ice cream. Just as Sarah was trying to bargain her way into a second bowl there was a tap, tap, tap on the living room window-pane. "I'll get it," said Harry immediately, scraped his chair back and darted into the lounge.

Sure enough, Hedwig was waiting patiently out side - Harry opened the window to let his owl (accompanied by some rather freezing wind) inside. At first Harry thought, as was expected, that she'd had come back empty handed; however taking a closer look, he realised that strapped to her leg was a tiny strip of paper. "Well done Hedwig!" whispered Harry in earnest and took the paper from her.

He ran back to the kitchen and stuck his head round the door. "I'm going to go out for a bit, I'll be back soon okay?" His parents didn't look to happy.

"Hang on Harry," said his dad, "where are you going?"

"Err...just to visit a friend," Harry said, pleading silently for them not to ask any more questions and let him go. It seemed to work.

"Well, wrap up and be back by nine," said his mum, who it seemed had finally given in to Sarah's pot-plant-lip protests and was getting her another bowl of ice cream.

Relieved, Harry bolted up the stairs and into his bedroom. Within a few minutes he'd pulled on an extra jumper (with "Kickers" splashed all over the sleeves for some reason) a pair of pretty cool Charlie Weasley type boots and a three quarter length black coat. On his desk was lying Harry's old wand. When he picked it up to pocket it he assumed it would be different - longer or a different wood maybe; but it was exactly the same. In fact, on closer inspection, it was completely identical to the one he always carried with him, the one presented to him by Mr Olivander all those years ago. Same scratches and the faint scorch mark - it even smelt the same. Harry couldn't help but wonder if it really was his wand and it had some how found its way into this world with him. After all, what was closer to a wizard than his wand?

Hedwig's piece of paper placed carefully in his pocket, Harry made his way down stairs once more - this time round noticing the waving photos mounted on the wall as he walked down the steps. At the front door he stopped to pick up a rather large book he had seen earlier and went into the lounge.

Once there Harry faced the fireplace and let the Emerald Pages fall open in his arms. The muggle world, Harry knew, had something called the Yellow Pages - this was a similar effort, only a rather sickly lime green (not emerald as the title suggested) and instead of containing telephone numbers it listed all the public Floo Powder stations in Britain; fireplaces on the Floo Network hidden from prying muggles eyes, thereby avoiding the usual obvious dilemmas of muggle sightings leading to expensive memory charms (or as in harder times, a good clout on the head from the wizard guard), but also to stop them doing silly things like sweeping the fireplaces or try and toast things in them.

Harry had used this form of public transport before - when he'd tried to get to Diagon Alley from the Weasley's house and ended up in Knockturn Alley, the wizarding part of London generally left out of the tourist guides. It wasn't surprising therefore that he was a little apprehensive about stepping into the flames, but he was too young too know how to Apparate from place to place, so there was really nothing else for it.

Taking a deep breath he flung some of the glittery powder he'd found in a nearby jar into the grate, stepped confidently in, cried, "Grafterstone, Kent!" And before he knew it all the world was spinning, until once again, everything went black.

***

For a fleeting moment, Harry thought it really had all been a dream. I mean, he thought, the whole affair really had been ridiculous, and now it seemed he was waking up in the hospital wing with Madame Pomfrey moaning at him for knocking himself unconscious again. That would be the usual run of things.

But soon enough, the moment passed and someone was hauling him up of the freezing stone floor.

"You alright there sir?"

Harry focused on the face of a wizard in his late fifties in navy blue work robes. They were in a little room - the Floo Powder station. It contained only a rather small desk, presumably where the guard sat when he wasn't hoisting up nauseated travellers, and for some reason, a muggle satellite dish.

"Er - yeah, sorry about that," said Harry a little groggily, "I haven't travelled by Floo Powder in a while - got a little disorientated, I didn't break anything did I?" The guard chuckled.

"No, you're alright there Mr Potter."

Harry smiled as a thanks and went to go out the door, when he suddenly realised something.

"How did you know my name?" he asked the guard bewildered. Surely he wasn't still famous in this upside-down world? After all, he'd never defeated Voldemort.

"Aren't you James Potter son," said the guard uncertainly, "the one who plays all the Quidditch?"

"Oh," Harry said quite relieved, "yeah, fair enough, that's me." He grinned and walked out the door. He had to admit, being famous for Quidditch would be a lot better than the garden variety fame he was used to. Usually it was "Let's see your scar then, cool, does it hurt, does it flash neon green, does it give you x-ray vision, is You-Know-Who really bald...blah blah woof woof." This type of fame could possibly involve signing autographs to hoards of screaming fans. Yep, Harry though, he could probably handle that kind of fame.

Out in the open it was truly 'Brass Monkeys'. Harry didn't actually have a clue what the saying was on about, but Dean Thomas used it a lot when it was cold. Ron would just say it was 'Bloody Freezing'.

Harry took a quick look at the directions on his bit of paper, stuck them back in his pocket, and started crunching along the icy pavement. Every few footfalls brought him into orange lamp-light; he crossed the occasional road, walked through a park and a Basket Ball court, and once had to navigate a rather disconcerting bridge that insisted on swaying violently every step he took.

Eventually, Harry stopped. He looked at the sign in front of him:

"Granger Orthodontics, Keeping a Smile

On Your Face!"

"I don't know how you did it Hedwig," said Harry softly, "but damn it you did."

***

Not sure what to expect, Harry pushed the front door open and walked inside. He was in a foyer that smelled, funnily enough, like mouth wash. A grandfather clock that stood to his right chimed quarter past seven making him jump.

"Can I help you?" A blond girl with glasses at reception was looking at him expectantly. "It's just we close in a couple of minutes, do you want to book an appointment?" Harry was just going to open his mouth when a lady with bushy brown hair walked past him carrying a clip board. He spun around.

"Excuse me-" he checked the name tag - bingo. "Dr Granger, is Hermione about?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"A friend of Hermione's from school," replied Harry automatically; after all it was the truth, "she said I could come round so we could - work on some maths homework together." He hoped he sounded convincing.

"Crafton Hill?" Harry nodded, assuming she was talking about Hermione's school. This was apparently a good enough explanation for her. "Hermione's in the house - just through that door there." She pointed to a wooden door opposite the clock, then carried on into the patients waiting room - "Thomas Crupp?"

Harry took a last look at Dr Granger before darting over to the door, pulling it open (flashing a smile at the receptionist as he did) and walked confidently through. He was in a landing at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

Hermione was at the top.

"Hello?" she said taken a back, "can I help you?" She started walking cautiously down the top few steps; it struck Harry as odd that she wasn't wearing her black school robes. Why would she be when he thought about it logically, but still, the black tartan skirt and purple jumper were another reminder that this really wasn't his Hermione. "Do I know you, or are you lost?" Evidently still bossy though.

"Erm..." Harry began. Now he was here he wasn't actually all that sure what he was going to say to her. "Well...I-" he tried again, but it wasn't working. He decided to go for the all out approach. "Yes, I- I need to talk to you, but not here, and I do know you but it's kind of complicated, could we go to your...room?" he finished lamely. Now she probably thought he was some kind of pervert. Great.

Sure enough, she eyed him suspiciously. "I'll give you five minutes, I'm in the middle of a History essay." Figures, thought Harry. He walked up the stairs until he was level with Hermione; he noticed a wire retainer on her (perfect) top teeth. She then turned, indicating for Harry to follow, and walked up to the first floor landing. "That's my bedroom." She pointed to a door on their left, "I'll be there in just a second."

She turned on her heals and walked into the bathroom opposite, so Harry did as he'd been instructed and went into Hermione's room. Once inside he closed the door and instantly felt self-conscious - he'd never been in a girl's bedroom before. But he really didn't have anything to worry about; as he would have expected if he'd really thought about it, Hermione's room was in pristine condition. Bed made, floor tidy and a desk with neat pots of pens, a pad of paper and a single text book: " A Study of Nazi Germany" - Harry personally felt he would prefer Binns' Goblin Rebellions.

He sat on Hermione's bed - it was purple - and took off his coat. On the wall opposite him was a rather large poster of someone called Keanu Reeves, whoever that was, and a clock with enamelled roman numerals. In one corner there were several stacks of sheet music, as well as a flute and a violin, each on their respective stands. The music looked quite complex, but then again Harry didn't read music so who was he to judge.

Hermione opened the door with a snap making Harry start. Closing the door once more, she swivelled her desk chair and sat down facing Harry. She'd apparently taken her retainer out whilst he'd been looking round her room. "So," she prompted, "what can I do for you? I'm afraid if you're looking for help with your homework my schedule's pretty full already, but maybe-" She pulled open a draw and took out a diary.

"Hang on a minute," interrupted Harry as she was rifling through the pages, "that's not why I'm here." Hermione looked up.

"It's not?" She sounded a little surprised, Harry shook his head. "Oh." She placed the book on top of her essay and then seemed unsure of what to do with her hands, eventually deciding to slip them under her thighs. "Okay, what then?"

But Harry was intrigued. "Why would you assume I was here for homework tuition?" Hermione fidgeted.

"I'm kind of well known for it, so I figured..." She looked a little sad for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not what you'd call a social bunny."

There was a considerable pause. Harry was getting that feeling again that maybe this world wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

"Hermione, I've been trying to work out how to explain something to you - and I think maybe the best way is just to tell you everything I know and hope you don't, um, be afraid or y'know, think I'm lying, because I'm not." Harry really hoped this was going to work; he wasn't too sure who else he could possibly turn to if it didn't. "Will you listen a bit?" Hermione frowned slightly but inclined her head; Harry took that as a yes.

"Where I come from, everything's different...the world's different." Hermione considered.

"You mean, you don't have electricity or something?"

"No, no nothing like that - erm," Harry changed tactics, "have you heard of something called a Alternate Reality?"

"Yeah," said Hermione slowly, "like in movies and stuff." She looked suspicious again, "why?"

Harry took a deep breath. "Because that's where I'm from. I'm from a place where we go to school together, you, me and a boy called Ron - we're best friends you see, we do all this stuff together and (here was the crunch point) we do magic. We go to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and we do magic."

"Right," said Hermione evenly.

In one fluid movement she lent under her desk, gasped a tennis racquet, and flung it round in a circle to a point over her shoulder. Perhaps Harry should have mentioned 'don't hurt me' to those conditions a second ago.

"Hermione no!"

"Get out you psycho!" she yelled jumping to her feet. Harry did likewise, not wanting to let her get a height advantage - he'd witnessed the infamous Draco Malfoy Slap two years ago and did not intend to be around for the sequel.

"Listen!"

"Bastard! Git! Out now!" Her parents were going to hear, Harry had to do something.

"Hermione-"

"Do I look stupid?" She advanced a couple more steps backing Harry into the wall, "you think you're clever, winding me up like this? Oh pathetic Hermione the larry, let's torment her some more." She was mimicking now; things were becoming really scary.

"Hermione just let me-"

"GET OUT!"

"Accio tennis racquet!" The racquet flew the length of the room, out of a very shocked Hermione's grasp and into Harry's outstretched left hand. His right gripped his wand. Maybe a bit of that would convince her.

Hermione fainted.

***

Not only was Harry in a girl's bedroom now; said girl was lying on the floor unconscious. Not Good.

He put the racquet down (but kept a hold of his wand) and hoisted Hermione up into a sitting position against the bed. The thought flittered across Harry's mind that he'd actually just performed a spell out of school - it was overtaken, along with some rather vicious road rage, by his immense not caring.

"Hermione." He shook her slightly, "wake up." It wasn't working. Harry tried to think what people normally did to revive other people - then realised ironically he was normally the one knocked out of it so wasn't really in a position to give advice. "Hermione! You're - you're late for school!" Nothing. "Um...you need to finish your History essay - no! You only got 6 out of 10 for your History essay!" That did it.

"Wah - what!" Hermione snapped awake. At the sight of Harry she went rigid but he grabbed her shoulders before she could bolt.

"I'm not going to hurt you-"

"Let go!" she wriggled, and Harry was strongly reminded of Crookshanks when he got pinned in a corner.

"Look, we got off on the wrong foot," Harry eased his grip, "just listen." Hermione glared but stayed sitting. Harry took that as a good sign and completely let go of her. "Great...er, thank you." He rocked back on his heals and sat opposite Hermione, feeling that pang of sadness again at having to restrain his best friend on her own bedroom floor.

"Hey, did I even tell you my name?" Harry offered as an olive branch, "I don't think I did - it's Harry Potter."

"A.K.A. psycho-boy?" snuck in Hermione acidly.

Harry'd had enough now.

"Your name - is Hermione Granger; your parents, who are both dentists, didn't give you a middle name because they thought it would make the rest of it look messy, but personally you'd quite like Elizabeth or Louise just like everyone else. Your birthday is September 19^th and you always get school equipment; you chew your index finger when you're nervous, but twist your hair when frustrated - especially with homework. At school you despair of most people you know, but also wish for their acceptance; you're lonely, and bury yourself under your studies. Before you go to sleep you have to have a glass of milk otherwise you wake up with cotton-mouth; your favourite colour is blue; you hate playing sport, not because you don't like being part of a team, but because you think everyone else won't think you're good enough. How am I doing?"

Hermione looked sick. In fact she'd turned the rather attractive shade of two-day-old porridge. "How did you-?"

"Because I wasn't lying, I know you, we are best friends and we do practice magic." Harry took her hand gently, "let me show you something."

She let him pull her to her feet and over to the door. Harry turned the key in the lock, pulled it out and placed it in her hand. "Watch this." He rested the tip of his wand on the handle. "Alohomora!"

They heard the door click. "Open it," instructed Harry, and Hermione cautiously did. When it swung inwards easily she gasped. Harry smiled. "That's a favourite of yours y'know, now watch this." He pulled the door closed again, turned and pointed to the purple curtains; "overtum!" They zoomed open, then "fermier!" They shut.

"Wow," said Hermione softly, "that's - real, isn't it?"

"Yep," agreed Harry relieved.

"What was that one you did earlier?" Harry noticed she avoided saying 'magic' or 'spell'.

"That was a summoning spell, but it's quite advanced, oh - there's this one - it's also kinda sentimental." He pointed at her History textbook. "Wingardium Leviosa!" It flew up a couple of feet and hovered.

Hermione's eyes were wide. She looked carefully from the book to Harry as he glided it back down to the desk. Slowly, concentrating on the book, she reached up and took Harry's wand right out of his hand. Ordinarily, Harry would have protested, but he sensed a breakthrough coming. Hermione pointed at "A Study of Nazi Germany" and cried "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The entire desk wobbled.

Hermione shot two feet back with surprise onto Harry's shoes.

Instead of the "Owwch!" he was sorely tempted to yell, Harry simply bit his tongue and took his wand back. "Scary huh?" Hermione nodded. "I'm guessing you're pretty good at school Hermione, but at Hogwarts, no one's half the witch you are. That's why I'm here, I wanted you to help me figure out my...situation, coz you're so much better at stuff like that than me, and, well, I guess I needed to just talk to someone." He gave her a searching look, "so how are you feeling now?"

***

For almost an hour the two talked on Hermione's bedroom floor. Harry explained what his world was like, how different this world was and what he assumed to be the trigger for the "Dimensional Leap" - as Hermione referred to it as - when he lost his temper in the History classroom. He went into some detail about Hermione's alter-ego too; that the ministry in this reality deemed it too unsafe for muggles to be introduced into the Wizarding World as violent as it was, so she had never been called by letter to Hogwarts as she should have been. Hermione asked endless questions about magic (she'd finally brought herself to say it) as well as the castle and the Ministry. She wasn't that interested in Quidditch, but then again she never was.

"The way I see it," she said matter of factly, "there are three possibilities. One, you're either dreaming or crazy; and either way that would mean this world only exists in your head, so technically I wouldn't be real...which is quite depressing."

"But if that was the case, why would dream you be telling me that," put in Harry reasonably, "dream you would presumably want me to keep dreaming so you kept existing." Wow, try dealing with that concept when you're drunk thought Harry.

"And your head probably wouldn't allow for that kind of...er, flaw? in your 'plot'," Hermione was nodding, "good thinking Batman."

"Batman?"

"It's a muggle saying." She was learning fast - of course. "So, discard that. Option two is that somehow time was altered - either a single event - a specific key moment or decision was changed, or during a course of events something was different, and that's led to what you see now - this one's a slightly more plausible idea-"

But Harry was shaking his head. "My experience of time-travel kind of makes me think it's not that simple to alter something so subtly, you'd just end up wiping out the enter world or something." He was vividly remembering Hermione's warnings about using the time-turner - killing yourself by accident or causing wars instead of simply ensuring that your Potions homework was finish on time for example.

"OK, so the last option is probably our best." Hermione took a moment, probably to marvel at the subject matter of this conversation, before continuing. "There's a theory, most likely a French one, that everything that could happen, does happen. So that would mean there are literally thousands of Parallel Universes existing side by side one an other, yet totally oblivious to each other's existence. Maybe you found some sort of bridge between two of them?"

Harry liked that idea. "So, almost like walking through a door into another room?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Hermione smiling. Harry was smiling too.

"But hang on a minute," he frowned, "how do you know all this? They don't teach you this in Muggle schools or something?"

"No!" Hermione was laughing, "I just watch way too many films, like er - "Back to the Future", and "Terminator" - they're a mine of useful information about time-travel and all that you know!" She was really laughing now, Harry too. The bizarreness of the situation had apparently caught up to both of them.

After a while they eased the hysterics back down to grinning. "OK, so how do I get back?" asked Harry.

Hermione pondered. "Well, in theory you'd just have to open the doorway again, but I guess that's easier said than done hey?"

Harry sighed. "No, I wouldn't even know where to begin," he admitted.

"Normally I'd look something like this up, but I doubt there are any reference books on Parallel Universes, even finding something on the internet would be unlikely."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," said Harry thoughtfully, "I bet my parents have something we could sift through, or if not at least point us in the right direction. Why don't we go back to my house?"

Quite a dramatic change flew over Hermione's facial expression, in fact she now looked remarkably like a rabbit in head-lights. "Oh, erm, what - now? I don't, I mean I think-" She stood up and started ringing her hands, Harry followed suit.

"What's the matter?" He was honestly quite bewildered.

"Well, it's dark outside, and I never normally go out anyway, let alone unexpectedly, with a boy I just met." She met his eyes. "I want to help, I really do, but what can I say to my parents?"

Harry wasn't surprised that Hermione didn't want to disobey her parents, or even ask permission for something they might refuse; what he was surprised about was the fact that she hadn't thought of some clever plan to get around it yet. It must be all those years hanging around with me and Ron that's made her so sneaky thought Harry.

"Why don't you say you're going to the library, I'm guessing you go there often enough?"

"Oh, yeah," breathed Hermione, "that's clever, we could say we need to look up er, Cairo or something like that for Geography."

"Actually, I told your mum we were doing Maths," admitted Harry.

"You would have," said Hermione, shaking her head, "that's my best subject you know?"

***

Hermione stood outside her parents' office a full five minutes before Harry was able to persuade her to knock on the door. Her confidence seemed to have been severely dented in this world too he noticed; four and a half years as a social reject will do that to you though.

"Come in," came a man's voice through the wood - Harry assumed it to be that of Hermione's dad. She gave Harry one last look, to which he responded with a thumbs up, and opened the door. Leaving it a crack so Harry could hear, Hermione proceeded to explain that she didn't actually have the book that explained the trigonometry problems that they were working on, but Grafterstone Library did, and the homework was due in tomorrow, and it really wasn't that far to walk, and she'd bring the mobile phone, and they wouldn't be that long, and -

At this point her dad seemed to interrupt her. "Hermione," he said patiently, "I'm sure you can look after yourself; if it's really that important, don't worry about it, just go." Harry could practically feel her tension ebb out of the room. "I would like you to bring the phone though, just in case."

"Thanks dad," breathed Hermione, obviously relieved. The next second she came out again beaming.

"See, that wasn't so hard was it?" said Harry grinning. I'm such a bad influence - getting her lying to her parents, he though privately, we'll be smoking and shop-lifting next. He was actually quite enjoying himself - it must be the way Fred and George felt corrupting Ron and Ginny.

They walked over to a cupboard near the front door (the actual house entrance as opposed to the reception) and Hermione removed a long, dark purple coat, as well as black gloves and a scarf. She pulled the coat on and gave him an embarrassed, almost apologetic look. "I know it's sad, but my parents got it for me last Christmas and I don't have another one." Harry looked at the floor length coat; smartly buttoned at the front, with velvet cuffs and collar. Personally, he felt Fleur Delacouer would have worn it without question, which to him roughly translated as 'that's expensive and bloody gorgeous' - which is what he told Hermione, in so many words.

She blushed slightly and wrapped the scarf around her neck.

Once outside Harry wished he himself had his red and yellow Gryffindor scarf - if it was possible it had got even colder whilst he'd been inside. "This way," he indicated, and they started walking down the road.

Hermione pulled a rectangular box-like object out of her pocket and started to push buttons on it clumsily with gloved fingers. Harry suddenly realised it was a phone she was turning on. "Erm," said Harry, "I don't know if you'll actually be able to use that."

Hermione looked at him. "Why not?"

"Well, magic interferes with electrical things like phones or CD players - they just sort of hiss and fizz and you can't do anything with them."

Hermione looked stricken. "Oh, but, I told my dad I'd be able to phone them." There was a slight pleading note in her voice, like she was asking Harry to change the laws of physics (well, magic actually).

Harry grinned. "You can owl them if you need to," he said reassuringly, "don't worry."

"Owl them?" So Harry explained about owl post, and told her that his owl, Hedwig, was exceptionally good at delivering letters. Hermione seemed quite charmed by the idea of owls flying through the air with letters tied to their feet and forgot all about her phone.

As they were walking over that bridge Harry loved so much (it wobbled even more with two people on it) Hermione broke the silence. "So, you said we were best friends," Harry nodded, "and that there was another boy - John was it?"

"Ron," Harry corrected as they walked down the steps.

Hermione nodded. "So what's he like, in this world I mean, is he Muggle-Born too?"

"No," said Harry, "definitely not Muggle-Born. His family's one of those old wizarding families, they're really great, we spend the Summer Holidays there a lot," he allowed himself to grin. "There's nine of them y'know."

"Nine?!" said Hermione shocked.

Harry laughed, "Yeah, it's a bit mad," he thought. "Let's see, there's Charlie, Bill - no, sorry, Bill then Charlie, um, Percy, Fred and George - they're twins, then it's Ron and the youngest is Ginny. I don't know how their parent's cope."

"So he'd be more or less the same in this world then," guessed Hermione, "I'd love to meet him." But Harry's face fell - Hermione saw it. "What's wrong?"

Harry stopped walking and gave an empty sigh. "Do you remember what I told you what happened when I was a baby, about Voldemort?" She nodded. "And that in this world that never happened?" He paused. "Because he was never defeated, his attacks and everything continued, and...Ron, his entire family, well, you see not only did his dad work for the Ministry, and I'm guessing Percy did here too, they loved muggles as well and...Voldemort - he killed them. All of them."

Hermione was pale. "Oh Harry," she said quietly, "I'm so sorry." She put her hand on his arm. Harry gazed at the quarter moon.

"You know, this world isn't all that great," He sat down on the edge of the pavement, his back against someone's garden wall. "It's confusing and depressing really." Hermione sat down beside him.

"My parents-" he could a cold feel lump rising in his throat, "when I somehow defeated Voldemort when I was a baby, he - he killed them first, they tried to protect me and he killed them." His eyes were itching. This was the first time he'd allowed himself to think about this since he'd woken up in his bed-that-wasn't-his-bed. "I met my parents today, this afternoon I heard my mum's voice and I - met my sister." Harry turned and looked at her. "I have a little sister Hermione. She's not meant to exist, they're supposed to be dead, all of them; all my life I've had to accept they're never coming back, and now I can walk through my front door and they're there." A cold tear slide down his face but he didn't feel it. "My parent's are resurrected, but my best friend is dead and the rest of the Wizarding world lives in terror of someone I should have stopped...and all I can think about is going home, but I'm walking away from my family."

Hermione put her arm around him. "Oh Harry-" Tears were falling silently down his face resting on his knees. "Harry, it's OK." But it wasn't.

"No one even knows why he was after me," he said bitterly, "their death's were pointless, avoidable and all because of me. It never happened here, why I don't know, but I've got the family I've always dreamed of; the thing is - at what price? You're miserable and lonely, Ron and his whole family are dead, Hogwarts is closed. I think I have to leave, because my world may not be perfect, but it's a better world than this. I don't belong here." There was a pause. "Even if it means I never see my family again. Ever."

Hermione nodded and they sat in silence for a while. "You know though, what ever happens, whether you can go home or not, you've given me something I probably never would have had before - the truth." Harry raised his head slightly and looked at her. "When I was twelve," she continued, "Jenny Richins and her pack of minxes cornered me in a science lab one lunch time and started throwing all the stuff out of my bag around the classroom." Hermione smiled slightly. "They started chanting 'Bossy Boffin Granger' over and over again then threatened to set my French books on fire with a Bunsen Burner." She looked Harry in the eye, "I shattered all the windows - every single one of them. They couldn't prove it, but I knew I'd done it; I was the only one not covered in glass for one thing. Ever since then everyone not only thought I was an insufferable know-it-all but a total and utter freak, myself included. I've never had any real friends," she continued ruefully, "and I've never had an explanation, because it wasn't the first or last time something like that happened you see."

She stood up and took Harry by the hands, pulling him up too. "What I'm trying to say is, I know this must be so hard for you, but I'm here for you, and I always will be. Together, we're going to get you home, but that doesn't mean you'll ever forget your family, or me, the me here I mean, okay?"

Harry smiled, his cheeks stinging slightly from the salty tears and the wind blowing round his face. "Thank you Hermione," he said gently, meeting her eyes, "I knew you'd help."

"Well that's what friends are for isn't it? Now tell me all about this Ron."

***

It was almost half an hour later when Harry and Hermione stepped through the fireplace at the Floo Powder Station; Harry had gone through first, hoping Hermione would be able to follow safely. He fell out of his own fireplace a few moments later, this time managing to keep his balance.

Sitting on the couch in front of him were Seamus Finnigan and Parvati Patil.

"Mrs P, he's back!" called out Parvati as she leaped off the couch and flung her arms around him.

"Err," was all Harry could get out before he felt the fire swirl behind him and Hermione was spat gracefully out onto the floor in a heap.

"Glurchh," was all she was able to mutter. Parvati let go of Harry in surprise, Seamus, being the gentleman he was, helped her to her feet.

"Harry James Potter!" his mum called from the kitchen, "it is almost ten thirty, explain yourself!" She entered the room holding a huge dusty book, wand tucked behind her ear, hair in a head-scarf and a face like thunder. "Oh," she said a little less violently on catching sight of Hermione, who in turn was looking a little less green, "hello?"

"Um, everyone," said Harry, "this is Hermione, she's a friend of mine - a...pen-friend," he amended.

Lily Potter seemed reluctant to skin her only son alive in front of polite company, so she pursed her lips, said "it's very nice to meet you Hermione, I'll speak to you later Harry," and swept out of the room. The slamming of a door suggested she was in the study Harry had come across earlier.

Sarah could be heard faintly playing the piano in the background.

An expectant silence filled the room; during which Hermione swayed a bit before landing on an armchair in the corner of the room, Parvati and Seamus shared meaningful looks, and several pennies went 'clank, clank' as they dropped in Harry's head.

If Ron and Neville had really been killed, and Hogwarts had stopped admitting Muggle-Born students, he, Seamus and Parvati would be the only students left in Gryffindor - no wonder they were in his living room; they were probably best friends by default. That also explained why Hedwig had flown to Ireland.

It was Parvati who broke the silence. "Y'know, you really scared us Harry." Her eyes were wide - Harry recognised that look, it was the look she got when discussing some scandalous gossip with Lavender Brown - that 'ooh, what a drama!' kind of glee. "I mean, when Seamus got that letter saying you'd passed out we came here as soon as we could, to find you'd woken up and gone missing!"

"Parvati," said Harry patiently, "I wasn't missing, I was just a bit...late, that's all." She folded her arms and sat back down next to Seamus on the couch. Harry noticed that they actually looked quite different to the Gryffindors he was used to - well, maybe not Parvati - she was dressed head to toe in muggle clothes, pink being a predominant colour of course, and a rather large glittered butterfly adorned the end of her long plat. No, it was Seamus who had changed the most. His sandy hair, normally quite short, was on the whole shoulder-length and quite unruly. He was wearing leather trousers à la Charlie Weasley, boots similar to Harry's and a dark red shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the top, with a black top underneath. He looked...cool?

Harry was just about to elaborate on his answer when there was a knock at the front door. "Get that Harry!" came his mother's clipped voice, so Harry shrugged and did as he was told; he crossed the living room, went under the archway into the hallway and pulled open the door.

Draco Malfoy was standing on the other side.