Lucky

Chapter Two

Harry didn't feel much like dinner. He pushed his food around on his plate with a fork, leaning on a hand, largely ignoring the banal chatter about him. It was mostly about who was saying what to who, who asked who out... blah blah blah...

"Where were you today?"

Harry looked up. Behind him stood Cho, her arms folded, her hair in an utterly shocking bobbed style. He gulped, trying to find his voice.

"Excuse me?"

"Today," she said, "I was waiting for you in the hall for half an hour!"

"I didn't know I - I mean I forgot-"

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously! Listen, Harry. You've been pretty flakey of late, and I know you've been under a lot of pressure in Quidditch, but it's really no excuse." She stepped forward, nuzzling her lips to his ear, speaking very low. "There's been rumours that you've been... well... interested in other options. If I hear you've been exploring those options whilst still engaged with mine, I'll make you wish you were never born."

She patted his cheek, smiling coolly, looking like poisoned honey, before turning and walking off with an unmistakable sashay.

Ron chuckled darkly. "She's a killer, that woman," he said, shaking his head and putting some chop into his mouth. "Don't know how you could stand having someone like her for your girlfriend. Me? I'm happier with a nice pretty girl that won't give me any gyp."

If Ron had said that back home, Harry would have most certainly snorted at him with utter disgust. In this situation, he just frowned at him. He was paranoid about making waves, having some strange fear that they'd find out that he wasn't their Harry, the Harry they knew. Or maybe they'd think he was mentally ill and send him to St. Mungo's.

Still - they couldn't commit him for failing to be a bastard, could they?

Yeah... A chill took him. He was a bastard all right. Just like his dad had been in the vision of Snape's Pensieve.

He shook that thought from his mind, trying to concentrate on anything else. As a result he ended up intensely studying his peas.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry looked up. Neville was speaking to him, wiping at the corners of his mouth deftly with a white napkin and looking for all the world like the Wizards' James Bond.

"I'm fine," he said automatically.

"Well... I know you're probably nervous about tomorrow, but don't worry. I'm sure the new team will do fine this year."

Harry nodded, only half listening to what Neville was saying. He really couldn't give a stuff about Quidditch right now.

"Your parents will be coming to watch, I expect?" said Neville. "Mine will be, they love a good game of Quidditch."

Harry nearly choked on own tongue at that remark, and he felt rather foolish after the fact. Of course Neville's parents would be sane enough to attend a Quidditch match... Voldemort never existed... his Death-Eaters never tortured them to the brink.

Neville sighed, patting his stomach. "Well... I'd best be off. I've got a lot of studying to do for that Herbology assignment." He gave Harry a mildly concerned look. "If you knew what was good for you, you'd study a bit too. Can't depend on Quidditch for the rest of your life, can you?" He smiled a kind, genuine Neville smile before striding off with an unmistakable confidence.

Harry stared at his meal again, mind going over what Neville said. Parents coming to watch... his will be... parents... He felt as though he'd suddenly dropped six feet out of the air. His parents, he would see them! Meet them! Tomorrow! If... if he were here tomorrow.

He deeply wished that he could stay here, just another day, just to see his Mum and Dad. He was sure it'd be worth any more awful things he could possibly find out. He was sure of it.

~~*~~

Just as Harry changed into his pyjamas, there was a frenzied scratching and fluttering at the window. The last he'd known, Hedwig had been in the owlery.

"Harry," groaned Dean sleepily from his bed. "It's for you."

Harry darted over to the window, and opening it a magnificent dappled brown owl with big yellow eyes swooped into the room, landing on his bed imperiously. It walked in a bit of a funny circle, lifting the leg with a letter attached.

"All right... let's see here..."

He pulled away the letter, and with a perfunctory nip, the bird shot out the window again in a flap of its enormous black wings.

"Oh, Apollo dropped off a letter then?" Ron asked, walking over to his bed after entering the room.

Harry nodded quietly. He looked at the writing on the envelope - it was flowing and pretty. Who was it from? Could it have been...? He didn't dare let himself get too excited, but he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he tore open the envelope.

My Dear Harry,

Your father and I shall be popping over to Hogwarts in time to see you briefly before the game. I know you'll be busy preparing yourself for the match, so we won't get in your way. We know you like your space. You're so like your father in that way.

We hope to catch up with you after the match, even if it's just for ten minutes. You'll no doubt have a lot of lovely parties to go to, but we like to see how our son is doing. You grow so fast you know.

Please give Ron and Cho my love, and take good care of Hedwig.

All my love,

Mum.

Not for the first time that day, Harry felt a numb sense of shock. His heart ached within him, and he looked at the letter with utter disbelief. He clutched the letter in his hands, his brain trying to make sense of what he read. Just ten minutes with his parents? Just... just ten?! He fought the sore spot in his throat and stuffed the letter into the pocket of his pyjamas.

"What did it say?"

Harry looked over at Ron, shrugging. "Mum and Dad want to see me tomorrow." Those words felt odd in his mouth. He couldn't comprehend meaning them.

"Great," said Ron. "Your Dad can give me a few tips. My Chasing needs pepping up a bit."

Oh. Ron was a Chaser. Well... this was good.

Harry climbed into bed, the combined shocks and surprises of the day leaving him numb, and a little detached from reality. He prayed, as hard as he'd ever prayed for anything, that when he woke tomorrow, it was in this reality, and not his own. Even if it was just to see his parents, for ten measley minutes.

He was so looking forward to see them it took him a long time to get to sleep, and even when he did find it, it was restless and light.

~~*~~

"Harry!"

Harry frowned. Voice. Voice calling him. Who was calling him?

"Harry, wake up! It's the best day of the week!"

Harry groaned. "What day?"

"Saturday, you daft beggar!"

Something soft and puffy slammed into his head, and he could only assume that it was a pillow. He let an eye crack open, and he wished he had gotten at least a couple more hours sleep.

"Up you get!" Ron cried, yanking on one of Harry's legs. "It's the start of the season!"

Harry rolled slowly out of bed, rubbing his hair with a tired smile. "Thanks for the reminder..."

"No problem, Captain!" Ron playfully saluted him, and Harry nearly choked.

He was captain? Team captain?!

Of course, he thought, of course. I shouldn't be surprised by this sort of thing anymore. Apparently I can be the biggest arsehole on the face of the earth and still considered as the Second Coming...

Ron and Harry trotted down the steps to the Common Room, and Harry felt the familiar fluttering in his chest that he'd get before a game. Unfortunately it was compounded with the nervousness of not knowing the other team's line-up (was it the same as his own reality?) and the fact that he was going to see his parents this morning.

He followed Ron, who determinedly strode towards the portrait hole. In the corner of his eye he could see a familiar figure hunched in the chair by the fire. Clearing his throat, he tapped Ron on the shoulder.

"Uhm... I've forgotten something. I'll meet you in the Great Hall, yeah?"

Ron glared at Harry, then cast a speculative glance at Hermione before nodding. "Sure thing."

Something about the look his lanky friend gave him chilled him to the bone. It was cold... judicial. He waited for the boy to close the painting door behind him before turning about and approaching the chair by the fire.

"I notice you weren't keen to approach me with Weasley around..." Hermione looked over the particularly large book in her lap. "A good thing. You know he wouldn't agree with you spending time with someone like me."

Harry frowned. "What... unpopular?"

She gave a dark, empty chuckle. It frightened him.

"If you want to call it that, sure."

He shifted nervously as he stood in front of the girl in the chair, and after a tense moment, he sat in his spot close to her.

"Can I ask you something?"

She snorted lightly, eyes glued to the pages of her book. "No doubt you're going to ask me anyway."

"I know it might be silly but... will you wish me luck?"

He felt stupid for asking her this, but back home he'd barely gone a game without her wishing him luck beforehand.

Her eyes met his, and she seemed a little incredulous. "Luck? Since when have you needed luck? You're the best Quidditch player ever to have gone to Hogwarts and you know it."

"Well, I'm nervous," he said, ignoring the compliment that sounded suspiciously like an insult. "It's just... I really need to hear you say it, Hermione."

The young woman flinched as he said her name, said it softly, needily, the emotion clear in his eyes. Hermione tutted, looking back to her book.

"You're having me on."

"I'm not, I'm really not," he said, leaning towards her, his hand curling about her forearm. For a moment he forgot that she had no idea that he didn't belong here. All he cared about was having her look at him and not look as though she hated him with every inch of her soul. "I don't know what I've said to you over the years to make you hate me like this... from what I can tell it's really bloody awful. All I know is that I need you, Hermione, I really... It's going to be a tough day today. And before I can face I just need to know... need to know you're behind me."

Brown eyes wide and gleaming from his impassioned words, she peered at him, as if he were someone she had never met before. Her eyes were tinged red, and maybe he was imagining it, but he could swear he saw the sheen of tears rim them. All he wanted to do was lean his forehead against hers, feel her close...

She shuddered, a tear spilling down her cheek. "You're having fun, aren't you? A lot of bloody fun!"

He shook his head, feeling a lump grow in his throat. "I'm not, I swear to God I'm not..."

"Does Cho Chang know about this?"

"I don't give a damn about Cho right now," he said, pulling the book from her hands (much to her annoyance) and clutching her arms in his.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't, I suppose you've gotten tired of her and want a bit of a thrill seek by going out with a m-"

His patience flew from his grasp, and he pulled her forward, kissing her soundly upon her trembling lips. Some part of him couldn't believe he was doing this to Hermione of all people, but the rest of him just needed her as close to him as he could manage, and never have her away from him again. He moved his lips against hers, caressing them, pouring all his care and affection into the desperate movements. He could feel her little hands clutch his shoulders, her breath growing quick and her lips moving frantically, until she grew still. Just as suddenly as it started, she yanked herself away, fingers digging into his shoulders as she pushed him away angrily. Before he knew what was going on he heard a loud cracking sound, and his cheek was on fire.

He covered the cheek where she slapped him with a shaking hand, gazing at her with a mystified expression.

"Don't you come near me again!" she hissed, gathering her books into her arms and hurrying off up the stairs.

"Hermione!" he called.

"Never again!" she cried shrilly.

Harry gulped, shamed as a tear tumbled down his face. He wiped it away, a dent in his brow. He hoped that he met up with his parents soon, as this reality was really wearing on him.

~~*~~

The Gryffindor Quidditch Team, or what he assumed was the Quidditch Team since they hadn't changed into their robes yet, all stood and cheered as he entered the Great Hall. All except Ron, that is, who stirred his breakfast thoughtfully. As Harry came close he smiled to his friends encouragingly.

"Are we ready for our game today?" he asked them.

"You bet!" piped up Dean, and Seamus nodded enthusiastically.

Harry was quietly surprised that Ginny wasn't on the team. Then again, looking over at her, she was surrounded by girls in her year, looking rather well-kempt and pretty, looking for all the world like a red-headed Lavender Brown.

Harry sat down, leaning toward Ron, trying to contain the panic he felt rising. He had no idea what kind of side he had, or what kind of game he should play. He didn't even know what kind of team he was opposing. The Slytherin Team ate neatly and whispered imperceptibly to each other, eyes shifty and taking in everything about them. They made Harry really damned nervous.

"Has the line-up changed at all?" he asked Ron, very pleased that he managed to think of such a clever question.

"No," said Ron. "It's the same as it was listed last week."

Ron offered nothing else, and Harry felt a spoiling feeling in his stomach that was only agitated by the suspicious gleam in his supposed best friend's eyes.

He didn't eat much breakfast and he tried to keep his mind on the upcoming match, but it only served to make him feel more nervous, as he had no idea what kind of game he was walking into. It would be like playing blind, not to mention the fact that he'd never captained before in his life. Ron was much better suited to such a task.

He strode out the main doors of the castle with the team, trailing behind them a little as they all made for the Quidditch Pitch. He was concentrating so hard on keeping his head together that the slap on the shoulder he received from out of the blue made him jump in his step and skid to a halt.

"There you are!" came the deeper but scarily familiar voice. It sounded eerily like his own. "Neville said you'd already left..."

Harry was too frightened to turn. It was silly, he knew it, but he was too scared to turn his head and look at who was talking to him. What if it wasn't him? What if this was all a cruel disappointment? Everything else had been.

"Harry... are you all right?"

It was the female voice that broke through the fear, it was that voice that seized his throat and set his eyes burning with tears. He gulped, turning about disjointedly, a slow silent sob in his throat.

"M-" He choked, gulping. "Muh--"

She was so beautiful. Even though she looked older than the reflection he saw in the Mirror of Erised, she looked so incredibly beautiful that it broke his heart. Her eyes were the kindest he'd ever seen, and there was care there, worry, and it wasn't for anyone else - it was all for him. He struggled to swallow, trying to control himself without much success. Lily needed only to glance at him momentarily before she was over by his side in a shot, warm gentle hands at his cheeks, tilting his head to hers.

"Harry," she gasped, pulling him into a hug, and Harry hugged back with all he had, wrapping his arms around her tightly.

"I love you Mum," he breathed, emotion rattling his words. "I love you so much..."

"Oh I know, darling, I know..." she said in a soft moan of agreement. "What's brought this on then? This is supposed to be a happy day..."

"Nerves," said his father with a short, affectionate smile. Harry looked to the man, and without a care as to how sissy it would be, he broke away from his mother and launched himself into his father's arms.

"I've missed you guys," he said, "I've really missed you!!"

James was still for a moment, seemingly taken aback. Slowly his arms tightened around his son, and he thumped the boy's back fondly.

"Come on, Harry," he said. "You only saw us three weeks ago!" He gave a brash smile as he stepped back out of the hug. "Usually you like us in small doses!"

Harry tried to rein in the horrified look he knew was forming on his face, and he looked back and forth between his parents with teary-eyed adoration.

"Well I'm a spoilt little brat who doesn't know how bloody lucky he is," he said, voice shaking. He wrung his hands as his parents looked both puzzled and overwhelmed. "I'm - I'm really glad you're here."

Lily tutted, cupping Harry's cheek and smiling at him.

"Come on now, sweetie, that's enough of that kind of talk, all right? Now, we'll walk with you to the pitch and after the game we'll stop by the Entrance Hall and meet you there. We can go for a nice long walk and talk about whatever's bothering you..." She tilted her head, green eyes that were just like his staring right into him with so much love, Harry thought he'd burst. "... Okay?"

He nodded numbly, and looking about himself he realised he'd dropped his broom.

"It's here," said James, and picking it up, he handed it to him. "Look after it, Harry, it cost us a fair knut!"

Harry looked to the Firebolt, only noticing now that it had his name painted on in a customized gold decal. His mouth worked helplessly for a moment till it settled on a simple, "I'll... I'll see you guys after the match then."

Lily grinned brightly, tiptoeing to ruffle his hair. "You betcha, my scruffy boy!" She gave a winning gnash of her teeth and poked her fore-knuckle into his cheek. "Fly happy!"

A grin burst on Harry's face, and he squeezed Lily's hand. "I will."

James winked at his son before winding his arm about Lily, leading her away to the game. He stopped suddenly, snapping his fingers.

"Oh, I forgot. I'm not sure if you were told - they wanted to keep it a surprise, but the Minister for Magic will be watching the game today!"

The Minister for Magic? What on Earth? Since when did someone so important care about such a piddling match between two school houses?

"Don't look so confused, Harry," said James. "After being here all those years it's almost his second home. You know he likes to keep a good eye on it now he's in office."

Harry nodded vaguely, wondering who the hell his father could have been talking about. His parents waved at him and wished him good luck as they trod off towards the stands. Harry stood there, an uneasy feeling settling upon him as he thought about all the things that had been strange to him.

Hermione's outcast status... Neville's seeming popularity and coolness... Ginny's popularity and posh attitude... Ron and Draco's ability not to despise each other with a simple look... Harry's own sycophantic following...

He shook himself and started for the Quidditch Pitch. He simply didn't have all day to wonder about this. He wanted the ruddy game to be over already, so he could spend time with his parents again. He hurried off for the change rooms, preparing himself to give a speech to the troops.

~~*~~

He was sure he never felt so bloody humiliated in his entire life. He could feel the sweat beading on his brow, and the unbelieving stares of his teammates gave him terrible goose-pimples. Harry fumbled with the chalk as he pointed it to the blackboard behind him, his voice quivering as he spoke.

"And... with that... with... Malfoy distracted... the Chasers can go in-"

"Not with Crabbe and Goyle beating," piped up Dean. "Don't you remember watching their practice? Those two thugs do the most of the defending!"

Harry's insides turned cold and squirmed. This was no good. Everything he'd said had turned out to be a terrible tactic, and he was convinced he simply did not have what it took to be captain. His place was free and roaming the pitch, eye out for the prize...

He took the chalk and stuffed it in Ron's hand.

"You show them," he said, "You tell them what to do."

Ron stared at him. "Harry... *you're* the Captain!"

"I'm not feeling up to it!" he cried, pulling Ron to his feet and pushing him towards the board. "Do me a favour and just - start this game off for me, all right?"

Ron looked enraged. Indeed, his hands shook as he pointed roughly at the board, drawing savage arcs and crosses here and there and barking names and positions.

Harry sank onto a bench, watching him, relief mingling with terror. His thoughts drifted back to two things; how unbelievable it was to hug his parents after having them on some other side of a mirror or in a stupid black and white picture for all these years, and how great it felt to kiss Hermione, even if she did slap him silly afterwards. He just wished she didn't dislike him so damned much... It made him miss home more than anything else he knew.

"Right!" said Ron. "That's the game. It's going to be a sneaky one, so be careful. Harry - you do your thing, mate, and we'll be fine."

Harry nodded, barely aware of the team chanting to each other and ambling out the door. He followed them until Ron grabbed him and positioned him out the front of the pack. The huge wooden doors loomed before them, and he could hear the cheer of the crowds grow with tumultuous waves of fervour, the rumble and shake of their feet on the stands increasing with each moment. It was the familiar sound that Harry found terrifying and exhilarating all at once. He could understand why his counterpart would want to do this for a living, to hear this cry for always.

He knew, however, that there were much more important things in the world than playing Quidditch.

The commentator's voice rang out and the doors swung open before them. Harry felt like a soldier as he marched out onto the pitch. The cheer was deafening, and Madam Hooch's voice was reedy over the noise.

"I want a clean fair game!" she shouted. "Three... two..."

She blew the whistle and threw the quaffle into the air.

~~*~~