Lucky

Chapter Three

Harry was relieved that the team he was playing against was really pretty lousy. Most of the talent left with the last lot of graduates, and all that was left was Draco Malfoy and his band of goons. He surveyed the field, the other players zooming around, their brightly coloured cloaks fluttering (the Slytherins rather aimlessly, truth be told). He cast a brief glance to the stands, wondering which two spots of colour were his parents. He took his mind off that and looked back to the game.

It was amazing. Up here, flying around, looking down on the stands and the other players, there was no difference between this place and the home he knew. Up here he could just fly.

Fly happy.

Something glinted in the corner of his eye, and he surreptitiously turned the angle of his broom so he could see it without noticeably turning his head. It was the snitch, fluttering about midfield whilst all the action was currently taking place up the Gryffindor goal end. Draco Malfoy was soaring about the Slytherin goal posts, obviously hoping that the charmed little ball would dally about there (as they were sometimes wont to do). He was unsure why Malfoy wasn't following him about incessantly like he usually did in a game. It didn't occur to him at that point that Draco - and he himself - might play differently here. There was plenty of time and space for Harry to dip and get the snitch, as Draco was an unrecoverable distance away from it. Without another thought Harry dove, Malfoy only a distant green blur in the corner of his eye. In the blink of an eye the snitch was struggling in his fist, Harry rolling spectacularly on the sod and ending up on his feet.

The crowd had gone quiet and in a split second their roar burst from the stadiums, whistles, screams and shouts drowning Harry's ears. He couldn't help but thrust his hand up in the air, waving the snitch about in his hand, bathing in the glory of such mind-blowing acceptance. He was sure it would be something he could never get over; that many people being happy over something he did.

The sound of feet pounding upon the turf managed to reach him over the cheering crowd, and he was surrounded and embraced by his teammates, all of them hooting, grinning and jumping with joy.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" shouted Ron, "I didn't know you could PLAY like that!"

Harry tried not to be confused, and he tried to act a little offended. "Play like what?"

"It was so fast!" Dean cried. "Usually you dally a bit and taunt Malfoy with your better broom!"

"Yeah!" piped up Seamus. "And when you do catch the snitch, I mean... it wasn't like *that*! It wasn't so..."

"...driven-" supplied Dean.

"...inspired!" said a boy from third year.

"...incredible!!" finished Ron.

Harry looked about him, disbelief taking him over. That was a completely and utterly perfunctory catch. It was simple, basic and any Quidditch player worth their weight in galleons should be able to do it. The fact that this other him wasn't able to do it was rather a worry. Obviously he must have been quite an average player. How he got such a good reputation was a puzzle to him.

"It was nothing," said Harry. "Any good seeker could do it."

"Yeah," said Ron, his cheer dropping considerably.

The crowd in the stands managed to make it down to the field and were now spilling out onto it, all heading for Harry and the other Gryffindor players. Harry had one thought and one thought only - to get back to his parents. Unfortunately the team had other ideas, and they lifted him up onto their shoulders, throwing him up and down and crying with delight. Soon other hands smacked his legs and bottom, and he was surrounded by students, professors and parents alike. Obviously Quidditch was more popular here than back home, which was a strange thing to think of, as it was already pretty damned popular where he came from.

"Harry!"

The cheering of the crowd was so loud, but Harry thought he'd heard someone call him.

"Harry!!"

He glanced around him. A hand clutched his leg, and looking down he saw James, grinning up at him, Lily by his side. He grinned down at them, pushing himself off his friends and landing in front of them. Without thought he hugged them, the feeling in his heart worth a thousand Quidditch wins laid end on end.

"The Minister wants to congratulate you, Harry!" said Lily, squeezing his shoulder. "Come on, he's just waiting over there!"

The fuss around him was confusing, and Harry held onto his mother's robes, trying to keep close to her in the crush. After struggling for a good minute or two he emerged on the other end of the crowd, and they almost spat him out in front of the Minister from the squeeze.

"Good show, Mr. Potter!"

That voice was eerily familiar. The 's' was excessively hissy, the voice was more gravelly but it was the same high tone that chilled his heart. He looked at the face before him. It was healthy, pink-cheeked, the eyes were blue, the face was rounder than that of the one he remembered thanks to age, but it was the same face. The same wretched awful person.

Harry stood there, jaw dangling and working, eyes glaring at the Minister as if his eyes had just popped out of his sockets.

There was a nudge in his ribs, and Harry heard his father hiss at him.

"Say something, Harry!"

His mouth waggled a moment more, and with great difficulty he found his voice. All he could manage was a strangled, "... YOU!"

James chuckled, and he grinned at Lily. "He can't believe who he's seeing!"

"Come on, Harry," said Lily. "Poor Mr. Riddle has come all this way to see you play! You can say more than that!"

He couldn't stop the waggling of his mouth, nor could he help pointing at the man in front of him. "You... you can't be! You CAN'T BE!"

He didn't see the frowns from the people around him, the puzzlement or the amusement at his seeming momentary dementia. He gulped, shaking his head.

He felt ill. The world was almost spinning around him, and he looked around him, glaring at everyone, even his parents, like mad crazy people. For after all, who in their right mind would make a Minister of Magic of Tom Riddle?

His brain began to struggle for sense. His parents were, after all, absolutely gleeful at the prospect of Harry seeing this man - maybe he was good? Maybe that was what happened... Maybe Tom Riddle never became evil...

Minister Riddle stepped forward, extending a slender hand, and he gave Harry a wide smile, shaking his hand thoroughly.

"Good job, Harry!" he said. "Wonderful effort. It's fine young people like yourself that exemplify the value of strong, pure wizarding blood!"

It was like a slap to the face. Harry felt his throat grow tight, and he yanked his hand away. "My mother's parents are muggles," he said coldly. "Isn't that bad breeding in your mind?"

The crowd closest to them had grown hushed. Riddle tilted his head just slightly, and his eyes twinkled. "Is that so?" He turned, looking to Lily, whose cheeks were bright red, horror on her face. "Is this true, Mrs. Potter?"

Her mouth worked for a moment, and before she even got to speak, Riddle nodded.

"I see."

Harry glanced to his mother. She looked away, cheeks flushed, and she looked as though she'd rather be anywhere else than here. Everyone stared at her for a moment, distrust and disgust in their eyes. James' fingers dug into Harry's arms, and there was definite terror in his eyes. He pulled Harry to him, hissing in his ear again.

"Harry... what the bloody HELL do you think you're saying?!"

Harry frowned, confused.

"The truth!" he cried. "She's Muggle-born. What's wrong with that?"

The crowd gasped, a rush of breath rippling through it, until there was dead silence. He looked about himself, fear and confusion building inside of him. People had stepped away from Lily as if she was diseased, and they stared at her with unveiled contempt. Rage burst from Harry's heart and he glared at everyone.

"What's wrong with you people?!" he shouted. "There's nothing wrong with her! She's a great witch! I bet she could do magic better than most of you here!"

"Harry!" gasped James, and tears were in his eyes too. His expression was shock and pride mingled together, and grief, such grief.

"Thank you for your information, Mr. Potter," said Riddle, stepping forward and taking hold of Lily's wrist. "You will be duly rewarded for reporting an unregistered Mudblood."

Harry choked. "A WHAT?!"

"An unregistered Mudblood..." The voice was Ron's. He was beside Harry now, staring at him like a traitor. "You know the rules, and frankly I'm surprised you didn't do something about this sooner."

"Kind of ironic, really..." Draco pushed forward from the throng, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "You're the poster-boy of Wizard Purity and all along you've been keeping this dirty-little secret..."

"He's full blooded, young Malfoy," said James fiercely. "So you watch your mouth!"

Riddle looked to James Potter calmly. "I shall deal with you later, Mr. Potter."

Harry jumped forward. "Deal with him how?!"

Riddle's calm look settled on Harry now. "It's a criminal offence to fail to register as a Mudblood with the Ministry of Magic, young Harry, and to aid such a crime against the State is as dire." A slow, thin, cool smile spread across the pale face. "I'm afraid that they have some very hard lessons to learn within Azkaban's walls..."

"What lesson?!" cried Harry, grabbing Minister Riddle's arm. "That it doesn't matter who your parents are, or whether you're magical or not? That all people are people?! Does that scare you?" He glared at the people around him. "Does it scare you too?!"

Everyone stared at him as though he'd come from another planet.

Riddle sighed, shaking his head. "I'd hoped better from you, Potter. You showed such promise."

From behind Tom Riddle came a pair of tall, startlingly ugly men who bore a striking resemblance to solid brick walls with legs. This was mainly because they were dressed entirely in grey, the robes tied off with silver ropes and their chests gleaming with medals and silver buttons. Their shoulders were trimmed with silver rope, and they bore insignia on their shoulders and chests: A silver snake winding in a complex Celtic knot and biting its own tail.

The huge men were ones Harry recognised, as he'd seen them before in his own reality in a similar role. Once one saw the bulky and dim looking Crabbe and Goyle senior, they didn't forget them. Harry was past ill. He felt like he wanted to fall over, pass out and not wake up. Now was not the time, however, as the big bulky fellows were heading for his parents.

"NO, YOU'RE NOT TAKING THEM!" he shouted, racing at his parents, wrapping his arms around them.

"Out of the way, Harry," said Riddle. "You're not in trouble, only them..."

"Harry, get out of here," muttered James quietly. "I don't know how you found out about Lily and I don't care. Just get out of here before they take you too."

Harry spun about, meeting his father's hazel eyes. "Dad... I didn't know! I didn't know it was like this! Where I come from it's not like this!!"

James' brows knitted, and he looked deeply into Harry's eyes.

"Look, there's no time I - yaargh!"

Crabbe Sr. took James' arms in his meaty hands, pulling them roughly behind his back. A terrible scream shook Harry's ears then - a scream he'd heard enough times to know he never wanted to hear it again. He whirled about, charging for his mother, her arms being bent cruelly at a painful and terribly wrong angle behind her back, tears streaming down her face. Goyle Sr. chuckled dully at her agony.

"LET HER GO!" roared Harry, pounding his fists into Goyle Sr., ignoring the pawing hands about him, the shouting and jeering of the crowd that encouraged the big brutes to take his parents.

"Harry, no!" Lily sobbed. "Run! Just run!"

Harry shook his head, grabbing hold of her as the senior Crabbe and Goyle began to drag his parents away from him. "I won't leave you! I'll never leave you!"

"Please!" she cried. "For me!"

"Listen to your mother, Harry!" cried James over his shoulder. "Run!"

The hands of the crowd pulled Harry back, despite his growling struggle. As he pulled his arms away, more hands would grab him and yank painfully. The big men who had his parents were strong, and no matter how he pounded at their backs and arms and legs, they kept walking as if he'd not hit them at all. His parents struggled too, but it seemed pointless. He almost told them to try to Dis-apparate, but the little voice of Hermione was in his head, telling him that one couldn't Apparate within the borders of Hogwarts.

Hermione... dear God... No wonder she was so unpopular. No wonder Ginny WAS so popular, and Neville, and Ron and Draco... they were so damned popular. How come Dean had friends then?

He lied too... Harry thought. They all lied, the ones that were okay... Only the ones that were honest were...

Harry's heart broke. Damn her. Damn her for being so damned bloody honest. For thinking she could make a difference. It would be just like her, just like Hermione, to buck the world around her and wear her Muggle heritage on her sleeve for all to see.

Harry's arms and legs began to ache as he struggled against the crowd to reach his parents, who were growing farther and farther away from him. His throat burned and tore as he screamed for them to be let go, as he shouted for their sake. But he was one young man against a crowd of hundreds and slowly and surely he was swept away from them, deposited back in front of Minister Riddle like a criminal.

Harry rolled over as all those around him pushed him over and onto the sod. He struggled to get up, but the Junior Crabbe and Goyle, and Draco Malfoy, pushed him to his knees.

Minister Riddle bent over in front of him, peering into his eyes. "I always had a feeling about you, young Potter." He stood, huffing darkly. "I had hoped it meant good things... but now I see that it does not. You've disappointed me gravely today." The old, greying man paced in front of Harry, shaking his head and tutting. "You are very, very lucky that you reported your mother to me; such a favour to the State might just make up for the fact that not only did you seem to be unaware that her Mudblood status was a matter of the utmost distaste and repugnance, but that you didn't intend to get your mother into any trouble at all, and didn't see anything wrong with her disgusting and horrid family background!"

Harry grit his teeth. It would do no good to shout his views. He'd just get dragged off by heavies too. He had to get home... But he had to talk to Hermione first.

"What have you got to say for yourself, young man?"

Harry stared at Minister Riddle defiantly. "Nothing."

Riddle curled a lip, flaring a nostril rather unattractively, looking down his nose at Harry.

"Of course not. Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy... let him go. I'm sure Dumbledore will deal with him appropriately for his indiscretions here this afternoon."

Harry was shoved down to the ground again, and as he lay there, feeling torn to pieces from all that had transpired, he saw the feet of the crowd around him walk away, the voices of his peers low and muttering, darkness in their tones and in their hearts. He wasn't sure how long he sat in the mud, prostrate, smelling the sod under his nose and listening to the world about him. With the crowd gone, he could hear the birds whistling and flitting about on the wing. He could hear the canvases of the colourful Quidditch stands flap heavily in the breeze, and the rustling of the trees in the forest nearby.

He could also hear steps approach him, squish-squishing in the wet grass.

"Look at me."

Harry rolled over, and looking up he saw an enraged Ronald Weasley.

"Get up."

Harry just stared at him. Ron's patience was seemingly non-existent, as he bent over and grabbed Harry by the collar, yanking him to his feet and glaring at him coldly. He leant in close, their noses almost touching, deep hatred chilling the usually warm blue eyes.

"I don't know who are," he breathed, "But lying about Harry's mother and then saying that stuff in the field... you're lucky I don't kill you now!"

"I am Harry!" Harry retorted. "And those things were true!"

Growling, Ron shoved Harry back down onto the grass.

"They're NOT!" he said, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. "Any wizard with an ounce of sense knows that! Muggles are the scum of the bloody earth and HARRY would never say anything otherwise! So tell me who you are before I bloody beat it out of you!"

Ron was angry. Ron was very angry, and Harry knew that if Ron said something, he generally meant it. He quietly thanked God that his own version of Ron was not like this one, and realised slowly that he had to get out of this before Ron pounded him senseless, or worse - hexed him. He looked at Ron, at his clothes... Quidditch gear. He wouldn't have his wand on him, and Harry didn't have his own wand either, but he certainly needed it. Where did he leave it?

The change rooms.

He stared at Ron, extending his hand with a tick of his brow.

"Accio wand!"

"HA!" Ron laughed, shaking his head and stepping over him. "Now, now. If you are Harry, you'd know that he could never do that bloody spell, and that he's terrible in Charms!"

"I assume you're bad at it too then?" said Harry.

Ron's smile drifted off his face.

Harry shook his head. "Too bad."

From the direction of the change rooms came his wand, swooping through the air like an arrow, and lifting his hand up Harry caught it effortlessly. Ron glared at him.

"You're not Harry..."

"Oh, I am Harry Potter," said Harry, standing and pointing his wand at Ron. "Just not the one you know. Petrificus totalus!!"

Ron's entire body went rigid, his eyes snapping open wide. The young man teetered like that for a moment, a wave of a grey stony sheen washing over his body, before he began to lean backwards. After a moment of unsettled wavering he toppled to the floor like an upended plank of wood.

Harry looked to Ron, shaking his head, nudging the fellow with his toe.

Well... he didn't have much time to waste. He wasn't sure if anyone was going to be back for him. After all, just because Minister Riddle said he'd be let off, didn't mean that other people wouldn't think to take justice into their own hands. He would go home - somehow. He wasn't sure how, but he had to find Hermione first.

He ran across the field as fast as he could, broom forgotten, and as he rounded the corner of the Gryffindor entrance, a pair of hands pulled him aside. He cried out in surprise.

A little hand covered his mouth.

"Quiet!"

He looked down. It was Hermione.

"Come with me!" she said, and pulling on his hand she lifted the canvas of the stands that adjoined the entrance walkway and guided him underneath.

He followed her, the pain in his heart for her suffering renewed as he saw her.

"Hermione-"

"You're not him."

He blinked. "That's what Ron said..."

Hermione gave a tutting laugh. "Well! He's not as stupid as I thought he was then!"

Harry thought to ignore that jab. "What makes you think I'm not... I'm not- Harry?"

"Dear me," chuckled Hermione darkly, crossing her arms and arching a brow. "You really should study the subject you're aiming to replace a little better. Unless... you were meant to act completely out of sorts, which is a brilliant strategy in itself, I must admit... Hah." She paced back and forth, running her fingertip over her bottom lip. "So who are you?"

"I'm Harry," he said. "Harry Potter."

She giggled. "Sure you are. The darling of Purebloods everywhere, the most vocal anti-Muggle representative since Thomas Riddle himself, not only turns around and outs his mother as a Muggle-born, not only kisses a Muggle-born" She stepped forward and pushed her face in his to emphasise this point, "But he also mouths off at said Thomas Riddle with the sort of thing that has sent lesser known Wizards into Azkaban for life!"

Harry frowned. "Why didn't he send me there too?"

She snorted, turning away. "Can't do that. You're the darling, remember?" She looked over her shoulder then, brown eyes glinting. "He'll get rid of you, all right, but he'll pull you apart piece by piece and destroy everything you are so he doesn't look bad."

Harry watched her move, watched her think. Like so many times, he read her body language, her behaviour, and he began to know a little more about what was going on.

"You knew the way Wizards looked at Muggle-borns, didn't you?" he said, stepping closer to her. "You knew they hated them when you registered yourself."

"Of course I did!" she said, turning to face him. "Do you really think I'm going to lie and pretend to be something I'm not? To be ashamed of the wonderful people who made me who I am?" She curled a lip. "Like Dean? Like Seamus? Not me!" She shook her head thoroughly. "I made a point not only of registering my status, but being proud of it." She lifted her chin. "And I am proud of it. I told everyone. I didn't shy away. The Muggle-born Wizard movements encourage that, you know. I have the documentation."

Harry smiled. "You would."

She looked him up and down. "So who are you really?"

"I told you," he said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"And I said-"

"No... let me explain..." Harry looked about himself. Underneath the stands stretched post after post, and between them criss-crossed bars and rafters. Behind him was a bar barely a foot from the ground, about a foot wide. "Come sit down..."

He sat down, and leaning aside he offered the place next to him to Hermione. She bent her knees, sitting demurely, eyeing him cautiously. She sat a good three feet from him, and with a roll of his eyes he moved closer.

"I won't hurt you," he said. "Listen... it's all sort of complicated, but I'll try to keep it simple as I can. Basically... I don't come from here. I am Harry, but I'm Harry from... well... this will sound very much like a bad science fiction TV show..."

"Try me," said Hermione, lifting a brow.

"I'm from a different reality."

Her other brow lifted to meet the other one.