JKR's charries aren't mine, though I do like to (insert shifty eyes here) use them occasionally...Mwaha! Sorry that the last chapter took so long to complete. I was really loaded down with work—still am, really, but I kind of need an escape. And goodness knows I would rather be writing fulltime any day. Sorry for all of you "James and Harry MUST meet!" people. The close brush was planned a long time ago. Have to dangle the bait, don't I? Keep reading and don't assume that this story will go a certain way, because I might not be as predictable as you think.
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Neville had stopped, letting Harry, Ginny and Ron pass him. They didn't seem to notice his sudden absence; all were now reminiscing about the Vanishing Cabinet incident of last year. He craned his neck, peering down the hallway after the second Harry. Neville swayed slightly on the spot, feeling very lost and very confused all of the sudden. While the former wasn't a new feeling, the latter, he would prefer to do without. Before he could take any course of action, whether it be to demand just what was going on or to inform Harry if he knew that there were two of him running around Hogwarts, he was jerked backward into a nearby classroom. He stumbled and fell hard on his rump, looking up to see whom his abductor was. Hermione Granger was closing the door carefully behind them and then turned to face Neville.
"Did you see what I saw?" She asked cautiously, as if trying to indirectly ask another question. Neville blinked at her.
"I think I saw what you saw."
"If you think what you saw was what I saw then you saw—"
"Two Harrys." Neville said, eyes going round. He hadn't bothered to get up from the floor. He was staring up at Hermione in disbelief, "Then I'm not mad? You saw it too?" But then, before Hermione could answer his eyes narrowed and he said, "Unless you're mad too. I can't be the only one, after all."
"Neville," Hermione said with exaggerated patience, "You are not insane. And neither am I."
"Prove it. I just saw two Harrys, Hermione."
"One was Harry, but the other is named James." Hermione explained, "James Potter, Neville."
"But, Hermione..." Neville gasped, eyes once again wide. He looked shocked to the core and more than a little disbelieving. It was how Hermione had felt when James had told her his last name (even though she had hardly dared to suspect it before); as if someone had just punched her in the gut. If it was affecting them, Harry's friends, in such a way, Hermione couldn't imagine Harry's reaction.
"It's true. Somehow, his seventh-year self got transported to our time...whether by Time-Turner or curse I don't know." Hermione told him after a moment. Neville nodded slowly, but jerkily, as alternating between understanding and remaining completely befuddled. There was a long silence and then, suddenly:
"W-We have to tell him." Neville said promptly, meeting Hermione's eyes suddenly, "We have to."
"We can't, Neville. We don't know how it will affect our time. Who knows what James would do if he found out that he was dead?" Neville flinched, as if he had been lashed with an invisible whip.
"Harry would want to know, though, wouldn't he?" Hermione thought that she heard him add very quietly, "And I can't blame him."
"Yes, but he would want to meet his father if he knew about him. And I don't know if that's the best thing—"
"I don't know, Hermione. I just don't know." Neville shook his head suddenly, looking horribly confused, "Harry's dad running around Hogwarts? I saw him when he first came, you know." He stopped and mumbled absently, "There was a kind of a wind...I was lost and when he appeared, I thought he was Harry. I called him Harry. His eyes were the wrong color." The last seemed to banish a bit of doubt that he still held.
"Did you tell him who Harry was?" Hermione asked sharply, forcibly staring Neville down, unconsciously taking a step closer.
"I-I don't think so." Neville said nervously as she looked down at him, "I mean, I..." He screwed up his eyes in concentration, trying to remember, "No, I don't think so."
Hermione nodded, her face suddenly thoughtful, eyes faraway. Neville stood to his feet and adjusted his robe over his shoulders carefully as Hermione watched through glazed vision. Yes, he did mention being called Harry before when I first met him. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he's figured it out. If he has, then...Hermione blinked and focused again on Neville before saying in a rush, "I have to go. Don't tell Harry, Neville; that's very important." With that, the bushy-haired, scholarly girl rushed from the room, a piece of crumpled, old parchment fluttering in her wake. Neville hurriedly scooped it up and left the room after Hermione.
"Wait! Wait, Hermione!" He called, but stumbled and nearly fell over his own feet. The girl was darting ahead of him, seemingly not hearing his calls in her single-mindedness. Neville chased her down the corridor, "Hermione!" He dodged a girl with black plaits and a disgruntled expression on her face, "HERMIONE!"
Hermione spun and spotted Neville and stopped, allowing him to catch up, "What?" She looked slightly irritable, as if preoccupied.
"You dropped this," Neville said and handed her the old bit of parchment. She stared down at it for a minute, something seemingly on her tongue before she frowned and then stuffed it hurriedly (and securely) into her pocket.
"Thank you." At that moment, however, an egg appeared out of nowhere and hurled itself at Neville's head. Cold yolk ran down the side of the boy's head, matting his hair down. Neville shuddered and wiped some of the substance off, staring at the eggshell that had tumbled to the floor after bouncing off of him. An evil cackling was heard and Peeves appeared, chanting, "Ickle, pickle, sickle, tickle, fickle..."
"Peeves!" Hermione said firmly, but then stopped. No one ever succeeded in subduing the poltergeist, save for... "Bloody Baron won't be happy to hear about this." Peeves only blew a raspberry at her, apparently knowing that her threat was empty, and continued along the hall, rhyming words that made no sense whatsoever. Hermione turned back to Neville and said, "Alright there?"
Neville met her sympathetic gaze and flushed, feeling angry and humiliated, "Fine." The yoke was drying fast, crusting over almost as quickly as he tried to rub it off. Hermione shifted from one foot to the next, clearly anxious to do what she had wanted to do before, so Neville said, "I'm going to go...wash this off." He walked away, then, careful to avoid the floating poltergeist in case of another assault. Neville thought that this wasn't turning out to be the best day. He was dirty, confused and wavering. Neville kept hearing Hermione saying, 'Don't tell Harry, Neville; that's very important.' Neville trusted Hermione and had been friends with her ever since she first helped him find a missing Trevor the toad on the train on the way to Hogwarts on their first year. But Harry, Harry was his friend, too. Who defeated Voldemort several times and lost Sirius... Neville shook his head before slipping into the boy's lavatory. He would trust Hermione; it had never failed him before. At least, not yet, he couldn't help but think sadly. Was he going to regret this decision?