The volume in Bar 47 dropped to a virtual silence as the door opened and the latest patron walked in. The trendy wine and cocktail venue was the haunt of choice for the young professionals of magical London, with its laid-back ambience and subdued lighting making it feel like something out of a Muggle film noir movie. And the sudden drop in atmosphere tonight made it feel like the anti-hero had just entered the joint.

After all, it wasn't every night that the Senior Minister of the Interior came by for a drink.

"Madam Weasley," said a simpering voice from one of the shaded booths near the door. "Is there something wrong?"

Hermione turned with an amused smirk to the young wizard who had hurried up to her. He was one of her under secretaries. "No, Billingsley, everything's fine. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Ma'am, you don't normally come in here," Billingsley replied. "Not unless you have an armed Auror escort and are looking to make an arrest."

"That was only one time," Hermione replied, somewhat dismissively. "In any case, I had good cause. Amos Diggory was making revenge death threats against my nephew."

"Not his smartest move!" Billingsley grimaced back.

"Quite," Hermione agreed.

"So … what are you doing here, Ma'am?"

"The same as everyone else, I imagine," said Hermione in a haughty voice. "Having a post-work wind down drink."

"You … wind-down?" Billingsley joked.

"Of a fashion," Hermione smirked.

"Well, if you like -" Billingsley tried, awkwardly.

But Hermione cut him off swiftly. "I think there should always be a certain professional distance maintained between senior management and their employees. And besides, I have no intention of spoiling your evening by imposing my presence on your party. So you can relax.

"Thank you, though, for the offer."

Billingsley wrung his hands and tried not to look too relieved. "If you're sure, Ma'am. But, if you change your mind, we have plenty of room."

"Thank you, but I wont," Hermione told him, firmly. "Enjoy your weekend and I shall see you on Monday."

"Very good, Ma'am," Billingsley simpered, before scuttling back to his booth.

Hermione allowed herself an internal chuckle before moving on herself. She ordered herself a cocktail instead of her usual red wine. She fancied something fruity, something indulgent for a change. Then she moved to a shadowy corner to nurse it while she considered her day.

Actually, she was considering more than just her day. It had been a whole week since her meeting with Harry Potter and the strange vision that his visit had caused. And she was still no closer to understanding any of it. She spent much of her work time gazing at the London Eye from her office window, trying to get a handle on this curious phenomenon she was experiencing. She even went and took a ride on it, just to see if it would stir other memories in her mind.

It didn't, but the one she already had was more than enough to occupy her thoughts anyway. She had focused on little else for the past seven days, on the idea that she might have lived another life, a life married to Harry Potter where they had raised a family together.

And she couldn't deny that it had stoked some dormant embers in her. There had always been this 'niggle' for Hermione where Harry was concerned. It was like an incessant itch that she had never been able to scratch, and she was nervously unsure if the scratching would make the itch go away or possibly make it worse. So there was a huge part of her that was glad of their estrangement, as who knows what might have happened if they'd stayed close once their lives had settled down in adulthood.

But these visions seemed to hint at that what might have been. And there was something quite lovely about it that Hermione wished she didn't feel. But it was simmering there in spite of her internal protests, and she was at pains to work out why.

She supposed it was because she wasn't as satisfied in her life as she should be, which didn't make sense in her ordered brain as she pretty much ticked every box. She had a loving husband, who she loved equally in return, two beautiful children, and a job that allowed her to have a real influence in the world. So, in her list of 'How to Win at Life', Hermione was content that she had it all.

Though still, something was missing.

Part of her was convinced that it was because she wasn't a very good mother. Hermione had accepted long ago that she wasn't naturally maternal, and all the books she'd read on the subject had been of little help. It wasn't down to a lack of love, as she doted on her children fiercely, but forming relationships had never been the easiest thing in her life, and this applied to her own babies, too. They had just never bonded as deeply as other parents and children, and Hermione had always been melancholy about this.

It helped that Ron was such an excellent father, so good that he made up for Hermione's shortcomings as a Mum. He was playful and exuberant, surprisingly patient (though sometimes he gave the kids too much leverage), always there for a laugh and a joke. Hermione was the one forcing the children to sit down and learn to read through flashcards, while Ron taught them to recognise the words for 'chocolate' and 'ice cream' by offering the treats as a reward.

It was little surprise that Rose and Hugo both preferred Daddy to Mummy, really. But between them, Ron and Hermione had made their parental unit work.

Which made it such a pity that they hadn't been so good at their marriage. The early years had been great, full of passion and adventure, but when the serious and sombre business of marriage and family came along this 'new relationship' euphoria slowly began to dwindle.

And it was neither of their faults, really. It hadn't taken long for them to realise that there were certain incompatibilities in their relationship, things that had come to a head a couple of years ago, and had led to a trial separation. Hermione had gone to stay with Percy and his wife, Penelope, for a couple of weeks, and it was to this fellow 'Mrs. Weasley' that Hermione had eventually poured her heart out to. They were pretty close anyway, having bonded over sharing their experiences of Petrification for Rolf Scamander-Lovegood's best-selling book on Basilisks.

"It's not my fault, Pen, it really isn't," Hermione had wept. "I haven't done anything wrong, besides having a successful career."

"Is that what this is about?" Penny scoffed. "I thought there must have been an affair involved at least."

Hermione blinked soberly. "Why do you think one of us would have had an affair?"

"Oh, well," Penny replied, awkwardly. "It's the natural assumption, isn't it? Why else would you take some time apart? But tell me about the real reason. I don't understand."

"It's about my job, or maybe it's about his," Hermione began. "He doesn't think that a joke shop owner is a suitable career for the husband of a potential Minister for Magic. I've never said that, and I don't know if people have been putting ideas in his head or what, but it turns out that he has this simmering resentment against me because of my job.

"But I tried telling him, making people laugh and be happy is such a worthwhile thing. What he does is such a good service to the magical community. But he's having none of it, says I'm just pacifying him, massaging his ego. And that led to other arguments, too."

"Like what?" Penny asked.

"Well, we haven't been … you know … intimate much lately," Hermione mumbled in shame. "You know how it is, Pen, with two kids and two careers besides everything else. Anyway, I accused Ron of not trying hard enough in that department after Hugo … which he didn't … and he said I'd become little more than 'fit and function' in bed as far back as having Rose, which I have to admit I have.

"That led to us listing other inequalities and incompatibilities between us. It all got a little cruel and bitter, ending with him saying that all we really had in common was the kids. That comment hurt the most."

"Which is why you're sleeping in our spare room," Penny nodded, sagely. "How bad is the damage?"

"Bad, but I hope it's not irreparable," Hermione sighed. "But if there's one thing I know about my husband, it's that he can hold a grudge."

Luckily, Ron's grudge only lasted a week. He came with a grovelling apology, which Hermione readily accepted, but she still took another week to clear her head. She needed some time to take stock and think about all the home truths that she had Ron had shared, no matter how acridly some of them stung.

And it was in that week that she felt her estrangement from Harry Potter as keenly as she ever had. She and Ron often rowed, Hermione grimly acknowledged that it was sort of 'their thing'. But when they were kids she'd always been able to count on Harry for support, or sometimes at least, and if not he'd be the one trying to play peacemaker.

Oh how she could have done with a bit of that during her week with Percy and Penny! For with only her own thoughts for company, Hermione had had no choice but to dwell on the realities that her rows with Ron had exposed. There were inequalities in their relationship. Hermione had always known that, but what she hadn't known was how much Ron was bothered by them, or by how easily she could turn to them as weapons to use against him.

She was intellectually superior, and Ron couldn't stimulate that in her. He did love Quidditch, and Hermione hadn't so much as seen a Quaffle since Hogwarts. And that was where Harry Potter first drifted into Hermione's mind that week. She realised with a jolt of surprise that she'd only ever enjoyed Quidditch when Harry was playing. That was an odd realisation, but it led to others, too.

Such as the understanding that she'd probably never have even become friends with Ron if it weren't for Harry, let alone go on to marry him. It had been Harry's decision to run so stupidly her aid when that troll got into Hogwarts, and the three of them became friends almost by default after that. Previously, Ron couldn't stand to be anywhere near Hermione, not that she could blame him. She had been so pompous and annoying that it was a surprise that anyone could tolerate her.

But then she thought more about Harry and his forgiving and selfless nature. He had forgiven Ron for some serious misdemeanors against him, and even forgiven Hermione for the odd trespass, even though they were far less serious. Hermione accepted that Harry had kept them both close when he might have been expected to push them away, allowing their own relationship to form around him.

And that was a stark thought … was Harry the glue that kept Ron and Hermione together? Was he the thing in common that they shared the most? Did it explain why they were slowly drifting apart the less and less time Harry spent in their lives?

It certainly got her to thinking about her estrangement from Harry. He was usually so forgiving … he'd forgiven Ron for abandoning him at key times when he needed him badly, and every row with Hermione had been resolved in a relatively short time. They'd never stayed mad at each other for very long.

Except for this time. And Hermione had never even been sure what it had all been about to start with. She thought about this as she ordered a second cocktail to keep her company. It reminded her of the time when she was due to meet Harry for a secret date. She'd ordered a couple of cocktails then, to drown her racing nerves about it. She was with Ron, he was going to propose …

But still, there was this niggle about Harry …

"I wonder what would have happened if he'd turned up?" Hermione thought. "What if we'd had a good time, good enough to go on a second date? Who knows … we might have …"

But she quickly checked that thought, for it felt awfully close to cerebral cheating. And Hermione knew that was pretty much the same as the real thing. But then that memory slipped into her mind again, the memory of her with Lyra on the London Eye. Hold on … that wasn't the memory. She had told Harry she was pregnant, not taken their daughter for a spin on the giant wheel.

So why could she remember that, too?

Then there were voices in her head, strange yet deeply familiar. Maybe it was the cocktail, maybe she was going insane. But she closed her eyes to listen to them.

"Mummy, Mummy, do you see that big thing over there?" an excited little girl was asking.

"I do," Hermione replied. "It's very big, isn't it? How could I miss it?"

"But do you know what it is?" the girl went on eagerly.

"I think so, but why don't you tell me?" Hermione encouraged.

"It's called the Monument, and it's to do with the big fire from 1666."

"They call it 'The Great Fire', don't they?"

"Oh yes, I forgot," the girl huffed. She sounded cross with herself, and Hermione swooned at the cuteness in her voice. "The Great Fire of London. That's right, Mummy. Well, did you know that if you lay it on the ground it reaches right to where the fire started?"

"Does it really? And where was that to?"

"At a baker's shop on Pudding Lane," the girl explained, proudly. "The baker was called Thomas Farynor and he was the King's baker. That means he made all the King's bread, you know. But I bet he wasn't allowed to after that, not after setting fire to all of London."

"No, I imagine not!" Hermione chuckled. "You are a very clever girl, Lyra Potter, do you know that? I think that's earned an ice cream at Mr Fortescue's."

"Ooh, can I, Mummy? I like pecan and banana the best," little Lyra sang.

"Then pecan and banana it is for my favourite girl," Hermione smiled, scooping her daughter up for a hug. She'd never quite gotten over how much she loved this girl, how she even had this much love in her to give to another human being. It never ceased to astonished her. But there was another human she loved quite as much, and the girl in her arms felt quite the same way about him.

"Can Daddy come for ice cream?" Lyra asked sweetly. "I know he likes ice cream, too."

"Yes he does," Hermione agreed. "Let's ask him, shall we?"

And with that, Hermione drew her wand and cast her Patronus, which she sent off with the invitation to her husband. She and Lyra watched the silvery unicorn galloping away as they crossed Westminster Bridge, chatting merrily about how Muggles never noticed anything, did they?

Hermione snapped awake from her daydream, her heart thumping hard in her chest. The straw with which she had been sipping her cocktail fell from her open mouth and sank beneath the surface of the peach coloured liquid. The memory was replaying in her mind, vivid and tangible as if she'd just been there. She half expected to see her non-existent other daughter race up to her chair and jump into her lap for a squeeze. But that would be against Bar 47 policy, as it didn't allow children in.

Perhaps they'd make an exception for Harry and Hermione Potter.

Hermione hissed as though scorched. She hadn't tried that name out in her mind since she was fifteen, and she'd almost forgotten that she ever had. But the memories flooded back to her now, of how she'd covered the margins of her Fifth Year Hogwarts textbooks with little hearts, inside which she'd written the initials HJP 4 HJG. It was the first time she'd realised that they'd have matching initials if they got married.

And this was the thought that sobered her quicker than a Sobriety Potion. She was married, they both were, to life partners they'd chosen as teenagers. It struck Hermione then how peculiar that was. They'd had extreme lives as children, for sure, but they hadn't lived enough to make such monumental decisions so young. But they had, and perhaps neither had really thought them through.

For Hermione knew that Harry was unhappy, perhaps feeling as unfilled with life as she. Hermione had read all that in the narrative of his expressions when she had seen him last week. She'd have stopped short of calling him miserable, but not by much. His entire body language screamed of a man with no energy, of one who had lost his passionate nature.

And then her mind drifted back to that snatched moment under the mistletoe … a moment where Harry had been anything but lacking passion.

Hermione's fingers drifted involuntarily to her lips, tracing their shape, perhaps hoping to stumble upon some residue that Harry's mouth had left there. It was the best kiss she'd had in years, she couldn't deny that, even though it hadn't come from her own husband. The guilt of the realisation had been enough to steel Hermione's determination to keep up this barrier with Harry, even though she wished it had never existed in the first place.

And that got her thinking about firsts, and dragged her mind back to her memory. "My Patronus is an otter. Or, at least, my first one was. I know Patronuses can change, but why to a unicorn?"

Then she thought about Harry's Patronus, his famous stag, and gasped lowly. She knew enough about alchemy to swiftly make the connection … for in that ancient art, the stag and the unicorn were symbolic mates.

"Is … is that why my Patronus changed?" she thought wildly. "To match Harry's in this subtle way? Wow."

Then she shook her head dismissively. None of this was real! Her Patronus was still an otter, even though she could feel a unicorn grumbling about the fact deep inside her. No she couldn't, she was just imagining things, putting feelings in her heart that weren't really there. That definitely shouldn't be there. She was married to Ron, she loved Ron, despite their problems. Their Patronuses matched in 'real' life.

But aren't Jack Russells known for hunting otters? a small voice whispered to her.

That cheered Hermione a moment, at the idea of Ron chasing her until he got her. But then she thought about his teeth ripping out her delicate throat and she frowned at the image. It wasn't quite as harmonious as the stag and unicorn gambolling lovingly through the mythical forest as symbolic equals, nor as startling as the idea of making a family with Harry, who she rapidly understood would have made a far more equal partner for her.

"Stop this, Hermione. These are just stupid daydreams of another world. They aren't real."

What she hadn't realised was that she'd said this out loud.

"It is said that when two universes collide, they can leave bruises on each other," whispered a deep voice to Hermione's left. "Sometimes these bruises heal … and sometimes they can leave permanent marks. Has your universe been bruised, Mrs Weasley?"

Hermione snapped her head to her left. She wasn't about to ask how this stranger knew her, as most people knew who she was, so she asked the next obvious question.

"What are you talking about?"

The hooded stranger leant in close. "I know that things have been happening to you, Mrs Weasley, and I'd like to know more. If you'd like to tell me about them, perhaps I can answer some of your questions."

Then he stood up. Hermione noted he was unusually tall. He reached out and slipped a card onto Hermione's table.

"Visit me when the curiosity gets too much," the stranger muttered. Then he turned and swept away like a sharp breeze.

Hermione picked up the card and read the tight lettering.

Department of Mysteries, Natures of Reality Division. Curator: Seven of Nine.

"Seven of Nine? Catchy name," Hermione mumbled to herself. "Well, Mr Seven, you have my attention. Let's see if you can tell me something about myself that I don't already know."

Then Hermione pocketed the card from the mysterious stranger and went back to her drink, wondering just how long he'd been watching her before he spoke up. It was just one of many questions to ask, when she took up his invitation.