A/N: Honest-to-goodness, last update for this week. I really do need to get my papers and my grading finished.

But I suddenly know where the story is going again, so I wanted to write this chapter before it could get away.

Many, many thanks to all the people who have reviewed! To those who asked about what Malfoy was doing, how did Hagrid become Headmaster, etc., I'll ask you to have faith; those things will be explained. (And if I forget something, feel free to prod me!) I just can't tell them now without ruining the story.

SPASH Panther: Ron and this Harry are friends with Hermione. Sorry if it didn't seem that way.

Gallandro-83: The stag Harry mentioned was the Patronus he summoned in the third chapter to clear the girls' bathroom out.

And on we go!

The Best of All Possible Worlds

Chapter Six: Where Are You Going, Miss Granger?

"Do you think he really is under a prophecy?"

"How would I know?" The other Harry shook his head, hair falling over his scarless brow into eyes that looked as worried as if this was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Harry longed, intensely, bitterly, for that to be true of him, too. "I just made up those stories. I don't know anyone who actually is under a prophecy."

"But he could be," Ron insisted, walking backwards as Hermione floated Harry out of the bathroom—she'd levitated them all up the pipe—and staring at Harry. "Maybe he ran into this world to escape it."

"Then maybe we can make him tell it to us!" breathed the other Harry, his eyes lighting up. "Then the twins could use it in their joke shop somehow."

Not a chance, Harry thought, and shifted his eyes to the ceiling overhead. It didn't shut off their speculation about him, but at least he didn't have to see the looks they gave him, as if he were an animal in a Muggle zoo.

They rounded what Harry knew was the last corner before the Headmaster's office, and he tried to brace himself. Hagrid is friendly. I just hope he hasn't changed all that much in this world.

"And where are you going, Miss Granger?"

Harry would have run away screaming if he could. As it was, he had to float staring at the ceiling and hope that this would be over soon. Perhaps this world's Snape would just be content to sneer at him, take points from Gryffindor, sneer at the other Harry, take more points from Gryffindor, and stalk away.

"Professor Snape!" squeaked Hermione, sounding remarkably un-prefectlike. She recovered herself a moment later. "We found someone who looks like Harry," she said proudly. "We think he must have come through a mirror. We're taking him to the Headmaster to see what he says about him."

Soft footfalls crossed the floor, and then this world's Snape was peering into his face. Harry glared back. It was the only thing he could do.

"Interesting," breathed Snape, and then whirled and looked at Hermione. "And how am I to know, Miss Granger, that this is the truth, and not just another of the jokes that your bold and exalted House likes to play on its own members?"

Hermione stepped up beside Harry and pulled back his fringe, revealing the scar. Harry floated, and felt more than ever like an exhibit.

It was almost worth it to see Snape's reaction, though.

He actually stumbled backwards, hitting his shoulders on the wall and dropping something that shattered with a sound of breaking glass. His face had gone an unhealthy pale color, which looked even worse on him than his usual sallow one, and he was breathing very fast. He stared at Harry as though he could make the scar go away by sheer wishing. Harry watched in interest. It was too bad he didn't know what he'd done; he could have tried to duplicate the effect on his own Snape when he got home.

Another wave of worry swept him. If I ever get home.

Hermione interrupted both Harry's thoughts and the muffled snickers of the other Harry and Ron. "Professor? Are you all right?"

Snape was already straightening, his robes billowing about him as though nothing had happened. "Quite," he said chillingly. "And I do not know why you permitted yourself to rush to conclusions, Miss Granger. A young witch of your obvious intelligence—" the sneer on that word was massive "—should have considered other options before turning to the Duplicis Theory. This is undoubtedly one of your Housemates playing a rather bad joke. I understand that with the Weasley twins gone, you feel a need to uphold House traditions, but this is idiotic even for Gryffindors."

"Professor—" Hermione began.

"It could be Polyjuice Potion!" Harry heard his own voice say, and rolled his eyes. "Didn't you think of that, Professor? You should, being a Potions Master and everything."

There was a very long silence from Snape's direction. The other Harry and Ron were still snickering. Harry wondered idly if they didn't know how to read their Snape's moods as well as he did, or if this Snape was usually kinder. When the icy voice started speaking again, slowly, menacingly, he decided it was the former.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for impugning the intelligence of a Professor. Fifteen points from Gryffindor for insulting me personally. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being disgracefully stupid; the Polyjuice Potion, assuming anyone was stupid enough to steal from me to make it, would produce a perfect copy, without the scar. And twenty-five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for using magic on a fellow student. I shall take this troublemaker back to my own offices and find out which of your Housemates it is. You will return to your tower immediately, and not stir out for the rest of the evening. Do I make myself clear?"

"Hey!" Ron broke in indignantly. "We might have prefect duties."

"You are excused them for the evening," Snape said, voice softer and colder still. "And Mr. Potter. If this does turn out to be a case of Duplicis, I expect you to stand ready to answer some harsh questions."

"I don't understand, Professor Snape," said the other Harry. Harry himself sighed. Does he always whine?

"Doubles do not usually emerge from their mirrors unless something is very wrong in one world or another," said Snape smoothly. "Sometimes, however, an untruth great enough can draw them through. I have heard stories of prophecies and evil wizards. I believe you were spreading them last year…?"

Sullen silence.

"If you do not want to admit them, then they are all the likelier to be true," said Snape, now sounding almost cheerful again. "Twenty-five points from Gryffindor for being a liar, Mr. Potter. Mobilicorpus." He waved his wand at Harry, who felt himself floating in a new direction, back down towards the dungeons. He scowled a little and wondered if he would ever get to walk anywhere under his own power.

For a time, he could hear voices behind him, what sounded like Hermione sniffling and Ron and the other Harry cursing Professor Snape, Potions, and Slytherins in general. Then they began to descend, and the sounds were lost.

"What I told young Mr. Potter is quite true."

Harry started a little. His own Snape had never shown an urge to chat with him. He had assumed that this one wouldn't want to talk to him, either.

"Duplicis is very rare," Snape went on, eyes fixed on the hallway ahead as if there were something fascinating in the shadows. "The word means doubled, of course, and in that sense it does mean one double forced out of his own world. But it can also mean deceitful. A double can emerge as the result of deceit on the part of someone in our own, normal world." Harry seethed at the implication that his own world wasn't normal, but remained silent. If the Snape of this world was a Legilimens, he gave no sign that he had noticed Harry's thoughts. "I do not know if Mr. Potter's lies were egregious enough to push the balance between worlds out of place, but I would not be surprised." His voice sneered. "I once knew his father quite well, and there is no lie that James Potter would not speak."

Harry just stayed quiet. It seemed the best course. He had no idea what might have happened in this world to make Snape hate his dad; it just appeared he did. At least the way he talked made it seem like James was still alive.

They entered Snape's office, and Snape snapped, "Finite Incantatum." Harry fell hard enough to bounce on the floor. He winced, as the bruises from his previous falls and the blackness from what he almost thought was a concussion all protested. He stood up at once, felt for his wand, and then cursed softly. Ron had taken it.

"So you do have a tongue." Snape stalked over to the other side of his desk, which was piled high with papers, books, and unpleasant-looking rolls of what was probably skin. "Explain to me your name and where you came from, then."

Harry studied Snape carefully. Not the ally he would have chosen. On the other hand, he wasn't getting out of here, most likely, until he gave an explanation that satisfied this world's Snape. He probably couldn't use the Duplicis Theory, either, since he hadn't come through a mirror.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said at last.

"And you are from another world?" Snape's voice as he leaned forward across the desk was almost lazy, but he had a pale shadow of the same intense look he had given Harry's scar earlier. Harry stared at him. Snape might be interested in someone from another world, yes, but why was he acting this way?

"Yes," he said simply. "I don't know what happened. I got hit by a lightning bolt, and I was here." The simple pleasure of telling someone made him start talking haphazardly, almost forgetting what he was saying. "I woke up in Godric's Hollow. It was so strange. My parents were alive, or my Mum anyway, and my other self is so different from me. He can't speak Parseltongue, and he doesn't have the scar, and he's such a prat, and—"

"You speak Parseltongue?"

Harry looked up, and saw Snape's wand pointed right at him. He promptly froze, and cursed himself. Everyone hates Parselmouths here, it seems.

"Yes," he said carefully.

"Naturally?"

What the hell does that mean? Harry thought, but didn't see why it was any of Snape's business. "Of course," he said. The business of Voldemort and the scar and that possible means of talking to snakes wasn't something he cared to go into while Snape was glaring down his wand at him.

Snape let out a small breath and lowered his wand at last, though he didn't let go of it. "I see," he said. "Then it is entirely possible that you may be Potter's dark reflection." The idea seemed to amuse him, at least judging from the way his eyes narrowed. "And you would be in Slytherin as well?"

Why not? Harry thought. Time to see how well I can lie. "Of course," he said blandly.

Snape didn't seem to notice anything wrong. "Then I suppose you will not object if I bring one of your Housemates in this world into the matter," he said, stalking towards the door. Harry wondered idly if the man had any means of motion that was not stalking, gliding, or the equivalent. Snape pivoted, robes billowing behind him, and glared. "She is a young woman of extraordinary tact and intelligence. I trust that what she says will not leave this room. May I depend on you for that as well?"

"I only want to go home," said Harry.

"That doesn't answer my question," said Snape, his wand rising a little.

Harry held onto his temper. He could imagine all the hexes he wanted, but he couldn't perform them without his wand, and it would be best not to start something with Snape he couldn't finish. "I promise."

Snape nodded once. "Stay here. And don't touch anything," he added, as though Harry had to be told. He didn't quite slam the door, but he did shut it behind him very hard.

Harry sat down in an uncomfortable chair, and rubbed his head. If the pain grew bad enough, he would have to ask Snape to do something about it. The blackness was going away, though, so maybe it wasn't a concussion after all.

No, he realized after a moment, it was something else, a pain in a most familiar place. Harry's hand moved around to the front of his forehead, and the scar.

"Damn it, not now," he muttered.

The pain grew steadily worse, and the flashes of darkness swirled around Harry again, this time taking on recognizable shapes. He could see a pale gleam off to the side that was surely a face, and then hear a voice speaking Parseltongue. His stomach seized, and a roll of nausea traveled through him. There is a Voldemort in this world after all, he's just lain low, and he wants—

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry jerked his head up, and the darkness and the pain retreated almost at once. Snape was standing in the doorway, his eyes narrowed. Behind him, peering over his shoulder with a face that held a mixture of disgust and fascination, was Pansy Parkinson.

"What's a Gryffindor doing in your office, Professor?" she asked.

"Not a Gryffindor, Miss Parkinson," said Snape, stalking towards Harry again. "He only looks like one. He is a Slytherin in his own world." He knelt in front of Harry and reached up to tilt his head back and forth with surprisingly gentle hands. "Did you receive a knock on the skull when I dropped you?"

"Before that," said Harry with some difficulty, blinking as though he was fighting to keep awake. He didn't want to reveal the pain through the scar yet. "When Ron and Hermione and Har—the other Harry caught me."

"I see," said Snape, his lips thinning. "No, he would not be careful." He stood up and moved towards the racks of Potions on the walls, adding over his shoulder, "Miss Parkinson, please look him in the eyes."

Harry's uneasiness grew as Pansy stepped in front of him. She looked exactly as pug-faced as Pansy did in his own world, but far more determined, in a way that reminded him of a cruel Hermione. She stared into his eyes, and Harry felt the familiar touch of a mind searching his own, sifting his memories.

Harry Occluded his mind as best he could, and glared at her. Pansy stepped back a moment later, looking faintly surprised. "He does come from another world, Professor," she added over her shoulder, without taking her gaze off Harry. "I can see Dumbledore still alive there." She paused, and gave Harry an appraising glance. "And Sirius Black is dead."

"What a wonderful world you must live in," said Snape dryly, coming back with a bottle of something dark green. "Do drink it all, Mr. Potter."

Harry divided his gaze between the bottle and Pansy. Snape probably didn't have any particular reason to hate him, but he had had Pansy read his mind, without explaining beforehand what would happen. And then there was the crack about Sirius. Harry wasn't feeling very trusting.

"Drink up, Mr. Potter," said Snape, his voice gone distinctly cooler, and Harry drank. The potion didn't taste too bad, though it did feel thick and slimy as it slid down his throat, and the pain in his head vanished almost at once. Harry gave the bottle back with a nod of thanks, and Snape sat down before him, regarding him thoughtfully.

"I suppose that you'll want me to go to the Headmaster?" Harry asked, when some moments had passed with both Snape and Pansy staring at him. Pansy didn't try Legilimency on him again, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't know if he could have kept his anger and uneasiness tucked away from her, or the reasons for them.

Snape laughed aloud, the sound abrupt as a crow's call. Harry jumped, and Pansy smirked at him. "Ah, yes, of course," said Snape. "The Headmaster will immediately begin to research magical creatures that can pass through mirrors, and in two dozen years he may have found a way to send you home." He paused, the laughter gone as though chopped off, and glared at Harry. "Slytherins care for their own. We will care for you, for though you wear the outer form of Harry Potter, you do not have his mind. But you must keep quiet, do you understand? Stay hidden in my office. Keep your word not to speak of the matter outside this room. I will bring you food and do research on a magical means of sending you home. But you must not reveal yourself until such a time as I deem that you may do so, if that ever happens."

Harry felt a flash of anger at having to trust Snape this way. Pansy promptly looked hard at him. Harry looked away and summoned what Occlumency he could control, half-shutting his eyes.

"I understand," he said.

"Good," said Snape, with a short nod of his head, and then turned to Pansy. "Miss Parkinson, have you further information to report to me on Mr. Malfoy's activities?"

"No, Professor Snape," said Pansy carefully, with a glance at Harry that Snape blatantly ignored.

"Then you may leave. I believe that I nearly made you late for a meeting with him."

Pansy nodded, and hurried out the door. Harry looked at Snape, who cut him off before he could even begin to speak. "Internal Slytherin matters. Quite irrelevant to you, as you are not long for this world. Do not inquire about them."

Harry sighed, wondering if the his own Slytherins acted like this among themselves. "Yes, sir. Do you have a place I can sleep?"

Snape transfigured the chair in which Harry sat to a mattress without a word. Harry fell hard onto it, but didn't give Snape the satisfaction of making any outcry.

He fell asleep immediately, despite the fleeting thoughts of his Invisibility Cloak, down in the tunnel, or his wand, with Ron.

~*~

"There can be no doubt, then?" The voice was soft and eager. "The boy has vanished completely?"

"From what I was able to determine, Master." The voice was squeaking, considerably higher-pitched than the first one, and shaking now and then. "I c-could not find a trace of him."

"Excellent, Wormtail." A pale hand moved into view, caressing the head of a great snake coiled beside the chair. "Of course, it could be a trick of the old fool, so we will wait before attacking. But prod our associates in the Ministry on anyway. I want the Death Eaters gathered to attack on—"

~*~

"Mr. Potter!"

The harsh hiss of the whisper brought Harry awake at once. Trembling, he opened his eyes and looked at Snape, who shook him hard.

"I should like to ask you what kind of nightmares are severe enough to make a Slytherin scream," he hissed. "But there is an enemy coming, and he must not know you are here. Do not move, no matter what you may see or hear."

Harry, shaken with thoughts of a Voldemort in this world coming nearer and nearer, nodded. Snape flicked his wand, murmuring something Harry couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart, and Harry saw the room dim and blur. He blinked, resisting the urge to wave a hand and see if there was really a cloak of some kind stretched over him.

Snape whirled away, just as the door opened without a knock. Harry strained his eyes, wondering if it was Voldemort, or Wormtail. What kind of attack had he been ordering? Was Snape a Death Eater in this world? Had he just walked straight into a trap without knowing it?

But the light caught on pale hair as the other figure stepped into the room and smiled at Snape. Harry held himself still, resisting the urge to shut his eyes and hope this was all just part of his dream. He was glad that he didn't have his wand now, or he thought he might have tried Crucio again, with distinctly better results.

"Greetings, Severus," said a voice that Harry also knew too well for his own good. "I believe you know what I have come about."

"Lucius," said Snape, with the barest inclination of his head. "What can I do to help?"