A/N: Well, here I am, with another chapter! Sorry for the delay, but since schoolwork's out of the way now, I should be able to update more often.

Thank you so much for the reviews! Everyone asked very good questions…which I'm afraid I can't answer yet. This chapter does give some more hints, though, especially about what world Harry's dreams come from.

And back we go again. I keep thinking up more problems to dump on "our" Harry. Poor kid.

The Best of All Possible Worlds

Chapter Seven: The Star of Morning

"You can do much to help me," said Lucius, and then his voice deepened as though he was going to make some sort of grand pronouncement. "If you want to help, of course."

Snape watched him calmly. Harry, blinking now and then from the sweat creeping into his eyes, thought that he saw a tiny flinch at the corner of the man's face, but none of it made its way into his expression. "Of course I want to help, Lucius. You know that I share your goals."

That evidently wasn't the kind of thing the Death Eater—although who knows if he's a Death Eater in this world? Harry thought—wanted to hear. He stared at Snape, who stared back. There was a long moment when Harry wondered if they would do anything else, and if not, whether it might be possible for him to slip past them and out into the corridor. Then he remembered that the spell masking him wasn't an Invisibility Cloak, and couldn't be trusted to move with him. He resigned himself to a long space of boredom.

It was broken abruptly when Lucius learned forward and pulled out something small and white from a pocket in his robes. "Can you deny that you would have liked to get your hands on this?" he asked, holding it just out of an easy grasp.

Snape drew in his breath sharply. Harry squinted, but could make out nothing more threatening than a tiny crystal ball. It looked like the kind of thing Professor Trelawney would squint into before proclaiming that he would die a particularly nasty and permanent death this time. Harry supposed it had to be more than that, since it seemed to affect Snape so much, but he didn't know what—

Then Lucius moved the thing.

It flashed and glittered, and light seemed to rush into it. In seconds, it was filled with glittering green dots, joined by blue ones. Harry rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, but saw nothing there that could be causing the reflections.

"The Star of Morning," said Lucius, in a deeply reverent voice that seemed designed to make Snape cower.

Snape only stared, though, then shook his head. "And the dots?"

"Why do you think I sought it?" Lucius asked, voice growing sharper. "The green lights are purebloods, all the purebloods in Hogwarts." He tilted the ball again, and smiled as the dots stayed in place, the radiance that shone into it growing brighter. "The blue ones are Mudbloods." For a moment, his face contorted, and Harry caught a glimpse of the man he had seen that night in the Department of Mysteries. It made him shiver and pull back further on the mattress, then freeze as he wondered if that had disrupted the masking spell. But Lucius didn't glance at him, instead spitting the next words with a particularly dedicated disdain. "And the Star of Morning will do what the legends say it will do. It will eliminate the Mudbloods." He lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Snape, and Harry really wished he could see the Professor's face at that moment. "If we can only find a group of wizards strong and dedicated enough to use it."

There was a long moment where Snape only breathed, and Harry stared at the Star. It was glowing innocently enough now, though it didn't lose those dots again. Could it really do that? I've never heard of anything like that at home—

In my own world, right. I suppose that something like that could easily exist here.

"I must think about this," said Snape at last, his voice thick with an emotion that Harry couldn't identify. "You know that I cannot risk exposing myself at the moment—"

"I said nothing about 'at the moment,' did I?" Lucius asked, and tucked the Star of Morning into a pocket of his robes. "No, by all means, wait to commit. We are using the old fool's death, and the new fool's ascension, to maneuver our people into place anyway. Wait, Severus." He turned away, his robes billowing, then threw the last words back over his shoulder in what Harry thought was an unnecessarily dramatic gesture. "But don't wait too long."

He swept out, and the door shut. Snape stood staring at it, and didn't appear to breathe now. Harry wondered how long he was supposed to wait under the protection of the spell, which was becoming steadily more stifling and uncomfortable.

At last Snape whirled around and stalked over, dispelling the magic with a whispered word. Then he grabbed Harry's robes and stared into his eyes.

"You will tell no one of what you saw here tonight," he said in a whisper that left flecks of spit on Harry's cheeks. "You understand me?"

Harry managed to hold his gaze, and nod. Of course he was going to break his word if he thought he had to. Someone should know—

Then the bitterness, and the realization, came crashing down on him again. Who should know? He was in a world far from home, a world where no one would stop to help him, and where everyone seemed ready to believe that he was evil for speaking Parseltongue. Harry bowed his head.

Seeming satisfied with the boy's air of defeat, Snape laid him back down. "In the morning, we will speak again," he said. "Sleep until—"

The door of the office burst back open, and Pansy Parkinson ran in, looking on the verge of tears. "Professor? I have to speak to you right away, it's urgent—"

This time, Snape seized her arm and swept her out of the office. Harry sighed and lay back down on the mattress, still shaking a little.

It doesn't seem fair that everyone who's Muggle-born here could die from the Star of Morning, he thought drowsily. But I don't know what to do about it. I suppose I should wait and see what happens.

The darkness took him once again.

And then the voices, and the faces.

~*~

"I can find no sign of Harry Potter, Master." That voice was one Harry knew. He strained his eyes, and hissed when the face of Bellatrix Lestrange came clear through the murky darkness that shrouded the room—wherever it was.

"You are certain?" The voice was full of glee.

"Positive, Master."

The high, cold voice laughed. "What a comfort it is, to have faithful servants," it whispered. "Then we will attack on Halloween. Tell Lucius Malfoy to ready our allies. We will give the old fool Dumbledore a Halloween feast to remember!"

~*~

Harry's eyes flew open, and he controlled the impulse to cry out as Snape came back into the office and eyed him intently.

"More nightmares?" he sneered after a moment.

Harry had no intention of telling him what they were about, so he merely shrugged and said, "What time is it, sir?"

"Nearly morning." Snape set something down beside the mattress with a hard thump. Looking at it, Harry recognized a tray of bread, cheese, and eggs, with a glass of pumpkin juice beside them. "I am going to teach classes today. You are going to stay in my office and not touch anything. Is that clear?"

Harry looked away, as much to escape Snape's gaze as to hide the rebellion in his eyes. "Yes, Professor," he said quietly.

"Good," said Snape, and he actually sounded pleased. "Then we will speak again when my classes are finished." He turned and swept out the door without giving Harry a chance to respond, shutting it firmly behind him. Harry stared after him for a moment, then bit into the eggs. It was the biggest meal he'd had in a day, but it wasn't what was occupying his thoughts right now.

Those dreams were from home. They had to be, since Voldemort was talking about Dumbledore. Harry still wasn't sure where Voldemort was in this world, but he didn't think that it mattered. He had to get home, and stop the attack that was going to happen on Halloween. Or maybe even prevent it, since Voldemort seemed set to attack only because he wasn't there.

There was, of course, the problem that he had no idea how to get home. And then there was Lucius Malfoy and the Star of Morning. Someone had to be told, and Snape and Pansy didn't seem inclined to go to Hagrid. Harry was the only one who could do something.

Harry scowled and controlled the impulse to throw the roll he held across the room. Why am I always the one who has to save the bloody world?

But no one showed up to answer that, or explain, or apologize, so Harry sighed heavily and went back to eating his breakfast.

~*~

By what Harry thought was about noon, given that dozens of feet had trampled past the office to the Great Hall not too long ago, he was bored. No, not just bored, he thought, as he paced for the fiftieth time under the shelves that held racks of potions. Bored was when he was content to look at the potions and wonder what each one of them did. He was deathly bored, in which he wanted to take the potions from the racks and try them one by one.

His thoughts had continued to churn around the problems of getting home and stopping Malfoy, neither of which he seemed able to do anything about. Then they had turned around, and hit on something very simple: two small problems that he could do something about.

Ron has my wand. And the Invisibility Cloak is down near the Chamber. I have to get both of them back before I can leave, anyway.

Those two things made Snape's advice—well, command—not to leave his office look very small in comparison.

I can go right now, while everyone's at lunch, Harry reasoned, edging slowly towards the door. He wouldn't put it past Snape to have established a guard on it, maybe Pansy. No one will notice me.

He listened very hard, and heard nothing. Then he opened the door—

And felt rather silly when no one jumped out at him, cursing his name or telling him to go back in the office right now. Harry let out his breath, and grinned a little sheepishly. I knew everyone was in the Great Hall.

He set off, keeping his eyes on the floor and his fringe swept forward over his lightning bolt scar as much as he could. If someone was coming out of the Hall, they would probably think he was just this world's Harry Potter scurrying away to look up obscure information somewhere.

Well, maybe not, Harry had to admit. Does he even do that, I wonder? He didn't have to defeat Voldemort, either when he was a baby or when he came to Hogwarts. Maybe this Hermione's the only one out of them who uses the Library.

He was just passing the gargoyle that marked the Headmaster's office when it slid aside. Harry jumped, then hurried faster than ever, planning to have his back to whoever it was when he came out.

It didn't work. A voice that seemed no more than vaguely familiar called out, "Prankster! Where are you going?"

Harry took a deep breath, tried to calm his wildly pounding heart, reminded himself to act like a prat, and turned around.

A man with some very slight streaks of gray in otherwise very dark hair strode towards him, smiling. His eyes shone in a way that Harry supposed Fred and George Weasley's would when they were grown up, and he reached out and clasped Harry in a hug before Harry could even think of resisting. "I came to school specifically to see you," he said into Harry's shoulder. "Quite a greeting for your dad, to run away like that!"

Harry froze, and closed his eyes. For a second, he was sure that he was going to crack apart and just start sobbing hysterically.

Then he reminded himself that he didn't have time for that. This wasn't really his dad. His dad had died at Voldemort's hands. This was James Potter, the other Harry's father. It helped, though not much.

At least Harry didn't crack and start crying when he stepped back and managed a wan grin at James—think of him that way, not as your father, it'll help.

"That's better!" James grinned at him, and ruffled his hair. He really did look almost exactly like the memory in Snape's Pensieve, Harry thought, staring at him. The gray was the only touch of age. "Now, what do you say you come with me? Headmaster Hagrid told me you don't have any classes right after lunch, and I have something important to talk to you about." He grinned a moment longer, then blinked. "What happened to you, Prankster? Did you fall down the stairs?"

"Something like that," Harry muttered, trying to make his voice as sheepish as possible. "I, uh, let out that insect in Professor Flitwick's class yesterday." He prayed desperately that the insect was something James had given the other Harry.

It seemed James had. He roared with laughter and started tugging Harry along towards the front doors, chuckling and speaking at the same time, which Harry had thought was impossible. "Did it work? Did it grow as much as it was supposed to? Did it fall to the floor when you were done with it? Tell me all about it!"

Harry tried to give the kind of cheery responses that he hoped the other Harry would give, and kept his head bowed whenever he could get away with it. Who knew what would happen if James saw his scar? But James seemed more inclined to listen to the sound of his own voice, and by the time he'd hauled Harry out to the Quidditch Pitch, he was already full of advice on what they should do next time to stop the insect from attacking them.

"…and add a few more powdered salamander scales to the mix next time," James finished, with an enthusiastic clap of his hands. It was the first time he'd let go of Harry's arm since grabbing him in the hall, and Harry rubbed it unobtrusively. Then James spun around again, and Harry almost jumped. His face had gone grim in seconds. "I have something very important to talk to you about, Prankster."

"That's what you said, sir," said Harry, before he could stop himself. James didn't look far from Snape when he had that kind of expression on.

James chuckled for a moment, and then the gray mood returned. "Too much time around your mother," he said. "She tries to make you mind your manners all the time, doesn't she?"

Harry nodded, remembering the way Lily had ordered the other Harry around.

"Well, Harry, that's what I actually wanted to talk to you about," said James, his face shutting down even further. He turned away and kicked at something on the ground, sending it flying. Harry waited as patiently as he could, all the time wishing the other Harry was out here instead. Then James turned sharply back around. "The thing is, ever since I divorced your mother—"

What? Harry screamed inwardly, but just bowed his head.

"—I've been thinking that I don't really want to stay in Britain anymore. Get out in other parts of the world, learn some things I should have learned when I was in school, you know?" He sighed. "I'm moving to France, son. I thought you should be the first to know."

Harry swallowed slowly. He had no idea what the other Harry would have said, so he had to pretend. He just lifted his head and fixed his eyes on James's instead. "Oh," he said quietly.

James was talking on; if he noticed Harry's reaction at all, he probably mistook it for shock. "And that means that I wouldn't see you as much." He stared moodily off into the distance. "Not that Lily lets me see you much now."

"I know," said Harry, still mumbling.

"So." James took a deep breath and turned around again. "I didn't think he would agree to it, but Headmaster Hagrid's an old friend of mine. And he knows, just like old Professor Dumbledore did, that sometimes you have to do what your heart knows is right, and not what the world thinks is. And you're sixteen now, and old enough to make your own decisions." He looked Harry straight in the eye, and Harry barely resisted the temptation to make sure his scar was covered. "Son, do you want to come to France with me?"