I apologize for the delay in getting the next chapter up. I was trying to figure out where I wanted tho story to go and was finding it rather difficult. I hope this next chapter doesn't disappoint.

Chapter 2

The rays from the morning sun broke over the window ledge, bathing the dormitory in a reddish-golden light. Harry pulled the covers over his head as a rogue beam wormed its way through a crack left in the curtain around his bed, threatening to wake him long before he was ready.

He snuggled deeper into his bed in an attempt to lull himself back to sleep, but the spell had been broken and he lay there wide awake, the thoughts that he'd escaped from the night before pushing their way into his mind again.

Hermione.

He didn't know what to think, or how to feel, about the kiss; it had come so unexpectedly. The thought of Hermione and him being anything other than friends had never crossed his mind, let alone the thought of kissing her.

And yet…he couldn't stop feeling her lips against his, the smell of her invading his senses.

He groaned and rolled over, his face coming to rest against something cold and slimy

"Arrrg!" He struggled to extricate himself from the blanket, limbs thrashing as he tried to distance himself from whatever had decided to become his bedmate.

His cry was cut off when he fell out of bed, hitting his head on the nightstand.

"Harry!" someone shouted as they pulled at the blankets. He gulped as the blanket was pulled off him and the cool air of the room hit his face.

"Wha-what was that?" he stammered. He reached up to the nightstand and grabbed his glasses, the room coming into focus as he slipped them on.

Neville was standing above him, smiling sheepishly as he clutched a squirming Trevor in his hands.

"Sorry, Harry. Trevor tends to wander." He shrugged apologetically.

Harry rubbed the spot on the back of his head that had already begun to ache. "It's alright, Neville."

"What in bloody hell was all the yelling about?"

Ron had torn back the hangings around his bed, blinking back the brightness of the room, his gaze coming to rest on Harry.

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat at the sight of his best friend. He searched his face, trying to find any trace of the anger he'd seen in him, which felt like just yesterday but had in all actuality been three years ago. However, all he saw was an annoyance as a result of being woken out of a deep slumber.

"Just a little morning calisthenics," Harry said.

"Well, keep it down, will you?" Ron pulled the hangings back around his four-poster, mumbling about inconsiderate boobs.

Neville raised an eyebrow, "He does realize breakfast starts in twenty minutes, right?"

Harry groaned, all thoughts of going back to bed reluctantly pushed from his mind. He pulled himself up and headed for the bathroom in hopes that a hot shower would make up for his sleep being cut short.

The water pounded on his back like a tattoo; the beat reverberating through his very bones. The cramped walls of their bathroom shower were in stark contrast to the large bath he'd sunk into the night before. There were no perfumey soaps or special bath beads. He breathed in the steam as it swirled around him, its tendrils brushing his skin, leaving goosebumps.

The pain in his head was intensifying, spreading from the place of initial impact until a sudden sharp pain behind his eye dropped him to his knees and he bit back a cry of pain as images began to play behind his eyelids.

Hermione stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, her robe wrapped tightly against the cold, lips tinged with blue. From where he stood, Harry could see her reflection, the familiar bushy hair, and large brown doe eyes set in a pale face. Her gaze drifted across the mirror, seeing what was revealed only from her vantage point.

"You see them, don't you?" Harry was practically shaking with excitement.

He watched as her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. "No."

"What do you mean? What do you see?"

He tried to stand behind her and look over her shoulder, but he only saw his scrawny face reflected behind hers.

The color rose in her cheeks. "I- I see me…and I-," her voice broke and she stared down at her feet, "I've just graduated Hogwarts and received top marks."

Harry eyed her skeptically, doubtful that she was being completely honest with him; but his desire to see his parents again outweighed his interest in what she actually saw.

"Can I have another look?" he asked her.

"Yes, of course." Hermione looked up at the mirror one last time, her eyes sweeping over the scene that only she could see, as if committing it to memory, before moving away and letting Harry step into her place.

Harry's eyes snapped open, his head pounding as the images continued to play in his mind. It felt like a memory that he had lost and was now being returned; reacquainting itself with his mind and trying to find where it fit.

What in the hell had just happened?

He placed his hands on the wall to steady himself, gasping for breath as the pain in his head gradually subsided.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Ron's voice came from just outside the shower stall.

"Yeah, I'm fine. My head just hurts from where I hit it."

"It's nothing serious, is it?"

Harry steadied his breath. "No, nothing serious."

"Alright, well, hurry up then so we can walk down to breakfast. Dean's waiting on us."

Harry sat back on his haunches and rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the afterimages of the memory away.

"Yeah, I'll be right there. Give me a minute."

Harry stood shakily, stepping out of the shower when he heard the bathroom door close. He grabbed the towel off the hook on the wall and began to rub himself dry, his mind attempting to coalesce two conflicting memories.

He could have sworn that he had taken Ron, and not Hermione, to see the Mirror of Erised. It had been Ron that had stood in front of the mirror, seeing himself as Head Boy and Quidditch Captain. Hadn't it?

Harry slowly ran the towel over his hair, trying to hold onto that thought. But the memory that had seemed so vivid in his mind seemed like a dream now and he was struggling to separate reality from fiction.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and put his glasses back on. Wiping the steam away from the bathroom mirror, he studied the face that looked back at him. It was his face: green eyes underneath a mop of unruly black hair; nothing new, nothing different. But he felt different.

He passed one more cursory glance over himself and then left the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Harry sat at the breakfast table squeezed in between Ron and Dean.

"I'm just saying," Ron said, continuing an argument that had started the moment the three boys had stepped out of the portrait hole and headed down to the Great Hall, "Muggles don't have anything that compares to the Triwizard Tournament."

Harry's head was beginning to hurt again, and he couldn't be quite sure it wasn't as a result of Ron and Dean's seemingly endless back and forth on the merits of the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. He pressed his thumb into the flesh above his eye, trying to force the headache away, as Dean and Ron continued speaking over his head.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of this new dynamic. He'd always been friendly with Dean, of course, but having him as part of their friend circle made him feel as though he and Ron weren't as close as they used to be. He supposed that the addition of Dean to their group was a result of his and Ron's argument. Sitting here listening to them go back and forth made him realize that, while his and Ron's friendship hadn't been completely severed, it had taken a blow from which it seemed to have never fully recovered.

"No, but we have the Olympics. And they choose who competes based on trials. Not have people's names belched out of a cup." Dean said, holding up a sausage on a fork to emphasize his point.

"Please, I saw your face when they brought out the Goblet of Fire. You practically drooled." Ron dropped his jaw and gasped to dramatize Dean's reaction.

Dean shoved the previously pointed sausage into his mouth and shook his head.

Harry sighed inwardly as he sensed a reprieve from the conversation and silence ensued as the two boys stuffed as much food into their mouths as possible.

"What do you even do at the Olympics?" Ron said around a mouthful of eggs.

"Oh, good lord," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

Dean swallowed, oblivious to Harry's reaction. "You compete in tests of physical feats. Running, throwing things, stuff like that."

Ron looked at him in disbelief. "And you're comparing that to fighting dragons?"

"Well, not staring death in the face kind of gives it a one-up on the Triwizard Tournament."

Ron guffawed. "Like watching people run wouldn't be ten times better if a dragon were chasing them."

Dean nudged Harry, "Come on, Harry. Help me out here. Tell him how amazing the Olympics are."

Harry opened his mouth to tell Dean that he'd never seen the Olympics, but a lancing pain made him wince instead.

"Fine, alright then. Maybe it's not that great," Dean said, spearing another sausage with his fork.

"No, I think there's something wrong," Ron said, abandoning his food and the conversation.

Harry would have whooped for joy if his head hadn't been hurting so badly.

"Is it your scar again?" Ron whispered.

Harry's vision blurred, the food in front of him flickering before it disappeared, leaving an empty plate.

"Harry, you have to eat something."

"I'm really not hungry, Hermione."

He turned to see Hermione looking at him, her brow creased in concern.

Her face faded.

He was looking at Ron, the same look of concern on his face.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry shook his head, his vision clearing, the sharp pain returning to a dull ache.

"I—I don't know. I must've hit my head harder than I thought."

"Do you need to go to the hospital wing?" Ron asked.

"No, I don't think so. The pain's pretty much gone now."

Ron's eyes searched Harry's, and he nodded slowly. "Alright, then, if you're sure," he said and turned back to his food.

Harry grabbed a piece of toast from a platter and buttered it. He was having mixed feelings about his headaches. On one hand, they were incredibly painful, but on the other hand, they had gotten Ron and Dean to shut up.

"So, Harry, about the Olympics—"

"Dean!"

"Right, bad time. Sorry."

Harry made it through to lunch without an incident. The pain had withdrawn to a small place just above his ear, mild enough for him to ignore.

What was harder to ignore was Hermione. Although she showed no more affection toward him than to lightly brush her hand against his, or occasionally lean into him, the seemingly innocuous touches left him uncomfortable, and not exactly in a bad way.

"Harry," she said, intertwining her fingers with his as they walked out of Charms. "I know I said that we'd spend some time together after dinner, but it looks like I'm going to have to call an emergency S.P.E.W. meeting."

Harry had stopped listening after his name; the cool, soft feel of her skin against his pushed everything else to the background.

"Harry, are you listening?"

"Hmm, what? Oh, yes, spewing after dinner."

Hermione looked at him sternly. "Harry, I need you to take this seriously. I was saying there's going to be a meeting for S.P.E.W. right after dinner."

"Seriously? Another one?" Ron asked as he and Dean caught up to them.

"I thought those were only supposed to be on the first Saturday of the month," Dean said.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, I know, but Luna was wanting to put an article in the Quibbler for next month, but her dad needs the article on Sunday. So, I figured we can brainstorm the main points tonight."

Harry looked at them all. "I'm sorry, what's going on?

Ron pulled Harry to a stop. "Are you sure you're alright, mate? You've been out of it all morning."

"Your head still bothering you?" Dean asked

It wasn't but Harry latched onto the excuse. "Yeah, a little bit. I think I'll probably go see Madam Pomfrey after lunch."

Ron nodded, satisfied that Harry was going to get himself checked out, and they continued walking.

As they reached the doors to the Great Hall, Hermione held Harry back.

"You two go on ahead. I need to talk to Harry for a moment."

Ron sucked in air through his teeth and shot Harry a sympathetic look. "That does not sound good."

Dean just offered him an encouraging pat on the back before he and Ron disappeared into the Great Hall.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Not here," she said, dragging him down the corridor and into an empty classroom.

She released his hand and closed the door, keeping her back to him as she took a deep breath.

When she turned around, Harry could see several emotions, crossing her face, battling for dominance within her.

"It's you, isn't it?"

"What?"

"The original you who traveled back in time."

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but stopped himself and simply nodded.

"Last night?" she asked. "When you went to figure out the clue?"

"Yeah, it was the bath in the Prefect's bathroom."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, scrunching her brow and bowing her head as she fell deep in thought. Then she jerked her head up, eyebrows raised. "The soap. You smelled like perfume when you came in last night. It must have been some combination of the soaps you used that triggered it."

He shoved his hands in his pocket. "Yeah, that and the bath beads."

A flicker of a smile momentarily graced her lips. Harry imagined she must have been thinking about their talk last night.

"What exactly happened?" She asked.

Harry recounted the events of the previous night; from filling the bath to spilling the beads, to finding Myrtle to help him get back. At his mention of Myrtle, Hermione made an exclamation of surprise.

Harry shrugged. "I was just as surprised as you. But she knew the combination and helped me get back."

Hermione was quiet.

"You seem to be taking this very well," Harry said.

She looked at him. "Were you expecting me to curl up in a ball on the floor, like some— some over-emotional girl?"

Harry wasn't sure what to say.

"Because I am this close to doing that," she said, holding up her fingers with a barely discernible gap between them. "But I can't allow myself to. Processing this logically is the only way I'm going to get through this."

Harry bobbed his head in understanding. "By the way, how did you know?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear and folded her arms against her body. "It was the egg. As soon as I saw it, I knew. It was the same egg you were carrying when we ran into each other returning to the common room that night."

The corner of Harry's mouth turned up in a grin. Leave it to Hermione to figure it out.

"Were we— are we even friends in your timeline?" She asked, tentatively.

He smiled at her. "Best friends, Hermione."

"But nothing more." She said it as a statement, but there was a hopeful question there.

Harry dropped his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. "No, nothing more."

Hermione closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath in before releasing it through pursed lips.

"Alright," she said, stepping forward and grabbing his hand, "Come on, then."

Harry clenched her hand and held her back. "Wait— what now?"

"What else? We head to lunch and act as if nothing has changed. Then we figure out what to do about this situation."

She opened the door and he followed her into the hall.

"Now, put a good face on it, Harry."