"You'll see", Ron said, as a sudden melancholy seemed to wash over him – none of his friends had ever witnessed him look like this before. He quickly regained his grin, however. "Oh, and don't worry, you can't die, it's all in my head anyway!"

And it was at this moment, with the two companions running for shelter as their friend observed curiously from his sofa, that the entire room simply vanished, taking everything it contained away… including Ron, leaving a very confused Harry and a distraught Hermione to stand in a place none of them were familiar with.


Harry frantically scanned his surroundings, his heart beating fast – did he even have a heart, since he was an extension of his consciousness that was exploring Ron's mindscape and as such couldn't have any organs – oh, whatever – and feeling quite stressed. Seeing your best mate and honorary big brother disappear into thin air will do that to someone.

Hermione didn't fare better and was almost in hysterics. The excitement of knowledge and incredible discoveries about Legilimency was far away now. Were they actually doing Legilimency in that case? After all, it wasn't just the thoughts they were reading, they were actively exploring their friend's mind… No, not exploring. They were stranded. Lost. Trapped. Imprisoned in Ron's mind.

The place they were in was… utterly baffling. Downright eldritch, Hermione as she felt an unpleasant shiver down her spine. It was as if some toddler had gotten a hold of modelling clay, had copied the world in excruciating detail – and then taken a hold of his creations, and clapped his hands with a great "splat!" to cause everything to mesh together in ways that shouldn't even be conceivable.

Trees were stuck inside clouds, high up in some sort of sky that halfway through the sun became the wooden planks of the Burrow's floor; the moon stuck right in the middle of a waterfall, splitting it in two, with something that suspiciously looked like the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy peeking through the halves; and it was all so strange, so weird, one would think the two friends had ventured into a Dali painting.

Everything looked… faraway, for some reason, like a distant memory. You remember the basic happenings… but the details are just a blur.

"Where do you think we are?" Harry asked, more to get Hermione to talk and fill the void than out of need for an answer. He knew perfectly well she was as lost as he was.

"I… I don't know", Hermione answered in barely a whisper, her eyelids fluttering rapidly to clean away her panicked tears. "It had to be his consciousness, right? Why would he…"

Harry stood still, frozen in place, a deep frown on his face as he pondered what they ought to do next. The strange place they were in, how to escape it, how to retrieve their best mate…

Why would Ron want to stay in a coma…

To escape the war? Hell, no. Ron wasn't the type to run away, and he wouldn't leave Harry to fend for himself alone. Of this, the Chosen One was sure. Nothing short of Voldemort himself could stop Ron from staying by his best friends' side.

To escape Lavender? Yeah, no. Ron certainly didn't seem to enjoy the attention anymore, and even downright looked like he was really embarrassed by it at times, but going into a potentially decades-long sleep just to be sure his clingy girlfriend would leave him? There were easier ways to get dumped.

Besides, Ron hadn't willingly drunk that poison. So, he couldn't have known, but Dumbledore had said that for a magical coma to be triggered you had to be conscious of your impending doom…

What would cause Ron to refuse to wake up? And why would he let Harry and Hermione into his mind? Why wasn't this making sense?!

"Harry!"

He left his questions to follow Hermione's finger, which was pointing at some sort of sinewy, silver crack in the ground, just like the one back in the forest of thorns. It looked like it was… tracing a path, a way to understand. Like a guide through this mysterious world that defied the imagination.

The two of them followed the little, pulsating vein of light through some sort of mix of Diagon Alley and a vast countryside, with the pavement turning into grass or grass turning into pavement; hints of houses and windows either hovering in the air or sprouting from the ground… It didn't make sense; except for the silvery thread that they couldn't help but follow and trust like a trail of breadcrumbs.

And finally, they found just what they had been searching for: a door.

Not the Burrow's this time, but a simple, very normal-looking wooden door quite like a classroom's, and their little guide of light was sneaking beneath it as if inviting them in. Harry could hear muffled speaking through it, as if there were people; his heart gave a jolt and he reached for the handle…

"Wait! It could be dangerous!"

Sure enough, Hermione had stopped walking as soon as she had realized this felt a lot like the last time they had come across a door not so very long ago. Harry shot her an impatient look, which made her back away slightly.

"Don't you think we should be more careful with this? It could be another trick…"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any better idea? Besides, Ron said we'd be fine."

That gave Hermione pause. She didn't want to risk it… but it had to be a trap… but it was Ron's mind and he was their best friend, after all… But she couldn't help but feel apprehensive…

Oh, she trusted him, yes, she trusted him completely… She knew that Ron was somebody loyal to the core, but he could also do… unexpected things. Like going out with a girl he had never shown any interest in before. Like breaking her heart and leaving her miserable and aching. Like getting himself poisoned and… refusing… to come back to life…

Harry, meanwhile, had absolutely no qualms opening the door wide, and suddenly everything around them changed to take on the appearance of a very familiar sight.

"Harry!" Hermione screeched.

"It's just the common room, Hermione!" he retorted, feeling a tad miffed by her scepticism.

This Gryffindor common room felt… strange. It looked brighter, happier. Harry couldn't exactly pinpoint it. Maybe it was the way these fourth years over there were whispering and laughing at some bout of gossip. Maybe it was that little first year – Nolan Beckett, he remembered – who bore a triumphant expression as he clambered inside the room and ran to his friends, all excited to tell them about something or the other. Maybe it was how Neville was lovingly feeding one of his carnivorous plants with steady and confident hands, while had he been working on a potion he would already have spilled it all over himself. All these little details, all these people being so cheerful gave him a good feeling about today.

The Boy-Who-Lived felt really odd. He had never noticed the common room was buzzing with so much activity before.

Harry suddenly heard a deep, hearty chuckle, and almost jumped in surprise – it was Ron's laugh! He immediately turned around and sure enough, the tall Gryffindor was there, leaning on the wall, hands in his pockets and prefect badge proudly pinned to his robes, surveying the common room with a spark of amusement in his deep blue eyes and a fond, indulgent grin on his face. He seemed at ease… peaceful… content.

He noticed Hermione close by, observing the common room with a bemused expression, as though she had never seen it before. Harry himself felt a bit strange, seeing such a familiar place and yet noticing some odd little details he had never remarked… for example, there were cushions below the windows, perfect to take a nap in the sunlight. Harry had sat beneath the windows plenty of time but he had never given the burgundy pillows any second thought until now. To him they had always been… just there. Not especially striking in any way.

Just as Harry was about to take a closer look in order to understand how had cushions suddenly become so mesmerizing, a gasp from Hermione caused him to turn his attention to the portrait hole.

And his jaw promptly dropped.

From the portrait hole emerged a figure topped with a jungle of wild, pretty brown curls, with the faintest honey-coloured strands highlighted by the sun's rays and bouncing everywhere, completely out of control. His hands were itching all of a sudden; he had the overwhelming desire to tangle his fingers deep in the fluffy locks, with the crazy hope that maybe they'd stay trapped so he could bury himself in this beautiful forest of hair.

A small, delicate hand brushed the cascading curls aside, revealing a lovely little face with the most expressive chocolate eyes he'd ever seen, and even at this distance he could admire the pert little nose, the cute rosy cheeks, and the soft, pink, very edible lips that were at the moment forming a maddening pout, and Merlin, how he wanted to throw himself at the girl and seal their lips together, how he wanted to take these little hands in his, to marvel at how tiny they'd look in his own clumsy mitts, to kiss their every knuckle… Bloody hell, he wanted to put his hands and his lips everywhere on her, actually. He hated being such a pervert – but she was just so… so… perfect!

The girl – the young woman – shook her head, making this already crazy hair even crazier and even more amazing, because now it looked as though he had thoroughly snogged her, and it made Harry's heart soar at the mere idea. She was so petite, so slender, maybe she'd fit just right in his arms – she had hugged him before, but never cuddled… but he prayed he could find a way to keep her snug against his chest and make her so comfortable she'd never want to leave.

He knew however that despite all the comfort he might provide her with, she wouldn't be nestling comfortably in his arms; she would insist to leave and get a book and do homework instead of just dozing off in the sun, and Morgana help him but it was both infuriating and endearing. The way she'd try to save the world all by herself, that girl, and she would save the world someday, alright. And Harry thanked the stars he'd be able to see it happen, and he resented them too, because how could he not fancy such a clever, beautiful witch – that everyone with half a functioning brain would and should fancy? She was amazing – sometimes she was a right pain in the arse, but as she would say, the pros outweighed the cons, and when it came to her, damn right they did…

"Ron!" she called, and shit he'd been staring for too long –

"Um, yeah, Hermione?" Ron answered, his voice a little too high-pitched for his own comfort…

Wait. Wait a second. Harry shook his head. Hermione?

To make sure he hadn't gone crazy, he immediately turned to the actual Hermione, and was met with big bushy hair and brown eyes. To be perfectly sure he was still sane, he looked very intently at her face. Her eyes, which hadn't left Ron and the… other Hermione, darted over to Harry and widened.

"What?" she asked in a curt tone. Her voice rang a bit shrill to his ears.

She had lips. Indeed. Um. They were… nice, as far as lips went? Oh, hell, this was weird. And she had cheeks, too, that was sure. And a nose, just like everyone else. What exactly was a 'pert' nose, anyway?

Blimey. What the hell had he been thinking back there?!

"Harry?" Hermione repeated, getting visibly more uncomfortable.

He couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh. "I thought I fancied you for a second."

"What?!" she screeched, looking so horrified Harry might've been vexed, only he wasn't, considering this was his sister figure he was talking to.

Harry let out a breathy laugh. "Exactly!"

The bookworm was still desperately trying to understand what had just happened. First there was these inexplicably fascinating and distracting shenanigans all over the common room, then there was that beautiful girl she had immediately felt jealous of – another pretty face she couldn't compete with – then Ron calling the beautiful girl Hermione for some reason then Harry telling her –

Her brain suddenly stopped.

The common room so full of distractions and people and sounds and laughter and words everywhere.

She never really remembered the younger students' names… mostly because they tended to keep away from her… but she could tell that one was definitely Nolan Beckett for some reason. And the fourth-year gossipers were comprised of Tina Cadsworth, and – wait, she had never even spoken to this Tina girl, how did she know…?

And this girl that didn't look like her one bit, was too beautiful to be her, but Ron had called her "Hermione"…

It couldn't be. Could it?

"Harry, do you feel any differ… Harry?"

Her friend had left Ron's side – Ron who was being lectured by the pretty young woman – to go inspect a row of cushions beneath the window. She walked to her dark-haired best friend and nudged him on the shoulder, wondering about his sudden interest in the pillows.

"They really are comfy", Harry said in an oddly surprised tone, as if he hadn't sat on these cushions a hundred times before.

"Are you feeling alright, Harry?" Hermione asked, perplexed.

"It's weird. There's just… There's all these people I don't know that I suddenly know, and then you come in and you're all… something, and –"

"I come in? What do you mean?"

This got Harry's attention. He looked at her with incredulous eyes, before designating Ron and the beautiful girl he was busy speaking with.

"That's you over there."

Hermione's eyes looked ready to pop out of her skull and her mouth automatically said "No."

Harry smirked. "Yes, it is."

"No. I don't look like this."

"Why would he have called her Hermione then?" Harry said triumphantly.

"Because… Because there could be more Hermiones at Hogwarts than me!" she spluttered, an odd feeling of hope bubbling through her, but she wanted to crush it before it had time to blossom through her chest. She had trusted it too much in the past and had gotten hurt far too often because of it.

"More Hermiones that are Gryffindor prefects, you mean?" Harry was actually smiling like a loon, the gall of him!

"It's… I… no… but…"

She turned back to the scene, heart hammering like mad as she watched her doppelganger, as she looked at her luscious curls, her luxurious lashes, her petite frame that looked more enticing that she had ever hoped to be.

Was this really how she looked like? To Ron?

"Um, so, what do you reckon is going on?" Harry asked hesitantly, squirming at Hermione's starry-eyed expression.

"We're seeing everything through Ron's eyes", she answered with a tone that reminded Harry of Luna's dreamy voice.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "So, now you believe it? That it's really you there?" he asked with no small amount of satisfaction.

"Yes…" Hermione sighed in contentment… before suddenly bristling. "Wait a second! I was right! He does fancy me!"

For some odd reason she seemed very angry about this. Harry was used to girls being incomprehensible but for Hermione to react this way?

"That prat fancies me, and he still went out with that trollop! How dare he?!"

Oh. Now it made sense. Perhaps it was time for some damage control? Could Hermione do magic in there? She could certainly work herself into anger-induced apoplexy despite not having a body, and she was still capable of wandless magic… Yes, Harry told himself, it'd be better to calm her down. He didn't want his best mate's unconscious mind to be invaded by canaries.

However, his plan got interrupted by the décor suddenly shifting and changing colours rapidly, to suddenly become a stone corridor that felt rather familiar to Harry… He immediately turned towards his know-it-all best friend to ask her what she thought of it but she was busy wiping her eyes and mumbling furiously under her breath: "… can't believe what a bastard… pig… complete and utter arse…"

"Hermione."

"… with delusions of a wannabe-Casanova…"

"Hermione, something changed –"

"WHAT?!" she screeched.

"LOOK!" Harry shouted back.

WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK… Ron's voice bellowed, sounding oddly ethereal.

The unexpected return of their best mate – or at least, of his voice – was enough for them to stop everything they had been doing and look all around them, hoping to find him. Harry finally noticed Ron's tall form a few steps away, covered by his Quidditch jersey, somebody else at his side.

Harry immediately signalled to Hermione to follow him and the two of them ran into something that the Boy-Who-Lived would rather have forgotten forever: Ginny and Dean, locked in an embrace and snogging passionately in the middle of the corridor.