Chapter 2 - When Two World Collide
25th December, 2010, 11:17 a.m. X removed to S':
The heavy door opened. Harry jumped to his feet, ready to face any opponent - but it was only Ron, Ron thrown to the floor, Ron groaning, Ron clutching his head, and the big door slammed shut behind him.
"Ron!" Harry jumped to his friend's aid. He was thrown on the floor of the cell so strongly that now he was bleeding from his nose and lips. Harry lifted him gently and looked for something to wipe off the blood. Ron groaned again and opened his eyes.
"Did you tell them anything?" Harry asked urgently.
Ron shook his head. Good. The side of his face was swollen, Harry noticed, and wished he had some ice to treat him. Instead, he just tried to give him some water. Ron drank greedily, urgently, then shook his head violently to signal he had enough.
"Harry," he croaked.
"S'okay. Rest. I won't let them take you again," Harry said gently.
"No... you need to... we're in the Ministry..."
"What?" Did they hurt Ron that badly? Was he delusional? They couldn't be in the Ministry. Of course they couldn't.
"It looks like the Ministry... but it isn't... and Malfoy... Malfoy's Minister..."
Harry didn't have the time to even contemplate Ron's preposterous words. The heavy door opened again, and one of the wizards aimed his wand at Harry. "You! Potter!" he barked. "Come with us." Reluctantly, Harry let go of Ron, putting his head gently on the floor.
"Harry," Ron whispered.
"I'll be alright," he said and got up. The wizards pushed him outside of the cell, and Harry got a better look of where they were held. Ron was right - if this wasn't the Ministry, it was an exact replica. He had been down that path plenty of times before - these were the same cells where they kept prisoners before their trail with the Wizengamot. It made no sense - how could this be the Ministry? Why would he and Ron be arrested?
Soon, he was brought into a small office. And in front of him - Draco Malfoy. Or someone who looked like Malfoy, at least. He looked colder, though. The Draco Malfoy Harry had known had mellowed down over the years, become more agreeable. He was still not nice - Harry would never go that far - and they would never be friends... but he had grown up into a more decent human being. But this man, who was sitting in front of him, didn't feel like that Draco Malfoy at all.
Just as he was studying Malfoy, Malfoy was studying him, he was sure of it. His grey eyes scanned Harry, calculating. Finally, Malfoy's lips curled into a small, chilling smile. "Incredible," he said.
"What?" Harry asked coldly.
"I look at you, and I think - Potter. That is truly remarkable."
Harry snorted. "Remarkable that you recognise me? I've known you since I was eleven, Malfoy." Obviously, too long. "And, you know, not to sound too full of myself or anything, but I'd be pretty insulted if you didn't recognised me."
"This is... uncanny. You don't look like Potter. You don't act like Potter. You don't even sound like Potter. And yet - I'm convinced that you are. That must be some incredible magic."
"You're making no sense, Malfoy."
Malfoy got up and walked towards him. "Who are you?" he whispered.
"Harry Potter."
"Crucio!" Harry was hit with the full brunt of the curse. The pain took over everything - every thought he had, everything he saw, it all disappeared, making room for the pain, from his fingertips to the scar on his forehead. And then - it was gone.
"Who are you?" Malfoy demanded again.
Harry breathed heavily. "Harry Potter," he said, and before he knew it, he was hit with the Cruciatus curse again.
"Who are you?" Malfoy shouted, or so it seemed to Harry, beyond walls of pain.
Finally the pain was gone, and he gasped for air. "It's illegal, Malfoy," he panted. "Unforgivable curses. You evaded - Azkaban - once. What are you doing?"
"What?" Malfoy sounded genuinely curious. Harry finally regained control over his screaming muscles, and with the help of the wooden chair in front of him, managed to pull himself back to his feet. Malfoy was studying him again, his brow furrowed, a frown on his face. "Unforgivable curses... do you realise who you're talking to?"
"Draco Malfoy, the stupidest man on Planet Earth?" Harry hazarded.
Malfoy gave him a hearty laugh. "Not a lot of people would say this to the Minister for Magic," he said, but now his cold smile turned dangerous again.
"Minister - Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Minister for Magic!"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt is dead," Malfoy sneered at him, and all of a sudden, it hit Harry - the man was not faking it.
"No," he whispered.
"Yes. And I will ask you again - your name."
Harry screamed and screamed and screamed.
25th December, 2010, 1:40 p.m.
Harry wasn't sure when he was brought back to the cell, or when the pain had actually stopped. He was just aware that, all of a sudden, the pain disappeared and he was in the cell again. He opened his eyes. Ron's worried eyes peered at him from above. Above him, he could see the cell - dark, filthy, bare of even the most basic utilities, and on top of it, smelly. It was the sharp stench of blood that attacked him from all directions, old blood and dried blood and new and fresh blood, the blood of past prisoners who had been given the same horrible treatment as Harry and Ron got, and perhaps their blood, too, was already contributing to the stench.
"Mnpf," Harry declared.
"Merlin, Harry, I was worried," Ron said in obvious relief.
"I'm fine," Harry groaned, and tried to get up, only to discover he wasn't, in fact, fine, and that perhaps he would be better staying lying down. "Argh. How long was I out?"
"Twenty minutes or so," Ron said. "It's hard to tell the time in this place."
"Argh," Harry repeated, perhaps for emphasis. "I'm going to kill Malfoy, that ingrate, good-for-nothing - " he tried to get up again, and failed. "Argh."
He stayed with his head resting on Ron for a while longer. He must have lost consciousness again, because he woke up all of a sudden with Ron shaking him. "Harry," Ron kept on saying, "Harry!"
"Wha - what?" he asked.
"Listen!"
Harry listened. Something was going on outside. People were screaming, people were shouting, and the noises of something shattering could be heard. It sounded almost like a raid. Harry immediately perked his head. "You think it's the rest of the Aurors?" he asked.
"Could be," Ron said. They stared at the door, unsure whether to shout that they were there - or try to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
In the end, events chose the course of action for them. Someone hit the door with a curse, and it flew open. Ron got up first, then helped Harry, and the two proceeded to face the door in suspicion. But it was only Dean Thomas.
"Dean!" Ron said. "You have no idea how glad we are to see you, mate!"
"God, you're alive," Dean said with obvious relief. "We were afraid... where's Neville and Hermione?"
"Hermione?" Ron said in alarm. Harry, sharing his panic, looked at Dean. Hermione couldn't possibly be there - with her so far gone - tortured by Malfoy...
"Yes - Hermione! And Neville! Where are they?"
"I don't know - we've only been in this cell, just the two of us, since they captured us," Harry said. Next to him, Ron had gone pale. "She's alright, Ron. Honest. She's alright. She's not here, she's going to have the baby, everything's fine."
Dean swore. "Listen, we've got to go. If Padma doesn't find them... we'll just have to come back another time."
"I'm not leaving Hermione here!" Ron found his voice again.
"Ron - we'll all get captured if we stay here a moment longer. Please."
Someone else showed up. For a moment, Harry and Ron tensed again - but then they saw it wasn't Malfoy or any of his goons. It was... Luna Lovegood?
"What the hell is going on?" Harry demanded.
Luna ignored him. "We've searched everywhere. They're not here. Malfoy must have moved them."
Dean swore again. "Okay, scrap that," he said. "Get Padma and let's get out of here. Harry - Ron - move, damn it!"
They moved. Luna led the way, cursing everyone who stood in their way, together with Dean. At some point, Padma Patil had joined them. Harry and Ron, with their wands still at Malfoy's hands, could only do their best to duck any stray curses.
Something was wrong. Not just that that they were there, in what proved to be an exact replica of the Ministry for Magic in any way - if somewhat darker and dirtier - but in the people around them. Much like Malfoy, Dean, Luna and Padma had no qualms about performing Unforgivable Curses in front of them. Next to all the regular curses, the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse were shooting in all directions, from them to the opponents just as much as from their opposition towards them.
He couldn't complain exactly - getting broken out of that filthy cell was definitely a better fate than being tortured by Malfoy - but... "Do they even care I work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" he whispered to Ron as they ducked and their three saviours shot three Killing Curses in all directions.
"I don't think this is the time to bring this up," Ron pointed out. Harry grumbled in response. If only he had his wand...
Still, there was nothing for it - not right now. So, they ran - as much as it was possible for Harry to run, leaning on Ron for support - and soon they found their way to the lifts and to the Atrium. In no time, the Atrium looked much like the cells - full of stunned people, or perhaps, dead bodies. Harry thought of asking what the hell was going on yet again, but there was no time. They all rushed to the entrance, and before they realised it - they were in Muggle London.
Once up there, they started drawing some serious attention. Dean, Luna and Padma were joined by Padma's sister, Parvati, all with their wands out and ready to strike at any surprise assailant. And Harry and Ron, bleeding and dirty, were running behind them. They didn't confuse the passing Muggles for long - Dean led the way through small streets and hidden alleys, until they reached a small house. Harry and Ron were ushered inside unceremoniously.
Once at the entrance of the house, they had some time to breathe and take it all in. It was obviously lived in - there were jackets thrown all over the coat hanger, and some on the banister. A box with books was used to hold open the door of the living room. Harry picked up one of the books - Agatha Christie. A book even the Dursleys had. He looked at another one. Another popular Muggle author - what were these books doing here? he wondered, but didn't have time to wonder for long. "Harry," he heard Ron saying in a strained, strange voice. He looked up.
Ron was looking at the photographs on the wall. In them, people were moving - wizard photographs. And these people were all familiar - Dean and Parvati and Luna, Parvati and Padma, Neville Longbottom and another one of their Hogwarts classmates, Anthony Goldstein, and then - Harry stared at the last picture, the same one in front of which Ron stopped. It was Ron and Hermione, but they didn't look like themselves at all. Harry was reminded of Malfoy's words. You don't look like Potter, you don't sound like Potter... that was that picture, in essence. It was Ron and Hermione, but the grim expression on Ron's face, the scar that stretched on Hermione's face, the way they held each other in need, even in this photograph - that wasn't Ron and Hermione.
"What the hell is going on," Ron said hoarsely.
"We're going to find out," Harry said, and marched to where the rest had disappeared to, into the kitchen.
Dean was sitting on a table, bleeding from his arm. Next to him, a man stood, trying to stop the bleeding. "Stand - still!" he said in exasperation, and Harry recognised him. It was Anthony Goldstein. Luna had also collapsed on a chair, nursing a small wound.
Now that Harry had the chance to look at them without deadly curses flying around, he thought they rather looked like that picture - not like themselves at all. Anthony and Dean he had not seen for several years, so, in theory, they could have become so thin and raggedy, so wild looking and grim. But Luna? She and Rolf had been to their house that very weekend. She was better groomed, better fed, and much happier than the way she looked now.
"What's going on here?" he demanded.
The three looked at him - and, much like himself, appeared to see him properly for the first time.
Dean jumped to his feet in alarm. Anthony grabbed his wand. Only Luna seemed undisturbed. "Looks like we have saved the wrong Harry Potter," she said, her voice much less dreamy than usual, but still with some dreamy quality in it. "And the wrong Ron Weasley," she added, after surveying Ron critically.
"I want to know what's going on here," Harry said, trying to remain calm. "Right now."
"Who are you?" Anthony demanded, his wand aimed at Harry's heart.
"Harry - Potter - for heaven's sake - what's going on here! You lot look like you're fighting a war! Draco Malfoy claiming to be the Minister for Magic!" He laughed a mirthless laughter - closer to hysterical. He'd been tortured, starved, and repeatedly cursed in the past twelve hours. He wanted some answers, and he wanted them now. "Why are you all acting like you've lost your minds?"
"Draco Malfoy is the Minister for Magic," Dean said. "Ever since we killed Voldemort, two years ago."
Harry froze. Two years - have they travelled in time? He looked at Ron, full of questions. But not - couldn't be - the people in front of him didn't look twenty years old. "What year is this?" he asked carefully.
Dean and Anthony exchange glances. Luna didn't seem to mind the question. "2010. About to be the end of it, actually. Christmas, 2010."
Not time travel, then. But - "Voldemort died twelve years ago," he said. "At Hogwarts. I was there. I defeated him! We've rebuilt the entire wizarding world since. I work at the Ministry, damn it, I'm the head of the Auror Office!"
Dean and Anthony looked at each other. Anthony's expression was full of sadness when he shook his head. "No, Harry," he said. "Nothing like that ever happened."
25th December, 2010, 3:15 p.m. X' removed to S'':
That there had been neither body nor grave, no last remains nor a last resting place for the Boy Who Lived was not an indication that he could, in some way, have miraculously survive. That had been Albus Dumbledore's morose stance ever since the boy had disappeared at the centre of the maze.
And now, thanks to the help of a woman who had been dead for nineteen years, he was finally proven right.
The Muggle newspaper was called The Great Hangleton Gazette. The copy was one from some fifteen years previously, four years after Hermione Granger died. But still, she was correct, for the paper said exactly what she had predicted - even if, by the time it was published, she had been dead and buried for years.
The headline talked of a body which was found in the local graveyard. The body of a teenager. There were signs of violence on the body, it said, but no indication of drugs or alcohol. The boy was not known to any of the residents of Great Hangleton, nor to those of the nearby village, Little Hangleton. Based on evidence found in the graveyard - and the very fact that the boy was apparently murderer there - the police had declared that the unknown teenager must have been the victim of some Satanist ritual.
The picture in the front page did not move.
Hermione Granger had brought another newspaper, together with the first one. The boy was buried a John Doe by the authorities - none of his family came to claim him, no one had reported a missing boy who answered to his description. Ironically, legal problems and various bureaucratic procedures had dictated that he was not buried at the cemetery of Great Hangleton, but, in fact, in the very same graveyard where his body was found.
Somewhere in the Little Hangleton cemetery, the remains of the Boy Who Lived lay in a Muggle-dug grave, marked as an anonymous victim of a senseless murder.
They didn't go to the cemetery in the middle of the night, when Hermione Granger had explained her theory, but during the day. It might as well have been night. The winter sky, covered by thick clouds, offered only a little light, which the snow on the ground failed to reflect. In the exposed graveyard, there was no respite from the wind.
Hermione watched Augusta Longbottom. What a terrible way to spend Christmas day, she thought. The old woman was standing in front of the grave. There was no name on it - after all, her grandson was not buried under his own name. She did not cry. There was nothing but grim determination on her face. She did, however, raise her wand and aimed it at the grave. A blinding flash, and now it had a tombstone, a large, white cover, that brightened the place, if just a little bit. There was no special inscription on it, no dedication, just a name and date. Having buried her son, her daughter-in-law, and now, finally, her grandson, Augusta Longbottom was not prone to sentimentality.
Someone put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"Harry's freaking out a bit," Ron said quietly.
She nodded. That did not come as a surprise. The truth was, they were all freaking out a bit. Hermione and Ron were just better at hiding it. She didn't bother saying that, of course - Ron knew it perfectly well. Instead, she just said, "Don't let him talk to Mrs Longbottom."
"Don't worry," he said and got up - undoubtedly, to steer Harry away from any uncomfortable conversations. Near the grave, Albus Dumbledore finished talking to Augusta Longbottom. Hermione approached them slowly.
"Mrs Longbottom," she said gently. Augusta turned back and studied her. She looked just like Hermione remembered - stern, measured, with a vulture on her hat and a red bag in her hand. "I wanted to... you don't know me," she said quietly, "but I knew Neville - " far longer than I can admit to you - "and I wanted to say... I'm sorry."
"I've known my grandson is dead for quite a while," Mrs Longbottom said, "but thank you. I understand you're the person I should thank for finding him?"
"Yeah," Hermione said. She dreaded the next question - how could she explain how she had known where Neville was killed, where to look for the grave? But Mrs Longbottom didn't seem interested in these questions. She just looked for a moment longer at Hermione, said, "Thank you," and went on her way.
It was lucky she left then, because by then a harassed-looking Ron had lost his battle to stop Harry from approaching the grave. Ron was right, of course - he was freaking out. Restless, he walked up and down the grave, standing every once in a while to look at the name, tapping his foot on the ground, his empty hand on his trousers. Hermione and Ron got their wands back by now, but Dumbledore was still reluctant to give Harry back his own wand. In fact, he had hardly given Harry a second glance, after the interrogation in his office. It didn't surprise Hermione, of course, and the truth was Harry had so much trouble these days controlling his magic that his wand generally didn't do much good. But still it upset her, to see him tapping like that with an empty hand.
"You okay?" she walked towards him and asked him quietly.
"Yeah... yeah... I'm fine. I'm fine. It's just - this place. You know." She knew.
"Look, Hermione..." he started hesitantly again. "It's not... it's not Neville here."
"I think it is," she said quietly.
"No, what I meant was... it's not Neville Neville. It's like Dumbledore here, or Sirius, or Lupin, or - " he paused. "Like the lot of them. It's not Neville. Like the Ron who died isn't Ron. And he's got him. We've got to get him out."
"We're not going to just let Voldemort have him. Don't worry."
"But Voldemort's dead!"
Hermione shook her head. "And so is Dumbledore, and everyone else here. We can't let that convince us that Voldemort isn't real - oh, this is ridiculous!" She said in exasperation. It was. None of them could tell what was real and what wasn't anymore. She took a deep breath, then tried again. "Regulus said he's alive. They said so last night, Regulus is spying for the Order. So he must be alive, even though we killed him. Just like this is Neville's grave, even though Neville is his prisoner."
"We need to get Neville out," Harry said again.
"I know. But we have to have help, Harry - look at us, we can't even defeat Malfoy!"
"She has a point," Ron said, shaking his head. "Can't get my head around it, but she has a point. We could use some help on this. Personally, I don't fancy facing Voldemort again," he shuddered, and Hermione wasn't sure whether because of the cold, or because of the thought of Voldemort.
"We'll get them to help us," she said. "I promise."
"And if not?" Harry insisted.
"Then we'll go on our own. But give us a chance to talk to them first, alright?" He didn't reply. "Alright?" she asked again and then, grudgingly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," Ron agreed.
"Okay," she smiled.
25th December, 2010, 6:10 p.m.
"We seem to have run into a conundrum of sorts," Dumbledore announced.
They were back in his office. Not all of them had returned to Hogwarts immediately - James Potter Apparated to check on his family and bring them to Hogwarts, apparently unsatisfied with whatever security measures they had in their Godric's Hollow home. Lily and Snape had left to check on their own children - what an odd image, Hermione thought, and shook her head. Sirius and Remus went to check on the Weasleys, who were still at Hogwarts' hospital wing. Regulus had long ago returned to his place at Voldemort's side, keeping his pretence of a loyal servant.
Hermione, together with Ron and Harry, were asked by Dumbledore to come with him to his office, until the rest returned. He did not spend the time offering tea and cake. Just as Hermione suspected, he started asking them questions. How did he die. How did Severus die. How did Lily die. How did Remus die, and Sirius, and James. Hermione answered most of the questions, with Ron pointing out a detail here and there that she had forgotten in her haste. Harry mainly walked up and down the room, like a caged lion.
Every once in a while, he interfered. When Dumbledore asked about the Triwizard Tournament, how Hermione knew the location of Neville's body, it was Harry who answered - short and to the point. He also told Dumbledore of Sirius's death - and of his own - or, at least, an abridged version of his death.
"You were murdered by Death Eaters. They broke into Hogwarts..." he said quietly. "Managed to get inside thanks to Draco Malfoy," he spat the name. "Voldemort had given him the task, you see."
Hermione thought she couldn't have told the story better if she tried - no hint of Horcruxes, just as they discussed the night before. They would have to confess sooner or later, she knew, that they knew about the Horcruxes. But better keep some information to themselves. At least until they understood more.
An hour or so later, and the entire group reassembled in the office. By then, Dumbledore had finished questioning them - for the moment, Hermione suspected - and was now looking at the entire group.
"We seem," he said, "to have run into a conundrum of sorts." He paused, then continued. "Either Neville Longbottom is dead, and so are Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger," he tactfully ignored the question that was Harry, "and Lord Voldemort is alive - or the other option is true, and he is dead, and so are all of us."
"I think I'm alive," Sirius said in a joking tone. "Don't you, Remus?"
"Yes," Remus said carefully, "I had a beating heart, the last time I checked."
"Ahem," Dumbledore said diplomatically, and the two stopped talking.
"There is, of course, a third option," Hermione said carefully. "They're both true."
"Quite," Dumbledore said mysteriously.
"Okay, let's dwell on this for just a moment," Remus said, ever the voice of reason. "I don't know of any magic that can do - this. Bring people back from the dead, remembering events from the past that never happened - this just doesn't happen, Dumbledore."
"I have various theories, all of which are highly unlikely," Dumbledore said. "However, for the time being, it looks as if we will simply have to accept that it has happened. This is the reality we're facing - two realities, if you please: the one we are living in, and the one our friends here insist that they know.
"Which brings us, I'm afraid, to a rather problematic topic. The one, of course, of Lord Voldemort. They claim that in their memories, he is dead."
Sirius whistled. Lily gasped. James swore. Snape, however, eyed them suspiciously.
"They could be lying," he said in his unpleasant voice, one Hermione remembered so well.
"I think, Severus, we would do well not to unnecessarily antagonise them," Dumbledore chided him. "For the moment, we will assume that what they are telling us is the truth."
Hermione pursed her lips. She could see where this was going. Something inside her rebelled - Albus Dumbledore, playing with people's lives in order to advance his own agenda? Then, next to her, Harry snorted.
Perhaps she should not be so surprised.
"Let me guess," Harry got up now, and faced Dumbledore. "First we tell you how we defeated Voldemort, and then you help us get Neville out."
"I guess it's okay to antagonise us when it's necessary, mate," Ron muttered. Everyone in the room laughed - even Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile.
"Quite, Mr Weasley," he said. "And yes, that was the bargain I was about to suggest."
"Neville's in mortal danger there. Especially if Voldemort thinks he's the one destined to kill him," Harry burst. "We don't have the time to sit here and - and talk! - while he's in there. We need to act. Now. With or without you, we need to go."
"Mr Potter!" Dumbledore's voice was loud and terrible. Harry, who had already turned his back to the Headmaster, ready to leave the room, stopped. Slowly, he turned back towards Dumbledore.
"Had breaking into Lord Voldemort's fortress been such an easy task, we would have done so long ago. Had destroying Lord Voldemort's power been such an easy task, we would have done so already. Going there, on your own, right now, will be a suicide mission. You will not help your friend - the most you will do is get yourselves captured. And I am afraid, Mr Potter, that Voldemort will have one look at you, and come to quite the same conclusions as I have."
Hermione got to her feet automatically. Next to her, Ron did the same. "You've crossed the line, Headmaster," she said angrily. She didn't need to look at Harry to know he had gone pale, shaking slightly next to her.
"Erm, does anyone care to fill us in?" Sirius asked from behind them, clearly confused.
"Never mind that," Hermione snapped, still glaring at Dumbledore. "Fine - we'll help you - yes, Harry, that is the best solution." She didn't wait for him to actually talk, she just knew he would. "The best way we can get to Neville is to kill Voldemort. We already know how, don't we?" She looked at Dumbledore.
To her surprise, he didn't have a knowing smile on his face. He looked - confused. Was it possible he didn't know?
As if confirming the thought, the old wizard now frowned and said, "What do you mean by 'how', Ms Granger?"
Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. They had known each other for so long, they did not need to have this discussion out loud. It was simple, really: Voldemort was a danger to them, too. These people, to the best of their knowledge, did not know about the Horcruxes. They needed their help. Getting the Horcruxes would be the fastest way to get Neville out.
There was no question, really.
She still looked at Harry and Ron when she next spoke. "Lord Voldemort has created a number of Horcruxes, Headmaster. He cannot be killed until they are destroyed."
The old headmaster looked at her for a moment, but when he next spoke, it wasn't to Hermione. "The perhaps it would be best if we went to visit George Weasley," he said. It took one glance to see who he was looking at - Ginny Weasley, who stood at the door.
"George is awake," she said.
25th December, 2010, 7 p.m.
Somewhere, at the back of his head, Ron knew this must be a lot harder on Harry than he was letting on. He wasn't very good at controlling his feelings - that was another thing Voldemort had taken from him during those long ten years. But all in all, he couldn't help but think Harry was dealing incredibly well with the strange appearance of his parents, of Sirius and of Remus.
They were all rattled - Ron was, too, seeing Sirius and Remus like that. And even more rattled to realise they were, to the best of his judgement, best friends with Snape. But James and Lily Potter... he couldn't even begin to understand what that must have felt like for Harry. He thought he would never be able to understand.
He was wrong.
Ginny didn't notice him at first. He was standing behind Hermione, behind Harry, partially occluded by the various instruments in Dumbledore's office, by a strange pillar, by Fawkes's stand. He didn't even see her properly.
He didn't need to. He recognised her voice. She'd been dead for two years, and still, he recognised her voice like he last talked to her yesterday.
And not just that. "George is awake," she said, and for the first time it crossed his mind that maybe, with everything turned upside down and all of the dead people they had known coming to life - maybe it included his family, too.
He pushed through the people before him, with one thing on his mind. "Ginny."
She froze now. She looked at him as if she couldn't believe it - of course, like James Potter, like Remus Lupin... she thought he was dead. Just like he thought she was, too. All of a sudden, the memory of that day, the day Hermione came back to their hiding place and told him the news, that Ginny was dead, it didn't matter anymore.
None of that was real. The only real thing was that Ginny was standing there, in front of him, very much alive.
"Ron!" she said, with just as much shock, and they were hugging.
None of it mattered. Not that Voldemort was alive. Not that everyone thought he and Hermione were dead. Not that they had been to Neville's grave, just a few hours earlier. None of it changed a thing. His family was alive.
Ginny, however, broke the embrace all of a sudden and looked at Dumbledore suspiciously. "Is he really?" she asked. "Is that really Ron?"
"I believe he is, Ginny," Dumbledore said, and Ron could hear the smile in his voice, and Ginny was hugging him again. "I thought you were dead, we thought you were dead, we buried you - oh!" she called all of a sudden. "Mum and Dad! They're here, with George, we have to go to them, and George too, come on!"
They forgot all about the others as she led him towards the hospital wing.
"Mum and Dad, they'll be so excited to see you, you wait," she said. "Mum's never been the same."
Ron thought for a second about his mother, the last he had heard of her. He didn't get the chance to see her before she died. They were running for their lives - Voldemort had just been defeated, they were going to celebrate, he already fantasised of freeing his family, seeing them again... and then Malfoy took over and they had to run. And once again everything was lost. Not anymore, he thought as he held her hand. Not anymore.
"Why didn't you say anything, Ron?" Ginny asked all of a sudden. "It nearly ruined her. If only she'd known you're alive..."
"I couldn't. I don't - I don't understand it myself." And wasn't that the truth. "I can't explain. It's all so mental, everything that's been going on in the past day. Maybe Dumbledore could explain."
Ginny laughed. "I have no idea what you're saying," she said.
"Does it matter?"
"Not one bit."
He laughed, too, and they entered the hospital wing together.
George was lying on a bed, looking weak and pale. His flaming red hair stood in terrible contrast to the rest of him, white and ghostly, and the colourless hospital gown didn't help. But he was sitting up - already an improvement, from what Ginny had said - and his mum was helping him eat something out of a bowl.
"Dumbledore," he croaked.
"I'm here, my boy," Dumbledore said, and approached the bed. Molly Weasley looked around, searching for her daughter - and screamed. The bowl fell on the floor, smashed into a thousand pieces.
"Mum - it's him - its Ron!" Ginny said with a huge smile.
"Ron!" Molly screamed again, and rushed to embrace him. In the mayhem, George and Dumbledore were forgotten. He hugged his mother, then his father, then Fred, then Percy... some of them had died more than a decade ago, some of them had died only a couple of years ago, some of them had died between that time period, and here they were, all alive, all well, all happy to see him. And all the time, they kept on asking one word. How.
He didn't hear Dumbledore's words at first. Only when Dumbledore said, "Molly!" rather sharply did his mother let go of him, and looked at Dumbledore in wonder. "Molly," he said again, sounding anxious, "I will explain everything, but later. First, it is of the utmost importance that we hear what George has to say."
"Right, right..." his mother said, and Ron couldn't help but think that for the moment, she had more pressing things on her mind.
George eyed him for a moment, and stretched his hand to him. Ron took it gladly, and sat down at his brother's bed. "I'm here, George," he whispered. "Go on."
George nodded. "Voldemort..." he said, shuddering at the name. "He's got... he's done something. Something terrible. Long ago, I think. Something to make him immortal."
He coughed. Madam Pomfrey rushed with a potion, but left when she received a stern look from Dumbledore. "Go on, George," he said. "This is vital."
"I don't really know what he did. I don't understand any of that stuff." George's hand was still holding tight to Ron. "I think I don't understand a lot of things now," he smiled as he looked at Ron's face. Ron pressed his hand into George's.
With his other hand, George was trying to reach for the glass of water that stood on the bedside table. "Hold on," Ron said, and brought the water to his lips. George drank gratefully, then nodded. Enough. "It's something called... Horcrux. Something like that. Even his Death Eaters don't know about it."
Horcruxes! Again! Dumbledore was looking from George to Hermione. They just had their story corroborated by the most unexpected of testimonies.
Ron couldn't help but beam at Hermione - that had to be good news. Hermione, however, did not look pleased. Her lips had remained pursed, unhappy.
"It would appear, Ms Granger, that your memories... conflate with ours," Dumbledore said carefully.
"It would appear so, yes," she said.
"In which case, there's only one way to proceed."
To Ron's surprise, Hermione sighed. "I was afraid of that," she said.
25th December, 2010, 9 p.m.
"We need to establish some ground rules," Hermione declared. She could feel the rest looking at her in surprise, but she didn't care. Now that their story - their memories, their lives, in a way - had been confirmed by George, she finally felt she had the power to make such declarations.
Dumbledore, however, did not seem much disturbed by it. "What did you have in mind, Ms Granger?" he asked pleasantly.
"Harry gets his wand back, for starters," she said.
Dumbledore smiled a small smile. He was sitting, once again, behind his great desk. The Wealseys - including James Potter, and, to Hermione's great displeasure, Ron - chose to remain in the hospital wing, celebrating their unexpected reunion. Hermione and Harry had followed Dumbledore, together with Lily, Snape and Remus, back to his office, where he sat down behind his desk and said nothing. His eyes were on her the entire time.
Now, he smiled that small smile, then removed the wand from his pocket. He handed it - not to Harry, but to her. Biting back her scathing words, she took it, and handed it to Harry. He looked from her to Dumbledore, then reached tentatively for the wand. Small sparks came out of it when he grabbed it.
"Is that all, Ms Granger?" Dumbledore asked.
"No. We're going to need your help - all of your help," she glared at the people in the room. "The Horcruxes are pieces of Voldemort's soul. They are dangerous even when they are not protected, and some of them are protected by the worst of spells."
She sneaked a glance at Harry. He wasn't listening to her - rather, he was busy playing with his wand. "Harry!" she snapped. He raised his head.
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. "Horcruxes." His face contorted into an ugly expression. Hermione could not blame him.
"I think," she said carefully, "perhaps we should start with the easier option. Just to prove to the Headmaster we're not hoodwinking him."
"Or, that your information is correct, despite the differences between your memories and reality," he said.
"I don't know about reality, Headmaster," she snapped at him again. "But yes. That, too. Come on, Harry, I think we both know the easiest one to find."
"Wait," Dumbledore stopped them. "Perhaps, someone should accompany you."
"That won't be necessary."
"I insist."
Hermione shrugged. "Very well. Did you have anyone in mind?"
If she had the option to choose, she would have taken Remus. How she longed to talk to him again, to hear how he was doing. The happy reunion between Ron and his family had reawakened feelings in her she thought she had buried long ago. When they left Ron, he was chatting happily with his family, hugging and laughing... she closed her eyes. No, not Remus.
"Perhaps Lily should come with you," Dumbledore suggested, and Hermione accepted the suggestion.
The three of them left the office together - Hermione and Lily first, Harry walking slowly behind them. He didn't seem to want to walk with them. Hermione couldn't really blame him.
She sneaked a look at the woman next to her - Lily Evans-Snape. What a weird combination, she thought.
"How long have you been married to Sn - to Severus?" she asked in her friendliest voice.
"Oh," Lily said, sounding surprised, and Hermione suspected this was not the question she expected to hear. "Some 25 years now."
"That long, huh?" Hermione muttered without thinking. So, she thought, they got married long after James and Lily got married. Maybe that had something to do with James Potter? "And you and James Potter never - "
"God, no," Lily didn't even let her finish the sentence. "I mean, he's a lot more decent these days, but back in our school years... he was pretty insufferable."
"Very different from Severus, then?"
"Oh, yes. Sev and I have been friends since before Hogwarts."
"Must have been weird, though - I mean, you were in Gryffindor, he was in Slytherin... in my days, Gryffindor and Slytherin were sort of... well, we would never be friends."
Lily laughed. "Yes, it was a bit like that, too. Potter often told me and Remus off for, what was it?" her voice became slightly annoyed, colder. "Ah, yes. 'Fraternising with the Snakes'." She was definitely still angry with James Potter, then, Hermione thought, judging by her Lily relaxed and laughed a bit. "I used to shout at him every time he said that, but Remus was a lot more calm. Simply told him it was none of his business who our friends were, and if he would do us the favour of leaving us alone. And then, if Sev and Sirius ever heard that..." she chuckled.
Hermione nodded, trying to absorb it all in. Lily's story made no sense, of course, but it was strangely consistent with the behaviour she had witnessed until now.
She thought about asking something else, but the other woman spoke first, putting into words what was clearly burdening her mind. "My son's name is Harry, too." She looked behind her, and Hermione followed her gaze. It didn't look as if Harry had heard them.
"Yeah," Hermione said now, keeping her voice low. "That was your father's name, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Lily confirmed. "My parents died in a car crash when I was still in school."
"I know," Hermione said. Harry had told them, once when they had asked how come he had to stay with his aunt and uncle - Ron, in particular, with his big family and so many relatives, could not wrap it around his head that Harry's only living relative was his aunt Petunia.
But that wasn't really what this stranger was thinking about, was it? "In your memories..." Lily started hesitantly again. "Do you think you know me? I mean - do you remember? Knowing me?"
Hermione didn't answer.
"Do you?"
"I don't - it's complicated."
"I already have a son named Harry," she insisted again. "And this man, he looks so..."
"Strange?" Hermione offered. "Weird? Unbalanced?"
"Like James Potter," Lily said. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle.
They were almost at the door of the Room of Requirement when Lily next spoke. "Why?" she asked all of a sudden. It looked like she had debated with herself whether to ask that question for quite a while. "Why would Voldemort hold him prisoner for so long? Usually he just kills people. Even Neville Longbottom, if you and Dumbledore are correct... why keep him alive?"
"It's complicated." Hermione was not yet ready to give her answers, not on that topic.
"I suppose, if I were the person you remember, I'd have dealt with it better," Lily mused, more to herself than to the Hermione. "I can't imagine Harry - my Harry, that is, if he'd ever been... I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me," she hastened to say. "If I remembered him I would have done everything in my power, you know? To help him. I just... I don't know this man. I'm sorry."
Hermione didn't reply.
She shouldn't judge this woman, she thought to herself. She's not in her shoes. What would Hermione do if she found out all of a sudden she had a son? And besides, Lily didn't understand. She didn't know Harry. She didn't know everything he - the three of them, really - anything about what they had been through. Hermione shouldn't expect her to understand. Still she couldn't help but feel angry with the woman's words.
"I hope, in his memories, I treated him well," Lily added. Hermione said nothing. They were right at the tapestry of the tutu-wearing trolls.
Harry didn't wait for a sign from either of them. He walked three time past the blank wall - and there it was, the familiar door. "This is the diadem?" she asked Harry in a low voice. He nodded. They started searching the room. Lily just stood at the entrance, confused.
It took them half an hour or so to find it. The room was packed with small, unimportant, often broken things. She tried hard to remember where it was that they had found the diadem all those years ago - on a statue, wasn't it? Perhaps on a wig? She wandered around aimlessly, looking for anything that looked even remotely familiar.
It took them even longer than she had expected at first. The had divided the room into three parts - each one to be searched by a different person. Hermione had gone through her own section of the room three times, until she was convinced - no wig there, no ugly bust. No diadem. Perhaps, she thought, Lily could not recognise it from their descriptions. After another fifteen minutes of going through Lily's section, she had almost given up. Could it be that they were wrong? Could it be that the diadem was not hidden in the Room of Requirement?
It was entirely accidental that she looked over, to Harry's section of the room, and noticed it - the bust, the wig - the diadem. Harry had gone right by it, and missed it completely.
"Harry," she said softly, then pointed. He paused, looking at the direction she was pointing. After a moment, he realised what he was looking at. He grabbed the jewel, examined it for a moment, then nodded.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't remember..."
"It's alright," she said encouragingly. She was a lot less encouraged than she let on, but in the end, they managed to find the diadem. For the moment, that was all that mattered. "That's it," she said. "Let's go."
A few minutes more, and they returned to Dumbledore's office. "I believe, Headmaster, this should suffice as proof?" she asked, and put the diadem on his table. The old wizard took the old relic with shock written all over his face.
25th December, 2010, 10:12 p.m. X removed to S':
This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Harry and Ron sat quietly and listened to Anthony's story. It sounded like a bad dream. A nightmare. It couldn't be. Voldemort had world around them collapsed. All the Muggle-borns were sent to camps. Those who kept on fighting were punished by the Death Eaters, then followed, restricted. A world of nightmare where the Death Eaters still ruled, where, even once Voldemort was killed, it was already too late, Malfoy just took over and started it all over again... It went on and on and on. A never ending story of death and destruction and ruin.
Anthony did most of the talking, although they were all there. The rest didn't want to talk. He himself was the last one to suffer, Anthony said in a quiet voice at some point. His relative, the Death Eater... I had a better time than this lot, most of the time, he said. He looked at Dean when he said those words. Dean, who was sitting on a chair by the table, his head between his hands. Harry thought he was trying to stop himself from shaking.
At some point - when Anthony told them about the fate of the Muggle-borns who had survived the battle - Padma got up, put her hand on Dean's shoulder, who took it and squeezed it without a word. He was shaking in earnest now. Luna and Parvati just looked at each other, helpless. Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach, a lump in his throat, and he averted his eyes back to Anthony.
When he couldn't look even at Anthony anymore, when the stories of all their loved ones enslaved and murdered had become too much, mixed into one another, he looked at Ron instead. It wasn't much of a comfort. Ron looked a lot more like he did in that terrifying photograph - pale, worried, grim.
Harry got up and started pacing up and down the room. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't happening. "This isn't real," he insisted, looking at their faces. "This can't be happening."
"That's the world we've been living in for the past twelve years, Harry," Dean said.
"But it just didn't happen like that!"
"Here's what I don't get," Ron said all of a sudden. "We remember that Harry defeated Voldemort. You're saying Voldemort won, back at the Battle of Hogwarts. So, what - Harry died? I mean, he's right here, you can see him!"
"Yeah, exactly," Harry held on to that one last thread of sanity. "Yeah, how can I be here if Voldemort won? He'd never let me live, he was terrified because of the prophecy."
Dean and Anthony looked at each other. They looked terribly uncomfortable.
"Voldemort... didn't kill you, Harry."
"So, how did he win? I mean, I wouldn't have stopped fighting him, that's how I won, I pretended to be dead and then when he came claiming victory, that's what saved my life."
Dean closed his eyes. Anthony studied his fingers.
"What?"
"You were taken prisoner, Harry," Luna said gently. "Maybe that's why you don't remember. Maybe, because of Malfoy's..." she didn't finish the sentence. "You were Voldemort's prisoner. For ten years."
Harry shook his head. This was mental. That couldn't be. He gave a small, shaky laugh. "I think I'd know if I were imprisoned for ten years by Voldemort," he said, trying to laugh it off. Even Ron didn't laugh.
"Maybe... you're sort of... trying to forget," Dean suggested gently.
"What, like Muggle psychology and nonsense like that?" Harry stared at him. Dean shrugged.
"There were times, after Parvati and Padma got me out of the camp..." he shuddered. "I don't blame you, mate. That place..." the rest was written on his face, even though he didn't say it out loud - Harry, it was obvious, was a mental case, at least as far as Dean was concerned. What difference did it make?
But Harry knew better. From the depth of his robes, he pulled it, the one thing the Death Eaters - if they really were Death Eaters, as ridiculous as that idea was - had missed. His wallet. He opened it with a victorious call, and threw the evidence on the table. It was all there. "Am I hallucinating this?" he asked, showing the contents of his wallet to the people in the room, smiling in relief. He wasn't mad. He wasn't dreaming. This really wasn't happening - he had the proof right there in front of him. The world as he remembered it really did exist.
Dean looked at them in shock - the photographs. Harry's family. Anthony grabbed a photograph as well, as did Luna. They were staring at them with their mouths open.
"See?" Harry said, slightly smug - although there really wasn't anything to be smug about, not in this nightmare of a world. "I'm not hallucinating anything. That's my family, right there. James is four, he's a right menace now. Al's two, can't keep his mouth shut ever since he learned to talk properly. Lily was just born a couple of months ago. Here she is, with Ginny," he showed the awe-struck audience. He glared at them. "My family's real. My life is real."
"But that's not the world out there, Harry," Anthony said quietly. "I don't know how to explain this. But it's never happened. Not here."
"Well," Harry raised an eyebrow. "Maybe it's time we made sure it did happen here."