.-.

The Map

After an hour and a half of suffering through nearly suffocating, incense-choked air, fawning teenagers, and wispy, ambiguous predictions of missing pets and dying relatives, Hermione was nearly at her academic tolerance breaking point: the atmosphere around her made her feel as if she was mentally going backward.

Of course, the first class that she was attending in this world had to be the only one that she truly detested, in her world or any other.

Oddly enough, even though Seventh and Eighth Year Divination was, for the most part, an elective, the entire class was absolutely packed with men and women alike. Unfortunately, those numbers included Harry, Ronáld, and Ginevra, which meant that Hermione had to be on her "My" toes at almost every second. She had managed to fend off most conversation by feigning a detached air, but she had no idea how much longer she could go on without saying something that could possibly arise suspicion.

Shockingly, neither Harry nor Ronáld was poking fun at the class, which was a radical divergence from the Harry and Ron she knew and loved. While Harry was idly swirling the leaves in his cup and looking relatively indifferent, Ronáld and Ginevra, along with most of the other students, seemed to be hanging on to Trelawney's every word as the misty-eyed woman figuratively floated about helping particularly inept students interpret their tea leaves.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione peered back down at her unintelligible mess of tea leaves and decided to say that they looked like a shopping bag, if questioned.

One with the Inner Eye, she was not. And anyway, the answer sounded very My-like.

Ensuring a small smirk remained on her face at all times - an expression she had seen My wear in several more yearbook pictures in which she was not the central focus of the photograph - Hermione thought back to her encounter with Pansy that morning. It had gone rather well, considering that the situation must have seemed as ludicrous to Pansy as it did to Hermione.

And Draco Malfoy asking her to the Yule Ball, even if it was as a prank? The Malfoy of Universe A would never have stooped so low (at least in his mind), even for a prank. Merlin, this world had gone barking mad, which led her to believe more firmly that there was no conceivable way this was a mind-twisting spell; she had never had this vivid an imagination.

Then, to see Snape's name on her timetable! The man had murdered Dumbledore in her world, for Merlin's sake. That should have absolutely made him a Light supporter in this universe, and therefore technically either dead, in Azkaban, or a House-Wizard... unless her basic assumption that good in one world equaled bad in the other, or vice versa, was a faulty one. It certainly hadn't seemed to apply to Filch.

Hermione sighed.

Sniffing out potential allies was going to be far more complicated than she had hoped -

"You know, I'd say that Trelawney was acting like a crazy old bat, if I didn't know for a fact she wasn't one," she suddenly overheard Ronáld mutter none-too-quietly to Harry. "All these blasted predictions get as boring as a Centaur hunt with Filch if they aren't about you. If she doesn't have a useful vision now, I'm going to get a bit shirty. Maybe even furious; I haven't decided yet."

Hermione couldn't help but sadly stare at Ronáld's slicked-back head. She couldn't erase the lurid image of what he'd done to Malfoy from her head, and from his entitled smirks and lewd leers and obviously violent temperament, he probably hadn't thought twice about it, let alone once.

But it isn't him, Hermione, she thought firmly. It's a - a -

An evil twin.

She nodded to herself, forcing a mental divide between her perception of this narcissistic brute and one of her best friends in the world.

Yes, that was it. His twisted evil twin Ronáld.

And a Trelawney with constantly accurate visions? Hermione scoffed at the idea, though she did have to wonder why the Divination teacher had so many rabid disciples, Ronáld included. Of course, there was always the very remote possibility that this Trelawney was a bit more precise in her predictions than her other world counterpart.

Which could be a very serious problem indeed.

"Shame she doesn't get one every day," she breathed in disappointment, deciding to risk conversation in order to find out how frequent these 'visions' were.

"A right shame," Ronáld moodily agreed in what seemed to be a mockery of her words. He smirked and leaned toward her wantonly, struck by an all-too-sudden change of disposition. "I bet I know what's in your leaves, pet."

Hermione gritted her teeth. This was the second time since lunch he'd made a pass at her, and the first time had been without words. To her utmost loathing, she knew she'd have to put up with it if she wanted to get back to her world in one piece, if at all.

"And whatever might that be, Ronáld?" she forced herself to ask with a too-sweet smile, holding her cup out to him.

The redhead studied it for a minute, then looked at her in the same lascivious manner he had on the train. "Since it's so obviously meant to be a bed, it's letting you know that, tonight..." he lowered his voice in a husky manner that she assumed he thought was attractive, "you and the best-looking bloke in this castle, your Head Girl-sized bedroom…"

Hermione stiffened as she felt a hand that was not hers slide under her already far-too-short uniform skirt and run up and down her bare leg. Hardly masking a scowl, Hermione reached under the table, grabbed the hand, and practically threw it off her, all the while keeping the pleasant smile on her face.

"Oh, Ronáld, don't be silly!" she exclaimed, ignoring his pleading face. As his hand again tried to move back to where it had no business being, she slapped it away under the table, then tilted her cup slightly to look inside it once more. She smiled at him innocently. "I think it looks like a purse. In the future, I will either be shopping for new clothes or a new man."

Hopefully that slightly-witty comeback wasn't too far above My's head.

Luckily, Ginevra snickered as if My's insults of Ronáld were commonplace - Which will become even more frequent, Hermione thought vehemently - while several Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls nearby chuckled.

Ronáld, however, simply rolled his eyes like her threat was nothing but empty words and gave her an annoyed expression. "Now, now, no need to get all hissy, pet-– "

"And now, we come to Lady Evans," Trelawney's wispy voice suddenly breathed behind her. "Let me see your teacup, my beauty…"

For once, Hermione was actually relieved to hear Trelawney's voice, though nervous. Of course, she had half a mind to continue her avowed skepticism of the rubbish that others called Divination, but now there was too much at stake for her to take anything in this world less than seriously. If Trelawney was a true Seer – or even a person whose word was trusted and well-respected - and she even thought she 'saw' something, anything that might throw suspicion onto Hermione…

The Head Girl swallowed hard, forcing herself not to think of the consequences.

Ignoring Ronáld, she forced an airy smile to her face and nonchalantly held the cup toward the batty-looking woman who was hovering over her shoulder.

Please do not let her have a vision around me, please do not let her have a vision around me...

Trelawney peered inside the porcelain for a minute. "Your leaves whisper of an exchange in your future," she said in a hushed voice, her eyes scrutinizing the cup's bottom as she rotated it in her hands. "Tonight… Yes, tonight… The switch must begin and end tonight. Use your Inner Eye! Do you See, my beauty?"

Oh thank Merlin.

Still the same crazy old bat, as Ronáld would say.

Hermione let out a breath, torn between relief and scorn. She froze in the process of rolling her eyes at Trelawney's tosh when she saw that Ronáld and the rest of the class were leaning toward herself and the professor, as if truly enraptured by the display.

In a heartbeat, the adrenaline and instincts that had kept her undetected since the moment she had somehow fallen into the Hogwarts Express of Universe B swallowed all her pride.

Swiftly channeling a Universe A memory of Lavender and Parvati during the few Divination classes she had taken, Hermione blinked and then masked her face into a mixture of confusion and awe, nodding as seriously as she could. "Oooo, I do!" she breathed, keeping her voice between an excited squeal and a breathy purr. She gestured at the cup. "That bit - and that bit there – Together they make an 'X,' for exchange! I see it!"

"My can See!" Parvati echoed in an excited whisper from the table behind her.

Trelawney nodded in equal seriousness and gave Hermione a rare half-smile, briefly setting her hand on her shoulder. "Well done, my dear. Well done," she breathed before moving on to a smirking Ronáld.

Hermione noticed Harry unhesitatingly roll his eyes at the same time that Ginevra glanced up from a brief examination of her nails. "Oh yes, well done, My," she imitated under her breath in a snide mockery of Trelawney, before one side of her lip tugged up crookedly. "You must be pleased. Every year you get that much closer to your life's ambition of being just like her."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure if Ginevra was mocking her or if this was some sort of inside joke. Perhaps My thought Trelawney was crackers as well?

"Minus her sense of style, you mean," she risked replying with a smirk.

Ginevra snorted and nodded once. "Luckily for you."

Hermione released a breath as the youngest Weasley turned back to Trelawney's prediction for Ronáld. Despite her bizarre obsession over Harry, Ginevra was clearly sharp as a whip, and Hermione was afraid that if anyone would be able to see though her mask, it would be her.

That was the moment she first saw Harry slip a thin sheet of parchment out of his pocket on the side opposite the one Ginevra was clinging, as if to prevent her from looking it. Curiosity overtook Hermione as he tapped it with his wand and nonchalantly glanced down at it, and she couldn't help but casually tilt her head at just the right angle…

Oh bugger.

Hermione sucked in a quick breath as the object of Harry musings came into full visibility.

That was going to be a problem.

"D'you see my hair, My? Doesn't it look different? Last week I had my Style Witch fix it exactly like yours!"

"What was it like to spend the entire summer with the son of Lily Evans? He's just so cold and dark and delicious, My… Have you gotten a good look at him – you know – starkers?"

"My, are the papers true? Did you really have an affair with Sirius Black after the Awards Ceremony?"

"We aren't bothering you, are we?"

Tonight… Yes, tonight… The switch must begin and end tonight…

With the breathy undertones of a hovering Professor Trelawney still ringing painfully in her ears, Hermione winced and finally tuned back in to the dinner conversation.

"Yes! Now let me eat in peace!" she snapped at the last question she had heard, shooting Parvati Patel, Lavender Brown and three girls in seventh year that she didn't know a glare. When all of them simply continued to gaze at her with awestruck eyes, Hermione wondered with a bit of belated alarm as to what else, exactly, she had answered 'yes' to.

Oh well done, Hermione; let's personally fuel more reports of your own promiscuity, she thought sarcastically.

Holding back a tired groan, she turned back to her meal without another glance at the gaggle of girls, praying they would simply take a hint. Not only did she not want to talk about make-up, gossip, men, Dark magic and sex – the only topics she had heard out of their mouths the entire day – she didn't want to risk anything by speaking more than she had to.

Though a few of the girls looked decidedly disappointed, they all eventually turned back to their whispering group, thankfully leaving her alone at last.

And alone she truly was.

Hermione resisted the exceedingly tempting urge to rub her temples. Despite the obvious gains it had made promoting Muggle-born rights and equality, not only was this world one in which the Dark Arts were of the utmost importance, it was also highly materialistic and hyper-consumerist, leagues beyond the culture in which she'd been raised in Universe A (and that was quite saying something). She couldn't believe the amount of mobile phones and other seemingly Muggle-esque technology and toys she'd seen scattered around Hogwarts in the span of a single day.

She - well, My - surprisingly didn't seem to have a mobile of her own, at least not one that Hermione had found yet, and for that she was immensely grateful. Pretending to be My amongst the handful of people in her social circle was difficult enough, and she didn't know how she'd manage to convincingly field calls and messages from utter strangers who likely knew 'her' better than she did herself.

Releasing a long breath, Hermione forced herself to focus back on the problem at hand: This universe's Marauder's Map.

Of course, since its appearance in the Divination attic, Harry hadn't offered to show it to either Ginevra or herself, though she wasn't entirely certain he had even shared it with Ronáld. But if she was going to be sneaking around the library after hours, researching ways to get home, she couldn't exactly let him know that she was there, could she... especially not if the odds of hearing 'My' and 'studying' in the same sentence seemed close to zero.

Anxiously gnawing the inside of her cheek, Hermione glanced back toward the front of the Great Hall, and just managed to catch a glimpse of Harry's messily curled raven-colored hair as he hunched over his plate.

She had to get that Map.

Harry Evans sullenly stared at his food, relieved to have that blasted redhead away from him for one bleeding second of his waking hours. He only tolerated her presence because he had no other choice. He only spoke to her brother because his mother expected him to. He never spoke to Thomas, Finnegan, or Longbottom.

Idly, he tuned in to Ronáld's voice beside him -

"-nevra was behind most of that, I'll admit - bit shirty holiday was over, I think - but tonight – a free-for-all. That right dirty minger's been asking for it the entire summer-"

- and tuned back out just as quickly, focusing his energy on staring blankly at the back of the head of a blonde Ravenclaw sitting at the next table over. A minute, or maybe five passed in this manner, but then an unmistakable voice suddenly cut through his bitter haze of unnameable thoughts with a mere two words.

"Oh, Ronáld…"

Harry's shoulders instantly tensed. Clenching his jaw, he shifted his head to the left very slightly, almost unnoticeably – just in time to see the woman he had for two and a half years been truly loathe to call his sister wrap her arms around Weasley from behind.

So much for 'Oh, I'm so hard to get, Ronáld,' conniving little bint, he thought acerbically as all conversation between Longbottom, Thomas, and Finnegan abruptly halted, Longbottom and Thomas coughing loudly.

A smug, possessive smirk broke out across Ronáld's face, which My only fueled as she leaned down, bringing her lips close to his ear. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving now, so you don't have to come looking for me later," she whispered in a low enough tone that Harry was probably the only other person close enough to hear.

He didn't need to look at Weasley to know that an excited gleam had jumped to the whipped tosser's eyes. "Looking for a spot of company, are you, pet?" He threw his napkin on the table. "Only too happy to oblige-"

"Oh, not now, Ronáld," My interrupted saucily, "I plan on taking a long, hot bath – alone," Harry was enormously surprised to hear her add.

Weasley made a slight moan of protest as she turned. "Oh, come on, pet!" he exclaimed, catching her hand and pulling her back toward him. Harry felt no brotherly protection arise in him at the sight as Weasley whined, "It's been two bloody days!"

"Bloody hell, wrapped right around her sexy little finger, he is," Thomas muttered, shaking his head.

"And you're saying you wouldn't be wrapped around her sexy little finger, if you were in his position," Finnegan muttered back with a salacious stare in My's direction.

Harry could only sit, steaming in his own boiling blood, as My continued to make her presence known with more verbal foreplay with Ronáld and the other knob-headed lummoxes in his House. Had they really no concept her ultimate plan was to leave them all exposed and drooling like the halfwits they were while she had the last laugh?

Then, very purposely, she bumped into his own shoulder. Hard.

Harry swiveled on the bench, hardly stopping himself from releasing the same electric shock of anger and aversion he felt whenever My so much as looked at him. "Watch it, you cow!" he hissed furiously.

Infuriatingly, she simply batted long eyelashes at him. "Oh, so sorry, brother."

Harry was positive he saw a tiny grin tug at her lips a second before she turned on her heel. He scowled fiercely at her back until she had sashayed out of the Great Hall entirely.

For years, he had always encouraged the world to believe that he cared for no one except himself and was indifferent to everything and everyone else, but words could not begin to describe how much Harry Evans hated the newest addition to his family. Despite the innocent, dumb blonde act she had always put on, he knew all too well her head held a perfectly functioning brain. Why no one else thought so, he hadn't the slightest idea.

"You never did tell me what my little My-pet ever did to you, Evans," Weasley said then in an imperialistic tone that left no room for avoidance. The self-obsessed skrewt leaned back on the bench and laced his hands behind his head, expectantly looking over at Harry.

Longbottom laughed. "No shit, Evans; you've got the goods! All I had to play with over the holidays was that Bulstrode twitch of a House-Witch. If My Granger suddenly became my adopted 'sister' and lived in the same house I did, you'd bloody well bet that she and I'd already be sharing a bit of good ol' sibling relations, if you know what I mean..."

He trailed off as Weasley gave him a venomous glare; when Harry set his cold gaze on him as well, Longbottom chuckled uncomfortably and looked away. "All right, all right; not my property," he muttered sullenly.

Harry glanced at Weasley. "It's personal," he said shortly in answer. Shoveling one last forkful of steak and kidney pie into his mouth, he stood and stalked away from the table without another word to any of them, his well-trained ears easily blocking out Ginevra's whingings of, "Harry, darling, where are you running off to without me?"

Bloody hell, he needed to go flying.

As soon as she emerged from the Great Hall, Hermione pasted a snooty expression on her face. Without bothering to acknowledge the few other students entering and exiting the Hall, she quickly turned down a dim, lesser used corridor. When she was safely out of view of any curious eyes, she slipped her hand deep into the pocket of her designer robes.

Her fingers connected with the smooth but worn parchment of Universe B's Marauders' Map.

A relieved smile slipped across her face, and she marveled, with some incredulity, at the relative ease of it all. While bantering with the Gryffindor boys, she had discretely utilized several rather handy pick-pocketing charms that Mundungus Fletcher had delighted in teaching her during the relatively short time he'd stayed at the same make-shift Light shelter as the Golden Trio had the previous year. Harry Evans had been so busy cursing her with his eyes that he hadn't even noticed that anything was amiss.

For a brief moment, her insides twisted painfully at the memory, but she shoved the sensation from her mind. For as much as every glare, every spiteful word truly hurt her now, she was going to have to get used to Harry's hatred, just as she would have to get used to handling Ronáld's perverse aggression. After all, they weren't the people that Hermione truly liked; they weren't the real Harry and Ron.

Anyway, it'll only be for a little while longer, she reassured herself, pulling the Map completely from her pocket. Only until you find a way back, and you will. You'll be back with the Harry and Ron you love within the week... a month, at the longest.

Yes, just a month, and she would be back in a universe where she and so many like her had fought for the greater good and had won. Just a month, and she would be safe…

For some reason, instead of reassuring her, the words caused her heart to tighten in her chest.

Yet again, a handful of graphic memories from the past twenty-four hours flashed before her: The excitement and hope in Pansy Parkinson's expression when Hermione had all but told her that she wasn't really 'My' but someone whose alliances lay with the Light; the hesitant, poignant thank-you Pansy had given Hermione after she'd eventually stopped crying; the ghastly state in which she'd found Draco Malfoy, and the astonishment in his eyes when she'd pointed her wand at him and hadn't hurt him… but helped him.

Shaking off a deep uneasiness and something else, something inexpressible curling in the pit of her stomach, Hermione quickly forced her focus back to the Map. She wasn't certain how much time she had to work with, but she knew it wasn't much. Harry seemed to use it often, and she had no idea whether there were any seriously noticeable differences between this one and Universe A's Marauders' Map, which she had left with him.

"I solemnly swear I'm up to no good," she muttered, tapping the parchment with her wand. It occurred to her she didn't have a plan for what she'd do if the passwords were different, but luckily, inky lines spread from her wand to the parchment, carefully tracing the blueprints of the castle. She let out a breath of relief.

"-and then Lupin pounded him, easy as you please! That is one hell of a Dark Arts teacher, I tell you!"

Unexpectedly, a burst of leisurely chatter exploded nearby, and Hermione jerked in both surprise and alarm. Swiftly, she shoved the Map under one arm, safely out of obvious sight, and casually leaned back against the corridor wall as if she was waiting for someone there, idly studying long, manicured nails.

A group of older Hufflepuffs walked by. Some that Hermione vaguely recognized as a year or two younger than herself openly gaped at her, as if they had just been given the rare opportunity to gaze upon some distant pop star. Justin Finch-Fletchley's eyes, however, freely roved down her body from head to toe.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to remain indifferent, tossing her unnaturally smooth hair (or, at least, unnatural to her) over her shoulder.

Susan Bones nodded at her with a relatively cool expression, and Hermione simply arched an eyebrow in reply, her expression detached but her heart pounding. She hoped it wasn't too cold of a brush-off.

Apparently, it wasn't, because the Hufflepuffs returned to whatever heated conversation they'd been having about the Dark Arts and continued on their way without any perceptible suspicion.

Merlin... whatever happened to the 'just, patient, and kindhearted' Hufflepuffs?

The knots in her stomach slowly unclenched as their voices faded. It was her first full day here, only her first day, and she was already on the edge of exhaustion from the constant necessity to keep her senses and her mind on high alert.

Where's Harry's Invisibility Cloak when I need it? she thought tiredly, slouching partway down the wall. Then again, she supposed it would be easiest if she thought of it as her Invisibility Cloak while she was here, as the Harry of this universe probably had one as well-

Invisibility.

Her mind snapped to attention, swiftly sweeping away the mists of tiredness that had been clouding her senses.

She straightened. Of course! Only yesterday night, she'd actually managed to perform one of the most advanced charms invented, despite its oft-perceived impracticality. In this world, it would certainly be of unspeakable usefulness to her.

Surreptitiously glancing around to ensure she was indeed again alone, she carefully folded the Map along an already established crease and slid it back in her pocket. Feeling an almost childish mix of exhilaration at her new capability and anxiety that she wouldn't be able to reproduce it, she took her wand from her pocket and purposefully aimed it at herself.

OCCAECO!

She paused expectantly at the end of the silently cast spell. But instead of the odd tingling that she had experienced the first time she'd completed it (and hoped to experience again, as she assumed it was an indication of success), Hermione felt… nothing.

Disappointment flooded her. Frowning, she shook her head, determinedly clearing her mind. "No. I can do this," she muttered. The night before absolutely had not been a fluke. It hadn't been!

She took a deep breath of resolve and again placed the tip of her wand on her arm. Furrowing her brow in concentration, she closed her eyes and thought of only one word. OCCAECO… Occaeco, Occaeco, OCCAECO!

Nothing happened. No tingly sensation, no surge of magic. No nothing.

Oh bloody… Bugger it!

She hissed in exasperation and nearly kicked the wall behind her. Sighing heavily, she lightly banged her head back against it instead and stared up at the vaulted corridor ceiling. She had been under an immense amount of pressure the night before, she reasoned. To her, the situation had literally been life or death. Perhaps, theoretically, those were the conditions she needed to experience in order to reproduce the charm.

Anyway, that was the only time it would really matter, right?

Right.

Hermione nodded affirmatively and started off down the corridor toward the Head dorms. She could complete an eighth-level Invisibility charm. Obviously, she already had. But she'd only be able to use it on… special occasions.

The kind of special occasions one never particularly wanted to have.

Briefly, she pinched the bridge of her nose and released another frustrated breath, then pulled the Universe B Marauders' Map from her pocket. She thumbed through it, trying to distract herself from her inability to cast a crucially useful spell she'd managed to previously.

The year before, she had helped 'her' Harry make a few adjustments to the Marauders' Map – mostly to allow it to see through several new concealment enchantments that had been developed during the war and therefore hadn't been incorporated into the Map's original detection capabilities like Polyjuice Potion had, for example. Granted, it had taken her a little more than a week to break through the admittedly ingenious framework, but she had gotten it, in the end. If this Map was made anywhere near the same way, then jamming it however she wanted should be a snap in comparison.

She would have to jam it well, however, considering the fact that most if not all of the original creators of said Map were probably still alive.

Absently, Hermione turned down another hallway, slowly closing the remaining distance between herself and the Head common room. At the painfully loud click of her high-heeled shoes on the stone floor, she couldn't help but wince. She had always considered any shoe with a heel higher than a centimeter to be utterly useless and perfectly impractical for daily use, but according to Pansy, this type of footwear was the only kind My owned… besides sheepskin slippers and fluffy white "snow boots" that she doubted could withstand a single drop of precipitation were it not for the aid of waterproofing charms.

Irately, she drew her wand and shot a Muffling Charm at the ridiculous things, then turned back to the Marauders' Map. Keeping her ears tuned for any stray noises that could alert her she was being followed or was about to run into another student, she scanned it keenly.

Off the top of her head, she was able to pick out a few major differences between universes, which lent more evidence against the hypothesis she might have been struck by a mind-altering jinx. Most noticeably, this Map showed a large addition to the Hogwarts grounds: a rectangular building boldly labeled 'The Hangar,' squeezed between the eastern edge of the lake and the Hogwarts wall.

Hermione eyed it curiously, wondering at its use, then flipped through the various folds of the parchment until she was looking at the lesser used area of the castle she'd been the night before.

Interestingly enough, the Map showed no additional construction down the corridor that held the vampire statue - as if whatever was beneath the statue had been built after the Map had been made. But, oddly, a small, familiar tag was hovering above the space where, theoretically, a hidden passage or room would be, showing that someone was there at this very moment.

Frowning briefly in the dim light of the fading autumn day that shone through the few windows lining the hall, Hermione swerved, slowing beneath a lighted torch. The flickering firelight spilled across the paper, instantly making clear the previously unintelligible words.

Hermione's legs stopped working so suddenly, she almost fell over. She hardly noticed; she didn't care. She could only stare at the name before her.

The person tagged was Lucius Malfoy.

She blinked rapidly. But… that wasn't possible. According to the books she had read only the night before, Lucius Malfoy had 'mysteriously vanished' in the early eighties, in the midst of playing a major role in the first Conservative-supported rebellion.

Doubting her own eyesight, she suspiciously peered at the letters once more, then whipped out her wand and muttered, "Lumos!" for additional illumination, bringing the Map close to her face.

Yes, the label most definitely read Lucius Malfoy.

Unless...

Hermione's eyebrows lifted slightly in realization, as a comment that McGonagall had made the night before suddenly made sense.

"It's been fourteen years, and he still hasn't said the words you want to hear..."

Unless he was still being kept as a prisoner... here. But why hold him at Hogwarts? Surely an authoritarian government like the Sovereignty would have a reliable stock of legitimate prisons-

"Oh! My la – Hermione," Pansy's voice abruptly said from in front of her, still sounding wary at addressing her with anything less than a formal title. "He – Hello?"

Startled from her thoughts, Hermione looked up swiftly, only to find herself standing inside the door to her Head Girl suite, and Pansy looking up at her from where she was sitting, cross-legged, on the thick maroon rug at the foot of the bed.

She blinked. "Oh, erm - Hi, Pansy," she said, probably too brightly. "Were you... able to find something to do after I left?"

Pansy shrugged and held up what appeared to be a fashion magazine, probably one of the only semi-books that My possessed. "Beauty secrets – at least there's no politics involved," she said weakly, though her eyes were still guarded and wary. "Do you – Do you need me to do - ?"

She started to stand, but Hermione waved her hand in a 'stay' motion. "No, no, don't worry about a thing. I haven't regressed. Everything we talked about this morning still stands, and believe me, it won't be changing any time soon," she added with another surge of disgust at the Sovereignty's cruel system. "You most certainly do not have to wait on me or on anyone else who comes in here, though I sincerely hope we don't have company anytime soon. Anyway, I've got, erm… homework," she finished lamely, holding up the Map as if proof.

Pansy's eyebrows flew up, but she didn't complain; in fact, she seemed rather astonished. "Well… Alright," she said tentatively, nodding. It could have been Hermione's imagination, but the other woman's deep blue eyes seemed to linger on the Marauders' Map for a second too long before she returned her focus to the magazine.

After a moment, Hermione shook her head. She was just being paranoid (though certainly not without reason). Still, speaking of the Marauders' Map…

"Pansy," she said abruptly, gazing somewhat distractedly at the aged parchment, "Do you, erm… know what happened to Draco Malfoy's father?"

The dark-haired woman started and looked back up at Hermione so quickly, her long braid whipped against the front board of the bed with a small thump. Clearly, she hadn't expected the question, although all Hermione really wanted was another source to verify the same story that had been in A Brief History of the Modern Wizarding World, 1945- 1997, just to ensure that the book's information was indeed true.

"I – erm – Well, don't you?" Pansy asked evasively.

Hermione sank down at the edge of the bed, kicking off the much-hated high-heeled shoes. "I forgot."

Mentally, she groaned at her excuse. Oh, Hermione, why don't you just stop trying already? She already knows that there's no comprehensible way you can still be My.

As if to prove her point, Pansy twisted around slightly, surveying Hermione carefully. "He disappeared just after Draco's fifth birthday. A few months later the Sovereignty told Draco's mum he died of a heart attack in Azkaban," she said after a moment. "That's really all I know. Draco and his mum never talked much about him to me, though you – er… though Gryffindors used to taunt him about it a rather lot," she finished cautiously, as if unsure of whether to refer to My in the second or third person. Uncertainty abruptly flickered in her eyes. "Oh, erm – you don't… mind me mentioning Draco, do you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I certainly don't. You can say whatever you want about whoever you want whenever you want. You are not a House-Witch, and you never have to act like one while I'm here." She didn't realize her voice was raising until it already had. "The entire system as it stands is utterly barbaric; no one should ever be forced to serve anyone against their will—"

Whoa there, 'Mione. This is not the time for a S.P.E.W.-like tirade.

She could almost hear Ron's voice in her head.

She paused, inhaling in a slow breath. "Sorry. I tend to go off about these things sometimes," she said after she felt significantly composed again. "Thanks... for telling me, about Draco's father."

Pansy momentarily searched Hermione's gaze, which Hermione was certain was still tight with lingering anger. Then she bit her lip, hesitating. "Why?" she asked quietly.

Hermione held back a tired yawn, glancing at her over the edge of the bed. "You mean… why did I ask about Lucius Malfoy?"

When Pansy nodded, she sighed. Wonderful… Do I tell her?

She hated to lie, but she hardly had any idea what was going on herself, both regarding this new Lucius Malfoy situation and everything else. On top of that, telling the truth would require a very long explanation of the Marauders' Map, and that was something she was far too exhausted for at the moment.

Dismissively, she waved her hand. "It's nothing, really. I overhead someone mention the name, earlier. I was just curious."

"Oh." Pansy's Mediterranean blue eyes studied Hermione for a second more, gleaming in a curiously unreadable fashion, before she returned her attention to the magazine. Hermione hadn't the slightest idea of whether or not she believed her, but, at that point, she had too much to do in a very short period of time to worry about it.

Rolling over until she was fully sprawled across her bed, she pulled the Map in front of her and frowned thoughtfully once more at the name Lucius Malfoy. She suddenly had so much to learn and consider and pretend and find that she wasn't even sure where this revelation ranked on her priority list, or if it should even be on her priority list. After all, if Lucius Malfoy was indeed in Hogwarts Castle, then no doubt he was guarded well. It was blatantly obvious that whomever or whatever was inside the vampire passage was very important to the woman she had seen with McGonagall. And what was more, regardless of that…

Would Hermione be willing to risk her cover and even her life to find out?

After all, what would she do if she did discover that Lucius Malfoy was being detained in a hole under a vampire statue at Hogwarts - really? Not a single day had passed in Universe A that the vicious, bigoted man hadn't acted out of spite and twisted discrimination. Sure, things seemed to be completely reversed here, but how could she really be assured that Lucius was indeed good? She'd thought that Severus Snape had been evil in her world as well, yet here he was, still on the side of evil.

Hermione! Good Merlin, stop over-analyzing this situation! she scolded herself. The Marauders' Map might have a good track record, but you don't even know for certain it's him!

Hermione briefly closed her heavy eyes, burying her face into the down comforter covering her bed. The desire to nod off was as tempting as a siren's call, but she reluctantly lifted her head, blearily forcing her eyes back open before she could succumb to it.

She would worry about Lucius Malfoy later. She'd have no means of doing anything for him or anyone else if she didn't help herself now. If Harry Evans had full operational use of the Marauders' Map, she'd have no way of researching legitimate explanations for her transfer here... as well as what steps would be necessary to return home.

That meant that the Map had to go.

Shrugging off her robe so she was simply left in her uniform skirt and shirt, she spent the next two and a half hours carefully working her way through the Map's now-familiar, delicate magical structure. When she'd finally cracked it, she debated for several minutes on an appropriate message to display once she'd completely disabled it, especially because there was the chance that Harry would run to his – their – father and ask for help.

Finally, Hermione settled on what she deemed the most cautious approach.

'Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs regretfully wish to inform you that the Marauders' Map will be closed for repairs, updates, and renovations for an indefinite amount of time. Have no fear, however; we will reopen as soon as all improvements are finished! Do not let this discourage you from cracking on in your dodgy and preferably illicit activities. Remember, pranksters will always prevail no matter the odds that may be thrown against them!

Until an indefinite amount of time, we remain,

Your Fellow Mischief Makers

P.S. – To those particularly insightful fellows who may be privy to the identity of aforementioned Messrs., do not bother to seek out aid from one of them. This cycle is necessarily for the Marauders' Map's health and proper function, and, as we have spent valuable time integrating it into the Map's system, we will not cut the process short simply because you haven't got a whit of patience.'

Smiling to herself, Hermione carefully re-folded the map and tucked it into her robe's pocket. Heaving a sigh of relief she'd at least accomplished something productive, she rolled onto her side, gratefully taking the infrequent moment of laziness to thoughtfully gaze around the Head Girl suite. It was exorbitantly massive for a private dorm room, with loads of floor and wall space despite the many bureaus, sofas and sitting chairs.

Yet… there was no extra bed.

Furrowing her brow, Hermione crawled commando-style to the edge of the bed and poked her head out over it, startling Pansy enough for the woman to jump and look up at her in surprise. Hermione gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry to keep startling you, but… where do you sleep?" she asked cautiously, partially afraid of the answer she might receive.

Pansy's face fell, and a slight flush rose to her pale cheeks. "I have to sleep in the… the House-Wizard hold, in the dungeons," she mumbled dully, carefully staring down at the magazine in her lap. As scorching anger crossed Hermione's face, she added half-heartedly, "It's not as bad as it sounds..."

Hermione's aversion to and utter revulsion for this world and the part that she was being forced to play in it that had been steadily building throughout the day abruptly burst from the careful dam behind which she'd tried to contain it.

"Rubbish! From this night on, you're sleeping right here!" she said furiously, the anger not directed at Pansy, but at the monstrously inhumane way she was being treated. "Just let me know who I have to tell, and oh, I will – tell them to go bugger themselves, anyway," she growled under her breath.

Pansy tore her gaze away from the magazine to stare at Hermione as if she still couldn't believe she was real. "Filch… he's the overseer," she said softly, hope trickling back into her eyes. "My brand acts as a Portkey. I'll be transported to a cell at ten, unless you let him know there's been a change of arrangements."

Hermione nodded, her eyes still narrowed angrily, and hopped off the bed, already scoping out the large room for the best place to put an extra cot. "No worries. Done. Consider it a permanent change of arrangements. Honestly, making human beings sleep in a 'House-Wizard hold'... Merlin's ghost." Abruptly, she looked down at Pansy in horror. "Are there very many of you who're forced to sleep down there?"

For a few moments, the pale-faced woman simply stared at her, her eyes glistening with a depth of sadness that Hermione abruptly began to feel inside herself as well even though she'd never experienced the magnitude of the horrendous ordeal Pansy surely had. Eventually, the other witch shook her head. "I- I don't know. We're all... separated. I can't hear anything outside my cell," she murmured faintly, her voice tight. "But I remember how big that area was, so if I had to guess... At least fifty others, I'd suppose, if not more."

"Fifty!" Hermione exploded under her breath, shoving her feet into the ridiculously high heels with a bit more vigor than was necessarily. She hardly even winced at the pain that shot through her toes. Irritably, she fired a cushioning charm at them, though what she really needed was a charm that followed her around at all times, ready to catch her whenever she tripped and fell -

"Herm- Hermione?"

Her gaze snapped upward to find that Pansy was standing rather uncertainly a few feet from her, her expression anxious - as if she desperately wanted to speak, but didn't quite know how. The instant Hermione saw the leagues of gratefulness shining in her eyes, she grasped her unvoiced words, and some of the anger and frustration at the world around her drained from her body.

She opened her mouth, began to say, 'Everything's going to be alright,' but quickly stopped herself a breath before she did. There was no use in making promises she doubted she would be able to keep.

Instead, she wordlessly reached out and gently touched the former Slytherin's arm in a gesture she often used when comforting less intimate friends. "I'm going to do what I can for you," she said quietly.

Pansy looked torn between hopefulness and skepticism, the forgotten fashion magazine hanging limply from her hand. "A-Are you certain that you're going to s-stay this way?" she whispered, her timid voice quivering slightly as she spoke.

Hermione smiled warmly at the taller woman - though with My's heels, they were currently around the same height. "Yeah. I am."

As if a silent understanding had passed between them, Pansy tremulously returned the smile, visibly struggling to withhold the emotion glistening in her eyes. After an awkward moment, Hermione sympathetically reached out and hugged her reassuringly. "I am," she repeated firmly as Pansy's thin shoulders began to tremble once more. "That, I can promise you."

For now, anyway, she finished silently, mentally wincing with guilt after the assurance slipped from her mouth. After all, she had no idea of the nature of the spell that had brought her here. For all she knew, she might very well wake up and find herself back in Universe A the very next morning.