At this point I would like to thank The White Wolf of Remnant. Thank you very much! He bataed this chapter and helped me spotting mistakes I would have never found myself.

Chapter 2 — A Short Cut to Weasleys

Harry Potter and the Dark Halo
FunCube

A hallucination! That was what he saw. What it had to be. This couldn't be Hermione Granger. Yes, the look of superiority wasn't an unknown expression to Harry, but now, it lacked the embarrassment that usually came along with it.

If he had senses for something else than the lonely figure at the foot of the stairs he would have seen that Diagon Alley had descended into utter chaos. People were falling over one another to get to one of the alleyways connected to the square in front of Gringotts. Sheer panic ran through the crowd, as parents dragged their children off the site and others disapparated as if a thunderstorm was about to strike.

In the midst of it all stood a still Hermione, who looked curiously into his eyes, as if she were trying to glance directly into his soul, attempting to find out who had just dared to call out her name. She was just as Harry remembered. Her hair fell down to the sides of her head in bushy locks. Her whole posture was just so Hermione-like it couldn't be an imposter.

On one hand, Harry was a little disappointed that she didn't recognize him but then he remembered having taken the Polyjuice Potion, which had altered his appearance into that of a different person. On the other hand, though, he had the disquieting feeling to run and not look back until he was out of the sight of this 'person' that looked and behaved exactly like his best friend. But it couldn't be her. This was not the girl for whose company he had craved so much. That girl would throw herself at him and crush him in a hug with a passion only known to true friends. And her eyes would be graced by a shimmer of gold.

Or maybe she was Hermione. He was polyjuiced after all. How could she know it was him?

He took one step in her direction. He had to find out. He would just ask her and she would give him the entire tale of what had happened since his abduction in a Hermione-like lecture — after a hug.

He took a second step, ignoring the feeling of repulsion that flooded his body. She was his best friend! They had gone through trials no teenager should have to go through and had always survived. Together.

Her eyes were still trained on him, maybe expecting him to come closer. He wanted nothing more than to talk to her and find out what had happened.

He was about to take the third step towards her, when suddenly he felt Neville's hand on his shoulder and time slowed down. Hermione's eyelids rose in surprise and the arm holding her wand moved forward. Her wand was nearly pointing at him when his sight abruptly began to darken. A pressing feeling from all sides made breathing more difficult than ever before. The emerging darkness swallowed his surroundings as his eyes were pulled into his head. The last thing he could see through the long tunnels that were his eye sockets, was the red light that left Hermione's wand and zipped straight at him.

The weight on his chest was gone as fast as it had come and so was the red light as well as the square in front of Gringotts. Instead, he stood in a dark and empty alley. Several meters away it connected to another street on which people were running frantically.

Neville had let go of him and was muttering something to himself while rummaging fiercely through his pockets. Without the support of Neville's hand, Harry's balance was very much in jeopardy as everything around him seemed to be pulled to the ground. And he felt being pulled to the ground as well. He didn't fall, though, because he himself was now holding Neville's shoulder while breathing hard.

Two seconds later, he had overcome his shock of the sudden displacement and wanted to ask the questions that burned on his tongue, when Neville pulled out the invisibility cloak. But instead of throwing it over them, he — again — grabbed Harry and the pressing feeling hit his chest once more.

Maybe this was apparition? Every adult used it, he knew. But why was Neville able to do it? And what had been this other 'travel method' he had used earlier when they had passed the whole main hall of Gringotts in a blink of an eye? He had to get some answers!

When they emerged in yet another alley, Neville threw the cloak, which he still had in his hand, over them. This time they were much nearer to one of the main streets on which Harry could see the crowd flowing into one direction like a stream of water.

Neville was still holding his shoulder but looked to their right and was concentrating on a spot further down the street. Harry followed his look and saw a big poster hanging on the wall of another alley. It showed a man and a woman in red cloaks and below the image stood in big letters, "Bring back law and order. Become an Auror."

He hadn't even had time to think about the poster, when his body was, again, squeezed through the eye of a needle. It was the same feeling he had had earlier in Gringotts when Neville had teleported them through the main hall.

A moment later the world around him had normalized and he stood right in front of the poster he had seen from afar not two seconds ago. Now, the two red clothed figures looked directly at him and he saw that they were actually moving like in 'normal' wizarding photos. The two Aurors took poses that were obviously supposed to look cool, while one of them pointed at the caption under them. Suddenly a dark, hooded figure appeared behind them and tried to cross the picture, apparently not wanting to be seen. Without loosing her smile the female Auror turned around and lazily shot a red spell at the figure. Before the spell could hit, however, his view was distorted once more and he felt the squeezing feeling again.

Hidden under the cloak, Neville continued to squeeze them from one spot to another, always appearing in sight distance from their previous location.

Harry had long lost his orientation and couldn't say where exactly in Diagon Alley they were, but he had the feeling that they had passed the main street at least twice and the Knockturn Alley as well.

Now, they stood in another backstreet Harry hadn't seen before. The precious sunlight couldn't squeeze into the ravine between the tall and closely built houses that surrounded them and so Harry and Neville were nearly completely swallowed by the shadows that fell through the invisibility cloak and painted the street black.

They had finally stopped teleporting and Neville was heavily panting as if he had run a marathon for the last three hours. Harry looked only a moment at him before the questions that had accumulated over the last minutes blurted out of him.

"Neville? Are you ok? What was all that? Did you apparate us? But what was that other thing you did? Neville! Why was the crowd in such turmoil? And what was with…"

His rapid fire of questions were abruptly stopped by Neville's hand on his mouth and a horrified look on his face.

"Never say her name, ever!" he pressed out between heavy breaths.

Harry wanted to ask why and what had happened in the last year, but Neville apparently had anticipated that and only held up one hand to silence him while the other was on his knee, propping his exhausted body.

Harry waited impatiently and after a while Neville unbent to his full stature, now surpassing Harry's height by half a head.

"Look, Harry, many things have changed in the last two years and…" he began but was immediately interrupted by Harry, "Two years? I was down there two years?" he asked in disbelief. That couldn't be true. It certainly didn't feel like two years. Two years! He had lost the fifteenth and sixteenth year of his life. Lost in a dark hole somewhere under Diagon Alley.

Neville threw an apologetic look at him, but Harry could only stare at his hands.

"Today — what date is it?" he asked reluctantly.

"It's the 28th August," Neville paused briefly before continuing, "in 1997."

Two years he had been in that underground prison. When he was abducted, he had been fourteen. Now he was seventeen. More than two years lost. Wasted with daydreams about a time that would never come back. He didn't want to believe it. It just could not be true. Why hadn't they rescued him earlier? Suddenly anger flared up in him. Why now? When they had known where he was, why hadn't they come for him earlier!? Why hadn't they come earlier through that stupid door!? It had been there all the time. And why hadn't he done anything? There had been plenty of time to find it — and a way to unlock it. Hermione would have managed. She always did. But now she was…

"What happened?" were the only words he could muster in his light-headed state. His stare drilled into Neville.

"I'm not the right person to tell you. Ron will explain everything you need to know tomorrow. But right now we don't have time," he blocked Harry's request, "You still need a wand and we also have to fly up all the way to Hogwarts. Let's get to Ollivander before the potion's effect fades."

He wanted to go, but Harry didn't move and instead held Neville back.

"I want to know what happened to her, now," he demanded, accentuating his avoidance of her name.

Neville turned and looked directly at him. He sighed before he began to whisper in a low voice.

"Harry, the girl you once knew doesn't exist anymore. She looks like her, she speaks like her but she isn't the Gryffindor girl who was once our friend."

He paused briefly, thinking about something.

"We are not exactly sure what she did or what happened to her. All we know is that she didn't come back to Hogwarts for her fifth year and that a few month later she appeared with that thing over her head and surrounded by her…"

Neville stopped dead as a loud crack followed by a deep boom split the air and shook the earth. The sound wasn't coming from far away, but it wasn't in proximity either. Maybe from some other street in Diagon Alley.

As the noise faded, an unnatural silence spread in their little alley. No rustling of leaves, no whistling of the wind, and no animal sounds to be heard.

He wanted to ignore it and instead ask what Neville had wanted to say, but a cold shiver stopped him in his tracks. In the dim light, he could make out Neville's eyes watching something on their left side. Fright was carved into his petrified face.

Without any noise, Harry slightly turned his head to see what Neville was looking at when he registered a movement in the corners of his eyes. The sound of a single leaf being crunched under a shoe cut through the alley's stillness.

And there on his left side, stepping out of the shadows like a predator on the hunt, Harry saw for the second time in a mere ten minutes the brown, expressionless eyes of Hermione Granger boring into him as if she were trying to see something that wasn't there.

The air was charged with tension and, like prey facing its predator, Harry and Neville couldn't move, couldn't even breathe out of fear to make a sound.

Was she seeing them? Had she heard them talking? And if so, what would she do? How he wanted to know what had happened to her. Why was she this way? Something horrible must have happened that changed her so much.

The memories of a happy girl raced through his mind. A friend who — if only in his mind — had accompanied him through the last two years. Hermione and himself, and Ron of course — the inseparable trio. Their adventures had been countless, and yet they had emerged victorious every time. That all had stopped, though, not one hour ago when his cell door had opened and freedom lured him into a world of which his view grew darker by every minute.

Now, Hermione Granger stood next to him once more, but in a way he had never imagined. She, covered by shadows and he, covered by invisibility dreading to be discovered. Nonetheless, he could make out her face in the gloom. No doubt. This was her face, but it wasn't at all as he remembered. The temper, the passion, the love. All gone. Now, she looked as if someone had stripped her of her personality, leaving behind only a machine. Stiff. Cold. Calculating.

The girl next to them suddenly raised her hand and grabbed the space only inches away from their faces finding only air. She withdrew her hand and looked at the emptiness like remembering a long-lost memory. Never changed her expression, but Harry was sure he saw something on her face: a faint brush of sadness. A sadness that stuck his heart and let bloom a desire to reach out, grab her hand, and fill the emptiness.

But he never moved. A stronger, more primal instinct held him back. Prevented him from lifting his hand, sealing his fate and touching his doom.

And then the moment was gone. She turned her head slowly left and right surveying the dark back street but found nothing.

Once more, she looked at her hand seemingly lost in thought when she suddenly vanished leaving behind two shaking figures invisible in the silence that surrounded them.

Harry and Neville had stood there like statues for a few more minutes but if out of fear or out of tactical thinking they couldn't say. Neither one of them had said a word. They both feared that the unreal figure that was Hermione Granger lured there still, watching the alley and waiting for them to come out.

Finally, and despite his exhaustion, Neville squeezed them away, dislocating them from place to place in the shopping district hoping to shake off their huntress. Driven by fear, he had to be high on adrenaline because he never paused for one second before squeezing them away again. For Harry, the real world blurred into a strangely stretched, abstract version of itself where no consistency seemed to exist. Only when he finally stopped for good, Harry could orientate himself and take in his surroundings. They stood in an alcove of a house next to a large street, that was filled with people.

The whole scene was familiar but only after Neville pointed at a shop behind him and said, "Wand!" did he know where he was: Ollivanders.

Neville threw him an expectant look.

"What just happened?" Harry asked confused, mind still racing from their earlier encounter.

"I… don't know," Neville started, "She has her ways to track people but I doubt that she has something on us. I have no clue know why she knew where we were but didn't see us. And lucky we are. Never have I been so near to her. I thought my heart would just stop from beating too much."

He took a few more deep breaths and turned to Ollivander's shop. Harry followed his gaze and watched the shop which had supplied almost every wizard in Britain with a wand for the last two and a half thousand years. Nothing had changed since his last visit, and Harry wondered if the Roman wizards that had conquered England under Julius Caesar had once seen a much more vibrant purple on the cushion that presented a single wand when they had passed the dusty window of the ancient shop.

"You have to get a wand, Harry. We don't know where your first one is and you'll definitely need one. It's dangerous enough with a wand these days and not to mention without."

"Won't you come with me?" Harry asked puzzled.

"You go. I'll rest here," said the power-drained boy next to him. He started to search his pockets and without a word, he handed Harry a few Galleons and a small hand-sized paper which revealed itself as some kind of form when he looked upon it — a real official one. Multiple blank gaps had already been filled with details.

Authorization for Aidan Hargreaves for the purchase of 1 wand(s) from Ollivanders. This document's validity expires in 2 days, 3 hours, 86 minutes and 32 seconds, or may be revoked at any time by officials of the Ministry of Magic for reasons of economic stability, national security, or other arbitrary reasons. Signature of Authorization: Nathan Mills

He stared at the piece of paper, watching the number of seconds countdown. This was new. Why did the Ministry of Magic need to control who bought wands? The world had to be in a dire state if this was necessary. For Harry, it was another item on his seemingly endless list of questions. Maybe they would all be answered shortly.

He looked hopefully to Neville, but upon seeing he was still fighting to get air into his lungs, he decided to let the other boy be for the moment and slipped from under the cloak to enter the realm of visibility.

He waited in the shadowy alcove for a few seconds and looked around to see if anyone had seen him appearing, but no one seemed to have noticed and people continued walking past him without even glancing in his direction. A second scan over the passing mass also revealed no old, scarily changed friends who searched for him, who now knew his polyjuiced face and who apparently would immediately shoot spells at him if not for being stunned by the simple notion of calling out their names, which he thought, wouldn't work again if he found himself in such a situation.

Not to lose anymore time, he stepped into the light and started walking over the street to the wand-selling shop. The overall mood of the crowd had changed considerably compared to the moment after he had called Hermione's name and the atmosphere was much lighter. Nonetheless, he saw vigilant expressions on the faces that passed him and only seldom the attempt of a smile.

Suddenly, he saw a young man with sleek white-blond hair further down the street. Harry couldn't see the man's face but he felt some kind of familiarity as if he had met him before but wasn't able to remember it. Before he could concentrate on him any further though, the man had disappeared into an adjacent alleyway and Harry was pushed along by the crowd.

He reached the other side of the street without being noticed, still wondering about the man with the sleek hair. Remembering what he had came for, he pushed the thoughts about the stranger aside and entered the shop without a look back.

The familiar bell rang out in the back of the store but didn't alert anyone as the owner himself already stood behind the counter next to the door and scribbled in a large book.

"Good afternoon," Ollivander started without looking at Harry. "Permit!?" His voice had lost its softness and left behind the flat bitterness of someone who had long forgotten the joy of his job.

"Yes. Er… Good afternoon to you too, Sir," stumbled Harry and put down the little paper. The old man stopped writing, subtly lifted his pale gaze to pear at the permit and sighed before turning his attention back to the book. "Please stand in middle of the room, arms stretched out, Mr…," he paused to look at the permit again, "Hargreaves".

Harry followed his command and waited until Ollivander stepped back from the counter and came over with his tape measure. Like in his first year, it did most of the measuring without any particular help from its owner, who in turn started to explaining in a flat and annoyed voice, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with…"

He stopped and in amazement looked at the numbers he had written down. Then, for the first time he smiled and the softness returned to his voice.

"Ah, yes, yes, of course. I know the perfect wand. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches! A wand made for great things and, I might say, great things it achieved, indeed."

He stopped and looked absently behind Harry. Had Ollivander recognized him or was that only the result of the measurements? His mind drifted to his former tool and companion that had accompanied him through the toughest times and had enabled him to shape, move, and defend and had more than once saved him his life. A stinging feeling pestered his stomach as he asked himself if he would ever see his wand again.

"Well, I sold it, of course, but… I wonder… is it not the situation that creates the solution… yes, why not?" he said to himself before he suddenly focussed his pale, moon-like eyes on Harry. He looked at him for a few seconds before hurrying to the back of his shop.

Harry waited for multiple minutes and grew steadily impatient fearing that the Polyjuice Potion would lose its effect before he was under the cloak again. He wouldn't manage to cross the street as Harry Potter. His scar had the unpleasant characteristic of attracting every gaze in its sight and he doubted that even a Notice-Me-Not potion could undo that. He played with the idea of leaving the shop right now to get back to Neville, but before he could overcome his inertia Ollivander appeared between the shelves with a long, slender box in his hand.

"Eleven-and-a-half inches. Vine wood. With a single string of a dragon's heart. A powerful combination, I may say. I sold only a few of them, but they never cease to astound me. The last one was not so long ago even. Only six years if I remember correctly. And astound, it did, not only me."

He took the wand out of the box and handed it over to Harry, who took it in his hand and felt a wonderful warmth. But not in his fingers, as he had expected, but in his chest. A warmth extending through his arm, eager to grasp the slender piece of wood, but deflected by the frostiness of its target. The tip of the wand seemed to seize the light surrounding it, darkening the room and dampen the spirits.

"Interesting… very interesting, to say the least," Ollivander smiled sadly, "For all the years that I have sold wands never have I given out one I deemed unfit. The wand chooses the wizard, of course, but the heart is stronger than the will. This is not the wand you deserve and neither does it choose you. It is the necessity that binds you two together."

Puzzled Harry looked at the wand. It was a wonderfully worked piece of wood and it fit his hand nicely. It wasn't the same feeling as when he had held his original wand for the first time. Back then, it had been a warm feeling with a subtle underlying coldness. Now, it was the other way around and he felt a connection he had not had with his other wand.

"I take it," Harry said firmly and took out the Galleons Neville had given him. He positioned the stack of gold on the counter and Ollivander eyed it for a brief moment before he reluctantly opened a drawer and let the money disappear inside.

"Then, all I can say from here on is good luck, Mr…", he paused, took up the permission sheet, and looked at it. He smiled the sad smile again and continued, "Well, good luck."

Confused Harry stepped outside. He didn't know how much time he had spent in the shop but the sun stood noticeably lower. He started to walk back to the alcove where Neville was waiting and wondered about the conversation he had with Ollivander. His first wand had been the twin of Voldemort's as both had feathers of the same phoenix. Now, however, his wand's core was made out of dragon heart. A powerful substance, he knew. But what had this been about the heart being stronger than the will? Would the heart inside of his new wand influence his decisions? And why didn't he deserve this wand? Was he not worthy or something?

He still had not a single answer when he reached Neville — or at least, where he thought Neville was. The alcove had gotten even darker with the sun's current position. Suddenly a voice whispered out of the nothingness and confirmed that Neville was indeed where Harry thought he was.

"Finally," he heard Neville say, "you were inside for ages. I was about to sneak into the shop to get you out. You know that the Polyjuice can subside any moment, don't you?"

"Yes, I know that! This wand-choosing-procedure always takes so long for me. Now, let me under the cloak."

He saw Neville lifting the cloak between them, and Harry slipped under it.

"Man, I am glad if we can put this off," Neville said, "Ok, now we only need to get the brooms from George and then it's just a three and a half hour flight to Hogwarts." He sighed. "Let's get going."

He grabbed Harry again and only two dislocations later they stood in front of a shop that proclaimed in big letters, coloured in the hue of Ron's hair, "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes".

Harry thought that this should be lifting his spirits but the opposite was the case. The windows under the three words should have been filled with funny signs and intangible toys, but instead thick wooden planks prevented the light from falling into the shop and illuminating Fred and George's ingenuity. Even the door bell sounded sickly when they entered.

They stood only a moment in the shop, and could sadly see the nearly empty shelves, before George came out from a back room and greeted them jovially, "Ah, esteemed customers. Be welcomed at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. It is my utmost honour to present to you the outstanding collection of everything that…" he stopped as he saw them from close and his smile grew sincere. "Well, for our special guests we might also find some brooms."

"George, good to see you," Neville exclaimed, "look who I picked up." He gestured to Harry.

"Ah may I believe my eyes? Is that the boy-who-lived-then-went-lost-and-now-lives-again-only-to-be-not-recognized?"

Harry smiled and had to suppress a single tear. It was great to see that some of his friends were still as he remembered. And the twins had obviously not lost any of their good-natured spirits.

"Hey, George. Good to see you," Harry called out. He wanted to come back at him with a witty response but his head seemed to be depleted of clever lines and so he only asked, "Where is Fred?"

Instantly, the smile disappeared from George's face. "Well, he isn't… around… currently…" he uttered more to himself.

Harry pondered if it was ok to ask what had happened, but Neville beat him to it.

"Where do you have the brooms? I want to leave this cursed shopping district as fast as I can, before we are discovered."

"The brooms are under the table over there, in the third aisle," George answered before asking, " Why? Did you have any problems coming out of Gringotts?"

"Problems?" Neville exclaimed, "You can bet on that. When we came out of Gringotts, Harry saw her, of course, and how she was guarding the square. And I, the genius that I am, forgot, of course, to tell him not to say her name and so what does he do… standing there in front of Gringotts and shouting her name on first sight."

George sucked in air through his teeth producing a hissing sound.

"No! He didn't."

"Yes, he did. And she must have been as gobsmacked as you are right now, for she didn't immediately curse us and I was able to apparate us away. Thankfully with the cloak and some family magic we were able to escape her, though she later found us again."

"What?"

"Yes, it was really strange. All the way I made sure that she couldn't follow us. Then we are in this side alley with the tall houses. You know, the one behind Powell & Hammond?"

"Yeah, sure."

"And out of thin air she stands right next to us. Man, my heart nearly exploded. Luckily we had the cloak and I vow, she didn't see us, but she knew we were there. I only wonder how."

"Did you maybe say her name again?"

"No, no, for sure."

"Hmm, who knows what magic she has at her disposal. Luna didn't call her she-who-knows-ten-thousand-books for no reason."

Harry had watched their exchange with growing anger and with George's last words he burst.

"What's with her? What happened that we can't even say her name? Do you fear her name as you did with you-know-who? Is she some kind of new Voldemort?"

Maybe, that had that been the wrong thing to say. George's and Neville's faces lost their colour faster than a bottomless cauldron its content.

"Because they know when and where you say their names!" screamed Neville.

"Quick! Under the table with the brooms and hide under the cloak," commanded George, "Let me handle this."

Harry and Neville practically flew through the store to the table George had pointed at. They kneed down, lifted the tablecloth, and crouched under it.

The cloth hadn't fully hit the floor when another ringing of the bell announced the arrival of a group of wizards. Harry helped Neville to pull the invisibility cloak over their heads for the xth time this day and tried to make no sound. He couldn't see what happened in the room but heard a dark, scratchy voice that definitely did not belong to a British wizard.

"Search the place! You! Why did you speak the Dark Lord's name?"

"I didn't. This must be a mistake," George's voice said, "I…"

But he was cut off by the other wizard, "What's this shop? You even selling something. Just look how empty this place is. Pathetic! Not worthy of our Lord's name."

In this moment, the table's cloth was lifted and Harry looked into the face of death. A silvery mask hid the Death Eater's face and a dark hood covered the rest.

Harry sighed internally. So Voldemort was still around. How much of the government had he taken over? Maybe Hermione was working for him? That would explain why everyone was so afraid of her. Though, she didn't wear the mask and Harry hadn't seen any other Death Eaters patrolling the street.

The Death Eater looked through them but apparently saw something on the ground, because a moment later he withdrew his head and called out, "I've found a foot."

"Is there hiding someone?" the leader asked. Harry's heart froze as he heard the other Death Eaters coming closer.

"No. Only a foot," the other one answered. Harry reached slowly for his wand. He hadn't used any magic in the last two years, but he wouldn't go down without a fight. Now that he was free, he wanted to have at least a taste of his new freedom. And there were too many unanswered questions.

In that very moment the doorbell rang, and Harry and Neville used the distraction by frantically looking at their feet to see if one of them was visible. Neville's right foot was undoubtedly not covered by the cloak and he shook it till the cloak slipped over his foot and fixed the small but significant negligence. They could only hope that the Death Eater would think that he had seen something that wasn't there.

In the meantime, the closest hooded figure had downright abandoned the table and was moving in the direction of the door. No one was saying anything until the same Death Eater broke the silence with his accentuated voice "What are you doing here? This no place for little girls. Play outside."

Silence. Then, a low voice.

"You must be very new to this country. Does Voldemort not educate you lot correctly? — Not that it would change the conclusion of this gathering."

The voice definitely belonged to the newcomer but for Harry it wasn't new at all. It struck down directly into his heart and prevented him from breathing as memory after memory flashed through his brain. No doubt, this was the voice. Her voice. But it lacked something. Warmth. In his dreams it had always been pleading, longing, had warmed his heart. But now, he heard the same coldness he had seen earlier in her eyes.

Suddenly, things started to happen very fast. First, they heard her say, "If you could excuse us, now. I think, Mr. Weasley has important things to report and I doubt they are for your Master's ears to hear." Then, multiple incantations were started by the Death Eaters, only to be cut short by a loud thunder accompanied by a glaring white light that shone through the cloth. Lastly they heard multiple bodies fall to the ground, restoring the former silence.

"Well, sorry for this pandemonium. I would like to inquire, though, what enticed them to visit here in the first place?" she asked.

The door closed with a click and in the remaining silence Harry could hear steps marching towards George. But it wasn't the sound of only one pair of shoes. He heard a second pair moving along the windows. She wasn't alone.

"I don't know. They said they heard you-know-who's name. But that wasn't me," said George in a trembling voice.

"Very curious. First, I hear my very own name, spoken out aloud for the first time in six months by someone not known to me and directly in front of Gringotts of all places. And now, Tom's anagram may have been spoken here. Would you enlighten me with a connecting factor you may have knowledge of?"

"No! Why would I know anything?"

"That is a very simple minded question." She paused briefly, "Anyway, I am not here to talk about the grand theory of names but for a much more mundane matter." Hermione had stopped walking, presumably in front of George, but the other person was still slowly moving and had just turned into their aisle.

"Do you have the map?" Hermione asked flatly and Harry could hear George gulp.

"No… I don't have it… I need more time!" he choked.

In this moment the back door opened and Harry heard a female voice call out, "George? Is everything alright? I heard a loud…"

The voice stopped abruptly and Harry could assign it to a face. Angelina Johnson!

"W… W… What's she doing here, George?" Angelina stumbled.

"Miss Johnson… or is it Mrs Weasley already?" Hermione paused. Someone must have shaken a head because she continued, "What a pity. Well, your beloved boyfriend and myself were currently discussing an old… business transaction. A transaction in which his part is now due and with which Mr Weasley does not intend to comply. I for myself was just about to demonstrate that I do abide by my promises."

"No! Please. Don't!" Angelina pleaded, "First you take Fred from us, please not George! Why do you do this? Why?"

A brief moment nothing was said and all were waiting for Hermione to answer. Harry knew that this pause was not one of confusion or ignorance but merely a moment in which the brown haired girl was both stunned by being asked a question and simultaneously sliding into her lecture mode.

"Well, Miss Johnson, I thought that it was common knowledge but I shall not reject the inquisitive mind. A promise is given by one person in order for others to foresee that person's actions when certain conditions, usually mentioned in the promise, are met. By its very definition it opposes the idea of being broken because that would render the institution of the promise itself obsolete. You see, if I would not oblige to the commitment I have made to your boyfriend, every other promise I have ever made in the past or will ever make at any time in the future would be untenable and therefore worthless. A consequence, as you might see, I am not willing to hazard."

Angelina had started crying half way through the speech and loud sobs were echoing through the room. In the silent gaps, they could hear George's low, smoothing voice speaking to her.

Harry wished he could help. Jump from under the table and curse this unholy version of his friend. But he couldn't muster the strength. Fear held him back.

The other figure stood now directly in front of the table under which Harry and Neville were cowering. Between the floor and the cloth they could see the fine, black shoes for Hogwarts girls. Snow-white socks covered the pale skin of the woman that accompanied Hermione.

"Ready?" they heard Hermione from the other side of the shop ask in their direction.

The shadow of the girl bent down. Fingers took hold of the cloth. Slowly it was lifted upwards. And then they looked into the face of… Hermione?

Once again, she peered right through them with hawk-like eyes. Then she let go of the cloth, unbent to look over the shelves and stated a bored, "Yes."

A moment later, Hermione and her Doppelgänger were gone. And so was George's voice, leaving behind the bitter sobs of his girlfriend.

Note: This chapter borrows three and a half sentences from 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone' by J.K. Rowling.