DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to Haggridd for his most excellent Beta skills and steadfast moral support.
"Child's Play"
Chapter One
"Have We Met?"
"I am a stranger in a strange land."
-Exodus 2:22
Harry Potter carried the unconscious girl to the sitting room and gently laid her down on the sofa. When he'd gone to answer the doorbell, he'd found her lying in a crumpled heap on the front steps. He brushed a few strands of light brown hair out of her face. She looked to be about sixteen or so, the same age as Harry, but he didn't recognize her from school or from the neighborhood. Nor did he recognize the school uniform she was wearing: a blue jumper and a charcoal gray skirt, over which she wore some kind of black robe. While the girl wasn't fashion-model beautiful, there was something about her that Harry found very attractive.
She had cuts and bruises on her hands and her face. Clearly she'd had a rough time of it. Harry went to fetch the First-Aid kid from the downstairs bathroom. His mind was racing as returned.
A damsel in distress--and a cute one at that! Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley won't be back from Blackpool until Sunday night! He stopped and took a deep breath. Now get hold of yourself, Potter. For all you know she's got a boyfriend the size of King Kong…and with your luck, he's a footballer, as well!
"Harry!" The girl suddenly called out in her delirium.
"It's all right," Harry sat down beside her and began to minister to her wounds. "Just lie back. I hope this antiseptic doesn't sting too much."
The girl's eyes suddenly leapt open.
"Harry!" She suddenly sat bolt upright and threw her arms around his neck, causing him to spill the First-Aid kit onto the floor. "Thank God! I thought you were dead!" She buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. After what seemed like an eternity, Harry was finally able to move his arms. He wrapped them around this strange, intriguing creature, who frightened him and fascinated him all at the same time.
"I'm fine," he said gently. What else could he say? "I'm right here."
"I was so afraid," she sobbed. "I thought I'd lost you forever!"
It was then that she kissed him—and this was no sisterly peck on the cheek. She nailed him right on the mouth. Fireworks went off in Harry's head. At first, he was too stunned to respond, but slowly he began to kiss her back. He'd never felt anything so wonderful in his life.
You can do that again any time you want! He thought as he held her in his arms. PLEASE want to do that again!
"Are they all gone, Harry?" the girl sobbed into his shoulder, "Dumbledore? McGonagall? Even Ron? Are they really dead?"
"Don't think about that now," Harry said gently, "You're safe here. I promise I won't let anything happen to you."
"I know I'm safe when I'm in Harry Potter's arms." She looked up at him through her tears, her hand gently caressing his face.
I have no idea what you're talking about, Harry thought to himself, but I could listen to you talk about it all night. I could sure get lost in those big brown eyes of yours… Even brimming with tears they were beautiful.
Harry froze again.
She called me by name! It's enough of a coincidence that she has a boyfriend with the same first name as mine, but the odds are astronomical that she just happened to run into someone with the same last name as well!
"Don't leave me, Harry," she said groggily, "Promise that you won't leave me…" Harry could feel her body relax. The poor thing was so exhausted she had fallen asleep in his arms.
"I promise," he whispered. He gently laid her back onto the sofa, then went to his uncle's bedroom, pulled a big crocheted afghan from Aunt Petunia's bed, and laid it over her.
He dug around until he located Uncle Vernon's old shotgun and a box of shells in the upstairs closet. Uncle Vernon hadn't hunted grouse since before Dudley was born, so there was no guarantee that the thing would even fire. Still, it was better than nothing if the girl were in as much trouble as she claimed.
For a long time, Harry just sat there watching her sleep and pondering this pleasant mystery. He'd never seen this girl before in his life, but she certainly seemed to know him—plus, she was a great kisser.
Who were the people she mentioned? Dumbledore, McGonagall, Ron? Are they all dead? What horrible ordeal has the poor thing been through? Should I call for a doctor? Should I call the police?
Around ten o'clock Harry pulled an old sleeping bag from the hall closet and rolled it out beside the sofa. If the girl woke up in the middle of the night, he would be there.
He wondered if she would even remember the kiss.
***********
The next morning, the girl awoke to the smell of sausages and eggs cooking.
"That smells wonderful!" She stood in the kitchen doorway, stretching. Her color was coming back and there was more of a sparkle in her big brown eyes. "I can't even remember the last time I ate anything."
"Sit down. Everything will be ready in a minute!" Unlike the times he was forced to cook for the Dursleys, Harry was going all out to impress his houseguest. "How are you feeling—?" Much to his embarrassment, Harry suddenly realized that for all the snogging they'd done last night, he'd never actually gotten round to asking the girl her name! He'd just have to bluff his way through this. "—love?" Harry began to divvy up the sausages between them.
"A damn sight better than I did last night." She giggled as Harry tried to show off, taking the frying pan and attempting to flip the flapjacks in the air. It had been a very long time since she'd had anything to laugh about. She was beginning to think that everything she'd been through in the past few days was simply a horrible nightmare. There was Harry, alive and well and making an ass of himself as usual. As she sat down she happened to notice the pile of mail that was sitting on the table awaiting Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's return. The girl's face suddenly went pale. She looked around as if she were seeing the place for the first time.
"Little Whinging?" she gasped. "This is Privet Drive!"
"Yes…" The look on her face had Harry worried. "Number four."
Her eyes grew wide as if she'd just seen the Angel Of Death hovering over her bed.
"I saw this place go up in flames! This whole neighborhood burned to the ground!"
"I wish," Harry muttered to himself, immediately regretting his flippant tone. Even though number four Privet Drive was obviously still here, the girl was clearly haunted by some terrible tragedy.
"That was the night we lost Ron…"
"Was he a friend of yours?"
"A friend of mine? You don't remember Ron Weasley?"
"Sorry." Harry shrugged.
The girl's shoulders drooped. Clearly Harry had no idea what she was talking about.
"Do you even know who I am?" Her eyes were pleading. Harry longed to be able to give her the answers she wanted, just to see her smile again.
"I know I'd remember meeting you before." She realized that in his own charmingly clumsy way Harry was trying to flirt with her. Some things never changed. That seemed to lift her spirits a little.
"What's your name?"
"Hermione… Hermione Pot—Granger."
Was she about to say, "Potter"? Harry wondered. Great… She's a stalker! She's created this whole imaginary world inside her head where we're married and have six kids. Harry had a sudden mental picture of the girl coming after him with a butcher knife if he said or did the wrong thing. He certainly didn't like the idea that the girl who'd given him his first kiss might be a raving nutter! Wait just one minute! Why would any girl-- even a nut case-- be obsessed with a "nobody" like me? My instincts are telling me that she's not dangerous. All the same, Harry made a quick mental count of all the knives sitting in the rack by the stove.
"Can I get you some milk?" At least it was something semi-intelligent to say.
"Just some orange juice, thank you."
Glasses! In his excitement over his houseguest, Harry's mind suddenly went blank. I can't remember where Aunt Petunia keeps the "good" glasses. He just stood there, staring at the cupboards.
"They're in the cupboard to the left of the sink. Bottom shelf."
Harry had two choices, crawl under the sink and die of embarrassment right there or just get a glass, get her some orange juice and go on. He opted for the latter.
"How did you know that?"
"I know all about you, Harry Potter," Hermione got up. "I know that your parents died when you were a baby. I know that the Dursleys have been treating you like dirt ever since you came to live with them."
"They're not that bad," Harry shrugged feebly.
Hermione sighed. She took his hand and escorted him to the staircase that led up from the entry hall. She pushed aside the latch and pulled open the door to the cupboard.
"I know that this is where you've been living for the past fifteen years." The shame on Harry's face was almost unbearable. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to embarrass you." She reached up to touch his face. Harry allowed it, but she could feel his body tense. It was a harsh reminder that this wasn't the Harry she knew. She was looking into the eyes of a stranger. She brushed the hair away from Harry's forehead as if she expected to find something underneath. She seemed disappointed when she found nothing there. Her eyes filled with tears again. Harry took her hand and pressed it reassuringly between his.
"Who are you?" Harry whispered. "How do you know so much about me?"
She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes.
"Let's go eat that wonderful breakfast you've worked so hard to make and I'll try to explain."
Slowly, carefully, Hermione began to sketch out as best she could remember, the life of Harry James Potter—the one she had known. She told him about a magical school called "Hogwarts" where young witches and wizards learned their craft. She told him about a virtual avalanche of letters he'd received and that no matter how many his Uncle Vernon destroyed, thousands more would take their place. She told him about the gentle half-giant Hagrid, keeper of the keys and grounds. She spoke of a place in London called Diagon Alley, of the magical train "The Hogwarts Express," and of how they and Ron Weasley had met. There were so many names to remember: McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, Lockhart…and the all-wise Professor Dumbledore. She spoke of the feasts in the Great Hall, of classes high up in the Astronomy Tower and deep below in the dark dungeons. Of transfigurations, divinations, nearly headless ghosts and centaurs! Of Whomping Willows, flying cars and a game called Quidditch where the players ride broomsticks. She spoke of adventures: The Sorcerer's Stone, The Goblet of Fire, and The Chamber of Secrets… As crazy as it all sounded, Harry found himself wishing he'd actually lived this strange, exciting, topsy-turvy life as a junior wizard.
She really needs to write this stuff down, Harry thought, if she could turn it into a book she'd make a fortune!
Then the story took a dark turn. She had told him of the sinister Lord Voldemort; of how he had murdered Harry's parents (As far as Harry knew, his parents had died in a car crash.), and of his plans to conquer the Wizarding World. Apparently the villain had decided to strike before Professor Dumbledore and his allies were ready for him.
Those survivors who still opposed the Dark Lord gathered to make a final stand at Hogwarts. It was suspected that someone from within Hogwarts betrayed them but Hermione never learned who it was. She had watched helplessly as one by one her friends fell in battle— even Harry.
Harry wasn't quite sure how to react to the news of his own death.
It took a few moments for Hermione to compose herself after that. Though she could never quite bring herself to say it aloud, Harry could tell that she and the Harry she knew had become "more than friends". (The way she had kissed him last night was a clue as well.) When she introduced herself, she had started to say her name was "Hermione Potter". Harry wondered if they had married just before the end. He suddenly found himself envying this other version of himself.
At last she was able to go on.
She and Professor Dumbledore were the only ones left. They had barricaded themselves in what remained of his office. They both knew the horrible fate they would suffer if they were captured alive. Hermione was preparing to take poison when Dumbledore stopped her.
"No!" he insisted, "You must start again! You must rebuild! You are the only one who can!" With his last ounce of strength, the old wizard had conjured up some kind of magical portal and shoved her through just as the enemy broke down the door. The next thing she remembered was waking up on the Dursley's sofa—looking up into the face of the young man she thought she'd lost forever.
The memories of all those she had lost started her crying again. She excused herself, saying she really needed to freshen up and could she borrow some of Harry's clothes?
While Hermione took a shower, Harry cleaned up the breakfast dishes and pondered all that she'd told him. The whole thing was insane—and yet Harry couldn't help wondering if she might actually be telling the truth. Did he really believe her—or did he just want to believe those big brown eyes?
*****
"A parallel universe?"
Harry and Hermione sat on the floor by the fireplace in the sitting room. Like many men, Harry found a woman wearing a man's shirt, (and little else), to be quite sexy, but did his best to concentrate on the matter at hand. While he was trying not to stare at her bare legs, he suddenly realized something.
"The bruises are gone!" Upon closer examination, he saw that most of the cuts on her hands and face were nearly healed.
"A simple little healing charm." Hermione showed off her arms. "I'm no Madame Pomfrey, but you always seemed to appreciate it after Quidditch practice. But what's this about a parallel universe?"
"It's the only theory that fits the facts. I mean assuming everything you've told me is--" Harry cut himself off. He could see the look in Hermione's eyes.
You mean, "Assuming that I'm not crazy and that I didn't just make the whole thing up!"
Harry decided that the only thing to do was press on.
"The theory's been around for a long time: That our universe is only one of many, each existing on a different dimensional plane. One hypothesis says that every time we make a decision, another reality is created along with an opposite reality where we made the opposite decision."
"You mean there could be one reality where we had kippers for breakfast instead of sausages?"
"Something like that. At least that's the theory." He poured her another cup of tea. "You said that where you come from, we've known each other for about six years?"
"And yet," she said with a hint of sadness, "you say that here we've never met before?"
"No one's sorrier about that than I am… I could've used a friend like you." Now that Harry was growing up, he was beginning to attract a bit of attention around school. Even with his unfashionable clothes and shy manner, the girls were beginning to notice him—particularly in contrast to his revolting cousin Dudley. Still, no one so far had taken the next step and tried to befriend him. Hermione was suddenly angry at the basic unfairness of the universe. At least her Harry had Dumbledore looking out for him. For that matter, where was her counterpart in this universe and why was she laying down on the job?
"So, what are you going to do?" Harry finally asked.
"I don't know," she sighed. "I have no idea how to get back—and even if I could, there's probably nothing to go back to. Dumbledore said something about 'rebuilding', 'starting over'—but rebuild what? Hogwarts? The Wizarding World? All by myself?"
"That's a good point. Does Hogwarts even exist in this reality?" Harry gathered up the teacups onto the tray. "If it does, and I really am some kind of wizard, surely I'd have gotten my letter by now. For that matter do wizards and magic exist here? I know I've never run across anything like it before."
"Haven't you?" Hermione prodded. "What about the trip to the London zoo?"
Harry's eyes went wide.
"You know about that?"
"I wonder…" Hermione went back to the bathroom and retrieved her wand from her school robes, then handed it to Harry. "Wands are supposed to be specifically attuned to their owners, so this may not work—but at least it's worth a try." There were no feathers about so she looked around until she could find some relatively light object that wouldn't be too dangerous for a beginner. She finally settled on one of the letters sitting on the kitchen table. It turned out to be the gas bill. She set the envelope down in the middle of the sitting room floor then demonstrated the "Swish and Flick" technique that Professor Flitwick had taught them in their early days of Charms classes.
Harry felt a complete ass but did as he was instructed.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Slowly, the letter began to rise into the air. Harry instinctively scooted backwards.
"Brilliant…!" Harry muttered to himself. Hermione hugged him, both of them grinning from ear to ear. Within moments the letter was dancing around the room, doing loop-the-loops and spinning like a pinwheel. Carpets, chairs, the sofa and even Hermione took flight over the course of the afternoon.
"I really am a wizard…" Harry kept repeating to himself. "It's all true!"
"You know what this means?" Hermione's excitement was growing. "There must be other wizards out there!"
"But if they are there, why haven't they contacted me?"
"That's a good question." Hermione rubbed her chin. "Maybe in this reality, wizards exist, but they never organized the way we did back home—or they went even deeper underground." Hermione had Harry dig out the Greater London Phone Book and she began flipping through the "G" section. There was no listing for the Granger family at her home address. She even checked under her mother's maiden name.
"They could have moved out of London," Harry suggested.
"Who knows? Maybe in this dimension my parents never even met. Maybe there is no Hermione Granger in this reality."
"Perhaps that's why Dumbledore sent you. If you ask me, we've been needing one for ages." At least that got a smile out of her.
Further research proved just as fruitless. The phonebook and the Information Operator failed to turn up any Weasleys, Longbottoms, Flitwicks, McGonagalls—not even a Snape. On the bright side, there were no Tom Marvelo Riddles and the only Lucius Malfoy they could find was a lower level bureaucrat for the Ministry of Sanitation.
"So what now?" asked Harry.
"How would you like to take a little trip to London?
Harry and Hermione materialized in a broom cupboard at King's Cross Station. She explained that when the war with Voldemort broke out, their training had been accelerated to include apparating. Once they were satisfied no one was looking, they emerged and immediately did their best to blend into the crowd. Hermione led him towards platform Nine, and then spent quite a while investigating a brick wall located between platforms Nine and Ten. Eventually she concluded that what she was looking for wasn't there.
"No Nine and Three-Quarters…" she muttered cryptically to herself.
She then transported them to a rather seedy section of the city. Again, she seemed disappointed. For a long time, she stood staring at an old pub sign that hung out over the street: The Weathercock.
"No Leaky Cauldron…"
Climbing a fence behind the pub put them in litter-strewn alley. Hermione located a brick wall behind the pub
and began touching the bricks with her wand as though hitting the right pattern
would somehow cause the wall to open.
Again, nothing happened.
"No Diagon Alley, either…"
"'Ere!" came the landlord's voice from the rear door of the pub. "Clear off!" Harry and Hermione quickly scrambled out of the alley.
Hermione then transported them to the nearest McDonalds. She wasn't all that hungry, she just needed a place to sit and think.
As they ate, Hermione couldn't help noticing Harry noticing her. She had borrowed a T-Shirt and jeans from him, and after a few magical alterations, they fit remarkably well, in spite of the differences in their sizes and builds. Harry seemed particularly struck by the way Dudley's hand-me-down jeans hugged her curves. Maybe he wasn't the Harry she had known, but this was still Harry Potter. All the things that made her Harry special were here. All he needed was a little encouragement.
At some level, Hermione couldn't help wondering if she was somehow being unfaithful to her Harry back home, but she quickly pushed the idea from her mind.
No! That's just too much to deal with right now, she thought. I can't even begin to wrap my head around what's happened to me. All I know is that I'm here and Harry's here. Somehow, I've got him back! I've been given a second chance!
Maybe there is a greater intelligence at work in the universe, and I've been sent here as part of some grand design. Well, if that's the case, then what's wrong with asking for a little consideration for myself in return? So here's the deal: If I'm going to carry out this great cosmic mission, then I need Harry Potter! This one will do just fine, thank you! Maybe it's selfish of me, but damn it, after everything I've been through I figure I've bloody well earned the right to be a little selfish! Just let me have Harry by my side and I'll do whatever needs doing.
"So, where to next?"
Hermione sighed, "I'm tempted to try and find my house, but I'm not sure I could deal with seeing strangers living there. I suppose I should try and find Hogwarts. I think I need to see for myself that it's really not there."
"Why torture yourself?" Harry reached over and covered her hand with his. "Maybe it's time to start thinking about the future."
"What future? I'm only one witch, Harry! What could I do, all alone in an alien world?"
"You're not exactly alone, you know."
She smiled up at him.
"Thank you, Harry. That means more to me than you'll ever know." She swirled a french-fry in her ketchup, remembering the days of mixing potions in cauldrons. "But even with two of us, what could we possibly do?"
"You could teach me."
Hermione froze for just a second.
"But I'm not a professor! I was only in my sixth year! I hadn't even graduated yet!"
"Teach me everything you know, then! I have to start somewhere!"
As much as she wanted to protest, Hermione couldn't help but think this was exactly what old Dumbledore had in mind.
"Don't you see? Once I master the basics, we'll have something to build on! The rest we'll learn by trial and error—by experimenting! I'm sure that's how the early wizards in your world did it! Then we start searching the libraries for old books and papers! And if you're right about there being other wizards, it'll just be a matter of finding them! There are bound to be people out there who already know more than we do." Harry was bubbling with enthusiasm and it was catching. "What have we got to lose?"
"You know, you almost make me believe it could work." She leaned over and kissed Harry on the cheek.
Before they returned to Privet Drive, Hermione borrowed some Muggle money from Harry and bought a big spiral notebook and a pen at a convenience store. Once they arrived back at the Dursley home in Little Whinging, Hermione gave Harry a few simple spells to practice, and then began carefully setting to paper the knowledge she had received in her six years at Hogwarts. She knew it would be a massive undertaking that would eventually fill many notebooks. She also knew that even with her nearly photographic memory, there would be pieces missing. She would have to be careful to highlight these areas so Harry wouldn't attempt any spell that was incomplete.
It was around nine o'clock that evening when both Harry and Hermione decided they'd had enough for the day. There was nothing remotely interesting on television so they ended up watching an old Thunderbirds tape of Dudley's and thoroughly enjoying themselves. When the tape was over they both decided it was time for bed.
"You're not going to sleep in that awful cupboard tonight, are you Harry?" Hermione had a very intriguing look in her eyes.
"I'm used to it," he shrugged.
"I'm sure it would be much nicer out here with me."
Was she really suggesting…? This sort of thing just doesn't happen to Harry Potter, he thought. He couldn't help but wonder if the regular fellow in charge of his luck had taken the day off.
"Please…" Hermione's mouth was as dry as the Sahara, but tonight she wasn't going to take "no" for an answer. "Stay with me."
**********
"VERNON!"
The ear-piercing screech woke both of them with a start. Harry and Hermione had fallen asleep in the sleeping bag, their clothes scattered around them on the sitting room floor. Harry still had an idiotic grin on his face like—well, like a teenage boy who's just gotten lucky for the first time in his life. Aunt Petunia was standing over them, her eyes big as saucers. Hermione clutched the sleeping bag to cover herself.
Uncle Vernon dropped the half-dozen suitcases he was struggling to squeeze through the front door and came charging to the rescue like a bull elephant in heat. He stopped dead in his tracks, his round face still red from the exertion. It took a moment of huffing and puffing for him to catch his breath, and then the redness came from his anger.
"Why you little pervert!"
"How dare you bring your depraved carnal lusts into this decent, God-fearing home, Harry Potter?" Aunt Petunia pointed a bony finger at Hermione. "You and this—this—"
"Harlot?" Hermione suggested helpfully, "Vixen? Jezebel?" Trollop? Am I getting warm?" She felt around for Harry's T-shirt. "Yes, I got the feeling there hasn't been an awful lot of carnal lust going on around this place."
Vernon suddenly drew back his arm, ready to backhand Hermione across the face.
"You keep a civil tongue in your head my girl!"
"Don't you touch her!" Harry snarled at him.
"Now you listen to me! I may have performed my wifely duties but it was always strictly for procreation as prescribed by scripture! I pride myself in having never once enjoyed myself!"
"I can vouch for that," Vernon sighed. He grabbed Hermione's arm and tried to jerk her to her feet.
"I said keep your filthy hands off her!" Harry couldn't remember ever being so angry. Before he even realized what he was doing, Harry's right hand had clenched into a fist and launched itself right into Uncle Vernon's great bulbous nose. Tiny droplets of blood sprayed all over his bushy mustache. It was hard to tell who among them was more astonished. Aunt Petunia couldn't have been more shocked if she'd just seen Vernon dancing naked in the House of Lords. For his part, Vernon became even more enraged.
"Why you little—!"
By now Hermione had located her wand.
"Oh shut up, you great stupid walrus!"
Vernon suddenly froze in his tracks like a statue, his mouth hanging open in sheer terror.
"Vernon!" Aunt Petunia wailed. "What have they done to you? Speak to me, Vernon!"
"And you!" Another flick and Petunia was silenced.
Dudley was shoveling popcorn into his face when he stepped into the sitting room and saw his parents frozen like sculptures, their faces set in grimaces of terror.
"What's all the shouting about—Mum? Dad?" His cousin Harry was quickly pulling up his trousers and a strange, but pretty young girl was sitting up in his old Boy Scout sleeping bag, covering herself while pointing an orchestra conductor's baton at his mother. It suddenly occurred to Dudley that the girl didn't appear to have any clothes on.
"What's going on, Harry?" He gasped in astonishment at the sudden realization. "Harry…? Have you been…?"
"Do you mind?"
The girl flicked the conductor's baton at him and suddenly his whole body went rigid. With another flick, he spun around until he could no longer see what she was doing.
Hermione quickly pulled on Harry's old shirt. The idea of either Dudley or Vernon seeing her naked and possibly fantasizing about her later made her very uncomfortable. Now properly covered, she sank down onto the couch.
"How long will they stay like that?" Harry sat down beside her.
"A couple of hours, unless I release them myself." She finished dressing and took Harry's hand. "So, what do you want to do, Harry? We could stay here long enough to start making some definite plans." She tapped her wand against the palm of her hand. "I'm sure your family will be much easier to get along with now."
"All my life I've dreamed of turning eighteen so I could finally get away from this place."
"Well Happy Birthday, Harry. Get your things. Today you leave Privet Drive forever."
Once Harry left the room, Hermione spun the Dursleys around to face her once more. Vernon's nosebleed was starting to gross her out, so she quickly cast a healing charm to clean it up.
"For ages I've been wanting to give you three a piece of my mind!" She looked them over. "Hardly seems worth it, now. Do you have any idea how pathetic you look? I almost feel sorry for you. Harry lived with you all this time and you never understood what a truly wonderful person he is. You want to know the real topper? Even after everything you've done to him, I don't think Harry hates you. It's just not in him."
"Don't waste your time with them," Harry said as he returned with his few possessions stuffed into a backpack. "Let's go."
As Harry stepped out the door, Hermione paused at the doorway and called back to the Dursley family:
"Don't think it hasn't been a little slice of Heaven—because it hasn't."
With that, she flicked her wand and released them from the spell. For a few moments they could only stand there in shock. Vernon sank down onto the sofa. Petunia could only stand there shaking, pausing only to let out the occasional disbelieving wail. Perhaps it was Dudley who best summed up their situation when he said:
"Oy! Who's gonna cook my breakfast?"
Harry paused at the end of the walk and looked back at number four Privet Drive.
"You're not going to get all sentimental on me are you, Potter?"
"What? Waxing nostalgic about my childhood? Forget it! I'll miss this place about as much as I'd miss a toothache." Harry turned to face her. "It is a bit ironic, though. Horrible as it was, I did spend the most wonderful night of my life there."
"You're very welcome, Mr. Potter." Hermione was beginning to blush. "But I promise you it will only be 'the most wonderful night of your life' until tonight—and tomorrow night—and the night after. But I'm the one who should be thanking you. I'd lost everything and I thought my life was over. You showed me that there were still some things worth living for."
As Harry leaned in to kiss her, out of the corner of her eye Hermione spotted the Dursleys peering through the front window. Never breaking the kiss, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand, pointing the tip back toward the house. The Dursleys disappeared behind the curtains.
"Mornin' Harry!" called old Mr. Cates the postman. "Who's your friend?"
"She's a witch from a parallel universe."
"You don't say! Well, give my best to your family."
"Not in this universe," Harry muttered under his breath.
"I can't help but wonder if there's a dimension out there, where the Dursleys are kind, loving people," Hermione mused as Mr. Cates walked away.
"In an infinite universe, I suppose anything is possible. Maybe there's even one where my parents are still alive…"
"I guess with everything else that was going on," Hermione sighed, "I never really had a chance to think about it—But, I suppose I'm an orphan now, too."
They walked in silence for a long time, holding tightly to each other's hands.
"You know, we really didn't think this thing through very well," Harry finally said. They were walking down Privet Drive toward Cherry Tree Lane. "I mean, where will we go? How will we support ourselves? I'd rather go back and live with the Dursleys before I'd let you sleep on the streets."
"If you think I had any intention of sleeping on the streets to begin with, Harry Potter, then you've got another think coming. Give me your wallet."
"I've got a couple of pounds on me." Harry said, a little embarrassed. "I've also got a little bit of savings in the bank from mowing the neighbors' yards—about twenty-five pounds altogether. It was supposed to go toward my first car, but that wouldn't last us very long."
"Right now I'm not interested in small change." She fished around until she found Harry's school ID card. Like most ID pictures, the photo of Harry looked like a bad mug shot. "Not the most flattering picture I've seen of you."
"Okay, Margaret Bourke White, so, what are you going to do with it?"
"This isn't exactly ethical—but then again, there's no Ministry Of Magic to bust us for doing this." She pulled out her wand and waved it over the card. "Prescriptio in manibus tabellariorium est!" Where Harry's school ID had been, there was now American Express Gold Card.
"You're right," said Harry, "it's not exactly ethical. Is that what they taught you in that school of yours?"
"It's not part of the official curriculum, if that's what you mean." Hermione grinned sheepishly. "Still, desperate times call for desperate measures. So? Where would you like to stay tonight? I'm in the mood for a little pampering…"
They got more than a few stares as they walked through the lobby of the Dorchester Hotel in London. Their blue jeans, sneakers, T-shirts and Harry's backpack seemed a tad out of place amid the elegant splendor of the marble-columned lobby. Harry was more than a little self-conscious, but Hermione strode past the other guests as if she owned the place.
"May I help you?" The Concierge looked down his long, pointed nose at them. His face seemed to be etched into a permanent sneer. He reminded Harry of that actor… he played the bad guy in the first "Die Hard" movie… Except for the shorter hair, Hermione could have sworn it was…
"Professor Snape?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Hermione shook her head. No. Obviously it couldn't be. Harry was starting to get nervous.
"Oh nothing. You just remind me of someone I used to know."
"I'm flattered beyond words. May I help you, Miss?"
"Mrs.,' Hermione corrected. She held up her left hand to show off an elegant but tasteful wedding ring. "Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter, Little Whinging, Surrey. We were married yesterday." Harry felt a tingling sensation in his left hand. When he looked down, he discovered that an equally elegant and equally tasteful wedding band had appeared on the third finger.
"You don't waste any time, do you?" Harry whispered. She nudged him with her elbow to keep him quiet.
"My most heartfelt congratulations," said the Concierge with all the enthusiasm of Charlton Heston at a Jane Fonda film festival. "Do you have a reservation?"
"As a matter of fact, we do." Hermione smiled her most angelic smile.
Singularly unimpressed, the Concierge began flipping through the guest register. Obviously this was some kind of school prank. The boy barely looked old enough to shave and the girl looked even younger. He would soon be giving these two underage comedians a good dressing down. It was then that he came upon the listing: "Mr. & Mrs. Harry Potter, Little Whinging, Surrey"—and most startling of all, it was in his own handwriting!
Unaware of what the Concierge had discovered, Harry kept looking around, expecting Hotel Security to surround them at any time. Hermione was doing her best not to giggle.
"Y-yes," the Concierge stammered. "The reservation is right here."
"You did put us in the Honeymoon Suite, didn't you?"
He glanced back at the entry.
"Of course," he said through clenched teeth in an odd tone of voice.
As much as he would have liked to toss the two juvenile delinquents out into the street, their reservation appeared to be in order. They were able to produce ID's stating that they were both eighteen and what's more, a check with American Express indicated that they had a virtually unlimited line of credit. He decided that it might be a good idea to be nice to these two—just in case they were the spawn of some important personage with a long pedigree and a short temper.
He snapped his fingers and two identically dressed bellhops appeared. The Concierge rolled his eyes and let out a sigh. In addition to their uniforms, their faces were also identical, right down to their flaming red hair.
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Could it really be Fred and George?
"Are you two joined at the hip?"
"No, sir! It's just that 'e owes me five quid and I'm not lettin' him outa me sight until 'e pays it back!"
"Show these," the Concierge struggled for the least offensive word, "guests to the Honeymoon Suite." He handed George the key.
"Honeymoon Suite?" Fred raised and eyebrow.
The Concierge cleared his throat in a way that said, "Shut up and get moving!"
"Right sir!" He turned to the 'newlyweds'. "And your luggage?"
"Half-way to Australia by now, I imagine." Hermione said innocently. "We'd planned to Honeymoon in Paris, but I'm afraid the airline put the entire lot on the wrong plane. So we've decided to say in London and rough it here for a few days until they find it."
"'Rough it'," the Concierge repeated with a forced smile. "How charming."
Fred and George weren't buying it either, but they had both already decided that anyone who could put one over on their boss like that was okay in their book
As the bellhops escorted them to the elevator, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.
"Fred? George? You don't have a younger brother named 'Ron' by any chance?"
"'Ere! How'd you know that?"
"She's psychic," Harry informed them. "Things like that just come to her."
"You also have three older brothers a little sister named Ginny—and your parents are Arthur and Molly Weasley."
Their smiles faded a little.
"That's not bad," said George, "but you're a bit out of date. You see, our dad passed away a while back and Mum remarried."
"I'm sorry."
"Nothin' to be sorry about." Fred told her. "Remus is okay as step-dads go. He really loves Mum and he treats us okay. That's what counts."
Harry and Hermione were amazed. That would explain why Information couldn't find any "Weasley" family in Ottery St. Catchpole. And could their 'step-dad" possibly be Remus Lupin?
The doors to the Honeymoon Suite swung open to reveal an enormous rococo fantasy straight out of an old RKO Musical. Harry half expected Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers to come dancing down the marble staircase that led up to the second level.
"I like it," Harry quipped. "It's showy, yet ostentatious."
"'Ang on!" George's arm shot out, as they were about to step inside. "You're supposed to carry the bride over the threshold!"
"We do rent cranes and forklifts at a reasonable rate should they become necessary," Fred added.
Hermione was not amused, but before she could kick Fred in the shins, Harry scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside. He was promptly rewarded with a kiss before he set her down.
"I can't wait to see the bed!" Hermione bounced up the stairs.
"I think you got a live one there, son!" Fred said out of the corner of his mouth.
"You don't know the half of it!" Harry said, rolling his eyes.
George slapped the key into Harry's hand.
"Well, if you need anything—oysters—vitamin pills—CPR—you just give us a shout!" They hesitated at the door. Harry realized that they were hinting for a tip. Harry suddenly became aware of a bulge in his pocket. He reached in and found two twenty pound notes folded together. He handed one to each of them.
"Thank you, Sir," they said in chorus.
"I had no idea I was such a generous tipper," Harry called up the stairs once the bellhops were gone.
He found Hermione sprawled out on the gigantic bed, wallowing in the luxury that surrounded them.
"They're going to be very annoyed at us when those bank notes fade away after a few hours."
"They won't." Hermione took his hand and pulled him onto the bed. "I didn't just conjure them up out of nothing. I apparated them out of the ATM machine in the lobby. Trust me, we're going to need those two on our side before this is over."
"They can help us hide when the police arrive."
"Nothing I've done can be traced back to us, Harry."
"That's hardly the point."
"Oh, lighten up, Harry!"
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
"You better believe it, kid. After everything I've been through, I figure I've earned it—and so have you!"
"All the same, we're going to keep track of everything we spend so we can pay it back one day."
"You're serious, aren't you?" She pulled him into a kiss. "That's why Einstein could never finish his Unified Field Theory. He never met you. You are the one true constant in the universe, Harry Potter."
***********
Harry felt Hermione catch her breath. He could feel her eyelashes brush against his chest as her eyes flew open. He could feel her heart beating faster. He had a pretty good idea of what had happened. He was still perspiring from his own nightmare. He was back in his cupboard under the stairs with monstrous nightmare versions of the Dursleys taunting him.
"You thought you could get away!"
"You'll never escape us!"
"Never!"
He could easily imagine what Hermione's nightmare was like: Standing among the smoldering ruins of Hogwarts, the only survivor—totally alone.
He felt her relax and snuggle closer.
He felt a tear run down her cheek onto his chest.
After a few more times of waking up like this, it was as if their subconscious minds finally accepted that neither of them was going anywhere.
They were no longer alone.
At last they could sleep peacefully.
Tomorrow would literally be the first day of the rest of their lives, and Harry thought he might just have a plan for the future.
End of Chapter One