Summary: Harry wants to use the Time Turner one more time to capture Pettigrew before he can escape; however, spell-fire interrupts the journey through time, and both Harry and Hermione are cast into an Alternate Dimension.

Notes: Updates will be irregular.

Pairings: I have no pairings in mind for the time being. I may, later, incorporate some. Also, I may have pairings that can be voted upon.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make a profit from it. Any ideas that happen here is just fanfiction dabbling with J. K. Rowling's creation. And likely messing it up.

Terrible things happen to those who meddle with time, Harry

Chapter Two: Fun House

Harry shifted, trying to get away from the light that was trying, and succeeding, to wake him up. The bed was so comfortable, he just wanted to sink right into it, and slip back to sleep. Did I forget to close my hangings? He wondered, not sure how so much light was getting into his bed, as he slowly woke.

Grumbling about hangings and light more evil than dark lords, Harry cracked his heavy eyelids open.

He jumped.

Harry threw himself sideways and off the narrow bed, a startled cry escaped his lips. He crashed to the hard, cold floor in a tangle of blankets.

He ripped the blankets off, and peeked over the edge of the bed. He squinted trying to see through the blurriness that was the world without his glasses. He half-glared at the blurry figure seated beside his bed. "Voldemort," Harry said, his tone oddly neutral to his ears, as he greeted the man whose face had been inches from his own when he had opened his eyes.

"Good, you know me," the silky voice of Tom Riddle stated from his chair on the far side of the bed. "Though, I haven't gone by that moniker since I retook my youthful appearance."

Harry recalled that the face he had briefly glimpsed was what he imagined an older version of the Tom he had met in the Chamber would be. "Where are my glasses?"

Voldemort shifted and Harry nearly jumped as glasses slipped onto his face by wordless and wandless magic.

"Er, thanks," Harry said, as he stared into the deep and dark blue eyes of his nemesis. He expected his eyes to be red, but these blue ones were so different…

"You really should get your eyesight corrected," Voldemort chided Harry lightly. "It is disadvantageous for you if you were to lose them at a critical point during dangerous situations."

"Er," Harry said unsure how to talk to a… friendly Voldemort, particularly a friendly Voldemort giving him sound advice.

"What's your name?" Voldemort asked.

Harry started and then scowled. "You know what my name is," Harry ground out.

Voldemort quirked a brow and tilted his head. "I do?" he questioned, a thoughtful expression on his face. "That is news to me. I don't tend to ask questions that I know the answer to. It is wasteful."

Harry blinked. "Wait, you don't recognize me?" Harry frowned, unsure. He wondered if that crazy muggle had distorted his face beyond recognition, but it didn't hurt, and he didn't feel different.

"I do not," Voldemort said.

Harry didn't know what to make of anything. First, he wasn't in his dorm. Second, Voldemort has his body back. Third, Voldemort just gave him useful advice. And fourth, Voldemort honestly didn't look like he had the foggiest idea who he, Harry, the-Boy-Who-Lived, was.

Something just wasn't right with this picture.

"Will you tell me your name?" Tom asked, his tone unnervingly gentle.

"Harry."

"Do you have a last name, Harry?"

"Potter."

Voldemort turned his head slightly, his dark eyes appraising. "You certainly have the Potter look," he said after a moment's observations. "With those glasses, you look much like James Potter, but without them, you looked more like his wife. But I know for a fact that they have no children. None living, at least."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. He noted that Voldemort had used the present tense. Harry's eyes widened at the thought. "I'm their son."

Voldemort leaned forwards, moving his face closer to Harry.

Harry leaned back.

"You are their son," Voldemort repeated slowly. "I know that their son died almost sixteen years ago, in his nursery. But, I also know that you are telling the truth. Tell me, Harry Potter, how did you wind up in one of the Crusaders' bases?"

Harry wasn't sure what to do. "Why would I tell you that? And what have you done with Hermione?"

"You should tell me, so that I may help you," Voldemort said slowly, as though speaking to a slow child.

"And, if you mean the girl that is around your age that was also being interrogated by the Crusaders, then I suggest you look at the bed behind you."

Harry whipped around. On the bed behind him, sleeping soundly was his bushy-haired best friend. "Hermione," Harry breathed softly as he moved to her side, and peered down at her peaceful face. She looked uninjured. Relief pooled inside of him. He wouldn't have known what he would do had he landed her in danger. He hoped that the Crusaders that had her hadn't been as sick and abusive as the ones he had gotten.

Mind you, she may have been healed. Heck, he felt physically fine. Did Voldemort heal us? He turned back to meet assessing eyes. It was a jarring thought.

"Why haven't you killed us?" Harry demanded, his hand flexing for his missing wand.

"I have altered my perceptions several years ago, and I no longer seek to destroy individuals with magic," Tom said, a faraway look in his deep blue eyes. The corner of his lips were raised in what could only be a wistful smile. "Even mud-bloods are important, more so than some of the purebloods in our current society. I presume that your familiarity with my previous doctrine denotes that you and your friend lack pureblood breeding. You are a Potter, so you are at least a half-blood, like myself. Though, if you are who you claim to be, then you would be considered a first generation pureblood, as both living Potters are magical."

Harry stared at him. Here was Voldemort advocating for muggle-borns. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that, but he was pretty sure that the relief he was feeling wasn't natural. Natural would be destroying the man who murdered my parents.

"Where did the Crusaders capture you two?"

"The Forbidden Forest," Harry answered. "We were trying to find our way back to Hogwarts after we used the Time Tur—"

Harry paused. Is Voldemort strange because of what happened with the Time Turner?

"You and the girl used a Time Turner?" Voldemort asked with interest. "And you are unfamiliar with my current doctrine. What was the year you used the Time Turner?"

"1994."

"It is 1997."

Harry stared at Voldemort.

"That's not possible."

Harry spun around. "Hermione!"

Brown eyes looked Harry over for a moment, before she offered him a soft smile. "Now what chaos did you manage to drag me into, Harry James Potter?" she said with a patient look and a wry smile. She turned her gaze to Voldemort, and her eyes hardened. Hermione obviously recognize Tom Riddle by his description.

"It is impossible for it to be 1997," Hermione continued. "Time Turners cannot take people to the future. Time Turners only function by taking their user or users back in time by one hour for each rotation. It can only take someone back a handful of hours at a time. You are suggesting that it not only took us forward, but that it, somehow, managed to transport us over three years into the future. Such a lengthy journey should have killed us, draining our magic and life-force to sustain the magic of temporal displacement, but neither Harry nor myself could have powered that device to transport us so far into the future."

Voldemort stared at her, assessing the young woman.

"Normally, I would agree with you, miss?"

Hermione stared at him a moment before turning her gaze back to Harry.

Harry shrugged. "He didn't know me either."

Her eyebrows shot upwards, and Harry could tell her brain was running a mile a minute.

"Granger," she replied, sounding distracted.

Voldemort looked surprised at that. Heck, he looked like he recognized her name better than Harry's own.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think you will find that you and Mr. Potter did not travel forwards in time. Though the year is 1997, you will find that Harry Potter died October 30th, 1981. Further, you will find that Hermione Granger died September 1st, 1991."

Harry blinked. "What do you mean we died, we are right here."

"Tell me, Miss Granger, did something occur to the Time Turner prior to your arrival in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Well yes, but… oh!" Hermione tossed the blanket off of her, and spun so that her legs were over the side of her bed. "Oh!"

"Hermione? What is it?"

"Harry, don't you see! We're dead! I hadn't realized it was possible, but if we are dead and it is 1997, then it makes sense."

"Hermione, we aren't dead. And none of this makes sense."

Hermione stood, her wide brown eyes locked on his. "Don't you see? We didn't actually travel in time! Had we tried to move three years, we would have been killed and our bodies cast out at some random point between when we left and when we were trying to get, depending on how much power we have. But, we didn't time travel. When that Auror hit the Time Turner, it broke! Remember, all the sands came and mingled with spellfire! Of course! It all makes sense! We somehow managed to slip out of our universe and into this one!"

Hermione looked pleased with her conclusion.

Voldemort appeared to agree with her conclusion.

Harry was confused. And he was surprised that he, Hermione, and Voldemort could be in the same room. And everyone was being civilized. He supposed that this new—alternate—world, or whatever it was, was insane. Either that, or he was insane. He preferred the first conclusion, but the second seemed most likely.

"So, you are telling me that we somehow slipped from our… universe, into a new one, where you and I are dead, my parents are alive, and Voldemort, who happens to have a real body, is patiently sitting at our bedsides?" Harry asked slowly, his tone blank.

"Yes," Voldemort said.

"Wait, your parents are alive here!" Hermione exclaimed, her hand wrapping around his arm as she looked into his eyes. "That's amazing! You can meet them, and maybe get to know them! You've never had a proper family—that's what got us into this mess! But now you have a chance! Sure, they aren't your parents, but they also aren't not your parents!"

Harry's heart jumped at the thought of actually meeting his parents. The image from the Mirror of Erised flashed in his mind. It made his mouth dry.

She squeezed his arm. "I wonder what my parents are like in this world—oh, I died. That must have been terrible for them."

Hermione looked down at her shoes.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. His eyes met Voldemort's.

"Er…," Harry wasn't sure how to deal with this Voldemort that didn't seem interested in killing him. "How do we get back?" The hope of finally meeting his parents crumbled. How could he be happy about meeting his parents when his stupid actions had caused Hermione to fall into a world where her parents had lost their daughter?

"It's impossible."

Hermione's head jerked up at that. "How would you know?" she challenged, a determined glint in her eyes.

"There is no way to calculate the precise means of returning to your exact point of origins. Too many incalculable factors contribute to the events to figure out a precise means of returning either of you to your world. First, the location of the spell and the ambient magic there is important, as it could influence the potency of the magic. Second, your individual power levels at the time were factors: were you both in peak condition, or somewhere below that, and if below, to what precise degree? Third, is the spell the Time-Turner was struck by. Fourth, is the power level of the individual that cast the spell. Fifth, is the chaotic and not-well understood branch of magic that is Time. These five factors alone are impossible to accurately calculate. While you may be able to replicate the events, the likelihood of being cast into an entirely different universe is highly probable."

Harry stared at Voldemort, and he was sure his eyes were somewhat glassy at the explanation. He looked to Hermione, she would understand what the dark lord just said.

Hermione was frowning. Her head was tilted to the side, as she stared at Voldemort, her mind going through what he said. "You are claiming that, while we may be able to use a Time-Turner in the same circumstance, that the results will be completely random due to an indeterminate number of factors that effected our original shift into this universe. We can't go home to the world we know." Hermione met Harry's eyes.

Harry understood that.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry began. "This is all my fault, if I ha—"

A hand covered his mouth.

Harry blinked at his best friend, and fell silent to her hand.

"Don't you dare apologize, Harry." Hermione's eyes were sharp, and her nostrils were slightly flared. "This is as much my fault as it is yours. I let you talk me into your hair-brained plan. Heck, its more that Auror's fault for firing without using his brain! Had he not cast that spell, we would have just slipped back in time."

Harry still felt bad, but he knew better than to argue with her on this. For the moment, anyways.

She dropped her hand and spun to look at Voldemort.

"You rescued us?" She asked.

"Correct. Bella found Mr. Potter, while Lucius found you, Miss Granger. I was elsewhere at the moment of your rescues, but the attack on the Crusaders was done under my orders."

"Thank you."

Voldemort inclined his head.

Harry stared at Hermione, his mouth hanging slightly open. Her elbow dug into his side.

"Er, right, thank you," Harry said. Thanking the Dark Lord Voldemort was not something he had ever imagined himself doing, but here he was. It felt strange.

"It was my pleasure," Voldemort replied, his tone cool.

"Not to be rude, since you did orchestrate our rescue, but why are you sitting at our bedside?" Hermione asked. "Don't you have ample followers that could have babysat us, while you were off elsewhere, doing more important things than watching two teenagers sleep?"

Harry was impressed at her bold words, and his eyes moved quickly to Voldemort.

"You are correct in thinking I have other important matters to tend to, but I do enjoy a good puzzle," Voldemort's eyes met Harry's.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Mr. Potter fascinates me."

Harry's stomach dropped. "But you didn't even recognize me, how could I be interesting enough to pull you away from your important things?"

"Well, it wasn't your name that interested me, nor your uncanny resemblance to the Potters. That scar on your forehead is what led me to your bedside."

Harry reached up and flattened his fringe over the scar.

"Why does his scar interest you?" Hermione asked, wary.

In that moment, Harry realized that despite being so close to Voldemort, his scar didn't hurt. He had no headache and no pulsing aches spiking out from it. His scar was not connected to this Voldemort.

"It is identical to the one I gave Mr. Longbottom."

-HP-HP-HP-HP-HP-

Harry took a sip of his tea, his eyes locked onto wide black ones across from him. The eyes were not blinking, and their heavy lids didn't quiver. Harry almost felt like he was looking into some dark abyss that would suck him in, where he would never escape.

He suppressed his shudder at that thought.

"My, what pretty green eyes you have, baby wizard," the owner of the black eyes said in a sweet voice.

"All the better to see you with," Harry replied.

Hermione snorted into her teacup.

Black eyes darted to Hermione, before slipping back to his own.

"My, what a cute button nose you have, baby wizard."

"All the better to smell you with."

"My, what a sweet little mouth you have, baby wizard."

"All the better to eat you with."

The black eyes were covered by lids a moment, before they refocused on him. "You want to eat me, baby wizard?" The black eyed women tilted her head to the side, her raven curls falling over her shoulder with the movement.

"Not really, but that's what I was supposed to say." Harry drained his tea cup.

"Oh," the witch nodded slowly, but her shoulders dropped.

Was she disappointed? Harry shuddered at the thought that the woman wanted to be consumed by a cannibal.

"Can I eat you up, baby wizard?" Black eyes grew wider, the white around them grew more profound with the motion.

"No."

She pouted, her black eyes leaving his.

Harry breathed a soft sigh, as she turned her attention to Hermione.

"Can I eat you, baby mudblood?"

Hermione growled, her face crinkled with a mixture of exasperation and annoyance. "Stop calling me that!"

"Okay, mudblood. I won't call you baby mudblood."

Hermione threw her hands up. "I give up! You are clearly insane!"

"As opposed to unclearly insane? Or do you perhaps mean spotty insane? Or dirty insane?"

A gaunt and dark haired man refilled Harry's tea cup and his own.

Harry nodded his thanks and took a sip. This was the most surreal tea party he had ever attended—not that he had ever attended any tea parties before this one. His aunt never let him near her fine china, worried the freak would stain or damage her precious cups. And after he became a wizard, all his tea consumption wasn't exactly a tea party, just a casual occurrence that any British wizard would enjoy.

But this could only be a tea party. And a deranged one at that.

His eyes flickered to the ruby-eyed doll in the chair beside the crazy witch.

The doll stared blankly back, her ruby lips partially parted, and her cheeks painted in a flush. The doll moved.

Harry started as the doll slipped to the side, worried for a heart-beat that the doll was alive. He knew he was being silly, but that doll was the creepiest thing he ever saw. Give him Dementors, Basilisks, and three-headed dogs any day. He shivered. He was pretty sure his latest boggart might become that doll.

He sipped his tea, ripping his eyes from the doll's ruby ones, and turning his focus to the two witches. The woman was staring at Hermione with eyes as wide and blank as the doll's, while Hermione glared back.

If this wasn't a dream, he was pretty sure that he and Hermione had wound up in the weirdest world ever.

A door opened.

Harry looked over his shoulder at the doorway into the dining room.

Voldemort strode into the room, and moved to sit beside the ruby-eyed doll.

Dark blue eyes met green.

Voldemort raised a thin, dark eyebrow in question.

Harry had tons of questions. Voldemort had dropped that bomb shell on them in the guest room turned infirmary, announcing that Neville had the lightning bolt scar. Then the man had just up and left the room, no explanation or anything! Harry really wanted to know what was going on.

Hermione had, following Voldemort's departure that morning, bombarded him with a string of theorizes that were all well above his head, and his was pretty sure he was as glassy-eyed as the doll by the time Hermione had finished whatever it was that she had been saying.

"You said that Neville Longbottom has the same scar, curtesy of you," Hermione cut through the silence of the dining room. "Explain."

"Mudblood!" the woman said, her pitch high. "You do not order around the Dark Lord! You are his to command! You do not command him!"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but quick as a snake, the witch lunged forward and pressed a chunk of strawberry cheesecake into Hermione's open mouth.

Harry stared.

Hermione choked on the sudden food, her cheeks red, and cake smeared around her mouth.

Harry bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

"Bella, what have I told you about force-feeding cake to people?" Voldemort chided softly, as he accepted his tea and saucer from the gaunt man.

The witch turned adoring eyes to her master, but her lip trembled as though she were about to cry. "You told me not to force-feed cake to people, as they might explode from over-eating."

Voldemort nodded and regally sipped at his tea.

Harry doubted he would ever look so composed drinking tea. He sat up straighter, and held his cup up to his lips.

"But they are guests! We have to ensure they are well fed!"

"Of course, Bella," Voldemort said, shaking his head lightly. "Now," he turned his eyes to Hermione, who had swallowed the cake and cleaned off her face, and was casting a dirty look to the crazy witch. "The reason that Mr. Longbottom has his scar is because I went into his home October 31st, 1981, and killed his mother, father, and then cast the killing curse on the boy."

Harry's tea cup cracked in his hands. He hastily put it down.

"However, when I cast the curse, some… unexpected blood magic was activated, and I was the recipient of the rebounded curse, which left me as little more than a wraith, forced to survive by any means possible."

"In our world, you did that to Harry and his family!" Hermione explained.

Harry winced.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione said, as though realizing what she had just said with him in the room. "I'm sorry, that was tactless of me."

Harry shrugged. He had never known his parents, but there was still an ache in his heart, where his parents should have been. He could get angry at Hermione, but he didn't think that was right. He had dragged her into the crazy world, and if she wanted to add salt to his old scars, he wouldn't stop her.

"How did you regain your body?" Hermione shifted tactics.

"The Philosophers Stone."

Harry's head darted up. He looked at Voldemort in surprise.

"How did you get it from Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, curious.

"Hogwarts?" Voldemort looked at her. "I see there is a difference between your world and mine, in that the Philosophers Stone has never once been to Hogwarts. I stole it from Gringotts one year before Mr. Longbottom was scheduled to go Hogwarts for his first year."

"When master vanished, I knew he wasn't dead!" Bellatrix interjected. "We looked all over for him. We looked under every rock, behind every Muggle, and in every bee hive!"

Harry didn't doubt that she had checked all those strange places, and he wondered what the muggles thought when a crazy lady was looking behind them, calling for the man she called master.

"Why is there a Crusade?" Harry asked. It wasn't the question he wanted to ask.

Everyone looked at him.

"Because Miss. Granger died," Voldemort said, as he set his tea cup in its saucer.

"Pardon?" Hermione asked, frowning with bewilderment. "How did my death cause a Crusade to start?"

"Since I managed a full revival in less than ten years after my… banishment, I decided to plan vengeance upon Mr. Longbottom, and I thought the most perfect opportunity would be the day he would officially join the wizarding world. So, I planned, and with my loyal followers, we plotted to attack the Hogwarts Express on September the 1st."

"Master gave me and Lucy the honour of leading his attack!" Bella added.

"Yes, Bella and Lucius led the assault on the Hogwarts Express."

"Rudy felled a tree on the track!"

"Don't call me, Rudy," the gaunt man grunted, while he mutilated a piece of cake with his fork. His other armed wrapped securely around a fluffy white rabbit that had long ears that brushed the carpeted floor.

"Once the train came to an emergency stop, my Death Eaters swarmed aboard. They captured Muggleborns and dragged them off the train, while I searched for the Boy-Who-Didn't-Die. Lucius had begun executing the Muggleborns, starting with the youngest, forcing the eldest to watch, unable to help or run. Miss Granger was one of the first to die."

"That's 'cause she kicked Lucy in the shin!"

Rudy chuckled, before serving a cookie to his rabbit.

"By the time I discovered that Mr. Longbottom was not on the train, Lucius and a few more… excitable Death Eaters… managed to kill three-quarters of Hogwart's Muggleborn population. That is when Dumbledore and his Order arrived with the Aurors, and we were forced to retreat."

Harry stared at Voldemort, as the man served himself a large slice of cake. He couldn't believe how the man could possibly want cake after talking about how many kids his minions had killed.

Hermione looked at Voldemort with horror mingled with disgust. "You are monsters," she breathed, her jaw trembling, and her eyes wet.

"No," Voldemort said. "We were insane, me moreso than even Bella."

Bella giggled. "We're so insane that we're outsane!"

"How did you become sane?" Harry asked. There was no way the man across from him was crazy. He was too composed. Too calm. And it looked like he had a sweet tooth.

Voldemort hummed around a mouthful of cake. "I reacquainted myself with my old diary."

Harry blinked, his mind flashing back to the blood-like ink that flowed from the diary he had stabbed in the Chamber of Secrets. "Your fifteen year old self?"

Voldemort's eyebrows rose, his mouth pausing mid chew. He swallowed and took a small sip of tea. "You are familiar with my diary?" His eyes had a curious light in them.

"Of course. It possessed Ginny, called up a Basilisk that petrified Hermione and bit me, before I stabbed it with the dead Basilisk's fang." Harry wasn't sure why he had admitted that, but he had the sudden desire to tell the truth. So he did.

"When was this?"

"Last year, end of second year."

Voldemort smiled and served himself another generous slice of cake.

"You are most different than the Boy-Who-Lived of this world, Mr. Potter."

"Potter? Baby wizard is a Potter? Oh! I can see it!" She placed a cookie on the plate in front of the doll.

"How are we different?"

"Mr. Longbottom is a… quiet child. He prefers the company of plants to others. In fact, he has a most unflattering habit of stuttering when he tries to speak to anyone."

"I don't see how my death caused a Crusade."

Harry looked at Hermione.

Voldemort finished his second piece of cake.

"Simple. Following the Massacre of the Hogwarts Express, as the… event… has been called, the authorities were forced to tell all the families about the losses suffered."

"Oh, my poor parents!" Hermione said, her hand moving to cover her mouth. "In my world, they never wanted me to go to Hogwarts, I had to plead. If this world is anything like mine, then Hermione's parents must have been devastated over giving into their daughter's pleas."

It was odd hearing Hermione talk in third person. Well, this whole situation was odd, so what was one more strange thing? Strangeness was in good company at this fancy table.

A House Elf popped in with a new cake, and popped out just as quickly.

"Devastated is an understatement," Voldemort said, as he slipped another slice of cake onto his plate. "I do not know the full details, and I doubt any but the two Grangers do, but from the moment their daughter was murder they changed."

"Lucius did lots of digging into the matter, if anyone can dig up dirt on someone, it's our Lucy!" Bella supplied.

"It seems that the two Grangers quit their jobs as dentists an—"

"Those are muggles that torture other muggles' mouths!" Bella chirped.

Voldemort cast her a quelling look, and she looked down at her lap.

"Yes, they quit their careers. Mr. Granger joined the clergy and Mrs. Granger joined the military. Somehow, they soared through their respective ranks, and whispered into the ears of powerful people. They gathered proof of magic and wizarding society, and once they had a great enough following, they exposed us to all of muggle-kind."

Harry's jaw fell open.

Hermione looked like she wanted to deny everything that just came from Voldemort's mouth.

"They brought the… massacre of the Hogwart's Muggleborns into common muggle knowledge and exposed us as witches. Through irrefutable proof and the garnered outrage, it was easy for the church, government, and average person to call for the blood of all magic-users, and so a new witch hunt began."

"This is why you were forced to reassess your doctrine," Hermione whispered.

"Yes," Voldemort pushed his cake aside.

"The wizarding communities of the world had no clue of what the muggles planned. Somehow, and we aren't even sure how, the muggles launched an assault on various magical places around the globe. They sent in strike teams using muggle weapons and technology that we've never before encountered, and they obliterated many of the magical areas, only taking prisoners for interrogation."

"The British Ministry of Magic fell that day, three years ago, along with every single building that governed magical communities. We do not know how they discovered the locations, and we don't fully understand how they orchestrated a world-wide eradication of wizarding governments, but they succeeded."

"It made the world go mad," Bella added.

"And leading this global operation, now known as the Crusade, are the Grangers. Mr. Granger is the hand of god, the new Pope of the Church. He fuels the doctrine of his faith in his followers, and provides clemency for the nightmares they must achieve in the name of their god. Mrs. Granger is the hand of the military, leading the united military of the muggle world in this war they call holy."

Harry stared at his broken tea cup, watching as tea slowly flooded his saucer.

"But… My parents would never do that…" Hermione said, her voice quiet. "They wouldn't. They are nice people."

Harry wondered if she was trying to convince herself that her parents would never go to such an extreme. Would this happen in their world, once the Granger's discovered Hermione had vanished?

"These are not the parents you know."

Harry looked up at Voldemort. "If the ministry has fallen, who is leading the magical world?"

"Various factions have control of the magical world. I am uncertain of the power structure in the Americas, but in Europe, each country has at least one faction in power, and many countries have many factions. Some factions are trying for peaceful reconciliation, others are attempting to destroy as many muggles as they can in a foolish endeavor to take as many muggles down with them as they can. Others are hiding, doing everything in their ability to conceal themselves."

"In Britain, we've got two factions!" Bella chirped in, over her previous chiding. "Our illustrious Dark Lord leads one faction! Our faction is the biggest and most powerful one! He is leading strategic counterstrikes against the Crusaders! That's how we found you two."

"And the other?" Hermione asked.

"Dumbledore," the gaunt man barked.

"What is Dumbledore's faction doing?" Harry asked.

"It is professor or headmaster Dumbledore, Harry," Hermione sighed. "Show some respect."

"They are focused on damage control and trying to find a peaceful solution," Voldemort said, as he rested his elbow on the table, and set his chin in his palm. "The old fool never learns."

"At least he gave up fighting against you, my lord!" Bella said.

"True. Though we still do not see eye to eye, Dumbledore and I have come to a truce. We are no longer the enemies we once were. We are… allies, of a sort."

"Well," Hermione said, her voice high. "I think we've found the rabbit hole, Harry."

"Rabbit hole?" Bella asked, her eyes wide. "Where?"

"This is an awful lot of information to digest," Hermione said.

Harry nodded. He felt overwhelmed. Honestly, he almost wished he could have his cupboard back, as it was safe and small. Things here were just too big and too dangerous. What have I gotten us into?

"Yes, you two should retire for the evening. Perhaps come morning, things will have settled better in your minds. Dobby!"

With a pop, a familiar house elf popped into the dining hall.

"Master Dark Lord has called Dobby? What can Dobby be doing for Master Dark Lord?"

"Escort our guests to their prepared rooms," Voldemort commanded. "They've had a shock this evening and require rest."

"Yes, Master Dark Lord. Dobby be escorting the guests to their rooms."

Harry stared at Dobby. This Dobby was far calmer than the hyper-active Dobby Harry had known. This Dobby seemed almost… level-headed. It was an odd thought, but it was nice thinking that this Dobby might not throw himself at the nearest wall or piece of furniture in some strange form of self-punishment.

Harry stood and followed behind the house elf. His mind reeling through the things that they had discovered.

This world was so… different! It was wrong! None of it really made sense. How was it that both he and Hermione were dead? Why had they died? Why did they fall into this messed up world? Was there really no chance of returning home? Did he just cause a crusade like this in their real world by dragging Hermione along on his latest crazy adventure? What about Sirius?

Oh god, Sirius! What would Sirius do?

All these questions made his head pound. He could only imagine the migraine that Hermione must be sporting.

"This be your room, Master Dark Lord's witch guest," Dobby said as he motioned to the door on the right of the wide hall. "And this be your room, Master Dark Lord's wizard guest." He pointed to the door directly across from the other.

"Yous be going in and finding suitable clothing and going straight to bed."

"Hermione," Harry reached out.

She pulled away from him and walked to the door.

Harry's heart hurt.

She paused, her hand on the handle. "Sorry, Harry. Just, not right now. I need to think. We will talk tomorrow." She turned the handle and opened the door. "I don't blame you, but I'm still mad at you." She closed the door behind her.

Harry swallowed. His eyes stung. If he had just caused Hermione to hate him, he didn't know what he would do.

"Wizard guest be needing something from Dobby?"

Harry shook his head. "No Dobby, thank you."

"You… be thanking Dobby? Dobby has never been thanked by a wizard before, Master Dark Lord's wizard guest." He popped away with a crack.

Harry stared at the door Hermione vanished through for a moment, before he opened and stepped into his room.

The room was massive. It was larger than the main floor of the Dursley's house. His sock-covered feet sunk into the plush grey carpet. To the right stood an open doorway, and through it, Harry spotted a bathroom. A closed door stood about halfway along the right wall.

To the left of the room was a sitting area around a great marble fireplace, where a fire crackled lowly. Three black leather couches and a small table stood in a circle before the fireplace.

In one corner of the room were several bookcases, all empty, and a larger dark wood desk and chair.

Harry walked into the room and closed the door behind him.

The room was opulent, and Harry could only image the envy on his relatives' faces if they saw where he was.

Harry took a step towards the massive bed with it heavy curtains tied to each of the four bed posts. He froze.

His heart thumped into his chest.

Propped against his pillow, was a doll. Its ruby eyes bore into his.

Harry took a step back.

The doll's head twitched to the side. Its eye lids dropped half-way over glassy ruby eyes.

Harry swallowed. "It's just a doll." He took a hesitant step forward, calming himself, before he walked quickly across the room. He moved to the bed, crawled on top of it and picked up the doll.

Bellatrix Lestrange must have had a house elf slip the doll in here. She was crazy that way.

He looked at the doll. "I'm just being paranoid. You're just a doll." He laughed to himself.

The doll's head twisted around.

"Gah!" Harry dropped the doll and scrambled off the bed.

The doll stayed where he left it, splayed face door on the ruffled bed.

"Probably just gravity," Harry reasoned from the edge of his bed.

But then the doll stood up, its glassy ruby eyes meeting his. It smiled.