Chapter 3
A thorough search of the library proved useful and Harry was relieved to find Hermione sitting at a table, her bushy hair acting as a beacon in the stack of books surrounding her.
“Hermione!” He called. The brunette startled, her stack wobbling dangerously with the movement. Harry rushed to help stabilise the tower of books.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding relieved. “Feeling better?” She asked, getting back to her notes.
Harry looked at her carefully, unsure how to go about asking for her help.
“Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said slowly, taking a seat opposite her.
“Did Ron put you up to this?” She looked up at him again, her eyes flashing in anger.
“Um, no,” Harry began but before he could go on Hermione sighed, and slouched down into her chair.
“Is everything alright between the two of you?” He asked, wondering what could have happened since breakfast that morning.
“Oh you know,” Hermione said, looking embarrassed. “Same old. I caught him sneaking Lavender into the prefect’s bathroom.”
Harry stared at his friend in confusion. “Lavender…Brown? But he hasn’t been with her since…”
And then it dawned on him.
Ron hadn’t been with Lavender since sixth year. The same year Harry was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Ron wasn’t shorter, he was younger. Snape, Dumbledore, even others presumably…they were all alive because it hadn’t happened yet.
The war hadn’t happened yet. Harry was in the past.
That still doesn’t explain the remark Snape made about my mother, though, he thought to himself.
His face blanched. “Unless…” he whispered aloud, thinking back to his wish on the train platform.
“Listen, forget I said anything, Ron isn’t going to change and I…well I’ll be fine.” Hermione said, not looking or sounding totally convincing.
Harry said nothing, still lost in his thoughts.
“Harry?” His friend said gently, as though speaking to a terrified kitten. “You don’t look too good…do you need me to take you to the hospital wing?”
Harry looked up at her, eyes wild.
“What? No. Um, sorry about Ron, Hermione, really. But something strange is going on and if anyone can help me figure it out it’s you.”
“Okay…” his friend prompted.
“And you’re going to think I’m mad but please hear me out.”
Hermione nodded, looking concerned and Harry sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day, wishing everyone would stop giving him that look as if he were the crazy one.
Then he jumped into his story.
By the time he had finished telling Hermione everything that had happened to him — and answering all of her questions to the best of his ability — the sun had set and most students had left the library.
Thankfully, Hermione seemed to be taking everything he told her pretty well.
“So let me get this straight,” she said, chewing on the end of her quill.
“You’re from the future? And in this future…you’re something called ‘the chosen one,’ your parents and many of our friends and teachers are dead…and there’s an all out war going on against You Know Who?”
“Voldemort,” Harry corrected automatically. “But that’s the gist of it, yes.”
Hermione nodded and looked down at the page in front of her thoughtfully. “Right, then. Let’s sort this out shall we?”
Harry smiled gratefully at his friend, feeling some semblance of calm for the first time that day.
After being filled in on what was different in this timeline — that’s the theory they were going with, that he’d landed himself in a different timeline — Harry was thoroughly exhausted and not a little disturbed.
In this reality, Harry wasn’t the so-called chosen one, Neville was. Except, no one really seemed to know it.
Harry learned Neville’s parents were dead, sacrificing themselves to save their son, who was sent to stay with his grandmother under a fidelius once it became clear Voldemort was after him — so he wasn’t at the house when Frank and Alice Longbottom were killed.
Frustrated, Voldemort then went after Harry, just to be safe, but Snape found out about Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal of the Potters and ratted him out to Dumbledore just in time to protect Lily.
The old wizard confronted Voldemort at the Potters’ cottage and hit him with the killing curse. Pettigrew got away.
That change led to more discrepancies from Harry’s timeline.
Neville had been key to defeating Quirrell in first year, though Ron, Hermione and Harry, were with him. (The incident with the troll in the bathroom still cemented the trio’s friendship, and Neville wasn’t there for that.)
Harry and Hagrid weren’t close — he learned about the philosopher’s stone by overhearing Dumbledore talking about it under his invisibility cloak. Harry thought it would be a laugh to find the powerful object and went after it with Ron and Hermione in tow.
Neville had been trying to stop them from losing house points, and in the end he and Harry had the pleasure of facing Quirrell together.
Ginny was never taken by the basilisk in second year. Another student was, and Lockhart managed to save her but died in the process. Hermione had no idea about Tom Riddle’s diary or what may have happened to it.
Third year was pretty uneventful.
Sirius had always been free and Snape was, if not friends, friendly with him, and James, and Remus — and a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix. Except the Order was pretty much defunct, since everyone thought the threat was gone.
Remus was still the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in third year, but Hermione had never had a timeturner for her classes.
“Seems a bit irresponsible of them to give a student that kind of power, doesn’t it?” She’d asked when Harry told her that part.
Neville was the triwizard champion, and like Harry he got help from Barty Crouch Jr. masquerading as Madeye Moody who replaced Remus on staff as he did in Harry’s reality. But unlike Harry, Neville didn’t go to the graveyard. He let Cedric take the cup and he came out of the maze alone. Cedric’s body was found at the graveyard, but Voldemort wasn’t yet resurrected.
So even though Neville was the chosen one, he didn’t know the full weight of what that meant. He didn’t know about the prophecy.
Lupin was reinstated as defense professor in fifth year – there was no Umbridge, no Dumbledore’s Army, no fight at the ministry.
And that brought them here, to sixth year. Where Snape still taught potions. Which meant there was no Slughorn. Which meant Dumbledore didn’t know about the horcruxes.
Harry’s head was spinning.
“Harry?” Hermione reached a hand across the table to squeeze his. “Are you alright?”
Harry was definitely not alright. But something else occurred to him. In his timeline, this was the year Harry’s thoughts were consumed by one person.
“What’s the deal with Draco Malfoy?” He asked.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Ugh Draco? What about him?”
“Well…does he…is he —” Harry didn’t know quite how to put this.
“Is he still a huge prat?” Hermione guessed.
Harry raised his brows and let out a chuckle.
“Er yeah.”
“Well then yes. But the two of you seemed to be getting on quite well over the summer,” she said with a raise of her brow. “Or I suppose, the other you? Is there another you?”
“Hermione, focus. You said I-he, this Harry, whatever, is close with Malfoy?”
Hermione looked at him curiously. “Yeah, at Sirius’? During the hols? He…” Hermione trailed off at Harry’s confused look. “Harry, he lives with him.”
Harry shook his head, trying to process this new information. “I’m sorry, who lives with him?”
“Sirius took Draco in after fourth year.”
“What?!” Harry all but shouted.
“Shush!” At Madame Prince’s furious glare, Harry lowered his voice and leaned in towards Hermione, who gave him an irritated look of her own for getting Pince’s attention.
“Sorry. But Hermione, why would Sirius take in a death eater?” To his surprise, this earned him a laugh.
“A- a death eater! Ha! Honestly, Harry, that’s a good one.”
Harry looked back unsmiling and Hermione’s face sombered. “Oh goodness. You’re serious aren’t you? Christ, but your timeline is dark.”
When he said nothing, she went on.
“Harry, Draco isn’t a death eater. Yes his family is certainly full of … questionable characters, but Draco, no. He’s a prat, but he left off all the pureblood superiority shite back in third year, when he stopped hanging out with Crabbe and Goyle. Now if you want to talk future death eaters, I’d put my money on those two,” Hermione shuddered
“Anyway, Draco’s mother, well she’s Sirius’ cousin, did you know? And Andromeda’s sister.”
Harry nodded. He’d seen Malfoy’s name on the family tapestry at Grimmauld Place.
“Right. Well apparently Malfoy senior was at the graveyard that night when, you know. And whatever happened there had Narcissa terrified. She went straight to Andromeda and Sirius and asked them to take Draco in and keep him safe.”
Hermione paused, contemplating her own words. “You know, maybe it’s not so far-fetched after all. Maybe they did want Draco to become a death eater eventually, and that’s why she did it,” she speculated. “But anyway. Yeah, you two seemed…cozy over the break.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, horrified at the implication. There was no way she was saying what he thought she was saying. Sure, even though Harry hadn’t given much thought to his sexuality, he could admit there were boys he’d found attractive throughout his school years. But Malfoy?
“Well, I mean, the two of you weren’t exactly subtle…”
“What about Ginny?!” Harry interrupted before she could share details he had no interest in hearing.
Hermione looked confused. “Ginny? What do you mean?”
“Well, aren’t she and I…didn’t she, I mean…were we never a thing?” Harry stammered.
It was Hermione’s turn to look disgusted. “Gross, Harry, she’s like a sister to you.”
Harry sat there stunned for a while, going over everything he’d just learned while Hermione finished her work. He finally left the library an hour later at her insistence.
“You need rest! I’ll get some research done and we’ll circle back tomorrow.”
On his way back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry allowed himself a break from thinking about everything that was different, and allowed himself to appreciate the things that remained the same.
He admired every step of the winding staircases and greeted every painting and ghost he passed by.
He forgot how much he missed his home.
When he finally got to his room, he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow, wondering what fresh hell tomorrow would bring.