55Chapter 33: PU 6: Get James
Parallel Universe, part six: Get James
It was extremely dissatisfactory to be apprehended outside their own home—or at least what usually was their home—long before they could locate James and bring him safely back home with them. Now it seemed so stupid of them to be hanging around in the bushes—they should have used Draco's status as general or whatever to get inside the Manor and operate from there. They could have used Harry's Invisibility Cloak!
Or, wait … Did he really have an Invisibility Cloak in this reality? If his parents were still alive and working for Voldemort, his father hardly would have given him that Cloak for Christmas.
But they could have claimed that Harry had decided to come back to his parents, that he had decided to re-join the Dark side or something. Or they could have said that Draco was controlling Harry with the Imperius Curse …
Wait a minute … The Imperius Curse! That was it! There was still a way to save their arses.
"Stand up!" one of the Death Eaters commanded.
Before Draco could stand up, Harry whispered urgently from the corner of his mouth, so silently that only the blonde would hear since they were sitting so close. "You're under the Imperius Curse," he told him. "Don't do anything of your own volition, just follow my lead and try to look blank, okay?"
He slowly rose from the ground, and almost exhaled violently in relief when Draco remained in the bushes. He was holding his wand at his side, pointed towards the ground, but he trusted his reflexes to be quick enough if he needed to use it.
A few of the Death Eaters glared down at the blonde. "Why aren't you getting up?" one of them inquired fiercely. "I told you to get up!"
The blonde still remained on the ground, a glazed look in his pale grey eyes.
"Get up!"
"He's under the Imperius Curse," Harry informed him arrogantly, and feigned a self-righteous attitude, sticking out his chin in a very defiant fashion. Nonchalantly, he directed his wand at the blonde. "You want him to stand up? All right."
Draco took his cue and slowly, awkwardly rose from the ground with dirt all over his expensive robes, but he did not attempt to brush it off. He just stood there immobile, staring out into thin air. Harry made a mental note to tell him how good he was at acting blank later. Turning anew to the gathered Death Eaters, he said, "I wish to see my parents," because that was the only thing he could come up with to get them safely inside the Manor.
Three of the Death Eaters made to launch themselves at him, but he simply waved his wand close to Draco's head and tutted.
"How much is your general worth to you? Are you willing to risk his life and risk losing the war just 'cos you wished to stop me from seeing my parents, which by the way is a child's right?"
They backed off, hesitating.
Harry smirked at them in self-satisfaction. "Take me to them."
All the way inside, Draco walked in front of Harry like a zombie, clumsily lifting and putting down his heavy feet. Harry hated using him like that, but it was their only shot at finding James and getting out of there alive. They were led to one of the inner rooms in the west wing of the first floor, a room that Harry and Draco normally did not use in their own world, and as far as Harry could see, there were no other Death Eaters on the ground floor. That alarmed him.
Where were they? Why was security so light?
Apparently, the room they were led to functioned as some sort of study; two desks stood against one of the walls. Two people were in the room. A man with untidy, black hair that stood straight up at the back of his head were standing with his back to them, looking out of the window. A woman with long copper hair and startling green eyes was sitting behind one of the desks, swiftly scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Her quill moved elegantly by the move of her feminine hand.
Harry froze in the doorway. As soon as he saw them, he knew he had made a mistake. He never should have asked to be taken to his parents—he should have known it was the worst thing to do. Seeing them like that … alive … Dark …
He did not want his mental picture of them to be destroyed. Therefore, he tried to tell himself that these people were not his parents—they were merely Parallel Replicas.
One of the Death Eaters escorting them cleared his throat loudly to catch the couple's attention. "There's someone here to … er … see you," he said, and then they all withdrew, leaving Harry and Draco alone with the Potters.
The moment his mother looked up from her work, her eyes widened with surprise, and when his father turned around his face was distorted by a deep scowl.
Harry did not know what to say.
He did not know these people.
"Harry?" Lily said, and slowly rose from her desk, not fully believing her eyes.
Harry struggled to remain calm and nonchalant, but his legs were shaking. Oh, please, don't let me faint now, he thought pleadingly. He wished that Draco could have reassured him, but when you are under the Imperius Curse you don't move unless you are told to. Pulling himself together, he swallowed hard and tried to act as arrogant as he had done with the Death Eaters. "Yes, it's me alright," he said indifferently.
His mother gasped and clasped a hand over her mouth. "Have you … have you come back to us?" she wondered weakly.
Harry found it extremely hard to imagine this woman doing anybody harm, let alone use the Unforgivable Curses on people. But he knew that looks could be deceiving and that many Death Eaters were great actors in order to hide their true identities from others. "No," he said sternly, "I've come to get someone."
"Get someone?" his father echoed. "And what are you doing with our commander?"
"Him?" Harry said, and pushed Draco hard in the small of his back. The blonde fell heavily forward and landed on the floor like a heap of lifeless flesh: Thud!
An invisible knife pierced Harry's heart. He hated treating his husband like that, hated it, and he hoped that he had not hurt him. He would have to give Draco a bloody big treat once this was over. A physical treat.
Hating himself for doing it—this would cost him another three hundred Galleons in therapy fees—he kicked the blonde in the side. Not hard. He made it look like he kicked him hard, but he did not, could not. "Oh, I just put a little curse on him, nothing serious. He'll be within my control until I release my influence over his poor little brain."
"Why, you …!" His father had raised his own wand and directed it at him in seconds. Obviously, he understood perfectly well what curse Harry had supposedly put on Draco, and planned to direct the same one at Harry. "Imperio!"
The voice inside Harry's head was so weak and distant that it was easy to ignore it. He broke free in a matter of seconds. Laughing mockingly, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, that won't work on me—I know how to fight it." When his father prepared to utter another curse, he laughed even harder. "There's no use trying, they won't work. I'm immune to the Unforgivable Curses."
Now James Potter laughed, but it was an uncertain chortle. "Immune to the Unforgivable Curses? You can't be immune to the Unforgivable Curses! That is ridiculous!"
"No?" Harry said defiantly. "If you don't believe me, take a look at this." He tapped his forehead with the tip of his wand and uttered an advanced spell that would reverse the magic that Bond had used to cover his scar. When it reappeared above his right eyebrow, Lily and James started back in fright.
"See?" Harry said now. "I've survived the death curse four times already, and the Cruciatus Curse feels like a tickle to me—" This was a lie, of course, but they did not know that. "—so I would advise you to re-evaluate your options. I'm here for James. Where is he?"
His parents blinked sheepishly at him.
That was when he realised that he had not told him who he was yet. "Right," he said. "You think I'm your son …"
"You're not Harry?" James Potter asked, stunned. "Then who are you?"
"Oh, I'm Harry, alright. I'm just not your Harry. I'm from a Parallel Universe, and I'm here for my son, James. Where is he?"
His parents peered down at the blonde. "And him?" his father asked.
"He's my hostage," Harry said, because he wanted to protect Draco as long as possible. "I lured him into a little trap and put the Imperius Curse on him. Funny how different he is from my Draco, not at all as sweet and loving."
"Er … your Draco?"
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, we're married."
He had never seen two people as shocked as they now were. Their chins were hanging down to their knees.
"Ma-married?!" Lily echoed. "To Draco Malfoy?" She looked down at the blonde again.
"Yeah, but that's not him, though. That's your Draco, the commander or general or whatever you call him. My Draco's back home trying to control your Harry and prevent him from burning down our house. He's quite the feisty one." He surveyed the room. "I can't get over how different the Manor looks. We tried a somewhat different decoration style ourselves. All right. Enough small talk. Where – is – James?"
"Right here."
Harry swirled around. Lord Voldemort was standing in the doorway, and five-year-old James was standing right next to him holding his hand. A cold shiver travelled down Harry's spine. No. It could not be true.
Voldemort wore a hideous smile. "So, we meet again—Harry Potter," he said delightedly.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but my name is Harry Malfoy," Harry said between clenched teeth.
"Dad!" the boy exclaimed and ran up to him.
Harry closed his arms around his son. "Hey there, little one," he said. He was starting to get alarmed by the fact that Draco had not gotten up from the floor at the arrival of their boy. What if he really had been hurt in the fall? He might be unconscious. Surely Draco was not a good enough actor to stay down at a time like this?
He straightened up again, facing Voldemort. "I'm taking my son and leaving now, thank you," he announced with hostility. Then he directed his wand at the limp blonde. "And I'm taking my hostage, too. Up you go, little ragdoll. Dance for me."
Draco instantly got up on his feet, more gracefully now than before because Harry had used the word 'dance'. Instead of walking like a dazed zombie, he danced, making funny little pirouettes as he moved along the floor.
"Why is Daddy dancing?" James asked curiously.
"That's not Daddy, dear," Harry lied as he pretended to direct Draco towards the doorway, "he just looks like him."
James prodded the blonde's hip with his forefinger. "Cool," he concluded.
"You can play with him later, James," Harry told him harshly, "now let's get the Hell out of here."
"You're not supposed to say 'Hell'," the boy reminded him.
"Swear rules don't apply here. Now move."
To his surprise, the Dark Lord moved aside and let them pass.
The blonde pirouetted past him and disappeared down the hall.
Harry scooped up James into his arms and hurried after him.
The Dark Lord did not try to stop them, and it alarmed Harry. He just let them go? It seemed way too easy. Way too easy …
When Draco woke up and found Harry in his arms, he freaked out. Everything that they had shared, everything that they had both felt …
I'll never leave. I love you.
… it was too much for him to bear; he just had to get out of there. Swiftly, but silently, he slid out of the bed and began to search for his clothes. He put them on in a hurry. Before he left the room, he cast one last glance at Harry, who was still fast asleep with his black hair messier than usual and his bare arm hanging out over the edge of the bed. Another surge of utter terror washed over him, and he ran. He ran all the way down the stairs, into the parlour, and out through the back door, ran all the way down to the lake. Not until then did he stop.
Panting, he bent double and supported his hands on his knees. The fresh air helped a little.
A breeze caught his hair and blew it into his face.
Cursing, he tried to put it behind his ears, but after a few minutes of unnecessary struggle with the wild, blond strands, he gave up and pulled out his wand. Furiously, he shouted a spell that effectively cut his hair. It felt relieving and emancipating to finally have short hair again.
He gazed out over the water.
In twenty-three years he had never loved before. Not even his own mother. In twenty-three years he had never allowed himself to feel anything at all; he needed to be cold-blooded and vigilant to command the Dark forces. And now, here he was, feeling.
He loved Harry.
That scared him, because he did not know what to make of it.
I'll never leave. I love you.
Harry's words echoed through his confused mind, over and over.
I'll never leave. I love you.
Would he really stay for ever? Would Draco even allow him to stay? What's to say he would not push him away, like he pushed everyone else away? And what about that Weasley girl—Binny or whatever her name was. Would Harry really break it off with her? Because he had said that he had never been able to tell her it had been a mistake to sleep with her; he had led her on to believe that they were a couple—and he had been doing it for three years!
Would he ever leave Binny?
There were too many uncertainties to risk getting hurt. He just could not do it. He had managed to go through twenty-three years of cold-heartedness, and he was not willing to turn all squeamish only to be left in a couple of months! Then what would he have to return to? Nothing.
"Good morning," Harry said with a way too wide smile when Draco went back inside to have breakfast and found him sitting at the dining room table. "Why'd you leave bed so early without waking me?"
Draco gave him a cold look. "Since when am I responsible for your getting up in the morning?" he grunted, and slumped down in a chair. He snatched a slice of bread and conjured a plate of eggs, bacon, and sausages.
The smile effectively faded from the raven-haired man's face. He blinked in confusion. "Well … I didn't mean it like that, I just …" He fell silent.
That was just as good; then Draco would not have to make strained conversation with him. He started to wolf down his eggs and bacon.
He could feel Harry glaring at him, so he looked up over his plate of fat. "Wha'?" he prodded unpleasantly, his mouth stuffed full with sausage.
"Nothing. You're … different, is all."
Draco swallowed. "Different?" he echoed sceptically. "Take a good look backwards in time, because this is how I've always been. You're good, I'm bad. Right? Now shut up and let me eat my breakfast in peace. I can't believe you always have to talk so bloody much. Just leave well enough alone, will you?"
Harry looked disbelievingly at him for a few long seconds before he rose from the table and left the dining room.
Ron did not exactly have a plan, but he figured he would know what to do once he saw her. Unfortunately, he did not. When he laid eyes on Hermione across the living room at the Black house, he froze. She was the only one in the room. And she looked beautiful. He just stood there, watching her, for the longest time.
Almost as if sensing that she was being watched, she looked up. When she saw him, her eyes widened. "Ron?" she whispered. "But you're dead …"
He still could not speak, so he just shook his head.
When she realised he was not dead, she gave a shriek of joy and ran over to him. To his surprise, she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. "Ron, you're alive!" she laughed. But then she withdrew, a frown on her face. "But how can you be alive? I saw Draco kill you, I …" Her eyes darkened. "Harry's with Draco. He claims to have fallen in love with him."
"I know," Ron said, finally able to speak, "but it's not the way you think. He's not your Harry. He's from a Parallel Universe, and he's switched places with your Harry to find his son." Seeing her confused expression, he sacrificed fifteen minutes to explain everything to her. Luckily, he did not need to tell her more than once, because she had read all there was to know about Parallel Universes and what happened when you entered one.
"So that was Harry and Draco from your world?" she stated knowingly. "I see. And they've been together ever since their fifth year at Hogwarts? How odd. And they're even married?"
"Yeah. Harry took his name, would you believe that?"
"Harry took Draco's name?!"
"Yep. He's Harry Malfoy now. Harry James Geoffrey Joseph Potter-Malfoy. Quite a name, eh?"
"It's … striking."
Hermione did not need much persuasion to come back with him to his world; turned out she was already in love with him in this reality. Or, well, with the Ron that she had watched die, but still … That was pretty fantastic, at that. And it felt pretty amazing to hold her hand.
The blond boy—supposedly Harry's son, but Ron still was not too sure about that—came as soon as he had called him and took him back into that empty, white-walled room. He was even less friendly and much harsher than last time, and he gave off even stronger vibrations of evil, so Ron wanted to get away from him as soon as possible. He wondered how Harry could trust that lad; he did not seem to be the least bit trustworthy.
When they stepped out through the portal in the Malfoys' parlour, there was a verbal war going on.
"I can't believe you just said that!" Harry was yelling at Draco in an incredulous tone. "I was just trying to be nice, you know!"
"What's the use? We're just going to be archenemies again once we step into our own world!"
"So? Does that mean we can't enjoy ourselves while we're here?"
"Enjoy ourselves? Enjoy ourselves?! Is that what you call it? I gave myself to you, and you say you were just enjoying yourself?!" Draco shrieked at the top of his lungs.
Harry seemed to have difficulty finding the right reply to that. Then he yelled, "At least I didn't dis you at breakfast!"
That seemed to be a lame attempt at calming the blonde down, because Draco just pulled out his wand and waved it threateningly in front of himself. "Don't you dare!" he shouted. "And don't you think I wouldn't do it, because I would, you know!"
Ron felt obliged to explain the scene to Hermione. He pointed at the two rowing men. "That's your Harry," he said, "and that's the Draco that killed the other me."
"I had already figured that out from their hostility," Hermione assured him. "But what's all this about 'enjoying themselves' and Draco giving himself to Harry?"
"I don't know. They were quite friendly towards one another when I left, and that was—" He consulted his watch. "—yesterday afternoon, so approximately twenty-four hours ago."
"Fine! Just run away again, Draco! Fine with me! You'll have to talk to me sooner or later!" Harry was jeering now, still oblivious of the newly arrived pair.
The blonde had left through the back door and was currently rushing through the garden, heading for the lake. Harry cursed and kicked his foot down hard on the wooden floor.
"How are you, mate?" Ron asked. "Is everything all right?"
Harry looked up at them, spotting them for the first time. "Oh, you found her," he stated. "Hey, Hermione. Harry and Draco giving you a hard time with their boy's love?"
She blushed, and squirmed uncomfortably. "No. Yes, at first they did, but … then I didn't know who they were. I thought they were you, and I was … I was a bit shocked, to be quite honest. I'm fine now, though."
"Good to hear. Look, I should go out and see if Draco's okay … Bye."
He hurried out into the sunshine.
They blinked after him.
"Am I the only one who thought that was a bit fishy?" Ron asked.
Having Hermione there made him feel light at heart. It was alomst like being back at school, when the three of them had been as tight as friends could be. And thinking that, he realised that that was what he wanted to remember when he thought about Hermione. He did not want a misguiding image of her as a girl who was merely willing to have a relationship with him because she missed her dead boyfriend; he wanted to remember her just the way she had been when they had been at school.
And then he realised that he did not need her there to know what he wanted. He had known what he wanted for more than three years; he just had not thought about it that way.
Hermione was not what he wanted. She was a thing of the past—his first love. He had pined for her in secret for many years, but she had not shown him any interest even after she learnt about his feelings. And then she had died.
When he learnt that she was alive in that other reality, that Parallel Universe, his first thought had been to snatch Hermione away and give his long lost boyish dreams a go. But he had forgotten one important thing, the most important thing: He was no boy anymore.
Hermione was not what he wanted.
He wanted Jonathan. His husband. There was nothing else in the world that he yearned for; he already had everything that he needed.
Looking at Hermione, he knew that she had sensed the truth. She knew that he had already made his choice—and she had not been chosen.
Someone laid a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up, he expected to find Harry standing there, back from his walk in the garden, but to his surprise a blond boy stood there. It was the same boy that had greeted him in that strange Parallel Universe called the Dark Plane, but this boy had nothing of that boy's cold-heartedness, and he certainly did not give off an aura that reeked of evil. This boy had pleasant features and was not dressed all in black, but in expensive green silk, a sign that he truly was the son of Draco Malfoy. His startling green eyes were sad and weary, but they were friendly and open.
"You have created a severe breach in the fabric of time," the boy said, and then he lifted his gaze to look at Hermione. "You need to give her back."
Ron nodded slowly. "I got my answers, anyway," he said somewhat melancholy.
The boy met his eyes anew. "You should tell Jonathan that," he said in that intriguing, low, melodic voice of his. Then, taking Hermione's hand in his, he led her back to the portal. "You will have your Harry back in a couple of days. I can sense that my fathers have finally found my brother. They will be returning shortly. You will meet my Parallel Self on the other side—he will tell you the procedure."
Ron watched her disappear, not with sorrow, but with relief.
"Harry! You're back safely!" Sirius came to meet them when they got back to the Black house, his arms open and a huge, fatherly smile on his freshly shaven face. He spotted James and squatted down on the floor. "And this must be the son you've been telling me so much about. Hello there. My name's Sirius, and I'm your father's godfather."
James blinked up at Sirius with huge, fascinated eyes. "Is that like an extra papa?" he asked.
Sirius laughed, and tousled the little boy's raven-black hair. "Yes, that's like an extra papa. So maybe you can say that Harry's got two daddies."
The boy's face lit up. "Just like I do," he said delightedly.
"Just like you do."
Once they were back, Draco dropped his zombie act and gently shook his head to clear it. "Man, that was really wearying. Remind me never to get 'immobilised' again, alright?"
Sirius studied the blonde with furrowed brows.
As soon as Draco turned normal again, Harry was all over him, figuratively speaking smothering him with anxious questions. "Are you all right? Are you hurt? Did I push you too hard? Did you feel guilty about what I said back there? Did I offend you? Let me see your back, Draco. Is that how you landed? You landed on your back? Tut tut, it looked bad, that fall—did you land bad? Oh, baby, you have like a million bruises … does it hurt bad? Do you want me to kiss your pain away?"
Draco indignantly brushed him off. "No, I want you to leave me the fuck alone and stop being so bloody overprotective all the time! I won't break just 'cos I fall once, you know! Unless you didn't notice, I was breaking my fall quite well, thank you. Don't you think I can fake an injury? And stop looking at me like that!"
James watched them with confusion in his huge, boyish green eyes. "But I thought he wasn't Daddy—I thought he was just a stranger who looked like Daddy and acted funny," he pointed out, reminding Harry about his little white lie only a moment ago.
"No, he is your real Daddy, all right," he told his son. "I just had to say that not to make those bad people suspicious."
"But they're not bad! They're really nice! They've been playing with me and giving me food and Chocolate Frogs and—"
"James, that was the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters—they are bad people, really bad people. They are evil and hurt other people for the sheer fun of it."
Now Sirius was looking thoroughly concerned. "What is this all about?" he demanded authoritatively.
Harry asked his godfather to sit down and recounted everything that had happened at the Manor. When he told him about his parents—or, his Parallel Parents, rather—he had to fight a big lump that was forming in his throat. It was difficult to speak. He just could not believe that they were evil. That they worked for Voldemort, whom he had fought so persistently for so many years. Even in this world he had fought him, and yet they had stayed by the Dark Lord's side.
And now his own son seemed to have taken a liking to Voldemort.
Harry took James's little hand in both of his. "James, honey, why did you go into this world?" he asked him in a friendly voice. "What was it that you liked so much that you just left us without telling us where you went?"
The boy did not seem the least bit deterred by his father's obvious attempt to sweet-talk him. He merely shrugged and leant back against the back of the sofa. "I wanted to visit uncle Voldemort," he said casually.
Harry flinched as if someone had hit him hard around the face. In the corner of his eye, he could see Draco shoot up from his armchair like a rocket. "What the fuck do you mean by that?!" he yelled accusatorily at the boy.
"Dracums," Harry warned between gritted teeth, "don't scare the boy to silence."
"He doesn't scare me," James assured them.
"No, because a child who calls the Dark Lord his uncle will hardly be afraid of anything!" Draco bellowed incredulously.
"Draco!"
The blonde fell silent and sat back down in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting.
Harry returned his attention to the boy. "James, why are you calling Voldemort 'uncle'?"
"Because he said he would take care of me like an uncle does," James replied sincerely. "And he played with me just like uncle Ron always does—and uncle Jonathan! Uncle Jonathan is so much fun to play with! Uncle Voldemort isn't as fun to play with as uncle Jonathan, but he taught me some stuff."
Harry felt a cold dagger pierce his heart. "Taught you some stuff? What stuff exactly?"
Now James almost bounced up and down in his seat with excitement. "He let me borrow his wand and taught me some spells—it was really fun! I know how to stun people now! Ain't I good, Dad?"
This was just what he had been afraid of. That Voldemort was teaching James ways of attacking other people. Stunning Spells were not dangerous and were easy enough to reverse, but it was nonetheless alarming that the Dark Lord had been teaching his son how to use one.
"Did he teach you anything else?" he asked bitterly.
"Yes, he taught me loads of stuff, Dad! He taught me how to … how to … impede people!"
"The Impediment Jinx?"
"Yeah, that's the one! And it was really fun to watch all those Death Eaters move in slow-motion. Then he taught me how to curse people."
"He taught you what?!" Harry expelled exasperatedly.
Once again, Draco flew up from his chair. "That fucking bastard! When I get my hands on him, I will—"
"Calm down!" Sirius asked, gesturing for him to sit back down. "Nobody is going to run after Voldemort just 'cos this boy calls him uncle. I agree that it is very alarming that he has taught the boy jinxes and curses, but it would be foolish of you to go back to that Manor. What concerns me is that he let you go without so much as a fight."
"That concerns me too," Harry said with a deep scowl. "Why would he let me go when I supposedly held his top soldier hostage? Doesn't he fight Harry Potter in this universe?"
"Like you've never seen before," Sirius confirmed.
"Then why let us go? Why not try to capture me and 'save' his general?"
"Because there's no use saving the wrong Draco Malfoy," James said out of the blue.
They all turned to stare at him.
"What did you say?" Harry wondered weakly.
"There's no use saving the wrong Draco Malfoy, is there?" the boy repeated patiently. "I told him I was from another dimension and that my fathers would come looking for me sooner or later, so when you guys showed up he knew exactly who you were. He said he'd let you rescue me because he knew I'd come back to visit him."
Draco was having some sort of fit. "You are not going back to visit him! Never! I forbid you from visiting him! You hear me?!"
"Dracums, you can't forbid him from visiting him—that'll just make him wanna go even more."
"Oh, yeah? But what the bloody Hell can I do, then? I don't want my children associating with Voldemort, for fuck's sake!"
"Neither do I, but what can we do? He calls him 'Uncle,' for crying out loud!"
"I forbid you from doing that, too!" Draco yelled at the boy.
"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here," James said irritably.
Harry glared at him. "Did he put a spell on you, too? Because you sure don't sound like any five-year-old boy I know!"
"How many other five-year-old boys do you know, father?" James retorted scornfully.
"Don't take that tone with me!"
"Then don't take that tone with me!"
Obviously their conversation was not going anywhere, so the best they could do was call Bond over and ask him to open the portal for them. They needed to get out of there as fast as possible. But when the blond boy showed up, he had an offer for them that they could not refuse. He had evidently been in a conference with Tim, and they had both agreed to arranging a meeting with Parallel Harry and Parallel Draco so that they would be able to discuss everything that had happened with them. They needed to know what they were returning to, since Harry and Draco had led everyone to believe that they were now a couple.
Before they left, Harry told Sirius everything that he had wanted to tell the Sirius of his world after the events in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic eight years ago.
"It doesn't matter that you're not the same Sirius physically, because mentally and emotionally you are," he said to his godfather, and they both had tears in their eyes. "I love you, Sirius, and I will always love you and remember you. Take care of my Parallel Self, all right? Real good care."
Leaving him was the hardest thing Harry had ever done.
The raven-haired man caught up with the blonde in the west hallway of the third floor and grabbed his arm. "Draco, please! Just listen to me!" he begged, and forced the blonde to turn around and face him. His grey eyes were dark with disgust. "Draco, have I done something wrong? Have I said something that upset you? Why are you avoiding me like this?"
"Isn't it obvious?" the blonde asked. "I don't like you, Potter. Why should I want to be around someone I don't like?"
It pained him to see Harry's hurt expression.
"What do you mean?" the raven-haired man asked in lack of understanding. "Last night—"
"Was just sex," Draco filled in for him, impatiently shifting his feet.
Harry looked stricken. "But you said … you asked me to stay, and you—"
"Because I was too tired to push you away."
"Too tired to push me away? You were clinging to me like a baby to his mother! You didn't want me to leave—you said so yourself, you wanted me to stay for ever. What's changed?"
The blonde's cold and steely grey eyes bored into his. "Nothing's change, Potter, you just misinterpreted the whole situation from the beginning."
"Misinterpreted? Draco, what—You can't mean that you actually—You said that—Draco, I love you. I've never been this sure of anything before in my life. I love you, and I don't want to lose you, not now when I know what it feels like to be with you. I want you to be mine."
Draco heavily pushed him away and passed him without so much as a look. "Too bad for you, then, because I don't love you. I hate you, Potter, and I don't ever want you to come near me again. Last night was just sex. I was horny, and you were the only person available to me. You can't expect me to fuck my own sister, can you? But don't worry, it won't happen again. I don't normally get turned on by blokes."
He knew he had hurt him as badly as you could hurt another person, and all he wanted to do was to turn back and say he was sorry, but he forced himself to keep on walking and not turn back at any cost.
He needed to forget about Harry and the amazing magic they had shared last night, because as soon as they returned to their own world they would go back to their normal lives and there would be no more physical magic. So why lead themselves on like that? Harry had said it himself: He was with Ginny. All that crap about loving him … it was just a trick, that's what it was. He only wanted to 'enjoy himself'—he did not give a crap about Draco's feelings.
He stopped around a corner and began to debate vividly with himself. "I don't need someone who just wants to 'enjoy himself'; I can do better without him. He said it himself—as soon as we return home, all of this will be over and it will be as if it never happened, so what's the point?" he asked himself soberly. Then he moaned with a mixture of irritation and longing. "But nine fucking inches! And he probably knows exactly how to use them!"
He swiftly shook his head to clear it of any daydreaming about Harry's manhood. "No! I will not think about that, it doesn't matter how great he is in bed … But nine bloody inches! Man, I hardly have seven myself …"
Suddenly, it was as if Harry's words broke through a mental barrier deep inside his mind and came rushing towards him in a raging flood.
I love you, and I don't want to lose you, not now when I know what it feels like to be with you. I want you to be mine.
Harry had said exactly what Draco had wanted to hear—and he had not listened.
He had pushed him away like he had pushed everyone else in his life away to ensure him a perfect career in the Dark Army. But at what price? He had led an emotionless life, but Harry had changed him and made him feel something, and now he had thrown that away. Last night had been the best night of his life, because he had felt loved. Was it too late now?
"Oh, God, Harry …" he whispered as he realised what he had done. "I'm sorry …"
But the raven-haired man could not hear him now, of course. He needed to find him and tell him he did want to be with him, tell him that he did love him—he had just freaked out and become defensive.
Desperate to make everything right, he ran back up the west hallway in search of Harry.
Ron had never felt as happy and as ashamed before in his entire life when he returned home to Jonathan and was greeted with an embrace and a sweet kiss that tasted slightly of peach. His conscience was as guilty as any criminal's, and he told Jonathan all about his trip to the Dark Plane and what had happened afterwards as soon as they had seated themselves in the living room.
When he had finished, Jonathan said, "Well, I can't lie to you, Ron. You were seriously considering to leave me for a girl from another dimension that looked and acted like your first love Hermione. Yes, I'm hurt, but I also love you, and the fact that you realised your mistake almost right away and came back to me is more important than the fact that you entertained boyish fantasies about a lost love."
Ron blinked at him in bewilderment. "Are you serious? You forgive me just like that?"
Jonathan smiled faintly. "What else can I do? You're my husband, remember? I'm stuck with you for the rest of my life, so what's the point in rowing with you about something that's already over?"
Ron gratefully pressed himself against Johnny's chest. "There's something I need to do," he said in a low, melancholy voice.
Jonathan accompanied him to the wizard cemetery that was well hidden somewhere in the middle of England. Solemnly, they walked down the grassy aisles between the tomb stones that marked each grave until they reached the G row.
They stopped in front of Hermione's grave.
Shuddering in the chilly breeze, Ron squatted and placed the bouquet of flowers that they had brought with them next to the others already gracing her final resting place. Standing up again, he managed a faint smile. And with a deep breath for comfort and support, he did something that he should have done years ago.
"Goodbye, Hermione."
They slowly walked back up the slope.