Chapter Text
"I pulled on a single loose thread ... and unravelled the tapestry of my life."
- Jean Luc Picard
***
To begin with, it was all Luna's fault ... for bringing that damned Bavarian Mistletoe to the Ministry Christmas Party.
Or maybe it was Harry's fault for going at all. He never attended these stupid things anyway; people getting drunk and being ridiculous when there were serious things to be doing out in the world. What were they playing at? Drinking was to knock yourself out after a hard day, not to waste as fuel to make you dance like an idiot at these sorts of parties. Which is why Harry never went to them.
Then there was the other possibility ... that he might run into her. He liked her best these days when she was far away, and that's how he intended to keep her.
But Harry couldn't move away quickly enough, when Luna Scamander-Lovegood trapped him under that said Bavarian sprig loaded with festive tradition. She beamed at him and held the little plant above their heads, which was quite the feat as Harry was considerably taller than her.
"No, Luna, don't even think about it," Harry warned her in a low grumble.
"Oh, come on Harry, it's tradition!" Luna cajoled.
"Yes, one that should be outlawed in this day and age," Harry argued. "Forced intimacy is a form of assault, you know."
"It's just a kiss," Luna retorted. "It doesn't even have to be on the lips, either. Just a peck on the cheek will do. You can't go until you do."
"We'll see about that."
And Harry turned to go, only to find himself locked in place. He couldn't move away. Frowning, he turned back to his captor.
Luna was grinning smugly. "See? I tried to tell you."
"What did you do?" Harry asked, pursing his lips.
"Simple enchantment to keep people together until they show a bit of festive love," Luna replied bouncily. "You can't break the enchantment without giving a kiss, one you mean. The enchantment only traps people who have existing affection between them anyway, so it's not forcing people to do something they're not comfortable with. So I'm thrilled to see that you really do like me after all!"
Harry softened a bit at that and fought a grin at the corner of his mouth. "You know I like you, Luna. We've been friends for years."
"So give me a kiss then," Luna prompted. "One of a friend. Then you'll be free!"
"You're incorrigible, do you know that?" Harry smirked, then he bent down and gave Luna a genuine kiss on the cheek, one she returned with aplomb.
"Merry Christmas, Harry, you can go back to being grumpy old you now," Luna teased. "I just thought you needed some cheering up."
"Thank you," Harry smiled. "Have a good night, won't you?"
Then Harry turned to go ... and ran straight into the last person he wanted to see, the one person he was hoping to avoid tonight.
But fate, it seemed, was having none of that.
"Oh, sorry," said the once familiar voice, as they almost collided when Harry turned. Then her tone changed completely, becoming rigid and cold. "Oh ... hello, Harry."
"Hermione," Harry replied in equally forced civility. "Excuse me."
And once again he tried to hurry away ... and once again found himself unable to move. Closing his eyes, he angled his head up towards the ceiling to peek through his lids. His spirits fell as his worst fears were realised ...
... for Luna was still holding the enchanted mistletoe high in the air ... and Harry was now caged with Hermione under that blasted enchantment.
Whilst Harry was angry, Hermione was confused. "Luna ... why can't I move?"
He didn't know why, but Harry felt irked that she was the one trying to get away first, as though she wanted to be far away more intensely than he wanted her to be out of his sight, too. He would have set her straight ... but it'd been years since they last had a conversation and, quite frankly, he'd forgotten how to talk to her.
So Luna stepped into the void. "I call it an Affection Effecting Enchantment," she told Hermione, proudly. "You can't leave the range of the mistletoe until you express genuine affection for the person you are trapped with. And I think everyone in this country will agree that if any two people needed to express affection for each other, it is you two. How long is it since you last spoke?"
"Creating unregistered Charms is illegal and punishable by law, Luna," Hermione reminded her in a warning tone.
Harry bristled at the rebuke. He rounded on Hermione in that moment. "That's your response to this? That it is an illegal Charm, threatening repercussions? Unbelievable."
Hermione set her jaw, crossed her arms stiffly, but said nothing. Her eyes might have betrayed hurt at Harry's scolding, but he didn't look at her to notice.
"We have to just ... get this over with," Harry told her lowly. He turned to Luna. "Would a handshake do?"
Luna frowned. "Business people shake hands after signing a deal. Sports players shake hands after battling each other black and blue. Friends - and higher - show affection in other ways."
Then she blinked pointedly at them both in turn. Hermione sighed in resignation. Without looking at Harry, she told him bluntly, "Let's just do it."
He nodded briefly, inclined his head, and they bumped cheeks. Lips made no contact with flesh on either part. They swiftly then tried to move apart, as if repelled by powerful magnets.
Nothing.
They were still held fast.
Both turned to Luna and asked her the question together. "What's happening?"
"That wasn't good enough," Luna told them. "You didn't mean it and it wasn't genuine. Do it properly or you'll be stuck there until you do."
"I hate you, Luna," Harry growled, gruffly.
"You'll thank me for it in the end," she replied sweetly
So Harry turned to Hermione once more, rolling his lips under his teeth. That's when this whole thing became Hermione's fault in Harry's mind, for choosing that exact moment to lose her brilliant brainpower, rendering her unable to come up with a way out of this mess that didn't involve them invading each other's personal spaces again.
Then they were both to blame, for giving into the peer-pressure and cat-calling of their suddenly gathered Ministry colleagues, who eventually persuaded them that it was an age-old custom, that it was bad luck not to kiss under the mistletoe when caught, and - which was the clincher - that it was just a harmless kiss for Christmas when all was said and done.
The assembled crowd also saw this as the ultimate spectator sport, an unexpected gift for Christmas, to watch the famously at-antagonised-odds former best friends trapped in a situation that they both would rather have avoided ... it was like watching a trainwreck in motion that you just couldn't take your eyes off.
Harry took a turn to sigh. It was just one kiss, after all ... despite twelve years of barely even speaking to one another ... just one simple, meaningless kiss ... it didn't even have to be on the lips ...
... only that's exactly how it ended up being.
Harry would later remember the moment as if the Earth itself had wobbled for a second, causing the sudden stumble that moved his lips away from the intended target of Hermione's cheek and placed them firmly, but gently, right over her own lips instead. He hadn't meant to kiss her properly, and didn't expect her to kiss him back. But she did, whether she meant to or not. Quite why, and when, her hand had come up to cup the back of his head was yet another thing they had no explanation for either.
Then they moved apart. Slowly. Their eyes joined as their lips had just done, and both knew the other was thinking the same thing. Oblivious to the the cat-calls and whooping and whistles all around them, they were remembering the last time they were in this situation. The similarities were smacking them both in the gut.
Twelve years ago. At Christmas. Two years after leaving Hogwarts.
There had been mistletoe that night, too, but no enchantment had forced them to kiss then. At least, not one of a magical kind. But they had, putting it down to a heady mixture of wine and banana rum that they'd been consuming all evening. The flimsy explanation didn't quite extend to why Hermione would lead Harry to her bedroom later that night, but their decade-long estrangement would begin soon after what they did in there, so they'd never looked it's ramifications fully in the face.
And they weren't about to now. They exchanged a mumbled 'Merry Christmas' and moved hastily away from one another, heading for the furthest-apart areas of the office that they could reach. Despite being as far away from each other as possible, their thoughts were as one. They didn't know what had happened, didn't know why they'd shared another kiss like that, didn't know why Luna's enchantment hadn't been satiated by a mere peck on the the cheek.
This time twelve years ago they'd been equally as confused. They didn't know why they'd kissed then, knew even less about why they'd slept together (or even if they'd done everything right), and knew the least about what was going to happen next and what all this meant. Both were remembering all of that now.
But wildest of all, Harry and Hermione didn't have a single clue that the result of that union, dabbling at that exact moment in some highly experimental sorcery in a long-forgotten chamber in the bowels of Hogwarts, had set them on a collision course that would finally make them confront the cause of all of this, and maybe even heal the sore and open wounds of twelve, estranged years apart.
***
That misjudged kissing event had taken place nine months before our story starts.
Harry Potter, former Head Auror turned Director of J.A.W.S.S. (the Joint Auror and Wizarding Secret Service office) and Hermione Granger, Interior Minister for Domestic Affairs - a position subordinate only to the Minister for Magic herself - momentarily forgetting their infamous policy of Avoidance Where Possible where social situations with each other were concerned, and finding themselves trapped in the spotlight, with Luna Scamander-Lovegood dangling that infernal cutting of German mistletoe over their heads.
But, then again, it wasn't really her fault. That honour belonged to a wayward, twelve-year-old Ravenclaw girl meddling with magic she didn't fully understand, and causing another universe to smash into her own before bouncing away again. The first bruise of this impact was felt deep in the chests of both Harry and Hermione just after they'd kissed ... and the next ones would show them what they might have been to each other in another life.
For this collision would be the first of many ... and this is where our story truly begins ...
***
It was Harry who noticed the change first, about a month after the fateful embrace under Luna's mistletoe.
Now technically that wasn't true, as almost immediately after the kiss it became clear to both Harry and Hermione that something was wrong. There was a look they shared as they broke apart, a breathless understanding reflected in the other's eyes ... an understanding that this wasn't only their second proper kiss. There had been many, many more. Perhaps thousands. The sheer familiarity of the other's lips told them that, and the confusion profoundly unsettled them both.
But they didn't really speak these days, so it was impossible for them to discuss it between themselves. Though they both knew that something was fundamentally wrong. For Harry's part, it was the sudden ache that was born in his chest that night, a longing to kiss Hermione again. And again ... and maybe never stop. It was so wrong, so alien, under every metric he might apply to it. Hermione and Harry had stopped classing each other as friends at least a decade ago, so anything beyond that was simply comical.
But when the sensation began to fade after a week or so, Harry felt forlorn at it's loss. He might even have gone as far as to say that he missed it.
So why had Harry suddenly felt a burn inside for Hermione Granger that night? Why did his body scorch with this incessant need to be as close to her as possible? Worse still, why did he see that exact look reflected in her eyes, too, when he caught her sneaking glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking?
It had made Harry so uncomfortable that night that he left the Christmas party three hours early, just to get as far away from Hermione as he possibly could. His paradigm had been shaken, and he didn't like it one bit. He wanted to get back to normality as a matter of urgency.
Harry's sober resolve over the next days and weeks was to put even more distance between himself and his former friend. He had to to drive away this sudden, white-hot, rampant desire for her, by working from home more or going out for some dangerous field missions again. It would distract him, put his mind to the familiar, not this disgraceful new sensation.
As New Year's Resolutions went, this one was a banger.
But that only seemed to make things worse, as Harry abruptly started to miss Hermione, too, even though he barely saw her around the Ministry as it was. This was an emotion he hadn't felt for her in years, so alien that he didn't even recognise it at first. He even decided to seek help from the Department mental well-being section. But this course of action definitely made things worse.
This was because his counsellor, Dr Bell-Pepper, had suggested dream therapy to get to the bottom of his problems. Harry took his little black notebook from the Doctor with zero intention of writing so much as a rune in it. After all, how would he even explain dream number one - that he had the very first night after the counselling session? Even imagining the entry made him laugh at the stupidity of the exercise.
"Dear Dream Diary, dreamt of my wedding night last night. The sex was so hot that it set fire to the bedsheets. LITERALLY! The problem was that I had just married Hermione Granger ... and she did things in the bedroom that even the author of the Magical Kama Sutra had left out! My mind and body were blown to bits. Chew that one apart, Dr Freud!"
And that dream was the first of many for Harry that featured his former best friend. He wasn't always having sex with Hermione in them, as other dreams of them together were different entirely. They were of simple things, like walks on the beach, birthday dinners with family and friends, even a bizarre one where Harry attempted to braid Hermione's lustrous hair and then tried to stick little daisies into the awkward joins he had made.
The problem for Harry was that these new dream visions of Hermione were so tangible, so visceral, that he could almost convince himself that they weren't dreams at all ... but that they were, in actuality, memories. It was as though someone had cut off the top of his head and implanted this fake life right into the recesses of Harry's brain. It was a troubling sensation, one that he just couldn't shake.
This went on for months and months. Harry was driven to the point of starting to think that he was losing his mind. In the end, he had to open up to someone before he went crazy. Ron was never the best source of solace for things like this, and in any case, all things Hermione were sensitive topics generally ignored by the both of them. Harry for obvious reasons ... Ron because he'd never really forgiven Hermione for getting pregnant with someone else's baby and never telling him who the father was.
Not that Ron was alone on that score ... for Hermione had never told anyone that particular secret. Not even Harry. It had ended Hermione and Ron's brief relationship, and silence had prevailed ever since
So the task of being Harry's confidante fell to Neville Longbottom, who was employed as Minister for Magical Agriculture, and who Harry had come to view as pretty much his closest friend in adult life. Ron was Harry's best friend only really by default these days, as their lives had moved in very different directions. They had begun to spend less and less time together over the years, now often going months and months without so much as a single word passing between them.
So Harry made his confession over a tankard of goblin ale one night at The Leaky Cauldron. He waited for Ginny Hopkins, nee Weasley, and Daphne Longbottom - Neville's beloved wife - to leave for a game of dice in the lounge before he set out on his rant. Neville, to his credit, listened in silence, keeping his obvious skepticism firmly behind his tongue. His first response, once Harry's jaw had actually stopped flapping, was quite logical.
"I don't think it's so unusual," Neville began, calmly. "I know you like the whole rogue-loner thing you've got going on, but I also know that there's a side of you that used to crave for something so much different. I think you're just a bit attention-starved, that's all. And then you kiss Hermione under the mistletoe. And let me tell you mate, that kiss was hot. The whole Department was talking about it for weeks! I know it was a long time ago and you barely see her these days, but you two were really close once. You know ... really close. It's probably just triggered something latent in you. Got you wondering what if, maybe."
"Maybe," Harry mumbled, doubtingly. "But I never thought about Hermione like that back when we were kids. I saw her as my sister, really. Nothing more."
"I know you don't really believe that," Neville fired back. "That's the side of you conditioned to pacify the Weasleys talking, that is."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry frowned.
"Just that you've always done your best to keep the Weasleys on side," Neville replied. "I get it, they are essentially your surrogate family, and you didn't want to alienate them by suggesting that Ron might have had a real rival when he was interested in Hermione, one probably more suitable for her as you were. So you told Ron what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear, just to save yourself more drama. It was just an easier choice for you.
"And then there's Ginny, who was also a Weasley ... and she was part of your appeasement policy too. Didn't take long for you two to fizzle out, did it? You know, she once told me that she realised, soon into your relationship, that no girl would ever get as close to your heart as Hermione was, that no-one could ever displace or replace her. And that's what made Ginny finally give up on you for good in the end. She wanted the whole you ... but quickly saw that too much of you already belonged to someone else instead."
"This is some seriously vague Thestral-shit that you're spouting, Nev," Harry spat. "Get to the point if you have one, instead of going all Trelawney on me."
Neville guffawed at that, at how their batty old Divination teacher had been turned into a verb. "I'm only saying that you describing Hermione as a sister is just plain wrong. I was there, remember, that night in the Ministry when she nearly died. I saw how you reacted to that. It wasn't sibling affection that almost cost you your mind in that moment. And it wasn't for her, either, when she stuck by you all those countless times when others didn't - including Ron - during the Triwizard and the Second War and Merlin knows when else, putting herself at risk in all sorts of different ways. Sisters don't do that, Harry."
"We were just good friends, and Hermione had a big heart, that's all," Harry tried to argue, even though his words felt hollow as they left his lips. "There was never anything else between us, ever. Not even a hint. We were completely platonic."
"Do you remember that time at the Yule Ball back at Hogwarts, when you remarked to me how pretty Hermione was, when she was all dressed up and without half the library weighing her down for once?"
"Of course. She looked great that night."
"And that time when you went around for days with a massive ego after loads of people signed up for the Quidditch trials when you were made House Team Captain, but that paled into insignificance compared to the fact that Hermione had commented that you were 'more fanciable' than ever?"
"Did she say that?" Harry queried with a frown. "I don't remember that."
"Liar! Of course you do ... because you told me at least half-a-dozen times!" Neville snickered. "I thought it was weird that the comment had gotten to you so much. I mean, you knew that loads of girls fancied you, but it was only when Hermione said that she did that it meant anything to you."
Harry felt his skin flush. "Her saying that, if she did, does not mean that she fancied me!"
"As a girl, who fancied boys, she said you were fanciable," Neville pointed out fairly. "It's functionally the same thing. It meant that she, and others like her, found you attractive. In short, Hermione fancied you."
"No, no, she was just being supportive. As I said earlier, we were like brother and sister."
"Only the most unsavoury kinds of brother and sister are physically attracted to each other in such an open way, Harry," Neville told him, sagely.
"That, at least, I will give you," Harry allowed. "But saying that I could have placed myself before Hermione as a potential alternative to Ron, but didn't to save myself a row with the Weasley family, is going too far. I never wanted Hermione like that and I'm pretty certain she felt the same."
Neville cocked an eyebrow. "Pretty certain?"
"That's what I said."
"Then why did you nearly go on a date together?"
Harry blinked ... and blinked hard. He had practically forgotten that. How could he have pushed that memory so far back into his mind, driven it so deep that it was almost as though it hadn't happened? He felt inert just trying to process the notion.
Neville saw the struggle being borne in Harry and ploughed on relentlessly. "I think there must have been something there, just for you both to have been considering trying it. It was Hermione's suggestion, if I remember right, just because she'd heard Ron talking with George about engagement rings, and she wanted to box off all her doubts in case Ron made her an offer. That's so Hermione, by the way, if she really did do that."
"That's what she said happened," Harry confirmed as the memories crashed like rapids over his conscious mind.
"So why did you go on a date with her, if you insist that you only saw her as a sister?"
"It was the way she asked me," Harry explained as he closed his eyes. "It put a seed of doubt in my mind, even though I was smitten with Ginny at the time. She had a talent for doing that, Hermione ... for playing on the implicit trust that I had in her back then. She had the ability to slow me up when no-one else could. Even Dumbledore knew about it, knew that Hermione had this power over me. He relied on it to help me defeat Voldemort in the end.
"So when Hermione came to me with the suggestion, I knew I had to give it a go even though it was the most ludicrous thing I'd ever heard, just in case she was proven to be right again."
"What did she say?" Neville asked, fascinated by this new knowledge of just how deeply ensconced Hermione Granger was next to Harry Potter's heart.
And Harry mimicked Hermione's accent when he spoke next. "Just one date, a proper one, far away from prying eyes ... I've always had this 'niggle' about you, Harry ... I know you've had the same itch about me, too ... let's go on a date and discuss things and see how it goes ... and if it doesn't feel right, at least we'll know, and we can go on to other partners with clear consciences ..."
Neville barked out a laugh at him. "That was spooky, mate! You sounded just like her!"
"I heard that voice a lot!" Harry laughed, as he clinked his tankard against Neville's and drained his summer ale deeply, before ordering them another round from a waitress who happened to be passing their table.
"So you decided to scratch the itch?" Neville asked, accepting a frothing tankard as Harry slid it across to him. Harry nodded solemnly. "In other words, you decided to go on a date with your sister!"
Harry rolled his eyes in a nonplussed sort of way. But Neville's jokey comment had actually stumped him, stymied his flimsy arguments. So Neville continued on in the void.
"You never did tell me what happened? How did the date go? And what were these things she wanted to discuss with you?"
"The first time we tried it was when we were out in Australia getting her parents back. It seemed the right time because we were out there on our own, it was easier that way ... but it all descended into a bit of a farce to be honest," Harry confessed with a smile. "We started off all awkward, then we stopped being silly about it and tried to be serious ... only to find the fact that we were doing it at all so silly that we couldn't stop laughing and joking about it. We found it hilarious to think what everyone back home would say if they knew what we were doing. So we just decided to abandon the idea and got drunk instead, finishing the night with a hug and going our separate ways."
"And that was it?" Neville pushed.
"Not quite," Harry confessed. "Ron proposed about a month later, in front of both their parents. Hermione told me that she'd said 'yes' under the glare of the attention, but came to me that very night and said that she still had doubts, and wanted to get that niggle about me out of her system for good. I admitted that I was having confusions when I was with Ginny too, and thought maybe it was my own itch about Hermione. So we agreed to try one more date, but take it seriously this time."
"So what happened with that one?"
"Hermione didn't turn up," Harry moaned bitterly, as he bothered the rim of his beer tankard with his thumb. "I sat in that raucous Muggle pub for three hours waiting for Hermione to join me, only for Ginny to rock up with the news that Hermione was pregnant and that Ron had finished with her on the spot. She had to escape the drama, she said."
"Always thought that was pretty shitty of Ron, kicking Hermione out before finding out if the kid was his or not," Neville scythed. "Never sat well with me, that."
"Oh, Ron knew that the kid couldn't be his ... because he and Hermione hadn't slept together," Harry confessed. "Ron couldn't get his head around being cheated on, and couldn't accept the role of raising another man's child. Especially when Hermione wouldn't tell him who that man was."
Neville leant in close. "In all honesty, Harry, do you know whose it is?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "I've told you a thousand times that I don't."
"Not even a suspicion? You work in the intelligence world, for Christ's Sake! This is kind of your gig."
"My job doesn't give me a list of everyone's sexual partners," Harry retorted, fidgeting as he knew he'd be on Hermione's list in that sense. "So no, I haven't a clue who the girl's father is."
"So what happened with the date? You must have caught up with Hermione eventually," Neville went on.
Harry nodded in a jaded sort of way. "Hermione had the nerve - the audacity - to say that I'd stood her up, or that I'd gotten the venue for our date wrong! She said she really needed a friendly ear to talk to about her pregnancy that night, after facing the ire of the Weasley clan, but she decided that I'd sided with them and left her hanging, when I was actually just in another pub.
"She made it seem like the whole thing was all my fault, or that I'd abandoned her on purpose to comfort Ron instead. She said I always picked him first. But there are lots of pubs called Wetherspoons in the Muggle world ... it's hardly surprising that we got our wires crossed about which one we were meant to meet in, but she wouldn't take any of the blame."
"To be fair, sounds like she'd been through a bit of a traumatic night," Neville pointed out. "Taking more blame was probably something she really didn't need."
Harry felt awful at that realisation. It took away his power of speech a moment. So Neville continued.
"So she was waiting for you in a different venue the whole time?" Neville asked, with a shrewd look on his face. "And you picked a venue in the Muggle world, one not easy for the Weasleys to find?"
"So she insisted, till she was red in the face," Harry bitched, ignoring Neville's flash of logic. "But I think she was just having me on. Maybe to get back at Ron, make him jealous over her for once, maybe even to get under Ginny's skin. You know they never really got on towards the end of our school time."
"And you stopped speaking to each other for over a decade!" Neville exclaimed. "Over a bunch of ifs, buts and maybes? That sounds like more than just a niggle to me, Harry."
"It was more that just that, but that was how it started," Harry confirmed, ruefully nursing his ale. "Whatever it was, we said some hurtful things to each other in the aftermath and forgot how to apologise. It just grew and grew and got more awkward over time. She and Ron tried to be friends again, but our arguing made that hard, and eventually splintered the three of us for good. Then her baby came along and she distanced herself even further.
"We never found a resolution to our argument, me and Hermione ... and that crack between us became a chasm, one I don't think we'll ever be able to cross. But now this has happened, and I don't know what to do with it."
"It's just a touch of regret, Harry," Neville offered sagely. "Like I said, it's just a case of you wondering what if where Hermione is concerned. And it's probably your first proper kiss in ages. You've forgotten how good they feel and now you want more. Pop down to Immore Alley and get it out of your system with a pliable Metamorphmagus at Fletcher's Revue Bar. They'll see you as right as rain. Those witches can turn into your weirdest fantasy and make even your darkest woes go away."
Harry chuckled but disagreed, and was determined to make Neville see that.
"It isn't that, mate, it's so much more," Harry insisted. "I don't know why I'm so sure about that, but I just am. These dreams I'm having about Hermione aren't so much me wondering what if ... it's almost as if I'm remembering what was between us. I know how that sounds, mate ... but I just can't describe it any other way."
Neville looked at Harry in deep concern now. "Harry, think about what you're saying. How can any of that even be possible? You know more about exotic magic and time-travel than any wizard going. You haven't dimension-hopped or changed time, so what makes you think that this isn't just you wondering about another way that things could have turned out for you?"
"I don't know, I cant explain it," Harry returned anxiously. "But the last dream I had was the most disturbing one yet. I'd gone to Hogwarts, to hear a half-term progress report about my child. And his mother was there waiting for me, and she was so proud of him ... because the kid was 112% better than any other student in his year, just like his mum once was ..."
Neville's eyebrows disappeared into his fringe as he quickly understood. "And so you're saying that his - your son's - mother was ... Hermione? I remember her scoring 112% on a test once."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, running his hands through his hair to massage his aching skull. "Not only that, but Hermione had another little girl with her for the Parent's Evening ... and at one point the girl called Hermione Mummy. I'm sure that the girl's name was Lily, or it might have been Lilith ... or Laura. Something like that. She looked just like photos I've seen of my mum, apart from her hair colour, which was black, and it was bushy -"
"Like Hermione's! Sweet Merlin, Harry!" Neville gasped out. "You really need to lay off the ale and cheese before bed!"
"I'm being serious, Nev!" Harry moaned, almost pleading with Neville to understand. "It's like I have these memories from another life. I remember everything as I know it to be, all the important stuff. But now I'm starting to remember things differently. And it feels just as real! Only, I don't know which version is the real truth.
"But, and this is the scariest part ... I think it might be the other reality!"
Neville gripped tightly to his chair seat, turning his knuckles a sickly white. "Why?"
"It just feels more right!" Harry cried in his passion. "It's like I should have married Hermione and not been estranged from her. That we should have had a family together. But more than that, it's like I remember us doing all of those things and it all got changed somehow. Or maybe I got a glimpse of what my life might have been like if I'd made different choices. I don't know, but it's really worrying me. I think I'm losing my mind."
"Look, you're under a lot of stress, that's all this is," Neville declared confidently. "That last case you worked on was a difficult one. It took a lot out of you. And I know you haven't had a holiday in years. You just need to get a bit of rest and everything will be fine.
"Then you don't believe me?" Harry huffed wearily.
"I believe that you're under immense strain," Neville replied. "But what you're suggesting is impossible. You can't have lived two lives, can you? One with and one without Hermione. Even if someone had meddled with time or something, you would remember all of it so much more clearly than you do now, wouldn't you? You remember all of your life here, but only snippets of the other life, if that's what you can call it. You're just fantasising, daydreaming, really."
"Yes ... yes, I suppose you're right," Harry breathed out after a minute of deep thought. "I kept all of the memories of my time-travel with Hermione when we used a Time-Turner at Hogwarts. This doesn't feel the same as that."
"There you go then!" Neville exclaimed. "Maybe it is just the stress of everything. You need a break. Take one ... it'll do you good."
"That would require me putting in a formal Holiday Request with Hermione's office," Harry pointed out. "And, right now, she's the last person that I want to see."
"Well, that's just tough luck," Neville grinned mischievously. "I only agreed to come for a beer tonight because I need to call in a favour from you. And that favour involves you going to see the Minister of the Interior for me."
Harry huffed in his frustration. "I should have known that there'd be a price for me spilling my heart out to someone. Go on then, out with it."
"Well, you know that it's Daphne's birthday next week ... by the way, you are still coming to the party, aren't you?" Neville began, anxiously.
"Wouldn't miss it," Harry grumbled. "Be good to let off some steam, if I must. You're not asking me to bake her a cake, are you?"
Neville laughed. "No, Harry. I remember that disaster you tried to make for my little Sarah's last birthday. Didn't you triple the amount of frozen gelatine in the recipe, or something?"
"It had the virtue of never having been tried," Harry mused with an impish grin.
"Yes, Harry, but sponge cake ... proper sponge cake ... I mean real, proper, perfect sponge cake," Neville insisted. "Should. Not. Bounce!"
"The kids at the party loved playing with it," Harry guffawed. "Once they'd come to the consensus to not dare try and eat the damned thing! Lesson learned. So, if I'm not going to be a contestant on the Great Wizarding Bake-Off, what do you need from me?"
"I've managed to get my hands on a really rare species of Devil's Snare," Neville revealed. "It only grows in a specific part of the Australian Outback. But I pulled in a favour and snagged myself a cutting."
Harry frowned. "Most husbands tend to buy their wives plants that don't try to strangle them when they aren't looking! Problems at home, buddy? I know a counsellor if you're in need of one!"
"Shut up, Harry," Neville retorted to Harry's teasing. "Anyway, you know how Daphne is always on the lookout for exotic plant varieties? Well, she's been after this particular genus of Snare for years. And it's cost me three months salary just to get a small cutting."
"So where do I fit in to this?" asked Harry.
"I need you to get me a waiver to bring it into Britain," Neville explained. "It's the only variety of Snare that flowers ... and the seeds of the flower make a very potent narcotic in the wrong hands. It's illegal in fifty countries, including here. But Daphne just wants to study it, to test out a theory that the flowers could also have medicinal purposes, not just ones that induce the most hypnotic hallucinations!"
"And she wants to do all this at Hogwarts, I assume?"
"As Head of Herbology that's where her lab is, so yeah," Neville replied. "You can go to inspect it for yourself, if you want, to make sure that it's fit for purpose and impervious to any mischievous students."
"Don't be daft, I know Daphne wouldn't be using it for nefarious reasons," Harry retorted. "But how can I get you a waiver? This is an issue of law, one I can't circumvent."
"Not strictly so, no," Neville began. He looked cautiously at Harry. "But it is a serious matter for the Interior ... and the Senior Department Minister is the only one who could rubber-stamp a waiver like this. What I need is a personal touch to do a bit of gentle persuasion or, failing that, some good old-fashioned emotional blackmail!"
Harry felt his jaw tighten. "So that's where my visit to Hermione comes in? You want me to ask her to overlook the law?"
"Pretty much."
"I'm sorry, Nev, but you know I can't help you with that," Harry returned with a dismissive nod. "And you know she'll never agree to it anyway. I thought you were going to ask me to deliver a birthday party invite or something. This is too much, I'm sorry."
"Harry, come on, mate," Neville implored. "I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. But Daph is just desperate for this gift, you'd be doing me a massive favour. I don't want to call this in as a Debt Collection, but I will if you force it of me."
"How very Slytherin of you," Harry scoffed. "That business of you telling me about my last girlfriend, and her revolving knickers policy - before The Prophet did - was a matter of personal honour. This is hardly the same thing."
"Oh, but it is," Neville quirked. "You see, I promised Daphne I would get this for her. You don't want me to break my word to my wife, do you? Think of how dishonourable a wizard that would make me."
Harry frowned. "Who knew you could be this callous? Fancy a change of department? I could use a few more cold-hearted bastards like you on my team."
Neville chuckled again. "You'll do it then?"
"Well if you're going to bully me like this, I don't have much of a choice, do I?"
"Who's bullying someone?" Ginny asked, as she and Daphne appeared over Neville's shoulder.
"I'm bullying Neville," Harry announced simply. "I'm bullying him to buy the next round of drinks!"
"I supposed I'd better then," Neville conceded with a grin. "Don't want our most famous Dark Lord slayer on my back, now do I?"
"Nev, leave that shit at the door, will you?" Ginny scolded as she sat down. "Just get us the drinks."
Harry gave Ginny a grateful look. They all knew how much he hated talking about that most famous aspect of his past, even in jest, and he appreciated Ginny coming to his defence.
Daphne took on the mantle of subject-changer. "Bullying - I mean, real bullying - seems to be on the rise these days. We've got a pretty big problem with it at the moment at Hogwarts."
"Bullying?" Ginny asked, concerned. "I thought Minerva had introduced a zero-tolerance policy on that sort of thing. Neither of my kids involved in anything like that I hope."
"You know I'd be the first to tell you if they were," Daphne reassured her friend, tapping her forearm. "And no, before you ask, none of the other Weasleys are either."
"But Minerva does have bully defying her policy?" Harry asked. "I'm sure she'll stamp down on that soon enough. She's pretty formidable."
"Yes, but this student is particularly difficult and extremely stubborn," Daphne went on. "Nothing Minerva does seems to work. And she's tried everything. She just cant find a way to get through to her, or to stop her causing the trouble she does."
"She?" Ginny queried. "This bully is a witch? I know it shouldn't, but that surprises me."
"I can understand that, especially considering who she is. Personally, I think it's just because she was pretty badly bullied herself when she arrived at Hogwarts. I think she's just lashing out because no-one helped her when she was the victim."
"Victim?" Harry frowned. "What was she bullied for?"
"For coming from a single-parent family," Daphne explained. She smiled softly and with weak sympathy as Harry's frown deepened. "I don't need to tell you how cruel kids can be with information like that."
"No, I have first-hand experience of that," Harry bristled. "So, who is this girl? Do we know this single-parent?"
"Yeah, a little," Daphne replied, shifting awkwardly. "The bully is Sophie Granger ... that's Hermione's daughter, you know ..."