Ripped

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never will be. All HP characters belong to JK and Warner Brothers, etc, etc, etc. No profit made from this nor offense intended.

A/N: This takes place a few years after the fall of Voldemort and the end of The War. There have been numerous casualties. The premise for this certainly has is roots in many a Star Trek episode.

Thanks to Evil Auntie Snape for her undying support, and my deepest appreciation to Calanthe for her amazing beta work. She never gave up on it! Cheers, luvs!

~~~RIPPED~~~

The first thing he became aware of was the throbbing pain emanating from the back of his head. He tried to open his eyes and sit up; sparks laced the edges of his blurred vision, the pain sharp and piercing, causing him to cry out.

"Bloody hell!"

He closed his eyes, flopping back down heavily, wincing as his head contacted the hard surface of...of...what?

Whatever he was lying on, it was smooth, hard, and cold. Some sort or stone? Or hard wood?

He felt dizzy, the edges of his mind blurry and unfocused.

Remus!

A flicker of a memory sparked to life. He had been speaking to Remus about...about...Hogwarts?

Something about the new term. He was going to teach Transfiguration! That was it! But then what had happened? He recalled sitting in Remus' study, sipping firewhiskey on the comfy sofa...and then...and then, something had happened.

Something....

"He's coming to."

The voice was familiar, yet not. And very close.

He dragged open his eyes again, blinking furiously in an effort to focus them. He turned his head to the side, once again seeing stars and crying out in pain.

"Remus! Remus, are you there?" he called out into the shadows, immediately shocked to hear how pitifully weak and shaky his voice sounded.

The other voice snorted and chuckled softly.

"Wow, it's him. It really worked!"

The buzzing in his head was dissipating rapidly. He slowly sat up, hesitant, unsure, not wanting to collapse again from the dizziness. He groaned as he stretched and steadied himself, leaning on one hand while the other roughly massaged his temple. Looking about, he saw that he was in some sort of large room. A low, beamed ceiling. Rough plaster walls. A few candles flickering feebly on a table some distance away. A tiny fire crackling lazily in a very large hearth. A wide bank of windows showing nothing but inky darkness.

Then he noticed the sound. It was raining. Very hard, apparently. Weak flickers of lightning flashed beyond the panes of leaded glass, thunder rumbling softly.

He drew in a deep breath, swinging his legs over the side of the...the what? He squeezed his eyes closed, opening them wide and focusing on the huge, battered table that he had been lying on.

"Shit," he muttered, cradling his forehead in his hands.

My glasses. Where the hell are they?

"Here," the voice said tersely.

He looked up, seeing only a shadowy shape before him. He blinked, reaching for the outstretched hand and snatching up his glasses, quickly sliding them on.

Something wasn't quite right, though. He could see much better, but the glasses...they were a bit off. Not only did they not feel right, but they were much heavier than they should have been.

"Better?" the voice asked roughly.

"Yeah, I guess," he responded warily. "What's going on? Where am I, and where's Remus? He was just here...."

The voice laughed. A hollow, rather unfriendly laugh.

"Blimey, he sounds just like ours. I still can't believe it worked."

He peered through the gloom at the shadow. He could almost make out the face....

"I told you it would work," came the reply, from just beyond the feeble circle of light. "But you never listen to a word I say. Never have."

He gasped.

He knew that tone! He knew who that was!

"Hermione?" he managed to say in a steady voice. "What the devil is going on?"

A second shadow emerged from the darkness, stepping in close.

"Incendio!"

The fire in the hearth blazed high. Oil lamps ignited, washing the room with a pale, yellow light.

Hermione glared at him, her lips pressed together into a thin line. Her eyes seemed blank, lifeless. Something had happened. Something dreadful. Hermione looked awful. Her hair was pulled back severely, tiny wisps sticking out like steel wool. Her cheeks were sunken, and the rough, tattered sweater she wore was a few sizes too large. There was no joy in her expression. No happiness, no spark of adventure.

She looked like a corpse.

"Tell him, Ron," she spat, folding her arms across her thin chest.

He blinked again as Ron moved next to Hermione, his head cocked to one side, his arms likewise folded across his chest. And he didn't look right, either. Ron towered over Hermione, the dingy grey tank top he was wearing stretched to the limit by his hugely muscled chest. His sizable forearms and biceps were crisscrossed with a multitude of scratches and scars. He grinned then, displaying a mouthful of large, yellowed teeth, some of them missing. A deep scar ran from the tip of his right eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. His mane of fire-red hair was gone, shaved to mere stubble. His eyes, though, were the same blazing blue that he remembered so well.

But this couldn't be right! It was impossible that they were standing there in front of him. It had to be some sort of dream, or, more likely, a nightmare.

"Hermione? Ron? Wha...what is this? Who the hell are you?"

Hermione shot Ron a foul glance before staring up at the ceiling. She began to tap one of her boots on the floorboards.

"Well? Go on. You explain it to him."

His eyes were wide as he looked from one to the other and back again. Ron took a step closer, causing him to jerk and scoot away across the tabletop.

"Stay away from me, you traitorous bastard!" he yelled, fumbling at the pockets of his jeans.

Hermione sniggered. Ron ceased his advance as if stung.

"If you're looking for your wand, forget it," Ron explained flatly. "We tossed it into the fire."

He was breathing hard now, looking about frantically. It had to be a dream. Ron couldn't have escaped. He'd have heard about it. And Hermione...it was too much for his mind to process all at once. Had there been something in his tea? But this didn't seem like any hallucination or vision that he'd ever had. The throbbing in his skull, the aches in his joints, the nausea...

"Harry?" Ron prodded in a firm voice. "Hey, Harry!"

Harry jumped again, blinking, mouth slightly open.

When he received no response, Ron turned to Hermione.

"I think there's something wrong with him. Seems a bit off. And he doesn't look well. Too pale and thin. I don't remember-"

Hermione cut him off, stomping over to his side.

"Ohhhh, damn it, Ron!" she cried, her hands waving about wildly. "Don't you ever pay attention? Think for a change!"

"Back off!" Ron growled, his fists clenching at his sides. "I know what's going on! It's just that he looks so much like...I'd almost forgotten how...damn!"

Hermione cocked her head. "Oh, don't tell me. Now I understand. This is why you insisted on being here tonight." She harrumphed, her expression filled with contempt. "You hulking idiot! It's not really Harry! Quit mooning over him and snap out of it!"

Harry had been attempting to follow the argument as his mind slowly cleared. What were they jabbering about?

He wasn't who he was?

As ridiculous as that sounded, he supposed that made a certain sense: the pair before him vaguely resembled his old friends, but couldn't be his Ron and Hermione.

Could they?

"That's enough," Ron seethed, pointing a finger at Hermione. "What do you know about it? Fucking cold-hearted, emotionless bint! You wouldn't know what to do with a real, genuine feeling if it swaggered up and bit you on your skinny arse!"

Harry watched as Hermione's fingers touched the end of her wand. Ron didn't seem to notice. Or care. Hermione took a step closer.

"I'm going to ignore that for the moment," she replied in a barely controlled voice. "I don't have time to waste listening to your infantile drivel. We have a job to do." She flicked her wrist at Harry. "Get on with it."

Ron turned away from her, his cheeks flushed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He stared at Harry, a strange expression ghosting across his scarred face. His features softened somewhat, and he looked as if he was about to speak. He paused a moment longer, blinking repeatedly and gesturing roughly to Hermione.

"Seeing as how I'm nothing but a hulking idiot, you do it. You tell him."

Hermione took a step forward, her expression predatory.

"Fuck you!" she bellowed, whipping out her wand. "Crucio!" she hissed with obvious pleasure.

Ron barely batted an eyelash as the hex hit him square in the chest. He drew in a sharp breath, but that was all. Stretching and cracking his neck, he sneered down at her.

"Ooooh, I love it when you point that twig at me. C'mon, do it again," he teased, pointing to the middle of his massive chest. "It tickles."

"Fucking bastard!" Hermione shrieked in response. "This is important! It's our last chance! Be serious, for once in your miserable life..."

Ron rolled his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. "Blah, blah, fucking blah. Give it a rest, bitch. And you're not behaving very nicely in front of our guest."


Hermione's wand was still pointed straight at Ron. She was about to utter a retort when a third voice echoed out from the far side of the room.

"By god, if I have to listen to you two argue for another fucking minute, I solemnly swear I will go absolutely, positively, sodding batshit!"

The new voice was also familiar. His brain recoiled once more, refusing to process the new information. If this was a dream, it certainly didn't feel like one.

"Quite the mystery, isn't it, Harry?" Neville asked softly as he stepped between Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, and no," he added with a crooked smirk, "this is most certainly not a dream, or a nightmare. It's real."

Harry pulled in a deep breath. He was dizzy again. But this time, it was due to someone using Legilimency on him.

And not being very careful about it, either.

"Well, as real as anything can be, I suppose. Apologies, Harry," Neville sighed. "You must forgive my rather rushed intrusion into you mind, but our current situation dictates that we waste no time with gratuitous pleasantries."

He looked nearly the same as Harry recalled, save for a rather pronounced limp. And the intensity of his gaze. It literally pierced right through him.

Neville patted Ron's muscular shoulder.

"He's the one we've been after. Ron? Harry is thirsty. Get him something to drink, won't you?"

Ron nodded as Neville sighed deeply, running the back of a hand down Ron's stomach and across the sizable bulge stretching the front of his tattered jeans.


Hermione simply stared blankly as Neville jerked his head toward the hearth.

"I suggest we all sit down in front of the fire and have a nice chat. Harry? After you." Neville gestured toward the long, low sofa squatting before the fireplace.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not doing anything until someone tells me exactly what is going on here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, grunting loudly. "I told you this would happen."

"Yes, you did," Neville quipped. "Now, shut your mouth. Harry, please? Easier if you just come and sit down."

Harry remained where he was, Neville's grin evaporating instantly.

"I don't like to boast, but my Crucio has a bit more bite than Hermione's." He arched an eyebrow, his right hand deftly pulling a wand from his front pocket.

Harry quickly considered his current situation: He was weak, disoriented, barely able to see straight. The possibility that he could defend himself, wandless, against all three of his captors was extremely slim. Neville flicked his wand impatiently. He had no choice but to follow their instructions. At least until his strength returned.

He jumped down from the table, stumbling slightly as he moved across the large room toward the sofa. He fell into the squishy cushions, settling into the far corner near the windows. Hermione took the seat furthest from him, Neville in the middle. The pair eyed him silently, as if sizing him for a suit. A moment later, Ron stomped back into the room, carrying a battered tin tray with four mismatched glasses and two bottles. He plonked the tray down onto the rickety side table right next to Harry.

Harry looked up, catching Ron staring down at him.

Ron averted his gaze and swallowed hard, grabbing a glass and filling it with firewhiskey. With another quick glance, he plopped himself down onto the sofa, squeezing himself in between Neville and Harry. Nearly draining his drink in one gulp, he stared at Harry again, his expression unmistakably wistful.

"God, he's every bit at beautiful as I remember...." His voice trailed off as he lifted a scarred hand to brush Harry's cheek.

Harry jerked away from him, pressing against the arm of the sofa.

"Don't fucking touch me!" he rasped out, a bit louder than he had intended.

Ron frowned, withdrawing his hand to stare at his nearly empty glass.

"Sorry."

Hermione sighed loudly, hoisting herself up and stalking over to the drink tray.

"Thanks!" she hissed, stalking past him.

"Bless," Ron replied in a falsetto voice, sniggering at her withering stare.

Hermione poured herself a whiskey, filling her glass to the brim. She tossed Neville one also, and he snagged it easily, waiting calmly as she handed him the half-empty firewhiskey bottle. Hermione thrust the last glass in Harry's face. He took it, not knowing what else to do. Hermione tromped past him, dumping the second bottle in his lap. He picked it up, turning it so that he could read the label.

Neville chuckled. "Your new favourite, isn't it? Jack Daniel's?"

Harry nodded silently.

Neville grinned, taking a rather large mouthful of his firewhiskey.

Ron had finished his first drink and was filling his glass a second time. He scooted across the cushion, pressing his massive body against Harry's.

"My advice is to have a few good belts, mate," he offered in a sympathetic tone. "It'll help make sense of the gobbledygook you're about to hear."

Harry remained perfectly still as Ron's whiskey-infused breath wafted over him. His only option at this point was to jump off of the sofa. He almost did just that, but something caused him to stay seated. It was strange, but the anger and revulsion he had initially felt towards Ron was slowly being replaced with something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but his instincts told him that Ron harboured no malice towards him. He hesitated to reach out with Legilimency, as he could still feel Neville rooting around in his brain, poking and prodding about recklessly. It was taking a great deal of concentration to continually offer resistance.

It struck him as rather absurd when he realized then that he actually felt somewhat safe, with Ron's large, warm body acting as a shield of sorts, protecting him from Hermione and Neville. He'd always felt that way with Ron, before the dark times, before the betrayal. And here was that same feeling again. It didn't make any sense. The hulking person sitting next to him was nothing like the Ron he had known. And yet, he was. That crooked grin. The pattern of freckles on his cheeks. And the sorrow and loss so plainly evident in his eyes.

Ron favoured him with a weak grin, placing a meaty hand on his thigh and giving it a firm squeeze. Harry jumped in spite of himself, nearly spilling his Jack Daniel's.

Hermione sighed. "Just leave him alone, Ron," she groused. "He's clearly not interested."

Ron gave her the finger, muttering 'Bitch' under his breath.

Harry shoved Ron's hand away. "Don't," he warned in a low voice.

Hermione snorted. "Told you."

With a sigh, Ron shifted the slightest bit away from Harry, shaking his head as he guzzled his whiskey.

Harry downed his drink in three gulps. "Okay, what's going on? Where am I, and why have you brought me here?"

Hermione stared into the hearth as Neville cleared his throat.

"Harry, have you ever heard of quantum physics?"

"What?"

"Quantum physics? String theory? Quantum mechanics?" Neville cocked his head, his expression unreadable.

"Uh, well...."

"I thought not."

Hermione harrumphed. "Must you always draw things out so? Just get to the point. I've got better things to do than sit here and listen to you drone on importantly to yourself. It'll be dawn soon."

Neville sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. He schooled his features, the weak smile once again covering his face.

"Hermione, dear, as much as I empathize with your situation and understand your needs, kindly keep your trap shut until I finish, or I'll make certain that you actually witness the sunrise. In person."

Ron sniggered and reached over Harry, his fingers wrapping themselves around the Jack Daniel's bottle that was sitting between Harry's legs. He slid his hand down the bottle, making sure the backs of his fingers pressed against the tight fabric of Harry's jeans.

It took a moment before Harry realized that he should be protesting such an invasion of his personal space.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Get that filthy paw of yours off me!"

Ron's face screwed up into a frown. He drew the bottle up slowly, firmly trailing it against Harry's bulge. He snuffled, leaning back into the cushions as he filled the glass again.

Harry stared at his 'friend', trying to think and watch Neville at the same time. There was something about this Ron that he found, well, attractive. It was harder and harder to keep his eyes off of him. And it wasn't just his massive muscles or shaved head, either. It was something else. Something deeper, and it showed plainly in the sharp, cerulean blue of Ron's eyes. God, they were beautiful. He hadn't recalled them being so striking. And there it was again: the same, pervasive sensation that this wasn't his Ron, coupled with the undeniable counterpoint that he, indeed, was.

Ron gently replaced the Jack Daniel's bottle, his hand coming to rest on his own large thigh. He slowly let his fingers drift to his left, their tips barely touching the fabric of Harry's jeans. He sipped his drink, sighing.

Hermione folded her arms, muttering to herself.

Neville stared blankly.

"Ron, if I may continue? You and Harry will have plenty of time to re-acquaint yourselves later."

Ron grunted in response, nodding slightly.

"Now, Harry, back to the topic at hand. I can see your confusion clearly. It's understandable. You are quite right in your assumption that we are not your friends. That is to say, we are not the Neville, Ron and Hermione you are used to. But then again, we are in every way, the very same."

"Okay, " Harry replied evenly.

"This can be rather dry, so I'll try to keep things simple. Quantum theory is a branch of physics that studies the movements and qualities of atomic and sub-atomic particles. There are many other areas of study that branch off from the main hypothesis, and one of those states that for every possible action, there are an infinite number of reactions, or outcomes, if you will. And all of these outcomes play themselves out in different quantum states, or realities. For instance, you're deciding what to have for breakfast: eggs and toast or just a muffin? You choose the muffin. But you also choose the eggs and toast, and just about every other possible option for breakfast, including not having any at all, in the other realities."

"Okay," Harry repeated slowly.

Neville grinned. "Still with me? Fine. Just hang on a bit longer. Of course, this theory dictates that the same unlimited outcomes occur for every choice we make. There are realities that are vastly different from ours, and realities that are very nearly the same. All of these different realities, or universes, if you like, co-exist in a delicate balance, layered one on top of the other, occupying the same physical space."

Ron's eyes had closed, his chin slumping into his chest. Hermione was eyeing Harry intensely, her eyes large, flat, black.

Neville continued. "I won't go into details about how this has all been researched and verified. Some extremely reputable Muggle physicists have been working on these theories for decades. It's all quite proper. It was only after The War started that this information fell into our hands. Quite a fortunate happenstance, too. At any rate, Ministry Divinators created the protocols with which to at first detect, and later, actually scan the adjoining temporal realities. Now imagine these layered realities as being like the pages of an impossibly thick book. We are only able to see into those several realities that are closest to us, a few pages before ours, and a few pages after. A rather simplistic analogy, but it does the trick." He paused to sip on his drink.

"Does this make any sense, Harry?"

"Well, no, not really. Sounds like some Muggle science fiction programme."

"Many of the concepts touched upon in those programmes are based on sound scientific theory," Neville chided.

Harry snorted. "Okay. Fine. So you expect me to believe that somehow, you've dragged me into some mirror-image universe, and that you're not really Neville Longbottom, the one that I've know all my life, but then again, you are. Great. So the next question is, why?"

Neville raised his hand, taking another drink of whiskey.

"No, no, not a mirror universe. Um, parallel would be a better word. As far as we can tell, major events have played out similarly in our two realities. Here, your parents were killed, you were also in Gryffindor and one of the most powerful wizards in the world.

Hermione shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming on her knee in a non-stop rhythm. Ron began to snore softly.

The fire popped and crackled.

"I think I understand," Harry nodded slowly. "You want me to help you defeat Voldemort. You thought that with um, two of me, it would be easier."

Neville pursed his lips, shaking his head.

"Not exactly. You see, Harry, here, you're dead. For the past two years, in fact. And we're not fighting Voldemort, either. The true evil, the real Lord of Darkness in our universe is Albus Dumbledore." He paused a moment to allow the information to have an impact.

It did. Harry's eyes went wide.

Neville sniggered and continued. "Dumbledore has destroyed Hogwarts, The Ministry, and anything and anyone else who stands in his way. He kept his true nature and intentions hidden for decades. He is ruthless and completely without remorse. He will not stop until all who oppose him are dead. And once he has secured dominion over the wizarding world, he intends to loose his masses of followers upon the Muggles. He is evil, Harry. Obsessed. Relentless. Dumbledore murdered your parents, mine, Hermione's, Ron's, and hundreds of others as well."

Neville took another sip of whiskey.

"Tom has done his best to counter the onslaught. We've had many successes. But our numbers were always few compared to Dumbledore's."

"Tom? Tom Riddle?" Harry asked with amusement. "You're with him? You're Death Eaters?"

Neville chuckled. "Same name as in your reality, Harry, but an entirely different animal." He turned his forearm up, displaying the Dark Mark. He nodded to Hermione, who did the same.

He looked over at Ron, noting the Mark on one of his large forearms.

"Bloody hell," Harry murmured.

"Indeed," Neville chuckled. "In your reality, you fought for the side of The Light, correct? You killed your Tom, your Dark Lord Voldemort. Well, Harry, this reality, our world, is naturally dark. Shades of grey, if you will. Our War is still raging on. It has been, on and off, for centuries. This wizarding world, ours, is in ruins, on the verge of collapse. That was how Dumbledore made his first move: promising stability and security to a war-weary population. Most fell for his line. Too late, they saw his true face. And yes, Tom Riddle is, by your standards, a right nasty bastard. But compared to Dumbledore, he's a saint. We do what we must."

Harry stared at Neville's passive expression.

This had to be a joke. An elaborate, ridiculously convoluted prank. Some twisted individual had cooked up this entire, lurid scenario, casting Glamours on themselves. This was most likely the Room of Requirement and he was being paid back for something that he had done while at Hogwarts. Or perhaps one of his many enemies was exacting some sort of revenge. But alternate parallel universes? He knew nothing of the theories Neville was talking about. But as he had done with Ron, he intuited something of their veracity. Cautiously, he pressed outward with his Legilimency. Neville had retreated from his mind somewhat, but he found he was still effectively blocked from reading anyone.

Neville sniggered.

"As much as I hate to admit it, you were right, Hermione. He thinks we're playing a joke on him. Harry feels the theory of parallel universes is rubbish."

Harry jerked his head up, startled.

Neville glared, his eyes cold.

Hermione cocked her head to one side, grinning coldly. "Shall I prove to him that he's mistaken?" She stood up, glaring menacingly at Harry.

"No, no, not yet. Soon, though," Neville drawled.

Hermione scowled in response, perching herself on the arm of the sofa, looking like some sort of gargoyle.

Neville sighed, hoisting himself up and stretching. He groaned softly, obviously in pain, patting his right thigh. "War injury. A rather nasty Sectumsempra. Thrown by you, actually." He arched an eyebrow. "Sit back, Harry. This tale isn't finished yet." He shuffled over to the hearth, resting both hands on the mantel. "This is no joke. This isn't the Room of Requirement, and the situation is deadly serious. A great many sacrificed their lives to bring you here. Considerable resources and energies were expended in the process. Our forces are dwindling; our allies thin. You're our last hope, Harry."

Harry nodded, struggling to maintain his facade of attentiveness. He threw up his Occlusive barriers, summoning every last bit of his meagre reserves to do so.

"Fine. Tell me what you want from me, and I'll consider it. The sooner I get this over with, the quicker I can return home."

Neville whirled about, his face an angry mask. "Don't lie to me, Potter!" he spat out, tapping his forehead. "You're an accomplished Occlumens, obviously, but not good enough to block me!" He whipped out his wand, advancing on Harry, the wand tip inches away from his throat. "I had hoped to keep things friendly and civil, but I see that I need to make clear to you that your choices here are rather limited."

He lowered his gaze, muttering an incantation.

"Infervesco Intrepidus."

Harry felt the heat instantly. It shot through him, a sharp, stinging heat now resonating through him from head to toe. Sweat popped out all over his body, his hand involuntarily flying to his forehead. His skin was actually hot to the touch. He looked at his hands, turning them over and staring at the rapidly reddening flesh. The heat inside was building steadily, as if his very blood was turning to flame. His head throbbed, his stomach lurching into his chest. He heard a strange mewling sound, absently realizing that it was his own voice. His vision blurred as he began to convulse.

As the flame consumed him, a deep voice shouted in alarm.

"Damn it, Neville! NO! YOU'RE HURTING HIM!"

And from a great distance, he heard Neville uttering "Finite Incantatem".

Someone sat down very close, a pair of strong arms encircling him, holding him steady. His sight cleared almost immediately. He was slumped down in the sofa, staring up at Ron, who was murmuring something. The scorched feeling on his face and hands faded away, and the pain in his limbs disappeared completely. Ron stopped chanting, looking him over, his expression grim. He turned to face Neville.

"Nice one, Longbottom," he sneered. "We go through the trouble to bring him here, and you very nearly kill him! Fucking maniac!"

Neville pocketed his wand.

"Calm yourself, Ron. That wasn't even close. I knew you could heal him. Just remember one thing, though," he added with a careless tone. "He may look and act like your Harry, but I assure you he's quite different. He will not find your, ah, how shall we say? Yes. This Harry will not accept your predilection for violence so easily."

"Fuck off," Ron seethed. "If you try anything like that again, I'll...."

"You'll what, Weasley?" Neville snorted, turning to pace back and forth in front of the hearth. "You may have great physical strength and stamina, and be rather adept at Healing Charms, but I have many spells, some of them even more interesting than Infervesco Intrepidus, that will work on you rather nicely. Very nicely, indeed. Would you like to know what this Harry really thinks of you?"

Ron gritted his teeth, continuing to cradle Harry in his arms. Hermione blew out a breath.

"Bored, now."

"For once, I agree with you, 'Mione," Neville sighed, pausing to stare at Harry. "Good. He's sufficiently recovered to listen attentively. Ron, sit him up straight, please." He flipped his hand dismissively.

Ron actually growled, carefully shifting Harry into a more upright position.

Harry felt totally drained. He'd never even heard of that hex before now. Despite Neville's assertion otherwise, he was certain that another few moments under the curse would indeed have been the end of him. He unconsciously pressed against Ron, feeling a calming sense of security there.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked gently. "I'll bet you're parched after that. Let me get you some water." He gave Harry's cheek a quick caress as he stood up and sauntered off into the shadows.

Harry took a few deep breaths. The rain was still coming down hard, creating a continual but not entirely unpleasant drumming sound as it struck the roof.

Neville took a step toward the sofa. "And now, one final bit of proof that what I'm telling you is the truth." He smirked crookedly, one eyebrow lifting up slowly.

Harry felt him in his mind immediately. There was no pretence of civility or concern in the quality of the invasion. Neville sliced through his brain, throwing out images in a non-stop collage of pain, bloodshed and death. He saw snippets of himself with an odd looking Dumbledore during his first year. He watched as a very human-looking Tom Riddle ushered a mob of screaming students to safety. He saw himself, or, the Harry that he had been here, throwing curses and hexes with a rather obvious glee. He saw himself torturing and murdering, over and over again. The images began to blur, roiling into a swirling mass of colour and sound.

"Had enough?"

Neville's calm voice yanked him back to the sitting room.

Hermione giggled. "You sent Ron to fetch the water, didn't you? So you could torment his 'beloved' Harry!"

Neville shrugged. "Clever girl." He glanced at Harry, who was slowly regaining his colour. "Our Ron has many useful qualities. His brainpower, alas, isn't one of them."

"Bastard," Harry muttered, struggling to sit up.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" Neville said wearily. "Dawn is upon us." All three turned to the windows, the first faint glow of sunrise tinting the horizon a deep, royal purple.

"You are here to help us defeat Dumbledore. You may assist us, or die. His powers are great, but hopefully he will not forsee this. You are our last chance. We cannot fail."

Neville's countenance was so filled with malice it actually made Harry flinch. He sensed Neville withdraw from his mind once more. He found he was now fighting back a suddenly overwhelming wave of hopelessness. He had been a fighter his entire life, never backing down, never giving up. But he was tired, so very tired from years of stress and loss and pain. And now this. What could he do? What choice did he have? He was completely alone, very nearly powerless. He knew his strength would return given time, but waiting for that to happen was clearly not an option. And there was no one he could turn to for help.

Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true...

"Fine," Harry replied softly. "I'll do what you wish, then you'll send me back. How do I know I can trust you?"

Neville threw his head back, laughing deeply.

"Trust us? Trust is irrelevant here. You don't understand. This wasn't a simple parlour trick, a lost spell recently uncovered---that brought you here. It was the result of years of research, hard work, and experimentation. Many died in the process. It was only by the slimmest of chances that we were able to discover you at all. You see, all of the other realities that we can scan are very much like this one. You are dead in all of them. Imagine how we felt when we discovered you! I only wish Severus had lived to see it. He would have been proud to know his theories were well founded."

Ron strode back into the room. He offered Harry a large glass of water, once more sitting down next to him on the sofa. He glared at Neville, throwing a protective arm about Harry's shoulders.

Hermione made a rude noise, muttering to herself as Neville resumed his pacing before the hearth.

"As you have just seen, you fought for Dumbledore here. You joined in with him at an early age, easily falling under his thrall. I can still remember the day when Hogwarts was attacked, the two of you killing and destroying with abandon. That's the day you did this," he frowned, rubbing his leg. "I should have killed you then, but I was young and foolish." Neville paused again, smiling at Harry's response.

"But all this comes as no surprise to you, does it? No, I see that you're not shocked at all. "Oh, this is just lovely! Tell me, Harry, does anyone in your reality know this about you?" Neville was grinning, his eyes, for the first time, were bright, alive.

"This is truly fascinating, you know. Severus hypothesized that counterparts in neighbouring realities would be very similar, all cut from the same cloth, if you will. We very quickly noted that in every reality we probed, without fail, the Harry Potter there was consumed by Darkness. We had almost given up hope. But then we discovered you."

"Complete nonsense," Harry murmured.

Neville snorted. "I can see that no one from your reality has the power to penetrate your barriers. If they could, they could see it, plain as day! What did you do to your Sorting Hat to convince it to place you in Gryffindor? A stunning achievement for an eleven-year old, if I may say. I can see why you wanted to avoid being sorted into Slytherin at all costs. You were deathly afraid that your hidden side, the part of yourself that you suppress and deny with every fibre of your being, would somehow push forward and rush to the surface."

He shook his head in wonder. "Dear god, the amount of energy you expend to keep your dark self under control. All to keep up the facade of the happy, helpful, caring Gryffindor."

Harry lifted his head to meet Neville's gaze. "You don't understand a thing about me," he whispered menacingly.

Ron stared from Harry to Neville and back again, struggling to follow his line of thought. For the first time, Hermione seemed interested in the conversation.

"Is it possible for you to ever say anything in the briefest terms? Honestly, Neville. The War will be over by the time we finish here."

"Yeah," Ron interjected, "What's all this now about Harry, and what does it have to do with the plan?"

Neville hobbled over, bending down to peer into Harry's eyes.

"Care to elaborate for our spectators?" He paused, straightening up with a small groan.

"I thought not. You see, my friends, our Harry here has been putting up a false front his entire life. Fighting for the Light, defeating the Dark, being an honourable, self-sacrificing little Gryffindor, when all the while, the darkness was within him, at the very core of his power, pushing, struggling to break free.

You can't hide from me, Harry. I see! I KNOW! It's your greatest fear, isn't it? It keeps you awake at night, invades your dreams, fuels your nightmares. Even now, it pours out of you. You're terrified that one day, your resolve will slip, the chinks in the walls will crack and split wide open, the blackness escaping. It's a very fine line you walk, isn't it? You're barely a step away from dividing your soul into little bits and hiding them in books and snakes, aren't you?

AREN'T YOU?!"

Harry's head snapped up, his mouth twisted into a snarl. "Fuck you, Longbottom," he hissed through clenched teeth.

His rage surged through him, infusing him with energy. He dared look deep within, at the Place, that one part of himself he avoided at all costs. He allowed the barest trickle of that roiling, black power to escape. It coursed through him instantly, lighting up his entire body. He channeled the burst with all his might.

With a lightning swift motion, his right hand flew up, fingers splayed directly at Neville's head.

"Erado Totalus!"

An angry ball of blazing green light shot out from Harry's hand, spitting and crackling as it spiralled toward its target. Neville lazily flipped a finger. The green ball disappeared with a soft pop.

Harry blinked, unable to hide his shocked expression. Ron and Hermione stared at him, jaws slack, eyes wide.

"Holy shit," Ron muttered, sinking back into the sofa.

Neville merely shrugged. "Nice try, Harry. I know they didn't teach you that curse at Hogwarts. I haven't seen anyone use the Erasure Curse in some time. Quite imaginative. And wandless, too. Bravo. But not very well done. You barely tapped your reserves. You really will have to learn to overcome that aversion to your dark side. You'll need every bit of it if you're to survive here. If any of us are to survive."

"I'll never become like you," Harry snarled.

"Oh, but you already are," Neville sneered, his eyes wide, wild. "Haven't sorted it out yet? Parallel universes, Harry, parallel! Similar but different? Remember? In your reality, you were the most powerful wizard in an age! The Boy-who-lived! But there was another, wasn't there, Harry? There was another who almost became what you are. Who almost had one of these."

Neville slowly moved his fringe aside, revealing an angry looking lightning bolt scar. He smiled as Harry's eyes grew wide.

Harry felt suddenly ill, taking a deep breath as Neville resumed his pacing. The crackling of the fire and the pounding of the rain seemd incredibly loud in the ensuing silence. Finally, Harry sighed heavily.

"How do you know you can trust me, then?" he asked flatly.

"Years of Gryffindor training, the desire to be good, despite your natural inclinations. You'll do," Neville replied off-handedly.

"You can't know that for certain."

"No, of course not. There are no guarantees, especially in dire situations such as these. But now that I've seen you, the real you, I'm more convinced than ever that you'll fit in just fine here. It may take some time for you to accept that fact, but you will. It's truly amazing what one will do to survive." He chuckled deeply. "As always, we carry on. And now, here you are, and here you will stay. You see, Harry, there's no going back. Part of the spell that brought you here changed you, altered your basic molecular structure so that you could survive here. Fortunately we had many tissue samples from your dead self to use as a template. To attempt to reverse that change would result in certain death. You barely survived the process the first time."

Harry nearly dropped the empty water glass.

Neville leaned against the mantel, smirking. Ron hugged him tighter as Hermione hoisted herself up, her pale face seemingly set in stone.

"Tell him the rest," she said through clenched teeth.

"You see, Harry, our fight has always been a desperate one, requiring extreme measures. We have always been at a disadvantage, and this has cultured a certain sense of, well, creativity in respect to our methods."

He nodded to Hermione.

She turned to Harry, baring her teeth. Her incisors lengthened before his eyes, elongating into sharp fangs. Her eyes literally glowed silver.

"Merlin," was all Harry could manage.

"Ron?" Neville said flatly.

Ron squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry, mate. I won't hurt you," he whispered comfortingly. He stood up, shaking out his muscular arms and slowly rolling his neck in a smooth arc. He closed his eyes for an instant, sucking in a deep breath. His chest swelled, and remained that way even as he blew the breath out. His eyes snapped open, no longer blue but a deep, glowing amber. He drew in deeper and deeper breaths in quick succession, his body expanding as his muscles grew and his joints snapped and popped. His ratty clothes struggled to stay in one piece. Hair sprouted from his bare skin until he was covered in a coat of short, red fur. He flexed his massive arms and chest, moaning loudly as the change ceased. Swallowing hard, he blinked a few times before looking back at Harry.

He smiled, showing off his own set of very long fangs.

"Hey," he said simply, waving a huge hand.

"God," Harry breathed. "But werewolves can't simply change on their own. That's impossible. And you don't look like Remus at all."

Ron shrugged. "This is what we look like here, Harry. Our Remus looked just like me," he replied earnestly. "Although he had a lot more grey hair."

Neville tapped his temple. "Different reality, Harry, different rules. I realize this is a lot to take in, but you're intelligent enough to sort it out correctly. Can we count on you? Please, say yes." He fingered the end of his wand. "Odd, isn't it, that there always seems to be only one correct answer."

Hermione was becoming increasingly agitated. She fidgeted constantly now, her fingers fluttering like birds.

"Damn it, Neville, it's nearly sunrise," she said nervously, her eyes darting to the rapidly brightening bank of windows. "And I haven't fed. Hurry!"

"Everyone in our ranks has more than one weapon in their arsenal. You see what additional skills Ron and Hermione have chosen. I, myself, have taken a slightly darker path. You are a great and powerful wizard, to be sure, but you now have a choice to make. Which one of us shall add to your powers, then?"

Harry's mind whirled. A multitude of universes, filled with doppelgangers? Being ripped from one to another?

He knew now that Neville had explained the situation accurately. This was real, and he'd never go home again. And he couldn't deny the darkness at his core, either. He'd fought against that his entire life as well, keeping it in check, hiding it, ignoring its implications. The burden seemed too much to bear any longer. As Neville had said, his options at this point were extremely limited. Perhaps later, once he had his bearings, he might be able to formulate some kind of plan, but for now...

He stretched out with his Legilimency, attempting to touch Neville's mind, finding nothing but a dark, black wall. He tried Hermione next, but all he got there was a red haze, roiling, angry, malevolent.

Finally, he turned to Ron. There were no barriers to hinder him. Ron's mind allowed him in, welcomed him, actually. He was shocked to see the calmness there, the serenity. Ron's wolf worked in perfect harmony with his psyche, melding with, instead of fighting against it. He saw Ron at the edge of a great dark forest, beckoning, the full moon shining down softly, casting everything in a deep, comforting, blue light. The air smelled fresh and sweet, invigorating. The warm breeze carried Ron's scent to him, all musky and heady. Ron smiled, turning and disappearing between the trees.

Neville chuckled. "Ah, I see we should take our leave, Hermione. Harry has chosen."

Harry blinked, gasping, severing his link with Ron. The werewolf was grinning broadly.

Hermione glared at him, hissing as she Disapparated with a loud pop.

"We shall talk later, Harry. Consider carefully what I have said." Neville leered at him, instantly becoming transparent--as glass. With a bright flash of orange flame, he vanished.

"Fucking show-off," Ron snorted, shaking his shaggy head. "I'm glad you didn't choose him," he finished, hooking a clawed thumb toward where Neville had disappeared.

Harry stood up, rubbing his forehead. "What the hell is he?"

"Oh, some sort of demon. I can never remember which one. The rude, pompous kind, I think."

"Ron, I have to say I'm about to lose it completely."

The huge werewolf stepped next to him.

"I'll bet. For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry. Neville's right, I don't always get what everyone's talking about, but I'm think I can guess what it's like for you."

Harry stared upward. "Why are you protecting me?"

Ron cocked his head in confusion.

"What do you mean? Why...."

"This could be some sort of trick. You know, Neville's the obvious bad guy, and he leaves me here with you, the good guy. It's nothing new. You're probably just trying to pump me for information, or persuade me to join your fight."

"No!" Ron yelped, obviously wounded. "That's not it at all! That's not what I want with...I mean, it's..." He sighed. "You don't trust me."

Harry snorted. "Would you trust me if our positions were reversed?"

Ron thought a moment. "No, I suppose not. But Harry, you can. Trust me, that is. I know you were in my head. You've seen. You wouldn't have picked me if you didn't..."

He paused before continuing, his voice a near whisper. "I've missed you."

Harry didn't need Legilimency to ascertain Ron's true feelings. The emotions were plainly evident on the werewolf's whiskered face.

"But you know I'm not your Harry."

"I know."

"You were together here, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yes, ever since third year. Part of me understands that you're not him, but the other part says you're exactly the same. The way you feel, the way you smell...."

Harry paused, staring at Ron, letting it all sink in. He'd been denying the obvious concern and affection the werewolf had been showing him since his arrival. He finally realised that Neville's 'cut from the same cloth' theory wasn't absolute; there were exceptions.

His Ron had willingly given himself to the Dark, to the evil foulness of Voldemort. But this werewolf, this Ron, was different: he had grown up in a savage universe, lived in it all his life, and yet, he had instantly protected and cared about someone who he hadn't known a day earlier.

Granted, he resembled Ron's lost love almost perfectly.

Still, he needed an ally.

"Sorry," Harry offered wryly. "After that Heat Hex, I could use a bath."

"That's not what I meant," Ron chuckled for the first time. "Your scent, you know? And that's another way you're just like him. You make me laugh. At least you did...."

"Before I went evil, right?"

"Yeah, right. I know this is all strange, but I can't help being drawn to you. I know it might take some time, but I'll prove that you can trust me."

Ron slowly stepped closer, hugging Harry firmly but gently. The werewolf sighed mournfully. An instant later, he tensed abruptly, suddenly releasing his embrace and taking a step backwards.

His large, amber eyes were wide.

"Oh, god, I never thought to ask...I mean I just assumed...I know what you saw in my head, but...Oh, shit, I'm sorry, you might not even be into blokes...or werewolves! Shit, shit, shit!"

Harry tried to contain his giggles, but they just poured out of him. The sight of the huge, powerful werewolf looking so distraught was intensely funny.

"No worries. I'm queer," he choked out between chuckles. "And I've never given it much thought, but so far, I don't mind what I see of werewolves here."

Ron smiled. "Whew, that's a relief. I mean, not that you'd want me...shit, you might not even like your Ron...is he a lycan or a vamp?" he finished, suddenly nervous again.

"It's okay. Ron and I were very close, but nothing more than that. I'd liked it to have been more, but my Ron didn't fancy blokes. Actually, he fancied Hermione. And it's not common for us to, um, become vampires or werewolves, so he was just a wizard."

Ron blinked. "Was? Is he dead?"

"No, no. He...uh....he went over to Voldemort's side near the end of our War. He's in Azkaban. Wizarding prison. Do you have that here?"

Ron nodded. "We have an Azkaban, but it's not a prison. It's Dumbledore's stronghold."

Harry whistled. "That's fitting, I suppose."

"What about your Ron's brothers? His family?"

"All gone. And Sirius, McGonagall, Hagrid, Seamus. Hermione and Neville, too. Just about everyone I ever cared about. Riddle saw to that. We won our War, but..."

Ron stepped in, his expression grim.

"Sorry. I didn't know."

"No way you could. They're all gone now, and there's nothing I can do about it. But to go on." Harry forced a thin smile. "Don't give it another thought, Ron. It's sorted."

"Sure, sure," he nodded. After a few moments, the werewolf scrunched up his face. "Ewww. There's no way I'd ever touch Hermione with Neville's dick. She's a skank, through and through."

Harry nodded slightly. "Okay...."

"She was different for you?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, she was. 'Mione was a brilliant witch. And a great friend. She never gave up. Never."

"Sorry."

"What's done is done."

Ron shrugged again. "I didn't mean to insult your friend. Here, we just don't get along. Never have. She was upset I chose to become a lycan instead of a vampire. And you could tell she was pissed off when you did the same."

Harry took a deep breath, eager to change the subject. "So, what happens now?"

"You heard demon-boy. I've got to give you the Gift. If I don't, he'll most likely kill both of us."

"Nice."

"Just the way it is here, Harry. It's really not like this where you come from? Sometimes it's hard to know what to believe where Neville's concerned."

"No, it's definitely different where I come from."

Harry paced to and fro for a few minutes, his brain suddenly unable to formulate cogent thought. He stopped finally, leaning on the mantelpiece. A moment later, he felt a heavy paw on his shoulder.

"It's really not so bad," Ron offered warmly. "And just wait until the Three Days of The Moon. It's awesome."

He felt Ron's hand squeeze him gently.

"I won't lie. It's going to hurt. Are you ready?"

Harry turned around, rubbing his eyes fitfully. "Not like I have a choice..."

Ron looked away. "No, I suppose not."

Harry took a deep breath. "Do it, then."

Ron closed his eyes, shaking out his massive arms and gently stretching his neck, his head moving slowly from side to side. Taking a deep breath, his eyes snapped open. He snarled deeply, showing his glistening fangs. His hand clamped tightly on Harry's shoulder, holding him still. With his other hand, he ripped off Harry's shirt and tossed it away. Roughly pushing Harry's head to one side, Ron pulled the slightly panicked wizard to him. Harry struggled, attempting to turn his head back in order to see what was happening. With a deep, guttural growl, Ron sank his teeth into Harry's shoulder, jerking his mouth back and forth as his jaws clamped down.

Harry screamed then, closing his eyes as Ron lifted him off the floor as if he was a doll. Ron pulled him into a tight embrace, thrusting his fangs further into Harry's flesh and muscle, scraping against bone.

Harry's scream evaporated into a wheezing gasp, his feet dangling nearly a foot off the floor as Ron continued his assault. The pain from the bite was excruciating, but nothing compared to the searing heat that now was burning into every molecule of his body. Ron's grip was like a vice, crushing the air from his heaving lungs. He kicked and scratched with all his flagging strength. His head throbbed, every beat of his heart pushing him across a new threshold in pain.

And suddenly, it was all gone.

The roaring in his ears faded, and then it was only Ron holding him tightly. He no longer minded the werewolf's long fangs buried deeply in his flesh; in fact, he welcomed them, enjoying the sensation of having Ron so firmly implanted within him. Ron's fur felt soft and warm against his bare skin, and he brought his arms up in an attempt to hug those impossibly broad shoulders.

And he was hard. Very hard. He buried his head against Ron's chest, slowly grinding his throbbing erection into Ron's waist.

In his mind's eye, he saw the dark forest once more, quiet, serene, ready for him. The pale moon hung lazily above the treetops, casting her life-light upon him. Ron smiled from just inside the trees, bathed in her soft, blue light.

Ron jumped then, jolting him out of the vision.

Harry was gasping now, nearing release, rapidly thrusting his arousal into the shuddering werewolf. He came an instant later, Ron ripping his fangs out simultaneously.

They both moaned as Harry slumped, blood pouring from his shredded shoulder. Ron swiftly but gently lowered him to the squishy sofa. Harry looked over at Ron, his vision blurring, his head faint. He watched Ron morph smoothly into his human form, his brow furrowed in concentration. Harry gazed down at the bloody mess that was his shoulder, Ron's hands hovering slowly over the wound as he chanted non-stop. After a few moments, he could feel his limbs again. His vision cleared, and the pain in his head was gone. Glancing down, he watched as the rapidly caking blood disappeared. The jagged flesh around the huge bite holes steadily knitted together, forming fresh, red scars. He reached up to touch them with hesitant fingers; there was no pain.

He was completely healed.

He chuckled as Ron opened his eyes, their brilliant blue as bright as ever.

"Sorry about that," he smirked sheepishly. "You sort of have to work yourself up into a frenzy to pass the Gift. It's just the way it's done."

"Sure, sure, I understand," Harry replied, suddenly sleepy. "It really wasn't that bad. Actually, I sort of liked it."

Ron actually blushed, his scar flushing bright red. "Yeah, I could tell."

Harry smiled in response, pressing back into the cushions. "Did it take? Am I a...a.."

"Werewolf?" Ron nodded. "Oh, yeah, it took all right. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell it. You belong to the moon now; you're one of hers, just like me. You'll sleep. Your wolf needs time get used to you."

Ron moved away into the shadows. Harry simply sat there, tired but strangely comfortable. It had been quite a day. If anyone had told him that he'd end up in some strange, alternate reality, as a recently turned werewolf, no less, he'd have Stupefied and Apparated them to St. Mungo's on the spot.

"Bollocks," he murmured.

"What was that?" Ron was standing over him, holding out a black t-shirt.

"Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself."

Ron nodded slightly. "Here," he said, tossing Harry the shirt. "I think it will fit."

Harry flipped it open, reading the garish, blood red graphics.

"Red Dawn?"

"Muggle band. Your...um, his favourite."

"Oh." Harry shrugged into it, leaning back into the cushions. The t-shirt fit perfectly.

"Thanks, Ron."

"No problem. There's more clothes if you need them. They're packed away in the storeroom," he replied softly, hooking his thumb over his shoulder. "I ...just couldn't bring myself throw them in the dust bin."

"Sure. Looks like I'll be needing something else to wear, anyway," Harry agreed, a tiny yawn escaping from him. "I'm knackered. Just wake me up when I'm hairy."

There was a tiny pause before they both broke out in the giggles.

"But wait," Harry sniggered, "I'm already Harry!"

"And you'll be hairy, too, Harry!" Ron laughed, clutching at his sides and flopping down on the sofa.

The laughed themselves out, staring at the dying fire in silence. Pale, grey light filtered feebly into the sitting room. The rain had stopped.

"How are you doing?" Ron asked softly.

"Fine, I guess. Tired. I feel tingly all over."

"Yeah."

"Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you do if you were me? In my situation, I mean."

Ron thought for a moment before shaking his head.

"I really don't know. Like Neville said, I'm not that sharp."

"He's an arse. And don't speak that way about yourself. Compared to the other two, you're considerate and kind, and a fantastic Healer, as well. Don't sell yourself short."

Ron stared at him, his eyes far away. An instant later, he returned to himself.

"He used to say the same thing. Before it all went pear-shaped."

"There you go, then," Harry replied, giving Ron's shoulder a playful punch.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Will it really be so bad if you had to stay here?"

"I don't think it's up to me. I'm stuck."

Ron huffed. "Well, even if Neville could send you back, he wouldn't. It's not his style. Besides, I saw how difficult it was to bring you here. They barely managed it." He paused a moment, leaning in close. "So?"

Harry sighed. "I'll miss Remus, that's for sure, and a few others. And my Firebolt, I suppose. Other than that, there isn't much waiting for me back there."

"I'll do what I can to help. Count on it," Ron replied firmly.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Harry?"

"What, Ron?"

"I was thinking. All that talk about you, the darkness you have inside. If you have to tap into it, let it out, won't that...won't you..."

"Won't I become like your Harry was? Evil?"

Ron nodded, staring at his lap. When he looked up again, his eyes were puffy. Harry paused, rubbing his temples as he formulated a response.

"I honestly don't know what will happen," he replied tiredly. "Even if I had my wand, I don't think I could best Neville. Was he always this powerful?"

"No, no he wasn't," Ron answered softly, sniffling. "I can remember when it happened, though, when he changed. It was right after Sirius was killed. He went out on his own. When he came back after a few days, he was different. Like he is now. Some say it was because he chose to become a demon host. But after hearing him tonight, and what he's let slip before..."

"You think he tapped into his Dark core?"

"Yeah."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

"So Neville embraced his Dark side in order to defeat Dumbledore. But it didn't work, did it?"

"No." Ron murmured. "It didn't."

"Tell me what happened, Ron."

The werewolf took a deep, shuddering breath. "Neville became very strong, that's for sure. Tom was pleased and excited at the time. We planned a big offensive. Most of us engaged in an attack on what was left of Hogwarts as a diversionary tactic. Dumbledore has a large garrison there. An elite force of our best and strongest went for Azkaban. Tom, Neville, Snape, Lucius, the LeStranges, a few others." He paused, staring into the dying fire.

"Everything went according to plan. Neville and the others broke through to Dumbledore's sanctuary. But the old bastard was ready for them. He knew the entire plan. It was a trap. He and...and..."

"Your Harry?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Dumbledore and Harry killed them all. Except for Neville and Tom. They barely made it out alive. Tom hasn't been the same since. Wasting Curse."

"Wow," Harry commented softly. "So Neville's in charge now, and he's convinced that if I embrace my Dark core, together we can defeat your Dumbledore."

Ron nodded, staring at his lap again.

"But there's one thing I'm still missing. Who killed your Harry then?"

Ron closed his eyes. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Neville."

Harry slumped into the cushions. "I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to stir all this up."

"As you say, it's sorted," Ron replied flatly. "Tom hoped Neville's new strengths would be enough to take both of them down. In the end, Tom sacrificed himself, shielding Neville from Dumbledore, so that...so that..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Harry replied softly, shaking his head. "Neville's already killed me once, so to speak..."

"And he'll do it again if he has to. He's dangerous Harry. And desperate."

"We'll have to be careful, then, won't we?"

Ron's head snapped up.

Harry flashed him his best smile. The werewolf only managed a crooked grin.

"Yeah."

They sat for a few awhile longer, the fire dying down to embers. Harry's yawns became continuous.

Ron patted his knee hoisting himself up. "C'mon. Can't sleep here."

Harry nodded, groaning as he stood up stiffly, surprised at how tired he had suddenly become. Despite the heaviness in his head, his senses seemed terribly sharp, clear. He could smell things, hear things, see things that he hadn't noticed before.

Ron smiled. "Your wolf is already hard at work."

Harry frowned. Ron still towered over him. "But..."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Blimey, it takes time, Harry. Usually a month or so. You honestly didn't expect to, like, grow all at once did you?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, yeah, actually."

The werewolf shook his head, grinning. "You never were very patient ...oh...."

"Forget it, Ron, really. We'd better just get used to reminding each other of our other selves." He made a face. "Like that makes any sense. Just point me to the bed. Or cot. Or an out-of-the-way spot of floor."

"This way, then. We've got an extra room. More for supplies, but there's plenty of blankets..." he paused, Harry's green eyes boring into him. "What is it?"

"I was hoping that I could sleep with you," Harry replied evenly.

Ron blinked. "Seriously? You want to?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. We might as well get used to each other, since we'll be working so closely. It's always something I've wanted to do anyway, Ron."

"But..."

Harry made a rude noise. "Bugger all that alternate reality crap. You're Ron Weasley, and that's good enough for me. And if I ever do find a way back, I wouldn't leave without taking you with me."

Ron whooped loudly, reaching over and clamping his hands on Harry's shoulders.

"Brilliant! Together, we're going to kick Dumbledore's arse!"



~fin~