Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters etc.

Warning: Book 1-6 spoilers

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, and I am sorry for the long wait.

Same but Different

Harry walked down the long dreary corridors, his hand running against the smooth, cold stone that had grown cracked and faded with age. These walls had seen many days and many emotions, and now they saw Harry’s own pain; the pain of belonging to a world that was not his, and being surrounded by people he knew and yet didn’t know. His fingers allowed his sorrow to sink into the stone, giving memory to the ageless walls where even death could not erase. He may not truly be apart of this world, but through his experiences he was leaving his footprints, just as his fingers were leaving marks on the stone around him.

He broke into the pale sun of the courtyard, his eyes drinking in the frosted tips of the castle, and the trees lightly dusted with snow. He could see the other students running and laughing, their happy voices echoing around the chilly grounds as they threw snowballs at each other. This place was full of life, but it was not his home, and the more hours that passed the more he wished he could return to where he was meant to be, to where his memories were safe to live.

Taking a seat on one of the snow-covered benches, Harry stared at the white sprinkled ground with a heavy feeling inside him. After Hermione had healed his bruise and he had foolishly allowed his feelings to get the better of him, Harry had known that he had to get away. Muttering a feeble excuse, he had left the Hospital Wing and made his way down here, leaving a very confused Hermione. It was dangerous for him to get too attached to her; dangerous because she was not the girl he had fallen in love with, no matter how similar they seemed.

“Harry.”

Harry sighed at the sound of the familiar voice and turned his face. He could see Hermione walking towards him a little hesitantly. No doubt she had followed him here. She always did never know when to just quit it, but he could not hold it against her. He should have expected it after all.

“Hermione.” Harry responded with a strained smile.

She stopped in front of him and fidgeted awkwardly with her hands. “Did I offend you before?”

He frowned and looked up at her from where he was sitting, his brow creased in puzzlement. How could she have possibly offended him?

“Why do you say that?”

“Well…” she scratched her face agitatedly and looked down at the ground. “You left so suddenly, and I thought I must have done something. I came here to apologise… I can see that things aren’t going so well for you, and I… well, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Harry said with a suppressed sigh. She of course had no idea why he had left so suddenly, and so naturally she would assume it was her fault. He was the one who had made her uncomfortable by letting his emotions get the better of him though. It was he who should be apologising really. He couldn’t though. How could he say, ‘I’m sorry Hermione, I just happen to be in love with you, but it’s not really you- it’s the girl in the world I’m really from.’ It was ridiculous to even contemplate.

She seemed to notice his sadness and frustration, and sat down next to him. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

He met her gentle gaze and saw the concern shining forth. Her eyes were always so warm, and it was no different now, with the brown becoming almost amber in the softness of her emotions. It made Harry’s heart ache to see that soft glow in her eyes. He had seen it so many times before on the Hermione in his world, but this wasn‘t his Hermione...

Feeling a sudden pang shoot through his heart, Harry turned away so that he would not have to look at her face. It was too painful now; she was just a reminder to what he had lost. Hermione had been everything to him in his world. She had given him hope when all hope had been abandoned; she had let him smile again when there was no reason to smile. She had made each day that little bit brighter, each night that little bit calmer, and she had made him feel an emotion so powerful and intense that even love could not begin to describe it. How, then, could he keep pretending that he did not love her when she was right in front of him? Granted she was not the same as his Hermione, but everything about her was so familiar. So familiar… and yet so different…

Frustrated that he could not express any of this, Harry quickly stood up. “It’s nothing, Hermione,” he said quietly, and started to walk away from her. He didn’t want to look back, in fear of what feelings her expression might cause him, but he couldn’t help himself. He turned his face and met her eyes- those beautiful, honey-brown eyes that seemed to speak to his heart in a language only they could understand. She looked hurt, and he knew it was because of him; because he could not stop his feelings from surfacing with each glance he stole her way.

Tearing his eyes away, he quickly walked ahead, firmly keeping his gaze in front of him so that he would not turn back. He could not turn back.

“Wait!” Hermione called out suddenly. “We have Defence Against the Dark Arts now. I thought I should remind you, since you don’t remember and all.”

He could see her nervousness and awkwardness and forced a smile for her sake. It was not her fault that this had happened after all. She was innocent in these matters, and it was not fair to ignore her because of it.

“Thank you.”

Hermione nodded, but obviously felt too awkward to stay. She walked off back towards the castle, her bushy hair swaying slightly in the gentle breeze. Harry took a deep breath and turned back to look at the grounds. He could see the lake shimmering in the sun, and the old tree that he, Hermione and Ron had used to lean against on lazy afternoons, with the squid keeping them company by the shore. Harry frowned slightly to himself. If this world was supposed to be a sort of gift to him it wasn’t a very nice one. Everything in this world was just a reminder to what he had lost in his own.

Sighing in resignation, Harry realised he’d better head to class. He followed Hermione’s footsteps back to the castle and headed off down the corridor towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. He could see the students all crowding around and pushed past them as nicely as he could before opening the large door. Hermione’s bushy hair was easily spotted amongst the other students in the classroom, and he was not really surprised to see she was sitting in her usual chair.

He glanced around the rest of the room, pausing once they fell on the teacher now conducting his wand to write on the blackboard. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening in disbelief, pain, and longing all in one. This was a man he knew very well, and as he took a step forward to get a closer look at the familiar scruffy hair, thin face, and bright blue eyes, Harry felt his heart give a funny wobble in his chest. It was James Potter, his father.

“Dad?” Harry whispered disbelievingly. Was it possible? His mother was here too, but seeing his father just seemed like falling into a dream all over again. There were no words to describe the mixture of emotions surging in his chest.

“Harry.” James said cheerfully, once he spotted him, giving Harry a jolly slap on the back. “Glad to see you’re up and well. I wanted to go visit you when you woke but I had classes. Your mother popped in though, didn’t she?”

Harry simply nodded his head, not really sure what to say anyway. He had always dreamed of seeing his parents- to have them with him again- but now that they were here with him it wasn’t as nice as he thought it would have been. Maybe if the circumstances were different he might have enjoyed it, but to lose everything that made his life have purpose just to have parents he didn’t even know back? It just didn’t seem as wonderful like it had when he was eleven years old, creeping into secret rooms to gaze at them in the Mirror of Erised.

James grinned, obviously oblivious to the turmoil going on in his son’s head. “Best take a seat, Harry. We’ll be starting class soon.”

Harry nodded again, still feeling a little lost for words. It only seemed natural to sit down next to Hermione, so he did. She was staring at him with that same concerned look she had been wearing before, and Harry suddenly realised he wasn’t doing a very good job in hiding his emotions. Snape had always told Harry he wore his heart on his sleeve, and it seemed he was right because right now Harry was finding it extremely difficult to hide the disbelief and quiet sadness that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hermione whispered as she leaned towards him. The faint floral perfume she wore tickled his senses and made him close his eyes as memories washed over him. She was wearing the same perfume that Hermione wore in his world.

“Jasmine.”

“Huh?” She blinked and stared at him in bewilderment.

“You’re wearing jasmine.” Harry repeated, as he turned his face to look at her. For a moment she just stared at him in confusion, and then a smile broke on her face that seemed to grow with shy happiness, reaching her eyes so that they were smiling too. He could see her face lighting up with the soft, inward glow he had seen many times on the Hermione in his world, and realised with dismay that the glow lighting up her face was more than just surprised pleasure that he knew her perfume. She was falling for him, just as she had fallen for him in his own world; only Harry knew he could not love the Hermione of this world.

“Yes it is jasmine. How did you know?” she asked with faint tinges of pink on her cheeks.

Harry shrugged and was about to give a probably very pitiful reason on why he knew her perfume, when a shadow descended over him.

“Potter, what the hell are you doing?” A female voice demanded.

Harry turned his gaze in relief at the interruption, and saw a rather tall girl with glittering blue eyes. Her long black hair snaked its way down her back, but it was the expression on her face that gave him pause. Her smile lurked with familiar, mocking humour, and the haughty superiority that lingered in her pretty features told Harry all too well who she was.

“Isabelle Black,” Harry said slowly, feeling another wave of mixed feelings settle over him. She was the perfect, female replica of his godfather, and he could tell just by her expression that her personality was no different.

She raised one thinly dark eyebrow. “Don’t you ‘Isabelle Black’ me, Harry- as if you don‘t know me.”

A boy who looked identical to her- but his hair was cut short with a fringe that fell broodingly around his dark eyes- came over towards them. Harry realised that they were twins, and he also noticed that Isabelle Black had the Slytherin crest on her robes, while the boy, who must be William, had the Gryffindor. Obviously this world did not put much in store in terms of house rivalry if both were his friends.

“Why are you sitting over here?” William Black asked, with his handsome features puckering into confusion. “Neville is waiting for us in our usual spot.”

Harry could sense Hermione’s discomfort, noticing the way she was trying fruitlessly to blend into the wall and hide her face behind her book. It suddenly hit him that his ‘friends’ probably disliked Hermione, and realised that was why she got so upset at any mention of them. He stared back at the handsome twins and shook his head. “I’m going to sit here today, I’m sure you three can handle yourselves.”

Isabelle glanced at Hermione with one of her haughty expressions, just itching to say something Harry knew would not be pleasant. Finally she let out a huff and flounced back to where Neville was sitting. William chuckled slightly at his sister’s ruffled departure and gave Harry a small grin that seemed to mirror the rebellious grin his godfather had used to give when he was mocking someone.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s just upset because Draco told her that she looks ridiculous in the new dress she bought.” William glanced at Hermione briefly, but like his sister said nothing. It was clear who the ringleader of the group was, and Harry felt just a little uncomfortable at the thought.

Harry watched his supposed friend walk back to their table and take a seat next to Isabelle and another boy. All three of them continued to talk quite happily, though occasionally they shot curious glances at Harry and Hermione. Harry’s eyes fell on the boy next to Isabelle, whose round face and happy smile could only belong to Neville Longbottom. This boy was different though. He didn’t shy away, or clumsily make his opinion known; he laughed with confidence, and seemed to effortlessly be able to talk to the Black children. Harry knew this was not the same awkward, shy boy from his own world. This Neville had parents that knew him and loved him. In this world there was no dark shadow to quench the happiness of people like Neville Longbottom.

“Neville,” Harry mumbled to himself, feeling the memory come back to him as vividly as the day he had seen it…

Harry walked through the camp, holding tight the bundle wrapped in some frayed robes against his chest. Most of the tents were darkened, their occupants fast asleep from the day’s battle, the sound of their snores lazily drifting through the night to irritate the more alert group of makeshift soldiers. A few people were huddled by feeble campfires, blowing on their hands as the snowy grounds and frosty air chilled their bodies through their clothes. They were still too shaken to sleep from seeing the domino corpses that had fallen one after the other during the battle that even now continued in scattered bursts amongst the body littered plains. Harry had been like those people once: shivering, scared and hollow, as the memories of the battle played over and over in his mind. Now he’d seen too many deaths to join the throng of blankly staring people, or the quivering children who would cry out suddenly in terrified remembrance of the gruesome deaths they had witnessed. He was numb to the sights that played before his eyes, but nothing, not even time, could slow the painful decay of his soul that came with those deaths.

A scraggly old man with a missing arm nodded to Harry in greeting and gestured for him to take a seat by the fire where he was comforting some of the younger children. Harry shook his head and clutched his bundle tighter, knowing that he had no time to waste for chitchat, or even to comfort some of the survivors.

Crunch, crunch went his feet against the bloodstained snow, creating new bloody footsteps to the tent near the trees where he was heading. The dim light glowed out from inside to outline the shadowy figures inside, like an eerie beacon in a misty night. Taking a deep breath, Harry clutched protectively the bundle in his arms and pushed open the flap of the tent, creeping in as quietly as he could. Hermione greeted him with a strained smile and walked quickly over.

“I was beginning to get worried. Did you get it?”

Harry nodded his head and pulled back the robes that he had been holding to reveal a small vial of blue potion. “Ginny snuck it out for me. She said that the healers are refusing to help anyone else unless they are critically essential to the war. They just don’t have the stock anymore.”

“But that’s horrible!” Hermione cried indignantly. “They can’t just determine who deserves to be healed or not.”

Harry said nothing. He wanted to agree with Hermione, but deep down he knew that the healers had done all they could. The war was dragging on, and the poison inflicted by the rogue goblins’ weapons had taken greater effect than they thought it would, leaving people needing to be cured left right and centre. Those who didn’t get healed in time died a horrible death full of nightmares and delusions, their last breaths screaming at insane visions that made all those around shiver in fear, as their hearts tiredly gave up from the panic that constantly coursed through them. It was a frightening experience, and one no one wanted to see, but now that the stocks were running out the nightmarish deaths would happen more and more.

“And who determines who is worth keeping? Are we to be placed in some sort of pecking order?”

“I don’t know, Hermione,” Harry said tiredly, not wanting to think about this now. There were more important things. She went to speak again, but Harry shook his head to silence her and walked over to the bed where the candle was casting a sickly glow on the round-faced boy muttering feverishly to himself. The boy’s terrified eyes were protruding in a ghastly way from his face, wide, and staring at things only he could see. His hair was plastered with sweat to his forehead, and his body was shaking violently as he rocked back and forth, still muttering unintelligible sentences to himself.

“Hey Neville,” Harry mumbled comfortingly, taking a seat next to the bed and gripping the clammy hand that was flailing about wildly. The poison was already sinking in, causing the nightmares to become progressively worse with each passing moment. Harry hoped he was not too late with the antidote. Ginny said that once the nightmares took hold there was not much hope in helping them break from the delusions. If Neville could not be healed now he would be left to die.

“They’re coming,” Neville muttered with wide, staring eyes, and gripped Harry’s hand in a painfully tight grasp. “I can see them!”

Harry watched his school friend’s eyes glimmer with pure terror, his mouth dropping open as he let out a violent scream that pierced the night with sickening clarity. All who were outside would know another mind was being lost to insanity- another victim was being claimed by the poison.

“Hurry, Harry!” Hermione urged desperately. “Give him the antidote.”

Harry tried to restrain the now thrashing boy so he could give the antidote. ‘Help me hold him down! He’s going to knock it out of my hands if he keeps this up.”

Hermione rushed over and held him down, her eyes glimmering with tears as she listened to Neville screaming in gut-wrenching fear. Harry fumbled with the lid on the vial, his hands shaking in nerves. What if it didn’t work?

Suddenly the door to the tent burst open in a flurry of snow, and a wild looking woman came rushing in with blood dripping down her mangled face, reminding Harry of a snarling, rabid dog- the frothy rage bubbling out from her cracked lips.

“Give it to me!” She screamed hysterically.

Harry had no time to think before the woman was leaping at him, her bloody hands scrabbling and scratching to get the vial out of his hand.

“Give me it! It’s mine! I deserve it just as much as everyone else!”

“Hermione, help me!” Harry shouted, while struggling with the crazed woman that was trying to get the potion.

Hermione aimed her wand at the woman, threatening to curse her if she did not release Harry, but the woman was beyond reasoning. Her wild, blood-shot eyes were fixed on the potion, and she would not let go.

“Just curse her!” Harry yelled edgily, trying hard to push the woman off. The woman clawed at his face and screamed curses at him, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how she could possibly be so strong.

“STUPEFY!”

The woman went flying into the air because of the sheer power of Hermione’s spell and crashed hard into the corner of the bed. Something shiny in the air caught Harry’s eyes, and he realised with dismay that she must have grabbed the potion just before Hermione had cursed her. The small blue bottle descended sickeningly fast towards the ground and smashed into a thousand tiny pieces on the table, the precious, blue potion spilling out helplessly onto the cold wood.

“It’s gone,” Hermione moaned, looking just as shattered as the shards of glass on the table. “Harry, it’s gone!”

Neville thrashed wildly in the bed and let out another scream while crying for his parents. Harry closed his eyes and banged his fists against the ground. This was not supposed to happen. They were going to heal him. They were going to cure his madness…

“She must have seen you getting the potion from Ginny and followed you here.”

Harry said nothing. No doubt the woman had seen him talking to Ginny, and had watched the exchange. She’d probably then gone to ask for her own potion and had been denied. Now, thanks to her, no one would be cured this night…

Neville continued to scream and call for his parents, and Hermione began to sob quietly. “Is there nothing we can do?”

Harry remained silent, simply watching his friend- a friend who had always been loyal to him- suffer from the delusions the poison was creating in his mind. He wanted to help Neville. He had tried to help him by getting the potion, but there was no hope now. This boy, the boy who had been the sharer in Harry’s own destiny was dying, and all they could do was watch.

The screams continued, and Hermione and Harry did the only thing they could do for Neville; they stayed with him and comforted him the best they could, but not once did he awake from the delusions he was facing.

When the tent finally fell silent, the candle by the bed was barely clinging to life in its pool of wax. Hermione was leaning against Harry with tears streaming down her cheeks, her hand gripping his tightly. Harry himself stared at the bed with his own tears. There would be no waking for Neville Longbottom in the new dawn. He was gone, and all that remained were the two witnesses left to continue the battle, and the memory of another lost friend.

Tearing his gaze away from the laughing boy, Harry took a deep breath and pushed the memory behind him. That was a past he could not have here. This place did not know of the suffering he had seen, and nor should it have to.

“Why don’t you want to sit with your friends?” Hermione asked suddenly, causing Harry to break from the spell his memories had created.

Harry simply shrugged and leaned back against the chair, trying hard to appear at ease, even though inside he was filled with so much confusion and turmoil. “I don’t feel like it.”

She nodded and said nothing more, for which Harry was grateful. He did not feel like talking anymore, faced with the feelings that always threatened to overwhelm him when he remembered his friends’ deaths. His eyes drifted back to Neville, seeing the smile fixed on the boy’s face, and Harry wondered if that face would ever greet him again from the boy Harry had known in his own world. Would he ever be able to leave this place of replicas and be united with those he loved? Would he always be trapped in this world? And where was the real Harry anyway? It was clear that someone had been living the life of Harry Potter in this world, but there was no sight or sound of him anywhere.

“Harry, why don’t you tell us the best spell to use against a blobergruff?”

Harry blinked, and vaguely realised he was being asked a question. He glanced around the room, seeing all the eyes staring right back at him, and then his gaze fell on his father who was smiling confidently at him.

“I… um… Sorry what was the question?”

Everyone laughed, and Harry felt his ears going red. James smiled slightly and repeated the question for him. In truth Harry had no idea what those creatures were, but he heard Hermione whisper the spell near his ear and repeated that, earning glowing praise from his father.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled to the bushy-haired girl next to him, as his father continued to babble on about the spell.

“It’s okay,” she whispered back with a small smile.

Harry returned the smile, and then glanced back to the blackboard where he started copying the notes on blobergruffs. He discovered that they were a relation to the troll family, and often lived in caves and other dark alcoves, being completely blind in the light. They grew to the height of a full-grown man, and were particularly skilled in hunting their prey, which consisted of any animal, or human, foolish enough to venture into their habitat. The easiest way to deal with them was to simply cast Lumos at their faces, giving the unfortunate witch or wizard time to escape while the blobergruff was blinded.

“Well I think that’s all for today,” James said cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “Remember to finish your essays on discerning a vampire from a human, and enjoy your weekends.”

The students all started filing out of the class, and James quickly made his way over towards Harry’s own table. Wondering what his father could want, Harry placed the last of his books in the bag that his mother had thoughtfully left for him in the Hospital Wing, and then turned to look back at his father.

Hermione looked from one Potter to the next and gripped her bag tighter on her shoulder. “I’ll see you at lunch then, Harry?”

Harry nodded, giving her a small smile as she turned to leave the classroom.

“Is there something you wanted to talk to me about, Dad?” Harry asked, once they were finally alone. It felt weird to say ‘dad’, but to call him James would have been even weirder for Harry.

James nodded his head, bringing his eyes back to his son that had been following Hermione out of the room. “Lily wanted me to talk to you about your”- he coughed awkwardly and rubbed his head- “Your little ‘party’ that you and your friends put on.”

Harry said nothing. For one thing he had no idea what his father was talking about, and really he was just as interested to know what this other ‘Harry’ had been doing. Maybe it would give him a clue on how to find him?

“I can understand why you thought it would be funny to sneak firewhiskey in from Hogsmeade and get drunk with your friends; I can even understand why you thought it would be funny to have a race around the Quidditch Pitch on your brooms.” James paused and rubbed his nose in slight bewilderment. “What I don’t understand is why you then left your group of friends and didn’t turn up again until the Professor found you passed out in the Entrance Hall.”

Harry, who had been feeling just a little surprised at his other self’s behaviour, could only stare at this new revelation. He was the one the professor had found, which meant that the Harry of this world had gone missing the same time he himself had come here.

“What were you thinking, Harry?”

Harry shrugged. Really what else could he do? He didn’t know what this man’s son was thinking when he decided to go off from the group, and Harry himself certainly would not have gotten drunk on school grounds and then tried to go racing while still drunk. Only an idiot would do that.

James sighed and gripped his shoulder. “You’ve got to stop being so reckless, Harry. Your mother is worried sick about you, and I am too. Can’t you try to tone it down a bit? For her sake at least?”

Harry nodded his head.

“Good man.”

Silence fell about them and Harry fidgeted with his hands and looked up at his father. “Can I go then?”

James nodded, and Harry muttered a quick goodbye before leaving the room. He knew what he had to do now. If he could just figure out where the Harry of this world went, he was sure he could get out of this place. The longer he stayed here the more dangerous things would become, especially for Hermione.

A/N: A Blobergruff is a completely made-up creature that I just created on the spot.