"So, mate," Ron said, as they left the Great Hall to go to Charms, "you set to tell me about Hermione, now?"

"Honestly, I'm still not really sure what happened."

"Well, I know about that. Still...."

"She said she wouldn't be my girlfriend if I wouldn't tell her where I've been and who with, and those things." Harry looked at Ron and frowned. "Don't you think that's kind of over-reacting? I mean, I've wandered off a few times. What business of it is hers?"

Ron looked uneasy. "Well, I would say yes, but, Harry...."

"But what?"

"Well, we were talking, and we both knew that the Dursleys were awful to you..."

"And?" Harry asked sharply. If Ron, of all people, dares tell me I'm emotionally incompetent....

"But you never told us about the boot cupboard. Or them telling all the neighbors you were some kind of criminal...."

"You didn't need to know that! What does it matter?"

Ron dropped his gaze to the stone stairs. "Well, we reckon if you're wandering off saying you need time alone, that could mean anything from you need time alone to you hate all of us."

"Ron! Look, I can't imagine not being friends with you. I know we've fought, now and then, but we're always miserable about it, right? And with Hermione, too."

Ron shrugged slightly. "About Hermione -- I haven't seen her all morning. Are you two okay with each other? At all? She was glaring daggers when she came in."

Harry groaned. "Oh, you wouldn't believe how stupid I was! She's probably not speaking to me."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I was talking about ..." Harry hesitated -- "er, Voldemort." Nothing bad happened when he said the name. His scar didn't even twinge. Harry wondered when he had started expecting something bad to happen. Right, he thought. I don't care what Dumbledore says; I'm going back to saying Voldemort. I'll warn him, though, and ask him what the risks are. Today. "Except I wasn't allowed to say that over the summer. And you know how I hate the 'you-know-who' business. So I've mostly been saying 'Tom.' Except last night, I wasn't thinking, and I said..." He ducked his head. "Er, I said 'the Dark Lord.'" Harry could feel his face heating at even quoting the phrase. "She was so angry."

Ron frowned. "I... You've said that before. I remember thinking it was odd."

"I have? Oh, crap. I have no idea when I started that."

"I remember! You said it after you'd given me that potion. 'It's better than being possessed by the Dark Lord.' Does it matter?"

Harry noticed he was pulling his fingers absently through his hair and forced himself to stop. That's it! I'm cutting it. He looked around. They were momentarily clear of the other clusters of students. "It's what the Death Eaters call him, mostly," he answered quietly.

"Oh." Ron looked at the abashed expression on Harry's face and laughed. "Where did you pick that up?" He scowled suddenly. "Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" Harry returned incredulously. "We're barely speaking. Actually, I think he's back to snubbing me. We certainly haven't been chatting about ... him, er, Voldemort. Professor Snape says that, though."

"I wonder why?" Ron said sarcastically. "Anyway, why is Snape talking to you about You-Know-Who?"

"Well, after his -- Tom Riddle's -- first fall, a lot of laws changed. Professor Snape has been talking to me about that. So it's a lot of--" Harry heard footsteps behind them. Other students were drawing near. "Uh.... Later, I think. Someplace more private."

Hermione went up to Gryffindor after classes. She planned to go to her room to exchange her books, then go to the library. Harry was waiting for her in the common room. He walked over to intercept her and stopped in front of her.

"Excuse me, please," Hermione said frostily.

"I just wanted to tell you something."

She stared back at him, trying to look as aloof as he did. After a few seconds, he took this as permission to continue.

"I told Professor Dumbledore that I'm going back to saying Voldemort's name. He says that should be fine, at my current proficiency, as long as I don't forget my exercises, at night."

A trace of hurt showed through at that. Hermione couldn't help but feel sympathetic.

"Good," she said. "I... It's part of you, you know, that you'll say his name."

Harry brightened at this slight sign of approval. "Hermione... when I can tell you what's been happening, if I can explain why I couldn't, could we, perhaps, try again?"

He reached out and took her hands, and despite herself, she smiled.

"Depends on what you tell me, now, doesn't it?" she said tartly. She expected Harry to smile, but he bit his lip apprehensively. Although the observation did not seem to encourage him, he nodded acceptance.

"Can the three of us do something together, this weekend?" he asked quickly. "Ron and I were talking, and I don't think we've been spending enough time all together. You know how bad we can get."

"I was planning more research into the mysterious Augustus Maitland."

"Oh, not that!" Harry dropped her hands. "Snape's sent you on a fool's errand. He just wants to waste your time."

"No. He was annoyed -- and distracted. It meant something to him."

"How about a walk round the lake, instead?"

"We'll see what the weather's like."

"A visit with Hagrid?"

"Perhaps." Hermione shifted uneasily. "Could I ... go upstairs, now?"

"Oh -- of course." Harry hastily stepped to the side. "Later, then."

Hermione continued upstairs, feeling a little more cheerful. At this rate, things should be back to normal with Harry in a week or two. Perhaps, she thought, the way to protect their friendship was to firmly decide they would not date; that seemed to have worked with Ron. It might also lessen his disturbing new arrogance.

In her room, Hermione found Ginny sitting on one of the window seats, waiting for her.

"Ginny?"

"I have your proof," Ginny said. "Come look."

"Ginny," Hermione sighed. "Please...."

"Come look! You told to get evidence, and I did. Here!" Ginny flipped over a pile of photographs. Hermione came closer. On the top one, Harry was in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, leaning back against the staff box and critically watching something ahead of him. Hermione thought the picture must be from the tryouts. As she peered more closely at the photograph, the picture Harry glanced up at her and Ginny. He gave them a sly smile, then went back to surveying the unshown pitch.

Ginny placed the picture carefully on the table. Under it, she placed one of Harry flying, also from this year. Next to that, she placed an older one of him flying. In all, she set out eight pictures on the table, in pairs, each having one current picture, and one from the year before.

"Look," she said. She drew Hermione's attention to two pictures of Harry sitting quietly in the Gryffindor common room. Both were from the front, and both mostly Harry's face. "See the mouth?"

"It looks thinner," Hermione admitted. "But perhaps that's just expression?"

"Wait," Ginny said. "He smiles, now and then." Indeed, as she finished speaking, last week's Harry gave a little smile. Hermione thought it looked rather superior. She looked at the other picture, in which last year's Harry had a slight, absent pout, which, now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen on him recently. He also gave a little smile, which looked charmingly shy.

"It's the relative width of the lower lip, and the curve of the upper one. That's changed. Yes, the overall effect is that his mouth seems thinner. It makes him look more reserved, I think, especially when he's not smiling, or smiling just slightly. If you look at the flying pictures, it's mostly an intense look, but you'll occasionally see a big grin. Those are both different, too. It's partially in the mouth and partially in the cheeks. Look here." Ginny pointed to this or that of Harry's features in the paired pictures as she spoke.

Hermione looked, while Ginny continued to point and compare. The differences were subtle, but they were there, and Ginny was right -- they could not be accounted for by age or weight. The more she looked, the more convinced she became -- she was, indeed, looking at pictures of two different people.

"Oh my god," Hermione murmured. She felt numb. She looked up at Ginny. For the first time, she noticed that the girl, whose voice had been devoid of anything but an artist's enthusiasm for form, looked even worse than the day before. Her eyes were pink, and the lids puffy from crying. "What do you think...."

"I think he died," Ginny said flatly. "I think he died in the Death Eater attack, and they don't dare let anyone know." She swallowed. "Which is right, you know," she continued, her voice very high and tight with tension, "because people would give up hope, but I don't know how I'll ever manage to talk to -- to that boy."

Hermione looked back at the photos. "I wonder who he is?" A thought hit her suddenly, and she swayed.

"He believed all that nonsense about being in love with me ... but no one ever told him he says 'Voldemort' without batting an eye."

The idea was starting to get through her shock. She reached out to the picture of last year's Harry sitting in the common room. "Harry?" Her voice caught. The picture Harry gave a slight, shy smile. "Oh, god."

Ginny's wrapped an arm around her waist. "Would you like me to stay?"

Hermione, unable to speak, nodded.

Hermione stayed up in her room for hours. Ginny wanted her to go to dinner, but she refused, because she would not be able to explain why she kept breaking into tears. Ginny nodded and left. Hermione was surprised when she came back twenty minutes later with food from the kitchens.

After eating, Hermione felt a bit better. It was possible Harry was dead, she thought, but it was also possible he had just been injured and was being hidden someplace safe. She tried to keep herself from thinking of all the other ways such a problem might have been handled with less risk. Perhaps it was a special injury, from an attack that Voldemort could not find out had worked.

She had just tried a spell to make her eyes less red when Lavender Brown came up to the room.

"Ron wants to see you," she said. "Will you come down, or shall I tell him you're sleeping?"

"Is Harry there?" Hermione was embarrassed at how her voice wavered.

"He just left for the library." Lavender gave her a look of deepest sympathy. "Poor dear. Sometimes it's the boys you'd never suspect."

Hermione walked down and met Ron. He surveyed her a moment, then frowned.

"Let go someplace more private," Hermione suggested nervously. "I think we need to talk."

"Are you going to get our work things?" Ron asked, puzzled. Hermione knew he meant the things for the map spell.

"No. I just want to talk."

Ron shrugged. "Let's go, then."

They walked quietly down the first corridor branching off from the stairs. Ron led Hermione from there to a small room with two doors. Several desks were stored there, conveniently blocking parts of the room from view of anyone in either doorway. They settled on the dusty floor behind one such desk. Hermione tried to think what to say.

"I've talked to Harry," Ron volunteered. "I don't think you should be so upset at him."

"That's not it," Hermione answered. She paused, uncertain how to explain the situation so that Ron would listen. Ron was not likely to take Ginny's news well.

"Than what is it?" Ron challenged.

Hermione swallowed. "That's not Harry," she said timidly.

"What?"

"That ... that boy's not Harry. Ginny realized. I wouldn't believe her at --"

"Are you mental?" Ron screamed.

"Ginny had photographs. His mouth is different. That's probably why he looks annoyed, so often. And his face is shaped differently. He looks a lot like Harry, but he's not Harry!"

"You are mental."

Hermione took a deep breath and tried not to take Ron's reaction personally. She had looked much the same way at Ginny. "Look, Ron, I didn't want to believe it either, but when I looked at the photos, I had to agree. Ginny thinks he probably died in the Death Eater attack, and they don't dare let anyone find out. That's why it took so long for--"

"I am not listening to any more of this ..." Ron flailed his arms around as if trying to grab a word from the air -- "codswallop!"

"Codswallop?" Hermione repeated, distantly amused.

"Shit!" Ron shrieked. He scrambled to his feet and stood staring at her for a moment, breathing heavily. "Do you want to finish the map?"

Hermione pulled her legs in tight to her body and tried not to shake. "I don't see any point, now."

"Then send me the parts, and the books and what we've got of the potion. I'll finish it."

"You need someone to help you."

"I'll have Harry help me."

"That's not Harry."

"Just send it over with Ginny, or something." Ron turned to the door, then paused. "No -- Lavender." He opened the door. "Oh, and Hermione?"

"I know. You think I'm mental."

"You're okay as a friend. Don't date anyone else I like."

Ron left, slamming the door behind him so hard that it bounced back open. He stormed off down the hallway.

Hermione spent a while curled up under the desk, trying to cry. It was no use; she had run out of tears in her dormitory. She thought that she would gladly survive the humiliation of being wrong just to have Ron be right, but when she remembered those pictures, she knew he couldn't be. When she finally felt like she could survive the dash through the common room, she climbed to her feet and headed back to Gryffindor.

In her room, she got together the spell books and potions book that she and Ron had been using to make the map, and put next to them the leftover potion and potions components, the parchments, and the special ink. She wondered if she had some sort of bag she could put them in -- not her school bag -- something disposable.

A thought occurred to her, and she went to her trunk. Under her spare robes and dress robes was a black plastic bag with handles, and in that a pair of black leather trousers that had been subtly scenting all her school clothes since the trip to Diagon Alley. Slowly, she took them out and stroked the soft leather. She smiled slightly, remembering Harry as the African prince, his head wrapped in gold -- but that had already not been Harry, she realized. It had been a charming, maddening, half-familiar boy who gossiped and smoked cigarettes and kissed her passionately and without warning.

Trembling, Hermione slipped the leather back into the bag. She set the bag on the floor and added to it the books and parchment, the potions things, and the ink. She then slid the collection under her bed, telling herself she would give it to Ron in the morning.

She was crying again.