Summery: In a world where the Order failed and Voldemort reigns supreme, Hermione concocts a desperate brilliant scheme to reach across dimensions and find a world where Voldemort was defeated and ask for help. And they find such a world, a world where Riddle was vanquished, a utopia where wizards and muggles live together under a benevolent dictatorship and Harold James Potter is the heir apparent of Lords Dumbledore and Grindelwald.

Chapter One: A Cry in the Dark

Ron Weasley limped slowly down the corridor. Every step sent pain shooting up his leg, courtesy of a ricocheting curse. The mediwitches had barely managed to preserve his leg, so he was thankful for any mobility, however painful. He came to a halt, gathering his energy. It was going to be a long and draining night, and he might not be able to run anymore, but they'd needed as many wand wielders as possible to make Hermione's plan work. Even Remus and Charlie were here, the largest gathering of the Order since the failed Azkaban raid three years ago. But despite the increased wizard power…well Ron hadn't felt particularly optimistic in some time now.

Two former Aurors stood on guard outside the classroom. They snapped to attention, albeit sloppily, as Ron approached. Some habits were hard to break. Ron gave them a brief nod of recognition. He made a point of not getting too close to anyone, he'd lost too many people and not just to death either. He entered the classroom slowly and glanced around. The room had been cleared, though chairs lined the walls. He could see Charlie slumped over sleeping. Tonks and Remus didn't look much better, their eyes dark with exhaustion. Her once vibrant hair was dark, and his was filled with more than a hint of grey. The war had not been kind to the Lupins. Ron sank gingerly into a chair and a groan caught in his throat. He hated being this weak. He was meant to stand shoulder to shoulder with Harry and Hermione, not hobble about. No the war hadn't been kind to anyone.

Only Luna seemed to have miraculously stayed the same, staring off dreamily into space. Her wand tucked firmly behind her ear. "Hello Ronald," she said. She tilted her head slightly to peer at him with the same wide eyes as ever. But he'd known her for years now. Could read the weariness in her eyes, perhaps he still would have been fooled but he had heard her crying in the night. He smiled tightly at her but it didn't reach his eyes. It never reached his eyes. Luna nodded in understanding and returned to staring at nothing in particular.

Hermione and Flitwick were hard at work in the center of the room. They had painstakingly drawn a pentagram on the ground. Ron thought he recognized runes for distance, journey, safety, victory and a multitude of others that he didn't know. They were now creating two overlapping Diamonds of Protection, a wise precaution. Even Voldemort would have to pause in the face of two Diamonds, not for long, but anything that could make Voldemort pause, stopped almost everything else in its tracks. They door swung open again and Slughorn and Shacklebolt entered. That just left Harry and Ginny. Ron glanced around the room. Only twenty left of the core of the Order. There used to be so many more. The door swung open a final time to admit Ginny and Harry. They were dirty and tired with burn marks on their face and cloths. Ginny sat gratefully but Harry turned to face the pentagram. He frowned slightly. "Hermione," he asked.

"Almost done," she said without turning. With a swish and flick she finished her protection spell. She glanced down and nodded at the aging Flitwick, who looked as if he wanted to give her 10 points for excellent charms work. Of course she wasn't a student anymore, and wasn't a teacher but it's the thought that counts.

"We're ready," Flitwick said. A murmur went through the Order. Ron could see hope and desperation in their faces. Not everyone was convinced this would work, but everyone knew it had to. They'd been loosing ground steadily since the Ministry had gone into exile. Hermione's plan was the Order's last gasp and everyone knew it. "Positions please." Flitwick smiled wanly. Ron rose slowly, his leg protesting painfully. The others formed a loose circle around the pentagram, just outside the confines of the diamond of protection. Ron took his place at Harry's side and glanced over at Hermione. Hermione nodded. Her feature's softening slightly. Harry gave a boyish grin that he practiced in front of the mirror. Ron smiled back and it almost reached his eyes. The Trio side by side, for a moment everything was as it should be.

"Everyone knows what to do?" Hermione glanced around the circle. They nodded grimly. She let out a deep breath. "Ok let's do this." She drew a dagger and contemplated at it for a moment. Then with a swift motion she sliced open her palms, two shallow cuts. The dagger went around the circle, as one by the Order members followed her example. No one so much as whimpered, and there was barely a flinch among them. This was Voldemort's England; pain was a way of life. Finally the knife came to Ron and he swallowed his disgust. This was old magic, blood magic, practically dark in nature, but it was necessary. And he knew everyone in this room would gladly give up a piece of their soul for the greater good. A moment latter it was done and they all joined hands, a circle of blood. Merlin he hoped this worked. Hermione gave his hand a quick squeeze. He met her eyes. She was desperate, cold, and tired, but she was Hermione and she was beautiful so very beautiful. Ron squeezed her hand back. She smiled grimly and then they began to chant. Ron didn't know the language, didn't know what the guttural sounds meant, but they'd all spent months learning the spell phonetically. Long tedious months, saying them over and over again, until he'd started hearing them in his sleep. Again and again they chanted while their blood mixed, but nothing seemed to happen.

Then the runes began to glow with a strange golden light. Ron could see the surprise written in the other's face, and his heart swelled. Maybe this would work. Just have to keep chanting. On and on the chant went. The pentagram was glowing now, brighter and brighter as it began to spin round and round. The carefully drawn lines began to shift and blur merging with the runes to become a single whirlpool of light. The light swirled inward faster and faster, until suspended in the air at the exact center of the circle was a small compact sphere of light no more than a centimeter in diameter. For a moment it just hung there glowing. Then without warning it exploded outwards. The energy burnt through the first diamond of protection in seconds and stuck the second with a loud bang. The whole room shuddered sending the Order sprawling to the ground, but the protection held and the light subsided.

Ron couldn't help the moan of pain that escaped. He'd landed squarely on his back. Glancing around he saw the others weren't in any better shape. Perhaps three diamonds would have been better. Harry and Hermione both reached down to help him up. He rubbed his leg grimacing. Oh brilliant! He wasn't going to get much sleep tonight was he? The floor was charred. The symbols Hermione and Flitwick had so carefully drawn were burnt into the stone, but that's not what was attracting everyone's attention. There was a man crouched in the center of the scorched pentagram.

It had worked! Ron clutched Hermione's hand tighter. Almost afraid to believe. The figure's face was hidden under a mop of dark hair. Everyone held their breath. Ron could feel the excitement building. Could it be? Suddenly the man's head snapped up and he rose to his feet in a single fluid motion. One moment he was bent over the next he was standing tall. He was dressed elegantly in a green silk shirt and tie. His vest and coat were the purest black inlayed with dark threads of arcane symbols almost unperceivable. He had a rosette pinned to his lapel. The man with a rosette stood deceptively still, but his eyes quickly scanned the room missing nothing.

His eyes! Ron couldn't restrain a gasp of shock. He thought he'd been prepared, but the reality was mind numbing. He could feel Harry tense next to him. They all knew the man's face, knew it as well as their own, if not better. From the scar in shape of lightning, to the emerald eyes ensconced behind silver frames. But there was something wrong, and somehow the familiar features seemed alien. Ron had known Harry for over a decade now, had seen him brooding, angry, vengeful even, but the Man with a Rosette's face was blank, devoid of even the barest hint of emotion. His eyes at last rested upon Harry. Emerald eyes met their twin, and for a moment it seemed as if the universe itself held it's breath. Then the Man with a Rosette tilted his head inquisitively.

"My name is Harold Potter," he said. "Who might you be?"