Turn DRARRY

Chapter Twelve

For what feels like a long time, silence hangs between them. Finally, Blaise blinks and says, "Well, much as I love a good yarn, I can't help wondering... why me?"

Harry's lips curl in a weak half smile. "I'm hoping that'll become clear."

"How mysterious," Blaise murmurs, lacing his huge fingers together. "Do press on, then."

Harry pulls in a deep breath, knowing that the questioning the wisdom of his decision to spill the beans is futile now; it's too late to turn back, much as a part of him would like to leap to his feet, barrel into the lift, dash past Kerensa the curious receptionist, and disappear into the drizzle and the crowds. Catching Blaise's intense gaze once more, he gives himself a mental shake.

"Okay. Do you believe in parallel universes?"

Blaise purses his lips and regards Harry steadily. "I believe in the possibility of most things. After all, the things we do without even thinking would seem utterly unfeasible to a Muggle—I don't believe for a moment that we know and understand everything that exists, either. It would be extremely arrogant to assume that a thing doesn't exist unless I personally have seen it." Blaise pauses, glancing pensively out of the window at the slashing rain. "Forgive me, I have been told that I do go on a bit."

Harry laughs softly. "No, don't apologise... I think you're dead right."

"Oh?" Blaise turns searching dark eyes back to him, and his surprise is clear to see.

Lifted, Harry continues. "Yeah. I'm also very relieved that you have such an open mind, because you're probably going to need it." Shifting in his chair, he finds a comfortable position and begins, without a better idea, at the beginning. "Well, here's the thing. About a week before Christmas, I helped an old man across the road..." Harry pauses, noticing the raised eyebrow. "It was dark and the road was icy," he says defensively. "Anyway, after a few too many drinks, I told him a few things about my life... started grumbling about things I wish I'd done differently in the past... like you do, I suppose. When we parted ways, he told me he was going to do me a favour. And... when I woke up the next morning, I was... somewhere else."

"Where?" Blaise demands, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

The combination of his absorption and what Harry has to say next sends his stomach flipping.

"In the place I would've ended up if I'd made a different choice—if I had done that one thing I've always wondered about differently. That one decision changed everything."

"This is pretty thrilling, you know," Blaise advises, grinning. "What was the one thing? You must tell me before I explode."

Harry chews his lip. Apparently, Blaise Zabini is just Blaise Zabini, wherever he might exist.

"You remember the night the Death Eaters got into Hogwarts? The night Draco Malfoy tried to kill Dumbledore?"

"Of course," Blaise says, voice softer now.

Harry swallows dryly. "The place he sent me... none of that happened. None of it happened because the night after Draco and I fought in the bathroom... when I used that horrible spell..." Harry hesitates, cut by the look of horror in Blaise's eyes at the memory, and knowing he deserves it. "It was a terrible thing to do. I know that now. I didn't know what the spell did, not that it's any excuse." Harry exhales slowly, determined not to become tangled up in guilt. "In the glimpse—that's what the old man called it, a chance for me to see what could have been—I went back for Draco. I apologised to him. We talked all night. He went to Dumbledore and brought his family into protection."

"Do you mean to say that Dumbledore lived... in this version of events?" Blaise asks quietly.

"No," Harry almost whispers. "But others did... because of Draco. Because of what he did—because of what I did—because of what Boris did."