76 A Chance Encounter

Harry rose slowly from the couch in the Hall’s living room, the weight of his words still hanging in the air. Mr. and Mrs. Hall sat across from him, their hands clasped tightly together, grief etched into every line on their faces. He had just finished recounting the fate of their son and how AIM had used him.

“It’s not easy to hear,” Mr. Hall said. “But thank you, son. James always spoke highly of you. To know you went beyond your call of duty to find out what happened to him… it means more than you’ll ever know.”

Harry nodded. He extended his hand, and Mr. Hall clasped it firmly, his grip betraying his pain that he held inside him. “It’s the least I could do,” Harry replied. “James was a good man, and he deserved more than he got.”

Mrs. Hall stood as well, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You gave us something we didn’t think we’d get,” she said softly. “Answers. Closure.”

Harry gave a small, solemn smile. “If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.” He handed them a card with his contact information. It was his way of keeping the door open, ensuring that those left behind didn’t feel forgotten.

Bidding his goodbyes, Harry stepped outside into the crisp air of Cambridge. He took a deep breath, his chest heavy after the heavy conversation. This wasn’t his first time reaching out to the family of his lost comrades, and it wouldn’t be the last. But the weight of these conversations would never lighten for him. He didn’t see it as an obligation but as a duty to honor those who had fallen.

He paused on the cobblestone street, glancing back at the modest home he’d just left. For a moment, he allowed himself to linger in the quiet, letting the sounds of the bustling city ground him. He thought of Natasha, of how she’d remind him to let go of the weight he carried before it crushed him. But letting go had never been his strong suit.

As Harry made his way down Chesterton Road, a flash of red hair caught his attention. He paused, his gaze narrowing on a tall, thin, and gangly young man walking briskly on the opposite side of the street. The hair was unmistakably vibrant red that practically glowed in the afternoon light.

“It couldn’t be.” Harry’s chest tightened with a mix of disbelief and wariness. That color, that lanky frame, the slightly hunched gait. No matter where he was in the universe, he'd know those mannerisms anywhere. But it wasn’t possible. Not here. Not in this world.

Still, curiosity prickled at the edges of his skepticism. Harry crossed the street, weaving through pedestrians as he kept the red-haired man in his sights. The young man moved with nervous energy, glancing at his phone every few steps, his fingers twitching as though tempted to type something but unsure how to begin.

The stranger ducked into a pub called The Old Spring. Harry hesitated outside for a beat, debating whether to follow. Rationality told him it was a coincidence, but instinct whispered otherwise. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, stepping into the warm, bustling atmosphere of the pub. The comforting scent of malt and aged wood greeted him. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on the red-haired man seated at the bar, fidgeting with his phone.

Harry’s feet carried him toward the bar almost on autopilot, but his heart hammered with every step. It had been a long time since he'd felt this way. Maybe the last time had been when he was asking Natasha to meet his adoptive parents in Hereford.

He slid onto the stool beside the red-haired man. His movements were stiff, as if trying to convince himself this was just a casual stop for a drink. The bartender approached, and Harry cleared his throat, barely managing to keep his voice steady.

“Pint of Guinness, please.”

As the bartender moved away, Harry stared straight ahead, the amber glow of the bar lights refracting off rows of bottles. He didn’t dare look to his side. What if he was wrong? What if he wasn’t?

The emotions churned within him: surprise, confusion, disbelief, happiness, shock, elation, fear. So much at once that even his Occlumency struggled to keep him steady. His mental defenses wavered under the sheer force of it all.

The weight of unspoken questions pressed heavily on his chest. Was this a trick of fate, or just his imagination playing cruel games? Harry clenched his fists under the bar, grounding himself in the feel of the smooth wood grain beneath his fingers.

All he had to do was turn his head—just a small movement—but it felt like the hardest thing in the world. So instead, he sat there, caught between courage and doubt, sipping at the frothy pint placed in front of him, hoping the bitter taste would steady his nerves.

“I've found that a shot of liquid luck generally helps settle the nerves,” Harry said, forcing a casual tone. His humor masking the turmoil roiling beneath the surface.

The young man blinked, momentarily startled. “Huh?” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t catch that.”

Harry’s breath hitched at the familiar voice. His heart pounded in his chest, and it took every ounce of willpower not to let the flood of emotions show on his face.

“I said,” Harry repeated carefully, “I’ve found that a shot of liquid luck generally helps settle the nerves.”

With that, he turned on his barstool, finally facing the stranger head-on. And there he was—Ronald Bilius Weasley. The same freckled face, the same warm blue eyes, though perhaps without the wear of their year on the run etched into them.

It took every bit of Harry’s Occlumency training not to lose control right then and there. His chest constricted painfully as a wave of emotions crashed over him: joy, disbelief, longing, and grief all tangled together in a chaotic mess. His hands clenched beneath the bar, fingers digging into his palms to keep from trembling.

The urge to leap from his chair and pull the man into a crushing hug was overwhelming. So was the temptation to simply break down right there. But Harry held fast, anchoring himself in the present.

Ron stared at Harry, his brow furrowing as he studied his face. “Have we met before? You seem, oddly familiar.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, but he quickly masked the flicker of emotion with a wry smile. “Not in this lifetime, I think,” he said honestly.

Ron blinked, then chuckled at the odd response. “Fair enough. I meet a lot of people, but you definitely have one of those faces, I guess.” He shrugged, shaking off the nagging sense of déjà vu. “So, this liquid luck you mentioned,” Ron continued with a nervous grin. “Think I can get a jug of it? I’m probably going to need all the luck I can get to survive today.” He let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

Harry smirked, the memory of his sixth year when he had faked adding Felix Felicis to Ron’s goblet, boosting his confidence enough to ace that Quidditch match. “I was actually referring to a shot of vodka or tequila,” Harry replied with a playful wink.

Ron snorted, his laughter loud and genuine. “Ah! Now that’s something I can get behind.”

“I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.” He extended his hand with a nervous smile.

Harry's heart skipped a beat at hearing the name spoken aloud. Despite everything, he managed a steady response as he shook Ron's hand firmly. “Harry Potter.”

There was a flicker of familiarity in Ron’s expression, like a thought just out of reach, but he brushed it aside.

“So,” Harry said, forcing a light tone, “what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Ron let out a sheepish laugh, but the anxiety crept back into his features. “Umm...” He stammered, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s just... I’m here for a date. First time we’re meeting in person, and—well, she’s this ultra-intelligent maths Ph.D. student at Cambridge University.” He sighed heavily. “I feel completely inadequate.”

Harry furrowed his brow. ‘It couldn’t be, could it’

“How’d you meet her?” Harry asked carefully.

“Well,” Ron said, shifting in his seat, “my sister convinced me to try out this dating app, right? Figured it’d be a laugh, but then she swiped right. We started chatting, and we just... clicked, you know? Been talking for about a year now. I live in London, helping my brothers run their shop, and she’s been too busy with her research to come down. So I thought—why not take the plunge and meet her here? But now...” He grimaced. “I’m having serious cold feet.”

Harry fought to keep his expression neutral. The odds were too wild to ignore.

“I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, though,” Ron continued with a self-deprecating laugh. “You must think I’m a total loser.”

Harry smiled. Some things truly never change, no matter the universe. Ron Weasley seemed destined to wrestle with confidence issues. And yet, there was an endearing sincerity about him that drew people in.

“Mate, relax,” Harry reassured him. “Take a deep breath. Let it out. You’re probably a better bloke than you give yourself credit for. And making a trip this long just for a couple of hours on a date? That already says a lot about the kind of guy you are.”

Ron exhaled shakily but managed a small, appreciative smile. “Cheers, mate. But... I dunno, I’m still bricking it here. Got any tips for not making a fool of myself?”

Harry leaned forward with a smile. “Alright, here’s the thing—just listen. I know that sounds basic, but sometimes girls just want to talk. They don’t always want your opinion, they just want to know someone’s paying attention. So pay attention. If something confuses you, don’t be afraid to ask for clarification. It shows you care.”

Ron nodded slowly, absorbing the advice. “Right. Listen more, talk less. Got it.”

“And most importantly,” Harry added, “just be yourself. Don’t try to act cooler or smarter or whatever. If you put on an act, you’ll just end up disappointing her when you drop it later. Be honest. If she doesn’t like your personality? Well, then she’s not the right girl for you.”

Ron blinked, then broke into a genuine smile. “That actually makes sense.”

“You’re alright, Harry Potter,” Ron said warmly. “Feels like I’ve known you forever, though I can’t explain why.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he kept his tone light. “Must just be my winning charm.”

Ron chuckled. “Yeah, must be.”

“Here,” Harry said with a grin, waving down the bartender. “Let me get you a shot before your girl shows up.”

“Cheers, mate. I could use it,” Ron said, visibly relaxing.

Harry ordered two shots of tequila, handing one to Ron. “To surviving first dates,” Harry toasted.

“To not make a complete fool of myself,” Ron added with a chuckle.

They clinked their glasses and downed the shots, grimacing slightly at the burn.

“So,” Harry said, settling in more comfortably, “what’s life like for you? Any siblings?”

“Seven” Ron confessed. “I am the second youngest”

Harry smiled, learning about the similarity “Seven siblings, huh? Bet that was chaotic.”

Ron laughed. “Chaotic doesn’t even cover it, mate. Imagine sharing everything—bathrooms, food, air. My mum’s a saint for not losing her mind. Dad’s a bit mad himself, though. Always tinkering with old gadgets. Got this weird obsession with vintage cars.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a smile. Sounds about right.

“What do you do for work?” Harry asked.

“I help my brothers at their joke shop—Weasley’s Wacky Wonders. We’re based in London. Started off small, but it’s picking up now. Fred and George are geniuses when it comes to pranks and gags.”

Harry smiled, knowing that Fred and George were still the fun-loving pranksters. “Must be a blast working with them.”

“Yeah, never a dull moment, except when I am the test subject for their new inventions” Ron said with a grin. “What about you? What do you do?”

Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, then went with the simplest version of the truth. “Retired British Special Forces, now I am a Security consultant.”

Ron nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Bet you’ve got some wild stories.”

Harry smirked. “You could say that.”

As Ron launched into a story about one of Fred and George’s latest prank creations, Harry found himself marveling at the uncanny similarities between this Ron and the one he knew. The only difference was the absence of magic. Harry couldn’t help but think maybe some things were just universal.

After about an hour of easy conversation and shared laughs, Ron's phone buzzed on the bar top. He snatched it up quickly, nerves creeping back into his voice. "Hi, yeah, I’m here. At the pub now,” he said, his eyes darting toward the entrance.

Harry followed Ron’s gaze and froze.

There, standing near the doorway, was Hermione Granger or rather, this universe’s version of Hermione. She was slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed from the cold, her wild curls spilling over a striking red turtleneck layered beneath a tailored black coat. She paired the ensemble with a black skirt and knee-high boots, unknowingly decked out in Gryffindor colors, Harry noted with a pang of nostalgia.

She scanned the pub until her gaze landed on Ron, who waved at her eagerly. A warm smile broke across her face as she waved back and hurried over.

Harry's breath caught in his throat. It was her—different, yet unmistakable. A part of him wanted to rush over, to hear her voice and see if she was still the brilliant, compassionate person he knew. But he forced himself to stay rooted to his seat.

Ron stood up, grinning despite his nerves, and went to greet her. They exchanged a few words that Harry couldn’t hear before finding a table nearby.

Harry kept an eye on them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he watched them settle in, their conversation flowing easily. There was a tentative charm to the way Ron leaned in, clearly hanging on her every word, while Hermione gestured animatedly as she spoke.

A wave of bittersweet happiness washed over Harry. Even in a world without magic, without the trials and triumphs they had shared, Ron and Hermione had still found each other.

And that was enough to make his heart feel a little lighter.

“There you are,” Natasha's voice cut through the pub’s ambient chatter, drawing Harry’s attention from Ron and Hermione.

Harry turned to see her striding toward him, worry etched into her features. Even dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted leather jacket, Natasha Romanoff commanded attention wherever she went.

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?” she asked as she reached him, her gaze flicking over his face as if scanning for injuries.

Harry blinked, suddenly aware of the weight of his phone in his pocket. He pulled it out, grimacing at the sight of multiple missed calls and unread texts. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. The phone was on silent. Lost track of time.”

Her expression softened. “That’s rare for you. You told me you'd meet me right after talking to James’ parents.”

“I know. My bad,” Harry admitted.

Natasha sighed, the worry fading from her eyes as she leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Glad you’re okay.”

She slid onto the barstool next to him and eyed his half-finished pint of Guinness. With a smirk, she lifted it for a sip, only to recoil slightly. “Why is this warm? How long has this been sitting here?”

Harry chuckled. “Long enough, I guess.”

Wrinkling her nose, Natasha flagged down the bartender. “Take this sad excuse for a drink back and bring us two fresh ones, please.”

The bartender nodded, and Natasha turned back to Harry, her eyes narrowing playfully. “So, what was so fascinating that you went radio silent?”

Harry nudged Natasha’s arm and subtly gestured toward Ron and Hermione, who were now laughing nervously, clearly still navigating the awkwardness of a first date.

Natasha’s eyes instantly picked up on the dynamic. “First date?” she observed with a knowing smirk. “Cute.” She quirked an eyebrow at Harry. “You jealous we skipped that whole nervous phase?”

Harry chuckled. “Not exactly.” He paused, before continuing. “That’s Ron and Hermione.”

Natasha blinked, confused. “Wait, your Ron and Hermione from your universe?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not my Ron and Hermione. This universe’s version.”

Natasha froze mid-sip of her freshly poured Guinness, then did a full spit take. “What?” she coughed. “How is that even possible?”

“I talked to Ron earlier,” Harry explained, “and he doesn’t recognize me. No magic, no Hogwarts. He’s just a regular Muggle. But get this, he grew up with seven siblings and works at a joke shop his brothers own. Sound familiar?”

Natasha’s eyes widened. “That’s wild. And Hermione?”

“A mathematics Ph.D. student here at Cambridge.”

Natasha let out a low whistle. “She must be smart.”

Harry grinned. “She always loved Arithmancy back at Hogwarts.”

Natasha tilted her head, still processing. “So even without magic, they’re still them in a weird way.”

Harry nodded, his voice soft. “It’s comforting, in a way. To know that some connections are just meant to happen, no matter the universe.”

Natasha rested a hand on his arm, her teasing tone giving way to understanding. “I get it. That’s pretty special.”

Harry’s smile widened. “Some things are just meant to be, I guess.”

Harry’s smile grew as he observed the easy rapport now blossoming between Ron and Hermione. They laughed more freely, the earlier nervousness melting away. It was clear the date had taken a promising turn.

“They’re hitting it off,” Natasha remarked with a grin, nudging Harry’s arm. Before Harry could respond, Ron and Hermione stood from their seats and made their way toward them.

“Mate,” Ron said warmly, clapping Harry on the shoulder before pulling him into a tight, unexpected hug. Harry stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the familiarity, then relaxed into it.

“Thanks for the advice,” Ron continued, his face glowing with gratitude. “Hermione, here’s offered to show me around the city, so we’re heading off. I just wanted to say goodbye and let you know I really appreciate the help.”

Hermione cleared her throat, causing  Ron to remember his manners. He sheepishly straightened up. "Right, sorry," Ron muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "This is, uh..." He blinked awkwardly at Harry, clearly blanking on his name.

"Harry," Harry supplied with a good-natured grin, saving Ron from further embarrassment.

"Yeah, Harry," Ron echoed quickly, trying to cover up the lapse.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized Harry, her lips pressing into a thoughtful line. There was a flicker of recognition in her expression, though she seemed unable to pin it down. Her gaze flicked over his face, studying every detail like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

"Have we met before?" she asked curiously. "You seem awfully familiar."

Harry's smile turned wistful. "Not in this lifetime," he replied.

Hermione's brow quirked at the odd response, but a small smirk tugged at her lips. "Interesting answer."

Ron chuckled nervously. "He seems awfully familiar, doesn’t he? I had the same reaction as you did when I first met him."

Harry could tell she had questions about him. So, he cut her off before she could shift her focus from the date to solving the puzzle he presented. "Natalie and I should be off. Best of luck on your date. It was nice meeting you, Ron and Hermione," Harry said warmly. "I hope the two of you enjoy your day out in Cambridge."

Ron flushed bright red, scratching his neck awkwardly, while Hermione’s cheeks turned a soft pink.

"Thanks, mate," Ron managed with a sheepish grin. Hermione nodded with a smile, though Harry caught the lingering analytical gleam in her eyes as they walked off together.

Harry watched them until they disappeared into the bustling street as a nostalgic smile crept onto his face. "Nice to see them find each other, even in this universe. I hope everything works out for them."

Natasha squeezed his hand gently. "Come on," she said softly. "We need to head to London. Phil called, he's got a situation and needs your help."

Harry nodded. "All right, let's go, but can we do that tomorrow. Let's visit Charles and Dorea today, and then we'll go to London tomorrow. ” Harry replied, leaving the shadow of his past world for the new one that he had made.