Hello!

Thank you for opening my story.

I haven't written anything in about 6 years, so still getting back into it, but I had this particular scene in mind for months and finally decided to write it. Originally just for the scene, but as I wrote it, the rest started coming together and next thing I knew I had a full chapter's worth, so here you go!

This is a time travel fic, the story starts during Hermione's torture during Easter 1998, and will join the marauders Christmas 1976. (I'll try to keep to timelines, but I'm not going to stress over them either if the story doesn't go that way)

I didn't spend too long rehashing the scenes in 1998, as we all know what happens, I just added in where my slight changes happened.

I have a plan for this story (kinda, working on it!) and I hope you enjoy!

Hermione was held at knifepoint.

That's what she could register. That's all she could register. Hermione knew Harry and Ron were there, as well as Dobby and the Malfoys, she knew Bellatrix was speaking, but she could not make out what was being said. All she could register was that she was in pain, every inch of her body was screaming at her. Her arm, where Bellatrix had crudely carved mudblood into it in capital letters, her body, after being hit with the cruciatus curse again and again for who knows how long. And now the pain in her head and at her throat, where Bellatrix was holding her upright by the hair and holding a knife at her throat.

She just wanted it to end. She was in pain in all the ways one could be. Physical pain from her injuries - she's pretty certain Bellatrix broke a rib or two when she sat on her to carve Hermione. Hunger pains, exhaustion, emotional pain from the war itself and the deaths of her parents – as told over Ron's radio, the death-eaters felt like gloating about finding them despite Hermione's efforts to those at Hogwarts.

She just wanted to sleep. She could feel sleep calling her, and she would have followed its calling had Bellatrix not been ripping at her hair.

"Let's see how dirty her blood really is" Bellatrix's voice floated into Hermione's mind as she felt a cut on her throat, just the slightest nudge, but she felt the blood dripping down her throat all the same.

I'm sorry she wanted to say to Ron and Harry, for what she could not say. It's not like this was her fault. But she couldn't help but feel like it was. Hermione was meant to be smart. She was meant to know the answers to everything, including how to avoid being taken when in a helpless situation.

Bellatrix paused in putting pressure on the knife. Hermione felt Bellatrix's head move up. The chandelier is moving, Hermione thought. It's coming towards us. She still could not get herself to move after this revelation though.

The chandelier fell – Thanks to Dobby, Hermione noted his small frame disappirating from the top of it - forcing Bellatrix to release Hermione so she wouldn't be killed. Hermione fell straight to the ground now that nothing was holding her up and felt the chandelier fall on her. She must have blacked out for a minute or two as the next thing she knows, Ron is pulling her out from under the shell of broken glass. My face is bleeding Hermione noted absentmindedly, feeling more and more glass falling off her person with each step Ron took to getting them back to the group. Her body felt like it had a building fall on it, her back protesting at standing up straight.

Dobby apparated to the group, trying to get everybody to link hands, ready to transport them to safety. But, of course, they weren't that lucky.

Before he could move or block it, Dobby was hit with a Killing curse by Narcissa Malfoy, leaving them all to continue the fight. Barely able to stand, Ron gave Hermione her wand and beaded bag – that Dobby had collected for her when he went to give Harry and Ron their wands – and she did her best, which was mostly throwing a shield charm over herself and Griphook.

It was when she was starting to lose energy fast, not having the strength to run on adrenaline anymore, that Draco Malfoy was able to get through her shields. He hit Hermione with a blue spell, unfamiliar to her – this must have been Malfoy's own invention – and then everything seemed to start moving in slow motion.

The next thing Hermione knew, she was being covered in what felt like water. The water was pulling her away, and then falling. She heard Harry and Ron screaming, but she couldn't speak, all she could do was fall. It felt like she'd been falling for hours when she landed on hardwood floors face first. Groaning, she pulled her arm out from under her, trying to push herself up, but her arms lost their strength and she was being pulled into unconsciousness. She heard muffled voices. Using the last of her strength, she opened her eyes before she went under. The last thing she saw was 2 sets of feet going towards her.

Hermione woke in a strange room. The curtains were drawn, lights off. There was a dull throbbing in her head, but Hermione counted herself lucky. From the injuries she remembered getting, she was expecting much worse. Taking note of her body, she noticed that her arm was bandaged, and the cuts on her hand from the chandelier were healed over. Her ribs had stopped aching too. Sitting up, however, she cursed. Her bones ached in protest at the movement, but Hermione had no recollection of arriving here, nor did she know where she was, or who found her. Swinging her legs over the bed, and using the nightstand for support, she stood up, swaying a little as she regained her strength and Balance.

Outside of her room, she could only just hear muffled conversation from another room. Fumbling for her wand and coming up empty – Where is it, it was in my hand before I lost consciousness – She grabbed the metal candlestick holder and walked along the wall for balance to the door, being as quiet as she could. Opening up the door just a crack, she peered out to see an empty hallway, covered in paintings – not in a muggle house she noted as the paintings moved – with doors littered in between, leading to a staircase. She snuck out, leaving the door behind her open, and tiptoed to the end of the hallway and down the stairs as quietly as she could, not needing the wall now she had regained her balance and readjusted to her injuries.

She paused just past the stairwell. To her left, there was an archway, she could hear the conversation was coming from there. To her right, was an open door leading to a laundry, with a door at the end of it. Back door, I'd bet my life on it, Hermione noted. Escape if needed. Hermione crept to the edge of the wall so she could peer into the archway with little chance of being seen. If she did not recognize the people, she would sneak into the laundry and hope the door at the end would lead her outside.

The archway led to a living room. There were 4 people inside, sitting by a fire with a Christmas tree in the corner. Weird, Hermione thought, I know we haven't been able to keep track of time, and it's been at least a few months, but still, I know it hasn't been a year yet since Harry and I were in Godric's Hollow on Christmas Eve. There was an older couple sitting on a couch, and two boys sitting on cushions with their backs to Hermione. One of the boys, with long wavy hair reaching his shoulders, was telling a story quite animatedly using magnificent hand gestures, while everyone else was listening intensively. I don't know any of them, Hermione thought. She decided not to risk it, there were plenty of reasons as to why they could have healed her. Maybe they did it so she would feel grateful, trust them and give them information without thinking. Maybe they did it to try and lull her into letting her guard down around them, to trust their intentions, so that it would make it easier to hand her to Voldemort. Hermione wouldn't take that chance.

Right as she made up her mind and went to duck back around the wall out of sight, the older man on the couch looked up and made eye contact. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and then softened as he gave a small, welcoming smile.

"Hello," He said. At this, everyone else followed his eyes to Hermione.

Hermione glanced between all four sets of eyes and startled at the boy on the floor. Harry?! Her mind screamed. It couldn't be. Harry would not be sitting in a strange house with strange people this comfortably, even if they had been taken in by genuinely kind strangers. But he looks just like Harry! A coincidence, Hermione convinced herself. What was it they used to say at her muggle primary school? They say everyone has a twin somewhere in the world. That's all it is, she mused. He doesn't even have a scar.

She did not realize the man had stood from the couch while she was lost in thought, her eyes were so fixated on the not-Harry boy. He made to come towards her, and she backed up, standing in the laundry doorway now, arm raised with her metal candlestick holder. What's that going to do to a wizard? Her mind shouted at her. I don't know, but it's better than nothing.

He paused in his movement. "I imagine it must be a shock, waking up in a strange place. We weren't expecting you to be up so soon, given the extent of your injuries. My name is Fleamont Potter, this is Euphemia, our son James and his friend Sirius. I understand you may be feeling a bit scared, but I promise you that whatever you were running from cannot ha-"

Hermione didn't wait to hear what else he said. She turned and ran towards the door, pulling it open to find a large backyard leading to a forest. I was right, it was the backdoor Hermione thought before she pushed herself out into the backyard, running as fast as her protesting body would let her.

He's lying. Hermione thought as she ran. He has to be. James Potter is dead. Sirius is dead. All Potters except Harry are dead. It's a trap. She did not stop her battered legs form of running once she hit the forest and did not look behind her to see if any of them were following her either. Makes you run slower her old P.E teacher said when she used to see how far behind her classmates were compared to her during races.

Hermione's body gave up on screaming at her to stop and gave up. She toppled to the ground, heaving, and crawled so she was backed against a tree, to prevent anyone sneaking up on her back. Puffing loudly, she tried to control her breathing as quickly as she could, hoping to quiet herself down before anyone could hear her. She sat there for some time, letting air enter her lungs, and listening for oncoming footsteps, but they didn't come.

Hermione sat there for what felt like hours. The forest had certainly brightened up, thick snow covering its floors. Hermione couldn't feel the cold seeping from the ground in her legs though. Not a good sign. Her mind had been going a mile a minute, trying to process what happened, where she could be, and what she remembered of yesterday. The meeting with Xenophilius, getting caught and taken to Malfoy manor, Bellatrix…Hermione skipped past that, not wanting to deal with it yet. Being held at knifepoint, the chandelier falling, Dobby, a fight breaking out, then being hit with a spell directly in the chest. Hermione, feeling like she was being pulled away yet remaining in the same place, Harry and Ron screaming for her, a flash of green and red, then she was falling, falling, falling. For what felt like hours but was most likely seconds, before she hit the floor and saw two sets of feet coming towards her. And voices, her mine picked up. Words coming from those feet, voices that sounded like they were being said underwater. That was when Hermione lost consciousness. Then this morning happened.

Hermione tried to think of where she could be. She wasn't sure how she ended up anywhere that wasn't Malfoy manor, as she was certain she didn't apparate – not with the state her mind was in after being battered with cruciatus – And she knows that the blue spell Draco hurled at her wasn't a portkey she mistook for a spell. Even if she apparated unconsciously, she wouldn't have been able to get further than the drawing room's door without splinching herself, let alone somewhere she's never been to. Hermione sighed. She had no idea which direction would lead her to a town, and felt that even if she did, the forest indicated they did not live close to one. It will be a fair trek – days, maybe even a week in her state – before she made it anywhere familiar – counting that she didn't head in the wrong direction - and Hermione did not want to risk causing further damage to her current injuries by going the wrong way. I would kill for a pain killer right now. Hermione checked her pockets, then her boots for her beaded bag only to realize it was not on her person.

It must have been left at Malfoy manor or the Potter imposter must have it. Hermione pondered for a moment. It might be possible the family were not going to rat her out to Voldemort despite their lies about their name. They might have an ulterior motive regardless she reminded herself. Nonetheless, having her bag would be easier, and worth putting up with the families lies if they did have it. She has muggle money stored in it, could get her a train or bus to where she needed to go. All you have to do is get back there without blacking out.

This proved to be tough. As soon as Hermione stood, black spots appeared in her vision. Guess I shouldn't have moved so much after waking up. She leant against the tree and took deep breaths, closing her eyes. When she felt she had adjusted, she started a slow walk back the way she came. She had to stop frequently, her bones aching in protest, the scar on her arm burning – it must have broken open from all the running from earlier as the bandage was now soaking red – she didn't stop until she reached the edge of the forest. Huh, she thought. What felt like hours and kilometers of running earlier amounted to what would have been less than five minutes of walking if she wasn't injured. Why didn't they catch me then?

Hermione studied the house. No one was outside, but the back door had been left open. There had been a rock placed in front of it to stop the wind from blowing it shut. Hermione contemplated again, wondering if she was making the right choice. Black spots appeared in her vision, and she had to steady herself against the tree again. Not like I'm going to have much choice she told herself. I have no idea where a hospital is in this area, and I can't heal myself without my bag.

Resigned to putting her life in the hands of these strangers, Hermione pushed herself off the tree and walked towards the open door, her body screaming in protest every step she took, getting louder and louder and the black spots covering more and more of her vision the more she walked. Hermione made it just inside the backdoor into the laundry when the black spots overtook her vision and her mind, she hit the floor with a thump, for the second time in as many days.

Feel free to leave a review if you'd like, I appreciate constructive criticism (key word being constructive) and suggestions!