A/N: Very loosely based on Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, a most bodacious movie.

NOTE: This story used to be a one-shot, but I've divided it into three chapters for ease of reading. Be excellent to each other - and please let me know if you like it!

Harry trudged down the umpteenth aisle, trailing a finger along book spines and barely noticing as they growled and shivered in turn. Madam Pince had been helpful enough, giving him painfully precise coordinates for the books he was looking for; trouble was, Harry was in no hurry at all to begin reading.

Buried in thoughts of imminent scholarly doom, Harry was caught quite off guard when a cackling poltergeist swooped right at his head with fiendish glee. Saved only by his Seeker's reflexes, Harry crashed to the floor and skidded around to glare at Peeves' rapidly departing form, heart pounding in his chest.

"And I thought my day couldn't get better," he muttered to himself, climbing back to his feet and brushing a thick film of dust from his robes.

"Oh, it can, Potter. You've seen nothing yet."

Harry's head snapped around. There in the shadow of a towering bookshelf squatted none other than Draco Malfoy, scowling down at a shelf-load of books scattered wide across the floor. Harry had never seen a Malfoy so close to the ground; it made a rather pleasing portrait. As Harry watched, biting back a retort in the name of unfortunately necessary diplomacy, Malfoy pinched the cover of one yellowing volume between two fingers and flipped it open.

"Read that," Malfoy ordered, thrusting the book upwards into the perpetual library twilight.

Harry leaned forward and examined the page. Nonplussed, he looked back to Malfoy and shrugged. "I can't. It's all – black."

With a hiss of annoyance, Malfoy snapped the book shut. "Exactly."

Harry had the distinct impression that Malfoy thought he was an idiot – and, while this wasn't exactly an unusual circumstance, Harry didn't much care for it. His heart was still racing from his brief encounter with Peeves, and he had been asked to read an unreadable book, and Malfoy was being his normal sodding superior self. All in all, Harry was beginning to feel distinctly irritated.

"What are you mucking about with that for, anyway?" Harry asked shortly, using his trainer to poke at the books that littered the floor. "We're meant to be studying, remember? Or do you want to fail?"

Malfoy, who had climbed languidly to his feet, snorted. "I'm touched by your concern, Potter." From the sneer on his face, Harry deduced that Malfoy had been touched in an unsolicited manner.

"I can't fail History of Magic," said Harry, still annoyed and still confused. "They won't accept me into the Auror training programme if I don't get at least an E."

Apparently defeating the Dark Lord wasn't enough to prove one's worth to the Auror Entrance Examiners. A detailed knowledge of magic through the ages was clearly more relevant to the Auror course than supreme duelling skills.

"Should've thought about that while you snored through Binns' lessons."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You can talk. There's a reason we've been forced to do this extra-credit project together, Malfoy."

Malfoy's smirk slipped away to be immediately replaced by a scowl. "It's hard to care much about goblin rebellions after what we've seen," he muttered, more to the floor than to Harry, and Harry was startled to find himself in complete agreement. He nodded slowly before breaking into a reluctant smile.

"It was hard to care about them before we'd seen it, to be honest."

Malfoy snorted, obviously caught off guard, and Harry grinned back at him for the split second before he remembered who he was talking to.

"Forgetting your pathetic inability to concentrate in class," said Malfoy, clearing his throat and fixing a scowl back on his face, "the fact is that we're both going to fail History of Magic, and there's nothing we can do about it."

Harry tightened his jaw, any urge to smile utterly Disapparated. "Don't be a git, Malfoy. We have to complete this project together if we're going to have any chance of passing."

"It's a pity, then," snapped Malfoy, shaking the book in Harry's face, "that every single page of every single relevant textbook in this entire bloody library is coated with Contagious Ink."

Harry snatched the book from Malfoy's hand, his stomach experiencing an unpleasant sinking feeling. He flicked through page after ink-stained page, entirely unable to read a single word. In fact, he hadn't seen so much ink on a book since Second Year. The sinking feeling disappeared, and was replaced by genuine panic-tinged nausea.

"What did you –" he began angrily, flinging the book aside and glaring up, but Malfoy was already shaking his head, a supreme look of told-you-so on his hateful, pointed face.

"It wasn't me, Potty, it was Peeves. Like I'd give a Knut to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Or, you know, deliberately get myself disinherited by failing History of Magic."

Now that he thought about it, Harry remembered having caught a glimpse of an inkbottle-shaped object shoved under Peeves' arm as he whizzed gleefully out of the library. He swore, and kicked a stack of useless, ink-stained books across the floor.

"Exactly," said Malfoy, throwing up his hands and beginning to pace up and down the aisle. "We're finished, Potter. Done. All because of your useless skiving in class. We've no chance at all on Binns' stupid project."

Harry wheeled around and glared. "My skiving? What about you, Malfoy? You must have hung on Binns' words all year; that must be why you're failing."

"At least I tried!" Malfoy yelled, stopping in his paces and turning to Harry with fists clenched at his sides. "Do you think I could concentrate with, with you, and, with everything –"

"Nobody can concentrate, Malfoy! History of Magic is boring. You just can't admit that you, like the rest of the world, drift off every time Binns opens his gob!"

The colour had risen in Malfoy's face, red spilling up his neck and staining the normal pallor of his cheeks. Harry found himself gripping his wand in front of him before he'd made any conscious decision to reach for it. For a split second, Malfoy's eyes dropped to the wand, and his mouth tightened with resolve as he looked back up.

"This is all your fault, Potter," he hissed, spitting out his words as he stalked fearlessly forward through scattered books. Harry's hand was steady as Malfoy stopped a foot away, wandtip mere centimetres from the pilled green wool of Malfoy's jumper.

"Go on," Malfoy breathed, grey eyes like slits, glistening in challenge. "You've done it before. You could even use the same spell – unless it'd be too boring for you."

Feeling sorely tempted, Harry glared right back, but before he could so much as jab Malfoy at this convenient close-range, he was swooped upon for the second time in as many minutes.

Malfoy's mouth fell open as Harry yelled in surprise; argument forgotten, they stepped away from each other and stared at the tiny owl as it began dragging its parcel along the floor towards them.

It was already too late to save the package from the little pools of ink that were splattered across the ground, but Malfoy bent and retrieved it before the owl toppled over and drowned.

"This must be yours, Potter," he said with obvious distaste, but Harry shook his head and pointed at a scrap of paper that had been tied to the parcel.

"Look, it's addressed to both of us. Do you recognise the handwriting?"

Malfoy raised the parcel to his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. "It looks familiar, but I'm not sure. Who'd send something to both of us?"

"Use this for your history project," Harry read over Malfoy's shoulder. "Whoever it was, they didn't sign their name." He glanced at Malfoy; Malfoy glanced back, and they shrugged simultaneously.

"If it helps us pass, I don't care who it's from," said Malfoy decidedly, and once again, Harry found himself nodding along to one of the people he most thoroughly despised in the world. Admittedly, the list had been rather shortened in light of recent obituaries, but still, Harry would never have imagined himself to find any sort of accord with Draco Malfoy. He frowned, then gave himself a shake and watched as Malfoy unwrapped the little parcel. Next moment, a delicate golden chain unravelled across Malfoy's palm, and then came –

Harry leaned forward. "A Time-Turner," he said slowly, a hint of a question in his voice. He hadn't seen one since Fifth Year at the Ministry, and he could have sworn Hermione had said the whole stock had been destroyed during the event. Still, the hourglass pendant nestled in Malfoy's hand was unmistakably a Time-Turner – and Harry had a rather fishy feeling about it all. Incredibly valuable magical objects didn't tend to be sent in timely fashion by anonymous post – not since Dumbledore's death, in any case.

Malfoy didn't appear to share any such concerns. His entire face was glowing in excitement and wonder. "Merlin," he breathed, palm quivering visibly as he gazed at the Time-Turner.

Harry shrugged irritably, watching as the tiny owl buzzed off towards the dim library horizon. "Surely you've seen one of those before," he said, more interested in who had sent them the thing in the first place. Was it cursed? If one thing was certain, it was that Harry had made a spectacular number of personal enemies over the years – almost as many as Malfoy, in fact.

Malfoy snapped about, positively whirring in excitement. "Of course I have," he said scornfully – but his voice was pitched at a higher key than scorn generally required. Harry stared as Malfoy rolled his eyes and thrust the parcel wrappings towards him.

"Read it, Potter! 'Use this for your history project.' Use it, that's what it says!"

"I don't know what you've been using, Malfoy," Harry muttered as Malfoy beamed down at the little gold chain clutched in his hand. "How exactly are we supposed to use a Time-Turner to write twelve feet of parchment on the three most pivotal historical wizards in all of time?"

Malfoy's smile faded. After a pensive moment, he looked up from the Time-Turner and jabbed a triumphant finger at Harry. "We'll collect them. We'll use the Time-Turner to go back in time and pick up wizards – just for a few hours, just enough time to get the right information – and then we'll take them back. Simple."

"Simple," Harry echoed dryly, "except for the little fact that Time-Turners don't work like that – they just take you back in time. They don't take you to people, or places."

Malfoy raised a disdainful eyebrow. "Says who?"

Harry blinked and frowned. Now that he thought about it, nobody had ever specifically told him that Time-Turners were restricted to linear time travel. "So what?" he said finally. "You just close your eyes, tap your heels together three times and think about where you want to go?"

"And press the button."

"What button?"

Malfoy smirked and pointed to a small silver button on the side of the Time-Turner that Harry hadn't noticed before.

"I don't know about this," said Harry, who could well imagine McGonagall's response to such a plan. He sighed, torn apart by temptation and the inevitable punishment that would follow Malfoy's method. "We could do unalterable damage to the past."

Malfoy sniffed, obviously quite unaffected. "You could do unalterable damage to me if you refuse, Potter. Do you have any idea how many Galleons I stand to lose if I fail History of Magic?"

Before Harry could do more than roll his eyes, a shriek rent the musty air apart. The boys froze where they stood. Terrified, they stared at each other as the unmistakable sound of Madam Pince grew louder, her outrage increasingly imminent. She must have sensed some literary disarray in her library; Harry shuddered to think what she'd do when she saw the state of the history aisle.

Malfoy's eyes slipped down to the Time-Turner; Harry shook his head frantically. Even as Harry mouthed a furious 'no', Malfoy slung the chain around his neck. Harry groaned and raced forward, joining Malfoy beneath the necklace.

"She'd think we did it," Harry told himself, attempting to justify the historical damage that would unquestionably result from their use of the Time-Turner. "We'd be killed."

Pressed against Harry's left side, Malfoy nodded with wide eyes. "Whatever you say, Potter. Where are we going first?"

Harry hesitated, racking his brains for a name, any name from his History of Magic studies over the years, and finding nothing but flies and bits of fluff. Malfoy's eyes had drifted to the ceiling, obviously engaged in the same task, and it was at the last possible moment that he burst out with, "Urg the Unclean!"

There was no time to argue, so Harry grabbed the hourglass pendant and flicked it between his fingers, sending it spinning over and over until it became nothing more than a blur. He had no idea if this would work, but they had to try, lest they become victims of a librarian's terrible ire.

"Think 'Urg the Unclean,'" he instructed Malfoy, and then shut his eyes as they both went spinning away into darkness, everything blurring like the hourglass as they escaped into ancient history.

"Blurg," said Harry as he awoke to find himself facedown in the mud with a distinct attack of nausea. "Eurgh. Urg."

"Potter." A familiar voice broke through the ringing in Harry's ears, and he grimaced. The voice was unpleasant, impatient – it would want to get him up next. He decided to ignore it.

"Potter! Get up, you useless prat."

"Urg," Harry protested, but his eyes burst open when a pair of hands fastened roughly around his shoulders and hauled him over to his back. Head spinning, he stared up at the night sky and wondered how long he'd been out cold. And then realisation struck like a rogue Bludger, and his mind snapped back to the present.

"Malfoy!" Harry cried out in alarm; he raised himself to his elbows only to be pinned back down by a pair of swarthy goblins.

"Over here," called a dry voice, and Harry wrenched his head around to see Malfoy standing a mere five feet away, hands tied behind his back. He was surrounded by a host of hostile goblins, each and every one of them armed to the teeth. Malfoy seemed unharmed, if a touch paler than normal, but Harry barely had time to look before he was pulled forcibly to his feet.

As a particularly ugly rope-bearing goblin approached, Harry's hand flew to his neck. He exhaled; the Time-Turner was still there, swinging calmly down at the end of its chain. Malfoy winked pointedly as Harry's hands were bound, and for once Harry found himself grateful for that infamous Slytherin cunning. Unfortunately, however, it seemed that his one chance to reach for his wand had been wasted.

"Who are you?" a voice barked from below, and all at once Harry was assaulted by a truly dreadful stench. His eyes watered and his lungs burned; he hadn't smelled anything this pungent since the summer before last, when he'd been forced to wash Dudley's week-old pants. Wheezing, Harry wished he could reach for a hanky, a Muggle gas mask, anything at all – but instead, he was forced to stand there and endure the stink as the goblin awaited an answer.

"I'm Harry," he gasped, nausea clawing fitfully at his stomach, "Harry Potter. Please let me go, I've nothing much against goblins." This wasn't strictly true – there was the question of a sword, after all – but a spot of diplomacy surely couldn't go astray.

"You were speaking Gobbledegook," accused the goblin, prodding a bemused Harry in the chest with one bony, filth-encrusted finger. "You spoke the name of Urg. Why?"

Harry opened and shut his mouth for a minute, completely at a loss. To the best of his knowledge, he'd never said a word of Gobbledegook in his life. Could this be another unknown linguistic talent courtesy of Voldemort?

From the side, he saw a brief, irritated movement from Malfoy, almost as if he'd tried to throw his hands in the air. "You were babbling when you woke up, Potter," he hissed, then squealed as a goblin stamped on his toe.

"Oh," said Harry with a start. "Yeah, I wanted to see Urg. To, er, to ask how things were getting along," he continued, gaining confidence as the goblins murmured amongst themselves. "With the rebellion, and all."

It wasn't even a lie. There was the report to think of, after all.

"Silence," Harry's goblin ordered, and his comrades fell silent, their eyes glistening black in the surrounding dark. Harry swallowed as the goblin turned back to face him – or rather, to glare up at him from below.

"I am Urg the Unclean," he said proudly, raising his scrawny arms to receive a bellowing cheer from his band of goblins. Harry recoiled at the sudden increase in pong; whatever year it was that they'd arrived in, deodorant potions clearly hadn't been invented.

"Er, yes, I can see that," said Harry, trying and failing to hold his breath. He could hear Malfoy choking, and felt oddly comforted by the thought.

The goblin lowered his arms, cutting off the roar, and stared beadily up at Harry. "I do not know you, Harry Potter. I do not know any wizard who would seek out a goblin."

"There's a first time for everything, right?" said Harry with an attempt at a grin; Malfoy sighed gustily from the sidelines, clearly unimpressed.

Urg appeared to share this uncharitable attitude. "You will die, Harry Potter," he stated in a gravelly, portentous voice, and while Harry could have rolled his eyes at the magical world's severe lack of creativity, he was too distracted by the sound of Malfoy's panicked voice.

"Let me go, you filthy goblins! Get your hands off me!"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry yelled, having spent quite enough time in the company of goblins to know that they didn't take kindly to being insulted. Sure enough, these particular affronted goblins wasted no time in binding Harry and Malfoy by the hands and feet, shuffling them off through the woods without further discussion.

After a few minutes, Harry looked up from the treacherous path and realised that he knew where – if not when, exactly – he was. The trees were thinning out before them, and wavering candlelight shone out beyond. Harry could easily picture what lay ahead, and felt almost cheered at the thought that he was being led into the village of Hogsmeade, home of Zonko's and Honeydukes and Madam Puddifoot's stupid little teashop.

As the outlines of those familiar buildings emerged from the gloom, Harry was fascinated to see that they looked mostly identical to their twentieth century counterparts. Honeydukes may have featured a few more blood-flavoured lollipops in its window front, and most of the shops were boarded up, but by and large, Hogsmeade appeared timeless.

Harry nearly tripped over his bound feet as Urg halted the company outside the Three Broomsticks.

"Prisoners inside," he ordered; Harry and Malfoy were given no opportunity to protest before they were jostled through the door and tied back-to-back around the leg of a table. Urg's rope-bearing henchgoblin grinned nastily before delivering a kick to Harry's stomach. Malfoy yelled; Harry gritted his teeth and bore the pain in silence.

As soon as the door slammed behind the last goblin, Harry began writhing about in an attempt to reach for his wand, panting and straining as Malfoy sat and watched the opposite wall. Minutes went past before Harry finally slackened in his ropes, leaning back against the table leg.

"What, is that all?" asked Malfoy with a sneer. "Is that the best that the hero of the wizarding world can offer?"

Harry gritted his teeth and yanked the ropes hard so that Malfoy was jolted back against the other side of the table leg. "By all means, show me how it's done," he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. "Or maybe we should just sit back and enjoy our last few moments of life."

Malfoy moaned, clearly imagining his imminent fate at the hands of bloodthirsty goblins.

Harry shifted about in an attempt to alleviate the pressure of the ropes around his wrists; when that effort failed, he craned his neck and glared in Malfoy's general direction.

"Urg the Unclean?" he asked with a scowl. "Is that the best you could come up with, Malfoy? Not exactly the most pivotal wizard in history, is he?"

From the opposite side of the table leg, Malfoy shifted about, causing the ropes to dig into Harry's ribs. "Lay off, Potter," he growled, his pride clearly wounded. "It's not like you were coming out with any better ideas. I distinctly remember hearing Binns mention the goblin rebellions at some point, all right? I panicked."

Harry sighed, wriggling around in a fruitless attempt to achieve some small measure of relief from the ropes. "Fine. If we ever get out of this mess, we'll just have to convince Binns that we're being progressive. Equality of magical creatures and all that." Harry made a mental note to enlist Hermione in their altruistic egalitarian mission.

"I always thought Binns had a thing for goblins," said Malfoy after a moment, voice rather pensive. "Spent so much time talking about them – or at least I think he did."

Harry groaned. "Please, Malfoy. If we're going to be hacked to death, I don't want my last conversation to be about Binns' goblin fixation."

As it turned out, Malfoy was all too ready to move along to his very favourite sort of conversation: complaining. "This is such a stupid way to die," he moaned into the dark room. "I could have been killed by a proper wizard at any point last year – but no, instead I'll be offed by a goblin of all creatures. In an inn. It's shameful."

"Enough with the wizard supremacy thing, Malfoy," said Harry, driven to defending his goblin captors through sheer irritation. "Goblins aren't so bad, not really. They just really hate – well – wizards." Harry paused, having quite lost the thread of his own argument.

"Has anyone ever advised you to invest in a brain, Potter?" Malfoy sneered, then cried out as the door slammed open to reveal none other than Urg the Unwanted.

"Harry Potter," cried Urg, every wart and pimple lit by candlelight. "And you," he added as an afterthought, eyeing Malfoy with obvious contempt.

Malfoy sniffed.

"Your fate has been decided, filthy wizard spies. You are to be disembowelled in the village square at dawn."

"Who's he calling filthy?" Malfoy muttered, but Harry was rather more concerned with the second half of Urg's pronouncement.

"Disembowelled?" he yelped, and Urg nodded gleefully, sending bits of twig and yesterday's breakfast flying off into all corners of the room.

"How long have we got?" asked Malfoy faintly, but Harry was facing the windows and could already see a pink haze lighting the building opposite.

"Two minutes," said Urg with an unpleasant grin. "Untie them, Raksnit."