A/N This story is written in conjunction with another; Time Isn't Ours, by my dearest PierreJ92. Whilst the stories do co-exist in the same fanon Universe, they are entirely stand alone tales and can, of course, be read separately. We would, however, love to see readers following both fics, as easter eggs to the other do exist, and at the end of both stories, the true connection between them will be revealed.

A/N Beta/alpha/wifeyforever-love to my gorgeous Pierre.

A/N No, I definitely did not need another WIP. But alas, I harbour no control over my actions or the path of my muse... *le sigh*.

A/N This is not a slow burn fic. This is turning into one of the quickest burns even I have ever read...don't say I didn't warn ya (;

#RespectIsRare

"There's only one thing more precious than our time and that's who we spend it on."

Velvet & Lace

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Chapter One | Same As It Never Was

She landed with an exclaimed "Oomph" and an internal Bollocks!

The sensation had been a strange one, to say the least. She recalled a sense of falling, but not one of hitting the ground, because she'd already been on the ground, and yet she was confident she hadn't actually left that spot...

Except... she had left that spot, she must have. She'd felt herself leave the ground, hadn't she?

And then there was the slight matter of the fact she was now lying down.

She certainly hadn't been lying down before...

Whatever that was, Pansy mused, frowning, it wasn't pleasant.

She rose, shakily, to her feet, her thoughts shifting, first to confusion and then to annoyance, before the two conjoined into a very definite What in the shitting fuck has just happened?

And she only knew one thing for certain; she didn't have a bloody clue.

Now standing, Pansy slowly drove her head downwards whilst bringing her left hand upwards as a sickening feeling enveloped her shaken frame.

And there it was, she realised, sighing through her nose, there it fucking was. She glared down at the very obvious reason for her current predicament, nestled snuggly in her palm. It fit so precisely, so perfectly, there, that it took approximately three seconds for Pansy to determine that its looking that way was entirely deliberate, its sole purpose obviously being to irritate her even more.

"Oh, fuck you," Pansy snapped into her hand, before thrusting the silver, jewel-encrusted Time-Turner haphazardly into the pocket of one of her robes, not quite trusting herself to attempt to fiddle with it anymore. Fiddling, Pansy thought with a grimace as she remembered just how she had come to land herself in this current predicament, is the root of all evil.

For the first time since landing - was that even an apt description? No, probably not. Appeared? Here, wherever here happened to be, Pansy looked around and took stock of her surroundings. Which were, thankfully, the exact same surroundings she had been standing in just beforehand. She was by a very recognisable lake, the greenhouses, she knew, would be just over that slight rise in the terrain to her left. Hogwarts was behind her.

She hoped.

Sure enough, she let out a sigh coupled with a short thank fuck when the first turret came into view as she turned, relieved to see the achingly familiar sight.

So, Pansy deliberated, it's definitely not the where that's the issue, but the when.

She began to trudge her way first towards the castle, muttering a myriad of nonsensical expletives under her breath as she did, before, swallowing dryly, she made a split-second, seemingly out of nowhere decision and turned on her heel.

She walked in a march, swiftly, arms crossed over her chest, away from the school.

Towards Hogsmeade.

The village, which Pansy had visited for the very first time as a toddler, emanated, to Pansy, a simultaneous very distinct familiarity and a saddening, disparate aura. Whilst this was obviously the same Hogsmeade she knew, it also, very definitely, wasn't.

The journey hadn't taken her long. The lane that separated the school from its neighbouring village was a short, half-mile walk. The expanse of grass to her right and the trees on her left provided the same backdrop that Pansy had so often looked upon yet never actually seen before.

Until now.

Now, she found herself scrutinising the countryside; the woodland and its neighbouring fields. Wondering if it were the same, or whether her past lack of attention to her surroundings had allowed specific details to pass her by, details that may have helped distinguish, or at least hint to, when, exactly, she was.

It was, however, the village itself that gave her the first, heart-stopping, anxiety-inducing clue as to how far she was from her original timeline, from 1998.

She had hoped she'd appeared a few weeks out, a month or two at a push, but this, she glanced around, her eyes darting between the Three Broomsticks, to various shops, some of which she didn't recognise, but all of which looked decidedly older.

The same as it never was.

There were few witches and wizards going about, most older than she, and all looked decidedly not lost in time, as they walked steadily, with purpose; their desired destination firmly in place.

Most notably, however, wasn't the obvious lack of a I've-just-propelled-myself-backwards-through-time-and-don't-have-a-fucking-clue-how-to-fix-it look upon their faces, funnily enough, it was their attire. Pansy's eyes had widened in spite of herself and her current, undesirable predicament as she watched the Hogsmeade inhabitants pass her by. Even by wizarding standards, these outfits are vile.

She knew exactly what the unsightly clothes reminded her of, she'd seen pictures of witch and wizard fashions throughout various eras, she and Daphne had poured over various looks and dresses, robes and styles that had captivated the populous at various points in time, and the garments that surrounded her looked sorely familiar to several of those photographs.

Oh, Merlin, she groaned as she asked herself a question she had, up until this point in her life, never envisioned having to ask; what fucking year is it?