AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hello all! This isn't my first fanfiction but I'm not a veteran either, if you catch my drift. It seems that every project I start I inevitably abandon because I lose enthusiasm, momentum, inspiration. Call it whatever you will, but eventually I find I am lacking. This time it will be different, though. I am super excited about this story! I drafted a hasty and poorly plotted version a long time ago and it just fell flat on its face. I took my time on this, though, and suffered through the laborious details. I hope I made something that you will all enjoy! If, by happenstance, you enjoy it...it wouldn't hurt to toss a review my way...y'know (hint, hint).

A note on the timeline: my story adheres to the events in the books up until the beginning of Deathly Hallows, but that's about it. After that it's a whole new ball game! I don't want to say I will be following the events in the books entirely because I might alter or change some minor details. You can count on it to remain relatively true to the books, though. If you have any questions or anything is confusing, let me know and I can clarify! Or if I've made some gross error, you can notify me too and it would be very much appreciated.

Disclaimer: All characters, settings, and prior events in and of the Harry Potter series belong to the wonderful JK Rowling. I am not writing this for profit or personal gain, but merely for pleasure. I mean no harm or disrespect. After all, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!

Happy reading!
JJ

P.S. Please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors. I was so excited to share this that I was getting tired and reading and re-reading it over and over again!

CHAPTER ONE
TIME

"Time is the longest distance between two places."
Tennessee Williams

Everything that was once familiar and good in his life had been devastated by the malevolence and hatred of a single person. That is, if you could call him a person at all. The man severed his soul, hiding the fragment from the world, and with that, he abandoned his humanity. Voldemort was not a man but the empty shell of a man, lacking everything human. The unbearable likeness that he shared with Voldemort had defined the greater part of his life. He spent his youth in ignorance, reiterating the prejudices whispered in his ear from infancy. The attitudes of tolerance enforced at Hogwarts conflicted with his earlier, learned prejudices until the only response that remained was one of violence. Born out of the desperate need to win his father's approval and out of the need to subdue the weaker, benign part of his mind, Draco Malfoy became a Death Eater. In doing so, he fractured his soul in more ways than one. Perhaps in more ways than any person can recover from.

As with everything human, everything with the ability to change and be changed, nothing happened as it should have. Reason is subjected to the unchecked passions of desperate individuals, changing history. The Order was meant to overthrow the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts, Harry Potter was supposed to kill Voldemort and fulfill the prophecy, but it didn't happen. Now, three years later, on his knees in the library at Malfoy Manor, Draco was unsure if it ever would. So much had spun wildly out of control in the time since the battle at Hogwarts that the damage seemed irreparable.

"Mr. Malfoy, we are so pleased you could grace us with your presence this evening." His voice wasn't even human, but cold and serpentine. "How does it feel to have your son home, Lucius? Omitting his indiscretions, of course."

Draco looked up from the carpeted floor he had fixed his hardened gaze on. His father was standing to the side of the room beside his aunt. She had a smirk on her face, smug and proud. He could only imagine how she relished in his suffering. The uneasy silence continued until Draco wondered if Lucius has heard the question at all.

"My son is dead, my Lord."

He should have felt something akin to sadness or regret hearing those words from Lucius, but he could not bring himself to care. Lucius stood by idly while Voldemort ravaged their home, exploited their family, and murdered his mother. Draco's recollections of Lucius as a father, as a caring and loving man, were few and far between. Now that he resembled something of a decent man, confident of his path, Lucius could only renounce him. That was his greatest failure as a father, one that Draco himself would never repeat. There were a great many things that he would most likely never do, though, like have a family or become a father. It was likely he wouldn't be alive come morning.

A biting laugh rang out, cut with a malicious edge. "Yes, filthy blood traitors are no better than the Mudbloods that spoil their minds. It's a terrible shame to have the potential of such a bright, ardent young man wasted on a Mudblood."

"These are the words of a half-blood," Draco said. "Ironic."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits and he hissed an Unforgivable that Draco had become increasingly familiar with. He writhed on the floor in pain. Each nerve felt like it was being severed and seared off. When the curse had been lifted, a lasting ache remained. It was like the muggle phenomenon she had explained to him once, phantom limbs. A person who had, had a limb removed could feel it like it was still there. Even though it was gone he could still feel the pain. He forced himself up but the two faceless Death Eaters flanking him pushed him to his knees once again. It took little effort on their part. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him, begging him not to move. Draco willingly eased himself back on his heels, licking his lips. The metallic taste and smell of blood assaulted his senses. The blood flowed freely from his lips and gums, cut by his teeth while his jaw was clenched, while the spasms of pain ravaged his body.

Lashing out at them and showing weakness or pain was exactly what they wanted. The way to best them was simply to deny them what they desired and craved from him: submission.

"I would watch my tongue if I were you, little nephew," Bellatrix said.

She was taunting him, each sardonic word dripping with joy. Bellatrix liked to play games, but only those that she could win.

"Should I watch my tongue if you want me to tell you where Potter is or where the Order is hiding?"

She sniffed and turned her nose up at him. Voldemort's face relaxed and he looked content, at ease even. His features were so inhuman it looked unnatural. It made Draco uneasy.

"Draco," he said. "I hope that's not why you think you're here."

Alarm painted Draco's features despite his best efforts to remain dispassionate. He had assumed that he knew more than them. If they knew something valuable, something that could hurt the Order, then he was wrong. If they didn't, then they were playing with his mind. They could've been trying to get him to slip up, to tell them something inadvertently. It was impossible to tell.

"Oh, you did," he continued, provoking quiet laughter from others in the room. "While you and your Order have been gathering information about us, no doubt through extensive assistance from yourself, we have been doing the same."

"You're lying," Draco said.

Draco was a skilled Occlumens but he was no match for Voldemort's Legilimency. Regardless, he was immediately defensive, ensuring his mind was closed to all intrusion. Although he spoke forcefully he lacked certainty and Voldemort noticed his faltering confidence.

"I will admit I don't know where Potter and the Order are hiding, but I know who their Secret Keeper is. I think you do too, or am I mistaken?"

Draco had to remain calm. He had no way of knowing for sure whether or not Voldemort knew who the Secret Keeper was, but every action had a reaction and he'd be damned if he gave them anything useful.

"I don't," he said.

"Oh, come now, Draco. Their Secret Keeper and the pretty little Mudblood who ruined your mind are one in the same. If you are as indispensable to the Order as I imagine, you know who she is."

Each word was measured and calm, and each letter was enunciated. The truth he had been avoiding since he betrayed his family and his cause, since he sold out the monster in front of him, was settling in the pit of his stomach.

There was no way to win. If he reacted, shouting the vile insults poised on the tip of his tongue, or if he remained completely silent, he was giving Voldemort exactly what he wanted. It was over.

The other Death Eaters in the room watched intently. It was a demonstration for their benefit, an example of just what would happen to them if they ever considered switching sides. The Dark Mark wasn't like a promise or an agreement, it was binding. Those who pledged their allegiance belonged to Voldemort and the only way out was death.

He worked it over in his mind. She was safe, somewhere they couldn't find. That secret died with Snape. Since Dumbledore's death, the Order had closed ranks and prohibited outsiders. Although his case was exceptional, no one else had attempted to switch sides. Draco's oldest friends, the people he grew up with, were little more than slaves now. Those that were still alive he hadn't heard from or seen in years.

"She certainly was spirited," his aunt said, her dark eyes boring into his. "For a Mudblood she put up quite the fight. I rather enjoyed myself."

Bellatrix sauntered toward the center of the room where he was kneeling. Her gaze had left his face and was now unfocussed, her mind elsewhere. A soft metallic tinkling drew his gaze to her left hand. Wrapped around her sharp knuckles was a fine gold chain and swaying from it a small hourglass. Draco knew what it was instantly.

"She was wearing this...intriguing little item."

She threw it on the carpet, the chink of the metal against the cracked glass resonated in the otherwise silent room.

"Of course," she smiled. "It was easier to take it from her when she was dead."

Draco stared at it. The bottom of the hourglass was cracked and the gold filigree was stained with flakes of dried blood. It was still recognizable, it still looked the same as it had days before, safely around her neck.

"Even after I took her wand there was still that flicker of confidence in her eyes. She thought she could get away from me, from me!" She gestured wildly to the hooded occupants of the room.

They chuckled and sneered. Voldemort watched the exchange with a perverse, child-like intrigue.

"Well," Bellatrix said. "She thought wrong, didn't she Draco? She is dead, after all."

"SHUT UP!" he roared.

His aunt looked taken aback, her bottom lip jutting out in a childish pout. She was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. It wasn't that she commanded the respect of others, rather she instilled in them a fear for their sanity and their lives. She tortured people within an inch of their lives. Those that lived hardly resembled the people they once were.

"I promise you that my face will be the last one you ever see before I kill you," he told her.

Her hysterical laughter prompted chortles and jeers from the other Death Eaters. He was running out of options. They had gotten no information out of him, they had subjected him to torture of both the physical and emotional sort, and now they had nothing left to do but kill him. As soon as his feet touched the marble floor of the grand foyer they had taken his wand from him and with each passing moment, his chances were dwindling.

There were three other Death Eaters apart from Voldemort, Bellatrix, and Lucius. Six in total, six against one. There were no windows in the library. Instead, shelves of books stretched from floor to ceiling. He couldn't reach the fireplace on the other side, there were simply too many of them. The Time-Turner was a few feet in front of him. From where he knelt he could see the crack in the glass. He didn't even know if it would work. But he was a dead man already and he had nothing left to lose.

Draco was truly adverse to the uncouth and vulgar sort of dueling that muggles resorted to, but they had taken his wand. He slowly tensed his muscles, poised to move. This would need to be quick. All six of them had wands and would draw them as soon as he moved.

It was now or never, he reasoned, inhaling deeply.

He threw his elbow back and caught the Death Eater on his left in the face. The satisfying crunch of cartilage immediately quelled the laughter in the room. He used their moment of hesitation to his advantage. The Death Eater on his right didn't reach for his wand but moved to grab him instead. Draco hurled his body at him, forcing both of them to the floor and dodging the curses already shouted at him. Scrambling to his feet he lunged for the Time-Turner.

Draco had never moved so quickly in his life. Adrenaline forced his blood through his veins and clouded his judgement. Everything, the frenzy and hysteria, the yelling, it all seemed far away. It felt as though he were underwater, unable to clearly distinguish their faces or voices. The ringing in his ears was deafening.

The curses meant for him blew entire shelves to pieces, scattering the room with parchment. "Please work, please work," he whispered, rolling on his back. He flinched when the carpeted space he had just occupied burst into flames. He moved to get up while his trembling fingers worked to turn the Time-Turner.

The hourglass wouldn't turn, though.

Before the sinking feeling of realization could set it, a paralyzing pain propelled him forward like a rag doll. The hourglass shattered, cutting into his hand and scattering the white sand. He never thought there existed a pain worse than the Cruciatus curse, but there was one that did. It felt as though he was colliding with something solid and, at the same time, being forced in the opposite direction. He felt like he was being quartered, like each limb was being pulled in another direction.

If this was death, though, he welcomed the stillness and calm that would undoubtedly come after the pain.

And then everything went black.

"Where is he?"

The question was curt and hard, wrought with disbelieving anger. It was a rare occasion when the greatest dark wizard in history was slighted. No matter the circumstances, it was unacceptable. The silence in the room was tangible. No one dared to speak but kept their eyes on the floor. Shame and dread washed over them.

"WHERE?"

"He's gone, my Lord," one of the hooded Death Eaters said.

There was a brief pause and Voldemort quietly hissed the killing curse. The room was illuminated by a brilliant, green light and the Death Eater, now simply dead weight, crumpled to the floor with a dull thud. Bellatrix looked up. Pieces of burnt parchment still fell toward the floor, littered with the remnants of priceless leather-bound volumes.

"When," she said.

"What?" he asked, turning his malicious gaze on her.

"Not where, my Lord, but when," she said.

"I was under the impression the Time-Turner was broken."

"It did, my Lord."

"Explain."

"The Time-Turner wasn't broken but only cracked. It didn't break until Draco had it in his hands. It malfunctioned. It sent him back, but to a time he didn't choose. He's stranded without a wand or a way back."

There was a shuffling of shoes in the hallway and voices drifted up from the ground floor. A large crash rang out followed shortly by the screeching of Mrs. Black's portrait.

"FILTH! STAINS ON THE WIZARDING NAME! MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS IN THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK!"

Hermione Granger snapped her book shut and stepped out onto the landing. She had converted the study into her own personal library dealing in everything concerning Horcruxes. It was small with a sturdy desk beside the front window looking out into the street. A weathered but nonetheless comfortable sofa faced the large fireplace. Before anyone had cleaned out the old house, the mantle and cabinets had been filled with an assortment of obscure and often dark magical devices, and nondescript potions. The room was also home to a variety of unwelcome magical pests, some more dangerous than others. Like the rest of the Grimmauld Place it had begun to look more like a home when it became the headquarters for the Order. While Hermione was the only permanent resident, Mrs. Weasley stopped in everyday, usually to prepare dinner. From time to time members of the Order stopped in, offering her company and support. But even though Grimmauld Place looked like a home, it lacked the people that made up a home. Every once in a while there was a meeting of all the members, but the two people Hermione longed most to see were never there.

Both Harry and Ron had gone off in search of the Horcruxes. She hadn't opted to remain at Grimmauld Place but Harry and Ron had pleaded with her. Hermione had immediately refused to stay but they presented her with the facts. She could provide them with the knowledge they needed to find the objects Voldemort had bound his soul to. When it came to research and studying, she was second to none. She was safer at Grimmauld Place. She was invaluable to them and they wanted her far from harm, from Snatchers, and from Death Eaters. Everyone—Harry, Ron, the Order—needed Hermione right where she was.

She leaned over the railing to see Mrs. Weasley scuttle down the hall, fussing about with the hideous troll-leg umbrella stand. Someone cursed under their breath and tried desperately to silence Mrs. Black. Hermione couldn't make out who it was, the obscene ranting of the portrait eclipsing all other sounds.

"Finally," Mrs. Weasley sighed, her voice loud in the absence of Mrs. Black's voice. "What a vile woman."

"Sorry Molly. That hallway is just so bloody narrow and the stand is always right there."

"Not to fret, dear. Will Remus be stopping by for dinner?"

"He'll be along. He always eats like an animal 'round the full moon."

"Hello Tonks," Hermione said as the purple-haired witch appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"Wotcher, Hermione! How's the search for Horcruxes coming?"

"Slow," she admitted, descending the stairs. "Harry and Ron don't send much in their letters, I'm afraid they're not very helpful."

"You'll figure it out," Tonks grinned. "You are the brightest witch of the age after all."

The two followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen. Whereas Hermione was a terrible cook of both magical and muggle foods, Mrs. Weasley was brilliant in the kitchen. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted to the far end of the room where Tonks and Hermione sat.

"Need any help, Molly?" Tonks asked.

"Oh no, no, that's quite alright," Mrs. Weasley said.

Hermione smiled. Mrs. Weasley declined Tonks' offer every time she stopped by for dinner. Although she was an excellent Auror and quick in a duel, Tonks was the least coordinated of all the Order members. Each scrape she fought out of she usually put herself in. That was simply part of her charm, though.

"Hello?"

The man's voice called from down the hall. Tonks had certainly charmed Remus Lupin, the unkempt wizard who appeared in the doorway. Every month around the full moon Remus' appearance progressed from organized to complete disarray. Hermione was sure he wasn't sleeping and was more than likely feeling the onset symptoms of his condition. The dark circles under his eyes and his wrinkled clothing only emphasized this. Lately, Remus looked to be in a permanent state of exhaustion, though, his face bearing the stress of recent events. It was for that reason that Tonks, chipper in the most dire of circumstances, was perfect for him.

Remus sat down beside Tonks and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "How is everyone?"

"Enough of this Horcrux business," Mrs. Weasley said. "Dinner is ready. Now, I want each of you to wash up, sit down, and enjoy one meal without one word about You-Know-Who."

In the kitchen, Mrs. Weasley's word was law. The room bustled to life with the sound of wooden chairs scraping the tiled floor. The table could seat every Order member who regularly visited but dinner was usually a much smaller affair. Several members stopped by for dinner on a regular basis, though. Tonks, Remus, Fred, George, and Mad-Eye sat on one side of the table while Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, Fleur, and Bill sat on the other.

"It looks wonderful," Fleur said.

"Then let's eat," George said. "I'm starved."

For the rest of the evening the conversation was light, but it was also slightly forced, undercut with worry and stress. Most of the Order members had scarified the simple pleasures in life for the sake of fending of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. There was usually little to talk about other than the war. It had, in all respects, consumed the waking hours of the day. In Hermione's case, it consumed her nights as well. She hardly slept and when she did it was restless. She was plagued with nightmares, with the embodiment of all her irrational worries and fears. That certainly didn't make for pleasant conversation.

After dinner was finished, Mrs. Weasley got up to get tea and biscuits ready.

"I couldn't eat another bite," Remus said, pushing his empty plate away from him.

"I don't know why not, you did a good job of clearing the table so far," Fred teased.

"Yeah, how many helpings was it Remus? Seven or eight?" George grinned.

"Be nice," Mrs. Weasley warned, shooting her boys a sharp look from across the kitchen. They feigned expressions of innocence and shrugged it off.

A sharp crack cut short the pleasantries. It resembled the sound of apparition but a person could not apparate to 12 Grimmauld Place, though. The enchantments and charms that protected the house prevented anyone from apparating or diapparating. But someone had gotten past the wards.

The person slid the length of the table, sending dishes crashing to the floor, as though their body had been flung across the room. Everyone leapt to their feet and back from the table. Fleur and Molly let out shrieks of surprise and Hermione immediately shielded her face. Peering around her hand she saw that Mad-Eye remained as vigilant as ever. His magical eye was fixed on the intruder and his wand was drawn. Bill, Remus, and Tonks also had their wands at the ready. Hermione mentally berated herself for leaving her wand upstairs in the study.

A tea cup teetering on the edge of the table fell and shattered on the tile floor. Hermione was mystified. She had come up with some of the protective enchantments herself, had casted them herself. It was impossible for anyone to get through them. Her mind, frenzied, worked over every minute detail.

The young man was on his back. She saw the shallow rise and fall of his chest. At least he was alive, she thought. The rest of his appearance was not as promising. One arm was thrown across his chest at an unnatural angle. His clothes were filthy, covered in ash. Hermione noticed the shoulder of his black button down was on fire. She hurried forward and hastily patted the material, depriving the small flame of oxygen. It had burnt through the cotton and marred his skin. His face was turned away from her but she could see a smudge of ash on his jaw.

She grabbed the young man's chin and turned his face to her, brushing his hair out of his face. He looked different from what she remembered but there was no mistaking his telltale blonde hair. His features were relaxed. It was strange to see him look so calm. His straight eyebrows weren't drawn into a stern or sullen expression, his lips weren't pulled up into a sneer. They were stained with blood, though.

Remus and Mad-Eye kept their wands outstretched and approached Malfoy's listless body. Hermione didn't look at their faces, but she imagined they were just as confused as her. Malfoy was a known Death Eater, one wanted for the part he played in Dumbledore's murder, and one of the last people they expected or wanted at Grimmauld Place.

But it wasn't the Malfoy she knew. He looked different, older even. His face was not as round but angular.

"Who is it Remus?" Tonks asked, reaching for his arm.

"It's Draco Malfoy," he said.

"How did he get in?" Bill asked.

No one answered. No one knew how or why. The answers would have to wait until he woke up.

TO BE CONTINUED