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Chapter Text

1983 

The mark on his arm burns. A brutal summoning he's unfortunately used to. But this time it holds a different weight, because he's not apparating to Malfoy manor or another Death Eater rendezvous. The searing pain is unlike anything he's ever felt before because it is the dark lord clutching his arm, burning and charring away the skin where his Dark Mark used to lie, simultaneously summoning all the Death Eaters to watch his downfall. 

Regulus tried. He schemed his way to Voldemort's side, threw away any shred of good that might have saved him in the afterlife, all just so he might destroy one more horcrux before it was over. But Voldemort discovered his plan. Somehow he knew what Regulus was doing. And now he was going to be killed and branded as a traitor. Made an example. Just in case anyone else dared to threaten Voldemort's immortality. 

Regulus watched his skin flake away, and couldn't stop his screaming anymore. 

He had almost done it when they found him in that clearing. And as the burning spread up his arm and along his side, Regulus wished that he hadn't given it all up. Was it selfish? To wish that he still had something to hold on. Barty and Evan hadn't known the real him for years, even if they were the only semblance of friendship he'd had. Was it selfish to wish that Dorcas was here? Coming to save him? Or even Sirius. He'd take his brother right now, even though he knew he wouldn't deserve it. 

Regulus couldn't stand anymore. Couldn't breathe. All he could do was feel. Pain. Suffering. And eventually he couldn't do that anymore either. It all went dark. And Regulus Black died.

1981 

Hermione Granger didn't know how she ended up here. She was on a cliff overlooking the sea, wind twisting in her hair. A pastel, squat cottage sat on the beach, a woman with long blonde hair lounging on the deck. 

Time turners were only supposed to change the time, not the location. Oh Merlin, she cursed when she realized she had no idea what year it was either. To be fair the time turner could have had other spells on it, she reasoned, or Snape simply could have given her a broken one. She wouldn't put it past him. 

And suddenly the pain hit again, and Hermione realized she had a more pressing concern--the giant, blistering wound on her leg, and the mark on her arm. 

Now that it was back, the pain was too much. She gritted her teeth through her tears, and tried to guide herself through the motions. Sit down. Put her head between her legs. Breathe slowly and steadily. Her vision swimmed. 

"Filthy little mudblood,"  Dolohov sneered as he shot another curse at a now defenseless Hermione, lying prone on the floor of Snape's office. 

Hermione tried to hide her fear, looking anxiously around the room for something to ground herself, but more importantly... 

Bellatrix cackled, "Don't go stealing my line now! I want to have a little fun before the Dark Lord comes to deal with her." 

"Or Snape," Dolohov muttered quietly. 

"Don't go speaking ill about the Dark Lord's servants Antonin," Bellatrix threatened. "Even if Severus has always had a weak stomach." 

Hermione's eyes grated against the walls of the Headmaster's office, scanning and scanning. It has to be here. It has to. It has to. 

Dolohov gave a wicked smile. "Well now that she can't fight back, let's have a little fun." 

And finally she found it, the sword of Godric Gryffindor. If only she could somehow tell Luna where it is. 

"Crucio!" 

Hermione swallowed her courage. The world burned.

Voices murmured in the distance. 

"Will she be alright?" 

"That mark on her arm" 

"Permanent?" 

"The order.... You don't think..." 

When Hermione gained consciousness, the first thing she noticed was that the bed was cold. At Hogwarts her bed was never cold. She always slept hot, as her cot was right next to the fireplace. But this bed was cold and...nothing hurt? 

Hermione opened her eyes. 

"Are you alright my dear?" A red haired women leaned over her bed. She had a sweet worried face, much like that of Hermione's mother. Her witch mother. 

"I believe so," Hermione said carefully as she sat up. Already minding her words. She knew that anything that happened in this time could affect her in the future. 

The witch nodded. "My name is Molly, dear. We'll be taking care of you now, there's no need to worry." 

"You were supposed to tell me when she woke up!" A gruff voice sounded as a door slammed. A man with stringy hair, a peg-leg, and a magical eyeball stormed into the room. The eye spun around and zoomed in on her as the man took in her appearance. 

"You're Alastor Moody!" Hermione exclaimed before she could stop her. She had read about him in the papers last year LAST THREAT FROM THE REBELS NOW DEAD by Rita Skeeter. 

"What else have you told her??" Moody growled. "You already gave her your name. We still need to test her. She could be dangerous." 

"Alastor!" She scolded. "Did you not see that mark on her arm? They would never do that to one of their own." 

Hermione flinched involuntarily and Molly came over quickly to comfort her. 

"If you think that then you severely underestimate what they would do to win the war. They've done worse." 

"Well if you're so uptight about it, ask her now! I was simply making sure she didn't die on you." Molly sniffed. 

There was a knock on the door, and Molly moved to answer it. It was only then that Hermione realized she was quite pregnant. When she opened it, a young boy with a shock of red hair was standing on the other side. 

"Mommmmm Charlie keeps telling me stories about dwagons even though you told him not to because they're scawy. And Bill twied to chase me on his broom," the little boy pouted. 

"I'm sorry dear I haven't to tend to our guest right now," Molly sympathized. "Go find your father and tell him about it." 

"Oh there's no need Molly," A talk man with long white hair and purple robes had entered the doorway at some point. He gave Hermione a curious glance through his half-moon spectacles and said, "I'm perfectly capable of taking it from here. I would like to say a proper hello to our guest." 

"Of course Albus," Molly said and followed her son out the door. 

The man, Albus Dumbledore, glanced at her other visitor and simply said, "Alastor. A moment, if you will." 

"If I don't hear from you in fifteen minutes, I will expect the worst," he replied as he moved to the door. 

Dumbledore nodded. "I would expect nothing less." 

It was only now that Hermione was fully able to examine the room. She appeared to be in a child's bedroom, with a worn red bedspread covered with brooms. Toys littered the slightly splintered floor, and when Hermione looked up, an equally destitue ceiling. Despite being slightly chilly, the room exuded a friendly warmth, and she almost sighed, knowing this was somewhere the Death Eaters would never take her. 

She started to catalogue a list of everything she needed to do. What resistance did know about the Horcruxes? Should she tell them? Where would she be able to find the diadem in-- 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a banging on the ceiling, followed by howling, and Hermione jumped. 

"Ah yes," Dumbledore smiled slightly. "The ghoul in the attic was keen on interrupting your thought process, and I must admit, I rather am as well. Might you tell me your name, miss...?" 

Hermione hesitated, not even sure she should give him that. Any action she took could mess up the future, although she supposed there wasn't much of a future to mess up anyways. 

As if he'd heard her thoughts, Dumbledore said, "Perhaps it is wise you hesitated, but you don't need to worry about keeping at least one secret from me. Offer me a fake name, if you must." 

She started and resisted the urge to check if the time turner was still on her person. She thought carefully before saying, "Luna Granger." 

Hermione hadn't used her real last name since she was four, so she highly doubted that this would be an issue. She extended her hand to shake Dumbledore's, using it as an excuse to discreetly check her bed for the time turner. Her eyes landed on it on the bedside table, and she felt a simultaneous panic and relief. 

"Your time turner is in a dangerous condition, miss Granger," Dumbledore said as he followed her gaze. "It is a miracle you arrived in one piece, especially having sustained your injuries." 

At the mention of this Hermione was tempted to look at her arm, but resisted, not ready to know if the mark was still there. 

Carefully she replied, "I had no choice, professor." 

"So I'm still a professor where you come from," he looked bemused at the thought. "Perhaps not all hope is lost, even if your coming here suggests otherwise." 

"I'm not sure if I should answer any questions about the future," Hermione pursed her lips. "But I suppose my being here in the first place changes it irrevocably regardless." 

Dumbledore nodded, "Quite so. But perhaps it's worth minimizing the risk." 

There wasn't much worth minimizing Hermione thought sadly. Even though she already missed her friends desparately, if she could go back, Hermione already wasn't sure she would. 

"So I take it Voldemort has won the war?" 

"Circe, I did I say that outloud?" Hermione cursed. 

"Yes, unfortunately," Dumbledore said. "Now, as much as I would like to let you rest, miss Granger, there are things we need to discuss. I have no doubt in my mind that you are not a Death Eater, especially after seeing that mark on your arm, as much as Alastor may beg to differ. It's simply not Voldemort's style." 

The ease of which Dumbledore used Voldemort's real name shocked Hermione, and she realized that it had probably not yet been tabooed. That, perhaps, was something she could warn him about. With a shake of her head, she forced herself out of her thoughts and continued listening. 

"But this begs the question why would you have felt the need to travel back in time? I would guess that you're an Order member but you would have had to have been newly initiated if that were the case." 

"I wasn't part of the Order but I still know what it is," Hermione informed him. She weighed the risks and benefits, but continued to talk. "I was captured. At school. The Death Eaters suspected I knew... That I would join. I was in the Headmaster's office, but I was left alone for a minute, and I saw the time turner and I was able to escape." 

Dumbledore gave her a pitying look. "Was it just you that was captured? Or anyone else too?" 

"No, just me," Hermione shook her head and then gasped when she thought of Luna and Hannah. "My friends. They'll go after them next won't they." 

"No," he said sternly. "Think about it as if time were standing still in the future for you. Even if you were able to return to your exact timeline, you would return at exactly the moment you had left it. They would not have captured your friends yet." 

Hermione blushed at her lapse in judgement. 

"But for the curious matter of the time turner, it seems as though it had a spell on it to bring you to another Order safehouse. As to why a Death Eater might have one keyed to one of our most secure locations, I am unsure. But that is for me to figure out. 

"Although," he mused, "I suppose this answers my question as to whether I am alive in your time. Might I ask who the new headmaster is?" 

"Severus Snape," Hermione tried to gauge his reaction, but he simply murmered something about that being curious and moved on. 

"Professor?" She asked, before he could continue. "Can I ask what year it is?" 

"Why yes, that is a natural question," he replied evenly, "it is 1981." 

Her eyes went wide. She had only thought she'd gone back a couple of years. Hermione began to calculate everything she knew about the year 1981, how many horcruxes has been created, and who she knew was alive. 

"What year was it when you left, miss Granger?" 

"1998," Hermione's tongue felt heavy in her throat. Were her parents still alive? Merlin, SHE was alive. Little one year old her, not yet knowing she was a witch. Still living in the shy blue muggle house that was two streets down from the library. 

"Well, unless there's any more pressing information about the future I should know," Dumbledore eyed her carefully. "I will let you get some more rest and freshen up. You are in the lovely home of Molly and Arthur Weasley, called the Burrow, and you're welcome to stay here until we find you permanent residence. It is one of many Order of the Pheonix safe houses, and I think you'll find you'll be quite comfortable here. Everyone in this house is aware of your... situation, and should you agree to it, you can be brought to your first order meeting next week." 

"Does this mean you'd like me to join?" Hermione asked. 

"Yes, although I'll come visit tomorrow to discuss this further with you, and to collect more details about anything you might know," Dumbledore stood up and moved to exit the room. "I'm afraid Alastor will be barging in here with the "cavalry" if I don't make an appearance soon. Goodbye miss Granger." 

"Wait!" Hermione called out as he turned the doorknob. "There's one thing you should know. There's a spy. Someone in the Order is a spy." 

With a curious glance Dumbledore turned around and said, "I am aware." 

And with that, he shut the door, and Hermione was alone for the first time in a long time.

Chapter Text

As the front door opened, five of Molly's children jumped up from the dinner table to go greet their father. The sixth one, who hadn't quite learned to walk yet, was still in Molly's arms as she waved her wand to move all the food to the table. 

"Are you sure I can't help with anything?" Hermione asked nervously as she watch the teetering stack of plates zoom towards the crowded dining room. 

"No, no," Molly waved her off, just as she had before when Hermione had offered to help with dinner. 

She was eternally greatful that Molly had shown her where to wash up, and Hermione had spent nearly an hour scraping all the dried blood off her body. She'd tried not to cringe when she realized how she must have looked to Moody, and suddenly his adverse reaction to her didn't seem to far fetched. She hadn't run into him since that first encounter in the room, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. 

"Please," Hermione begged. "At least let me help with the dishes after. I mean, you're feeding me and you healed me as well." 

"Nonsense!" Molly tutted. "All that healing was Effie, and you need your rest. Time travel is hard on your body." 

Hermione sighed as she couldn't argue with this. She'd barely been awake four hours and was already ready to call it a night. 

"Molly! You won't guess what I found at work today!" Arthur Weasley stumbled into the room, two children hanging off his arms, and the other three trailing behind him. He was tall, thin man, with red hair just as vibrant as his wife. This exuberance wasn't limited to his appearance, as he seemed to be a very lively and joyful man. 

"And what was that dear?" Molly asked politely. 

"A rubber duck!" Arthur exclaimed happily as he fished awkwardly through one of his pockets and presented it triumphantly. "I've yet to figure out what they do, but I intend to do some research tonight. Aren't muggles just fascinating dear?" 

"What other muggle inventions are you interested in?" Hermione asked curiously. 

Most of the dinner conversation continued in that way, with Hermione explaining she was muggle born and proceeding to answer all of Mr. Weasley's questions about various inventions. 

All topic of the war was avoided, and after dinner she was shooed off to bed, too tired to argue, and promptly fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Regulus Black hated his friends. Genuinely. That being said he hated most things, but they were climbing high on the list right now. 

"Hey Rosier! I bet I'll get more houses than you tonight." 

"Like hell you will." 

"Let's turn it into a competition!" 

"Depends on what you're betting." 

"Will you shut up please?" Regulus asked as he held out a hand. 

His head hurt and he allowed his mask to slip for a second. He only allowed these small mistakes around Barty and Evan. Usually his headaches were bearable, but right now it felt as if someone were drilling a hole into his skull. He'd know. He'd performed legillimancy on a man they had been interrogating when Dolohov had employed that particular tactic. Meanwhile he'd forgotten that Regulus could feel everything Gideon Prewett had been at the time. Not that he'd shown it of course. 

They were waiting in Grimauld Place for their summons to tonight's raid by Voldemort. Regulus didn't usually mind the raids. Burn a few buildings, hex some Death Eater behind their back and laugh as they panic and fall to the floor. Good times. But Regulus could never have too good of a time, no. His occulmency shields have to always be up. Especially in the presence of the Dark Lord or any of the other Death Eaters. 

Eventually the marks burned and they apparated to the muggle town they'd agreed upon at their last meeting. Regulus watched, bemused, as Mulciber shot the mark up into the sky, but soon he realized this wasn't the kind of raid he usually enjoyed. 

The Order showed up too quickly. And although he despised most of his fellow Death Eaters, there was still no love lost between him and the Order. This threw a wrench into his usual fun because now he had to be careful, his curses perfect, aim precise. Because no one would believe Regulus Black had simply made a "mistake". Voldemort's most trusted alocyte was the one who hunted them down for theirs. 

No sign of him, thankfully. 

"Regulus!" Avery came up to him quickly, almost panting. "We've got one. Need your help." 

Avery tried to grab him to side-along and Regulus hexed him. "Give me the location and I'll apparate myself," he said coldly. 

"Yes, of course, my mistake," Avery apologized quickly. He knew it wasn't smart to antagonize him. Much less touch the Dark Lord's right hand man. 

After receiving the coordinates--a shack just outside of the town--Regulus surveyed their capture with glee. 

"You," Alastor Moody spat, recognizing the special mask that Regulus wore. 

Regulus smiled, the metal twisting with his skin. A mark of the conseiller. He took in Moody's injuries: a black eye, a large cut on his upper arm, and several puple welts. He was also twitching involuntarily, a mark of the cruciatus curse. 

"Leave us," Regulus commanded, determining they'd had enough fun. They all left without a word, Nott daring to smirk on the way out. Everyone knew what happened in his interrogations. 

Regulus made sure the proper wards and silencing spells were placed on the shack, and that Moody was properly restrained before he began, pacing slowly around the chair he'd been tied to in the middle of the room. 

"How shall we start today, Alastor?" Regulus asked and Moody spat in his face. Regulus wiped it off carefully with a gloved finger and said, "Well we can't be doing that can we?" 

Regulus grabbed his face, and the older Order member flinched. 

He may want to kill Voldemort, but Regulus was not above torture or murder. He'd done both countless times as ordered, and countless times more to get the information he needed, and he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy watching some of his fellow Death Eaters get as good as they gave. Moody was obviously not a Death Eater, but he'd pissed Regulus off all the same on a day when he'd had very little patience to begin with. 

"Legilimens," he hissed. 

Although he often preferred physical torture, Regulus was impatient. Diving into his mind, Regulus flipped through his memories like a curse book. It was immediately obvious that he had some training as his mind had shape, and as soon as he realized this, Regulus threw the book aside. The real stuff would be underneath. 

Just as he predicted, under the table on which Moody's book was resting, was a small, leather bound journal with a lock. Regulus ripped it off and dimly heard a yell of pain somewhere in the outside world. Regulus looked through, finding information on the Order's next moves, and his ongoing search for Gideon Prewett. 

Do you want to know what happened to him? Regulus sneered. 

You'll go to hell for this boy, Moody replied angrily, sensing the disgusting pleasure in his voice. 

Yes I'm sure I will, Regulus conveyed dryly, shoving his memories into Moody's mind. When it was over, the mental room in which Regulus was began to shake. The old bastard was trying to collapse his sanity. But Regulus couldn't have that. That meant there was something valuable. 

Regulus threw up pillars, diving even deeper into the book to find out what it was he was hiding. He almost missed it, he could admit that Mad-eye was good. A double page turn, but he saw a flicker of what was inside, a brown haired witch passed out on a bed. The room shook more and Regulus knew he'd found it. 

Carefully, Regulus peeled open the pages. The paper was starting to crumble before his eyes. She was at the Burrow. Moody on watch, making sure she didn't wake up. The pretty girl mumbling in her sleep. 

"Stop... don't know...diadem...didn't take...hor--" 

Regulus pulled out of Moody's mind so fast the world spun. It had been crushed completely. Regulus cursed when he realized what it meant. The girl with brown hair had been talking about the diadem. Why did it ring a bell? Then Regulus realized the only other piece of useful information he'd been able to get: the girl was from another time. He wasn't sure how he knew, only that Moody had known when he was in that room. 

Think harder Regulus, think harder. He carefully filed away the memories into his library, and examined them more closely. The time turner. There had been a time turner on the bedside table. 

He cursed again. He needed to get back. Regulus looked at Moody now, very much alive but passed out, with drool coming out of the corner of his mouth. Deciding to leave him, as he wouldn't be much use to the Order now anyways, Regulus carefully dismantled his wards and apparated back to the raid site. 

~~~~~~~~ 

A few hours later, Regulus had knelt before the Dark Lord. Voldemort trusted him enough now not to check his memories at every report, but Regulus always prepared himself just incase. When he had explained how Moody had collapsed his mind, he'd been impressed that Regulus had gleaned much at all, deeming his torture and interrogation tactics "exceptional". 

Regulus would have thrown up at the words if he hadn't been used to it. It hadn't stopped the other Death Eaters from shooting him jealous glances behind Voldemort's back, though. They all longed for the role of conseiller, envious that their Dark Lord had created a role just for him. 

When he arrived back at Grimauld Place, Regulus cocooned himself in the library, pouring over his notes about the Horcruxes. After Kreacher had come back nearly dead, Regulus had gone back to the cave, taken the locket, and replaced it with a fake. 

The locket, and he suspected Helga Hufflepuff's cup. But the diadem. It was an interesting proposition, but for the fact that it had been missing for hundreds of years. Yet, Regulus was sure he'd heard the girl say the word horcrux. If she was truly from another time, he needed to get his hands on her before any of the other Death Eaters, much less Voldemort, could. 

So Regulus began to plan. 

~~~~~~~~ 

Dumbledore came back two days later. 

Hermione knew it couldn't have been anything good, based on the way he spoke in quick, hushed tones to Arthur and Molly (they had insisted she called them that). She hadn't seen anyone else from the Order either, although she had spent most of her time asleep, and catching up on her new decade with Molly. 

That was how she found herself usint the floo network with Dumbledore, as the Weasley's quietly sobbed in their living room, landing a spacious, and primly decorated entrance hall. 

A tall, stoic man with deep blue robes greeted them. 

"Albus," he nodded. 

"Kingsley," Dumbledore replied. "This is miss Luna Granger, our newest recruit. I'd like to start her training with you as soon as possible. I was hoping to wait until after the next Order meeting so she could join with Alastor, but with the news..." He trailed off. 

Kingsley nodded solemnly. 

"Can I ask what the news is?" Hermione inquisited. 

"Alastor Moody was found in a shack near a Death Eater raid last night," Dumbledore informed her. 

"He's dead?" Hermione gasped. She hadn't even really met the man, and yet, it felt like something was missing. She shook her head and tried to stop herself from feeling things so deeply. The curses of being a Gryffindor. 

"Not dead," Kingsley replied bitterly. "But as good as." 

"Alastor was found with mind and sanity collapsed," Dumbledore explained at her confused. 

"I didn't even know that was possible," in all her research about legillimancy and occulmency, she hadn't found anything about collapsed minds. She tried to think back to A legilimens' guide to secrets, which was admittedly one of her darker reads, yet there was still nothing in it. 

Kingsley shook his head, "Only an extremely powerful legilimens would be able to do that. The only other way is for Alastor to have done it himself. Which means he knew something," he glanced at Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore simply ignored him and stated, "There are only two legilimens powerful enough to accomplish such a feat, Voldemort himself, and his conseiller." 

Kingsley guided them to sit down on stiff grey sofas in his living room. Just like the entrance way, the living room was decorated with intense precision. The couches formed a u shape around around dimly glowing fireplace, and a large bay window looked out to carefully tamed gardens in the back. 

Hermione had to do a lot to contain her curiosity. She had so many questions buzzing around in her mind, but she knew now wasn't the time to ask. They wouldn't tell her anything before admitting her to the Order, and she wouldn't have either if she was them. 

"So when can I join?" She asked promptly. 

Dumbledore gave her that curious glance through his spectacles once more. "Seeing as we have no official initiation, unlike our counterpart, you may consider yourself a part od the Order. But you are not to tell anyone where you are from. Keep your cover story consistent." 

Hermione looked nervously at Kingsley. 

"Mr. Kingsley is aware of your situation, and he will be your Order contact, and he will supervise your training," Dumbledore continued. "Any relevant knowledge from the future can pass through him." 

"Who else is aware of my... situation?" Hermione asked. 

"The Weasley's, Alastor Moody, Euphemia Potter, Kingsley, and I," he replied, and with a stern glance said, "and seeing as that's already quite a few people I'd prefer if you not tell anyone else." 

The rest of the day progressed quickly, Hermione telling Dumbledore the names of all the Death Eaters she knew already, and any information on who Voldemort might be after. However, she kept all knowledge of the Horcruxes to herself, knowing that was a much more sensitive topic, and promising to pursue her research as soon as she was back at the Burrow. 

Kingsley began her training that day too, and was surprised by the amount of curses she knew for an 18 year old who hadn't yet finished Hogwarts. She had never thought it odd before, but she supposed going to a school run by Death Eaters had to rub off on you in some ways. 

At the end of the day she was rushed back to the Burrow with instructions to attend the Order meeting the next night, and Molly informed her, eyes still red from tears, that she'd take her to Diagon Alley the next day to get some proper clothes. 

Too distracted to manage much conversation, Hermione simply nodded, and dinner passed in a blur as she tried to figure out just how she was going to find Regulus Black.

Chapter Text

Hermione was knocked back by a wave of nostalgia when she flooed to Diagon Alley the next afternoon. She had chosen to dress in light-weight, yet long sleeved, red robes she'd borrowed from an Order member whose name she'd yet to learn.

She chatted fondly with Molly as they wandered the shops, and Hermione found herself actually enjoying her company. The boys were with Arthur today, and she could tell Molly was happy to have a break.

"Luna, dear, how old are you again? I realized I forgot to ask!" Molly wondered.

"I'm 18," she responded shyly.

Molly did the math, knowing she had come from 1988. "Why you would have been born last year! And..." she trailed off.

"What is it?" Hermione inquired curiously.

"It's just... I shouldn't be asking dear. But I suppose I will," Molly sighed. "My son, Ronald, would have been about the same age as you at Hogwarts."

Hermione covered her mouth quietly and tried to tame her face. She didn't want to be the one to have to tell her.

"I never met a Ronald at Hogwarts," she said evenly. And at the horror on Molly's face she was quick to comfort her saying that it was quite possible he simply went to a different school or was there under a different name to avoid suspicion.

The next few minutes were spent in awkward silence until they reached Gringotts. Hermione managed to open an account for herself with little trouble, pretending she was educated privately from Beauxbatons in France. Then due to a note Molly had from Dumbledore, a sizable amount was dumped into her vault, and Hermione scooped it up into her bag.

They had agreed that being from France was a good cover story, as Hermione could speak French, and upon request, tutors from Beauxbatons would often teach students individually, much more commonly than from Hogwarts.

Although she did miss her friends, lying about who she is to people wasn't exactly a new concept to her. She was reminded of this abnormality when Molly glanced at her in shock while she answered the goblins questions about her life in France.

When they exited back to the streets, the mood had seemed to dim. People moved more quickly, spoke in quieter tones. Hermione ignored this as they reached Flourish and Blotts, determined to pick up some new books for research. Molly beamed at her excitement, and gave her some space while she looked in the children's section for Percy's birthday in a few months.

Hermione went straight to the artifacts and curses section, which gained her disapproving glances from the occasional witch or wizard and scoured the titles.

Hexes and Curses, a Beginner's Guide to Dark Magic, Famous Dark Artifacts and their Origins, Poisons and Polyjuice: the Ultimate Guide to Subterfuge.

Hermione scoffed and instead grabbed a book called The Founder's and their Treasures, which supposedly described the lost (or not so lost) artifacts of the Hogwarts Founder's and their locations throughout history. Although she was fairly certain that the diadem was still at Hogwarts, she couldn't be too sure.

When she met back up with a smiling Molly, she was sure she hadn't imagined the change of tone in the Alley.

Molly eyed her nervously, and checked the time with a startled glance. "I need to go grab some things for Albus, but I really don't want to leave you alone..."

Despite her trailing off, she didn't want to bother her too much.

"I'll be fine," Hermione reassured her new friend. "I still have to go to Madame Malkins, you can meet me there."

After a brief consideration Molly agreed and Hermione set off to get some new robes. As soon as she set foot inside, an assistant ran up to her.

"Madam Malkin is busy at the moment, but I can help you this way," the young witch with short blonde hair in royal blue robes guided her to get fitted in a large room with only one other person.

The assistant glanced around nervously and said, "This will have to do I suppose..."

"What's this one doing here," a cold voice snapped and Hermione's head was yanked in it's direction.

"It was the only free space my lord," the witch bowed deeply, and a young man with wavy black hair, and cold blue-grey eyes looked down on her. He was wearing long custom tailored black robes that looked like they cost more than most people's education.

He sighed, "I suppose it will suffice."

Hermione was in shock as the assistant quickly started measuring her. A few seconds later, Madam Malkin came back and began listing off the measurements she'd taken from the boy. His face was a mask of indifference, cruel lips betraying no emotion. When she asked to redo one of his measurements, he simply nodded and stretched his arms out to the side. He looked bored, not as if he didn't have anything to do, but as if he had everything better to do. Hermione supposed she could relate to that.

When Madam Malkin finished, and scurried to the back corner to alter his robes, the boy sat on the bench in the room that held her bag with everything she'd picked up today. She swallowed nervously and had to remind herself that no one knew she was a muggle born. She'd seen how wizards of his stature treated people they thought were below them. Hermione made sure her chin was held high. Act like a stuffy pureblood, she told herself.

When she looked back the boy was staring at her. Act like a stuffy pureblood. She swallowed. When the assistant, Laney, when Hermione had asked, finished getting her measurements she left Hermione and the boy in the room alone. When she got to the bench she raised he was holding her book.

"What interest do you have with the Hogwarts founders miss...?" He waited for her name.

"Granger," she forced a French accent into her voice.

He looked at her curiously and stepped forward. "Je pensais que vous seriez fatiguée du Hogwarts après l'école."

"J'aime toujours l'histoire de l'école," Hermione replied quickly grabbing her book back and putting it in her bag.

He would have almost looked bemused that she had dared to take it from him, if his face could have shown any emotion at all, and Hermione realized she had made a big mistake.

They engaged in a silent staring contest until Molly came in to check on her.

"Luna!" She exclaimed happily, until she saw who she'd been talking with. Molly quickly grabbed Hermione's things from her hands and ushered her out of the room. "Come I got your robes. We need to go now."

Hermione was dying to ask questions but didn't dare while they were still in Diagon Alley. As soon as they got back to the Burrow, Molly rounded on Hermione.

"Why were you talking to that boy?" She demanded.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, very confused. "Who was it?"

"You really don't know?" Molly asked, and then started checking Hermione for injuries. "He didn't hurt you did he?"

"What? No? Why?" Despite having to ask these questions, Hermione was quite certain she knew the answer. Dead pooled in her stomach.

"That was Regulus Black," Molly said quietly. "You-know-who's conseiller."

Molly waited for Hermione to process the information while she continued assuring Hermione. "His brother is on our side of course, Sirius Black, he ran away from home years ago. But Regulus is one of the most renowned Dark Wizards of our time now. I suppose he must look different when he's older."

"Yes," Hermione replied distantly. "I'm sure he does."

"Regulus Black?" Kingsley had just come from the floo network and was dreadfully confused. "What did he want?"

"He was just wondering about my book," Hermione replied, "The Founder's and their Treasures."

Kingsley frowned. "Are you sure he didn't curse it."

"Yes, quite certain," Hermione replied, mind still spinning. Regulus wasn't like what Hermione imagined. She pictured him again, pale skin, dark, wavy hair, piercing eyes. And he wasn't exactly nice to her, but he did seem to have an ego about him. Suddenly, she realized the danger in taking that book back from him. If he was truly Voldemort's conseiller, he could have killed her right then and there, and gotten away with it. She shuddered, and yet, she felt this buzzing need to find him again.

"Well Mr. Black aside, I've come here because we've finally sorted out Hermione's living arrangements," Kingsley said.

"Oh?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, if you could collect your things, I'll bring you to the home of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter," he informed her.

~~~~~~~~

The boy stood there. He couldn't believe his luck. The girl from Moody's memories, in Diagon Alley. He quickly regained his wits when Madam Malkin came back with his robes, and with a nod, went back to Grimauld Place.

Happy to be back in solitude, Regulus collapsed with his notebook on a sofa in the library. His mother would have hated the way he wasn't sitting with his back straight. She would have hated him not writing at a desk to begin with.

Walburga Black had died just over a year ago, due to unknowingly being served sesame seeds at a private dinner. The Macnair's, who'd held the dinner, were executed of course. Voldemort had let Regulus oversee it personally. His father was a shell of himself after his wife had died, and when he followed a few months after, no one was surprised.

Regulus flipped to the first empty page in his notebook and made a list:

Ways to Talk to Luna Granger:

1. Kidnapping
2.

He paused, tapping his quill to his chin, and wondered if she was in the Order yet. Based on her being accompanied by Molly Weasley, probably. He wondered how far in the future she was from. She hadn't recognized him at the shop, that much was clear, so it had to have been far enough that he didn't look the same at all.

He froze.

Or he was dead.

Regulus never minded the idea of dying. It wasn't like he wanted to, but he simply accepted it as a fact of life. What he did mind, though, was dying before Voldemort. That wasn't allowed. And if she was in the Order, she wouldn't have risked her happy future by coming back here. No, Voldemort must have won, which means he must have failed. Killed in his search for the Horcruxes or by his Lord's hands, he guessed.

He didn't know if she knew he was hunting Horcruxes, but Regulus knew she needed information. And he could give it to her.

Carefully setting aside the rest of his Horcrux notes for now, Regulus pulled out his book on tracking spells. It was time him and miss Granger had a real chat.

~~~~~~~~

The place they landed infront of almost reminded her of the Burrow with the sprawling grounds and gardens, but there was a key difference in the housing. Where the Burrow was a tall, precariously place space whose rooms seemed to be added at random as needed, Potter Manor was a slightly larger, yet modest estate with a brown thatched roof and a simply wooden door.

Said wooden door burst open upon their arrival, and two people called out to Kingsley, hurrying over to meet them.

Euphemia Potter turned out to the be the same Effie who had healed her injuries just a couple days ago. They were a slightly older couple, with greying hair, but enough energy to make up for it. The first thing Euphemia did was wrap Hermione in a giant hug.

"I'm so glad to see you've been recovering okay," she gushed. "Perhaps later I can do a little check up if that's okay?"

"Yes of course Mrs. Potter," Hermione said graciously. "Thank you for letting me stay here in the first place."

"Nonsense! It's nothing," the woman replied, "and you must call me Effie."

The man next to her smiled warmly, and reached to shake her hand saying, "And I'm Monty."

"Luna Granger," Hermione gave his hand a firm shake.

Kingsley had told her on the way here that the Potters had lost their only son and daughter-in-law nearly two years ago, and after some careful consideration were ready to take in Hermione. He told her not to press the subject, but that it was sure to come up as it was Order business. He told her not to worry though, as Effie and Monty were some of the nicest people he's met. As usual it seemed, Kingsley was right.

They were ushered inside, and Effie was quick to offer Kingsley pasties and tea, but he refused, saying that he had a meeting at the Ministry to attend but that he would see them that night.

"Well Luna! Let me show you to your room, Monty, dear, grab her bags for her please," Effie clapped her hands and led Hermione through the living room and up the stairs.

The inside of the house exuded the same friendliness as the outside, with pictures of a messy black-haired boy with glasses, and an older couple that she suspected were Effie or Monty's parents. There were also a few pictures of four boys together, the one that was obviously their son, but also another with shaggy black hair, a tall one with dusty curls, and a shorter one with mousy brown hair. But more often than not there were pictures of the first two--running around in the back yard, sitting at the kitchen table, opening Christmas presents in the living room.

When they got upstairs Effie guided her down the hallway pointing, "This is Monty and I's room, if you need anything and this one is yours."

She opened the door to a purple-grey room with a matching bedspread, wooden desk and dresser, and a small closet in the corner. It had a large bay window on one wall outlooking the gardens and there was a bedside table with a lamp.

"I know it's not very decorated," Monty said, "But if you're staying with us long term, we thought you might want to put stuff up yourself."

Hermione teared up at the kindness. She hadn't cried since being in this time, she had still been in shock and denial from what had happened. Hermione thought about her friends and all the research they'd been doing, and she thought about her parents. Merlin, she immediately felt guilty for not wondering about their well being. She pictured her mother's laugh and her father's smile and wished she could go back.

But then Hermione remembered the constant fear, looking over her shoulder, always worrying someone would find out she was muggle born, and suddenly she was happy to be here, where most of the world was still good. That made her cry even harder, because she should have wanted to go back, but she didn't and she couldn't make herself.

Not that it was even an option. Everything she'd done here had changed that. So the only thing left to do was make it so that she could grow up in the muggle world before Hogwarts. Change things so that when she had a bout of accidental magic at the library, her birth parents would be able to raise her. She tried to wipe the tears away as Effie wrapped her in a hug.

"Oh sweetheart, if it's too much I'm sorry," she consoled, "I know it might take some time to adjust but we're always here if you need to talk."

She sat down on the bed with Hermione and after Monty put all her things down he joined too.

"I don't know if Kingsley told you, but we lost our son James about a year and a half ago. He and his wife Lily were expecting...," Monty trailed off, but regained his composure. "We don't think of you as a replacement at all, but maybe it would just help for you to know it's going to be an adjustment for all of us too."

Hermione sniffed and said, "Thank you."

They sat there for a while more before Monty went down to start dinner. Effie offered to show her the rest of the house and Hermione accepted graciously. Effie pointed out the different bathrooms, including the one attached to Hermione's room that she hadn't noticed, dining and reception areas, and brought her to the basement where they stored various fruits and vegetables from the garden and back upstairs to help Hermione start to unpack.

"May I ask what these rooms are for?" Hermione inquired about the three rooms at the top of the stairs.

"Oh of course," Effie said and pointed to each in turn. "This one was James', we just recently began to empty it out though..."

"It's okay," Hermione assured. She knew grief better than most people did.

Effie nodded politely and continued, "This one belongs to our other son, Sirius, although he often shares with his boyfriend, Remus--you're staying in his old room--and the last one is for their other friend Peter."

"I wasn't aware you had two sons?" Hermione's eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.

"Oh, not by blood dear," Effie explained. "Sirius left his family years ago, nasty people, although I try not to be too mean. He's been with us ever since."

Hermione nodded realizing this must be the Sirius Black that Molly had mentioned earlier.

Effie finally left her to her own devices to unpack before dinner, and then the Order meeting and Hermione thanked her again, finally able to settle into her new home.

Chapter Text

At her third Order meeting, Hermione was given a mission with Sirius Black. It was nothing dangerous, just delivering documents from an anonymous supplier to yet another anonymous supplier. It had gone without incident, and they had been mostly silent during it, only exchanging pleasantries when needed. So it surprised Hermione when he invited her out to the bar with his friends that night. 

"We usually get together every couple of weeks," he explained eagerly. "It kinda started as a ritual to get us all together after James and Lily... But you should come." 

Hermione almost said no out of habit, but realized she had to do something to occupy her time and agreed. 

She wouldn't say she really knew either of the Black brothers, but she'd already noticed a difference in their attitudes. Sirius was more impatient, and happy in an almost boy-like manner, meanwhile the one time she'd met Regulus, he'd been calculating, arrogant. Even though he was the one closer to her age, something about him almost seemed ethereal, almost. 

They side-alonged to a muggle bar nearby. Warm light and laughter exuded from the old wooden venue, and it reminded Hermione of the frequent trips she'd made to the muggle world as a child. 

Inside she was led to a table near the back where several people she recognized from the Order were seated, introducing themselves as Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, and Dorcas Meadows. 

"So, Luna, I hear you're from France?" Remus inquired as she slid in next to him, Sirius, and Dorcas. 

She nodded politely, "Yes?" 

"Why'd you join the order then?" Marlene asked. She was a tall, muscular girl with blonde hair and a few polite freckles on her face. 

Hermione thought quickly and realized she didn't have to lie about this. She would have joined the Order in her time too. If they'd been there. She'd hated hiding her muggleborn parentage at Hogwarts, like it was something to be ashamed of rather than celebrated. Something magical out of a world that wasn't. Except what people didn't realize was that the muggle world could be as fantastical as theirs at times. 

She had done her research, and found that blood purity was a joke most of the time. In fact, the more inbreeding that happened in the lines, the more diseases blossomed, and there was no record of the magic getting stronger because of it. 

But no one knew she was a muggleborn. 

"You don't need to be a muggleborn to know what Voldemort is doing is wrong," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "No one should be targeted simply for who they are." 

The others nodded in agreement, Mary especially fiercely, and she asked them the same question. 

"It's not just muggleborns," Remus explained. "It's werewolves and giants and house elves and all sorts of others too." 

After that the evening progressed quickly, Sirius continuing to order them rounds of shots while they got progressively drunk. This, however, resulted in him being all over Remus, who Hermione found out was his boyfriend. 

"They've been gone for eachother since day one," Mary informed her, "except for the brief period of time where Sirius thought he was straight." 

Sirius wrapped his arms around his neck and tried to kiss Remus whining, "Moooooony, come dance with me pleasee." 

"I see," Hermione stiffled a giggle and all the eyes turned slightly cold towards her. 

"There isn't a problem with that is there?" Sirius' voice suddenly resembled his brother's. 

"No, no!" Hermione rushed and stumbled over her words. "Just where I come from it's not too common, but I don't have a problem with it." 

"I was under the impression the wizarding government in France was a bit more lenient?" Dorcas asked off handedly, though the air was much lighter now. 

"I'm not sure," Hermione admitted, trying to cover up her lack of knowledge. "In my community at least." 

"Where was that?" Mary inquired politely. 

Hermione scrambled for an answer, her eyes wide. Luckily she was saved by Sirius who announced, "Enough with the interrogation! I want another drink!" 

Hermione gave a silent relieved sigh and realized she was going to have to do more research into her "backstory" before people asked her any more questions. 

Her mind wandered as she watched the others, minus Peter, who had excused himself to the washroom, see who could down shots the fastest. She had no desire to be inebriated enough to slip up, and so she opted to observe instead, only taking the occasional drink. 

Hermione wanted to think about her plan. What was her plan? She had been reading up on the founders artifacts in her spare time, specifically the diadem, but had found no more than rumours pointing to it's location. 

Her only option, really, was to find Regulus Black. 

Before she had travelled to this time, she had only just discovered the Horcruxes when she'd been caught. She had been on her way to steal the sword of Godric Gryffindor to open the Chamber of Secrets when she'd been accused of trying to open the "Dark Lord's personal chamber", which had only confirmed her suspicions that a Basilisk was inhabiting it. 

One of the things she'd discovered from her research was that there were very few ways to destroy a Horcrux with fiendfyre and basilisk venom being some of the only options. Luna was going to help her kill it, but that plan had fallen through. 

Hermione tried not to think about what had happened to her. What hadn't happened yet. That timeline probably didn't exist now, and it made her sad when she realized that in this reality, she might not even be friends with Luna. 

"What's wrong Hermione," Dorcas smiled at her, slightly tipsy. 

She frowned, not realizing her face had been obvious. "Just thinking," she replied. 

"About what?" 

"How life will turn out," she gave a vague response. 

"Like what you'll do after the war?" Remus asked curiously. 

Hermione was hit by his comment. What would she do after the war? She hadn't even really considered how she would continue her life in this time frame. 

"I'm thinking of doing my NEWTS," she admitted. "If I want to get a job here, I need those qualifications, and it's not like I have the Beauxbatons equivalent." 

While Sirius, Mary and Marlene looked horrified, Dorcas and Remus nodded thoughtfully and Dorcas asked, "and after that?" 

"I'm not sure," she admitted. She would worry about that after she found the horcruxes. However many there were. 

Hermione knew for certain that there were more than one. She'd found this out after Bellatrix had gone on about her stealing "one" of the Dark Lord's most private possessions. Just thinking of Bellatrix made Hermione's mind start to flash, thinking about the knife that-- 

Dorcas gave her a concerned look, and Sirius joked, "It sounds like you haven't had enough drinks yet." 

"Someone should grab another round," Mary said, but before she could get up Hermione offered. She needed to get away from the table for a moment. The others chortled in agreement at free alcohol and let her go. 

She wandered over to the bar, desparate to forget about Bellatrix. Instead she thought about her Horcrux hunt, and the best way to contact Regulus Black. She placed her order and leaned against the bar, watching the patrons come and go, realizing there were no good ways. Any mail good be intercepted and she had no idea where he would be at any given time. 

Once they were ready, Hermione grabbed the drinks and was about to make her way back to the table when a stranger in a black cloak bumped into her. He had been sitting at the bar until that point, but Hermione wasn't sure when he had arrived, or risen from his seat. Before she could react past her racing heart and tell him off, he disappeared. He had only whispered once sentence, but Hermione wasn't sure if he'd actually said it or if she'd just imagined it. 

Check your pocket. 

Hermione rushed back to the table, not daring to even think. She quickly downed a shot. 

"That's the spirit!" Marlene cheered. 

Once they had finished their drinks, Sirius was once again on top of Remus, begging him to dance. Not drunk enough to agree--the others informed her Remus never was--he simply raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend and instructed him to dance with one of the girls instead. 

Mary obliged and took him to the dance floor where they both started swaying in time to the upbeat music. The others began to file in, and the only one on the side was Remus, watching his boyfriend with an intent expression on his face. 

For some reason, Hermione followed them, and found herself in the rush of music and the press of heat. She lost herself to it quickly, the rest of the evening passing in a blur as she tried to forget the strange man in the strange coat, and the even stranger feeling of that sentence pressed against her mind. 

Only when she arrived late to the Potters did Hermione dare to check her pockets. She had been wearing a long sleeved muggle shirt and jeans with a cardigan on top. She hadn't gone around in short sleeves since she'd arrived, despite it being the end of April. 

And then she felt it, and hands shaking she withdrew a carefully folded note with one sentence on it in elegant cursive. 

2pm, Southgate Road, London. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

Regulus went to the Crypt that night. He pushed open the door and strutted inside, careful to keep his feelings in check. Every head turned to look at him as he stalked with cold purpose across the floor. He'd enchanted his cloak to flow extra as he walked, the hood to stay down, covering his entire face, and his voice to sound more scratchy. Was he vain? Maybe. But careful too. No one could know who he is. Plus, it had been an extra precaution for his earlier missions. 

"Give me 20," Regulus told the bartender, setting down several sickles on the bar. 

The man gave him a quick glance, "A bit eager tonight, are we?" 

Regulus knew the withering look he gave him translated, even if he couldn't see his face. The man quickly apologized to the wraith, and led Regulus down a set of stairs into a dimly lit room. And he waited. 

He always started a bet on the other wizard. The bartender knew this. It made more people bet on him in return. 

There was a spy in the Order's ranks, Regulus was sure. Someone had known about Sirius' mission with Luna, and several Death Eaters had been out on duty to scout their mission and watch the supplier where they had delivered the documents from. 

The idea of a spy in the Order made him mad, mostly because he had no idea who it was. As the conseiller, Regulus was usually privy to most of Voldemort's plans, and all of the Death Eaters secret operatives. It was part of his job to determine where their loyalties truly lie, to sniff out any spies, and to torture them. Badly. 

It had taken all of Regulus' power to prevent them from going early to ambush the Order, convincing them that it would be better to coerce the supplier into helping them, rather than exposing their business by murdering their clients on their front lawn. But that meant taking care of several very restless and violent Death Eaters for hours, which had set Regulus on edge. 

Hatred rustled deep in his heart. He had debated letting them kill Sirius. The world would have been better that way. He should have let them kill Sirius. If he had known they were going to blow up the supplier's shake regardless, he might as well have gotten something out of it. Those Death Eaters were going to suffer later. He had already marked down their names. 

But he had needed that dealer for his research. Venomous Tentacula seeds were nearly impossible to come by. Even Pandora didn't grow those. Not that he would involve her in his plans regardless. 

When he had seen Luna there, though, Regulus knew this was his chance. He tracked their apparation through a spell he had created to a muggle bar. In the end, he had decided on a letter. Either she would go or she wouldn't, and he was certain he'd been killed by Voldemort in her timeline. As for her exposing him? If she hadn't already in the weeks she'd been here, she wasn't likely too now. And if she tried to blackmail him? Well, he was a Death Eater after all. 

He wouldn't count on anything if she was hanging out with his brother. She was a part of the Order, had knowledge from the future, and was obviously a little stuck up from the annoyed look she'd given him when they knocked shoulders in the pub. 

He shook himself back to reality when the large door in the middle of the room creaked open slowly, revealing an arena with hard black sand and gray walls. 

A bell rang. 

It was time. 

Regulus stalked into the arena, taking in the sudden brightness, and the roaring people high above him. Some even dared to jeer over the edge. That would soon change. 

His opponent entered from the opposite side of the arena: a tall, fair haired wizard in robes of midnight blue and a long spindly wand. Regulus was sure this would be easy. A deep bell rang out in the distance, and the battle begun. 

The other wizard fired first, a flash of red coming from his wand. Regulus ducked, not bothering to worry about a shield while he weaved around the arena. The duel went on in this way for quite a while--Regulus spinning and running, not firing a single thing back at his opponent. 

The crowd cheered and booed. He lived for this feeling. The dance, the danger. Nimble and agile and terrible all at once. No one knew who he was in this remote club in Australia. Faceless. Nameless. Only his reputation as a duler, as the Wraith, proceeded him. 

Here, Regulus could do whatever he wanted. Bestow torture, grant mercy. It was his favourite way to let go of his emotions. 

Finally, he decided that the other wizard had had enough fun. Regulus began to hex him back. A hush settled over the observers as he weaved twisting patterns in the air, sparks of neon spraying towards midnight blue. 

Regulus sent a particularly violent hex at his opponent, and he stumbled, green fungus beginning to grow over his face. It creeped down his arms and the man began scratching at his clothes, tearing at anything he could reach. 

"Please! Please!" The man begged, wailing in pain. 

Regulus simply watched. When the man fell to the floor, and when he was finally unconscious, Regulus turned and walked towards his entrance silently, coldly, not sparing a single glance for the man behind him. 

The crowd erupted in cheers, but for some reason, Regulus didn't feel any better. It felt like every time he had made progress on how to destroy the locket, he got set back. He didn't have many options left, as he didn't want to die casting fiendfyre, and hadn't exactly seen any basilisks around. He hated to admit it, but Luna was the best option Regulus had. Regulus hated being without options. 

He apparated back to Grimauld Place in the early hours of the morning. He almost called on Kreacher before he remember his orders to send him away. He couldn't risk Voldemort knowing he was alive without him concluding that Kreacher must have told Regulus what was in that cave. 

That had been the final straw for Regulus. He had never liked Voldemort before--he had always planned to betray him--but only because of his ideals. Regulus had never had a problem with dark magic, in fact he often stayed up late into the night researching the most vile and stomach wrenching curses, but things like the way Purebloods treat house elves was genuinely disgusting to him. 

Even Sirius for all his talk about muggleborn equality, had treated Kreacher terribly. He even had a boyfriend, for Merlin's sakes. It was just one of the many reasons Regulus had been in so many fights with his brother. 

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had refrained from drinking any alcohol tonight, and now he was regretting it as he tried to forget about all his encounters. Regulus needed to be at the top of his game tomorrow to meet Luna Granger. 

He wrinkled his nose at the thought. 

Fitfully and restlessly, Regulus finally fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~~ 

The next day moved much too fast and yet much too slow for Hermione. Sirius and Remus had come back with her to the Potter's, both too drunk to apparate themselves. Euphemia Potter hadn't seemed too concerned when they stumbled in, the two boys shutting themselves in Sirius' room without a second thought. Hermione had been bade a simple, but kind goodnight as she treked up the stairs to her own room. 

Things with the Potters had become much more comfy over the last two weeks. Most of her time was spent training with Kingsley and reading up on the diadem, but she also spent quite a bit of time with Effie and Monty, and she'd begun to make some potions for the Order on the side. 

Hermione spent the morning in a constant state of nervousness. She was relatively sure she'd be brought to an alternate location, but she had no way of knowing where, and no one to tell to look out for her. She was going to have to lie about her whereabouts. In addition, she had no idea what to expect from the mysterious leaver of the note. 

A large part of her hoped it was Regulus, but there was no reason for him to know she was worth while. Unless he had discovered it in Moody's memories. Dumbledore had assured her that the collapsed state of his mind meant that no information could have escaped but what if he was wrong? What if Regulus found out and was now coming to hunt her down and take her to Voldemort. To Bellatrix. 

Sitting on her bed, Hermione began to hyperventilate, and had to remind herself that Regulus Black was a traitor. She couldn't afford to think about when or if it wasn't true. Regulus Black was a traitor. 

But just incase, Hermione had to have a plan. 

Hermione apparated to the meeting spot at 5 to 2 so that she could walk around and find the place where her stalker would meet her, and having been given only the street, she knew it could take a while. The street was averagely busy with quaint shops and flats littering the sidewalks. 

She supposed that any commotion in a busier area would be less strange, but it was still calm enough for them to find a secluded apparation point. If they even cared about that. 

At 2 o'clock, Hermione realized she should make herself less visible. She didn't know where exactly they would be meeting, so she snuck into an alleyway between two buildings and waited. This turned out to be a good choice because a figure in a dark cloak grabbed her arm, and she felt a familiar twist in her stomach that was side along apparation. 

They landed inside a dimly lit library, with shelves going up two stories. Hermione was pushed into a wooden chair while the figure took above her smiling cruelly, the material biting into her skin. Hermione forced herself to look at his cloaked face. 

"Now let me tell you how this is going to go," the cold, clear voice of Regulus Black instructed.