Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe and no money is being made from this story.

A/N: Another Time-Travel story! This is something that was developing in my head as I wrote A Good Life, and I wanted to share it with you! Or, well, at least the beginning of it. The main pairing in this story is Regulus/Harry, but it will be a sloooow burn. There will be other (side) pairings as well as the story progresses.

I have no idea if I'm able to keep weekly (or even biweekly) updates, but I'll try. I decided to keep the chapters shorter in this story, since it will be a lot easier to review them before posting. This is a multi-chapter story, but how long, well, I guess time will tell :)

The story follow's the books somewhat closely so any dialogue you might recognise (included sporadically in some of the chapters), is from there!

Can't wait to hear what you think of this one :) So please, review!

Chapter 1: Eye of the Needle

The Cave by the sea, July 31st 1979

I should start by acknowledging that I'm not in my best shape at the moment. Mentally or physically. I mean, suffering the effects of a torturous poison and facing an army of dead corpses might have something to do with that. I'm currently lying on the ground, face against the cold stone and struggling to move. I don't feel anything, except when I try to move. Then it hurts like buggery. I now realise that perhaps I should've sent Kreacher to get some help, instead of ordering him to go straight back to Grimmauld Place, but, well…who would help me? A Death Eater? None of the Dark Lord's followers, I'm sure, considering that I'm currently betraying him. My parents might, but then we'd eventually all have targets on our backs. No, I'm better off alone. I always have been.

I only joined the Dark Lord's cause and his forces because of my family. It was expected of me, as the heir to our House. Yes, I might have shared some of their beliefs at first, but not so much anymore. It was more about not wanting to disappoint my parents. You know how it goes, I'm sure. I have an older brother, Sirius, who was lucky to get away from us. From all of this. I didn't always think like this, in fact I kind of loathed my brother for befriending Blood traitors, Muggleborns and Half-breeds, how he preferred their company over our family. It is somewhat amusing how the mind works, how one's beliefs and opinions change in certain circumstances. A turning point for me was after the Dark Lord had requested an Elf. Of course, I more than eagerly informed him that Kreacher, my Elf, could help him with anything and everything he demanded.

So…That was quite the misjudgement on my part. One I still regret of making. Because of me, Kreacher ended up suffering. Because of me, its trust in wizards and witches has wavered. But, due to the whole incident, I learned something about the Dark Lord. I learned his secret. He hasn't been very subtle about it, let me tell you. Boasting about his invincibleness, mentioning that he has performed such kinds of magic we lesser beings can only dream about…Someone was bound to find out.

Sure, I myself have played with the thought. What would it feel like to be immortal? I guess I'll never find out. I hiss out a moan as I turn on my back and slowly stand up, my body shuddering from pain and exhaustion.

I'm in the middle of an island, the hiding place of his secret. I turn around, and they are everywhere, the dead corpses. Surfacing from the lake, crawling up the sharp rocks, towards me. I'm surrounded. This isn't exactly the way I pictured myself dying. I mean, this has to be counted as some sort of brainless Gryffindor bravery, right? But…is it, if no one will know? Well, except the Dark Lord, if he decides to visit his creepy little lair.

I left him a note, you see. Promising to destroy him and his little secret. A bit on the complacent side, if you ask me, but…well, that is how I am. My only hope is that Kreacher will be able to destroy the Horcrux so that the Dark Lord will finally face his demise.

I take in a deep breath and stand tall. Perhaps this way I might be able to salvage at least a tiny bit of my family's honour, to make our House noble again. Perhaps with my sacrifice – I chuckle to my thoughts – I can change the future.

Grimmauld Place, July 31st 1995

I'm heading towards the library, where I suspect Hermione is in a middle of engulfing one of the large and stained tomes from Sirius's family's collection. It is my fifteenth birthday and everyone else is still in the kitchen, eating cake and discussing my hearing, which is going to take place in a couple of weeks. We've gone it through several times already, and it seems like I cannot even enjoy the wonderful chocolate cake Molly Weasley has baked without hearing about the lousy topic. I swear if I have to listen one of them reassure me one more time, I might just combust.

To explain my situation a bit, I was attacked by Dementors two days ago, and immediately afterwards the Ministry decided to suspend me from Hogwarts and destroy my wand because I had performed a Patronus charm in front of my cousin, Dudley, evidently saving us from the horrible creatures. But no, no one seems to take an interest in that small detail. No one in the Ministry, that is. Only because Dumbledore had apparently swooped in and managed to lessen the verdict I was permitted to keep my wand and get a hearing instead. After that, the Order – which I've recently learned is a secret society, founded by Dumbledore during the first war – decided to pull me out from the Dursleys and bring me to their Headquarters.

Even though I couldn't have been happier to leave the Dursleys, I can't help but feel a bit…let down. I've been in Surrey the whole summer – near starvation, might I add – and no one thought it would be necessary to let me know anything. Every letter I received, from Hermione, from Ron, from Sirius – they all said the same thing; be careful and don't do anything rash. I reckon the Order probably wouldn't even have picked me up if I hadn't run into the bloody Dementors.

After I came here to the Order's Headquartes, which is surprisingly my godfather's childhood home, Grimmauld Place, Ron and Hermione said that they wanted to tell me everything in their letters, but they couldn't. Apparently Dumbledore had made them swear not to tell me anything. Why, I wonder? Why doesn't Dumbledore trust me? Haven't I proven myself enough during the past years?

It is unfair that the others can enjoy a party, the rest of their summer, and plan the next school-year. I don't want to hear a word about Hogwarts, the one place I have called home. Because now I might lose it. I'm anxious about the hearing, about Dumbledore, about everything, and there's nothing I can do about anything.

I spot one of my best friends curled in an armchair near the fireplace, a dusty and ancient looking book tucked on her lap. "Hey, Mione…Couldn't handle another round of cake?" I ask as I plop down next to her on the sofa.

Hermione grunts absently and marks the page before she looks up from the timeworn book and studies my features. Her eyes sweep over my messy, tangled, jet black hair. She's evidently restraining herself from running her fingers through it in order to make it smoother. A sympathetic smile lifts her lips as she gazes into my eyes.

"Well, you know how I think about speculating. So I decided to come here instead and take a look at the books if I could find something useful for the hearing," she says with a small shrug.

Did I say that I really, like, love her? No, not like that. Like friendship. She's my best friend.

She has these brilliant, brown eyes that shine with compassion and earnestness. Okay, she can be a right authoritarian bitch when she wants to, but usually that kind of behaviour is directed towards Ron. Almost always. I'm suspecting there's more to them than just their clashing personalities. I guess time will tell.

She nudges her head towards a stack of books on the small table next to us. "Most of them contain at least some bits of information regarding underage magic and wizarding trials," She says and frowns slightly as she glances at the book on her lap. "Didn't exactly find anything useful in here, and I'm actually quite astonished that something like this can be found from the Order's Headquarters, as some of the topics are rather…atrocious," she says dryly, tucking her legs under her.

I smile at her. She's always been like that. A bookworm. While I'm not as studious as Hermione, I'm still grateful that she is. Her craving for knowledge has saved us more than once or twice in some tricky situations in our past.

"Oh? What's it about?" I ask, only mildly interested, and she knows, but I'm still asking because I'm a good friend.

She clears her throat. "It's something about ancient rituals and descriptions about how to fulfil one's destiny and regain honour. Along with a bunch of rubbish regarding pureness and glory. Undoubtedly relating to the pureness of one's blood…" She concludes bitterly.

Hermione's a Muggleborn witch, and while that doesn't bother me at all – since, hell, I didn't even know I was a wizard until Hagrid came barging into that shack and told me – some people are bothered. Bloodpurists, we call them. I think she is even more in the spotlight than the other Muggleborns, because of me…The Boy Who Lived. I groan inwardly. It sounds so bloody stupid. Whoever invented that, has to be banging his head right now. So, as I was saying, Hermione has enemies. In school, it's a lot tamer, since Dumbledore runs the school and doesn't approve bullying. Although, that doesn't stop Malfoy and his stupid Slytherin cronies from trying.

"Well, I'm not surprised after Sirius told me about his family. Did you know they were loyal supporters of Voldemort?" I ask grimly. "Sirius mentioned his brother was a Death Eater…" I mutter, my thoughts lingering on earlier that day, when Sirius showed me the tapestry of House Black, and told me bits and pieces about his depraved family.

"Oh? No, I didn't know, but I assumed as much…" Hermione says, her voice trailing off as she returns back to her book. "Listen to this," she says after a short silence, an incredulous look taking over her face. "'By sacrifice will it be provoked, by our words will it be fulfilled.' She recites from the book. "These people are deranged…Sacrificing the 'impure' to earn honour…" She mutters and turns a page.

I hum in agreement. "Toujours Pur," I say quietly. Hermione turns towards me with a quizzical brow.

"Oh, just something Sirius said to me. The family motto, apparently…" I explain, feeling quite a bit disoriented.

Hermione nods slowly. There's a short silence, during which she sets the book on top of a small pile on the table, which I assume are the discarded books.

"I should go…Ron's probably wondering where I am…I promised to help him with his summer homework," She says and brushes her jeans lightly to remove the dust that came from the books.

I arch a brow at her. "So…Are you an item now?"

"W-What? No. I mean, no?" Hermione stammers.

Oh, this is too good. I laugh and sprawl over the sofa as she stands up, blushing furiously and scowling at me.

"Okay then." I say innocently and try to school my expression, although she sees the knowing look in my eyes.

"Good night, Harry." She says tightly and walks towards the library door.

"Night, Mione," I reply and let out a small snort when the door closes with a bang.

They are both quite obvious, Ron and Hermione. But as I said, time will tell. I sigh and lie against the small pillow that is nestled in the end of the sofa.

I must have dozed off for some time, since I wake up with a jolt. It's dark, clearly late, and everyone else is probably already sleeping as the house seems to be eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

I stand up and slowly pull my wand from the back pocket of my jeans. Something's not right, and I can feel it in my bones. I blink in the dark, vast room, and try to gauge the situation. I feel like someone else is here as well.

My heart is pounding in my ears as I hear a shuffling sound behind me. I turn swiftly, my wand at the ready.

A man is standing there, in a very dishevelled state. His face and neck sports several cuts and bruises, and I'm quite sure he's dripping water as well. His arms are crossed, a look of bewilderment edged on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Potter?" he says, and I gape at him.

He knows who I am, but I have no bloody idea who he is.