Alrighty folks, this is going to be major AU in many ways. Time/Dimensional Travel rules give me a blinding head-ache, so I'm making my own rules up as I go along. Hermione/Ivy will be one BAMF in this fic and there will be blood and sex magic involved, so yay... Hermione's going to be involved with several wizards in both timelines!

I am almost finished with the next chapter of Something About Hermione and An unlikely Trio, so this is a little something to tide you over until then. This is not beta'd so please forgive any mistakes.

Chapter 1

Hermione wasn't sure how it happened. One minute she was in the Department of Mysteries fighting Death Eaters and the next, she was being propelled through an unmarked door, having been hexed by that bastard Lucius Malfoy. She supposed she should be grateful that the hex hadn't imparted more damage although she was going to be damn sore along with sporting a scar the size of a chocolate frog on the side of her abdomen. Death Eaters didn't disarm, they didn't take prisoners unless specifically ordered by Voldemort. No, they aimed their wands in an effort to maim, and then kill. Still, she wasn't dead, so that right there was saying something.

She'd seen the hex coming; the absolute determination on the senior Malfoy's' face to inflict as much damage as possible to the Filthy Mud-blood. At the last second, she'd turned her body just-so and was saved from the majority of the jet of dark red bursting forth from the tip of his wand. She'd been hit, that was true, but not with the full force of the spell. She'd been damn lucky.

Wincing as she slowly rose to her feet, Hermione tried to search the room for enemies, but she was completely enveloped in darkness. Remaining motionless, she listened, really listened to her surroundings just as Remus had taught her. Nothing. Not. A. Damn. Thing.

Taking a chance, she whispered, "Lumos."

The small spark at the end of her wand barely penetrated the suffocating atmosphere. Warily, she moved her wand from side-to-side and although it was dim, she did catch the merest glimmer off to her right. Moving stealthily, also taught by Remus, Hermione made her way to where the glimmer was now growing brighter. What she saw astonished her. Standing before her was a doorway very similar to the one she'd seen in another room of the Department of Mysteries.

A sort of flash caught her attention off to the left, so Hermione moved her wand in that direction as well discovering another doorway very similar to the one before her. After further investigation, to her absolute astonishment, she discovered that this entire room was lined with doorways. At first, they reminded her of the veil, but upon closer inspection, they didn't seem as ominous. In fact, they were beautiful. She peered into one after the other trying to discern where they might lead. Finally, she settled on one whose border was simple, yet elegant. Not nearly as ornate as some of the others, but it drew her none-the-less.

The surface undulated, creating a bright silver, putting her in mind of wave after wave of moving mercury. Curious, Hermione stepped closer and when nothing happened, she tentatively reached out, placing her hand against the veneer of silver. Much to her surprise, it was solid and cool against her palm. It felt... good. Suddenly, she began to feel vibrations coming from it, working its way through her hand and up her arm. Panicked, Hermione tried to draw back but found herself unable to do so.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she silently admonished herself. She knew better than to touch an unknown artifact! She could yell at herself later. Right now, she needed to get off this thing! Raising her wand arm, Hermione attempted to use any spell she could think of to gain her release, but nothing worked. In fact, the vibrations grew stronger and to her horror, her hand began to be swallowed up! She was being sucked into the archway!

Pulling violently accomplished nothing; she was now almost covered by the substance up passed her bicep. Cursing, she dug her heels into the floor, leaning back for leverage, but the insistent pull did not abate. The last thought that flashed through Hermione's head as she was sucked completely into the void was that she'd survived by the skin of her teeth from Lucius Malfoy only to end up being idiotic enough of doing him the service of killing herself!

Lucius Apparated to the designated meeting place; his son following shortly after.

"Is it done," Draco asked with a furrowed brow.

"Yes," murmured, the older Malfoy. "Prepare yourself. I am uncertain as to how the Dark Lord will react."

Draco sighed. "He's been after Granger for quite some time. Perhaps he won't be angry since the deed has finally been accomplished."

"Doubtful." His father disagreed, then added, "However, one can hope he will view it as such." Turning to the boy, he instructed sharply, "Do nothing to attract his attention when he arrives. Nothing. Keep your eyes downcast not only as a sign of respect, but also so he cannot see into your thoughts. Severus has done a fine job in training your mind against the Dark Lord, but there are times when your eyes betray you."

Draco nodded briefly, hand tightening on his wand as he heard the various popping sounds of the others appearing all around them. "Do you think she'll survive," Draco whispered.

"If anyone can, it is she," his father muttered. "Events have unfolded as foretold, so it is safe to assume she will arrive unharmed, otherwise none of this will have happened. Be quiet now, boy," Lucius commanded as one of the Death Eaters broke away from group, striding purposefully toward the blonde wizard, wand aimed at his heart.

"You snatched glory from my very grasp," Dolohov snarled, stopping mere inches from the other mans' face. "She was mine! The Dark Lord deemed it so!"

Unmoved by this show of aggression, Lucius calmly replied, "Your aim was off. You attempted twice to hit her and failed. I took the chance that I might fare better. Which I did."

"I was getting rid of those around her first! I wanted the absolute best vantage point," Dolohov growled, spittle spilling from his mouth as he raged on. "You've ruined everything!"

"You have failed our Lord in this task before," Lucius reminded the other wizard with a sneer. "I had the opportunity to rectify your mistake and I took it. Now step back, or I will blast you back. The choice is yours."

Enraged, Dolohov grabbed Lucius by the front of his robes hauling him nearly off of his feet, but before he could do any further harm, a silver dagger appeared just under his Adam's apple, slicing the tender skin, releasing a line of small, red beads of blood. The wound was superficial, as was intended, but it served its purpose.

Dolohov abruptly released him, stepping back slightly, murder still lurking in his eyes. "This is far from over, Malfoy."

Pocketing his dagger, Lucius's lips twisted in derision. "I would be more concerned with your own plight considering you have managed to lose favor with our Lord with your continued ineptitude."

Growling deep in his throat, the other wizard raised his wand once more, intent on damaging the other man. Lucius stood his ground, face placid. Just as Dolohov was preparing to utter the Death Curse, his wand flew from his grasp. Dolohov turned slightly to see the Dark Lord brandishing it.

"Enough!"

Dolohov backed off as their Master moved with serpentine grace amongst his followers. Stopping in front of Lucius, he quietly hissed through a lip-less mouth, "What have you done, Lucius?"

Bowing his blonde head in deference, Lucius said, "My Lord. I saw an opening to rid you of the Mud-blood and I took it. She will trouble you no more."

The Dark Lord said nothing, then growled, "She was to be taken alive, you fool! Crucio!"

Lucius fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Every muscle in his body spasmned and jolted violently. He bit his lip to keep from screaming, then gave it up for a lost cause. It would be better in the long run since the Dark Lord reveled in the pain he caused and to deny him that pleasure would only lead to a longer punishment. Finally, it was over and he was left panting and sweating in the dirt.

"Forgive me, my Lord," he gasped, still in the thrall of the curse. "I thought only to please you."

"Please me?" He hissed angrily. "We could have used her as leverage against that brat, Potter. For a Mud-blood, she is quite intelligent and has become Potter's strength and knowledge. Knowing we had her captured and secure would have devastated the boy, making him weak. She was then to be given to Dolohov after she had served her purpose. You knew all of this!"

Lucius struggled to keep the bile rising in his throat from pouring forth. He wasn't sure if it was an after-effect of the curse, or the thought of Hermione Granger in the hands of that sadist, Dolohov. Probably a combination of both.

"I demand satisfaction for his interference," Dolohov exclaimed through clenched teeth, madness in his eyes.

Draco dare not make a move to assist his father for fear of incurring that insane monster's wrath. It took a moment but, his father did manage to pull himself to his knees, placing himself in a position of supplication. It pained him to see his proud father forced into such humiliation. They were of one of the most Noble Houses of the Wizarding World, while this creature before them was nothing in comparison, especially when it came to the issue of blood.

Not that blood mattered when it came to wielding powerful magic. Voldemort and Granger had that common denominator between them. If what his father had told him was true, and he had no reason to think otherwise, Granger hadn't even begun to delve into the depths of her power. According to several conversations he'd overheard between his parents, she wouldn't come into her own until her final year at Hogwarts. If she could rid their world of this demented being, Draco would gladly kiss her Muggle-born feet.

As if hearing his thoughts, Voldemort's head swiveled toward him and Draco had but a second to protect his wayward thoughts before he felt the battering ram of the other wizards' power crash forcefully against his mind. He was able to do what he'd been taught, throw up the shields but still allow only the thoughts to be seen that he chose to be seen. He must have succeeded because the Dark Lord chuckled.

"Ah, I see you agree with my punishment of your father," Voldemort exclaimed in delight. "You were hoping to have the Mud-blood for yourself after Dolohov had finished with her and Lucius' interference will now prevent that from happening."

Draco was helpless to prevent the blush coloring his ashen cheeks. That thought was not meant to have been seen although having been taken woefully out of context, it served an ideal purpose in this situation. Glancing at his father, he found him staring back through a veil of blonde locks twisted with dirt and debris. Surprisingly, there was no disgust in his gaze, no disappointment, merely a wry sort of acceptance and understanding graced his features before the mask of stoicism settled there once again.

"There will be no dueling amongst my followers today," The Dark Lord declared, much to Dolohov's disappointment. "Where is her body? We will send it back to Potter, but before doing so, we will defile her in ways that will destroy Potter and his puny Order. They will weep! They will wail, and her death with make them vulnerable!"

Head still bowed, nearly touching the forest floor, Lucius ventured to say, "She is gone, my Lord. When the curse struck her, she was sent back through the Door of Veils."

There was a collective gasp from the others. Even Dolohov looked rattled. The Door of Veils had never been seen by a living soul and yet Malfoy was claiming that he'd sent the Mud-blood through it? Impossible! No one knew of its exact location.

"You lie," Voldemort exclaimed with certainty, raising his arm once more to dispense his own form of punishment.

"My Lord," Lucius dared to say. "You have but to see into my mind to glean the truth of it. I would not lie to you. You are my Lord and I serve you in all things, in all ways."

"Rise," Voldemort commanded. Lucius stumbled slightly, but managed to right himself. "For your sake and your son's, it best be so."

It took all of Lucius' strength to hold true to the memory of blasting Hermione backward and not to let him see anything other than the fight at the Ministry. It was several agonizing minutes, worse than even the Cruciatus curse, of brutally shifting and rampaging through his thoughts until, finally, it was over.

Sweat coursed down his cheeks. He veered to the side, almost falling to the ground but a hand on his elbow prevented that final indignity.

"He speaks the truth," Voldemort informed his followers. "I wonder, Lucius, how did you find this elusive Door of Veils? It has been little more than a myth for tens of thousands of years."

"I know not, my Lord," Lucius panted, his world spinning from the double onslaught he'd just received. "I struck her with the curse and as she was pushed back, the door appeared behind her. My grandfather told me stories, and so I recognized it from the little glimpse I was able to get of it before she passed through."

Suspicious, Voldemort insisted, "No one knows what to look for when it comes to the Door of Veils. No living soul in history has ever seen and lived to tell of it. If I had not looked into your mind to discover the truth for myself, I would not believe you. Even so, I find it difficult to take your word that it was the Door of Veils in which she fell."

The grip on his elbow tightened, and while Lucius was grateful for its support, he shrugged the hand away as a familiar voice intervened. "My Lord, if I may?"

"Yes, Severus, you have something of import to add?"

"I too have heard the stories and descriptions of this Door. It is not unlike the myth of Atlantis, which to this day, still enchant the Muggles though its existence has never been proven. Even so, descriptions of this lost civilization abound in their literature. It could well be the same with this Door. Perhaps myth and legend have overshadowed fact and those who have witnessed its reality have been ridiculed to the point of silence on the matter. If so, Lucius could very well have been able to ascertain, even briefly, the existence of this Door through stories passed down from generations. It is not out of the realm of possibility."

There was a moment of silence and then the Dark Lord said, "Yes, it is possible. I will allow for that much at least. Your supposition holds merit. It matters not now, for the Mud-blood is dead and that fact alone will affect the entire workings of the Order."

Bowing slightly, Severus requested, "If I may see to your willing servant, my Lord?"

"Let us return to the Manor," Voldemort commanded his followers. Looking directly into Severus' face, he added, "You may then ease Lucius' discomfort. Young Malfoy," his disturbing gaze swinging once again to Draco. "Assist your father with Apparating. It would not do for him to splinch himself."

"Of course, my Lord," he readily agreed, moving to the side of his father who was trying valiantly not to lean heavily against his god-father lest he appear weak to all those gathered round. "Father," he murmured, "allow me to offer my services."

"I need no assistance," Lucius dismissed him brusquely, but Draco took no offense, especially when he noticed the rare gleam of approval in the Dark Lord's crimson eyes. Straightening his spine, Lucius stood tall once more, his face bland. "Lord Voldemort has requested we retire to Malfoy Manor, so let us not tarry." So saying, he Apparated away.

Hermione tumbled out onto the floor of another unfamiliar room although this one seemed far more welcoming than the one from which she had just come. A large bedroom of sorts. Jumping to her feet, she checked her body for any injuries and other than the stinging in her side, found none. Her next order of business was in locating her wand. Scrambling at her thigh hilt, she found it empty. Oh no! She'd been holding it while being sucked into that mirror, or veil or, whatever the hell that thing was. Quickly she turned toward the device that had spat her out only to find herself staring back at a complete stranger.

She was beautiful. Dark curly hair reaching almost to the waist of her light green nightgown. Startled eyes, an indiscernible color, were wide with apprehension. She looked frightened, ready for flight. Hermione reached out in an attempt to reassure her, jumping back when the other young woman raised her own in tandem. Immediately, Hermione dropped into a crouch of self-defense wishing desperately for her wand. Still, she was no slouch when it came down to hand-to-hand combat – silently thanking Sirius for all those lessons – and this slight creature before her looked easy enough to take down if need be.

Hermione was not prepared for the strange girl to follow her exact example and drop to her haunches, baring her teeth in a way that gave Hermione pause. Clearly, she wasn't going to go down without a fight. Hermione still felt she had the advantage. The other girls' nightgown was long and could easily be used against her since her range of motion would be seriously hindered.

Hermione's own attire consisted of a pair of well-worn jeans and a t-shirt. Shoved in the back of those jeans was a holster presented to her by Remus for her sixteenth birthday. He'd made it with his own hands and Sirius had bestowed on her a stunning silver dagger to go with it. They'd requested that she keep it on her always, and she had given her solemn promise to do so.

She didn't think she was going to have to use it on this strange girl, but flexed her fingers in anticipation of drawing it forth, just in case. Curiously enough, the girl did the same. Brow furrowed, Hermione couldn't help but think something was off, something was very, very off.

"Who are you," she demanded and was stunned when the other girl echoed the same question. "Where am I?" Again, the question was turned back on herself. Slowly, Hermione unfolded her body from its crouch until she stood at her full height of five foot three, while the woman opposite her, mirrored her every move.

Mirroring? Could… could this be… could she be… No, it's a ridiculous thought. Still, it couldn't hurt to test this ridiculous theory of hers. Slowly she raised a hand, and watched as the woman followed suit. Tentatively, Hermione pressed her fingertips to the advancing fingers of the unknown woman only to discover not the warmth of another person, but the cold, unyielding surface of what she now knew was glass. It was a mirror! A mirror that took up a large portion of the wall! That would mean… Hermione gasped, jumping back, goosebumps breaking out over her skin.

"What is happening," she whispered in horror. "What is happening," she asked again, louder, voice breaking. The face opposite her had grown desperate and its expression held untold anguish. Gripping her hair, Hermione fell to her knees, voice rising in volume as she asked the same question over and over again, panic and unreasonable fear taking her over, dragging her under.

Warm arms embraced her, she fought against them. Soothing words of comfort were whispered in her ear, she ignored them. She screamed until her throat felt raw, until something was pressed to her mouth and she was forced to swallow a vile concoction she dimly recognized as a calming draught.

"No, no, no," she pushed the vial away, frantic to the point of hysteria.

"Please, dearest," a composed but determined voice insisted. "Only a little more."

Enough of the potion had been swallowed that Hermione had begun to feel the effects. Unable to fend off further attempts to force the potion on her, she swallowed the remainder without further struggle.

"There's a good girl," the voice commended her, softly stroking the hair back from her forehead. "You're safe, you're safe."

"Where am I," she mumbled, relaxed to the point of unconsciousness. Must have been one powerful draught for her body to be so heavy and so fluid all at the same time. She pried her eyes open to see the slightly swimming face of a lovely woman looking back with a concerned expression. "Who are you?"

She felt someone take her hand. It was warm, and helped ease the chill embracing her body. "You're with us, here at the estate. Father went for you last week to bring you home to us."

"Home," she replicated the word, a hollow, empty sound.

"That's enough, James," another voice ordered firmly, yet there was a kindness to it that took away any sting behind the words. "Back to bed. Allow your Mother and me to handle this."

"But..." he began to argue. "You know she sleeps better when I'm here."

"And you know that it is totally unacceptable to be in a young lady's bedchamber unchaperoned," the woman who held her bit out angrily. "If it were known, it could ruin Ivy's reputation beyond repair!"

"No one will care, Mum," the boy, James, retorted. "Besides, what does it matter? She's my affianced, so her reputation is safe with me."

"Will you take your son out of this room, Charlus before I hex him two ways to Sunday for his impertinence," exclaimed the woman as her arms tightened protectively around Hermione.

Grabbing James by the ear, ignoring his aggrieved, mutterings of 'ow, dad, stop', Charlus replied solicitously, "Yes, dear."

Hermione felt the woman heave a deep sigh, her fingers running slowly through Hermione's long dark hair in a way that almost put her to sleep. "That boy will be the death of me, I swear." It was said with amused indulgence. Pressing a soft kiss to Hermione's forehead, she asked, "Was it another nightmare, dearest?"

This whole thing was a nightmare! She was so confused! Charlus? James? Affianced?!

"Are... are you Dorea Potter," Hermione asked hesitantly.

The stroking fingers stopped, taking her chin in hand, Dorea lifted until Hermione's eyes met an unfamiliar, worried gaze. "Did you fall? Hit your head?"

"I might have," Hermione supplied weakly, not keen on being interrogated. Had she'd fallen into the past? It was a sound explanation for what was happening, but why didn't she resemble herself? Harry's grandmother had referred to her as Ivy as well. Strange.

"Perhaps a trip to St. Mungos is in order," Dorea mused. "Can you stand, dear?"

"I believe so," Hermione answered, leaning heavily against the older woman until she got her bearings.

"Let's get you dressed and I'll send Tilly to inform your uncle that I'm taking you to St. Mungos."

At the sound of her name, a house -elf appeared saying, "Yous be needing me, mistress?"

"Oh no," Hermione exclaimed, "I think a little rest is all I require."

Holy hell! She didn't even sound like herself! Ron would laugh himself into a goiter if he could hear the posh accent coming from her mouth!

Eying her carefully from head to toe, Tilly quietly said, "Yous is not yourself, young mistress. Tilly can sees this plainly. Mungo's be no help to yous."

Hermione stiffened. Could this house-elf tell she wasn't really this Ivy person? How should she play this? Merlin, this whole thing was as crazy as she felt. If she had tumbled back in time, then it was imperative to keep the events of the future to herself so as not to upset the balance or create a butterfly effect. Oh, Merlin, this was giving her a head-ache.

If time-travel were the answer, then she'd have to have gone back at least twenty years or so. If that were the case, then how could this Ivy girl be engaged to Harry's dad when he'd been hopelessly smitten with Lily Evans since their first year at Hogwarts? Oh, her head really was throbbing.

Once seated on the edge of the bed, Hermione asked, "Is there a head-ache potion available for my use?" She cringed. She sounded posh and whiny.

"Of course, dearest. Tilly…" the words were barely out of James' mom's mouth and the elf was back by her side, potion in hand.

Hermione obediently tilted her head back, allowing Tilly to tip the vial until she'd emptied it of its contents. The ache behind her eyes and temples immediately began to recede. "You have my thanks, Tilly," Hermione smiled at her gratefully but was disturbed to see no answering smile.

After a tense moment, the hardness evaporated from those large,a bit unblinking eyes. "Yous be most welcome, young mistress. Tilly takes care of yous, no matter whos yous is. Kindness come from yous."

Dorea, it seemed, noticed nothing unusual in this exchange because she gently pushed Hermione back into a pile of the softest pillows she'd ever lain on and said, "Have no fear, dearest. All is well. Your Uncle and I will take excellent care of you, and James has barely let you out of his sight since you've arrived even if he has been a presumptuous, fool-hardy boy by sneaking into your room at night." Giving a huff of laughter, she added with a twinkle in her eyes. "As if he could fool me, that one. His father may have been a Gryffindor, but I'm the one with the Marauders' streak; Slytherin's like to play too."

Hermione blinked. The surprise must have shown on her face, because Dorea let out a string of bell-like laughter. "You didn't know?" Hermione shook her head. "Well, James has this silly notion that no house other than Gryffindor is worthy of expounding its virtues. It's no wonder he didn't tell you, but you shall see soon enough for yourself. It would serve the little beggar right if you were sorted into my former House."

Mistaking Hermione's shiver of distaste for being cold, Dorea pulled the duvet higher, tucking the scalloped edges more firmly around Hermione's shoulders. "Now then, sleep is what you need." Hermione let out a tired sigh. This was all so much. She was exhausted, confused and even a bit frightened, but she felt safe here, as odd as that sounded. Placing a small, comforting kiss to her temple, Dorea, whispered against her skin, "Sleep, little one. Sleep."

Hermione surprised herself by doing just that.