DISCLAIMER: The characters of the Harry Potter Universe are the sole property of J.K. Rowling. Canon characters and plots are not owned by me nor do I make any profit from this fic.

A/N: There is no way I could have gotten to the point of publishing this story without the absolutely amazing Beta ShayaLonnie. Thank you so very much!

"Magnificent." The portly man smiled as he leaned heavily against the nearest work table to admire the results of countless hours of research and weeks of layering Containment Charms. He tilted his head to the side as he watched the light glint off the shining bronze, silver, and gold held behind the magically reinforced glass. It really is a shame, he thought, that this beauty is to be contained, but really it is all for the better.

After all, hadn't it only been a month ago that he'd found himself in a predicament like the one he now hoped to prevent? Now, after weeks had passed and he had finally made what he felt were the proper precautions, there was no need to repeat past mistakes yet again.

He had been lucky last time; lucky that when he had broken a Time-Turner that the Ministry House-elves had kept him hidden for the full extent of the week in which it took his original Timeline to catch up with him. He was also lucky to have had the mishap with such a newly created Turner, who knew the ramifications of such an accident with one of the older more valuable models. Catastrophic damage to the Timeline, lives ceasing to exist? No, no, he shook his head firmly; a week with elves was as good as a holiday compared to what may have been.

Thankfully, he smugly thought, I have fixed the problem. Since returning to his timeline, he had been at work making the magnificent cabinet that now stood finished before him. This marvel, this masterpiece, it would keep the Time-Turners safe. In fact, he chuckled, he'd bet nothing short of a distinctly strong Blasting Charm would break the magic he'd embedded in the piece.

He turned away from the fine cabinet, his work done and his deeds would, hopefully, suffice to stop any mishaps. Slowly, he made his way to another worktable still brimming with his own self-satisfaction, and indeed his own cleverness. All was right and that was how it would stay. Still, he had other matters to attend. Despite the desire to marvel at his own craftsmanship, he had to do his job.

The new recruits were notoriously messy creatures; gears and glass housings littered the workspace, chains and brass fittings hanging haphazardly off the worktables. It was really quite a marvel that they hadn't broken one of the more delicate pieces as he had. Yet, even if such a thing had happened and they, like he, were to secure proper lodging —out of the way of other wizard folk— their dastardly mistakes could have very well gone unnoticed had they also been able to resist the desires to change events. Yes, the notion to make oneself wealthy or perhaps a second chance to woo some young chit he chuckled to himself. No, he decided, they were all extremely lucky to have not had such an accident.

When the Department had instituted its mandatory once monthly night shift for all its workers, he had been less than overjoyed at the prospect of spending a night alone in the office. It was called the Department of Mysteries for a reason after all; mysterious things were known to happen now and again. Still, as he flicked his wand turning on the wizarding wireless that he kept at his workstation, he busied himself in straightening the delicate instruments strewn about the worktops. He decided he found it a most peaceful way to spend the evening. No young recruit complaining about keeping secrets of work from his witch, no wife complaining about being kept in the dark about his work. Honestly, you'd think the witch would bloody understand after forty years of his working in the Department the question "anything interesting happen at work today?" would go unanswered.

He cleaned up the mess of the workday, happily humming the newest Celestina Warbeck tune, envisioning the lovely young singer whose voice so entranced him; how she would smile and bat her eyes as he told her the danger and mystery involved in his highly secretive job. She would surely wish to write a song for him— "My Wizard of Mystery" or some such thing. Lost to his own self-amusement, he continued tidying up.

He was just humming the final chords of the melody and setting down another piece when a sudden crash echoed from behind him. The unexpected disruption to his silent sanctuary was enough to break him from his musings and quite nearly give him a heart attack.

He spun about with the agility of a wizard half his age, wand at the ready to defend himself against some yet unknown villain and was, for a moment, taken up short when he saw nothing within his line of sight which could have caused such a loud disruption. He started to slowly creep forward to where he thought to have heard the commotion when a soft whimper stopped him in his tracks.

He paused, the only sound that of his heavy breathing and the constant ticking of the surrounding timepieces when, yet again, he heard what he was now sure was a soft whimper of pain coming from just beneath his newly mounted cabinet. Peering around the table blocking the floor from view, he caught a glimpse of a small hand no bigger than that of a child clutching tightly to a wand with bloody battered fingers.

Still cautious he moved forward and saw the small hand attached to a dainty wrist and then an arm. As he rounded the table, the vision before him caused his apprehensive movement to cease and he swiftly dropped to his knee beside the tiny body of a young woman. She was dressed in some type of uniform similar to that of the students who attended Hogwarts, yet her young body was covered in signs of a struggle. Her grey jumper was singed along one side and he observed there were small cuts and abrasions welled with blood along her arms and stocking clad legs.

She moaned again, her eyes fluttering open and seemed to take in her surroundings before she noticed the man at her side. She parted her blood coated lips and tried to find her voice.

"No, no. You must not try to be speak. You're safe now," he told her, yet she shook her head slowly and struggled to form words.

"Need..." she whispered, "need Order..." She coughed roughly, spitting out a small amount of blood.

"Child, you mustn't speak," he said firmly. "Calm yourself, all is well and you shall receive all the help you need, I assure you," he rapidly spoke.

"No," the girl insisted, her voice becoming stronger with need. "Not well, he—Vol—" Her voice faltered as a cough racked her small frame. She reached a hand out to clutch his robes."He's here, we need..."

Her hand released from his robes when she saw him raise his wand against her chest. Once more, her words caught in her throat but she managed to squeak out a pleading, "No..."

"I'm truly sorry," he said shaking his head. "However, I did ask you to stop speaking. I do wish you would have listened."

Her eyes widened in fear as the aging wizard looked down. A bright flash of light was all she knew before her whole world became black.

Alone in a large manor some ways from The Ministry of Magic and all it contained, an elderly wizard sat in front of a dying fire, an untouched glass of aged Ogden's Finest in one hand and an even more aged photo in the other.

"I worry about the boy," he spoke to the smiling figure beneath the glass of the framed photo. "He's got himself into just so much trouble over the years. Him and his need to meddle and the continuous belief that he can make things better. Oh, now," he said scoffing at the photo, "I know what you're thinking. I've done a fair bit of that myself over the years and you're right, I have, but he's still just so . . . Is innocent even the right word? Can you still be innocent after all he's gone through?"

Lifting the glass to his lips and inhaling the warmth of its fumes, his eyes became unfocused as he gazed into the fire before him. It really was a confusing thing, this life he led. He remembered being a child as if it were just yesterday. Dreams of traveling the world, discovering new magics and changing the way things worked. He chuckled lowly to himself. Yes, there had been times he truly wished to— what was the saying? Shake things up a bit—Yes, I would have liked that, he thought.

Still though, he may not have gone about things as he had planned, but he liked to think he had changed a fair bit in his time. Liked to think he still had plenty of years in his tired bones to properly "shake things up."

He looked longingly down at the picture frame in his other hand. Still though, it wouldn't be the same without his partner, my better half, he thought wryly. It would have been much nicer to make changes with loved ones at your side, but that simply was not what was meant to be.

He contemplated that perhaps, after the summer was through, he might ask the boy his thoughts on making a few changes. He gazed around the old manor in which he sat, thinking that maybe it was time to shake things up. Perhaps it was time to do away with this aging giant of days gone by and part ways with the comfort of memories, to instead dive head first into this rising battle that stood before them; a constant lurking blackness that threatened their very way of life.

Yes, he decided, change was in the air and it was time to embrace it fully. He brought the glass to his lips, the warm liquid within filling his senses as he prepared to toast to his future endeavors. The burning drink had barely past his lips when a bright light lit his dim quarters. Rising swiftly from the chair he snatched his wand from the nearby table, even as he struggled to suppress a violent coughing fit.

The bright light faded quickly, leaving a small timid Patronus of a field mouse in its wake. A moment later, the mouse opened its mouth and a panicked, squeaky voice filled the room. "Your presence is required," it spoke. "A time sensitive issue has arisen of which it is my hopes you might assist in placing in order."

Shattered glass forgotten on the floor, he set the framed picture gently on the mantle and stroked an aged finger over the smiling face within. "Duty calls, my love," he whispered before taking a handful of sparkling green powder in his grasp and throwing it into the dying fire. "Ministry of Magic," he declared and disappeared into the swirling green flames.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the vast empty space of the Ministry Atrium as he walked briskly towards the lifts. A quick nod of acknowledgement towards the nightly security wizard as he passed through the golden gates and he was entering the lift and requesting transport to the ninth level. The doors opened onto a corridor dimly lit with flickering torches, and an agitated wizard standing by a plain black door at the end of the hall.

"You came!" the man squeaked, hurrying forward to shake the visitor's hand. "Thank you, I appreciate this."

"Nonsense, Saul. It seemed a matter of utmost importance, is it not?" he questioned.

"Oh, of the very most importance to be sure. I wouldn't dare call on the Aurors until you had the chance to . . . um . . . deal . . . with the matter," Saul stated, lifting an arm in invitation for the gentleman to follow him back toward the plain black door.

"Of course. Now, where is this time sensitive issue?"

"Right this way." Saul continued to lead him forward into a circular room consisting of black walls, floor, and ceiling. The only light within coming from flickering blue flames spaced between numerous doors. He continued speaking as he went."You see, I was just tidying up during my night shift."

He glanced back motioning at the open door, "If you'll just get the door. Yes, thank you." As soon as the door was shut the walls started to spin dizzily. The visitor shut his eyes to wait it out as Saul continued to speak, "When there was a loud — ah, there we go, right this way" Saul seemingly anxious to keep moving forward, led him swiftly through one of the doors. He had no doubt that whatever this disturbance was it must have been quite the interruption to the mousy man's evening to rile him in such a way.

They entered a room filled with bright sparkling light, such a difference from the dark circular room that he was momentarily blinded. Before his eyes had adjusted to the bright glare, he heard clocks relentlessly ticking, filling the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. After a moment, the bright glare diminished and he saw a long, narrow room filled with thousands of clocks that covered the walls and workstations. The source of the bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room. In the background, Celestina Warbeck's voice could be vaguely be heard on the wireless, the music barely louder than the thrum of the clocks. The workspaces were in a state of progressing cleanliness with some of the pieces still in need of proper placement, but that wasn't so distracting, not when compared to the odd sight that rested in one corner of the room.

He paused for a second to marvel at the body of a young girl that now rested on a settee off to the left of the room. The young witch looked as if she'd taken quite the beating with all the cuts and blood that adorned her small form. Odder still, was the large droplet of blood hanging from her fingertip yet refusing to fall.

"Stasis Charm,?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, well yes," Saul responded. "It did seem best considering her current condition. I'm certainly no healer, however, I did worry about possible internal injuries, you understand."

"Yes, of course,"The visitor nodded as he bent closer to get a better look at the girl. At first glance she had appeared not much more than a child, however now on closer inspection he'd guess her age to be sixteen or possibly seventeen years. He reached to push back her wild mane of hair and noted her brow furrowed even in sleep.You've had quite the adventure today haven't you little one, he thought. "Has she been unconscious all this time? I imagine she didn't simply appear neatly on this settee; where did you find the child?"

"Appear on the — oh, goodness no, no," Saul chuckled nervously.,"No, she — well, that is to say, I took the liberty of transfiguring a workstation for her and levitated her onto it after I placed the stasis . . . and . . . "he trailed off as he began fidgeting with his robes.

"And . . ."the visitor inquired, arching an eyebrow at the fidgeting man.

"Well, she was conscious for a short time. . ." Saul spoke while anxiously twisting his hands around a bit of his robes. "She tried to speak. Well, not tried really, she did speak. She spoke . . . and, I stunned her," he finished in a rush, momentarily bracing himself for the repercussions of this action; when none came, he squared his shoulders and continued, "It is standard protocol in these types of situations to maintain a certain level of security, and . . . well . . . she spoke."

The visitor scoffed. "Yes, they tend to do that." He rolled his eyes turning to appraise the room for signs of struggle or damage. "Well, I suppose you best show me where you found her then, no use waking the girl at this point."

Saul's visitor crouched by the far wall, his dark eyes carefully scanning the debris spread before him. Broken glass, splintered wood, and twisted bits metal all scattered around the floor coated in a fine dusting of glittering sand; amongst the chaos, splatters of dark red blood. His brow furrowed as he glanced up at the cabinet mounted overhead.

"So, we have no doubt our young lady has taken a trip through time to come here this evening?" he asked, looking up to Saul.

"Yes, I believe so."

"So the question that begs asking is how?" the crouching man asked. "How would such a young witch come to find herself here, on this night, and in such a state?"

"Well, we can safely guess this was not an approved time jump," Saul said, gesturing to the broken pieces littering the floor. "I believe these pieces here are remnants of the cabinet I installed just this evening, and I assure you, I placed upon it every known Protection and Containment Charm I was able."

"Hmm, well the evidence suggests an altercation of some kind . . ." the visitor mumbled as he ran his finger along his lip.

"I thought the same, but a fight, a battle of some sort here? It doesn't make sense. We have the strongest protections of any department in the entire Ministry. How could a . . . well, a school girl get past all the security and find herself under attack in the Department of Mysteries of all places? It makes no sense." Saul paced rapidly as he spoke, his arm waving about.

"No, it makes no sense we can see, but how else would a witch young as this find herself in this situation? Perhaps it is time to wake the girl and get some answers," the crouched man suggested as he braced the wall and straightened his old knees.

Saul looked momentarily panicked at the idea. "Wake and question her? Are you mad!? We can not let her speak. We don't know where she came from or if she's aware of the laws of Time Travel. She could say something that lead to the world as we know it ceasing to exist; there could be catastrophic fall out at just a mere sentence."

"Do you really believe such things?" the visitor asked in concern. "Are these events you truly believe will come to fortrution should she speak of the future?"

"It's protocol!" Saul yelled automatically before the stress finally got to him and he placed his head in his hands, silently admitting defeat. "I don't know. We don't know."

"You've worked here since you left Hogwarts haven't you? So forty years now? You tell me, after these many years, day in day out, you don't know? You have an opinion surely."

"Forty-seven and you well know it," Saul said as he began to pace. "Of course I have an opinion. I have knowledge, but this, this is the depth of the mystery behind the Department. We search for the answers, look for the secrets, but some . . . they elude us."

Saul gestured to the large bell jar at the back of the room "This," he said as he gazed into the light pouring forth from the jar. "This is Time, my friend. The sands of the hourglass released into a timeless vacuum of space, allowed its own free will. It's infinite repetition at its finest is it not?" He smiled sadly at his visitor, his friend. "We don't know the true workings of Time. We study it we make educated guesses using arithmancy, but that's all it is, guesses. We don't truly know if we could change the future but we take all the precautions not to do it."

"How is it you are unaware?" his friend asked. "You, your department, has made an object able to move through Time itself and you say you don't understand it!"

"And what came first my friend?" Saul asked. "The hummingbird or the egg?" he asked, gesturing towards the bell jar once more. "Did you know we did not create the first Time-Turner? No, I can see by your face you didn't. Many centuries ago, in a history before it was recorded in books even, a Traveller arrived with an hourglass around his neck. He came with grand stories of a land in which he lived a place of amazing healing, a place with schools for magic, told in a time where wizards were feared and lived in hiding."

"A traveller . . . A Time-Traveller?" his friend asked.

Saul nodded. "Yes, a Time-Traveller, most likely the first. He stayed for a while, learning amongst the other wizards. When he left . . . or perhaps died, no one remembers. He left behind a Turner." He said solemnly "He left the very first Turner and it has been studied ever since. Hundreds, thousands of years perhaps, and while we have learned to increase the sands, learned to magnify the power the distance which witches and wizards can travel, we still have yet to make the Sands of Time themselves," he confessed.

"So, these sands, they are all part of the original?" his friend questioned.

"Yes. So you see, we don't know what came first. Was the Traveller able to move through time because we developed the Turner he used? Or was the Turner he used created because he made a jump through time? We don't know. Not truly."

"So the girl then, what of her?" his friend asked. "Do we wake her only to silence her, most likely Obliviate her along with any knowledge of the future and who she is . . . Or do we let the egg hatch and see if we release a hummingbird?"