Hermione gently closed the door to the Headmaster Dippet's office and started towards the direction of the hospital wing. Besides her, Ginny silently matched her hurried pace. Neither girl said a word to the other as they walked through the empty hallways. The paintings gave them curious glares as they passed, but Hermione gave them no notice.

She yawned, rubbing her tired eyes. She was exhausted and drained, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to rest. If she did, the subconscious horrors she had witnessed in her past would claw their way back to the surface of her mind, in the form of terrible nightmares.

She knew that Ginny suffered from the same affliction.

As she walked, Hermione mulled over their current situation. Granted, they were all alive, and they were even at the right place, but that was most likely a fluke. They had gotten very, very lucky, and Hermione wondered inwardly whether Ginny knew how close they had come to not making it. To never even existing at all.

Messing with time was a very tricky business, and for the past twelve lonely years she had spent day after day searching for the runes that would fix everything. The research had nearly killed her, had resulted in Ron's death (it still hurt to think about it), and had taken from her precious time with the few family and friends that she had left. And it had all gone wrong, impossibly, even with all the careful planning that she'd done.

She needed to figure out how to get them back. She needed to keep the younger version of Lord Voldemort from finding out about who they were. She needed to investigate more time traveling possibilities. She needed to keep the rest of them alive. Hermione had so many things to keep track of, so many things to worry about.

She needed to keep her priorities in mind.

Her first priority: Harry. She knew he was alive; she'd have felt something if he were dead. But his condition worried her. She'd felt no thoughts beneath the bond that connected all four of the time-travelers now. Even now she could feel Ginny's thoughts and emotions shifting, could sense Draco's nightmares, but she felt nothing from Harry.

Her steps subconsciously quickened. I hope Harry is okay.

"He will be. He's got to be." Ginny said fiercely.

Hermione gave Ginny a grateful smile.

She'd forgotten that Ginny could read her mind too. Hermione closed off her mind partially, just enough to sever Ginny's connection to her thoughts, but not enough to block off all her emotions. Ginny was Hermione's second priority: she was so much more than just Harry's wife. She was Harry's anchor, and more importantly, one of the biggest reasons that he'd agreed to come on this crazy journey. Without Ginny, he'd be unable or unwilling to keep going on with Hermione's plan.

But of course, everyone all had different reasons for coming back in the first place. Ginny wanted to save her family. Draco hadn't known what he was getting himself into, but Hermione knew that he would want to save his family, too. Harry wanted...well, Harry was a bit too complicated for Hermione to figure out at the moment. And Hermione just wanted to save Ron, and the future in general.

So now they were all dangerous: dangerous to each other and dangerous to the future. Every action they made here, in the past, could cause a cascade of consequences, a veritable waterfall of terrible errors that built up one by one. It was a paradox. The trip to this particular time period shouldn't even have been possible, especially with Draco's last minute addition to the runes. Yet it had worked.

And they were here.

The question now, was how to get back.

"Expelliarmus." She said, and his wand soared from his nerveless fingers into her outstretched hand. "Incarcerous."

Draco stumbled and fell: his wrists and ankles were bound, and even though he struggled against the bonds that chafed against his skin, he really couldn't do anything except watch as his mother approached him.

"No, don't do this." Draco begged her. "Mum-"

"I must." She said in a whisper, looking up into his face with a strange expression, a kind of quiet desperation that he had never seen before on her face. "For your own good. Your father and I, we cannot escape him. There is already no hope for us. But for you..."

He felt a stab of love, a stab of pain. It was all his fault, wasn't it? He'd failed; his wand had lowered at the last moment, and now there was no way out- he quelled the urge to cry as he stared at his mother, his hands balled into fists.

"I won't let him." Draco said softly, shaking his head. "He can't do this, we're valuable to him..." He knew he was babbling like a fool, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, couldn't seem to stop the words from pouring out in a continuous stream, and anyways his status as a pureblood seemed to matter less and less as the seconds ticked by, each of them lasting for an eternity.

All this- it wouldn't have happened if he had just been able to kill the bumbling old fool. He had condemned his family, it was all his fault; if only he could go back and redo everything, if only he could right this wrong. But he couldn't. It was over. He would lose them forever now, all because of a few seconds of hesitation. His eyes burned, and he lost his precious control as his tears spilled over and streaked down his face. He lowered his face in shame, not wanting his mother to see him crying.

"I'm sorry."

"It is not your fault." She said in a fierce whisper, guessing what he was thinking of. "I would not have seen him make a murderer of my son."

She embraced him, like she had so many times during his childhood, and for a moment he could remember a life when he had still been innocent, when he had not yet began to hate himself. But there were nuances, differences in this embrace: she was shorter than him now, her platinum blond hair streaked with barely noticeable gray. Her breaths were shallow: quick and scared, as she caressed his face softly and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Here, take this, and give it to them when you arrive. There will be a portkey on the other side of the floo. It's the Black family tapestry; it will take you somewhere safe." Her slender fingers dug into her purse and withdrew with an envelope.

"No, Mum, don't do this!" Draco knew what she was going to do and he would be damned if he couldn't stop her: he'd rather die along with them than face a life without them, and he was about to say that when she smiled sorrowfully and kissed his cheek, slipping the envelope into his coat pocket. He watched helplessly. If only he had his wand! But she'd disarmed him already.

"We can escape together." He grasped at any idea, anything to convince his mother to accompany him to safety.

"We've been cursed, your father and I." His mother explained. "It will only be a matter of time before we die, too. The curse is set to activate at his command, regardless of where we are. We cannot escape him now. I have been told that the death is unbearably painful...but we will be brave, as long as you are safe. Our deaths will occupy the Dark Lord; he'll want to make an example of us, and it will buy precious time for your escape."

"But-" Draco tried to speak.

"12 Grimmauld Place." His mother said, tossing a handful of floo dust into the fire.

The doors in the room had been padlocked and chained shut, but now Draco could hear the chains rattling. Someone outside pounded on the door with increasing force, shouting something that Draco didn't bother to hear. "I'm not leaving without you, Mother!"

She shook her head mutely and levitated him to the floo, tears dripping from her blue eyes and splattering on the dusty floor.

Before this, he'd only seen his mother cry once in his entire life: the night he'd been marked.

"I love you," she said. "Don't forget-"

The doors burst open, shattering into splinters that burst into immediate flame. A swarm of masked Death Eaters stormed inside the small rooms, their wands pointed at Draco and his mother. Draco scanned the room but only found pairs of identically steely eyes staring back at him.

"Crucio!" Someone shouted, and Draco slammed into the ground as his mother's spell released him, and he heard screaming, and then he realized it was his own, and then, even more horribly, he recognized his mother's anguished screams of pain. And every single nerve ending was seared, split apart, and then it was over and he returned to himself on the ground right next to the floo, panting with his face pressed into the floor and more unwilling tears leaking from his eyes. Everything suddenly seemed so unreal, unsubstantial. He looked at his wrists, saw the lack of confinements, and knew that he could move: his mother's Incarcerous hadn't held under the torture.

Draco looked for his mother. She was on her knees in the dust, her fine blond hair mussed and her eyes wild. Shaken, weakened, but still alive. He felt an inexplicable sense of relief.

"So we have a traitor." The torturer stepped forward with a familiar throaty laugh. Draco strained his eyes, glimpsing the Death Eater's wild black curls, cascading down her back and reflecting the green fire that roared merrily in the fireplace. "The Dark Lord will not be pleased."

His mother's voice was pleading. "Bella. Please..."

"Cissy, I warned you-"

"Please, Bella! Nothing is more important than family, and blood is our bond-"

Bellatrix stared down at them, her black eyes glittering oddly in the leaping firelight.

The Death Eater standing beside Bellatrix sneered. "Let the Dark Lord punish these traitors. They deserve it!"

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed, her mouth contorting with fury. Draco flinched, but she spun towards the masked man, raising her wand, her voice rising to a shriek. "SHUT UP! Did I tell you to speak?" Her wand slashed through the air. "Crucio!"

Gasping this opportunity, Draco acted. He ran to his mother and grabbed her and held onto her tightly as he twisted on the spot, vanishing into midair. He became nothing more than a million particles scattered in the wind. And he wished to be anywhere but here, anyplace else that was somewhere safe.

Draco woke from his nightmare and realized that his own tears had saturated his pillow and his face was sticky with salt. Sweaty hair was plastered to his face, and he felt weak, emaciated, drained. He opened his eyes and stared blearily at the ceiling. Draco gritted his teeth, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes, ignoring the sharp pain in his wrist.

He'd survived this long, but without the people who had constructed his life with theirs, woven themselves into his fabric of reality, it wasn't like living. It was more like he'd been a wraith, a ghost floating between the reaches of life and death. When his family and all he'd ever known had been torn away, he hadn't even wanted to keep living. But surprisingly, it had been Granger who had convinced him that there was still a reason to keep going.

He closed his eyes, letting the memory swim into his front of his mind.

Draco had been sitting next to the window, watching the snow, contemplating his fate and his future, when he'd heard the door creak open.

"What do you want?" He asked her, knowing without turning around that it was the bossy Muggleborn witch.

"There is another way." She said without preamble. "Instead of sitting here and rotting away, Malfoy, why don't you-"

"Why don't you get the hell out of here?" He interrupted her. He didn't want pity, least of all from her. "Look, Granger, I don't need you meddling in my life. I have enough to deal with as it is."

Her voice hardened, became as cold as ice. "Fine."

"Just leave me alone." He said, looking steadfastly away from her, his eyes fixed on the foggy glass windowpanes and the snowy winter scene outside.

She exhaled, exasperated, and he could hear her footsteps murmur across the floor as she paced away from him. "You're not living, Malfoy," she said finally. "You're waiting to die."

So what if I am? What does it matter to you? Unwittingly, he touched his left forearm, where that despicable mark was forever tattooed onto his skin.

"Sod off, Granger." He told her.

"You should get up and do something useful. Avenge their death. Nothing's ever going to change if you don't change first." Great. Now Granger was lecturing him.

"Shove it." He responded. "I don't want your advice, I don't want you here, and most of all I don't want your pity!"

Granger continued prattling on in that utterly obnoxious voice of hers. She was so very close to crossing that invisible line. "Tell me then, what did your parents die for? Did they die so you could waste away in an empty room? Did they die for nothing? Was their sacrifice meaningless?"

The words hit him hard, like a physical blow, leaving him breathless. His throat felt oddly constricted, and blood boiled furiously in his veins. Draco jumped to his feet restlessly, unable to sit still. But instead of turning and confronting her, he strode up directly to the window and glared out. "You don't know anything." He spat. His hands were balled up into fists, his sharp fingernails biting deeply into his palms. He itched to hit her, to make her take back her statement. But it wouldn't be wise, and he had never been one to let his emotions control him.

"I thought you were a survivor. You-"

His precious control shattered. She didn't know anything about what he had gone through. She didn't know anything about him, and yet she had the nerve to judge him!

"-should know better-"

"GET OUT." He roared.

"I thought you loved your family more than that."

Silence. She said nothing more.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, attempting to retrieve his wand, before remembering that they had confiscated it before locking him into this infernal room.

"Get out." He said, his voice very barely shaking. "Before I kill you with my bare hands."

The door closed with a audible click as she left the room. Draco waited five minutes before he finally turned, glancing at the closed door with a sigh. His anger was gone, leaving him empty and cold. What did he have to be angry about?

Granger was right, and he'd known it all along.

Draco awoke abruptly. Somehow, without even realizing it, he had fallen asleep. He looked around to see what had woken him, but there was a white curtain around his bed, drawn closed to maintain his privacy and those of the other occupants in the Infirmary.

Then he heard the voices, voices that he instantly recognized.

What's wrong with him?

I think he's in a coma.

Ah. It was Granger and the female Weasel. They were obviously talking about Potter, who must have gotten injured, just like him. He looked down at his wrists, which were wrapped with gauze and medical tape. He racked his memory, but couldn't remember what had caused the wide gashes on both of his wrists, cuts that hadn't yet healed despite the amount of potions that the Healer had poured down his throat earlier.

We should talk to the Healer.

She's already done all that she could. And his life is not in danger. Just his mind.

What do you mean?

An slight sigh from Granger. Haven't you experimented with the bond? You can tell he's not suffering from physical pain. And if he was about to die, we'd definitely know. We'd probably feel it.

Let me try. A pause. But there's a barrier! He's blocking me. I can't tell what he's thinking at all.

That's what worries me.

Of course! Draco realized that he wasn't hearing their voices out loud. It was all in his head. The telepathic bond had formed somehow, when they had...traveled through time. Draco hadn't been a part of Granger's plans, but as soon as he had seen Hogwarts, he'd been intelligent enough to figure it out.

But something had gone wrong. Obviously his presence had caused a change in the runes. He remembered Hermione's voice: "The ritual...it didn't work correctly. We're in the wrong time."

Draco's awake. Hermione's bossy voice in his head interrupted Draco's train of thought.

Can he use the bond?

Another pause. He talked to us earlier, remember? Before he collapsed and we brought him and Harry up to the castle. He should still be able to, but then again...everything went wrong, didn't it?

"We all survived." The female Weasel said out loud.

"We were all incredibly lucky." Granger replied.

The other girl's voice was tentative. "If we can travel back in time, we should be able to go forward...right?"

"Perhaps."

Draco reached out cautiously with his mind. He could feel the bond, the emotions that leaked through the link: Ginny's pain, her panic and her sorrow. On the other hand, Hermione was calm, but underneath it all he sensed a maelstrom of anxiety, hatred, and fear.

He drew back a little, surprised at the overwhelming strength of their emotions, washing over him like a tidal wave.

Done browsing through our deepest emotions? Hermione asked sardonically.

It's not like I have anything better to do.

Her mental voice sounded amused. The bond takes some getting used to. That's what I call it, this mental connection. We, well, us three- Ginny, Harry, and I- had months of preparation. You were a last minute addition, so I'm not sure how that worked out. Are you alright?

Without warning, Hermione opened the curtain around his bed. Draco blinked a few times as his vision adjusted to the sudden influx of sunlight. Behind her, he could see Ginny staring helplessly at Harry, who lay unmoving on another hospital bed.

So how do you feel? Hermione asked again.

I've been better. Draco eyed his bandaged wrist. What did that spell really do?

It was a ritual, really. And it was very complicated, I can't really explain all of it to you now, and you wouldn't understand anyway. Messing with time has unpredictable consequences. Hermione pulled one of Draco's wrists towards her and deftly removed the gauze. She examined his wrist critically. But here's the gist of it: we each had to give up something precious to us to go back in time. None of us can remember what we gave up. I hoped you might be able to...can you remember? She asked, looking at Draco in askance.

Draco shook his head. No.

Hermione nodded. We weren't supposed to end up here. We were actually aiming for our first year in Hogwarts, 1991. Since Voldemort is currently attending school here, we're obviously in the wrong time period. It's a paradox, we shouldn't have been able to go back before we were born. Everything went wrong when we added you to the equation. She shook her head with a bitter smile. Well, it wasn't your fault, technically. You did save us.

...How did the Dark Lord find you?

We had a traitor.

Who was it?

He's dead now.

Draco persisted. Who was it?

It doesn't matter. Hermione refused to elaborate. She finally released her hold on Draco's wrist, a pensive look on her face. Besides, I think I know what you gave up.

Clever witch. Granger was trying to change the subject. He took the bait, the present subject matter not being important enough to pursue. What did I lose?

Most of your blood. Hermione indicated his cuts. The Healer gave you seven doses of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Any more than that and there would have had serious side effects...you're probably still feeling dizzy and weak, am I right?

Draco nodded. His neck had begun to ache, so he crossed his arms and stared up at the ceiling. It was easier than turning his head to look at Hermione.

You're still anemic. It's a miracle that you're awake at all. Hermione looked thoughtful. I had no idea you valued your blood so much.

I don't anymore. Draco gingerly touched the still-healing wound. It stung like fury. The cuts haven't healed. The Healer gave me potions this morning, while I was still delirious, but I don't think they helped that much. It should be nothing by a scar by now.

Those were the Blood-Replenishing Potions. Other healing potions would interfere with it, so that's all she gave you. Hermione explained. Don't worry. The cut will heal.

I've been meaning to ask you, Draco began, Why are we so physically young here?

Possibly because we haven't been born yet. Hermione said, a note of bitter sarcasm in her tone. Either way, it wasn't planned for. We were fully prepared to become eleven year-olds again, for the sake of...of our mission. But as for our actual age here, it's hard to tell. We look to be about in our late teens, so I told Dumbledore that I was eighteen and Ginny was seventeen. So you're eighteen as well, as is Harry.

Draco stared at his hands in search of his favorite scars. He found none. He rolled up his dirty left sleeve, disappointed to see that that the ugly black marking had remained. I still have the Dark Mark, but none of my old scars, not even the ones I've had since I was a child.

Maybe the difference is that the Dark Mark has been branded into your soul. I don't think it can be removed- Hermione was interrupted when Ginny suddenly began to sob.

Ginny! Hermione hurried to her friend's side. What's wrong?

Draco could hear Ginny begin to reply, but then their mental connection was suddenly closed to him. Both witches had shut him out. He glared at the ceiling for a moment (it was easier than craning his neck to see them). He could hear Ginny's cries becoming softer, as if she was trying to muffle them, but he had no idea what was transpiring between the two girls.

He closed his eyes to the depressing world around him and pretended to be asleep. He could wait for a more thorough explanation later.

Tom Riddle had a satisfying breakfast. Afterward, he went upstairs to work in his private room for several hours on his latest project before heading down to lunch alone. It was Christmas break. This year the castle was unusually quiet. No one had remained at Hogwarts except for the unlucky few who had no home besides Hogwarts. The castle was virtually empty, and it suited Tom. He could work on whatever he felt like doing, without constantly being interrupted. He could avoid the strain of socializing with those lesser than him, like the barely magical beings who didn't deserve to be in this school, or even those pureblooded fools who were only fit to be mindless sheep. They would always be the followers, and he the leader, and they didn't even know it.

He thought back to the intriguing scene he'd seen this morning. The two girls had managed to take down Dumbledore. Even though the professor had been caught by surprise, it was still a noteworthy achievement. Tom narrowed his eyes as he remembered their faces. The brunette had been completely unremarkable. She had been pretty enough, but there was nothing outstanding about her. The redhead, on the other hand, had possessed startling hair the exact same shade as fire- a color he knew that he'd seen before. He just couldn't seem to recall from where.

Either way, he was utterly certain that they weren't Hogwarts students, because he knew every single student in his year, if not in the school. The brunette, Hermione, had surely been lying about their origin. He hadn't even been able to get a clear reading of them; their eyes had never quite met his. And the way that Hermione had thrown herself in front of the Ginny when he'd reached for his wand...

He stilled suddenly in the middle of his work, leaving a drop of ink on his neat handwriting. He hissed in annoyance and carefully blotted the paper.

Could the girls have heard something about him? He had a spotless record at this school, and he didn't like to consider the possibility that one of his loyal followers had turned traitor. Still, maybe he would discipline them when they returned from vacation. Perhaps there were things that his followers could learn about the importance of keeping secrets.

In the meantime, he'd keep a close eye on the newcomers.

A/N: School is finally ending, so I've written a longer chapter here! Updates are about to get more frequent. :) I'm beginning to expose what happened in their past, bit by bit.

Thanks to all those who reviewed for the last two chapters: CharlotteBlossom, tunisia-sense, Aerieada, ShimmeringWater, dragomirs, Sai, and Weird-Chik2! Your reviews were much appreciated.

I hope to include more of Riddle in the next chapter.

Please leave a review if you enjoy it! Reviews definitely motivate me to write.