Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N - Thank you for all your lovely reviews. I am overwhelmed with how many followers this fic has picked up, despite only being three chapters in!

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Moody looked at her for a long time, saying nothing. Eventually he leaned right into her personal space and shouted, spittle flying in her face. "What kind of idiot are you, girl? There's an unknown, obviously magical puddle and the first thing you do is touch it? Do you have no brains? Gah! Intelligent Gryffindors make the most idiotic wizards! I thought you said I taught you things, girl! Did you never hear the phrase CONSTANT VIGILANCE?!"

The last two words of his rant were roared deafeningly loud but, despite shrinking back in her seat at his aggressive tone, once his words sunk into her brain a sense of calm settled over her body. It sounded like he believed her. She needed to know and after a few moments managed to form the words, though they were barely a whisper. "You believe me, sir?"

Moody sat back again. He ran a hand over his barely disfigured face. "Your story is unbelievable. Ridiculous. Idiotic. But you aren't lying."

Hermione furrowed her brows at his words. "How - " she didn't know how to put her thoughts into words. It seemed like she had no need; Moody continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"I'm no Albus, but you don't need to be a master legilimens to read body language. You're scared, though you hide it well. You spoke of war with experience that can't be faked. Also, your clothes don't match any current or past muggle fashions so time travel seems the most obvious answer."

Hermione stared, utterly flabbergasted. A part of her mind registered incredulous amazement that Moody apparently kept up with muggle fashion before dismissing it – of course he knew how muggles dressed, he was far too paranoid not to go to extreme lengths to blend in. Her focus turning back to the matter in hand, she felt nerves writhing in her belly. It should have been so much harder to convince someone as paranoid as Moody. After a few minutes the auror cracked a rather disturbing smile, leaned towards her again and winked as he said in a loud whisper "the truth wards help, too!"

She couldn't help it. Hermione burst into hysterical giggles. Younger Moody apparently had a sense of humour. She wasn't surprised in the slightest that he had truth wards on his interrogation shack. It was such a ridiculously paranoid measure to take. Most people avoided such wards as they were a form of old ritual magic and as such highly illegal and classified as Dark by the ministry – though that was probably just to ensure they weren't used on the courtrooms. Merlin forbid any of the wealthy Purebloods be compelled to confess to a crime when a few bags of galleons would get them declared innocent – often despite being caught red-handed.

Minutes passed before she could get control over herself again. Once she had finally calmed down a little, Moody handed her a cup of tea. She hadn't even noticed him make it. After a few sips, her eyes began to feel heavy and she knew no more.

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Hermione woke up in a bed. The pillows were soft under her head and the blankets were tangled around her feet. It took a few seconds for her to realise that she wasn't in pyjamas and a couple more to figure out that the bed wasn't the familiar mahogany four poster that occupied her room at Grimmauld Place. Panic began to settle into her bones, lessening somewhat when she found her wand still sheathed on her thigh. Then the memories of the previous afternoon returned to her and she bolted out of the bed in a fury. Moody had drugged her!

She sat up in the bed and examined her the room with a soldier's awareness. A large window looked out over a nondescript garden bordered by trees and high hedges which obscured the view of the surrounding area. Long shadows indicated that it was either early or late in the day. There were no curtains, allowing sunlight to stream into the room.

The room itself was almost empty. On the far wall was a door, likely a closet. A faded rag rug lay on the floor. Beside the bed was a simple, round table. It was made of light wood and two things rested on its polished surface: a brass candlestick holding what remained of a red candle, and a glass of what looked like water. There was no way Hermione was going to drink it and find out.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up, determined to explore her new accommodation. Mere moments after her feet touched the floor, the door creaked open and the old Auror entered the room. "Good to see you awake, lass," he grunted at her.

"You drugged me!" She shrieked at him in a fury. "Where in Godric's name have you taken me?"

Moody was unfazed by her volume. He looked utterly remorseless as he answered her calmly. "''Twas just a bit of calming draught. You were getting hysterical."

Hermione was infuriated. However she also knew how pointless it was to argue with Mad Eye (especially since she had to admit that he was right about her brief bout of hysteria) and if nothing else she needed his trust. So she should show him the same respect and trust she was asking of him. At least she had the advantage of knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the old curmudgeon was on her side in the war. He only had her word.

With a grimace, Hermione conceded with a terse nod of her head. With a vague gesture at her surroundings, Hermione asked her most pressing question. "Are we still in your lovely interrogation shack, or did you take me somewhere else after I passed out?"

At the words interrogation shack a corner of Moody's lips quirked upwards into something that almost resembled a smile. "Shack's no use for sleeping witches. Brought you home."

The gruff words made Hermione feel like here eyes were about to pop out of her head. With an incredulous tone, she repeated the most shocking words she thought she had ever heard. "You brought me to your home?!"

As far as the bushy haired witch was aware, nobody had ever just been brought into Mad Eye's home like this. The list of visitors he allowed was incredibly short, and everybody on it had proven their trustworthiness countless times. Usually over decades. "Wow," she stuttered, "I'm honoured."

Moody didn't acknowledge her words. Instead he gestured towards the door. "You were only out a couple of hours. I expect you will be wanting something to eat, then we can talk about what we are going to do about this mess."

Hermione nodded mutely and followed him out of the room.

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After a very welcome dinner of leek stew and dumplings (and the utterly ridiculous sight of Alastor Moody dressed in a frilly, flowery apron that she absolutely refused to laugh at for fear of being slipped another calming drought) she was led into the living room and directed to take a seat on one of the two brown leather armchairs.

Moody didn't have a sofa – that would require sitting next to somebody – and the only other furniture in the room was a coffee table and three bookcases; two held books whilst the other one was filled with a vast array of dark detectors and magical gizmos, many of which the lifelong bookworm failed to identify.

"Well, little miss. I don't usually bring someone home after the first date, but I think we both know you're special."

The leering wink he sent her made Hermione cringe. She wasn't sure she liked discovering the old auror's sense of humour. She now appreciated the older Moody getting to know her first as a school girl. It must have kept this lecherous side of his personality at bay. Either that or he lost his sense of humour somewhere over the next twenty years. Perhaps along with his leg… or maybe his eye.

"Ma- Pr- err… Mr Moody, I would appreciate it if you weren't so crude. I am truly honoured that you trust me enough to invite me into your home. I really do need your help and –" She cut herself off when he raised a knarled finger at her. Evidently he didn't want to hear her thanks.

"Look here, lass, you already told me how you got here. What we've got to do now is decide what to do with you. I expect Albus will have an idea how to get you back -"

"No!" She interrupted him in a panic. "Dumbledore can't know. There is a reason I didn't run straight to Hogwarts when I realised what had happened to me."

With a look and a gesture from Moody to continue, Hermione began describing in great detail the part Dumbledore had played in the Second War. She explained his secrets and drip-feeding of information and how it was more luck than judgement that allowed them their eventual, hard-won victory. "So many people died, Professor," she finished, not noticing the slip, "and I truly believe that if the headmaster had been a little more free with his knowledge, a little more trusting of us lower mortals, that many of them might have survived. If he knew what I know, where I came from, I have no doubt that he would obliviate me or, worse, bind me to secrecy for the sake of the 'greater good' and I don't think I could stand to watch all those people die again."

When she finished, she looked up at her old mentor and was confused to see him offering her a handkerchief, a look of understanding in his eyes. Then she realised that tears were streaming down her cheeks and took the offered cloth with a small smile. When she had dried her face, she noticed that Moody was no longer in the room. He returned a few moments later, carrying a pot of tea and two cups on a tray. Both cups had already been partially filled with an amber liquid.

Moody filled the rest of the cups with tea. He handed one to her and she was comforted by the lack of pity in his expression. "No potions this time, lassie. Just some good old fashioned firewhiskey."

She took a measured sip of the steaming beverage, the usual warming properties of the tea enhanced by the magical burn of the firewhiskey. She looked up as Moody spoke again. "I think you're right about Albus."

There was something almost regretful in his tone. "I don't doubt he's the best person outside of the Department of Mysteries to help you get back to your own time, but I have noticed that the longer this war goes on the more he hoards information. I expect there are some deaths happening even now that could be prevented if he shared what he knows."

Hermione smiled sadly. "I think that he has been told for so long that he is the only one knowledgeable and powerful enough help that he believes it himself. He has forgotten that even Albus Dumbledore can make mistakes."

Moody nodded his agreement. "Well then, lass, that gives us a couple of days while the old man is busy with the end of term to get you sorted with a new identity."

Hermione frowned. There was something about the end of summer term, 1979, that was setting off alarm bells in her memory. Something important happened… someone died. Importantly. Where would she have read about someone's date of death? She didn't remember anything from a textbook about this early period of the war. Likewise, the only obituaries she had searched out were from 1980 or 81. Where else would she have seen a death date? It's not like she memorised the family trees of every Order member… Then it hit her. There was, in fact, one Order member's family tree that she had spent a lot of time around. It still hung on the wall of 12 Grimmauld Place even now. Or, the now of twenty years in the future. The Black family tapestry. And there was a death in 1979. A very important death that had always struck her as sad, since it happened only a few days after he graduated from Hogwarts.

Adrenaline already pumping, she almost shouted. "When does term finish, Moody?"

The old auror looked at her in confusion. "Express leaves tomorrow. Do we need a guard for the train? Is there to be an attack?"

Hermione waved a dismissive hand. "No. Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt, but there is something much more important. I need you to get someone. Take him off the train before it leaves. Bring him here – or, not here but one of your safe houses. We need to save him."

Alert now, Moody leaned forward in his armchair and spoke in a voice that led no doubt to his utmost seriousness. "Who do we need to save?"

Hermione prepared herself for an argument as she gave him her answer. "Regulus Black."

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A/N - Regulus sneaked up on me there! He certainly wasn't in the original draft. It means an extra couple of chapters before Sirius makes an appearance, but please don't hold it against him! Don't forget to leave a review let me know what you think :)