A/N: Dear Guest reviewer. Your reviews are a so appreciated! Thanks for reading and taking the time to review. It's nice to know someone is enjoying this story! More to come soon. Things are picking up now.

Chapter 17: Peripeteia

Landing, Hermione's eyes tried to adjust to change in light. A force knocked her to the ground and she was fully and completely immobilized.

Bellatrix paced the small room, unhappy with the development. "Why was she there?"

Tom simply studied his captive. She had been carelessly tossed on a rug in the center of the room before the full body bind curse ensured she couldn't move. Crouching down, he rummaged through her pockets, looking for a spare wand. Finding her mokeskin pouch, it shriveled to an impossibly small size at his touch. Smirking, he ripped it from her neck and tossed it carelessly on a nearby desk next to the wand Bellatrix took from her. Satisfied she was completely unarmed, he released her and leaned down menacingly. "You are not to move from this spot until I tell you. Understand?"

He might have looked like a young Tom Riddle but he had none of the charm. Hermione glanced at Bellatrix. She looked afraid. Of him. Nodding, Hermione didn't say anything.

"My lord. Maybe you should add the memories now? You'll remember me. Remember I am your most loyal advisor," Bellatrix implored.

"This has changed my timeline. They're all in here?" he asked Bellatrix, ignoring her nervous energy.

"Of course," she said, hurt evident in her voice. "I catalogued each contribution, ensured every year was accounted for. You can take them chronologically or I can assist you in selecting the most significant years."

"Show me," he said and followed her to a counter on the other side of the room. Opening the ornate chest he saw rows of bottles. Some of the vials had dulled with time, while others near the front gleamed.

Hermione craned her neck, not willing to move, desperate to understand what was happening.

Tom selected a bottle from the very back. "I should start with the earliest memories, don't you think? Or the others won't have context."

Disappointment flashed over Bellatrix's face and was quickly replaced with approval. "Of course."

Carrying the bottle, Tom used his wand to move a chair next to Hermione. Once seated, he looked down at her. "I know who you are, but I don't know you. Yet."

Clearing her throat she started to speak, thought better of it.

He smiled. Pleased she was catching on quickly to the unspoken rules. "You may speak. Ask your question."

Eyes flicking from the most immediate threat to the other threat still pacing on the far side of the room. "She used the gemino charm. On you. In the past."

A flash of surprise and then a grin started, never reaching his eyes. He took out the stopper and pulled out a large bundle of silvery strands. Memories. The bottle was labeled August 1943 to December 1944.

Hermione swallowed hard.

The strands remained together as he brought them to his temple. They wound their way off the wand and disappeared against his skin. Tom's face screwed up in pain. The empty bottle fell from his hand as he gripped his head.

She watched the small vial roll across the floor, stopping near the desk leg. Hermione imagined taking on new memories from an entire year could not have been a pleasant experience. This wasn't a matter of enhancing old memories or adding a new one. This was instant changes to neurons and neural networks. Millions of changes. As he leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, she willed herself not to move. He was already unstable. Adding these memories would likely make him even more unpredictable. Emptying herself of fear and emotion, she studied him as impassively as she could. When he finally opened his eyes they focused instantly on her.

Recognition.

After everything she had experienced, Hermione was certain she had never felt more fear than in that very moment.

Their eyes remained locked on each other's. Hermione thought she saw a war raging within his brown irises. Not a war, she corrected. A storm.

When he spoke, the calmness of his voice made her shiver. "When you left the room. When did I see you again?"

Her breathing increased. She knew what he was asking. She knew what new memory had his attention. The night she escaped the room of requirement and destroyed his plan. A slight shake of her head was the only protest she could make.

"Tell me. Now!"

She jumped, then swallowed hard. Tears filled her eyes. He was going to get there eventually. It would be better if he wasn't more pissed off when it happened. "1967."

"1967," he repeated. Standing, Bellatrix was smart enough to get out of his way and keep her mouth shut. The bottle was significantly bigger. Voldemort had been busy that year. The amount of memories would test Tom's ability to handle such radical changes to his own mind.

Hermione wanted to implore him to go slow. Beg him to not add all the strands in one go. He would likely interpret her words as a stalling tactic when in reality, she didn't want to be dealing with an unstable man with such fresh memories from their encounter in the Room of Requirement in 1967. He had been unhinged then and it left her shattered.

Every silver thread in the full vial clung to the wand tip. The knot writhed as if alive. Once they touched his temple, they seemed to absorb much slower than the 1944 memories. Whether that was due to sheer volume or his mind's inability to take them all in at once, Hermione wasn't sure.

Tom stood so abruptly, the chair fell backwards. He let out a primal scream, his entire body rigid, arms outstretched. From Hermione's vantage point, he looked like a supplicant offering himself to an unholy deity. As before, after he recovered, his head turned downward, meeting her eyes. He twisted his neck as if to remove a kink. His eyelids fluttered shut. In one swift motion, Tom's wand was pointed at her chest. The cruciatus curse, wordlessly cast, hit her like a wall of fire.

The silence was short lived. Tom's scream of rage mixed with Hermione's scream of agony. A deep melody accented by her harmony. Every muscle tightened, causing Hermione's back to arch up to a nearly impossible degree. Stars swam at the edges of her vision. Passing out would be welcomed, but unconsciousness eluded her. Tom released her, levitated her and cast the cruciatus curse again.

Her limbs flailed for purchase before finally going rigid with tension. She heard him encourage Bellatrix to join him and a second curse hit her. She was able to distinguish what pain was originating from Bellatrix and what pain was from Tom. Both curses washed over her. Tendons and muscles torn under the stress. Finally, mercifully, they released their spells. Neither tormentor moved. Hermione spun in the air in front of Tom. Each breathing heavily. Hermione closed her eyes, wishing for oblivion. She heard hushed voices, Hermione chanced a glance.

Tom was leaning heavily against a counter near the memories. Bellatrix was trying to comfort him. "Maybe you should wait before you do more," she was saying, her hand making comforting circles on his back. Hermione desperately agreed with her assessment.

He nodded and stood straight. A flick of his wand, a blue line grew out from the tip and surrounded the rug underneath Hermione, and she was released to fall within the circle. "I wouldn't cross that line if I were you," he said menacingly and left the two women alone.

Bellatrix sat heavily. She seemed relieved to be out of his presence.

"He's not the dark lord you remember," Hermione observed, chancing a moment to gather information.

"What would you know?" the older witch bit back defensively.

"I knew Tom Riddle. That's not Tom."

Bella's chin went up, a show of defiance. "He just needs his memories. He insisted he needed to learn on his own first so he wouldn't repeat his same mistakes."

Hermione turned on her side, hoping to take some pressure off her taxed muscles. They all screamed in protest. Failing to swallow the cry, she waited until her body adjusted to the new position. "How did you stabilize the body without a soul?" Hermione asked, knowing the theory well. The gemino charm only worked on inanimate objects. Even then the copy could not retain the original properties forever. The more complex the copy, the faster it degraded.

"Who says he doesn't have a soul?"

"You can't copy the…" Hermione trailed off. You couldn't copy a soul, but you could break off a piece. "Oh. No." The revelation hit her fast. Then the ramifications overwhelmed her. "He's. He's a horcrux."

At this, Bellatrix stood. Proud of her accomplishment. "It took many test subjects to learn but the one you met in 1979 told me his secret. He told me what he was doing to ensure his immortality. That's when it occurred to me, the perfect vessel for a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul was the Dark Lord himself. So I went back to the creation of the first. When his soul was the most whole. He killed three people that night anyway. He might as well have used one of their deaths to make another."

"No. No, no, no," Hermione said. It was horrifying. The perversion. The misguided loyalty. The idea that there was now an eighth horcrux. Had now been an eighth horcrux during the final battle. Could that mean the past had changed? That Lord Voldemort wasn't entirely dead. That there could be a Tom Riddle and a Lord Voldemort in her time at that very moment. Both a twisted version of the Dark Lord but neither quite human either. It was too much to process.

"You should sleep. I don't think he's through with you yet," Bellatrix said, and slipped out of the room leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts spinning out of control. At some point exhaustion overcame her racing mind and she drifted off to sleep.

~~/~~

Albus stood in the center of the time chamber looking at the web of changes. It was disorganized and tangled. Trying to follow changes back to their branch point was nearly impossible. "If there's a change in here due to Bellatrix and her use of the time turner, I'm not sure how we'll find it. Since we can't use her as the focal point it could take years to find," he told Fiona.

The witch was hunched over studying a particularly knotted timeline. She stood straight and stretched her aching back. When she joined him in the middle of the room, she nodded. "I'm not entirely sure why it looks like this. We know you're the primary catalyst for many of the changes recorded. Even those are disjointed."

He turned to her. Considered her words. "That's because we're using the wrong focal point. Use Hermione."

"I can't believe that hadn't occurred to me," she said. With a wave of her wand, the tangled lines emanating from several tempus tomes rearranged themselves in mid-air. They watched order arise from disorder. Finally, at the center was Hermione's name and one date, January 3rd, 1997. From that point, changes to time reached forward and backward in easy to follow branch points.

"Tom's decision to take Hermione might have been his own, look at all these choices he made as a result of her existence. Really her ability to evade him," he observed. "Minor changes to be sure."

"Here, look here," Fiona said. "The reason Cassandra had the prophecy which saved Bellatrix in the first place. It happened because Voldemort sought her out, desperate to locate Hermione. There, follow that line. Anything that happened as a result of the new prophecy was a direct result of Bellatrix. See, Broderick Bode is on that line."

He did see. "It's as good as we'll get to tracking Bellatrix. It looks like the Hyslop house elf had a lapse in memory. Nearly an hour. That must be when she learned how to alter the doubling charm. Disturbing, and perhaps we could have found it sooner, but I don't see anything here we don't already know or suspect. Certainly not where to find her," he said, backing away. "I'm not sure what we'd find exactly. I was hoping for more."

"It will be easier to find changes that result from Bellatrix's actions now. And we can at least do a better job explaining how Tom Riddle's manipulations have impacted the timeline," Fiona offered. "I do hear Henry has a line on a possible location. They're planning a raid right now."

~~/~~

A loud bang jolted Hermione awake. The sudden movement was instantly regretted as her punished muscles rebelled. She didn't know how much time had passed. There were no windows, her best guess was a few hours.

"Sleep well?" Tom asked cheerfully. A spring in his step.

This new attitude was almost worse than the cold detachment from before. She suspected manic rage would still be the end result again.

The blue line surrounding her disappeared.

"Do you need to use the facilities?" he asked pleasantly, pointing his wand at a closed door as he busied himself with the vials of memories.

A small bathroom presented itself. She hated to admit that she did need to pee but she was going to have to stand to get there. She didn't know if she could. Crawling there wasn't an option. Bracing herself, she used the discarded chair to get herself in a seated position. Chancing a glance, Tom was leaning casually against the counter, sipping from a delicate china cup. A smirk told her he was enjoying watching her struggle.

Her arms shook violently as she lifted herself up far enough to slide into the seat. Sweat beaded along her forehead at the effort. Muscles cramped along her midsection and radiate around to her lower back.

"I've been practicing," he explained, setting his cup down and walking over to her. "My curse is quite potent, wouldn't you think? I have also wondered what would happen if two curses were used simultaneously. I must admit, you've held up well," he continued cordially, and helped her stand. "Lesser witches would have gone mad."

She didn't want to accept his help, but now that she was standing she was desperate to use the toilet. Soiling herself would add to her discomfort. He walked her over, released her once they reached the door.

"Leave it open," he instructed.

She felt her face flush hot with embarrassment.

"I won't watch," he said good naturedly. "You're industrious and I can't have you finding a weapon in there." As he promised he stepped out of sight. He continued talking. "You must be hungry too. You'll need your strength. Bellatrix is finding us some dinner."

The comment was ominous. She didn't want to know why she would need her strength. Dinner at least gave her a timeframe. Finishing up as quickly as she could she washed her hands, and leaned against the door frame. Tom pointed to a chair across a table that hadn't been there a moment ago. Moving slowly, she eased into the chair and waited apprehensively.

Tom set a glass of water down in front of her. "Are those the worst of our memories together or will I learn more about us?"

Using both hands to raise the glass, she sipped delicately. The time it took to swallow gave her an opportunity to formulate her thoughts. "There are more. The memories you have already made you the most… angry."

"Excellent. You must understand, I'm my own person. I made certain of that. From what I gather, you were quite the complication to my brother."

"Your brother," she started. She wasn't sure if he didn't know the whole truth or if he was testing how he preferred to consider his relationship with the person he was spawned from.

"I know, of course, he's not my brother, but he's not me either, is he?"

"No, I don't suppose he is."

"Tell me about him."

This request was a surprise. She wasn't able to hide her reaction.

"I hear what Bellatrix has said. Confidentially, she might not be the most objective source of information when it comes to Lord Voldemort," he confessed. His derision over the self proclaimed title was not lost on her.

Before Hermione could answer, Bellatrix entered the room carrying a tray. Her steps faltered when she saw the hospitable setting at the table. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and leaned back in her chair. She tried to make herself the smallest target possible. Not that it really mattered. She couldn't hide from the cruciatus curse.

Tom pointed to the center of the table. "Here is fine. You can go run that errand we discussed."

Hurt and anger flashed briefly in the older witch's eyes. Sending Hermione jealous daggers, she finally gave Tom a nod of obedience and left.

A low chuckle rumbled from Tom. "She's jealous of you. Can you imagine that? She's so desperate for my attention that she is actually jealous of you." At that he laughed outright.

It was outrageous. What Hermione thought to be the most interesting from that revelation was that he was shrewd enough to understand what was happening in Bellatrix's mind. He might be a copy of young Tom Riddle, but he wasn't naïve. "I don't suppose you could give her a little bit of your attention meant for me?"

He laughed a genuine, hearty laugh. "Ah Hermione, we'll see," he said, and pushed the tray toward her. "Why did my brother surround himself with people like her instead of people like you?"

Gingerly, Hermione took a piece of bread. She understood he didn't mean a muggle-born. "That implies people like myself would be interested in what he had to say." Anger flashed for the first time and Hermione got the message. The cordial setting wasn't an invitation to disrespect him. "Voldemort required complete loyalty and he ruled by fear. People willing to submit to such terms, as a rule, aren't independent thinkers."

Tom leaned forward and took her hand. She tried to pull it back. He tightened his grip painfully, eliciting a moan of pain. "I'm going to change that. It was a mistake to trust sycophants with my highest ideals. You can join me. We can find a spot for you, something that makes the transition easier for the undesirables. I've read what they say about you. Harry Potter was the chosen one, but Hermione Granger is the most gifted witch of her age. Perhaps of the age. Showing a muggle-born of your stature has a place, could go a long way."

Hermione looked down at his hand wrapped around hers. A familiar feeling started to seep in. A sickening familiar feeling she had experienced every time she put the horcrux locket on. A shadow of negative energy, deceptively masquerading as her own negative thoughts. The realization made her sick and she yanked her hand free, set down her bread. "No. I don't think I will." She hoped her rejection would be definitive while not stoking his ire.

His wand lashed out so quickly it took a moment for her to feel the pain. Her hand flew up to her right bicep. A thick wetness grew and then the sharp pain followed. When she looked at the wound, she saw light dance along a series of Cyrillic letters. The letters seemed to deepened and expand, blood seeped from the wound. When the letters faded, an intense burning and large gash remained. She gritted her teeth.

A smile formed, not reaching his eyes. "I learned some spells from a mentor. That curse is terribly difficult to control. Much like fiendfyre. If you're not careful, it can destroy the target. Consider it a warning. I won't tolerate rudeness."

She decided to change tack. "I must have misunderstood. You said you wanted people to join you who weren't simply willing to blindly follow you," she started tentatively.

He motioned for her to continue.

"A primary tenant of your ideology is based on pureblood superiority. I don't understand how a mudblood, no matter how talented they may be, could fit in your inner circle without significant changes to your movement. I assumed your offer wasn't… genuine."

"That's a very civilized way to call me a liar," he told her, leaning forward.

She pushed down all her fear, and mirrored him. Leaning forward. "Has your ideology changed from Voldemort's?"

"I can't speak to Voldemort's movement. I can tell you Tom Riddle understood magical power came from a long legacy, passed down to each generation. There may have been aberrations along the way," he said, gesturing to her, "A witch or wizard with no trace of magical lineage gifted with such talents, but these aberrations aren't events we can depend on if our community is to thrive and take our rightful place. What can't be tolerated are unions of our kind with non-magical families. Each mating that occurs between our kind and muggles weakens us. It's cold logic. Even you must be able to see that."

"It's interesting you would think so. Considering your… lineage. Do you think you are less powerful than you could have been had you not had a muggle father?"

Tom stood abruptly and turned away from her.

Hermione could tell his breathing had changed. She hit a sore subject. To her surprise he hadn't punished her for the observation. Yet. Her mind spun. Should she press on and move the conversation away from such a sensitive matter or let him get control of his temper before she spoke again. She cleared her throat. Testing his reaction, decided to press on when none came. "You've been patient with me. Could I ask a silly question?"

"Ask your question." He didn't turn back to her, and his voice had an edge of impatience. Impatience that could erupt.

"You're obviously not the Tom who took me. You didn't know me after all, before you absorbed the memories. But you have his memories from 1944 now. I wondered… a few things actually. Could I ask you some questions he was never willing to answer?" She hoped she was striking the right balance. Separating him from the original Tom, making it clear he was his own person, but also the same Tom who had been already working his plan to destroy Harry.

Finally, he turned back to the table. Pouring them both some tea, he slid a china cup toward her. "We were doubled the summer of '43. I did have a notion of what I planned to do before the term started. It took him a few months to work out the details."

"Why me?" she asked, willing the emotion from her voice.

"That Weasley girl told us about you. Through the diary. When it stopped working, we had to find another way to communicate. The Malfoy boy was a worthy vessel. Born from two noble purebred families. Sorted into Slytherin. He recommended my brother use you as a test. In the event you didn't survive the time travel, what was the loss? The final target was Ginny Weasley. If we could bring her into the fold. Use the umbra to turn her to our side, we'd have a way to preserve that bloodline."

"He decided not to take her."

He closed his eyes, recalling the memories that were both his own and not his own. "Our second night together. You withstood some of the worst treatment he was capable of. You resisted longer than he thought possible. It impressed him. And infuriated him."

Her right hand moved to her left forearm. The movement sent new pains up her right bicep. "Why did you mark me. The first night?"

His hand reached out and pulled her arm toward him. He pushed up her sleeve to reveal the scars. "It was the proof needed that the room was really pulling you from the future. He was afraid the room could create an illusion of you. If you were marked with that rune and if that rune remained after you to return, he would know. The rune with the curse wouldn't be easily removed and he doubted could be adequately replicated. When you returned still branded with our mark, my brother knew the magics he was attempting to harness were working."

"Ior. You believe it to be a serpent?"

"Of course. The world serpent has us all in its grip; lord of eternity the cycle of birth and death."

Since he didn't ask what she thought the rune was, she didn't volunteer her understanding. There was no reason to challenge him on the interpretation of ancient runes. "You interceded in my relationships."

He very nearly rolled his eyes. "Teenagers. Servants to your hormones and emotions. As soon as it was decided to keep you for the umbra, he needed to ensure you'd remain close to Harry. At all costs. Since I don't have all the memories yet, I can't say for sure how this change was accomplished, other than to tell you my brother planned to enlist a loyal follower in the future to dose Ron Weasley with love potion targeting a pureblood witch. Draco informed him the best he could of the infatuation between you two. Since I was no longer pursuing the Weasley girl, it had the added benefit of keeping another member of the sacred twenty-eight from bedding a mudblood. I understand from Draco's reports that the plan worked. I believe it was his father who slipped the potion into some drinks in Diagon Alley and then again in Hogsmeade. As I said, I can't say for certain right now. I need to fill in those missing years." Tom stood. Studied her. Then he collected four vials from the rack of memories, lined them up. 1981, 1991, 1996, and 1997. "It's a shame he didn't save his memories from this year. He didn't have a chance so I won't know exactly how this ended. Nevertheless, according to what Bellatrix has said, these will fill in the blanks when it comes to us."

"There's no us," Hermione challenged.

"We'll see," Tom sneered. He levitated her up from her chair and moved her to her spot above the rug. When he released her, there was some force behind the fall that couldn't be accounted for by gravity alone. "Don't move."

From her position on the ground, she watched him absorb each bundle of memories. The time required to recover between each year grew. As he attempted to process the 1997 contribution several hours had passed, Hermione shifted to give her stiff muscles a break.

"I said don't move! Crucio!"

It seemed as if his short temper was trying to rid himself of his own pain by inflicting pain on Hermione. He advanced on her. Wand steady, curse constant. With one final surge, he yelled and released her. Tom sat in the chair next to her trembling form. Holding his head in his hands, his eyes darted around wildly trying to process the information. Neither moved. The longer he sat there, the more her worry grew. There was no doubt that his psyche would be fragile considering his origins as a horcrux. He might be breaking.

"How did you get rid of his umbra?"

The question was nearly a whisper.

Hermione started to reposition herself. Remembering his reaction, she stopped.

"You can move," he said and summoned a chair to her.

He kept his eyes closed the entire time she struggled to get into the chair. Her hip protested quick movements. It wasn't the excruciating pain from the previous avulsion fracture but she feared it was a weak spot and would happen again. Catching her breath, she studied him. His eyes were moving violently under his eyelids. He was trying to process years of new memories.

Several more minutes passed. "How did you destroy my umbra?" The switch in pronouns was not lost on Hermione.

"I tried to kill myself," she admitted simply, hoping it would be enough to satisfy his curiosity. "The umbra took the damage."

"Show me," he said and was in her mind.

The sudden invasion took her by surprise. Still she didn't plan on giving him any information. He may have been practicing other spells; however, it was quickly becoming clear he hadn't practiced legilimency. It was easy to block.

He withdrew and opened his eyes. "You're now a Director of your own department in the Ministry of Magic."

It wasn't a question and the change of subject was abrupt. She didn't respond.

"Why do you think they would let someone so young and inexperienced serve at such a high level?"

"You'd have to ask the Minister for Magic," she said dismissively.

"The Department of Ministry Reconstruction. Did my brother break the Ministry?"

"Voldemort exploited existing prejudices and unjust practices. We can make sure that's not so easily done in the future."

His eyes narrowed. "As long as fear exists, people can always be manipulated and exploited. The mere suggestion that pureblood status will be devalued as a result of your policies will motivate many. Everyone fears that someone else will gain something at their expense."

"That's a very cynical perspective. Someone else gaining justice doesn't mean injustice will be meted out on you."

"Oh it does, if I believe my position is dependent on others being less than me."

"Well then, you didn't earn that position did you. In fact we can't say that about you at all can we? A half-blood with a muggle father." The physical slap was fast and fueled by insult. Hermione tasted blood in her mouth. She pushed on. "I already outed you. The entire wizarding world knows your family tree is tainted with muggle blood. If your intent is to incite pureblood outrage you're not the face of that movement are you? You're not the victim of the policies I would enact, you'd be a beneficiary."

Now he laughed. "You outed Lord Voldemort. I'm Tom Riddle. Risen from the dead. Resurrected having shed the mudblood filth that ran through my veins. Look at me. Strong. Decades younger. My father's blood was the reason I couldn't ascend to my rightful place. I can show them all what pureblood perfection is capable of achieving."

"You didn't rise from the dead. You didn't shed your muggle heritage. You're just a copy of Tom Riddle. With a fragment of his soul."

An unseen force circled her wrists and lifted her high in the air. Static surrounded her body. She could feel the energy around her building until a shock hit her lower back. Then a second made contact with her side. Rapid fire, electricity shocked her randomly. With each contact the pain was sharp but fleeting. They weren't meant to leave lasting injury.

"That's not the story I plan to tell. Good night, Hermione Granger. Try to get some sleep," he said, leaving the room and slamming the heavy door shut.

As she hung there she wondered if the spells would drop when he fell asleep. Suspecting they were reinforced to continue she needed to focus her mind away from the pain. She studied the room. It seemed familiar. She craned her neck to see as much of it as possible. The chair. Across the room sat the chair the first clone had died in. Next to it was the chair where she sat when he stabbed her. She was in the safe house. Modified and likely surrounded by more protections. Knowing this was a small relief. Once Harry figured out she was missing they would come to check out the property. How long would that take? Harry thought she was gone for the night. Snape would expect her, but she indicated her trip was tentative. Guessing she had at least twelve more hours, more likely twenty-four, before help arrived she knew she had to be smart. Provoking him was stupid. A shock emphasized her point.

~~/~~

The night sky was clear. Harry would have liked some cloud cover but at least it wasn't raining. Every Auror in the department had turned out for the operation. Williamson tracked each team as they notified their positions effectively surrounding the field. In the east corner of the meadow was a dilapidated cabin. Harry turned to look at Newt. The old wizard was holding something carefully in his hand. "Are you sure," Harry asked, not for the first time.

"I'm certain an orphic egg shell which came from the same orphic as this one is in or near that structure," Newt said confidently. "The shells vibrate at a specific harmonic and are connected through time and space. This egg was laid this week. I saw it myself, from the same mother. The wave can only be disrupted when it's near another with the same harmonic. It's why eggs in the same nest don't vibrate. Perfect harmonic disruption. This egg's vibration is decreasing the closer I get to that cabin."

Williamson shook his head in disbelief. "An egg shell is going to lead us to Bellatrix Lestrange."

Harry understood. He was more willing to accept the method knowing how much Newt had done for Hermione in the past. Thinking of his fiancée, he took out the texting parchment and saw she hadn't responded to his last message. Knowing how distracted she got when she was focused he didn't think twice about the silence. He would try again once he got home.

Wireless radios chirped in the night. A signal from Williamson that everyone was in place and ready to enter. "Harry and Tonks, take point. Anti-apparition wards are in place. If she gets out of the cabin it will be on foot. Keep your eyes open and your sector secure. Watch the sky for my signals." Confirmations echoed in the night. "Alright, Tonks, I'm on your six."

Soundlessly Tonks, Harry, and Williamson moved low through the tall prairie grass. The cabin appeared empty, all the windows were boarded up. At the door, Tonks used her wand to reveal any traps. She found a detection charm and disabled it. Satisfied, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Light swept over the dilapidated floors. A series of bursts of light left Tonks' wand tip. After several tense minutes Tonks stood. "There's no one here," she announced.

Williamson shot out blue lights into the air signaling all clear but each team should hold their positions. He lit several nearby lanterns.

"The kitchen isn't original," Harry commented, noting the clean, polished surfaces. A contrast to the bedroom and bathroom in the other half of the cabin. "No dust in there. She hasn't been gone long."

Williamson found a workbench and identified the object that had led them to the location. A small piece of eggshell sat next to a cauldron, a chronometer, a half empty vessel of writhing liquid, and some metal shavings which were likely what was left of the steel. "She might be using the time turner," he said. "We should leave a few teams here to see if she comes back." He left the cabin to coordinate.

"She was here," Harry said.

"She might come back," Tonks added. "You want to volunteer for the first shift?"

"You bet your ass I do," he said.