Disclaimer: If I had written Harry Potter, I wouldn't waste my creativity thinking up disclaimers, not would I?

Pairings: Harry/Draco, James/Lily. Any others will be noted in later chapters.

Summary: Following an escaped Death Eater brings Harry 20 years into the past. As Harry searches for him inside Hogwarts, Harry learns just how the world he lives in came to be- and what it still has left for him.

Love, love is a verb
Love is a doing word
Feathers on my breath
Gentle impulsion
Shakes me makes me lighter
Feathers on my breath

Teardrop on the fire
Feathers on my breath

-Teardrop, Massive Attack

The sound of his footsteps seemed loud to his own ears. It flew down the halls, bouncing back as it met the corridor walls before making its way through the blackened passage. Shadows frothed where the lamps didn't reach, in descript sounds bubbling from their depths.

He hadn't had time to realize what a bad an idea this was. Even after tempering his patience to it's maximum, he still had a tendency to rush into some things. He had planned ahead enough to go out before curfew, but this led to other problems. It was to be expected he'd run into fellow students, sure, but that didn't necessarily mean he was ready to encounter a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs right off. Really, what were they doing in the dungeons to begin with? And here he was, unfortunate enough to be a suspicious looking Slytherin, alone. No use in complaining though. At least he'd managed to get by semi-unharmed.

He passed a flight of stairs that led down to the potions rooms, the muddy mess of footprints- a result of a light, cold rain- drying into dust, an arrow pointing to the more inhabited areas of the dungeons. His eyes traced the doorways leading back into the classrooms, debating his next move.

Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Harry was aware of two corridors that he'd never traveled. They didn't appear on the Marauders Map, and though they were always in plain sight, he'd never seen or heard of anyone- besides staff- walking through them. There's probably a charm placed on them, he thought. Most likely a combination of an illusionary spell and notice-me-not. Whatever it was, whenever he came close to it with the intention of walking through, he became enamored with something else- the most embarrassing of which had been an apple core someone had discarded in the hallway- or simply couldn't remember how he arrived somewhere else.

Approaching the corridor, Harry reached into the robes for his wand, ready to cast a counter charm. He stepped closer, slowly, carefully, preparing himself for the effects of the spell, and hoping he could overcome whatever the staff had placed on it.

Closing his eyes, Harry latched onto the sound of his heart, drumming in his ears as the echo of his footprints slowly inched their way forward. He held his breath as the toe of his shoe felt along the ground.

After a few seconds of holding his breath, Harry peeked through his lashes, coming face to face with a broken statue, it's arm crumbled a few inches from it's feet. Confused, Harry looked around.

That's odd. The charm is gone, Harry thought. Could it be it hasn't been placed yet?

The corridor felt damp, a sickly sweet aroma tickling at his nose. It smelled familiar, though Harry wasn't quite sure of the source. Holding his breath to clear the overwhelming odor from his nose for a moment, Harry brought his wand in front of him and cast a silent 'Lumos.'

Squinting at the walls, Harry could make out a faint red. Taking a closer look, he could see cracks along them, what seemed to once have been a deep scarlet paint chipping from the unattended stone. He reached out and touched one particularly exposed spot, red crumbling under his fingertips and falling to the floor.

Moving on, Harry came across a thick, wooden door, forest green paint peeling from it in a similar fashion. When he touched it, the wood felt damp. He pulled his fingers away. They were wet. He brought them beneath his nose before wiping them on his robes in distaste. Whatever this odor is, it's in the water. It's probably leaking through the walls, Harry thought. Curious, his hand slid to the handle, and opened the door.

The room was a mess- it's walls were gauged, exposing gray stone that stood out against the filthier surface stained and faded through the years. Desks and chairs were torn apart and strewn across the floor, some sporting black char marks.

Harry took a cautious step into the room, watching his feet in case of any traps. His shoes gathered cobwebs and dust as he went, white speckling his dark dress shoes. He paused, looking around at the broken furniture- in this light, it all seemed alive, limbs bent at awkward angles.

Cobwebs wound around the whole room, thick milky thread handing from every edge. This room hadn't -couldn't- have been touched for months. It was a dead end.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Harry turned back around, still watching his feet but with an air of annoyance. The thick strands clung to his clothes as he made his way out- though he didn't remember having that much trouble getting in to the room, and surely he'd made something of a path the first time.

With a final jerking of his arm, freeing him from the few last limbs of the sticky web clinging to him, Harry left the room, pushing the door shut much harder than he should have- after all, it was approaching curfew, and any student, let alone a Slytherin, would look suspicious in this area.

The corridor lamps were just dimming when Harry made his way towards the next door. Harry continued unfazed- the lamps always dimmed in corridors that weren't often used after curfew.

He approached the next-door, shadows clambering over the stone and portraits of the dungeons, the air musty. It wasn't until his hand was feeling for the doorknob when the hairs began to rise on the back of his neck. He shivered, hands reaching to rub his arms when his skin began to crawl.

Or rather, something began to crawl along his skin.

The moment he felt a pinch his robes were off, thrown a few feet away and hanging from the shoulder of a suit of armor. He rubbed his hands along his arms, neck, back, and legs in a hurry, batting at the tiny spiders clutching at his skin, trying to get under his clothes. The sticky white web still clung to his arms, and the arachnids burrowed inside as he tried to pull it from his fingers.

Milk Spiders. And lots of them.

Harry fumbled in the dim lights, reaching for his robes- then pulling back as the beasts crawled up his fingers. Waving them about, he again reached for the robe, probing to find his wand. His fingers found the hard wood, gripping against the legs scratching against the hairs on his arms, bringing it up to his forehead. They were just reaching his mouth and eyes when-

"Agitominus!"

He was swallowed in ice as blue light crept over his skin, stunning the spiders as it went. Moving quickly, Harry shook the spiders from his clothes and robes, crunching them under his feet as he made his way back towards the previous room.

Milk spiders were known first and foremost for their ability to make webs at an accelerated speed- fifty of them could block a doorway within a minute. They were common in the dark forest, and other areas with little habitation. Which was why it was so strange to have to many not only in Hogwarts, but isolated in a single room.

There must be a shield keeping them in that room, Harry thought. Which could mean one thing. Somebody was hiding something.

Which led to a problem. Even if Harry were to take care of the spiders, and the webbing, it would still lead to the problem of finding out what was disturbed when. Some of the broken furniture had already significantly decayed- meaning not all the damage done in the room had been done by whoever had brought in the spiders. He needed to know who did what when, before he'd be willing to tamper with whatever magic was wrought in that room.

Harry tried to remember his training- while magic is foolproof in solving crimes in most cases, basic forensic science sometimes proved invaluable in fragile cases such as this. There is one way, if I can manage it, Harry thought.

While milk spiders could easily recreate the thick webbing in the room overnight, dust takes much longer to settle- at least to any significant amount. The amount of dust atop each table or chair would determine which had been moved more recently. After that was determined, Nyles path- as Harry was now positive it was Nyles who came in here- could be discovered, and with that, Harry could find out what exactly he wanted with the room.

He had to be as at tentative as possible, though. Having little information on Nyles meant Harry didn't know how cunning the man truly was- it would be possible to lead Harry on a wild goose chase by moving other tables and chairs he didn't necessarily need to move in order to keep him off his trail. He'd have to watch for a pattern in the movements.

He opened the door again, this time his wand at the ready, and cast lumos. His feet pushed their way through the thick webbing, and he raised his wand arm through the ceiling.

He could see them now. Hundreds of them, blistering from the webbing, crawling white pustules along the walls. Thank God Ron isn't here, he thought.

"How about this one?" Peter exclaimed, walking down the hallway a few feet before looking back at his friends.

"Oh please," Sirius responded, "That's the corridor to Hufflepuff. We've been down that way a million times. Not exactly the most adventurous choice for our first addition to the map, now is it?"

Peter frowned, looking down at his feet briefly before reclaiming his place in the back of the group.

"Well, then you pick it." He said glumly.

Remus shook his head slowly, eyes traveling over the walls as they resumed their walk through the corridors. "Really, Sirius, it doesn't matter where we start. By all means, we should have started the minute we left the common room. Hogwarts is big, and we don't have that much time to get it all on the map."

"We have years!" James said, moving between Sirius and Remus and throwing his arms around their necks. "Just think- we'll be the first ever to have an all-inclusive map of Hogwarts, including the whereabouts of all staff and students. Let's do it right."

Remus shrugged off James' arm, falling back next to Peter.

"We won't be the first to do so if we never actually do it. We haven't even started. Having the spells placed on the parchment was only the first step. I don't think you two actually realize how long this is going to take. And it doesn't matter how many years we have to make it, we want to be able to use it, don't we?"

Sirius rubbed his hands together, a grin breaking across his face.

"Now we're talking. Alright, I know where we should start. You know that corridor in the dungeons that Filch always guards? Let's go there. We may not be able to see the corridors on the map yet, but we can see if anyones close to us at the least."

James suddenly broke into a run, calling over his shoulder, "Last one there's a Cornish Pixie!"

With a whoop, Sirius ran after him, Remus and Peter grudgingly following his lead.

Draco dropped the slips parchment of parchment on the mohagony desk, hands clenched at his sides as he stared into the elder mans eyes.

"Stop playing me for a fool, Dumbledore. I won't have any of this runaround, not with someone's life at stake!"

Dumbledore straightened slowly, hands lightly sifting through the tattered parchment in an off-handed manor. After studying their contents, he raised his white brows before looking up at his former student.

"I know just as well as you how much danger Harry is in right now, Draco. And I assure you I- no, everyone, is doing all they can do to ensure his safe return."

Dumbledore tentatively stood, nursing his back as he walked toward a silver cupboard, engraved with a language Draco didn't recognize.

"Draco, my boy-"

Draco slammed his hands on the desk- a habit he'd been indulging himself with lately- and steeled his gaze at Dumbledore.

"I'm not your boy, now tell me what's going on! What about these reports? You can't tell me they were never investigated, or the perpetrator found, or, well, anything!"

Dumbledore sighed, grisly hands rubbing his forehead as he pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocking the silver cupboard.

"Now now, Draco, all in good time. To tell you the truth, I had forgotten about the whole thing."

Draco stared incredulously at Dumbledore, fingers clenching the desk –most unbecoming of a Malfoy, not that at the moment he cared much.

"Forgotten? How could you have forgotten! There's enough ingredients here to brew at least a years worth of polyjuice, and that's just the beginning!"

Dumbledore flinched as Draco's voice rose in volume – and pitch, though Draco would never admit it- before swinging the cupboard open.

"You have to understand, at the time the war with Voldemort was only brewing. While on one hand, I myself was concerned with the emergence of the Dark Lord, the rest of Hogwarts at least felt secure of the wards. The idea that Voldemort would already be setting his sights onto Hogwarts was unthinkable. At the time he was still gathering his followers, after all."

As he spoke, Dumbledore pulled out his wand, placing the tip to his head before removing a silver memory, and placing it in the pensieve the cupboard had hid. Draco's anger evaporated, replaced with curiosity. He tried not to let his legs carry him toward the cupboard, but soon realized how useless that would be.

Dumbledore smiled sadly, his eyes connecting with Draco's.

"Now, shall we begin?"

It had lost its punch in second year. It was a simple, infantile word, only two syllables long. And yet, when eyes meet, faces are associated with names and memories, words are exchanged, and passions rise, it's oil on the fire.

Mudblood.

An ugly, primal word.

But for some the word was sacred. It meant something deep, passionate. The word was only ever as dangerous as the venom of it's owner- the rolling, spitting curl of the lips that expressed that unadultured hate of something so under oneself it pains to speak of.

Wizards and witches went to war over it.

All the same, calices grow. The whip that could once tear through skin will prove worthless as thick hide grows to protect the victim. In time, a thicker, harsher whip will be invented, bought, used, but until then, they are safe. But flinching is habit.

Habit. That's what their fighting had become.

He had no sooner seen that thick, unkempt black mop before the words were off his lips and fallen on hard ears.

"If it isn't the wonder trio? Tell me, how's your doggie, Mudbloods?"

Dark, emerald eyes didn't focus.

"Bugger off, Malfoy."

The response was stiff, polished, practiced. Automatic. A midless, soulless response, a societal requirement as basic as 'please' or 'thank you.' It should have, would have upset him- if he wasn't guilty of the same.

He let out a huff, his faithful gargoyles waiting for his orders. And all of a sudden, he didn't feel like it.

"Forget it, this is ridiculous. Damn mudbloods, why the bloody hell won't you just get out?"

It was halfhearted, lackluster, and most importantly, pathetic.

It felt like a dementors kiss. What's the point?

What the hell am I doing?

A/N: Well, it's been seven months since I've updated. I have to apologize to all of you that have been waiting for this next chapter, but rest assured the next won't take nearly as long. Thank god for summer break!

This chapter isn't as long as I had hoped, but I thought I would get something out to tide you guys over. Hopefully this makes some sense! Thank you to all of you that have stuck by me this long, and thanks to my beta for being understanding.