*Cough* remember me? It's only been a decade.

This is just the prologue. I'm going to finish the rest of the story before I post it. It's nearly done, but I want to make sure it's sorted. I thought I'd just drop this here to see what you thought. Also, you'll notice the rating on this is M, for all that that implies.

I'm excited to be back,

Mrs J xx

6th August 2019.

The high afternoon sun beat down as Hermione forced open her car door with shaking hands, the heat accumulated in the blacktop rushed up to greet her. She clambered out of the driver's seat, her summer dress catching awkwardly, heart thrumming, her breath short The last few moments playing over in her head, like a loop of madness.

French countryside whirring by, cream and green beneath the wide summer sky, the pressure of work and broken relationship lifting as she sped along, feeling more at ease than she had in months. This beautiful part of the world was bright, open, and peaceful.

Then, with a crack and a roar and shot of light that was definitely magical, a large black motorbike fell from the sky, directly in her path. She wrenched the wheel, hit grass and skidded to a stop, juddering along the uneven ground. The motorbike and its rider, who was supremely underdressed for high speed motorcycle riding, in only a t-shirt and jeans, swerved, out of control, his fat rear tyre leaving a long black skid on the asphalt. A trail of smoke and screeching of brakes preceded his dramatic departure from the bike, tossed sideways, and hitting the road in a painful, out of control tumble.

Hermione approached the lifeless body cautiously, gripping her wand tight. It had been a long time since she'd been in a situation that made her feel so frightened. Sitting behind a desk at the Ministry certainly had its downsides, but heart palpitations and sweating palms were not one of them.

Just as she reached the fallen rider a small, pitiful groan issued from him and his right hand, which had been splayed on the road surface twiched.

He was still alive.

Kneeling down beside him, Hermione asked, "Can you hear me?" Then realising he was probably French, since they were in France, she asked again, feeling slightly awkward with the slippery vowels in the foreign tongue, "Peux-tu m'entendre?"

"Oui," the man replied, lifting his head. He wore no helmet and his hair still covered his face, his neck seemed too stiff to move properly, and so Hermione reached out a hand to shift the dark hair from his eyes, just as he continued, "Why are we speaking French?"

Hermione would have been surprised by the well-bred British accent in which he spoke, if she wasn't already panicking about the very familiar face she had just revealed. She was on her feet in a flash, her wand covering him again as she backed away.

"Who are you?" she asked sharply, accusingly, terrified as the man she recognised so easily pushed himself into a sitting position with a groan, there was no mistaking him.

This was Sirius Black, younger than she had known him, battered and bleeding, but still most definitely him.

"I could ask the same of you,'' he said, taking in her wand pointing at him he continued, "You didn't see my wand by any chance did you?"

"What's your name?" she asked, holding her own wand steady, her hand was trying to shake but she couldn't let him see how unsettled she was.

"What's yours?" He shot back, his eyes falling on her car, parked so awkwardly in the ditch, "Did you run me over?" he sounded almost amused, he tipped his head from side to side and lifted a shoulder with a grimace, "is that why I hurt so badly?"

"I did not." Hermione said shortly, "You fell, on that godforsaken machine, right out of the sky in front of me. I only just missed you."

But he wasn't listening now, the man who looked so like Sirius, was staring at something gold and glittering on the asphalt beside his thick soled boot.

"Fuck." he grunted under his breath, he picked the delicate golden hourglass up by its fine chain, a thin stream of sparkling sand poured from crack in the lower bulb, scattering in the slight breeze

"No!" Hermione said at once, darting forward again, things were clicking into place in her mind so quickly she barely had time to acknowledge them - young Sirius Black, fell from the sky, in possession of a time turner, when had he come from? And even more concerning, how was she going to send him back? It was this last thought that had made her react, because right now a cracked time turner was about the worst thing that could happen.

"Reparo," she said, jabbing her wand at the splintered glass.

"Oi!" The man who looked like Sirius said, swinging it out of her reach, "Dont, it's delicate."

"No kidding," Hermione snapped back. She didn't know why she was so angry, a tiny little voice in the back of her mind suggested that this could be an amazing opportunity, but the thought of that, the unravelling consequences were more frightening than being faced with this young man.

Why on earth was he here? And how could he be here? Timeturners sent you back, not forward.

"James is going to kill me." Sirius muttered. He was trying to get to his feet now, but his leg, twisted at an unnatural angle, wasn't allowing it. "Fuck." he said again, both in pain and frustration, "Where's my wand?"

Hermione raised her own, an idea had come to her, if this really was Sirius Black she had to know, and she had to keep him safe. "Accio Sirius's wand." she said and with a thud in her chest that was both hope and dread she saw a familiar wand rise from the grass on the side of the road and soar in her direction.

It really was him. But how?

She caught the wand as a grim resolution settled over her. She turned her own wand on him again, taking aim at his chest.

"Thanks,'' Sirius said, and he held out his hand for his wand, but she stowed it in the belt of her dress, and tried to look apologetic.

"Terribly sorry," she said earnestly, "Stupefy."

*oOo*

A/N: What do you think? Shall I do this instead of assignments?