Wow. Thank you so much! I was not expecting such a warm reception for this fic (and, actually, as I've not read any Time Turner fics before, I certainly wasn't expecting to find out that having Hermione expose Peter's betrayal was a new take on the whole thing, so, I guess yay Freya's brain? XD).

CHAPTER TWO

Hermione Dagworth

Sirius dragged a petrified Peter along by one arm, the traitor's wand shoved into his belt. For good measure, he'd slapped him with a charm to prevent him from slipping into his Animagus form . . . at least until after he was turned over to the Order. At that point, no trick up his sleeve would matter.

As he crossed to the spot where he'd left the mystery woman who'd led them here, he found her gone. Looking up, he managed to catch Remus' bewildered gaze as the werewolf returned at a jog.

"Where'd she go?"

"No idea," Sirius said while he continued walking along, as though he wasn't dragging a man on the ground behind him. "But let's get him squared away and then track her down."

Wincing, Remus glanced around. "She seemed fairly disturbed by the entire situation. Maybe we should just—"

"She knew us, Moony! Girl we've never laid eyes on in our bloody lives knew us. And the way she acted when we saw Peter with You Know Who? She knew we were all stumbling into a meeting no one was meant to witness." Sirius shrugged. "Best we find out if that means trouble sooner rather than later."

Remus flicked his wand at Peter's still form, levitating him, instead. Sirius glowered at the gentler treatment, much preferring if they delivered him to the Order bumped and bruised. They were all going to be stinging over this betrayal for a while, letting him get a little banged up might alleviate some of that.

"Well?" he asked, with a shake of his head.

Hiding a grin at the dark-haired man's irritation, Remus nodded, though he couldn't say he didn't share Sirius' feelings on this. With another flick of his wand, he compromised their prisoner's hearing, so the words that met Peter's ears were perceived as garbled and unintelligible. "Managed to make contact with James. He took Lily and Harry to . . . some Muggle place or another. They'll hide out there until one of us tells them otherwise."

Sirius was beyond relieved, but it was a strange, wary sort of relief. If they hadn't chased that strange girl, they would never have known of Peter's treachery. He had a most unsettled feeling that she had actually been afraid of them.

Despite the current lull in activity, war was still raging. Definitely best to track her down and find out what was going on.

Hermione wished it were as simple as using the Time Turner to undo her Apparition and simply pop up somewhere else—any-bloody-where else—but she'd just changed time! She didn't even know if the artifact that had allowed that to happen would work the same because of that, and she was not about to experiment and risk cocking things up worse than they already were.

She hobbled her way across the threshold of The Three Broomsticks and went straight to the bar, bracing herself against it as she dragged in a breath. One wouldn't know the war was still on—a war that had just been prolonged by her interference—but then Halloween was widely celebrated by Wizarding Britain, perhaps it made sense that there was a temporary peace. The place was lively with festivities for the holiday, and Hermione hoped that only went as far as drinking, possible barfights, and other other forms of merriment that didn't mean there'd be no vacancies. She was in no mood to drag her weary body across the village to the Hogshead, just now.

And thank God wizarding currency had never changed, so the emergency stash she kept in her little bag was more than enough to get herself a room for a few nights . . . perhaps a few changes of clothes so she could blend with the populace of Hogsmeade. After having Voldemort's attention on her, as she'd stood there gaping at him in obvious Muggle attire, blending in with the locals seemed like something that ought to be high on her priority list.

Yes, okay. Room, rest—she really needed to recoup from the various traumas her body and mind had suffered in the last hour, alone—put some food in her stomach come morning, and then she could be on her way to Gladrags Wizardwear, and after being appropriately attired, head over to Tomes and Scrolls, though she wasn't entirely certain what, if any, viable information she might find, given that she was dealing with such an unheard of circumstance.

Could one undo potentially obliterating an entire timeline? Or had she accidentally created some alternate reality?

She had no idea! Worse, in her state of shocked exhaustion, the whirl of thoughts—which she could normally handle with aplomb in even the most dire of situations—was making her head spin. But at least she had a plan, now. However small that plan might be, it was a start. Though good Lord, it sounded like a lot right now. Just thinking on her to-do list sapped a bit of what little energy she had left.

Once she was collected, she turned as calm a gaze as she could on a very young Madam Rosmerta. It was easy to see why so many wizards young and old, alike, fancied the former—well, technically current—barmaid. The Madam Rosmerta Hermione remembered was stunning for her age, and the literal turning back of the clock had only proved that she'd always been quite eye-catching.

The blonde witch smiled, though Hermione could tell she was a bit uneasy at seeing an unfamiliar face before her. "May I help you, Miss?"

"Um, yes, sorry. Um, how much for a room for the night, and how far in advance can I pay for consecutive nights?"

"Two Galleons, one Sickle for a night—three Galleons, even, if you'll be wanting meals." Rosmerta eyed Hermione as the brunette dug around in her little bag. "You can pay for as long a stay as you want whenever, s' long as you're paid up current at the time."

Having no idea how long she might be stuck here, Hermione thought perhaps three nights was a good start. Not wanting to show off just how large her emergency stash was, however, she carefully counted out the coins while her hand was still in the depths of the bag.

Extracting five, she plunked them down, followed by another five. "Three nights, with meals, and an extra Galleon for your kind assistance."

Rosmerta's brows shot up and her pretty lips puckered in thought as she nodded, counting out the payment and then pocketing the left over coin. She was quick to shove a ledger and a quill under the newcomer's hands.

Hermione was sure she signed as Hermione Dagworth, a surname that came to her in a pinch, since Professor Slughorn's inquiry during Hogwarts about the possibility of her being related to Hector Dagworth-Granger was always somewhere, kicking about in a back corner of her mind. Now that she'd—bloody hell, she still couldn't believe it!—altered time, there was no guarantee her future self would ever meet anyone she knew in the Wizarding world, but she still wasn't willing to risk that some day they might cross paths with young, properly-timelined Hermione Granger and let something slip about this mess.

Snatching the items back so fast, Hermione didn't get to cross her T, Rosmerta beamed. The swiftness of the movement struck Hermione as rude at first, but then she realized that the barmaid was simply eager—grateful to have a female boarder. It probably wasn't something that happened very often, and the lady was just as probably bloody damn tired of having her bum pinched by most every other male who stepped through the door.

"Right this way, Miss."

Knowing there was some respite in sight, Hermione felt a sudden need to will her legs into motion. Across the floor and up that damned staircase . . . through the corridor. Every step took a little more of that willpower, and she wasn't certain she had the energy to keep moving if that left her before they reached the room.

She could hear Madam Rosmerta's voice in her ears as they walked, talking about what was being served for tonight's dinner, Hermione thought? But she couldn't really focus. Not wanting to be rude, however, Hermione mumbled a soft sound of agreement.

Let into her room—was Rosmerta saying the meal would be brought up in two hours? Three? Some? Oh, her brain was shutting down—Hermione muttered a thank you and offered a polite, if visibly tired, grin to the other witch and accepted the keys.

Later, Hermione would have no idea how she'd actually managed to drag herself to the bed. Never mind that she'd been so dazed, she didn't even recall peeling off her jeans, trainers, and bra, to crawl under the covers in nothing but her t-shirt and knickers once Rosmerta had closed the door.

After meeting with two of the Aurors in league with the Order and giving statements on what transpired, the pair once more found themselves out in the center of Hogsmeade as night started to fall. Now that things had settled down once more, Remus and Sirius were painfully aware of each other's presence. Aware of the strained and tense conversation that had been left hanging in the air when that girl had appeared smack between them.

The night, itself, was strangely buoyant, perhaps it was everyone simply loving the unspoken ceasefire and the excuse of All Hallows Eve to get pissed in public. Perhaps it was the distant sounds of music and drunken singing winding through the streets of the village.

Whatever the case, Sirius wished he could say it took the edge off his apprehension. Yet, as he turned to look up at Remus—bastard was over ten centimeters taller than he was, after all—Sirius narrowed his eyes.

Those leaf-green eyes narrowed right back at him in question. "What?"

Dropping his gaze to the ground, Sirius shook his head. "Um." He pursed his lips for a moment, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robes. "Listen, about . . . about what I was trying to tell you earlier . . . ."

Remus did his level-best not to smirk at the very un-Sirius apprehension in his friend's tone and behavior. "Yes?"

There was something in Remus' voice. He sounded a bit too . . . eager to hear what Sirius had to say. A bit too . . . .

His eyes narrowing further, still, Sirius snapped his attention up to look at the other man, once more. After searching Remus' always-too-bloody-calm features for a few heartbeats, Sirius scowled.

"Oh, sod it! Let's just go find the girl, something about her tells me either she's in danger or we are."

Sirius started stomping off, but Remus reached out, grabbing him by the elbow. As he was spun back, the dark-haired man was already letting out a hushed string of four-letter words.

Words that were cut off as he found Remus' mouth on his.

Though he moved into it willingly, nibbling and nipping at Remus' tongue and his bottom lip, Sirius seemed almost angry as he broke the kiss. Almost angry as he blinked up at his friend in something like confusion.

His breathing shuddering a bit, he asked in a hushed tumble of sound, "What the hell was that?"

Remus' brows pinched together, though he didn't buy Sirius' bravado. "Wasn't that what you wanted to talk about?"

Again, Sirius scowled, even as he said, "Well, yeah . . . ." Turning on his heel, he started off, again. "Wanted to be the one to make the first damn move, wanker."

Understanding, now, Remus snickered as he caught up, falling into step beside Sirius. "So now we're going to look for that girl?"

Sirius nodded. Though, he stopped short, then, making sure his shoulder bumped the other man, forcing Remus to halt, as well.

Tilting his head, he caught Remus' gaze in a sidelong look. "And after we get that sorted, you and I will be revisiting that talk."

Remus folded his lips inward to hide a grin, but just as fast followed the facial expression up with, "He says that like he expects an argument."

Sirius sighed and started walking once more. "Why do you do that? Who are you even talking to?"

"Anyone who'll listen better than you do, for starters."

Sirius barked out an obviously feigned laugh at that.

Remus looked about as he thought back on the girl. The way she'd carried herself, how she'd moved as she'd run from them . . . .

He recognized that sort of movement. Not at all dissimilar to himself the morning after a transformation.

"I know where we should look."

Sirius glanced back at Remus over his shoulder. "Got a hunch?"

Nodding, the werewolf said, "She's hurt, maybe bad. But her trying to get away doesn't suggest a hospital. She'll be needing to rest, though. So—"

"We check the inns."

With another nod, Remus echoed Sirius. "We check the inns."