A/N - I'm reposting this chapter as a wonderful reviewer pointed out a discrepancy in the dates. I accidentally put 1981 instead of 1980. This was left over from a previous draft, and I, being the worst proof reading on the face of the Earth, failed to notice it. Thank you so much to the person who pointed it out, as dates are a pretty vital part of the story, I'd hate to have it be wrong!

January 5th, 2000

The room around her was dark, as it always was.

After she arrived, Hermione went around the room lighting the appropriate torches until the entire space was illuminated. Not that there was much to see.

The room was in its usual state. Empty, desolate, and ever so frustrating.

When Ollivander had first insisted she work on a project in the Department of Mysteries, she'd been confused, but also intrigued. That feeling had quickly faded once she'd gotten her task.

"As if this has anything to do with actual wand making." She grumbled, as she retrieved her tools from the beaded bag. She conjured a table and placed each instrument on it carefully. They were standard curse breaking equipment that she had borrowed from Bill and Fleur, and while she didn't think they would be of any use at all, it was worth trying nonetheless.

Quickly she got to work, not wanting to spend anymore time there than was necessary.

With the way Ollivander spoke of it, the area was akin to sacred. He had been her age when he first came in contact with the room. He'd only been an intern then. Having left Hogwarts top of his class, he'd floundered with a lack of direction after school, and ended up in the Department of Mysteries hoping the variety of studies and subject matters would put his intelligence to good use. They had given him the task they gave all interns; investigating the mysteries of a place they simply dubbed 'The Box.'

The Box was a bare room with low ceilings and four walls, whose only decoration were the torches that lined them. It would seem like a completely ordinary place, if not for the feeling. It was palpable the moment you crossed the threshold. An undercurrent of wild magic permitted every corner.

Therein lies the mystery.

No one knew where it came from, or even precisely what it was supposed to do.

Hermione supposed It was a hazing ritual of sorts, meant to test the interns on how they handled frustrating situations. A test that, Ollivander would be the first to admit, he had failed.

Like Hermione, he'd tried every method he could think of to reveal the room's magical purpose. And, like her, he'd failed to gleam anything of use. Revealing spells produced nothing. Curse breaking equipment couldn't pick up on any anomalies. Not even the tea leaves and crystal balls he'd resorted to in desperation gave any indication of a hidden meaning. On paper, it was a perfectly ordinary room. Except it wasn't, and everyone knew that.

About a month into his internship, Ollivander cracked. In frustration, he'd thrown his wand to the floor where it unceremoniously broke in two. While Ollivander was smart, he wasn't rich. He was already struggling with what little money he had, and certainly didn't have any extra for a replacement wand. Therefore, it only stood to reason that he would have to repair his own.

Deciding that the room was a lost cause, he dedicated all of the time he was meant to be researching its origins, to researching wand repair. This lead to his research into wand lore, and then finally into the actual making of his own wands. While he left his internship at the Department of Mysteries no closer to understanding the enigmas of the room, he had found the direction he had craved for his life.

Hermione had hated The Box from the moment she stepped foot in it. While Ollivander had felt reverence, she'd felt nothing but dread. The magic here reminded her of Fiendfyre, uncontrollable and dangerous. How she wished she could just shrug off her assignment as he had, but it was simply not in her nature. She would continue on with the frustrating work until she either uncovered the mysteries that were contained here, or she was forced to quit by outside forces.

A break, however, was acceptable.

After several hours of fruitless work, Hermione sat herself down roughly on a stool, and finally let her muscles relax. It was no use. The tools had been as futile as she'd expected. Needing to get her mind off the problem at hand, she let herself ponder the other large problem in her life.

Harry.

Last week's New Years party played in her mind. It had been an unmitigated disaster, although not a failure in the ways most people would have expected. Friends were plentiful at Grimmauld Place, and most everyone had laughed as they recalled stories from their youth. The alcohol flowed as arms were flung across the shoulders of old school friends, as they brought up memorable Quidditch matches and embarrassing stories about who had snogged whom.

When the bell struck midnight, everyone cheered, and the couples in the room engaged in that time honored tradition of sharing a kiss to ring in the New Year properly.

All except one couple.

She had noticed Harry slip out as the countdown began, and initially didn't think much of it. Harry was a private person, who did not like to show a lot of intimacy in public.

What worried her, however, was when Ginny failed to follow him. Instead, she stood solemnly, looking out a window, seeming to give no mind to the cheerful environment around her.

Her worries were not soothed as time went on, and as more and more guests made their leave, Harry's absence became even more apparent.

When Hermione finally found him, he was sitting on the Drawing Room floor.

"There you are."

Hermione was slightly embarrassed with just how relieved her voice sounded. Even now, almost two years after the war had ended, she still worried about his safety. It's part of moving on, she'd told herself, letting go of that constant need to check on Harry.

"How mad is she?" His voice was hollow, and his eyes didn't rise to meet hers.

She inelegantly took a seat next to him, letting her shoulder briefly bump his own. "I didn't ask."

"She wants to get rid of it Hermione."

"Get rid of what?"

He motioned in front of him, and it finally clicked.

"The tapestry?" She spouted out in disbelief. "You can't destroy it! It's a historical artifact!"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle at her reliably typical response. How very like Hermione to worry about the academic ramifications.

"She doesn't want to destroy it." He explained. "She wants to give it to the Malfoys. Get it out of the house."

Hermione's face screwed up in confusion. "Why?"

"Narcissa & Andromeda are the last descendants of the Ancient House of Black. Seeing as Andromeda's been scorched off, it only seemed fitting that the Malfoys should have it."

"Logically, that makes sense." She started slowly. "But obviously, you don't want to get rid of it."

He sighed deeply, pausing a moment before answering. "No, I don't."

"Then why should Ginny care?"

"We've… we've been trying to renovate the house so it's ready for…" He paused again, clearly contemplating his next words carefully. "For when we're ready for a family."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. "Ginny's not…"

"No, she's not." His quick words reassured her, but her heart beat remained quick.

The thought of Ginny & Harry having a baby shouldn't have disturbed her this much, but it did. None of them were ready to have children. It was too soon. Much too soon. They hadn't had time to fully recover, especially Harry. How could they bring a child into… Harry's continued speaking broke off her panicked thoughts.

"But it's something we've been talking about. Getting the house ready is something we can do in preparation."

"And this tapestry gets in the way of that how?"

"You have to see it from her point of view." His gaze was finally dragged away from the offending tapestry to focus on her. "To us, most of these people are abstract. We can learn about them, about the evil things that they did, but they can never really be… I don't know… real. We didn't grow up in their world, so their actions affect us differently than they did the Weasleys. Ginny has spent her whole life being looked down on by people like the Blacks. One of these scorch marks is a Black who was disowned for marrying a Weasley. These are people who have directly discriminated against, her, and her parents, and her grandparents, and she doesn't want a reminder of them in her home. She doesn't want to have to explain that to her children."

"I guess that's fair." Hermione conceded.

Harry leaned forward so his head rested in his hands, pulling slightly at his already messy hair. "That's what's so frustrating. It is fair. It's reasonable. And yet, I can't do it."

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own worries.

"My parents…" He started then stopped, glancing at her guiltily. "Hermione, you can't repeat this to anyone else. They won't understand."

"I'd never." And they both knew Hermione meant it.

"My parents are a lot like these people to me. I know about their lives, what they were like, and I know that they loved me, but…"

"They're stories." She said, finishing the thought.

"Exactly." He sighed, as if the relief of saying the words aloud had rid him of some sort of burden. "They have never been real, not really, but Sirius... he was here. He was a living breathing example of my family. How can I give away a piece of him like that?"

Hermione paused for a minute, before answering gently. "Harry, Sirius hated this thing."

"Then why didn't he destroy it? He had no problem destroying other valuable artifacts, why not this one?" He responded, his voice rising in indignation.

"I... I don't know."

"Sirius wanted this here for some reason." There was a stubborness in Harry's voice that reminded her so much of the boy he had been at school. He had always been so sure of things, whether it be the safety of a broomstick, or Malfoy's guilt. "I won't be the one to go against his wishes."

"Even at the cost of your own happiness?" Hermione implored. "Sirius loved you, and would hold your happiness above all." She paused, thinking the matter over. A sudden thought struck her. "Ginny makes you happy, doesn't she Harry?"

There was a long pause before he responded, and Hermione wondered briefly if she'd overstepped some boundary.

"She makes me as happy as I think I'll ever be."

Her heart sped up again. "What does that mean?"

"Do you ever think we lost too much in the war?" He asked, eyes still trained up at the tapestry.

"I know we lost so many people…"

Harry interrupted her. "Not just people, but other things."

"Like what?" She questioned, genuinely not understanding what he was trying to say.

"It's… the things that normal people get, who haven't been through a war. To them everything is simple and uncomplicated. They can get their morning paper and not second guess everything they read. They can go out to the pub, and not have to always sit in a booth so that no ones back is to the door. They can look into the faces of their coworkers & neighbors and not have to wonder if those same people would have sold them out to the ministry during the worst of it. I know you still have problems sleeping. I do to."

"It takes time Harry. We've all talked to the healers. You can't get over things like what we've been through in a year or two, it takes time."

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm tired of waiting." His voice was hard, and she didn't know how to respond to it, so she didn't.

They sat their together until sunrise. Neither spoke, but they leaned against each other for support.

The topic of the tapestry hadn't come up since, but Hermione could see it weighing on him. He moved with a sort of monotony that was beginning to scare her, and yet, she was at a loss as of what to do.

She knew what he meant when he spoke about loss. So many things about their lives had been taken from them. Faith. Trust. Belief in the greater good. All the innocent delusions of childhood had been ripped from them far too early, and they were left to navigate the world much more cynically than they might have otherwise.

Harry had lost more than anyone else. It seemed that every time he let himself love someone, they were ripped away from him. And now when he finally has a chance for happiness, the past is threatening to swallow him whole.

All she wanted was to protect him. The boy who had been her first friend; who had become closer to family. Protecting him in the war had been simple. Keep him alive and moving. She would have died for him. She still would.

But protecting him now wasn't so simple. She couldn't protect him from his own mind, or from the circumstances that have brought about his unhappiness. And yet, she couldn't help but feel like it was her duty to try. All she wanted was her him to be happy. It was something she needed in her very core.

As she made to stand and resume her work, a glint of light from the corner of the room caught her eye.

It was the last thing she saw before the room around her suddenly spun, and then only darkness followed.

Feb 3rd, 1980

The bell over the shop door rang out, indicating that a new customer had just entered, but the noise was not enough to rouse Hermione from her book. It had been a quiet night in the store, which was not unusual for a Friday, and Hermione had shooed Owen away, insisting that she'd be fine on her own. Really, she had just wanted some private time to conduct her research.

It was risky, researching time travel here in the store. If anyone even began to suspect she was from the future, all of the hard work she'd put into establishing herself would be ruined.

When she had first arrived in the past, she had wanted to stay in her tent until she thought of a way to return home. It quickly became clear that this plan wouldn't work. For one thing, she had limited supplies. After her year on the run, she was fairly adapt at foraging, and while the prospect turned her stomach, she was prepared for it. The problem lied in her lack of books. She couldn't very well confer with an expert on the subject, so books were her only way of gathering information. How was she to research and find a way home if she didn't have any reference material?

It was a conundrum. How was she supposed to find a way home without breaking the first rule of time travel: don't be seen.

And then it hit her.

There is no easier place to hide than in plain sight. No one spares a second glance at a shop girl, especially one who keeps her head down and minds her own business. It was the type of anonymity she needed. It gave her time.

"Excuse me."

The sound of the bell hadn't been enough to pull Hermione's attention from her book, but the sudden male voice had done the trick. She jumped, startled, her eyes darting up to meet those of…

Remus Lupin.

She couldn't help but stare at the man who was so familiar, yet so distinctly different. Youth shown through this man in a way that Hermione had never seen in her own time. His sandy blond hair was long and shaggy, and he was not nearly as skinny as his future counterpart. This Remus Lupin hadn't yet experienced the kind of horrors that made you lose your appetite.

Suddenly remembering herself, she shook her head and tried to put on a polite smile.

"I'm sorry. Can I help you?"

At the sound of her voice, he also seemed to snap from a daze.

"Um… well… yes, I'd like this one." He said, placing the book in his hand onto the counter.

She picked it up, examined the sticker and wrote the price out on a receipt. 'Just like for any other customer.' She thought. Because that's what he was here, not a teacher or a friend just a stranger.

"That'll be 2 sickles."

After a moment of no response, she looked up from her receipt to see that he was staring at her.

"Sir…" She started hesitatingly. At the sound of her voice, he jumped, as if startled.

"Sorry. I'm… you'll have to excuse me." When he didn't elaborate any further, she continued.

"Alright." She said slowly. "That'll be 2 sickles… please."

A small smile played on his lips as he dug through his small bag of coins. As he handed them over, their hands brushed, and she saw him start again. She tried her hardest to ignore the strange behavior as she put his book in a brown paper bag, and laid it on the counter instead of handing it over.

"Have a good night." Hermione said, putting on her best customer service voice.

"Thanks." He replied, although he didn't make a move to step away from the counter. No longer able to stomach the awkward atmosphere, she simply nodded at him before turning her back and heading towards the store's back room.

The moment he was out of sight, she breathed a sigh of relief. She'd known that she would probably run into a few familiar faces here in the past, and now that she had done so it was no longer an experience to be dreaded. That hadn't been too bad, had it? Lupin had been decidedly awkward, but that might not have been out of the ordinary. Future Lupin tended towards self pity, and the younger didn't have twenty years of experience to calm his nerves.

A bell sounded again, and, having been relieved from her earlier experience, this time she went out with a much sunnier disposition, only to realize her mistake. This time it hadn't been the front door bell that rang, but rather the desk service bell. And once again she was confronted by the young Lupin.

"Hello." He smiled as he talked, although it seemed a bit strained.

"Hello. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No… that is to say, yes." He continued quickly. "I just can't help but wonder. Have we ever met? You seem so familiar to me, but I can't manage to place your face."

Her heart froze, although she tried to keep her exterior as calm as possible.

"No, I'm sorry. I don't think we've ever met." The words come out a little more curtly than she'd meant them to, but in this circumstance, it couldn't be helped. If she'd been perturbed by his presence before, it was nothing to how she felt now.

"Maybe at Hogwarts? I graduated two years ago. It's a big place, we could have attended school together and never met."

She shook her head hurriedly. There was no way he could recognize her. It was impossible. They wouldn't meet for another thirteen years.

"No, I didn't attend Hogwarts."

His face slackened a bit in incredulity. "You didn't go to Hogwarts?"

"No." Hermione responded curtly.

"Oh, you must from an old wizarding family."

At first, the statement confused her, but then a thought struck her. It wasn't a statement at all, but an underhanded question.

"Excuse me?" She said, letting her shock at the question seep into her voice. Hermione had been used to being questioned about her blood status, but coming from Remus, someone who she knew as being so tolerant in her own time, it felt like a betrayal.

"Only very old wizarding families still homeschool their kids. I'd just assumed if you didn't attend Hogwarts, you must've been taught privately." He gave her a small smile, but must have sensed something was wrong, because it fell away quickly.

"Oh. I'm not."

Her clipped response shifted the mood between the pair, and the room felt suddenly very tense. Hermione desperately wished she could escape it all. It was exhausting.

Breathe. Compartmentalize. Don't think about the future, or the past, whatever it was at this point. Focus on the task at hand. It was how she had gotten so far without losing her mind, but Remus' presence was making it hard to forget.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." His face was serious, and she could see that he meant it, but it wasn't enough. She wasn't bothered by his comment, so much as the fact that the longer he stood in front of her, the more unraveled she felt herself becoming.

"It's fine. I'm not offended, really." She tried to make her voice seem calmer than she felt.

He obviously wasn't buying it. "It seemed like…"

"It was nothing. I just thought you were asking something else. It was my mistake." She shook her head, willing the conversation to end.

He looked at her questioningly for a moment, before it dawned on him. His expression quickly shifted to aghast.

"I wasn't… I would never…" He leaned forward slightly, which made her instinctually lean back. She hoped he hadn't noticed, but his obvious flinch suggested otherwise. "I didn't mean to imply anything about your blood. Not that that kind of thing matters to me. It doesn't. It wouldn't matter if you came from a wizarding family…"

At this, she was done. Her nerves were too frayed to continue in this manner. She had to get out of there.

"I'm sorry Mr…"

"Lupin, Remus Lupin."

"I'm sorry Mr. Lupin." She spoke forcefully. "I really need to be getting back to my inventory. If you don't need to for anything store related, I'm going to go."

A desperate look crossed his face, and he held up a hand in almost mock surrender.

"I'm sorry, just wait! I didn't mean to pry, I was just curious. Based on your choice of reading material, you must have had some intensive education."

She glanced down in horror to see that he was gesturing at the book she'd been reading concerning time travel. It was a rookie mistake, not disguising the cover to something more begined. It was careless. After everything she had been through, she couldn't believe she had been so careless.

"Oh this? It's nothing really. Just a bit of light reading."

He smiled again, clearly hoping that their interaction was headed in a more positive direction. Why he wanted anything out of it, she didn't understand.

"I'm not sure that can be considered light reading under any definition of the phrase." He laughed. It was light, and so unlike the dry sardonic one of his future counterpart. "I have a friend with the same volume who said it was some of the most incomprehensible material she'd ever encountered, and seeing as she's thoroughly studied the subject, that's saying something."

Her heart stopped beating. Could what he be saying actually real? Or had she finally cracked?

"You know someone who's studied time travel?"

"Yeah. My best mate's wife can't get enough of it. She's a muggleborn, and when she found out she was a witch, one of the first things she asked about was whether time travel is real. I guess she got the notion from some muggle book she was obsessed with." He spoke with enthusiasm now, clearly pleased with her interest.

"'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells." She said it more to herself than to him, but his face lit up either way.

"I think that's the one! Have you read it?"

She shook her head. "Not since I was a child."

"I think Lily was a bit disappointed when she found out you the whole thing was just theoretical. It became sort of a project for her in school. Every spare opportunity, we'd find her in the library researching time travel. She even got an apprenticeship in the Department of Mysteries to continue her studies."

It was almost too much to take in. Lily Potter had been an intern at the Department of Mysteries. Did Harry know that particular fact? She doubted it. The term she'd used to describe the Potters came back to her with astonishing irony.

'They're stories.'

Except here, they weren't. They were living breathing people, with interests and hobbies, hopes and dreams. And one of them could hold information that could help her return home.

She tried to keep her voice casual, as she inquired. "Has she found anything interesting?"

Remus laughed again, shaking his head.

"Couldn't tell us even if she wanted to. She may not have been a full Unspeakable, but they hold their apprentices to the same strict standards. Even now, she won't talk about it with much detail."

"She's no longer with the Department?" There was a definite edge to her voice, but she didn't think Remus noticed.

"Ummm, no. She chose to leave when she got pregnant. Wanted to stay home with the baby."

He blushed lightly. "I really shouldn't have said anything. She doesn't like to spread her research around."

"Why?" She hoped her voice displayed a level of nonchalance. This was dangerous territory. The first rule of time travel still stood, she couldn't draw too much attention to herself, and asking leading questions was not exactly the epitome of stealth.

"Well, you never know who might be listening, do you?" Remus sobered for a moment, and quickly glanced around the shop, most likely assuring himself that it was empty. "If ever fully realized, time travel would be a powerful form of magic. It would be foolish to take such a matter lightly."

"I understand." She tried to slow her beating heart. Here was her chance to connect with someone who might have the knowledge to send her home. And yet, she couldn't seem to eager. She couldn't give herself away. "Although, it is a shame. It's all very fascinating. Tell your friend is she was ever interested in chatting about it, I would love to hear her thoughts."

"I will." He nodded. "Although, there might be a slight problem with that plan."

Her brow furrowed. "What would that be?"

"It'll be hard to set up a meeting without knowing your name."

She blushed. Of course. It was so easy to forget here, especially when talking to someone who had known her most of her life.

"I'm Jane Beckett."

She did not hold out her hand to shake, but he gave her a wide wolfish smile anyways.

"It's nice to meet you Jane Beckett."

"You as well. Though, I do have actual work I need to get back to. If you'll excuse me."

His expression didn't change, and it left Hermione feeling more confused than anything. This Remus didn't know her, and would have no reason to try to get to know her. It was no use contemplating it, not while he was still standing in front of her at least.

"Of course. I'll see you around?"

She only nodded before fleeing into the back room. Hearing the front door bell ring, she knew he had gone.

A/N - I hope you all enjoy the first real chapter of this story. Right now, I have every chapter outlined, and most at least partially written. The plan is to upload weekly, with Friday being my usual day. I'd love to hear what you all think!