AN: Here's the second chapter! Hope you enjoy. Just so you're aware – this story is a re-vamp of a story I started a while ago. Let's see how this one goes! Please review. All the love. xx

And thoughts come to mind
That our short little lives,
Haven't left the path that they will tread
They will tread
I'll come back to haunt you
Memories will taunt you

Bastille - Haunt

Through wonder-widened eyes 11-year old Hermione Granger tried to drink in every square inch of Diagon Alley. She walked in a daze through the streets crowded with weird and wonderful people most of them exclaiming about the latest Quidditich news (whatever that was) or swapping potion brewing tips. She read every single sign, hungrily drinking in the new information available to her as she was hurried along by the Wizard sent by Hogwarts to help her get her supplies.

Questions bubbled from her lips with every new store front and she began to get the distinct impression that her guide would rather be somewhere else. Her excitement grew as her possessions began to multiply and soon she was laden with spell books, parchment, quills, ink and best of all a wand, laid carefully inside its box protected by layer upon layer of tissue paper.

The final stop on Hermione's fly-by tour of Diagon Alley was Madame Malkin's for her new robes. Secretly Hermione was thrilled at the prospect of dressing like a proper witch with robes that swished around her feet and the pointed hats which were far less scary than the muggle tales (another new word!) had you believe.

Once they were inside the store, Hermione's chaperone made some excuse or another to dodge the que and promised to meet her outside in thirty minutes. Tentatively, Hermione waited in line, switching from one foot to another as the bell above the door rang and signalled a new customer.

A boy walked in and Hermione drew in a sharp breath. His unusual eyes landed on her within seconds of entering and she felt something shift inside her. He strode over confidently, taking his place in line next to her. As he walked she studied his milk-coloured skin and his blonde hair, gelled to perfection.

"Draco Malfoy," he said by way of introduction, holding out a pale hand for her to shake.

She took his hand and her eyebrows shot up in surprise, it was a lot warmer than she expected. "Hermione," she responded shyly, not quite meeting his eye.

"Are you a first year at Hogwarts?" he prompted.

"Oh yes," Hermione breathed. "Are you?"

"Yep," Draco responded proudly. "I can't wait to get out of the house. Mother is driving me mad."

Hermione giggled, unsure as to why this strange looking boy was having such an unusual effect on her. Her stomach felt swimmy and she was sure she was blushing to the roots of her hair "I'm sure she's not that bad."

Draco groaned dramatically, apparently enjoying having an audience. "You wouldn't say that if you lived with her. It's Draco this and Draco that every waking moment. She's a bloody nightmare. I wish she'd have another kid, it might give her something else to do."

The next few minutes flew past and before Hermione knew it her name was called and she was being poked and prodded with pins while her new school robes were fitted. She looked around for Draco on her to the counter and was startled by the change in the boy since she left him. His relaxed demeanour was replaced with a ramrod straight back and an uncomfortable shuffle from side to side. A glance to his side told her all she needed to know. A man who could be no one other than his father was by Draco's side, his lips pursed together in an unbecoming smirk as he glanced around the shop.

"Oh do stop fidgeting Draco," he snapped suddenly and Hermione watched as a red stain crept up Draco's neck and settled on his cheeks. "Honestly, where is your Mother? It's high time we were out of here. Diagon Alley is crawling with muggleborns these days, it's disgusting."

The disapproving murmur that ran through the store matched Hermione's own shocked expression. Surely just because her parents were muggles didn't mean she was any less of a witch? One last look at Draco as she left the store told her all she needed to know. In the Malfoy's eyes, it did.

"Mam, your change? Your change the irritated voice of the shop assistant jerked Hermione back to reality and she mumbled an apology, the images of her younger self disappearing. She handed over her change and took the paper bag containing her new work robes before hustling out of Madame Malkin's and disapperated to work… she was nearly late for the shift that would change her life.

"Granger, you're need on the fourth floor. Room 202. Splinching incident by the look of it."

Hermione's head snapped up and she nodded to the back of the lime green robes that were hurrying around the corner. The hustle and bustle of St Mungo's was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that were clouding her mind more often than not lately.

A feeling weighed down on her heavily as she strode towards room 202. She felt as if she was standing on a precipice, balanced on a knife's edge. Something was going to happen. Something had to happen. She just didn't know what.

She was uncomfortable in her own skin, these memories that plagued her were pressing on her consciousness, telling her that it was time. She needed to do something, anything to rid herself of the feeling she could have done more.

Maybe that was the reason she had gone into magical medicine, she mused. Maybe she was haunted by the pleading eyes even then and she was doing everything she could to elevate the guilt without actually giving into the memories and letting them consume her entirely.

Hermione shook her head, gathering her thoughts before she pushed the door to Room 202 open.

The first thing she was aware of when was the nauseating smell that permeated the entire room. She would recognise that smell anywhere and she swallowed the bile rising in her throat at her own memories of drinking Polyjuice. A darkened bathroom flashed in her mind, followed by the Dursley's living room. The events that began at both of these places were better off forgotten.

"Unknown male. Approximately 31 years of age. Brown hair. Suspected splinching injury located on inner left forearm," the description given hastily by the healing assistant on duty did nothing to prepare her for what was coming.

Pulling on a pair of gloves she walked to the bedside and pushed back the sheets to reveal a heavily blood stained bandage on a hairy arm. Cringing, she cast a Scourgify charm, cleansing the arm and the material of blood before she gingerly unwound the makeshift bandage.

She frowned to herself as she peered at the wound her brow furrowed in confusion. This wound was unlike any other splinching injury she'd seen before. It was almost as if someone had peeled back layer after layer of the skin and left a rectangular scar covered in blood and pus behind.

She turned to the healing assistant and asked her to call a superior in for a consult. As the woman left the room the skin began to bubble under her hands and she lept back, startled but not altogether surprised as the thick, hairy arm began to transform into a thin, pale arm.

Her eyes flickered to the patients face for the first time she had entered the room. Brown hair was quickly turning blonde and with every second a year seemed to be shaved of the patients' age until he was left looking no older than her, pale and silent on the rough hospital sheets.

A deep groan rumbled from the patient's chest, his head shifting from side to side on the pillow as he began to stir, the effects of the calming potion he'd no doubt been administered upon his admission wearing off.

The sunken eyes flickered opened and a single gasp escaped her throat as the grey eyes that had haunted her dreams for months locked straight onto her chocolate brown orbs.