A/N: Thanks to all those who faved the story! And to the two wonderful readers who reviewed :D It really inspires motivation! As with this chapter and all subsequent chapters, I am horrendously busy/chronically lazy and don't meticulously check my spelling, grammar or syntax, so please excuse any mistakes you come across. Feel free to let me know so I can edit when necessary! I'm hoping the quality of my writing will get better as exams start to wind down...I might even go back and re-do the chapters (more in-depth and less cheesy writing! YAY!). Wishful thinking!

Disclaimer: Again, nothing but the plot belongs to me...although it is highly unoriginal (but hopefully entertaining). Almost everything is JK Rowling. Brilliant.

Cheers,

Jane L. Doe

More frequently than not, Poppy Pomfrey was wide awake during the wee hours of the morning. Usually she could see the black night sky fading to blue before she ever closed her eyes. The hospital wing was always busy at Hogwarts, even more so as tensions rose among students in the school. Although many people didn't want to believe it, the war was very much a part of the social structure at the school. Hogwarts was safe, no question about that, but there were students who clearly allied themselves with either the Order or with the Death Eaters. Poppy was willing to bet her career that some of the students in the school were already part of the Death Eater ranks, the Dark Mark and all.

Suspicions running wild, prejudices and rash actions saw to it that Poppy was kept busy. Just that morning she had an unfortunate Slytherin student in her care suffering from one of Ginny Weasley's volatile Bat-Bogey hexes. Not that it was not deserved. Blaise Zabini, much like his Slytherin peers, had a knack for antagonizing their classmates. It was very much a part of being Slytherin. That sense of entitlement was tiring and was beginning to try everyone's nerves. Merlin forbid if she herself ever felt inclined to hex one or more of the rude, ungrateful students who passed through her doors.

Zabini was fast asleep in one of the white beds of the hospital wing last time she had checked. From time to time she would peer out of the window of her office, making sure all was well. At this point it was after 2:00 in the morning and she was absolutely knackered. Ready to retire to her rooms, she finished organizing her charts and putting everything back where it belonged. Zabini was here more for his own sanity rather than his physical health. The longer he stayed out of the corridors, the less likely it was she would see him in her ward again. But Poppy had always been insistent on keeping students overnight, just to ensure they would be fine for their classes the following day. She peeked out of the glass again and the boy was still asleep.

The sweeping of the clock tower was the only sound in the dark hospital wing, lulling Poppy to a state of near exhaustion. The things she did for the school, she thought. Although her loyalty to Dumbledore was the only reason she stayed, there were of multitude of careers Poppy could've pursued in her youth. She could've worked at St. Mungo's—

A shuffling sound broke the silence, surprising her. Poppy looked up to the source of the sound. More stirring started once the portraits began to wake from their slumber. A portly old man that did not belong in the paintings in her office was leaning against a hospital bed, hand outstretched as he tried to catch his breath. She could briefly see the bald spot on the crown of his head before he looked up, his face an alarmingly dark shade of scarlet.

"There's been an accident. Professor Snape and the Granger girl are on their way here. The Malfoy boy...he's been injured, Madam."

The old man puffed out the words, all the figured in the other portraits looking to and from Poppy expectantly. "Very well," she said, standing up in a flurry of robes.

* * * *

"Poppy!" a stern voice called from the entrance.

Severus could see she received his message. She was fretting over the bed she'd prepared. On the side table there were bandages, a wash bowl of warm water and a damp cloth, numerous unlabeled bottles. Although she was already in her nightgown, presumably ready for bed, he knew she was awake before they'd come. Poppy dedicated far too much time to her work, much like the young woman aiding him at the moment. If Severus could predict any future for Miss Granger it would be a healer of some sort, possessing the same qualities as his peer, Poppy Pomfrey.

"Quick now, Severus, place him on the bed," she ordered, not sparing a glance their was as she fiddled with the organized chaos on the table. "What happened?"

As they shuffled over to the bed, Severus looked at the wide-eyed girl. There was a moment of hesitation and Poppy too looked up and at Hermione. However bright she was, Severus knew that Granger was not a fan of the limelight. Outside of class, she was unusually quiet. Only in recent years had he seen her develop a spine at all. An unfortunate quality she'd obtained from too much time spent with Potter and the Weasley family. Severus eased the young man back onto the pillow. If he didn't know any better, the boy looked dead to the world. The only signs of life were a shallow breathing and his warm skin.

Poppy too looked at Malfoy for the first time. He was in a horrid condition, one that might possibly require more intense medical attention than she could provide. There were both deep and shallow cuts littering his arms and torso. A particularly nasty gash on his side had saturated his white t-shirt, all bust wisps of fabric now, in blood. His skin was pale and waxy, from blood loss no doubt. She also noted he was dressed in dark jeans that were similarly ripped and bloodied. To her disdain, he was filthy, covering the immaculate bed sheets with mud and dampness. Poppy noticed, though, that that was indeed Draco Malfoy, just not the young boy she was accustomed to seeing. Her brow furrowed.

"Granger!" he barked.

She jumped, clearly on edge. "I don't know. I was in the library studying and I could've sworn I was the only one there. Madam Pince had left a while ago. No one came in or out, and then there was this crash. It sounded like the bookshelves had toppled over. I went to see what caused the noise and I found...Malfoy."

By that time, her unnerved expression had fallen on the older Draco Malfoy laying in the bed. For an instant there was silence and every stood motionless, taking in the meaning of this. Severus knew Malfoy to be up in his dormitory, completely oblivious to the night's events.

"Are you hurt, Miss Granger?"

Poppy had directed her attention to Hermione now, her white oxford button-down covered in blood. She too looked down at herself, surprised at the sight. Hermione hadn't hurt herself in the least, which meant it, all of it, belonged to Malfoy.

"No," she murmured, looking at Malfoy. "Is he going to be alright?"

She didn't want to ask whether or not he was going to die. It made the reality of the situation seem so much more dismal. Not that the wizarding world wasn't overrun by dark and sinister matters nowadays. Hermione just had this naive belief that it might not touch Hogwarts. This home away from home was her safe haven. As much as she didn't want to believe it, Hogwarts was no longer safe. If this wasn't proof of that, she didn't know what was.

"I'll make sure he's fine. In the meantime, why don't you escort Miss Granger back to her common room, Severus? I'll inform you of any changes immediately, but for know I need to work. And might I suggest you notify Albus?"

Poppy could sense the hesitation in Severus, his willingness to argue her on the matter. She knew of his close connection to the boy, to the entire Malfoy family. But she also knew that now would be the time for him to quell his insatiable curiosity and to ask Miss Granger for exact details about what had happened. He looked less than pleased at her order, but this was her hospital wing and she'd be damned if she let anyone interfere. Severus pursed his lips and gave a curt nod.

"Miss Granger?" he inquired.

* * * *

The evening had unfolded like a terrible nightmare. Hermione felt like Alice, like she had fallen down the rabbit hole. Nothing was making any sense at all and it seemed as though she were a rag doll, being pulled right and left, all over the place, by her irrational emotions. Every word she spoke felt rehearsed, like she was far away, viewing a scene from a movie. Why couldn't she do what she really wanted to? Like scream out of panic and fear, run away and crawl into her bed. In fact, she probably seemed far too calm.

As soon as Madam Pomfrey began issuing orders to Snape, of all people, and ensuring them everything would be just fine, Hermione noticed Mafloy's left hand. It wasn't the Dark Mark marring his left forearm that caught her attention. She could've guessed that in a heart beat. It was his left hand, his fingers still loosely curled. She knew it was instinctual that, when unconscious, a person's hand would curl into a fist. But there was something in his hand, Mafloy was holding on to something. She could hear Snape addressing her, probably trying to drag her out of the hospital wing so he could interrogate her, but she ignored it. At this point, it sounded like she was underwater, like they were miles away.

Of course. How could she have been so stupid? She mentally berated herself as she walked up to Malfoy's side. Apparition was impossible on the Hogwarts grounds. There was no way he could've used the Floo network because she had found him in this state in the middle of the library. Not to mention, most of the fireplaces in Hogwarts weren't connected out of safety for the students. Dumbledore himself ensured that the school was nearly impossible to reach magically. And yet, here was Mafloy. Or a version of him.

Hermione slipped her hand into his left hand hesitantly. His skin was mottled with mud and underneath his fingernails was dirt. If ever she was to let her mind wander, she would imagine Malfoy to be impeccably groomed, his fingernails to be clean and manicured. It looked as though he'd been digging through dirt with his hands, now. There were drops of dried blood here and there, flaking of at her touch. She uncurled his fingers and touched sometime delicate, something metallic and glass.

She should have known better.

Picking the small object out of Malfoy's large hand, she raised it to eye-level and turned to face Madam Pomfrey and Snape. Both of them were looking at her as though she'd grown an extra head. Their expressions changed rapidly, though. Understanding marked their features, but Hermione was even more conflicted than before.

"A Time-Turner," she clarified.

But it wasn't just any Time-Turner, it belonged to her.

* * * *

They had left the hospital wing as swiftly as they had entered and Madam Pomfrey hurriedly moved around Mafloy, tending to his injuries. Unbeknownst to them, the conversation hadn't fallen on deaf ears. There was one other person in the hospital wing who had heard everything, had seen everything. One person who'd been forgotten entirely once Malfoy was dragged into the ward. Snape had grabbed her forearm rather violently, pulling her along swiftly. They had left the hospital wing in a frenzy of movement. Neither Madam Pomfrey or Snape had said anything. It was almost like they had some sort of unspoken understanding of one another. Hermione, though, had no idea what was happening. This new piece of information seemed to chang everything. Hermione knew that she was no longer being escorted back to the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione tripped several times, trying desperately to keep up with his long strides. He didn't slow down for her, nor did he answer a single one of her questions. What's going on, Professor? Where are we going? What does this mean? He feigned ignorance, or perhaps deafness, and dragged her through the labyrinth of corridors until they came to the familiar statue. The stone gargoyle. It jumped to life when Snape issued the password impatiently: cauldron cakes.

"Professor," she tried again. "I don't understand."

He kept the firm grip on her arm as though he were afraid she'd run off. They ascended the stairs and Snape only stopped to compose himself at the top. He release Hermione's arm and cleared his throat, knocking quickly on the wooden door.

"Come in, Severus."

The iron hinges wined as the large door swept open, revealing Dumbledore's office. The headmaster was already seated at his desk, glancing at them over his half-moon spectacles. He looked surprisingly pleasant to have been awake at such an hour, a happy smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Like Madam Pomfrey, he was in his pajamas, his robe over them. In his knowing manner, he wasn't surprised by her blood-soaked attire. Hermione followed Snape up to the desk, her hands nervously in front of her.

"Ah, Miss Granger. A pleasure to see you," he greeted. "I hope your studies are going well."

"Yes Professor, they are," she said, shooting a nervous glance at Snape. His face was unreadable. He had no expression at all, but she could sense his impatience with the small talk. Hermione couldn't help but feel the same way. Clearly Professor Dumbledore knew something was going on. He wasn't surprised by any of this in the least.

"Alas, I don't believe this is the reason for this particular late-night visit."

"Albus," Snape said, cutting through the tension with his informality. "There's been a serious problem. Poppy has Mr. Malfoy in the hospital wing. Miss Granger found him in the library...with a Time-Turner."

Hermione stepped forward and placed the Time-Turner down on Dumbledore's desk. Only now did she realize the blood smeared along the glass surface and mingled with the gold of the chain. It didn't surprise her though, there wasn't a place on Malfoy's body that hadn't been covered in blood. Dumbledore tilted his head downwards, a twinkle of familiarity lighting up his blue eyes. Hermione knew he recognized it as the one he and Professor McGonagall had given her in third year.

"It's mine," she said, for the benefit of Snape.

Snape, being the only one unaware of this fact, looked at her sharply. Dumbledore examined the much abused Time-Turner in silence before addressing the two standing before him.

"Do you have any idea of how he came to possess this, Miss Granger?"

She wanted to scoff. There was no way Hermione would ever entrust one of her most valuable possessions to a prat like Malfoy. Remembering her place, and the company in which she stood, she simply cleared her throat and shook her head. "No, sir."

"Then it seems we must wait for Mr. Malfoy to wake up," Dumbledore smiled. There was still that knowing look in his eye. Hermione always felt translucent, like he somehow knew how she felt. She didn't want anyone to know the fear and concern she felt for Malfoy. In her defense, it wasn't necessarily the prat she knew him to be. He was from some other time...where he could've been a nice person...

"In the meantime," he interjected as Snape led her toward the spiraling staircase. "I think it would be best if neither Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley knew of this. For the time being, of course. Oh, and Miss Granger, I'd like to see you and the young Mr. Malfoy in my office tomorrow morning. I'll excuse you from your classes."

Hermione was in no position to argue. She simply nodded and left the office as fast as she could. She wanted to go to the hospital wing, brimming with curiosity and intrigue, but she knew better. Considering everything that had happened, Hermione would be in a mess of trouble soon enough.

The door to her dormitory closed with a quiet squeak and she was careful to tiptoe across the stone, making as little noise as possible. Hermione tossed her bloodied and ruined uniform in the rubbish bin, wanting no sign that anything had ever happened. Although that was next to impossible. Before sliding under her cool covers, she checked her bedside table for her Time-Turner. There it was, the exact same one. A small hourglass in a gold circle with green enamel. Compared to the one Malfoy had in his hands, it looked brand new. But Time-Turners were old magic and each one must've been centuries old. She closed the drawer and examined Malfoy's. The glass had a chip in it. She wondered if that caused any malfunction. Maybe Malfoy hadn't been trying to get to this time at all. It seemed highly unlikely that he would end up in the library at Hogwarts at such a late hour. Especially considering the condition she had found him in.

Hermione's thoughts lulled her into a dreamless state, her exhaustion getting the better of her. She had completely forgotten about her bag and her books in the library. All that occupied her mind were questions about Malfoy as she fell asleep, the bloodied Time-Turner in hand.