Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N - I can't believe the response to this fic already! A massive hug to each of my six lovely reviewers and the 44 wonderful people who deemed this story worthy of following. I'm overwhelmed.

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Sat with his back to the wall at the end of the bar, two beady eyes fixed on her with a cautious stare, was a very much alive Alastor Moody.

If she hadn't had to learn how to detach herself from debilitating emotions in times of danger, Hermione would probably have had a panic attack upon seeing her long-dead comrade sitting alive and without the false eye that gave him the nickname she knew him by. This wasn't Mad-Eye. It couldn't be – apart from having two normal eyes, he possessed a good deal more nose than she remembered. And yet, there was no mistaking the peg leg and scarred face as belonging to anyone but her old mentor.

Hermione wasn't stupid. There was a simple explanation for how she was seeing an obviously younger version of a man who she knew to be dead. An explanation that scared her more than Voldemort himself. Desperate to prove herself wrong, she glanced around the nearly-empty bar and quickly spotted what she needed. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay abandoned on a nearby table. Darting across the room, she scooped up the newspaper and had her worst fear confirmed. The date at the top of the paper was 21st June 1979.

She could feel the blood draining from her face, leaving her light-headed and slightly woozy. She shook her head, forcing back the panic that was threatening to overwhelm the tight control she had over her emotions. Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked up to the bar. She fished a galleon out of her pocket and ordered herself a butterbeer. Pocketing the change, she sipped the comfortingly sweet drink. She needed a plan. It now seemed obvious that she had somehow time travelled. She was stuck 20 years in the past, with no money or qualifications to her name. In reality, she didn't even have an identity in this time. And nothing made magical people more suspicious than someone appearing out of nowhere, with no proof of who they are. Especially in times of war.

The obvious solution would be to seek out Dumbledore. He would be alive again, now. In fact, had this mishap occurred at any point before the end of her fifth year, she would already be walking up the path to Hogwarts with the sure knowledge that the headmaster wild fix it all for her. Her experiences over the course of her sixth year and time on the run with Harry had disabused her of that naïve, unfailing loyalty in Dumbledore. She still respected him, but he held too much information too close to his chest. His propensity for secrets caused almost as many casualties as some of the nastier Death Eaters.

There were days that she was honestly surprised they had managed to win the war with the scant knowledge he had seen fit to share. No, now Hermione feared that going to the headmaster would either get her obliviated or persuaded to play a far more significant role in the coming war than she was comfortable with. She knew he had used unbreakable vows in the past, and wouldn't put it past him forcing her into a vow of secrecy and making her watch, impotently, as the same mistakes were made again. No. If Hermione had her way, Dumbledore would never know where she came from.

This decision left her in a quandary. She needed help to find a place in this time. She needed someone in the Order to trust her. If there was no way back to her time, Hermione wouldn't stand by and watch good people die if she could prevent it. Hell, even if there was a way back, she didn't think it possible to sit on the sidelines and watch everything go to hell again when she knew that she could help.

Hermione felt the burn of suspicious eyes on her neck. Looking up, she found her solution. It was dangerous to choose him – if he didn't believe her she would have no hope of befriending anyone in the Order. Realistically, if he didn't believe her she would be imprisoned by the Order for the duration of the war. Or dead. On the other hand, he was paranoid enough that she might just convince him not to share her true identity with the leader of the Order. That was enough to make her mind up. Putting down her empty bottle, Hermione gathered her Gryffindor courage and approached Alastor Moody.

"Auror Moody?"

"That's me," he grunted. "What do you want, girl?"

"If I may?" Hermione slowly withdrew her wand from the holster on her thigh. Moody watched her suspiciously as she waved it in a circle over their heads, casting "Muffliato" aloud. She was thankful that the spell only needed her to point her wand in the air above them, though she would have worked around the lack of privacy if it didn't. There was no way she would have dared to point her wand at the paranoid Auror. She doubted it would have even been safe to do so outside of a practice duel when the man knew her as a dedicated Order member, as opposed to the not-so-old man with beady eyes narrowed warily at her.

"What was that, girl?" His words were clipped, his tone low and threatening.

Hermione made a show of sheathing her wand and laying her empty hands on the bar between them. Her reply was calm and respectful. "Just a muffling spell. It allows us to hold a reasonably private conversation in a crowded space by creating a buzzing sound in the ears of anyone who might overhear us."

She could sense the approval in his eyes. Being openly unarmed and using the verbal incantation (therefore allowing him to learn the spell) had earned a little of his respect, though not his trust. It didn't make his response any less terse. "Useful. Now explain why we need it."

Hermione hesitated a moment. "I know that from the moment I entered this bar you have had your wand pointed at me. Something about me is making you nervous and I can tell you what that is, but not here. For the moment all I can say is that I find myself in a very sensitive situation and am in need of help. You are the first person I could think of that I can trust with the details and I hope that after a proper explanation you will be willing to trust me, too."

Auror Moody narrowed his eyes further and gave her a disdainful look. "And I suppose you would be willing to take me to a private location for a little chat so you can tell me all your secrets?"

Hermione smiled and shook her head. "I could, but I think you would be more comfortable controlling the venue. I am not your enemy, Ma- Mr Moody. You are welcome to take me to the middle of the woods and search me for tracking charms if that will make you happy. I am not planning an ambush – I may have been in Gryffindor, but I am not foolish enough to take you on alone."

The old Auror barked a laugh at that. "I'd check you for tracking charms before ever leaving this pub with you, lass! Gryffindor or no, I trust nobody for a few sweet words. What proof have you got that I'm not walking into a trap?"

Hermione took a deep breath. She had nothing with her but her wand and the clothes on her back. Handing him her wand might help, but she doubted it would be enough to convince a paranoid man who regularly carried no less than three backup wands. Thinking quickly, Hermione undid the cuffs of her blouse and began rolling up the sleeves. "The only proof I can show that I am not a Death Eater is that I bear no mark on my left arm. The mark I bear on the right may convince you that we, at the very least, share an enemy."

As she spoke, she turned her bare forearms to him. The word mudblood stood out, the ugly scar an angry red against milky white flesh. She knew Moody would recognise the cursed wound for what it was – made by dark magic and impossible to fake. She doubted any Voldemort supporter would go that far in an attempt to deceive a single light wizard. Even one as powerful as Alastor Moody.

"Alright, girl. You got no trackers, we can leave." And with no more notice than that, he grabbed her by her unblemished left arm and apparated them out of the Leaky Cauldron. They stopped three times, but Hermione had no chance to get her bearings before she was pulled into the next apparition. Finally, with her stomach protesting heavily, they arrived in a small room. It was barely furnished - just two chairs and a small table. The shackles attached to the rickety chair on the opposite side of the room from the table and second chair led Hermione to believe that this was a place Moody would bring prisoners for interrogation. Cautiously, she sat. When the shackles failed to restrain her, she breathed a sigh of relief. He trusted her enough to leave her unchained, at least.

"I suppose I should start at the beginning. Or at least, my beginning. It might not make sense to you at first, but I would appreciate it if you kept your questions for when I've finished. You see, I first met you – or at least a man who appeared to be you – at the beginning of my fourth year at Hogwarts. Mad-Eye Moody was to be our defence teacher that year, though you were really kept in a trunk while an escaped Death Eater impersonated you. We properly met the summer before my fifth year when I was staying at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. We were never very close, but you enjoyed telling me about useful spells and we had the odd practice duel whenever Molly wasn't around to scold you for doing so.

"You were killed in the summer before my seventh year. It was a horrible mess, that summer. That was the year I went on the run, on a treasure quest necessary to defeat Vol- er... Riddle. That was the year I got this." She waved her scarred arm absently. "But we escaped and it led us to… well, it helped us end the war at last."

Hermione paused in her monologue and sighed. She added in an almost wistful tone: "I was enjoying peacetime. I went back to school after the war, finally having nothing more stressful to focus on than my NEWTs. It gave me the time to work on some personal projects, and I achieved my animagus form in early Spring. That is what led to this mess, of course. I had not long graduated and was enjoying the sun in cat form when I noticed this odd puddle. I can't really explain it, it looked normal and yet there was this odd shimmery quality to it. When I touched it, I was forced back into my human form and nothing seemed different. I transformed again and my cat eyes didn't recognise the tree branch I had been in that morning, which I thought odd. I tried to go home but was bounced off the wards...

"That really got me worried, and I headed straight to Diagon Alley to see my friends who work there in the hope that they would help me figure out what was wrong. That was when I came into the Cauldron and saw you. Then I knew what had happened, because even if you had survived the war you are too young and… whole… the Prophet confirmed it for me. I have fallen twenty years back in time, just under three months before I am due to be born. It shouldn't be possible, but I am here. And I need your help."

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