Flashes from the battle played over in his mind as he looked around. Harry must have been knocked unconscious, because the device stopped turning at some point, settling on a time and taking him there. Even as he looked around the dark room, where nothing was going on, he could not slow his heart; it was still beating like it was about to jump out of his chest. It was like the explosion that shattered his very glasses was still before his eyes. He could hear a shrill scream, but he knew it was Ginny's, and not his mother's. The worst was what happened to Blaise, somehow- there were few fates worse than being eaten by what looked like Fiendfyre, if the descriptions were to be believed. Harry had thought to give him the Time Turner, but it was all he could do to keep spinning it, doubtful that just a few days would make a difference, so he ended up using it himself.

Getting to his feet, he wondered why he had been stunned rather than killed. The Unspeakables had no reason to keep him alive, unless someone was secretly working for Voldemort, and his own men were certainly taking no prisoners. On his own orders, they followed a strict casualty minimizing strategy, which was why they had not simply killed everyone in the Love Room, but after that all bets were off. Even if they somehow knew that the enemy would be trying to take them prisoner, the result would be Azkaban and total failure. It was possible that someone on his team hit him trying to get him to just go rather than keep spinning for Merlin knew what.

Hidden by his own Invisibility Cloak, he was not concerned when a pair of employees walked in, but he did get out of their way. He still had no idea what time it was, what year it was, but since it seemed like it was early in the day, with the entire room dark, he had a short window to get out before more workers started trickling in. As confident as he was in the cloak, it was possible there were going to be so many people walking around that he would have a hard time getting out without touching anyone. He wanted to set the time back further, even just a few hours, but it seemed pointlessly risky to attempt that- Hermione said she always let it run, even when the result was that she would be late for something. Looking over at the glass display, it seemed that there was another identical copy there, meaning he had not gone back that far; it was unlikely that they started trying to reverse engineer it before it was tested out.

"Can't believe we're stuck in this rubbish department," one employee said to the other. "For all the studying we do with time, pretentious as it is, we never do anything but hurry up and wait. Have to clock in five in the morning and the pay doesn't make it worthwhile. The time anomalies in here aren't behaving any differently no matter how many experiments we do on them and we're too tied up to do anything with the original turner."

He could hardly help but listen. As important as his task was, he knew that he had to have gone back at least a few days. It was not terribly urgent to get out of there right away; the Ministry had fundamentally no way of expecting him to be there, not unless it was foretold somewhere in the Hall of Prophecy.

"Come to think of it, I'm effectively being pushed there," he muttered, having to stay ahead of the Unspeakables as they talked. There was only one place to go, and it was out the other door. If they were the first to arrive, though, that was still a manageable situation; he could get through the rows of crystal balls quickly and get out of there.

"It's the one thing the people upstairs can control down here. I don't know how they do it, but they've got some kind of mechanism that prevents it from working unless it's been given to you- something like a Fidelius Charm, you reckon?"

"It could be. It could be hogwash. I'm not going to be the one to touch it, not even if I could get it working. The job's not worth that."

"It's not worth anything else. It's rubbish how they selected the one tester in twenty years or so. Absolute rubbish; exactly what you would expect from upstairs."

If Harry was putting together the situation correctly as it was being related to them, he was closer to agreeing with their decision, even though Hermione ultimately returned the device and said that it was not worth the trouble, not while she had to obey all the rules for using it. By that year, she had gotten past breaking school rules in an emergency, but it never would have occurred to her that they would literally be a resistance operation a few years later. In any event, the people upstairs, probably the Improper Use of Magic Office, had probably recognized the danger of the Time Turner, and imposed some kind of restriction on it, that he must have cleared by having used it with his friend the once. Almost certainly, they were mired in motionless discussions about how no one could be allowed to use the device because no one could be trusted, and eventually they decided that they needed someone incredibly well-behaved and naive or it was never going to get off the ground. Some probably wanted it that way and stonewalled as much as possible. Eventually, though, one side won. Whether they asked the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress who the most trustworthy student in the whole school was, the answer would have been the same. He could ask, he supposed, but as academics, both of them were probably on the side of 'even if it is dangerous, we should explore whether or not it is possible', and they would have pitched it to her as a way to take more classes.

He stopped in the middle of the Hall of Prophecy, seeing someone else there. Even in the low light, he could tell that they were not Unspeakables; they were in normal robes. Careful not to make a sound as he approached, he had no idea how they got in there, but his only guess was that they were allowed in somehow. Upon closer inspection, he saw that one of them was Lucius Malfoy. Deciding there was nothing to gain from them, he only cursed his lack of decisiveness, thinking that there was some chance of working with that family. It was true that he did not really want to kill the heir, and any ransom would have been better than nothing, but it shoudl have been obvious that there was no persuading him to even stay out of the conflict.

"Curious," the other Death Eater said. Harry wondered if he had already been killed as he slowly walked past. "I can't pick up any of these prophecies."

"Of course not. They can only be retrieved by those whom they concern. The Dark Lord cannot retrieve the one he wants himself."

"Isn't it about him?"

"It is, but technically young Potter appears to be the subject. Coming here himself would prove far too perilous in either case, and he has seen fit to risk the life of his mortal enemy instead."

"I know that you and I can walk around in the Minsitry, but someone like Bellatrix-"

"Yes, it appears already that he will insist on her involvement. I am only allowed here on the insistence that I am to remain in the Hall of Prophecy, that I may check if there are any that pertain to me. Indeed, it seems unlikely that we can arrange similar permissions for the others. Not to worry, though, when the day comes, the Unspeakables will be absent, and the boy will have no trouble getting in here either." He held up a length of parchment, and dropped it on the floor.

"What's that?"

"It's a confession. Rookwood admits to stealing the prototype Time Turner, which can stop time for a moment, and states that he's willing to return it as long as the entire department comes to verify something for him; he claims that he also released something of a magical infection and needs to check. Even if they don't believe his claim, they'll have no choice but to come at the appointed time." Included, evidently, was a picture of the device and another of its inner workings.

"You would admit to being in league with him?"

"Not in any way that would matter to the Wizengamot, not in any way that definitively proves anything. I would think that the Department already knows that the Dark Lord has returned, and it would not be unreasonable to suspect that I am working with him, or at the very least that he would contact me. Had I wanted to help in any way that I could, after having languished under the Imperius, I would have told the authorities everything I knew."

"I suppose it is obvious, when you think about it," he said, trailing off. "Maybe no one would contact someone who hadn't been willing to serve the first time."

"Perhaps not for help, but he would have looked for me to have his revenge against me. I remember making statements that I was quite thankful he was no longer with us, for fear that he would come after me. Anyone who suspects he has returned would suspect me for having served his interests by concealing his return."

"I see." Over Harry's shoulder, it seemed that the other Death Eater was done with his task, having located the appropriate prophecy and casting a few spells that he could not hope to identify. As the invisible young wizard walked away, somewhat more quickly, he quietly supposed they constituted some kind of trap for him or perhaps someone working with the Order. Ideally, they would be undetectable or at least not go off when Unspeakables passed over them.

The last thing he wanted was to run into someone, and that meant getting to the elevator as quickly as possible. Though he was sure he could use what Neville had used as a way in, that was specialized knowledge just outside of his own wheelhouse. Having used the cloak for years, however, gave him a kind of spatial awareness that Ron considered strategically irreplaceable, especially on stealth operations. He was never going to get through a crowd of people, though in any other setting he at least had a chance. There was something especially exhilarating about being on his own, and he had not really gotten into that mode since Azkaban, not that he wanted it under the circumstances. He would give anything to have one of his old friends with him.

Again in the circular room with the blue flame torches, he looked around and estimated where the Love Room was, since it had been across from the Time Room, which would have been on the right of where he had been before, and the strange room with the archway was next to that. Opening the door that he thought would be right, remembering the dream in which Voldemort tried to lead him to the Hall of Prophecy, he was surprised to find it was wrong. It had been a few months, so he supposed they could have changed things, but what was the point? Looking behind him, he had left the door slightly ajar and closed it to find the room rotating. Quietly deciding that it was a measure of security, he followed the door he closed with his eyes and opened the one he thought was appropriate based on the dream, and sure enough, it seemed to be an exit. Most likely, it was just the circular room that rotated; it was hard to believe that the rooms themselves were moving with it.

"Is someone there?" A voice called out; it looked like it came from an Unspeakable in a long tunnel with light on the other end of it.

"Stupefy." He knocked out the employee at such a range it would be impossible to miss and stepped over the unconscious body, squeezing to the side of the hallway as another rushed past to check on his or her coworker. Again at a squeeze, he made it to the elevator, but he already guessed that it was only being called up so that someone else could board. Figuring it would probably get blamed on Malfoy, if anyone, he was tempted to cast a reductor and get out of there, but he could no sooner afford that than have everyone know the truth. The elevator opened to admit two employees, whom he confunded.

"It's terrible, what they're saying about Potter. Sure, he's not as special as he thinks he is, there's no way he would be after finding out everything. There's just no way he lied about Voldemort coming back. That completely destroys his whole legacy. It makes everything he did pointless."

'I'm not sure," the other employee said. "You think about it, sometimes, someone fixes something and eventually- no one ever remembers that it was broken. I'm thinking he's betting that we panic a little bit, we all remember that old fear we all had once, and then, before you know it, turns out, someone was only tricking him into it, with a boggart or something." He frowned. "Well, I guess it could really be something like that. I can see why anyone would panic. There's a tendency to try to minimize the problem. Sometimes it's hard to face the reality. I can't believe that Dumbledore would go along with it if there were some explanation like that, though."

"That old warlock's reputation is all the boy's got going for him," the first wizard said, shaking his head a bit. "I'm calling it right now. The moment that it all comes out against him- and it has to; he's too perfect- the boy's finished. I don't even think he's lying, but I think he needs a real smack upside the head, and that's going to do it for him, mark my words."

They said nothing more as the elevator opened, somewhat surprised to see it open on a higher floor than they had expected. He was out of the way, and he only needed things to calm down; he could go back to the elevator at any time to get back. A while back, waiting would have been the hardest thing for him. It was hard to estimate when exactly it was. Evidently, it was after the resurrection, but before his Headmaster's arrest, or that was what he would think based on the conversation of the employees. Harry frowned, invisible and with no need to police the expressions on his face. He had known Voldemort was exceedingly crafty, but how far ahead had he planned to fabricate Sirius's capture? How had he known that his godfather had been so dear to him?

It was a vague notion of familiarity, something he could only ascribe to the fact that his worst enemy had something of a similar background. A previous version of him had said that they were similar in certain ways, and he had not wanted to believe it at the time, but the idea had nagged at him more recently. His interest in his ancient ancestry, like the fact that he was descended from Salazar Slytherin, and his heir, his true successor, was hard to understand unless he knew nothing about or cared nothing for his own parents, otherwise they would have made the same claim, and he would have heard about them. In all his years, he had never heard of anyone going by 'Riddle' and a memory from when he requested to stay at Hogwarts over the summer holiday, which suggested that there was trouble at home. Had he been abused? Had he been an orphan?

Silently, he reached out to Arthur Weasley, only a floor above him, with Legilimency. It was not his ideal case, not by a longshot, but he had no idea how else he would get the message to any ally of his. Ignoring the wizard's questions and objections, he told him that he was traveling through time. He said it was of paramount importance to speak to Blaise Zabini and inform him of the Time Turner's location on a specific date. It would have been nice to just hand it straight to him, and it was not as if he did not trust his friend's father, but per their own rules, he could not let it out of his hands to maintain a policy of minimal intervention.

Still with more questions than answers hours later, he crept to the silent elevator, opened it magically, closed it the same way, and hit the button with his wand. He had no desire to figure out what day it was, but in terms of his own plan, he had gone back too far. Already, it seemed like individual seconds were skipping. Silently deciding that the Time Turner had only been designed to be used a few hours at a time, he got out of the elevator and then the building as quickly as he could. Outside, it seemed he was moving at the same speed, but everyone else was moving so much more quickly. It was all he could do to duck into an alley and apparate out. Finding himself in a muggle town that had seen no attention, to his knowledge, not from his side or the Death Eaters, a village called Piercebridge known only for the Roman encampment about a a thousand seven hundred years earlier, a lesser-known witch by the name of Addie Heston, the inventor of Spellotape, and apparently being the inspiration for the term 'grandfather clock'. He buried the device under the ground before people speeding all over the place could cross his path, throwing himself out of the way of a man just out for a smoke.

It was only seconds later that it seemed like he had caught up to the present, or something like it. Had time just slowed down again? Was it more stable, closer to the present? A bird flew evenly through the sky and he decided to apparate back to his friends. The ground beneath him looked like it had been disturbed, and then straightened out again. What shocked him most was that he was tired, and he was going to have trouble apparating back without just falling asleep, so he looked around for a place in town to kip for the night, and was grateful to find a bed and breakfast that took the muggle money he carried around. It was strange, being back in the nonmagical world after so long of being out of it, uninterrupted, but it was nice to not have to worry about anything for the moment.

Harry felt like he was falling and he knew he was asleep almost immediately, but that awareness did not wake him up. He clenched his fist the moment he realized where he was- he was in fourth year again, in the middle of some pointless conversation with the other boys about which girl to ask to the ball. For a moment he was about to throw something, but then he smiled slightly. He doubted he would have long remained sane if he had not had some pointless things to do. Getting up, he knew just where to go; he had been to see 'Moody' in his office, after all. Would the Sneakoscope warn him?

He knocked gently and was admitted just the same. It seemed the older wizard was wary of him, but it was not as if he could afford to abandon his post, nor could he simply kill the intruder. When he had a wand out, though, the enemy almost immediately summoned a portkey to his position, but Harry killed him first. The old quill that he was using as a quick way out simply hit a corpse and bounced off. Looking around, he realized he was not waking up yet.

"Well," he muttered. "Only one thing to do." Without hesitating, he picked up the portkey and allowed himself to be dragged once more through space and time, going wherever his enemy would take him, in probably the worst way possible. Whenever he woke, he would be thankful if he did not get sick in his sleep.