12 April 1998

Bellatrix had sliced open her arm, the word Mudblood a permanent reminder to what she was thought to be to a large portion of the Wizarding World. As Hermione lay there, on the floor of Malfoy Manor, the black ebony floor hard against her back, she felt both her blood and tears sinking around her. She could sense the magic in the dungeons below—many Disapparations—and, with a soft sigh of relief, she realized her boys must have gotten out of the dungeons. It would be too dangerous for them to even think of coming up here, she reasoned...

"Mother, please."

Draco's voice.

"Silence, Draco!" Bellatrix screeched, her head flicking this way and that. "Wormtail—go check on the prisoners!"

The quick succession of feet going down the stone steps, followed by a cry of shock, and then the return of Wormtail. "Mistress Lestrange, they've gone—"

"Gone?!" demanded Bellatrix, pushing past him. "Show me!"

Hermione tensed once they went downstairs, and then came the scent of dark magic. She shut her eyes, satisfaction flowing through her. Both Wormtail and Bellatrix Lestrange were dead.

Narcissa Malfoy gasped suddenly; the familial bond she likely shared with her sister extinguishing, as she knew what had happened. She looked around the room; Griphook, the goblin, lay dead on the floor, while Lucius, her beloved husband, had fainted at the sight of what her own sister had put the Granger girl through. He really was a bloody coward; if it weren't for the arrangements of their parents, she never would have married him. Only Draco was the beacon of light in their dark world—

"Mother!" Draco cried out again. "Mother, please! We have to save her..."

Narcissa sighed. "Do you love the girl, Draco?"

Draco sputtered. "No!" he cried out. "Besides, she smells wrong... Pleasant, but not—"

"Yes, I see," Narcissa said; as a Beta, she knew plenty about how Alpha's and Omega's smelled, but it never affected her on the same level. She was seen as a failure by Lucius, who was, for some reason, a cowardly Alpha, because she had produced an Omega male. Had Draco been an Alpha, she might have persuaded Lucius not to join up with Voldemort again—

"Mother, she's losing so much blood—"

Narcissa stepped forward, looking down at the girl; yes, the young witch was very powerful, but she was afflicted with Gryffindor stubbornness, something that was foolhardy at best. "Help me take her into the library, Draco—"

"The library?!" Draco demanded, but nevertheless followed his mother's orders, using their combined magic to lift her, as they left the room. "Will the Dark Lord come?"

"No, as no one had the opportunity to summon him," Narcissa told him calmly, swishing her wand to stop the bleeding, so that the young witch wouldn't die from blood loss. "He's not due to check up on the manor until the end of the week anyhow."

"And Father?" he asked tentatively.

Narcissa sighed. "I wandlessly stunned him after he fainted," she admitted. "He will not awaken until I break it."

Draco nodded his head stiffly; the Dark Lord had lifted some restrictions on Underage Magic for the Pureblood faction of the Wizarding World, meaning that, if you were marked, you were permitted to use it in your own home, under supervision of your parents. Of course, he reasoned, this was decidedly not what the Dark Lord had in mind. "Mother," he asked quietly after a moment, as they drifted through one of the long corridors which ran through the length of the manor, "why are we taking her to the library?"

"Where else do you think your father keeps the treasure trove of Malfoy family things?" she asked him softly.

After a few more moments, they finally reached the grand doors of the library, carved with serpents, like much of the house had been. Waving her hand, the doors parted for the three of them, and they stepped inside, greeted by a large chandelier upon the ceiling, hoards of bookshelves groaning underneath the weight of rare and valuable tomes, china cabinets filled with exotic and priceless treasures, and the crackling of a fireplace. The floor, shelves, and cabinets were carved from ebony wood as well, and she led Draco towards the group of cabinets before opening one of the doors.

"What are you looking for?" Draco breathed.

Narcissa looked over her shoulder at her son for a moment, before she smiled at him. "Just wait a moment." She picked up what appeared to be an ordinary book, which she opened, but a dagger lay within it.

"Mother, you're not going to—"

"No," Narcissa said, shaking her head, "I'm not. Miss Granger shall come to no harm by my hand, I assure you." She set the false book down and opened her palm, dragging the blade across it, barely wincing as she drew blood, before she stepped in between both china cabinets and wiped her hand upon the stone wall. Quite like Diagon Alley, and many other secret entrances within the Wizarding World, the stone wall parted for the three wixen, the pieces of the stone assembling on either side, waiting to be closed again.

"Mother," Draco breathed as Narcissa led them into the space, taking in all the wondrous treasures within the previously hidden room, "what is this place?"

"This is a Pureblood Profusion," Narcissa explained patiently. "It is a top-secret location in every Pureblood household, where the family can secret away treasures that they have gathered during the millennia."

Draco cocked his head to one side. "Why can't they merely store the items at Gringotts?"

Narcissa sighed. "Many of the items are goblin made, but were gotten fairly by our ancestors, otherwise they couldn't pass through the entryway," she replied. "Anyhow, many goblins, like Griphook, believe that, since they made these things, they belong to goblins outright, and not the wixen who purchased, or came upon, them."

Draco blinked. "I can understand why they may want some things back, but to actually demand all the treasures in the world..."

Narcissa nodded. "Yes, such as if they were stolen," she said softly.

Draco looked around the room; indeed, it was a very impressive space, with each legendary item within given its very on plaque with the same of the object itself, a brief history, and when it came into the hands of the Malfoy family. He quickly identified Pandora's Box, Excalibur, Hermes's Winged Sandals, and the Cintamani Stone. He turned to regard his mother again, who smiled at him.

"While those are all indeed powerful, there is one other thing we seek," she told him softly, and crossed the room to the center table. Upon it was a bubbling cauldron of a familiar-looking pink potion, a Rememberall, a stack of Auto-Answer Quills, a book on conjuring living things, the Hand of Glory from Borgin and Burkes, a black quill, copies of Magick Moste Evile and Secrets of the Darkest Art, and—

"Mother, is that...?"

Narcissa looked up as a small, golden object with a long chain and an hourglass inside it suspended from her fingers. "Yes," she answered softly. Looking down at it, she waved her wand above it, whispering some words that Draco couldn't understand, and, amazingly, the dial spin for a moment before the numbers changed. "There we are."

"What did you do?" Draco asked, watching with fascination as Narcissa slipped the Time Turner around Hermione's neck.

"I changed hours to years," she said quietly.

Draco shook his head. "But that's not—"

"Possible?" she asked, looking up at her son. "Oh, I assure you, it is. Whenever they are touched upon at Hogwarts, however, they never teach you the spell to do that, or else we would have everyone attempting to break through time's delicate tapestry."

Draco gaped at her. "Merlin, does that mean that all wixen schools lie to their students?"

"About objects and situations that are potentially dangerous, absolutely," Narcissa assured her son, tinkering with the Time-Turner, and smiling with satisfaction when the hourglass began to spin around, faster and faster. She placed a hand upon Draco and they moved backwards, still keeping her elevated, until Hermione Granger vanished.

"Where did you send her?" Draco breathed.

Narcissa sighed. "Hopefully somewhere where she will be safe, and consider a good way to end this war."

ᛦ

12 April 1981

Rubeus Hagrid sat in his hut with a roaring fire and a wonderful book about dragons that the headmaster had given him as an early Easter gift. The headmaster had left the castle during the holiday, which was a week from that Sunday, to go on a hike with his younger brother, Aberforth, to the Alps in France. While there, they would have a conference with Madame Maxime in an attempt to discuss more safety regulations, leaving Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, Minerva McGonagall, in charge.

Hagrid had the utmost faith in the Deputy Headmistress, and respected her deeply; the frequently sat together during mealtimes in the Great Hall, and she always wanted to have a chat with him about this or that. Surprisingly, many of the professors had taken off for the Easter holidays, along with (amazingly) the entirety of the student body. The professors who had left were Professor Flitwick, Professor Trelawney, Madam Hooch, Professor Kettleburn, Madam Pince, and Professor Snape had all taken holidays, leaving the deputy headmistress, Hagrid, Madam Pomfrey, Professors Babbling, Sinistra, Vector, Sprout, Burbage, Binns, and the caretaker, Mr. Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, in charge.

Fang, Hagrid's ever-loyal dog, however, seemed decidedly against Hagrid partaking in recreation, however, and seemed quite keen on interrupting him by scratching at the door multiple times in the last several minutes.

"Fang, it's a blizzard," Hagrid told him, not looking up. "Ye dinna want to go ou' there."

Fang huffed, jostling the door so that it jiggled.

"Fang," Hagrid groused, lowering his copy of Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland, "I won't tell ye again. Ye've been out already tunnight. Can ye just let me read?"

Fang was not one to be put off, however, and proceeded to whine.

"Fang," Hagrid warned; he couldn't understand why that ruddy dog of his wanted to go out, especially in this weather, given that there was an unseasonable blizzard upon the Hogwarts grounds, thus rendering it damn near impossible to see, let alone walk.

Fang, however, barked, letting out quite the howl.

"All righ', all righ'," Hagrid said, thumping down the book upon the small table beside his reading lamp, and shuffled over. The half-giant put on his snow shoes and furred coat as Fang impatiently toe-tapped beside him, and, knowing that he might need it, made a grab for his garish, pink umbrella. "Now, Fang," he said, pointing it at the dog, "yer no' ta tell anyone o' this, ye understand?"

Fang barked.

"Good dog," Hagrid said, opening the door. He somehow managed to hold the dog back as he cleared the snow and ice from the steps, and they headed outside together. He expected that Fang would pace back and forth for a moment or two, before finding the spot to do his business, then come running back inside. What he did not expect, however, was Fang howling again, before taking off into the blizzard. "Fang!" he shouted, and hurried off, leaving his door hanging open in the process.

Hagrid tore haphazardly through the blizzard, thanking Merlin for the snow shoes, as he would have been stumbling about without them. They were a wixen variety, meaning that they actually prevented slipping and sliding, as well as cleared a footpath. Hagrid wanted more than anything to cast some kind of Visual Spell, but drying up snow and ice on your stoop was one thing, and casting Visual Spells in a blizzard, even if you're running after your bloody dog, was another.

Hagrid breathed out a sigh of relief when he finally reached the top of the grounds, just meters away from the Whomping Willow, which was, thankfully, lying dormant due to the blizzard. He reluctantly cast a Lumos, as Fang was furiously digging through the snow. "What are ye doin', thar, Fang?" he asked the dog, and finally nudged him back, which is when he saw a thick strand of curly, brown hair appear in the snow. "Oh, no," he said, and, using his dinner-plate sized hands, tore through the blanket of snow himself, which is when he saw the slip of the young woman lying there, skin blue, not at all dressed for the weather, and barely breathing.

Fang whimpered mournfully, stepping forward to lick the girl's cheek as Hagrid lifted her.

"Fang, get to the entrance," he ordered, "and run to the hospital wing—now!"

Fang took off in the opposite direction as Hagrid lumbered through the snow, back in the direction they'd come, doing his best to tuck the young woman into his coat.

"It's all righ'," he assured her quietly, unknowing if she could even hear him. "We'll get yeh warm and safe."

Hagrid's vision improved as he walked to the double doors of the castle, which blanketed the snow with torchlight. As he stepped inside, he saw the wet footprints Fang had left behind, but his snowshoes prevented him from sliding along the stone floor. There was a quick series of footsteps, followed by Fang's almighty bark, and then the matron came into the hallway.

"Hagrid!" Madam Pomfrey shouted; she was in her dressing gown and slippers, a nightcap placed firmly upon her graying hair as Fang stood at attention beside her. "What is it? What's happened?"

"I found 'er ou' in th' snowbank by th' Willow, Poppy," Hagrid reported, hurrying forward as quickly as he could.

Fang barked, a note of disapproval.

"Er... Actually, it was Fang who found 'er," he admitted, lowering his coat a bit so that the matron could see what he had underneath.

"Oh, the poor girl," the matron said, shaking her head. "Bring her inside. We'll put her into a private room." She led the way into the infirmary, Fang hurrying behind Hagrid, and opened a little-used door at the back of the space. Inside was a double bed, a nightstand with a lamp placed upon it, a large window just behind the bed, a couch on the opposite wall, a fireplace beside it, and a bookshelf full of books of all varieties. "Here, set her down," the matron ordered.

Hagrid bent down slowly and gently placed the girl upon the bed.

"Poor mite," Madam Pomfrey said softly, shaking her head. She waved her wand to light a fire in the grate, before swishing her wand again, performing a non-invasive Cleaning Charm. "Hagrid, I promise to tell you everything and give you updates. However..."

Hagrid nodded. "I should get Fang back to the hut," he said ruefully.

"Yes, you should," she said firmly, looking down at Fang. "I don't normally permit animals in the infirmary, Fang, but you're a hero," she said, patting his head and scratching his ear.

Fang, tongue lolling out happily, leaned into the touch.

"Now," Madam Pomfrey said, stepping back and cleaning her hand, "you and Fang best get back to your hut. Have a house-elf come and bring you some beef stew."

Fang gave her a questioning sound.

"Yes, Fang, for you, too," she assured him.

Fang barked happily.

"Oh, and some fresh bread and cheese for you, too, Hagrid, but just the cheese for Fang," she said, nodding to herself. "Best hurry. They say the blizzard will only get worse within the next couple of hours."

Hagrid nodded at the matron, thanked her again, and gently took ahold of Fang's collar to bring him back to the hut.

Madam Pomfrey looked down at the girl, feeling very sorry for her indeed. She then leaned down and began taking off her clothes—they consisted of scuffed-up knee-length brown boots, a ratty pair of white socks, black trousers with holes in their knees, a sorry-looking white sports bra, a threadbare jumper in pale brown, and a dark gray woolen peacoat that was very nearly coming apart at the seams. There was also a beaded bag which reeked of powerful magic that she set to one side, not wanting to invade the young witch's privacy. She had no wand, which was unfortunate, but Madam Pomfrey could tell that this young girl had likely been taken prisoner and tortured, so it wasn't as if being wandless was out of the ordinary.

However, once she took off the jumper, she staggard backwards at the sight of the poor young woman's inner arm. Cut with a dagger laced with black magic was the word Mudblood, which broke the matron's heart, as well as the notion that there were the shattered remains of a Time-Turner around her neck. "You poor girl," she said quietly, shaking her head and quickly disposing of the banned magical artifact. She completed getting the young girl undressed, and checked the pockets to ensure that nothing of value was lurking within them, before she took the clothes to the fire and burned them. Each and every article reeked of dark magic and it wouldn't do her any good.

Next, the matron summoned one of the few nightgowns she had in stock; the one she summoned was white and made out of cotton. If this had been a Muggle environment, she would have gone with something made from flannel or wool, but, since they were in the Wizarding World, there were other ways to become warm and stay warm. Casting another Cleaning Charm before putting the nightgown over the young girls' head, and threading her arms through the long sleeves, she pulled down the blankets of the bed, ensuring that the Warming Charms upon the sheets were in place.

Madam Pomfrey placed a powerful, healer's Monitoring Spell upon the girl before tucking her in, before she left the room and returned to her office. There would be no sleep that evening, at least, not for a while, given that they had a mysterious stranger in the infirmary. Although she had smelt dark magic upon her, she could tell that it has been cast upon her, and not by the young witch herself, leading her to believe, especially given that nasty scar upon her arm, that something, or someone, was after her.

She promptly knelt in front of the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder, and tossed it into the flames, making them glow green. "Minerva McGonagall's Office, Hogwarts," she uttered, and the flames swirled for a moment, allowing the Deputy Headmistress to know that the Hogwarts matron was seeking an audience.

"Poppy?" Minerva called, once the Floo Call connected. "Is everything all right?"

"Not entirely, Minerva," Poppy responded. "It seems as though Fang has found someone upon the grounds."

"Hagrid's dog?" Minerva asked, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Hagrid brought her in," Poppy explained.

"What have you found out about her?" Minerva wanted to know.

"Not too much, given that she is unconscious," the matron replied, "but I believe her to be Muggleborn."

"Oh?" Minerva queried. "Why do you think that?"

Poppy sighed. "It seems as though she was held for a time and tortured, and a cursed dagger cut the word into the inner arm."

Minerva gasped. "There was a report that the Lestrange brothers and one of their wives, the former Bellatrix Black, have one of those in their possession, and have been using it to slice Muggleborns and Muggles in vulnerable areas."

Poppy nodded. "Yes, I've heard the reports myself," she said gravely.

"What else have you gleaned?" Minerva asked softly.

"She cannot be more than eighteen or so; prolonged starvation is apparent," she said, and Minerva shook her head with sympathy. "She reeked of dark magic, but it was cast upon her; she was not its caster."

Minerva nodded. "That is good, given the uncertainty of these times."

"No sign of frostbite, however, likely due to her magical core attempting to fight it off, so she couldn't have been in the snow very long before Fang and Hagrid found her," Poppy mused, considering it for a moment. "There was also..."

"Yes?" Minerva asked.

Poppy bit her lip. "Minerva, there were the shattered remains of a time turner around her neck, but it looked...different..."

"Different?" Minerva asked, something lurking in her tone. "Different how?"

"I could tell it wasn't her magical signature, given that it smelled like a Beta who cast the spell, and this girl is clearly an Omega who has yet to go into heat for the first time," Poppy said quickly, "but someone cast the Hours to Years Spell..."

"Horae ad Annos," Minerva breathed, eyes wide. "That is an ancient, forbidden spell that is mainly known to Purebloods. If your suspicions are correct that she is Muggleborn—"

"It only means that a Pureblood sent her back, but how far remains to be seen," Poppy responded with a nod.

Minerva pursed her lips. "You said that the witch appeared to be eighteen..."

Poppy nodded. "Yes, I believe so."

"...and that she was an Omega."

Poppy nodded a second time. "Yes."

"How, then, can she not have had her first heat yet?" Minerva asked; as a Beta, along with the matron, they themselves had never had to contend with such things. "Surely, it would have occurred by the time she was seventeen..."

Poppy sighed. "Much like one's cycle, stress can trigger it to become dormant," she explained to her colleague patiently. "It also has to do with their one true mate not being anywhere near them from the time they should have gone into heat, or their bodies retroactively deciding for them that it isn't the proper time to do so."

Minerva shook her head. "Thank Merlin we never had to deal with that, Poppy!"

Poppy chuckled. "Yes, I think you're right, Minerva."

Minerva sighed. "Let me know when she awakens." She lowered her voice. "We won't inform Albus of our little visitor just yet."

Poppy raised her eyebrows. "You still don't trust him?"

Minerva shook her head. "No, I don't. I don't think it was a wise choice for him to recommend that the Potters go into hiding in England. He should have gotten them out of the country, out of the British Isles, even, but he wouldn't be deterred."

Poppy sighed. "Well, perhaps, this girl holds some answers."

"And not a moment too soon," Minerva replied ruefully.