Time Turners and Temporal Splinching
Peering quizzically into her cauldron, Hermione felt the thrill of anticipation and annoyance. Surely this time it would work? The book Malfoy had given her sat unopened and its ominous presence seemed to cast a shadow across her desk. “Blast the man, if this doesn’t work, I’ll have to resort to reading the bloody thing.”
“Are you okay Love?” asked Ron as he cleaned up the mess from her last failed potion attempt.
Looking over at Ron, she wondered how she was so lucky. He had been so patient the last few months and not once did he complain when she came home late from the laboratory smelling like dung or some other foul smell from a failed potion.
After the war, Hermione went back to Hogwarts to complete her NEWTS. It wasn’t mandatory, but she felt a year of normalcy and time to figure out what she wanted to do was important. After spending all that time with Harry and Ron looking for Horcruxes and fighting Voldemort, she just wanted to feel like a normal witch and Hogwarts provided just the perfect place for her to do that. Ron and Harry had joined her for a week before the Ministry offered them positions as Aurors. They said doing 8th year to be accepted into the program was redundant after fighting in the war. They had offered a position to Hermione too but she felt that her skills could be better used elsewhere. So instead, she had completed her final year at Hogwarts and after some cajoling McGonagall had agreed to allow Hermione to use a Time-Turner again so that she could complete a Dual Master's in Advanced Charms and Potions. She was shocked when they handed her the time-turner, she had been joking when she had asked for it, but being a part of the Golden Trio had a bigger sway at the Ministry than she had anticipated.
Ron was vehemently against her using the time turner again, and it had caused a rift between them that for a time she thought they would split. Yet after promises of caution and transparency, Hermione had managed to convince him to let her proceed. It hadn't been easy. Ron’s opposition had been rooted in fear—fear of losing her to something as unpredictable and dangerous as tampering with time again. She couldn’t blame him. The memory of their third year, with its near-misses and the fragile web of secrecy, weighed heavily on both of them.
“I promise,” she had told him, gripping his hands tightly, her eyes filled with determination. “This isn’t like last time, Ron. I won’t be reckless and you are aware of its use and can help me stay on the straight and narrow.”
Ron had stared at her for a long moment, his blue eyes full of worry and frustration. “You always think you’ve got everything under control, Hermione. And maybe you do, most of the time. But this... time magic... it doesn’t play by the rules. And I can’t just sit back and watch you risk everything.”
The tension between them had simmered for weeks, creating a distance that neither of them wanted but couldn’t quite bridge. It was only after Hermione had laid out her entire plan—meticulous as ever—that Ron had reluctantly conceded.
“Alright,” he had finally said, his voice gruff. “But if you feel like something’s off—anything—you stop. Promise me, Hermione.”
“I promise,” she had replied, meaning it with all her heart. She had no intention of taking unnecessary risks. But as she glanced at the cursed book sitting on her desk now, a knot of unease tightened in her chest. She hadn’t told Ron everything—about the book, about Malfoy, about the depths of the danger she was beginning to uncover. Some promises, she reminded herself, were easier to keep than others.
With a sigh, Hermione conceded that the damn book Malfoy had given her would need to be used. Which would normally be a given, she loved books and didn’t care where the book had come from or who it belonged to. But using Malfoy's book meant that she was right and something had gone terribly wrong. Having to resort to reading about dark magic felt like admitting defeat—a bitter pill for Hermione to swallow. The idea of delving into dark magic made her skin crawl. It wasn’t just the stigma attached to it; it was the danger, the unpredictable consequences, and the memories of how it had torn apart so many lives during the war.
Her fingers brushed over the book’s spine, the leather cool and unyielding beneath her touch. Malfoy’s smug warning echoed in her mind: "When you realise you need it, Granger, you’ll thank me." She gritted her teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface. The idea of owing Draco Malfoy even a shred of gratitude was insufferable.
But she couldn’t deny the reality, something was causing her time-turner to glitch and according to the Ministry, she wasn’t the only person experiencing issues. At first, it wasn’t noticeable, but after a while, she noticed that time would randomly stop and almost stutter? She thought she was going crazy, but after a Ministry Official had appeared in her Advanced Potions class requesting the return of the time turner, she had felt both vindicated and deeply unsettled. The official’s arrival confirmed that she wasn’t imagining things—something was indeed wrong with the fabric of time. But the fact that the Ministry itself was alarmed enough to recall the Time-Turners only heightened her concerns.
That was almost three years ago but she still wondered what had happened to the stern-faced wizard who had taken the time turner. Victor Tyden-Beaumont had been the leading expert at the Ministry on the effect charms had on time turners. It was he who had given her the idea to study advanced charms and potions in her 8th year at Hogwarts. He had given an impassioned speech at a special symposium held in the Great Hall during her final year. The event had been organized by McGonagall to inspire students and showcase how magical theory could be applied to tackle real-world challenges. Victor Tyden-Beaumont had been an unexpected addition to the speaker line-up, his reputation for brilliance matched only by his gruff, intimidating demeanour.
Hermione vividly remembered how his voice had echoed across the hall, commanding attention despite his clipped and no-nonsense tone. "Charms," he had said, "are not just trivial spells for convenience. They are the foundation of everything we hold stable in our world. Without them, potions unravel, magical structures collapse, and time itself falters."
He’d spoken at length about the delicate interplay between charms and temporal magic, delving into research on how poorly calibrated charm work could destabilize magical objects—like Time-Turners. Hermione had been mesmerized, furiously taking notes as he detailed theories she had never encountered before. It was during the Q&A session, when she'd asked an incisive question about stabilizing chronomantic anomalies, that Victor had paused, fixing her with a piercing look before nodding approvingly.
"An excellent question," he had said gruffly, his approval tempered with characteristic brusqueness. "You’ve got potential, Miss Granger. If you pursue advanced studies, you might even find answers the rest of us have missed."
His words had stayed with her, igniting a determination she hadn’t fully realized she possessed. Now, as she sat in her laboratory, staring at the cursed book on her desk, Hermione couldn’t help but think of him. She wondered whether he’d be proud of the path she had chosen—or scold her for venturing into dangerous, uncharted territory. Perhaps both.
With a grimace, Hermione pulled out the ring that was resting under her shirt on a chain. After carefully undoing the clasp, she took a steadying breath and slid the ring onto her finger. For a moment, nothing happened—just the faint hum of magic that she’d long since grown accustomed to feeling from enchanted objects. But as the runes engraved on the band began to glow faintly, she felt a pulse of energy spread through her hand, as if the ring itself were recognizing her touch.
Hermione’s breath hitched. The connection felt... alive, almost sentient, as though the ring were assessing her intentions. She whispered a quick incantation under her breath, and the glow intensified, casting eerie shadows across the room. Her heart pounded. Whatever secrets this ring held, it was now bound to reveal them.
The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air, and she couldn’t shake the thought that by putting the ring on, she’d crossed a line she could never uncross. Turning her gaze to the cursed book beside her, Hermione hesitates before opening the book, Draco’s voice already echoing in her mind with his trademark dry sass, “Took you long enough, Granger. I was starting to think you’d forgotten how to read.” She mutters under her breath, “Shut up, Malfoy,” as if he were there.
Ron looks at her quizzically but she just ruefully shakes her head and starts to read the page Malfoy had already marked for her. She had no clue how he knew what exactly she needed to read in this book but surprisingly every passage he had marked was linked to her specific dilemmas, as though Malfoy had anticipated her struggles before she even encountered them. The precision of his insights was both unnerving and begrudgingly impressive. It was as if he had mapped out the path she would take, laying breadcrumbs for her to follow.
The notes scrawled in his sharp, slanted handwriting were maddeningly succinct, offering just enough information to point her in the right direction but never elaborating beyond what was necessary. Each passage seemed to address not only the magical theories she was grappling with but also the practical consequences of her work. It was unsettling how well he seemed to understand her methodical thought process.
Hermione couldn’t decide if she wanted to thank him or hex him. Knowing Malfoy, he’d probably smirk and say something infuriating like, “Always one step ahead of you, Granger.” She shook her head, pushing his imagined smugness aside, and turned her attention back to the passage.
Her eyes scan the text, and the further she reads, the more her stomach churns. The passage on page 417 describes a phenomenon called "Temporal Splinching," where time fractures and overlaps unpredictably. The implications are horrifying.
Hermione’s breath catches. “Fuck,” she whispers, her face going pale as the weight of the revelation sinks in.
Ron, alarmed by her reaction, reaches over and takes the book from her hands. “What is it?” he asks, flipping to the passage. As he reads, his brow furrows. “Hermione... is this why your potions have been going haywire and the charms you have been placing on the time turner keep bouncing off?
Hermione nods, her voice shaky. “Yes. Time is... splinched. It’s why nothing is working as it should and if this passage is correct, things are only going to get worse”
Ron, trying to process, blurts out something he remembers from a Muggle science book Harry lent him: “Isn’t this like... quantum entanglement or something? You know, particles being in two places at once?” His brow furrows further and before Hermione can reply he says, “Wait what does this have to do with magic? Is it like splinching when you don’t apparate correctly?
Hermione stares at him, utterly gobsmacked. “Ron... that’s... surprisingly accurate. Yes, Time Splinching is similar but far more dangerous. If a witch or wizard purposely instructs their previous self, or even several previous selves to go back in time and they all go back too far in time to a point that is unstable and the time turner isn’t able to work efficiently, on purpose, time can splint. When that many variables and timelines are running congruently to each other it causes time to ripple.
It's the ultimate violation of every time-turning rule. Time isn't designed to handle two versions of the same person working together. It creates fractures—splinters—in the timeline."
Ron scratched his head. "And the fractures... what, make things go haywire?"
"Yes, exactly," Hermione said, nodding. Time starts to overlap in places, causing glitches in magic, potions, spells—everything that relies on temporal stability. And the more interference there is, the worse the splintering becomes. Eventually, the fabric of time could tear completely, which could cause the time traveller to get stuck in the wrong time, which would ultimately lead to their death. Life on opposing timelines like that just isn’t able to sustain life." Her voice wavered slightly at the gravity of her own words.
"Blimey," Ron muttered, staring at her. "So, this isn't just about your potions acting up. This is... bigger."
"It is," Hermione replied, her expression grim. "Whoever caused this—whether they were reckless or had malicious intent—has jeopardized the stability of time itself. And if we don't find a way to fix it..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“My question is why anybody would go out of their way to splint time like this? Surely, they would know it’s a suicide mission?
Absentmindedly Hermione fingered the Malfoy ring that was on her finger. It surprisingly had a calming effect on her. Who would have thought anything Draco Bloody Malfoy would have a calming effect? Damn it, she must be going bonkers, thinking about him at a time like this?
“I don’t know Ron but if they are willing to die and to let others die, I fear their motivations are far from selfless," she muttered, her voice trembling with frustration. Hermione's fingers lingered on the ring as her mind raced. "Someone who would purposefully splint time like this must have been desperate—or dangerously arrogant enough to believe they could control the consequences."
Ron, after a moment of thoughtful silence, runs a hand through his hair and speaks with surprising clarity. "Hermione, magic and science aren’t so different, are they? Both rely on rules—laws of nature or magical laws—but they also both show us what happens when those rules are pushed or broken. Time... it’s like a spell in a way. You can stretch it, fold it, manipulate it—but if you push it too far, it starts to unravel. And if someone’s recklessly messing with it, that unravelling could destroy everything connected to it... people, places, even memories."
He pauses, his gaze steady and serious. "But you’re the best person I know to figure this out. You don’t just follow the rules, Hermione. You understand why they exist. And that’s what’s going to help you fix this mess. Whoever caused this, whatever they did—you won’t just stop it. You’ll find a way to make it right for everyone."
Ron’s unexpected insight shows just how much he’s grown. He might not have Hermione’s encyclopaedic knowledge, but his blend of practicality, heart, and newfound curiosity shines through.
Hermione stared at Ron, utterly speechless. "Ron," she finally managed, her voice quiet and laced with disbelief, "I... I don’t even know what to say. That was—" She broke off, shaking her head, a mixture of awe and affection washing over her face.
He shrugs, a little sheepish but proud. “What? I listen to you prattle on and I do read you know!”
She smirks, her tension easing slightly. “Hmm, yes, it appears you do. Do you remember when I said you had the emotional range of a teaspoon?”
Ron raises an eyebrow, a playful grin creeping onto his face. “Oh, I remember. It’s burned into my memory, Hermione. Hard to forget when someone insults your emotional capacity like that.”
Hermione lets out a soft laugh, her smirk widening. “Well, it seems you’ve upgraded. Congratulations, Ron. You’re no longer a teaspoon.” She leans in teasingly. “I’d say you’ve reached... at least a tablespoon. Maybe even a ladle on a good day.”
Ron chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “A ladle, huh? That’s progress, isn’t it? Watch out, ‘Mione, soon I’ll be wielding an entire soup pot’s worth of emotions.”
Hermione shakes her head, warmth spreading through her as the tension in the room dissipates. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Weasley.”
“Weasley is it? Well, Miss Hermione Granger let’s not forget that very soon you will be a Weasley.” Ron said coming closer to her with wicked intent in his eyes.
Hermione’s breath hitched as her eyes met Ron’s, the mischievous glint in his gaze setting her pulse racing. She smirked, determined not to let him see how easily he could fluster her.
“Oh, is that so, Weasley?” she teased, arching a brow. “And here I thought you had the emotional range of a teaspoon, yet here you are, pulling off wicked intent quite convincingly.”
Ron chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he closed the distance between them. “A teaspoon, eh?” he murmured, his voice dropping, the playful edge sending a shiver down her spine. “Well, you’re the one who keeps upgrading me, Granger. I might just surprise you.”
Before she could come up with a retort, his hands settled gently on her waist, and any witty remark she had planned was instantly forgotten. The intensity in his gaze shifted from playful to something deeper, and she couldn’t help the way her heart seemed to melt.
“Very soon, Miss Granger,” Ron murmured, a smile tugging at his lips, “you’ll officially be stuck with this wicked teaspoon forever.”
Hermione laughed despite herself, her cheeks warming. “You make it sound like a punishment,” she replied softly, her hands sliding up to rest on his chest.
“I’ll make sure it’s not,” he whispered before leaning in, brushing a tender kiss across her lips.
As Ron’s lips pressed against hers, the teasing and laughter melted away, replaced by a growing intensity that neither of them could ignore. Hermione’s hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. The warmth of his touch sent shivers down her spine, and for a moment, the weight of time-turners, splinching, and cursed books faded into the background.
Ron’s hands moved to her waist, his grip firm but gentle, as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. “Hermione,” he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, filled with a mix of longing and restraint.
She responded by tangling her fingers in his hair, her breath hitching as the space between them disappeared entirely. The laboratory, with its cluttered shelves and the faint smell of potion ingredients, seemed to blur around them. All that mattered was this moment, the connection between them, and the unspoken emotions they had carried for so long.
But just as things began to escalate, Ron pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers as he tried to catch his breath. “Hermione,” he said again, his voice tinged with regret, “we should stop. I’m already late for work... and Malfoy’s going to have a field day if I show up looking like this.”
Hermione let out a soft laugh, her cheeks flushed. “You’re right,” she said, though her voice betrayed her reluctance. “But don’t think for a second this conversation is over, Weasley.”
Before Ron could respond, the door to the lab swung open, and Draco Malfoy’s unmistakable drawl filled the room. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Weasley, if you’re going to be late, at least have the decency not to defile Granger’s lab in the process. Some of us have standards.”
Ron groaned, running a hand through his hair as Hermione rolled her eyes. “Malfoy,” she said sharply, “if you’re here to gloat, save it. We have bigger problems to deal with.”
Draco smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, I’m well aware, Granger. But watching Weasley squirm is just too entertaining to pass up.”
The tension in the room shifted, the heat of the moment giving way to the familiar banter that always seemed to follow Malfoy’s arrival. But beneath the surface, the connection between Hermione and Ron remained, a quiet promise of more to come.