Temporal Shenanigans

Looking back now, Hermione realizes that giving a thirteen-year-old a time-turner was possibly the single worst decision in the history of magical education. If you asked her now, she’d probably march straight up to Professor McGonagall, point an accusatory finger, and scream, “What were you thinking?!”, maybe even throw in a dramatic stomp for good measure. Who in their right mind thought it was a good idea to hand a kid the ability to bend and unravel the fabric of space-time? “Ah, yes, this seems perfectly responsible,” said no sane person ever. And let’s be real, she could barely keep her hair from turning into a weather report during a humid day, let alone keep the timeline intact.

But here she is, in her current predicament, experiencing a level of pain that can only be described as the worst spa day in the history of ever. Her skin felt like it was on fire. Actually, scratch that, fire would’ve been a relief compared to the sensation of being slowly melted, remelted, then rewound and melted again. Time travel, it turns out, isn’t just confusing, it’s really painful.

So how did Hermione end up in this mess?

~

It turns out, breaking a time-turner isn’t all that difficult. Honestly, she’s a little insulted by how fragile the thing was. To give the Malfoys a shred of credit, though, their floors were absurdly hard.

And, as it also turns out, Bellatrix Lestrange had a very mean Crucio. Not that Hermione had ever doubted that, but firsthand experience was...enlightening. Once the curse was flung at her, the fall was instantaneous. The time-turner, which she was still wearing around her neck like the world’s most reckless fashion accessory, swung violently on its chain as she collapsed.The delicate contraption hit the ground, and with one faint tink and a dramatic explosion of sand and golden shards, It was official: the universe was fucked.

~

If we’re being honest, Hermione had absolutely no idea that was going to happen. In her defense, the timeline between the snatchers grabbing her and her being hit with Bellatrix’s Crucio was, frankly, a bit of a blur. One second she was trying to figure out how to disillusion herself in a forest that really didn’t need any more disillusionment, and the next she was being dragged into Malfoy Manor like a particularly uncooperative sack of potatoes.

So now, as her body is being flipped inside out and then back again, just for good measure, because the time-turner decided to take her as its unwilling hostage, Hermione is coming to terms with one horrifying realization: she has absolutely no idea what timeline she’s about to crash-land in.

Wherever she was going, one thing was clear: the time-turner wasn’t just broken. It was out for revenge.

~

Hermione hit the ground hard, her shoulder slamming against the cold, merciless floor of Malfoy Manor for what felt like the second time in less than a minute. Which, technically, it was. She groaned and rolled onto her side, her head spinning so badly she half-expected her brain to give up entirely. Her ribs ached, her legs felt like jelly, and the only thing worse than the pain was the sickening realization that the broken time-turner had actually worked.

She blinked up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath, but what she saw made her stomach drop. It was the same ceiling, the same gaudy silver trim, the same oversized chandelier, the same distinctly Malfoy brand of interior design that screamed money first, taste second. For a moment, panic clawed at her. Had she even gone anywhere? Was this some horrible cosmic joke, leaving her exactly where she started? But then she noticed the silence.

There was no screaming, no Bellatrix cackling, no Harry or Ron shouting her name in desperation. Just... nothing.

Hermione pushed herself up and wobbled on her knees, one hand flying to her neck. The time-turner’s chain was still there, but the device itself was now a mangled heap of broken glass and bent metal. "Fantastic," she muttered bitterly, her voice echoing in the empty room. "Stranded and accessorized with junk."

She forced herself to her feet and scanned the room. It looked the same, with polished floors and dark wood paneling, but something was different. The dining table that had been shoved aside during her earlier capture now sat perfectly in place. A thin layer of dust coated its surface, the kind of dust that only settled when no one had touched anything for a long time.

Her stomach twisted painfully. She stepped cautiously toward the doorway, her wand clutched tightly in her trembling hand.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione crept into the hallway. The corridor stretched out before her, long and dim, with flickering sconces casting eerie shadows on the walls. Each step she took echoed loudly, her shoes clicking against the floor.

The house felt wrong, though she couldn’t quite explain how. It had been full of noise and life, albeit malicious just moments ago. Now, the silence felt oppressive. Hermione’s pulse quickened, but she forced herself to keep moving, her grip on her wand so tight her fingers were starting to question if they were even meant to be attached to her hand anymore.

When she reached the main hall, the sight that greeted her sent a chill down her spine. It was empty. There were no snatchers, Malfoys, or faint echo of Bellatrix's laughter. The chandelier hung high above, glittering faintly in the weak light from the windows, but the rest of the room was deserted.

Hermione swallowed hard, her mind racing. This wasn’t now. She didn’t know when this was, but it wasn’t her timeline. The time-turner had ripped her out of her moment and dumped her somewhere else entirely. The thought alone was almost enough to send her spiraling into panic, but before she could, a noise broke through the silence.

It was a faint, soft creak coming from above. Hermione froze, her wand snapping upward as her heart pounded in her chest. She strained to hear, every nerve on edge, but the sound had already faded.

"Brilliant," she whispered under her breath. "As if this wasn’t terrifying enough already."

Whatever, or whoever was upstairs, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. But if there was one thing Hermione Granger couldn’t do, it was leave a mystery unsolved. Clutching her wand tighter, she forced herself forward. Every step was an act of defiance against the icy fear clawing at her insides. Wherever or whenever she was, she wasn’t alone.