I OWN NOTHING! JK ROWLING OWNS IT ALL!
"We found it in the woods…"
Pain tore through Hermione's body. Unhuman shrieks echoed off the walls of the drawing room.
"Filthy little Mudblood, don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying." Hermione tried to shake her head, but found she lacked the strength to do more than let it loll to the side as Bellatrix leered over her.
"Liar!"
Her bones were snapping like match sticks. Each break lit a new fire throughout her body. Dark, phantom like fingers reached out to her along the edges of her vision. She could just barely make out a pale figure standing a few feet away from her.
"Please – " Another wave of pain smothered her delirious plea. Hermione choked and writhed on the floor as the mad witch above her cackled with deranged pleasure.
"Please what? Cat got your tongue, Granger?"
"Granger?"
"Granger?"
"…Granger?"
With a start, Hermione jerked away from the voice calling for her. She barely managed to catch herself before toppling off the examination table. Struggling to get a grip on where she was, Hermione greedily gasped for air and self consciously rubbed at the scar on her left arm that was hidden by the sleeve of her sweater.
White walls surrounded her on all sides. White paper crinkled beneath her as she squirmed on the exam table. A middle aged wizard wearing white robes – healer's robes, she told herself – peered at her with something between fascination and pity over his clipboard.
"Miss Granger, are you alright?" The healer glanced towards the door. "Would you like a calming draught?"
Stubbornly, Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm fine."
"Right. Well…" The healer trailed off uncomfortably. "Please excuse me for a moment."
Hermione gaped as the healer scurried out of the room without an explanation. She was close to furious. St. Mungo's was wasting her time. She knew it was pointless to come here. Just because Harry had confided in her that finding a wizarding psychiatrist at St. Mungo's seemed to do the trick for his episodes didn't mean it would do anything for her. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, Hermione wasn't convinced that what she was experiencing were normal flashbacks. She had thought it was just Post-Traumatic Stress like everyone else seemed to be coping with.
But then the bruises started showing up.
"Miss Granger, I do apologize about the wait."
Hermione's head snapped to the doorway where a new, much older man stood. Instead of wearing the white robes of a healer, Hermione noted that his robes were a slate gray color reserved for St. Mungo's curse breakers.
A curse breaker? Hermione frowned.
"What's going on? Why have they sent a curse breaker to deal with me?"
The old man stroked his white beard thoughtfully.
"They felt I was best suited to deliver your diagnoses, Miss Granger."
Hermione was losing her patience. "So? What? Am I cursed?"
"In a sense…"
"For Merlin's sake, would you just spit it out already? I was under the impression that I'd come to a hospital, not a bloody opera house."
Instead of answering her, the old wizard gave Hermione an appraising look.
"Miss Granger, have you ever tampered with time?"
"I beg your pardon?" Her temper was beginning to rise. The scar on her arm was burning brightly and it was taking everything in her not to shout. She would have stormed right out of there had she not felt so overwhelmed with fear about why no one was coming right out with a diagnosis and a treatment plan.
"Have you ever tampered with time?" The curse breaker repeated. "Ever attempted to change the past? Maybe one "second chance" spell too many? Perhaps used a time turner?"
"Yes."
Hermione's stomach was full of dread.
"In my third year at Hogwarts. I was permitted use of a time turner to take more classes."
He nodded, as if already having known her answer. "May I assume that this means you used the time turner for an extended period? More than once a week?"
"I used it every day for almost a year." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. Her hands were shaking.
"Yes, that would do it."
The curse breaker looked to the clipboard in his hand, which she assumed had the healer's notes from earlier on it.
"Do what?"
Without looking up from the clipboard, the curse breaker spoke.
"Miss Granger, I do believe you have brought a perfect storm of sorts upon yourself. The physical and mental trauma you sustained during the war, combined with dangerously prolonged exposure to the temperamental magic of a time turner, has resulted in a magically perverted version of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It seems that when you experience a trigger, you are not just mentally reliving those traumatizing moments from the war but also physically."
She was going to be sick.
"So I'm literally reliving those moments over and over again?"
He nodded. "Similar to when you used your time turner, a part of you is being transported back to those specific moments during the war. Although your body physically stays here in the present, your magically tainted source of consciousness returns to those moments. When the episodes are over, your consciousness returns to your being, bringing the results with it. This explains the bruising and similar injuries you reported appearing after your episodes."
All Hermione could do was stare at the curse breaker. He continued.
"This sort of thing is why time turners are all but banned from use nowadays. It's very nasty business, messing with time."
"Yes, I got the warning speech when I was given my time turner thank you very much," Hermione spat, sounding anything but grateful. "So, what do we do now?"
The curse breaker glanced up at her from the clipboard.
"Pardon?"
"What do we do now? This is a curse, right?"
He nodded.
"Okay. You're the curse breaker. How do we break it?"
"Oh, Miss Granger," the man shook his head, "there is nothing I can do for you, I'm afraid."
If she wasn't furious before, she was now. What sort of game was this damn hospital playing? She was sick and came seeking treatment, not a game of ring-around-the-fucking-rosy.
"Then get me someone who can do something for me."
"No, Miss Granger, you don't understand. There is nothing to be done."
"What?"
"I'm sorry, truly I am, but you know what they say," the curse breaker shrugged.
"Terrible things happen to people who meddle with time."