Hermione Granger was two years into her career at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement when the body of Nicholas Flamel was found in a cave, somewhere off the coast of Scotland.
Yes, the Nicholas Flamel, the immortal Nicholas Flamel, who was supposed to have died nearly ten years previously. As if this occurrence weren't odd enough, there were two things that clearly were not true to the story of Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, making arrangements for their deaths after deciding that they both had lived long enough (six hundred and fifty-plus years). One of these things was: that Flamel's aged corpse – not aged by magic, but rather by time – was nearly two hundred years old. The second factor, which was just as suspicious as the first, was that Flamel was obviously murdered.
These were the facts: Of all the witches and wizards in the world, it was Luna Lovegood and her fiancé, Rolf Scamander, who stumbled upon the cave when globetrotting the earth, looking to find undiscovered magical creatures. Right away, they sensed something strange had happened in a cave nearby. Rolf, being the more cautious of the two, restrained Luna from going ahead and investigating the weird vibes, and instead called the best Auror he knew: Harry Potter. Harry Potter Apparated to the scene immediately, with his friend, Ron Weasley, in tow. The two marched into the cave – with Ron quickly running out with a frightened expression on his face – and soon, flocks of employees of the Ministry of Magic were at the scene, crawling into the narrowest places and inspecting the tiniest cracks.
Hermione was called in by Harry and Ron, and after a brief greeting to Luna and Rolf (who Harry and Ron hadn't managed to keep from exploring the cave after all), and the unidentified body was removed to be examined at the Ministry.
Five and a half hours later, the wizard's autopsy came in: the body was that of Nicholas Flamel, aged approximately four hundred and fifty years, was found with a single mark seared into his skull. Using various spells to decode how the wizard had died, it was found that he had been murdered with a curse much like the severing charm.
Flash forward to the present: Hermione sat in her office, tongue in cheek, as she stared at the parchment which held the details of Flamel's autopsy. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry, Ron, and Neville Longbottom all stood against the walls, looking perplexed.
"I don't understand," Hermione murmured, chewing her nails as she reread the document for the eightieth time. "All the records state that Flamel died in 1992, with his wife, after planning his death. Even Dumbledore confirmed it," she said, worrying her lip between her teeth. Ron and Harry made small noises of agreement, and Hermione angrily plopped the parchment down on her desk.
Sitting back in her chair, she turned to look at Neville and Kingsley, a line having formed between her eyebrows. Neville shrugged wordlessly, and Kingsley's somber face looked at a loss for what to do.
"Magic can only tell us so much," Hermione told him. "The Aurors who made the autopsy report tried priori incantatem, fin incantatem, specialis revelio…"
"But whoever murdered Flamel really blocked others from finding out what happened to him." Shacklebolt's voice was deep and unsettling, and it caused Hermione to fret even more. He stared at her for a moment, seeming to be mulling over a decision, and then spoke. "Granger, you're our brightest. I'll leave this case to you."
Hermione's jaw fell slack, but the Minister was out of her office before she could utter a word. Looking helplessly at the remaining men in the room, she realized that they were more clueless than she was.
Sighing heavily, she shooed them away, and picked up the parchment once again.
Hours upon hours later, Hermione lay in bed, unable to sleep due to the stress of being unable to solve the mystery quickly and easily. Tossing and turning fitfully, she struggled to find a comfortable position. Having memorized the entire document by now after reading it over so many times, she muttered the text, word for word, under her breath. She could almost feel bags forming under her eyes.
Reaching up a hand to smooth the crease that she knew was indented on her forehead, Hermione groaned loudly and kicked away the sheets. Turning over to open the drawer of her bedside table, she pulled out the two-way mirror that she had received from Ginny at Christmas.
Ginny soon picked up the other end, and after a bit of squealing, Hermione relayed the past week to Ginny as best she could, ending with the discovery of the corpse of Nicholas Flamel. Ginny's reaction was mild, as she'd already seen the news, and she managed to squeeze a few unreleased details out of Hermione, even though Hermione was technically not supposed to share.
Ginny had recently taken the position of a Chaser on an all-female Quidditch Team called the Holyhead Harpies, and Hermione could hear a few of Ginny's teammates in the background. "Are you having fun?" Hermione asked lightly, even though she already knew that Ginny was having a little too much fun.
"Yes!" Ginny said happily, giggling at whatever the girls in the background were doing. "But I miss you, Harry, and Ron. And the twins—"
She broke off suddenly, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.
"I-I'm sorry, it's been two years and I'm still not used to…" Ginny stammered.
"No, don't apologize," Hermione cut in. "Time doesn't heal wounds."
Ginny sighed on the other end. "Mum's been crying again," she murmured. "She calls me late at night and just…cries. There's so much pain, like there's a huge gap in the family – because there is – and it…it's awful."
"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said. "I'm so sorry. Do you want me to come—?"
Ginny shook her head, putting on her trademark brave face. "Nah, Hermione. I love you, but I think you've got a bigger problem than me getting weepy on your hands."
"Ugh, don't bring it up," Hermione said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'd almost forgotten about it for a moment."
The redhead chuckled. "Well, I hope you find a crack tomorrow. I'm sure Ron and Harry would love to help."
Hermione rolled her eyes, snorting. "Yeah, right. They nearly bolted as soon as I talked to them about it. I can probably still pick their brains…ugh. I'm muttering again. Listen, go to bed, I know you have a game tomorrow. I'll watch! I always do."
Ginny smiled brightly. "You'd better watch, because we'll win. Goodnight, 'Mione."
"Goodnight, Ginny." Hermione waited for the youngest Weasley's face to swirl into her own reflection before sighing and setting the mirror back in the drawer.
Grabbing her sheets and covering herself again, she let her head hit her pillow. She was still frowning as she finally drifted into sleep.
Her legs and fingers began to twitch as dreams rolled into her mind. Hermione didn't have quite as many divinatory dreams as Harry did, but this one, even to her subconscious, felt odd in particular.
She walked down a dark, narrow hall. It was too obscure to even see the walls, but yet she knew where she was going. Something that felt like a cat brushed against her right leg, but when she looked down, all she saw was a pair of glasses. Trailing her fingers along what felt like limestone, Hermione seemed to walk for hours in circles and circles, but she wasn't sure if it was a hamster wheel or a downward spiral that she was walking along.
She found her answer when she reached a door. It was a simple door, brown with an ordinary size. It reminded her of her bedroom back at her parents', and so she opened it.
Behind the door, there was a room filled with people – immediately she recognized them as her colleagues. Remaining quiet, she followed along the path with her gut directing her, and slowly, the noise of the crowd died out.
"Hmm," she said, annoyed. "Harry could tell me a thing or two about this. I've never been gifted with divinatory dreams. If only Trelawney could see me now…"
And, just like that, she was in the Department of Mysteries. There was something important that she had to find, but when she thought she remembered where it was, all she found was a Remembrall. Frustrated, she began throwing them down on the ground so that they would shatter, and after eight tosses or so, the Department began filling with a red-tinted smoke.
Coughing, Hermione cursed the Remembralls and waved a hand in front of her face, trying to clear the smoke away so she could see. She turned one way, and…
…came face-to-face with Sybil Trelawney.
Gasping and jumping back, Hermione's eyes widened in horror as those of the Professor nearly bugged out of the aging witch's head. She was murmuring something, but it wasn't a prophecy. Frowning, Hermione stopped backing away and listened intently.
"I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, Are gauged by what you have to do," Professor Trelawney said plainly, her robes beginning to fade back into smoke. "Don't you know that Divination is an art?"
"Ugh!" Hermione said, raising a hand to wave the apparition of her least favorite professor away. "That's such a load of nonsense."
That was the inscription on my Time-Turner, Hermione thought. That irritating, stupid thing!
And then she woke up.
Sitting straight up in bed, Hermione felt that the sheets were now soaked with sweat. "I mark the hours, every one, Nor have I yet outrun the Sun. My use and value, unto you, Are gauged by what you have to do." She repeated the words to herself a few more times, closing her eyes.
"But what does it mean?" she growled, frustrated. Throwing off her sheets for the second time, the witch jumped out of bed and stomped aimlessly around her room. "All the Time-Turners were destroyed years ago! If the Ministry replaced them – or even could replace them – I would know!"
Pushing her hair out of her face so that it didn't stick to her damp forehead, Hermione grumbled. "Other facts about the Time-Turner…" she raised her hands to count on her fingers. "One, I had one for Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Two, McGonagall had to get permission from the Ministry to—"
McGonagall.
Hermione clapped a hand to her head in relief. "That has to be it! I'm supposed to see McGonagall…but for what…"