Disclaimer: As you all know very well, everything belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling! It's a little bit short and vague but I promise it'll get better!
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As Hermione Granger turned the little brass hour glass for the last time, and in the millisecond it took before her world dissolved around her, she heard the distant echo of Harry's voice. It was definitely Harry's voice, but the words he spoke were Dumbledore's. Harry had repeated them to Hermione and Ron once.
"In fact, being- forgive me -rather cleverer than most men, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly huger."
Hermione knew what it was to be cleverer than most people, and had remembered this quotation purely for that fact. But never had she thought she would come to fully appreciate it. The instant Hermione opened her eyes and found herself on the same windswept hillside she had just left, she knew it was a mistake. And mistakes didn't come huger than this.
In a moment of madness, sheer madness, she knew she had risked everything. Well, Hermione reasoned, not a moment of madness exactly but several days. She had not planned in any detail at all, and now she was here it all seemed so stupid, so risky, so foolhardy. Hermione sat down and heaved a heavy sigh. The wind was not harsh but pleasant, streaming her long hair out behind her. It was the perfect view; the quaint village of Hogsmeade just below, the lake beyond that and on the opposite hill a small way off, the magnificent castle that she loved so dearly. Hermione looked about her – she was not far from the cave in which Sirius had once taken refuge. It seemed an age to her since they had smuggled him food from the school, but it was only three years ago.
With a jolt, Hermione remembered that actually, Sirius had not set foot in the cave yet. Sirius had not even been born. And he had certainly not died. Neither had Dumbledore.
It was during this summer before her seventh year that Hermione had first decided on her course of action. She had barely communicated with Harry and Ron over the break, due to the risk of their letters being intercepted, but she knew that they were planning on looking for Horxcruxes after Bill and Fleur's wedding. And she had been all set to go with them. But sending her own parents to Australia, wiping their memories so they would never remember who she was, had brought home the enormity of the situation. Suddenly the quest for Horcruxes seemed unthinkable and completely laughable. How could they go looking for something when they didn't know what it would involve? Harry didn't know what the Horcruxes might look like or where they might be. What if they proved impossible to destroy? It had seemed to Hermione that there was too much risk there, too many things that could go wrong. And the words of the prophecy kept coming back to her – "neither can live while the other survives". What if they didn't destroy all the Horcruxes in time, and it was Harry who died at Voldemort's hand? Hermione couldn't bear this thought, but she knew it had to be faced up to. She knew she would never forgive herself if she allowed all three of them to go off chasing Horcruxes when there might be another way. A better way.
But was it a better way, Hermione thought gloomily, as she stared at the distant twinkling windows of Hogwarts castle. It was beginning to get dark and the little squares of light were friendly and inviting in the dusk. It was all so familiar that it was hard to believe she had gone back in time. More than fifty years back, to 1943. The realisation of what she had done began to set in, and Hermione couldn't help but panic. She had completely ignored all the warnings Professor McGonagall had given her back in her third year, when she had first used her time turner. The Horcruxes plan had been risky enough, but this? This was much worse! Hermione had studied in great detail what had happened to people who messed with time, and now here she was, recklessly following in their footsteps. Wandering the path of time that so many wizards had slipped up on.
She had lied to Harry and Ron at the end of their third year, when she told them she had given back the time turner. She had meant to, had even gone to Professor McGonagall's office to hand it in. But as she had stood outside the door, Hermione couldn't shrug off the feeling that she ought to keep it, that it might come in useful some day. Professor McGonagall had never asked for it back, and so Hermione had kept it. She ran a finger absent-mindedly over its chain, hanging around her neck. The neck she had so rashly put on the line when she had Apparated to Hogsmeade that evening.
"Why am I so stupid?!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, burying her head in her hands. She had sent a note each to Harry and Ron, explaining what she had done. It was bad timing, Hermione knew that, she was supposed to be helping rescue Harry from Privet Drive next week. But it had been now or never. And they would find a replacement. After all, there was nothing they could do now that she had gone back in time. There were no more time turners in existence after their escapade at the Ministry two years ago, so nobody could follow her. Hermione didn't know whether she was glad of that fact or not. It would be comforting to know that she was not alone. But she was alone. She was very alone and she had made sure of that. It didn't comfort her at all to know that she could return at any time, because how could she go back without at least trying to do what she had come for?
But what had she come for? All she'd got was the vague notion she had thought about constantly for the past few weeks. Meeting Tom Riddle. That was certainly achievable, but what then? Hermione had thought up many possibilities that included persuading him over to the light side, somehow convincing him not to commit the atrocities that he would go on to do. She had just had a feeling that, somehow, meeting him would change everything. But just how was she, a naïve, seventeen-year-old school girl, going to succeed where so many other wiser wizards had failed? A mission even Albus Dumbledore had not been able to carry out. But Voldemort was the reason he was dead. The reason Sirius was dead, and Cedric, and Harry's parents, and all those people who had so needlessly died. And how many more of them would go the same way if she didn't at least try?
Fighting back the tears that burned at her eyelids, Hermione stood up shakily. It was no good sitting here on this rapidly darkening hillside, feeling sorry for herself. She had come for a reason, albeit a very vague one. And with all the Gryffindor bravery she knew she possessed, she was determined at least to try to succeed.