Hysteria (noun): exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion or excitement, especially among a group of people.

Hysteria. I'd learned that word long ago, when I first picked up the Oxford English Dictionary in my father's study at the age of seven.

I'd long become acquainted with instances of the word when I first heard Voldemort's name whispered fearfully amongst witches and wizards, and the reactions hit spot on with hysteria.

I even got used to seeing hysteria in action after the Battle, when the joy and excitement had worn off and everyone was left with sorrow and panic at all they had lost.

It was a word I never thought I'd have to use to describe daily life in the Wizarding World ever again, but as Harry, Ron, and I looked at the front page of the Daily Prophet, my heart sank as the word resurfaced yet again in my life.

Mass Hysteria: Azkaban Prisoners Missing After Storm

Harry was the first one to speak, and his voice trembled as he did so.

"Missing? How can you lose prisoners after a fucking storm?" Harry said, clenching his fists as he shook.

I held his arm, hoping he wouldn't fly into another spell again, as Ron picked up the paper and began to read.

"'Azkaban and Ministry officials held a conference today to speak about three prisoners that managed to escape during a hurricane that rocked the prisons walls.

'Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a statement, saying that the three prisoners are as follows: Adrian Pucey, Vincent Crabbe, and Lucius Malfoy, whose son Draco Malfoy and wife Narcissa have been cleared of any wrongdoing before the Wizengamot.

'The public is advised to take precaution and report to the nearest official if these men are spotted, as they are highly dangerous and possibly armed.'"

My heart sank further into my chest as I realized that this was no ordinary storm that had hit the wizarding prison. No ordinary hurricane could destroy the walls of three certain prisoners cells, and release them back into society.

Harry and Ron must have realized the same thing, because we all looked at each other in unison.

We had all come to the realization that our momentary peace after the war was about to be upended, and we would be drawn in yet again to fight the dark.

8888

I knocked on the door to George's flat, hoping that today I wouldn't encounter anymore explosions, or loud noises for that matter.

To my bewilderment, it was not George who had answered the door, but my fellow former classmate, Angelina Johnson.

"Oh, hello Hermione! I haven't seen you in ages!" Angelina said, inviting me in and hugging me after she had closed the door.

"It's been a while," I replied, reluctantly hugging her back. It's not that I wasn't pleased to see her, I just couldn't bear any unnecessary physical contact.

Angelina just smiled, motioning me towards the kitchen. "Come on. He's just through here."

I followed her, puzzled. What was Angelina doing in George's flat?

"Would you like a cuppa? I was just about to make some for me and George," Angelina said, pouring the kettle into two mugs.

"Erm, sure," I said, sitting down at the table.

Just then, George emerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but his boxers and a toothbrush in his mouth.

He didn't seem to notice my presence at the table, because he immediately walked over to Angelina and gave her a toothpastey kiss, and murmured a muffled, "Morning, luv."

I cleared my throat just as he was about to slink his hands somewhere highly inappropriate, and he jolted, smiling awkwardly as his eyes rested on me.

"Oh hey, Mione. I didn't think I was going to be expecting you this morning!"

I snorted, looking pointedly towards his boxers. "Apparently so."

He blushed a deep red, mumbling bollocks as he sped back into the bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in a green jumper and baggy blue jeans.

"What brings you here today, my sweet little sister?" George said, taking the mug Angelina had offered him and sitting next to me at the table.

"Erm. Well…" I cleared my throat and looked toward Angelina, who just smiled in understanding.

"I'll leave you two to talk," she said, and took her mug and a copy of the Prophet to the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I looked to George, smirking. "Before I even address what I came here to talk about, do you I mind telling me what's going on with you and Angelina?"

George pretended not to hear me; instead, he scratched his nonexistent ear and hummed softly to himself as he checked off a list of what I presumed to be inventory.

I pressed further. "Georgie? Hellooo?"

His face twitched, and he sighed, setting his pen down.

"If you must inquire… Angelina and I are kind of seeing each other, so it would seem." George said, picking up the pen again and going back to checking things off.

Satisfied, I dropped the topic, and ventured into my own reasons for being at the flat.

"So, I don't know if you've been reading the papers, but Lucius Malfoy has escaped Azkaban."

George flinched, but kept checking things off. "I'm well aware."

"Well, I need your help with something, something really incredibly stupid and dangerous." I took a deep breath as George picked up his mug.

"I need you to help me break into Azkaban."

George promptly spit out the gulp of tea he had taken and sputtered as he looked at me.

"Help you what?! Mione, that's insane! What insane purpose do you need to break into Azkaban?" He withdrew his wand from his pockets to clean up the mess he made, and stood up to take his mug to the sink.

I stood up and followed him, hands on my hips. "I can't get in otherwise, George. War hero or not, how would it look to the public if I were to march up to Azkaban and demand entrance? Everyone in the wizarding world would completely go nuts!"

George laughed darkly, running his mug under the tap. "I think we all already are, thanks much. And you even more so for cooking up this half cocked, not to mention inarguably batshit idea!"

I scoffed, crossing my arms. "When have I ever gone wrong, George? Something tells me that this storm wasn't ordinary, and I know you're thinking the same thing!"

"Of course I do, but that doesn't give me license to plot to break into the most dangerous building in the entire country! What would the Order think? They'd never approve! Besides," Fred turned, leaning his back against the counter, "what do I have to offer you to help in this attempt?"

I smiled, looking towards the back room. "You have explosions each and everyday, George. Something tells me you have enough to offer me as a distraction for my way in."

George laughed. "You managed to break into Gringotts in the middle of a war using only the hair of a crazy witch and a batch of Polyjuice Potion. Why not use the same technique, instead use a bit of a Ministry official?"

I groaned. "Because, George, the only Ministry official that has definite clearance to enter Azkaban just so happens to not have hair, or have you forgotten?"

George laughed even harder. "Okay, you've got me there. But why me? Why my products?"

"Because…" I said, walking towards his back room, "...yours aren't registered with the ministry just yet, and they aren't considered weaponry because they haven't been used as such, so they're definitely not on the Azkaban watch list."

George followed after me, and I picked up a small, bomb looking thing with a very long fuse at the top.

"What is this?" I asked, and George snatched it from me.

"Something highly dangerous, even for you and me. I haven't perfected it yet, but I call it a Time Bomb." He set it down as his words sunk in and I gasped.

"You… but I thought that kind of magic was only accessible using a Time Turner?"

"It just so happens, my dear Hermione, that I've managed to create a bit of magic similar to that of a Time Tuner." He stood up, grabbing a stack of papers layered one over the other and handed them to me. "But instead of going back in time, you stop it momentarily, but not for long. You see," he pointed at the fuse, which I noticed was marked with little black lines, each ten centimeters apart, "you light the fuse, and it slow burns in accordance to the time limit. After the time limit is up, depending on whether you hurry the process along or let it burn, the bomb explodes, and everything around you in a 100 mile radius returns to the normal timeline."

"How long is the time limit?" I asked and George grimaced.

"The time limit is an hour and twenty minutes, and not a second longer. Any time after that might warp your own reality to that of a still life painting."

I smiled, glad that George had picked up on muggle art terminology. "Have you tested it?"

George tsked. "I've only gone thirty minutes before. It was too risky the first time, because I could've gotten stuck within the hour and never came back, but that was only the first prototype. This is the second, and it's never been tested before."

I smiled, and looked at the tiny bomb in George's hands. "Fred would've loved this, messing with time."

George nodded, and I smiled sadly, picking at my fingernails. Thinking about Fred had gotten a tiny less harder, but it still made me sad.

"So, George, knowing the risks, I'm still willing to take it."

His face stiffened, and he shook his head. "Absolutely not. I won't let you risk it."

I arched an eyebrow. "George, it's for the greater good and you know it. The Ministry doesn't know what they're doing, and as fond as I am of Kingsley, in this instance I don't trust his judgement." I held out my hand, waiting. "So please, just trust me that I know what I'm doing."

George looked conflicted for a minute before reluctantly handing over the Time Bomb, grimacing as I put it in my pocket.

"If you die or get stuck in time, Hermione, I'll find you and kick your ass myself." George said, giving me a hug.

"I know George. I'll be careful, I promise." I murmured, rubbing his back. "I'll always come back to you and you know it."

George nodded, giving me a kiss on the cheek, and let me go. "I guess I should let you get to it. See you whenever, Hermione." And with that, he walked out of the room and closed the door.

I pulled the Time Bomb out of my pocket and examined it, fascinated with the magic George had put into it.

It made me wonder what the purpose of creating it had been, and my heart sank as I thought of Fred, and I came to the answer all on my own.

Maybe George had been developing this magic to go back in time and stop Fred from dying, to prevent my heartbreak and his from losing the most important person in our lives.

With this thought in my head, I Apparated back to the Burrow, to talk to Harry about my plan, and to hopefully put a stop to whatever dark forces would seek to tear my world apart again.