Hermione jerked awake. There was no rising panic that subtly gnawed her to consciousness this time. One moment she was asleep, and the next she wasn't. The previous day's confusion was gone. She knew exactly where she was, and what had happened.
Despite the truth of the events at the ministry, and the fantasy she allowed herself to have so she could rest, both warred in her mind. How easy it would be to pretend, to mentally block the truth until she was forced to confront it. Maybe it would keep her upright for a little longer, get her through the summer without falling apart. She could pretend she wasn't needed at Grimmauld, that she hadn't been invited back for the summer, that he was still there filling her shelves in the library he had made for her so that when she came back they would have new things to read.
The pounding in her ears and pressure behind her nose was the only warning she had before the tears brimmed over her eyes.
He was gone.
Even if she denied it, and made believe it wasn't true, she knew he was gone. The absence of him in the world felt like a great gaping void. Like someone had punched a hole in the universe and the vacuum it created tore away some essential part of her she didn't even know was there, and left her bleeding out. Pretending the wound wasn't there could only help for so long before it became critical and festered inside of her.
The sick part of her wanted it to fester. If grief was all that was left of him she didn't want to heal.
She was alone for the moment. If anyone was beyond the curtains surrounding her cot, they left her be as she cried. She finally stopped when she remembered the warm metal object enclosed in her fist. She opened her palm to the Time-Turner in her hand. The ridged edges that had bit into her skin as she gripped it through the night peeled away, leaving behind curved imprints behind that stung as blood returned to the skin.
It was a beautiful device. The space between the runes were filigreed, and when the light caught it just right the lines stood out in gold. Whoever made it, took pride in its artistry as well as its function.
It was with little thought and more instinct that Hermione slid out of the bed and slipped the chain over her head and turned the dials, setting the instrument as far back as it allowed.
The once familiar sensation of falling apart took over. It was like she was a sandcastle overtaken by the tide. Every wave broke her down into grains of sand, scattering her away into the ocean of time where she floated unaware, spread out, for the eternity that spanned between a moment and a second. Then, as though scooped up by an invisible hand, all of the granular particles of her were pressed together again and reformed.
She took a deep breath, as though to reacquaint herself with her own lungs, before she observed her surroundings. It was clearly not far back enough as the first thing she noted were familiar hushed voices.
"He wouldn't want you blaming yourself, Harry." The comforting tone Lupin used was spoiled by the teary rasp that crackled through it.
She forced herself to stop listening, unable to handle hearing the pain in her former teacher's voice and equally unwilling to confront her best friend's grief just yet. The guilt of that plagued her; the intentional blinders she had given herself to Harry's loss in the face of her own, to protect herself from the damage of seeing her friend hurt. She reassured herself that it was unnecessary for her to witness their grief, she was going to fix this so they didn't have to feel this way in the first place. It'll be a scar she alone would have to bear.
Her fingers fumbled with the Time Turner as she attempted to twist the dials again. But, they were stuck in place. Panic glutted through her. It filled her stomach and oozed up her throat in an attempt to drown her from the inside out.
She fell to her knees, trying to work the dials loose, ripping a nail as she tried dislodging it by sticking the edge under the seams to try and pry it loose, like it was an old pocket watch that needed resetting. Her frantic attempts were futile and her thoughts raced in an effort to come up with a solution.
If she couldn't fix the jam in the dials with her bare hands, then she needed tools. With a swipe of her arm, Hermione cleared the tears off of her face and stood. She paid no heed to the pain in her knees from kneeling on the marble as she peaked around the curtains. The Hospital Wing door was ajar and Harry and Lupin were behind another privacy curtain giving her the cover she needed to make a forefooted dash to the egress.
Outside the infirmary, she slipped into a shadowy alcove and glanced out at the morning lit grounds. Enough students were milling about, enjoying the freedom that followed the end of exams, that she needed to keep a vigilant eye out so as not to be spotted. Slowly, carefully, she padded on bare feet up to the Room of Requirement.
Relieved to have made it without being spotted, Hermione heaved a sigh and closed her eyes. She thought hard on what she needed, pacing back and forth three times. When she opened her eyes she was face to face with the door that had been the entryway to their secret Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but now served her in a different way.
Upon opening the door, Hermione couldn't help the hopeful smile that lit her face and lightened her heart, the dark panic that writhed under her skin settling a little. Inside the Room of Requirement, was a workshop. A small, neatly organized watchmaker shop with tools that ranged from magical to muggle, and complete with a shelf of beginner to advanced level requisite reading material.
Hermione didn't let herself dwell too long on the relief the room provided. She had work to do.
She'd fix this. She'd fix everything.
Edited with the help of StarryAppa on AO3