Hermione's suspicions proved correct — she lay in bed staring blankly up at the underside of the wooden tester, continuously turning over the past hour in her mind. The experience remained disorienting, but as she sunk into the familiar warmth of her four-poster, she began to methodically break down what she could remember. Facts and logic were tangible in their own way, and solid reasoning was an exercise Hermione was used to performing.
The day had been perfectly normal up until their Astronomy class. Even the class had been relatively normal until she'd separated from the boys afterwards to return her supplies, and as Harry and Ron hadn't mentioned anything unusual happening to them, Hermione felt safe to assume she was the only one to have experienced the strangeness. Whatever had caused the peculiar sensation seemed likely to be connected to the scene she'd then witnessed between Malfoy and Dumbledore. And logically, the broken time-turner was at the heart of it all.
Unfortunately, that was where things got hazy; Hermione couldn't actually recall her time-turner breaking and falling to the ground. Had she simply not noticed, and the fall itself had caused the whole experience? Or was it the other way around, and the initial incident had caused it to break? Either way, she'd travelled to the past on countless occasions over the last year, and she'd never experienced anything close to tonight. Presumably, the time-turner was not meant to work forwards. It shouldn't be possible, but Hermione knew what she'd seen. She spared a brief moment to wonder why coming back to the present hadn't been nearly so uncomfortable.
Hermione next considered what she had observed about Malfoy and Dumbledore. She'd seen Malfoy focused, sneering, smirking, and gloating — even shocked, thanks to a well-deserved smack — but never terrified. Not since detention in the forest with Hagrid first year, anyway, and that hardly compared with the pure, gut-wrenching terror she'd observed on his features tonight. Though she knew Malfoy looked older, it made it hard to place his age exactly.
She pictured Malfoy's face as he stared down Dumbledore. He had grown into his pointy features (she might have even called him handsome, had she not known him personally). His hair had been shorter and more casually-styled, and he had worn an expensive-looking, almost Muggle-worthy black suit for the occasion. Who knew that Pureblood finery so closely aligned with Muggle fashion? The Pureblood elite would certainly be distraught at the revelation. Hermione nearly rolled her eyes at her own frivolity and returned to the task. If she had to make a guess, she would place Tower-Malfoy's age at sixteen or seventeen.
Dumbledore, too, had looked older, but only because he appeared so frail compared to the Dumbledore she saw only days ago in the present. Was he sick? That shrivelled hand looked like serious business. Madam Pomfrey should have been able to heal it, or maybe the Healers at the wizarding hospital in London that Hermione had read about. And why was Dumbledore up on that tower in the first place? She shelved that line of thinking for later — there were already too many unanswered questions.
Hermione rolled to her side and tucked an arm under her pillow. She closed her eyes and replayed the conversation between Malfoy and Dumbledore in her mind.
Someday, Malfoy would be set a task to kill Dumbledore. Ridiculous, she scoffed to herself, that someone would expect a teenage boy to murder one of the greatest wizards in known history. Malfoy had clearly been reluctant to succeed, yet terrified to fail. He told Dumbledore that he and his family would be killed if he didn't do it. He had helped Death Eaters into the school, probably on the same orders.
"He'll kill me! He'll kill my whole family!" had been Malfoy's exact words.
The pure anguish in his voice still rang in her ears, the naked despair in his silver eyes still burned behind her own eyelids.
He. He would kill Malfoy and his family. He, who wanted Death Eaters let into the school and Dumbledore dead. It all pointed to one thing, even if Hermione was reluctant to admit the truth to herself: Voldemort would return, and sooner than anyone thought.
She managed to drift off eventually, but slept fitfully, drifting in and out of consciousness between nightmares of a faceless evil and haunting images of Malfoy's terrified face. When she finally woke, it was to sunshine streaming through the tower windows and an empty dormitory.
Hermione dressed slowly, pausing to feed Crookshanks, and slipped her wand into her pocket. Most of her trunk was already packed, but she dug through until she found a clean stocking with which to fish the time-turner out of her bag. After casting a begrudging Reparo on the necklace chain, tensed at the prospect of a repeat experience of last night, she stuffed the whole bundle inside her other pocket and breathed a small sigh of relief that nothing else had happened.
By the time she made it down the dormitory stairs, the boys were waiting for her for a change. Halfway to the Great Hall, Hermione sent Ron and Harry ahead of her to breakfast so that she could make a quick detour by Professor McGonagall's office.
"Ah, Miss Granger, come in," Professor McGonagall said as Hermione knocked briefly and stuck her head around the door. The tartan-clad professor was shuffling a stack of papers together on her desk and had a pair of readers perched on her nose.
"Good morning Professor McGonagall," Hermione said. "I just wanted to—"
"Yes," Professor McGonagall cut her off with a smile. "I am heading down to the Great Hall in a moment to hand out exam results, but I can assure you that you've passed every subject. Why, I believe you even passed your Muggle Studies exam with three hundred and twenty percent! Quite extraordinary, dear, I must say. The other staff members and I are all very proud of your hard work this year."
"Oh, yes, thank you," Hermione said, blushing at the rare compliment. "Actually, Professor, I wanted to discuss my schedule for next year."
Professor McGonagall paused straightening the exam results and motioned for Hermione to continue.
"I've given it a lot of thought over the past few months, and since I have already withdrawn from Divination, I've decided to give up Muggle Studies as well. Without those, I'll be able to have a normal schedule again."
She removed the time-turner from the stocking in her pocket and carefully laid it on McGonagall's desk.
"To be honest, I don't think I could manage this year's course load again," she continued, "but I am very appreciative of your support for my schedule this year." (Professor McGonagall was the reason Hermione had use of a timer-turner in the first place.) "After spending sufficient time in each subject, the decision to narrow my studies feels well-informed."
Professor McGonagall nodded seriously at Hermione's explanation. "Of course, Miss Granger," she replied. "You know you have my full support in whatever you choose to study."
"Thank you, Professor." Hermione smiled, turning to leave, then paused. She didn't want to divulge all of the details, but she could still give a warning.
"Professor… I should mention that the time-turner is possibly beginning to malfunction. It worked perfectly normal for me all year, right up until yesterday. The last time I used it, I felt a rather... odd... sensation. The Ministry might want to take a closer look before putting it back in use."
"I appreciate your caution, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall stood behind her desk and began readying the papers in front of her. "I shall inform the Ministry of Magic upon returning it."
Hermione left the office and started for the Great Hall, a new spring in her step. She felt as if a weight had been lifted. The time-turner was out of her possession and no longer her responsibility.
She turned the corner into the Entrance Hall only to suffer a jolt that almost stopped her in her tracks. Draco Malfoy was sauntering along ahead of her, Crabbe and Goyle at his side. She slowed her stride so as not to catch him, but she now found herself unable to look away. His sleek blonde head swung to talk to Goyle, expression seeming relaxed. At least, it did until he reached the Great Hall and paused, scowling up at the scarlet and gold decorations already hung for tonight's feast.
Hermione forced herself to turn the opposite way and scan the Gryffindor table for Harry and Ron. She found them halfway down and folded herself onto the bench next to Harry. The bench conveniently faced away from the Slytherin table.
"—been thinking of trying out for the Quidditch team next year," Ron was telling Harry. "Now that Wood's graduating, you know, you'll need a Keeper, and I've always thought I could do a decent job. I've had loads of practice with the family—"
"Yeah, mate! It'd be great to have you on the team," Harry said, nodding enthusiastically while swinging his fork through the air. "Alright there, Hermione?"
"Yes, of course," Hermione lied. "Just nervous about exam results, I suppose. Oh look, here comes Professor McGonagall now."
Ron groaned. "Ah, well, I can't see you having anything to worry about, Hermione. You're the smartest in our year. Mum's going to kill me if I didn't scrape through Potions, though. She won't even believe that Snape has it out for us. Can you imagine having to take remedial courses with that slimy git next year? Blimey, I think I'd just stay home."
"If anyone's failing potions, it's me," Harry said, looking slightly sick. "Ever since Sirius escaped, Snape looks like he wants to strangle me every time I see him."
To their great relief, Harry and Ron passed all of their subjects along with Hermione. She beamed at them, assuring them that she'd known they'd pass all along, though privately wondering if Dumbledore truly had stopped Snape from failing Harry out of sheer spite.
The rest of the last day of term flew by, but one thing was different: Draco Malfoy seemed to be everywhere. Hermione couldn't help but notice him if he were anywhere in the vicinity now. After breakfast, he was lounging in the courtyard window, reading while a group of Slytherins played Gobstones nearby. After lunch, he was walking the grounds with his cronies while she watched Harry and Ron take turns riding Harry's Firebolt. He did sneer once at that. To her dismay, he was even in the library when she went to return a book before dinner. How many Malfoys were running around this place?
The end of term feast was splendid as usual, and Gryffindor table loudly celebrated their win of the House Cup for the third year running. Hermione tried very hard not to look over her shoulder at the Slytherin table all evening, and eventually managed to forget her worries as she joined in the festivities with the other Gryffindors. Exhausted as she was after the past two days, she had no trouble falling asleep right away that night.
As the Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade station the next morning, Hermione found herself looking forward to the respite her home in the Muggle world would give her for the next two months. She would miss Harry and Ron, but Ron was already making plans for them to visit and see the Quidditch World Cup with his family. Harry had been looking glum about returning to the Dursleys, but he brightened considerably at the prospect of staying part of the summer with the Weasleys.
Hermione played a few rounds of Exploding Snap with Harry and Ron to pass the morning, and bought lunch from the tea cart when the trolley witch passed. Harry and Ron were starting another round when she excused herself to the loo, preferring to change into her Muggle t-shirt and jeans before reaching King's Cross. As she was returning down the narrow corridor to her compartment, she took a moment to gaze at the rolling landscape speeding past.
"Watch it, Granger," a voice drawled close to her ear.
Hermione gave a start, whipping around and almost knocking into Malfoy in the process. He smirked in satisfaction as he brushed past her down the corridor, his eyes dropping once to take in her Muggle attire. He himself had already changed into a light sweater and pale trousers.
She stared wide-eyed after him a few moments more, then gathered herself as he slid open the door to the next car and disappeared without looking back. Hermione mentally chided herself for being startled by Draco Malfoy. She'd been hyper-aware of Malfoy after her little foray into the future, and hadn't spoken to him directly since. Even if speaking with him usually meant little more than trading insults. In any case, she hadn't yet decided what was to be done about it all.
By late afternoon, Harry had received a surprise letter from Sirius. Hermione placed a hand on Crookshanks to hold him in his seat as an excitable little owl zoomed around the compartment, barely pausing long enough for Harry to untie the parcel. As soon as he managed it, Harry read the letter out loud to them — Hermione flashed a smug smile at him at the part about the Firebolt, she knew that broom had been sent by Sirius Black! — and discovered a permission slip to visit Hogsmeade in the future.
Sirius had also gifted the small owl to Ron. Hermione was both shocked and pleased when Ron immediately held the ridiculous little thing in his palms out for Crookshanks to inspect, confirming to them all that the owl was just that — an owl. She hoped this would mark the end of their squabbling about her cat. Crookshanks really was quite remarkable, and she strongly suspected he was part-Kneazle with his uncanny ability to detect magical influence.
The train finally slowed to a halt, platform nine and three-quarters materialising outside of their window. Hermione, Ron, and Harry gathered up their luggage and trundled off the train onto the busy platform, already filled with families reuniting for the summer.
Right before going through the barrier, Hermione again spotted a platinum blonde head, this time joining two others. Malfoy's mother reached to envelop him in her arms while his father stood at her side, looking down his nose at everyone else on the platform. With great effort, Hermione wrenched her gaze away from the scene and pushed through the barrier.
She spotted her own parents immediately, waiting alongside Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. She hurried toward their waiting arms, the scent of comfort, familiarity, and home washing over her. Harry's rather unpleasant-looking uncle seemed impatient about waiting across the platform, so she hurriedly hugged Harry and Ron good-bye amidst the usual promises to write each other over the summer. Ron also promised to ring Harry using the "fellytone", which she predicted would only end in disaster for Harry. She would have to write Ron to remind him how to use it before he caused too much damage.
Hermione's dad took over wheeling her trolley while her mum scratched Crookshanks behind the ears through his carrier. They kept up a constant stream of questions all the way to the car, and Hermione chatted happily about her busy year, grateful for the opportunity to put more serious matters from her mind for the time being.
She was quite proud of her final marks. And of Gryffindor having won the House Cup again, due in no small part to her tidy collection of House points over the course of the year. On the long drive home, she told them about deciding to pare down her course load for next year, if not exactly how she'd managed it all in the first place. No need to get into discussions of time-turners and the trouble they caused when acting out of turn.
Finding her home almost exactly as she'd left it last summer was a comfort Hermione hadn't realised she'd needed, noticeable only now as steady familiarity began soothing the ragged, frenzied edges of her existence. She nearly took the stairs two at a time up to her room, Crookshanks mewling happily as he followed behind, and gratefully crawled under the sheets of her own bed that night, feeling considerably better than she had in days.