Hermione's suspicion proved unfortunately correct; she now lay in bed staring blankly up at the underside of the wooden tester, unable to banish the images of Malfoy and Dumbledore from before her eyes. Her mind worked furiously in an attempt to explain the past hour, and just what, exactly, had happened, but every frantic avenue was a dead end. The sense of wrongness about the whole thing was overwhelming, and the vestiges of panic still raced through her blood, making it difficult to reason with any semblance of coherence.
She closed her eyes and there it was again — Malfoy's terrified face and Dumbledore's crumpled posture, the pair of them bathed in an eerie, unnatural green glow.
Hermione tossed back to her side, willing herself to just go to sleep — to rest while she had the chance — and to deal with making sense of things after term had ended. There would be an entire summer to dwell on it.
Of course, her overactive brain had other ideas.
Whether she liked it or not, she couldn't ignore that something had happened. And whether or not that something had happened to anyone else, there was no denying that it wasn't all in her head.
Hermione released a slow breath, sinking into the familiar embrace of her four-poster to begin deconstructing the details 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 Harry and Ron afterwards to return her supplies. 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... event, where she'd been accosted by some strange force upon leaving the store room. Whatever had caused that 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 — and 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 in a variety of states over the years: focused on his schoolwork, sneering at Harry, smirking with his friends, gloating over Quidditch (even shocked, once, 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 that had twisted his features tonight. Though she knew Malfoy looked older, it made it hard to place his age exactly.
She focused on the memory of Malfoy's face as he stared down Dumbledore. He had mostly grown into his pointy features, and his hair had been cut shorter. His general form had been more filled out, as it often did for the sixth and seventh year boys at Hogwarts. Had she not known Malfoy personally, she might have even called him handsome. He had worn a set of expensive-looking robes for the occasion, well-cut and tailored as usual, so that they were very nearly Muggle-worthy in their resemblance to suits generally worn for business and formal events. Who could have guessed that wizarding finery would so closely align 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. Had he been sick? That shrivelled hand looked like serious business. If it wasn't, someone should have been able to heal it — Madam Pomfrey, at the least, or perhaps the Healers at the wizarding hospital in London that Hermione had once read about. And what was Dumbledore even doing 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 other side and tucked an arm under her pillow. She closed her eyes and replayed the conversation between Malfoy and Dumbledore in her mind.
Someday, by someone, Malfoy would be set a task to kill Dumbledore.
Ridiculous, Hermione scoffed to herself, that anyone 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.
Malfoys words, wrenched from a place of deepest terror, rang easily in her mind.
He'll kill me. He'll kill my whole family.
Those had been words born of pure anguish. Of thoughts that had been dwelled upon and repeated many, many times before.
Silver filled her memory now, the wide eyes of a boy who both had nothing left to lose and yet, was about to lose it all. Even now the naked despair on display chilled her blood as the vision 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.
And that was it. Everything she remembered, boiled down to one, earth-shattering revelation. Try as she might, Hermione could not think of any other person or entity who fit the bill. And she did try, truly, if not to reassure herself she hadn't missed anything, then to put off the knowledge of inevitable suffering at the hands of one of Britain's most evil wizards once again.
Her mind must have been satisfied with her progress, in any case, for Hermione eventually managed to drift off into a fitful sleep, one of drifting in and out of consciousness between nightmares of a faceless evil and haunting images of Malfoy's terror-stricken 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, Harry and Ron were already waiting for her, for a change. Halfway to the Great Hall, Hermione sent the boys ahead of her to breakfast — knowing smiles on both of their faces — 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 rare 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 her papers 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, after all, 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. You know you have my full support in whatever you choose to study."
Hermione smiled a genuine smile. "Thank you, Professor."
She'd just turned to leave when the memory of the broken time-turner plagued her once more. Her smile faltered. "Ah... Professor?"
McGonagall looked up again, her usually severe expression kind.
Hermione hesitated, unsure how much to reveal, but it seemed irresponsible to allow the time-turner itself to re-enter circulation without some kind of warning.
"It's only that... well, I should mention that the time-turner is possibly beginning to malfunction," she settled on. At McGonagall's sudden look of concern, she hurried to explain. "It worked perfectly as it should for me all year, that is, right up until yesterday evening. The last time I wore it, I felt a rather... odd sensation. Just something beyond the usual. The Ministry might want to take a closer look before putting it back in use."
McGonagall nodded thoughtfully before speaking. "I appreciate your caution, Miss Granger." Then she stood behind her desk and began readying the papers in front of her. "I shall inform the Ministry upon its return."
Hermione nodded gratefully, breathing a sigh of relief that Professor McGonagall hadn't pressed the issue.
A new spring in her step, Hermione left the office and aimed for the Great Hall. The weight of this year's course load was finally lifted from her shoulders, not to mention that 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 sauntered along ahead of her, Crabbe and Goyle at his side. She slowed her stride, careful to maintain a significant distance, but she otherwise found herself unable to look away from his back.
As his sleek blonde head swung to talk to Goyle, she caught a glimpse of Malfoy's expression, unusually mild in comparison to the scowl that typically twisted his mouth in her company. At least, it was — until he reached the Great Hall and paused to scowl 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.
It was a matter of convenience that the bench 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 about one second away from strangling me whenever we're forced to be in the same room."
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 where yesterday had been unremarkable, today there was one, considerable difference: 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 a courtyard window, flipping aimlessly through a book while trading snippets of conversation with a small group of Slytherins playing Gobstones nearby. After lunch, he was walking the grounds with his oversized cronies while Hermione watched Harry and Ron take turns riding Harry's Firebolt. Malfoy did turn once to sneer openly at that. To her dismay, he was even in the library when she went to return a book before dinner, returning a book of his own. How many Malfoys were running around this place, exactly?
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 set her worries aside 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 possibly even attend 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 Hermione 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. After her little foray into the future, she'd been hyper-aware of Malfoy's presence (except, of course, for when it counted), but hadn't spoken to him directly. 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 unable to resist flashing a smug smile at the part about the Firebolt, she knew that broomstick had been sent by Sirius Black — and discovered a permission slip to visit Hogsmeade in the future. Harry beamed, looked for all the world like he'd never been given a greater gift.
Sirius had also apparently gifted Ron the small owl that had arrived with the letter. Hermione nearly choked on air when, upon discovering this, Ron promptly snatched the little owl out of the air and held it out for Crookshanks to inspect, confirming to them all that the owl was just that — an owl. Pleased more than she had a right to be, Hermione hoped this would mark the end of their squabbling over her cat. Crookshanks really was quite remarkable, and she strongly suspected he was part-Kneazle with his uncanny ability to detect magical influence.
With the train slowing to a halt, platform nine and three-quarters gradually materialized outside of their window. Hermione, Ron, and Harry gathered up their luggage and trundled off the train onto the busy platform, already filled to the brim with families reuniting for the summer holiday.
As if drawn by preternatural force, just as she was about to navigate the barrier, Hermione found her eyes once again following a white-blonde head as it joined up with two others of nearly the same shade.
Malfoy's mother reached immediately to envelop him in her arms. 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 about out of patience from where he waited across the platform, so Hermione quickly made her goodbyes to Harry and Ron amidst the usual promises to write each other over the summer. Ron also promised to ring Harry using the fellytone, which Hermione 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 as they departed while her mum scratched Crookshanks behind the ears through his carrier. Her parents 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, though not exactly revealing 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.
