At the end of yet another gruelling day of work and explosions, perplexed eyes from her fellow Unspeakables followed Hermione as she returned to her desk. The mountain of parchments and artifacts piled high in her skinny arms, tilting to one side, then the next, defied all laws of physics. Yet, it was not what caught their attention. No, that was a rather ordinary sight down in the dark bowels of the Ministry. What caught their attention was that Unspeakable Hermione Granger was smiling, and skipping -skipping!- on her way to her office. This, surely, was a sign of impending catastophe, which scared most of her colleagues into leaving in a hurry.

Hermione scowled at their retreating backs, then checked the time on her desk clock, and tutted her disapproval. There was still six minutes left until the day was officially out. Like everyone else working in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had a clock charmed to be impervious to everything, and especially time fluctuations. Any other time device entering this level was not guaranteed to stick to the norm of one second actually lasting a second, or those seconds ticking one after another in chronological order. Without her clock, Hermione could never be sure how many hours she had spent in the labyrinthine corridors of the ninth level. Such were the hazards of working near the Time Room, which made the passing of time unpredictable and capricious, especially when idiot wizards jabbed their wands too hard inside the time-challenged space. Rumour had it that years ago, an Unspeakable passed out from lack of food, water and sleep, convinced he had just started his day after a hearty breakfast, when he had in fact been working for two days straight.

Today, however, Hermione estimated she had been there for only about eight hours, give or take an hour or two, not that she minded. She dropped her heavy pile of notes on her desk. Not worried they would spill out of order, because she had painstakingly spelled them against disorderliness, amongst other things. On Level 9, it was common for a small tornado or wildfire to break out, wreaking havoc with your work before the situation was back under control. Thus, she took the habit of spelling all her parchments against everything she could think of, including, but not limited to: fire, chewing gum, vanishing spells, teeth, claws, and liquids in general. Being a fastidious over-achiever was the norm here, and it always paid off.

"Don't you look chipper today, Miss Granger," her boss asked from behind her.

Hermione smiled, but continued to transfer her various artefacts from her arms to the safe deposit boxes on her desk. Satisfied her projects were safe, she lifted the stasis spell from the mug of coffee she had abandoned on her desk hours earlier. After savouring a long-awaited sip, she turned around to reply.

"Hello, Unspeakable Bates. Actually, I have a good reason for that: I had a breakthrough today! Finally!"

Her Department's Head was a middle-aged man with crinkly eyes set in a round face, although his appearance was very different the first time she had met him one her graduation day. He had scouted her to work as an Unspeakable, making her an offer which was impossible to refuse. So, she had given up on the sabbatical year she had planned to take, and never looked back. She thrived on the opportunities for research the Department of Mysteries offered.

Of course, it had cost her her budding relationship with Ron. He had not approved of her job, or the long hours she spent there. A bit hypocritical since he spent as much time or more on duty as an auror trainee. That idiot had dared say it was alright for wizards to devote themselves to their work… But not witches? Well, after much bickering, and Harry trying to remain neutral in the middle, they had decided to call it quits and remain friends.

That had been five years ago already. Today, she was twenty-four, had her own flat, a job she loved and absolutely no social life. She did not count the Weasley's Sunday brunches, or baby-sitting little Teddy when both Harry and Andromeda needed a break from the little monster. That was family.

"A breakthrough, you say?" Bates repeated, humouring her. "Which one of your dozen projects did you have a breakthrough on, if I may ask?"

"You could wait and read the report that will be on your desk tomorrow, sir," she teased back.

"And keep me wondering all night? Why would you be so cruel to a kind old man?"

Hermione giggled. Bates hardly qualified as 'old', although he was surprisingly kind for a Head of Department.

"Ah, too right. You might kick the bucket this very night given your advanced years, so, in my great generosity, I'll tell you."

Hermione unlocked the safe box on the left and pulled out a time-turner which looked, to the untrained eye, like the one she had used in her third year at Hogwarts. But, upon closer inspection, the glittering sand contained inside the hourglass was not all white. The white grains of sand reflected what little light that shone in her office like tiny diamonds, while the black sand mixed within seemed to suck in all light. If you looked at the sands too long, it could put you in a daze. The golden hourglass also had two knobs instead of one, one of which was white, and the other black.

Bates inspected the device, his hands clasped behind his back as if he feared to touch it.

"Interesting. And your arithmancy equations confirm its stability?" he checked.

Hermione snorted.

"Of course. I would hardly be this excited otherwise."

"So I gather you will start human experimentation tomorrow? You will attempt to outrun the sun?"

Hermione nodded. The engraving on her time-turner had annoyed her to no end as a student when she had to hide in stuffy broom closets or drafty bathrooms.

"I mark the hours, every one,

Nor have I yet outrun the Sun.

My use and value, unto you,

Are gauged by what you have to do."

It had been annoying to be able to travel only backwards in time, especially on the few occasions she had miscalculated and been forced to hide from everyone, including herself, until she had caught up with the normal flow of time. If you could go backwards, why couldn't you move forwards? Why couldn't you outrun the sun? How difficult could it be to make it go both ways?

As it turned out, it had been torturous to achieve, but not impossible. She held the proof of that in her outstretched hand.

"I will start experimenting on myself tomorrow. Croaker will be there to supervise since he's the guardian of Time."

Bates nodded his approval.

"Only travel a few minutes forward first, won't you? No trying to set new records right away."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Sometimes, her boss acted like an overprotective mother-hen, and he was like that to all his Unspeakables, even his elders. It was quite amusing and unexpected coming from the nebulous Unspeakables.

"Do you even have to ask?" she chided.

"Just be careful. The whole wizarding world would lynch me if anything happened to their darling war hero," he replied with a laugh.

He then walked over to the next cubicle, fussing over the next unspeakable. Bates liked doing his rounds, making sure they were eating alright and weren't about to blow up the Ministry with one of their little projects.

Hermione chuckled as she reopened the safe box to secure the time-turner, but in her distraction, she bumped into her desk and her steaming mug of coffee teetered on the edge. On instinct, she lunged to catch it. She couldn't quite process what happened next: glass shattering, coffee burning her hands, and then, her head spun like a Fanged Frisbee. It took her a few minutes to clear her head enough to pick herself off the cold flagstones, cursing her own stupidity and clumsiness. Her scalded hands radiated pain, the burns throbbing in time with each heartbeat. She held them close to her chest, afraid of them touching anything, even herself, because she knew the pain would be excruciating. What worried her almost as much as her injury was that no one had come to investigate yet. Bates, at the very least, could not be far. He must have heard the commotion.

Leaving her cubicle, Hermione glanced around at her colleagues' workspaces and gaped. The whole place was dark, cold and deserted. Now that she thought about it, her cubicle had felt the same, hadn't it? She returned to her own workspace, except that it wasn't hers. The massive wooden desk was the same, standing in the same place, with the remains of the shattered coffee mug next to it, but everything else was different: the chair, the quills... Even the inkpot had changed, but worse was the few pictures that hung on the wall, full of happy strangers waving at her.

"What the bloody..."

She trailed off, struck by the brilliant idea to check the name tag on the cubicle's side. It read Ethan Bexley. She frowned, repeating the name under her breath. She knew it from somewhere, she was sure of it.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing forever.

Ethan Bexley had been a Ravenclaw a few years younger, but she knew he wasn't an Unspeakable, and he sure as hell didn't work at her desk. She was quite certain she would have noticed. But her cup of coffee was there... as well as her shattered time-turner.

"Oh, boy..." she mumbled, realising not where, but when she was.

Bates was going to kill her when she got back. Talk about setting a record. She must have jumped a few years into the future! She stared at what was left of her time-turner: gold wire, soggy sand, and glass mixed in with the jagged pieces of her coffee cup. Tears welled up at the loss, more so when she realised what it meant.

When she got back? If she got back, she thought glumly, the pessimism more than justified in her opinion as she stared down the empty, unlit, dust covered corridor. Something was off about the Department of Mysteries, and by that, she meant mre than usual.

Still cradling her throbbing hands against her chest, Hermione went in search of someone. She didn't care who as long as they had a wand and knew which way to hold it. At this point, anyone would be a welcome sight. She thought of healing herself, but doubted she could hold her wand properly, much less perform the correct wand movements which were quite finicky when it came to medical spells. She didn't want to end up hexing her fingers off or setting them on fire. So she walked to the exit of the Research and Development area, deciding it must have been closed off for some reason. Most likely, a magical incident had occurred, and she knew from experience they could take days to clean up. She made her way towards the Time Room, if only because Croaker was almost always there when everyone else was at home. To be honest, Hermione had no idea what time of the day it was. She may have left in the evening but that didn't mean she arrived at the same time of the day in the future. The lack of windows in the Department of Mysteries had never annoyed her as much as it did right now. Even charmed "fake" windows would be nice.

"Croaker?" she called when she didn't see him at his desk.

She walked around, but this section of the Department looked as deserted and abandoned as her office. Even the air tasted stale.

Feeling a knot tighten in the pit of her stomach, Hermione turned around, breezing through every section of the Department of Mysteries: the Hall of Prophecy, the Brain Room, the Space Chamber… She didn't bother trying the Love Chamber though. That Room was always locked, and she didn't need to add to her problems right now. No one ever went in there, anyway, not since the last Unspeakable vanished upon entering it. Finally, she stood in front of the last black door left, hesitating between leaving for the upper levels and checking the Death Chamber, just in case. She had not gone inside since Sirius had disappeared through the Veil, even when Bates had insisted when he gave her the tour of Level 9. She knew that the Veil would murmur to her too now, like it had done to Harry and Luna in her fifth year. After the horrors of the war, she had wanted, needed, to avoid such an experience.

Come on, Hermione. It's just an empty room with a stupid archway and a moth-eaten curtain. I don't even have to go in. I can just stand at the door and peek in. It'll take me ten seconds, tops.

With that, she elbowed the door open to avoid hurting her sore hands and… stood frozen in the doorway, mouth agape, her brain blank from the sight.

"What?" she croaked after a few minutes.

She gazed up at the gigantic hole, as large as the chamber was wide. Something had torn through the eight upper levels of the Ministry, all the way up to the night sky. The moon shone down like a brilliant spotlight. Even the stars shone bright, surprising considering the Ministry sat in the heart of London. Hermione couldn't fail to notice the absence of the Veil, her eyes moving from the crater where it had once stood to the gaping hole where a good chunk of the Ministry had been blown away, then back again, trying to comprehend what had happened.

This explained the lack of people though. Not only was it the middle of the night, but the Ministry might have relocated after what she could only assume had been a major magical incident.

Feeling numb, 'in shock' her mind supplied unhelpfully, Hermione turned around and searched for the staircase. She usually took the lifts to move around the Ministry, but given the circumstances, she wasn't taking such a risk. Instead, she stumbled towards the large staircase, but stopped, slapping her forehead. Turning around once more, she hurried back to the Time Room.

"Right, Hermione. Flee like a scared little girl without any means to return to your own time, why don't you?"

Her muttering ceased upon reaching the rack near Croaker's workbench where the old wizard had stacked the few time-turners he had managed to recreate since their destruction eight years ago. Well, eight years ago, before her accidental time-travel. And then she groaned, blinking back fresh tears of frustration, because every single time-turner secured in the wooden rack was broken, the glass and sand piled on the floor under a fine layer of dust. Upon closer inspection, even the metal frameworks of the devices were bent or otherwise damaged. She couldn't repair these, but she couldn't recreate one from scratch: she didn't have the knowledge or competence. Even the time-turner she had modified had been one of Croaker's to begin with.

What now? she wondered, kicking at a stray tool that must have rolled off the workbench.

Defeated and lacking any better idea, she finally returned to the exit, climbing the stairs up to Level 8, where she hoped she would find someone able to help her.

The Atrium looked sinister with its broken statues and unlit chimneys. A few steps in, she realized there were parchments, quills and even shoes and pointy hats strewn around the dusty floor, as if everything had been left in a panic and no one had returned since. A possibility which seemed more likely with every step. Hermione froze at a faint sound, which she might have imagined as her fears grew. She held her breath and listened, but the Atrium was such a large, open space that her own heartbeat seemed to echo around her. She heard nothing more, and assumed it was wishful thinking on her part, or even the building itself. With such a gigantic hole right in its middle, it was a wonder the building had not caved in on itself, especially since it seemed to have been in this sorry state for quite a while judging by the dust and decay caused by prolonged exposure to the elements. Hermione resumed her walk, faster than before, towards the exit into muggle London. The floo was out of order, obviously, and even if she doubted there were any kind of anti-apparition wards still in place, she didn't want to take the risk and find herself knocked-out or splinched in an abandoned, creepy building. That's how horror movies started, and she had no wish to be the busty, screeching heroine of the day.

Stepping out of the former Ministry of Magic, she breathed out in relief, but that reprieve was short-lived when her mind took in the empty road she stood in. Much like the Ministry, the street was quiet and littered with trash, as well as abandoned bags, clothes, bikes and cars as far as the eye could see, which wasn't all that much to be honest, what with the fog that had descended around London by the time she made it out of the Ministry. At a guess, she was now in the early hours of the morning since there was just enough light to see by, but it only made the scene more eerie.

Maybe the magical incident in the Ministry had forced aurors and obliviators to evacuate the muggles from the immediate vicinity. It made sense, actually. Perfect sense. Hermione trotted off down the street and into another, darting glances left and right in search of someone, anyone. Had the whole of London been evacuated? That was such a ridiculous thought that a nervous chuckle escaped her. Soon after, she was certain she had heard someone call out. She froze and listened, clenching her teeth to prevent them from chattering in the damp chill of the fog surrounding her, but once more, all was quiet.

"Hello?" Hermione called out.

Then, she heard it. A low moan that seemed to come from around the corner, but with the thick fog, it was hard to tell. It could be further away. It could be closer. She ran towards where she thought the cry had come from, wondering if someone was hurt, then heard it again.

"Mooooooooooom…"

A kid? What was he doing outside at this ungodly hour, wailing like a banshee? Where was his mom? Heart racing, she forced her legs to run a bit faster and skidded to a halt when she could make out a small figure standing still in the fog, right in the middle of the road.

"Erm… Kid? Are you alright? Are you lost?" she asked, taking slow steps towards the child so as not to frighten him off.

"Mmmmmmm…" The child moaned again, turning towards her. Was he crying?

"Hey, come here. I'll help you find your mom if you want. She can't be far," Hermione said in her sweetest voice, reminding herself of Umbridge. Urgh, what a terrible thought.

She took another step forward and wrinkled her nose. A stench like she had never smelled before hit her nostrils. She almost gagged on the coffee she had taken earlier. That smell... the closest she could associate it to was days old garbage left in the sun, only a thousand times worse. And it was growing stronger.

"Moooom…" the kid wailed again.

Hermione wiped her eyes which had started to water with the awful stench. She peered at the small figure that had been calling for his mother, only it wasn't a crying kid but… an inferi? That was all her mind could conjure to explain what she saw. The… thing… moving, but so decayed, it must have been dead for quite a while. A little boy, once upon a time, with patches of short dark hair still clinging to his skull, the clothes of a muggle, but missing its nose, leaving a black hole in the middle of its face that she would have had difficulties not staring at if it hadn't been for the dead, milky white eyes looking at her, or through her, she wasn't sure. That's when she realized how close she was to the thing. Much too close, she decided, when its jaw snapped at her, inches from her elbow. Merlin, that smell… She fought against the urge to vomit, and leaped back. Eyes still locked on the threat, her right hand gripped her wand out of her wand-belt out of habit. She winced and cried out when the pain from her burns flared at the unwelcome contact, her wand falling from her limp fingers. It clattered on the road right next to her feet, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the dead child as it lurched closer, closer... It was the stuff of nightmares. Harry had seen some when he had gone to the cave with Dumbledore, but his description of the inferis was not doing this undead creature justice. For starters, Harry had never mentioned the stench.

The thing lurched closer, its moans echoing down the street, and the damned thing was still calling for its mom, which was so wrong and heartbreaking at the same time. It was only a few steps away now, so, still not taking her eyes off it, she crouched down to pick up her wand, feeling around blindly for it. Teeth clenched at the pain it caused her burnt hand, she vowed not to drop it this time. As soon as her fingers curled around the smooth wooden handle, she stood and ran away from the dead child. She ran and ran, not caring where she ended up as long as she was far away from the creature, far away from those unseeing dead eyes and pitiful moans. It was too human! Merlin! Why was that thing still calling for its mom? It was dead, right? It had to be. It looked dead, and smelled dead, so it had to be. It had to. Thankfully, the wind rushing past her ears prevented her from hearing its desperate wail anymore.

Bursting out of a side-street, Hermione tripped on an abandoned suitcase and collided against something squishy before rolling to a stop into a parked car, which immediately set off its high-pitched alarm. Annoyed, she picked herself up, glad her quick reflexes protected her hands from further harm. She kicked the car resentfully, hoping it would shut up. Then, she dry-heaved because of the putrid smell assaulting her nose once more. But didn't that mean... She glanced around her with wide eyes, knowing one of those walking dead things was nearby. In fact, it was the soft thing she had collided against. Another inferi. Except this one was an adult, an overweight man whose stomach was a bloody mess, its innards hanging out. The inferi even tripped on them, pulling more and more of his organs out and making disgusting squelching noises with every step.

"Eeeelp… Eeelp..." it gurgled over and over again as it lurched at a snail's pace towards her, his arms extended, fingers grasping as if it couldn't wait to catch her and… what? What did inferi do? Hermione realized she didn't know. She had never needed to, but she sure as hell wasn't sticking around to find out. She whirled around with the intention of fleeing the other way, but more of them were walking out of the fog, coming from everywhere, blocking every exit.

"Damnit!" she swore, looking for a less crowded escape route, but it looked like the whole neighbouring inferi had homed in on her or...

Hermione glared at the car, its alarm still whining and bleeping loudly, signalling all the undead for miles around that dinner was served. She managed to silence the car since the spell was so easy to cast, solving one problem. However, she was still backed into a corner, the monsters' pleas and moans growing louder. Most of them called for help, but a few were cursing, and one she swore was laughing hysterically. That one was the worst.

Hermione shivered as she considered her choices. One: apparate out of there, but, since the world had changed so much, she had no guarantee she wouldn't apparate herself into a rock. Or two: she could fight her way through the throng of walking dead. Fight or flight. The odds weren't in her favour in either case, and she was now flush against the wall while hands reached for her and teeth gnashed in earnest mere feet away. On the bright side, when they were biting the air, the dead stopped talking. It made them less human, and thus, less creepy that way. Hermione still wanted to hide under a sheet and pretend all this wasn't real though.

Yes... Hide! She could just hide. Wait for this mess to blow over. There was a door close by that was still inferi-free and she hurried to it before the undead could block her path, but she found it locked. Of course it was. Glad she was a witch, she used a simple alohomora on the door, but only managed to change the door's colour from a dull green to a bright orange. Her wandwork was definitely off with her hand so badly injured, but the third time was the charm. The lock clicked, and she pushed the door open, ducked in, then slammed it shut right in the ravaged face of what had been an old lady with a pink umbrella sticking out of her chest. Bolting the sturdy door, she slumped down to the floor, finally able to catch her breath for the first time since she had landed in this nightmarish world.

Hermione had so much to think about, but she was too exhausted to organize her scattered thoughts. The relentless pounding at the door wasn't helping. She wanted to scream at them to stop, but knew that would only make things worse. She half-chuckled, half-sobbed.

Yeah, right. Make things worse… But what could possibly be worse than accidentally travelling to the future to be chased by dead people? For all I know, it's the apocalypse and everyone's dead… Everyone… And I'm here, alone, forever. I can't. Not alone. I'll go mad. I'll go mad for sure...

Hermione broke down and cried. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. She couldn't believe this was what the world had come to. It had to be a nightmare. She would wake up tomorrow morning, all sweaty and tangled up in her sheets, and she would feel silly for having such an outlandish nightmare and letting it scare her so. She would blame it on the spicy food she had had for dinner. She always heard it could give you nightmares.

Her stomach gurgled at the thought of food when she doubted she could eat anything. The mere thought of getting over her exhaustion, her grief, and the throbbing pain in her hands to search for something edible discouraged her anyway. Instead, she curled up in front of a stranger's door, the incessant thump-thump of the inferis' fists on the other side of the door lulling her to sleep.