Twisting Time

Whispers from the past

Deserted Corridor

Hogwarts Castle

22 September 1993 

I still cannot believe it. How did I manage to lose track of time? Professor McGonagall will be so disappointed in me. How could I be so irresponsible! What if she confiscates it? Then what am I going to do?

With the unanswered question hanging in the air, Hermione sprung into action. Willing strength to her legs, she clutched onto her bag and hurtled through the school. Her surroundings became nothing but a series of blurred shapes and colours, as she bolted past. Weaving in and out of corridors, and dodging both student and professor alike, Hermione ran. Her footsteps echoed sharply around her, sounding overly loud in her own ears, like the booming of a medieval clock tower.

The cold metal chain hung around her neck, biting at the exposed flesh and searing her bare skin. It grew heavy, almost as if it were a dead weight dragging her downwards, right into the clutches of a beast waiting in the shadows.

Hermione often wondered whether it was all a blessing or a curse. But, as the device began to swing violently from side to side, oddly in time with the thrashing rhythm of her heart, she feared it were the latter. The device hummed, almost in agreement as she came to a sudden halt outside a large oak door. She cautiously glanced around, silently confirming that she was alone. When there was no one to be seen, she yanked the door open and peered inside. She breathed a sigh of relief.

It was empty.

Softly shutting the door behind her, she crossed the room, the floorboards creaking with every step. Her hand enclosed around the cool metal object as she pulled it out of hiding from beneath her shirt. She held it between her fingers and without missing a beat began to turn. Slowly at first, her confidence building with each spin.

Losing herself in the repetitive process, Hermione almost jumped out of her skin when a dull thud sounded somewhere close by. A sense of dread washed over her, coiling in the pit of her stomach as it grew louder and louder. The unmistakably familiar sound of footsteps approaching. Hermione began turning faster and faster, praying that she'd be long gone before the footsteps reached her.

The time-turner gradually began to pick up speed, spinning faster than she'd ever seen it spin before. The metal grew hot to the touch, and a faint humming sound filled the room. Blurred shapes whizzed by, so fast that it made her stomach flip and a wave of nausea crashed through her. Uneasiness was soon replaced by panic, as the time-turner began spinning so fast that it was soon completely out of control. She squeezed her eyes shut as the small device started vibrating so violently that she was almost certain it would explode.

A loud groan reverberated through the room as the chain swung, completely throwing her off balance. Whispers suddenly broke out all around her, like a cacophony of voices obscuring her senses. She stumbled blindly, hopelessly clawing onto her bag as if it were a lifeline.

The voices only grew louder.

Straining her ears, Hermione could just barely make out what they were saying. It was almost as if they were luring her, daring her to come closer. The force soon became so strong that it was like a vortex pulling her towards them. Her eyes were burning and her head was pounding, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The pressure continued building rapidly, until it became so intense that it was almost unbearable. A high-pitched wail tore through the room, ricocheting off the walls. Hermione clamped her hands firmly over her ears, trying to block out the ear-splitting shrieks as she struggled to her feet. Adrenaline thrummed in her veins, and her heart was thrown violently against her chest, like a caged beast longing for freedom.

Hermione felt just like the beast.

Taking in shallow breaths, she tried to steady herself. Focusing on the sound of her heartbeat and willing it to slow. She waited, listening, until eventually, loud and uneven soon turned to dull and rhythmic. And with one final cry the room shook, before everything was plunged into an eerie silence.

It ended, as quickly as it had begun.

Hermione didn't dare open her eyes. It all felt too good to be true. As if the silence was mocking her and the tranquility was trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Before unknown horrors would arise from the shadows, ready to strike.

No. It was all so much easier to keep her eyes closed. Blocking out everything around her, and imagining she was somewhere else.

Somewhere far, far away.

As if sensing her unease, the time-turner hummed. However, this time, it was not in agreement.

But in warning.

Seconds later, another deafening screech sounded right behind her, smashing the serenity into smithereens. And as if in answer, something slammed into Hermione's side with such force that the wind was knocked out of her. Pain lanced up her spine as she doubled over, gasping for breath. She desperately tried to cling to the small shred of hope that this was all just some hellish nightmare, and she'd soon awake. But with each passing second, that possibility seemed to be slipping away, and that supposed light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be dimming.

The room swayed and her vision blurred. And as she crumpled to the floor, she knew then, that it was no use. That small beacon of light had already winked out, diminishing that tiny slither of hope entirely, as she tumbled into oblivion.