Just Takes Time

1.

Hermione Granger considered herself a reasonably intelligent individual.

She had solved Snape's Potions riddle at age eleven; not to mention resuscitated an unconscious Ron Weasley and gotten him help all whilst worrying about Harry, stuck just a few rooms away. At age twelve, she had been the one to discover what the beast Salazar Slytherin had put in the chamber was and how it worked; at age thirteen she had taken twelve classes instead of the usual nine, and had discovered the overlap between their time-turner selves and random occurrences; at age fourteen she had stayed up countless nights to help Harry win his tasks, all while managing to keep up with her classes. At age fifteen, she helped form a literal class, managed all of the paperwork and kept track of everyone in it, lied straight to a government official's face, and manipulated her into getting captured so they could get away, and fought literal adults with darker magic than her own. At age sixteen, she held herself back from beating the shit out of Ron when he started dating Lavender. There was other stuff she did too, but she considered that to be her best move of sixth year.

And then she was seventeen. And she had been running for months, she had fought in a war, she and Harry and Ron had uncovered what felt like an unending multitude of secrets and lies and mysteries, and they had come out of it all alive.

And then, nineteen days into her last year back at Hogwarts, Hermione turned eighteen. She was the first of their trio to do so, but it never felt like much of an accomplishment. Harry had spent her birthday in the Gryffindor dorm, staring out the window. Ron had spent it sitting in the Great hall with Ginny, leaning against each other at the table. At least he had whispered happy birthday to her, but nothing had felt less happy in her life.

She couldn't even visit her parents. Even if she knew where they were, they didn't know who she was anymore.

So Hermione spent her birthday roaming around the castle, looking at damaged paintings and staircases that didn't move anymore.

She picked one of the ones that did, and walked up it without truly thinking of her destination. Her feet carried her through the corridors until she found herself standing outside of a door.

Minerva McGonagall was inscribed in thin gold lettering, and without thinking much of it, Hermione pushed the door open.

McGonagall wasn't in her office, more likely to be helping others fix the castle than sitting in here. Hermione stopped, and stared at her desk.

The last time she had been in this office... she thought back. Third year. She had returned the Time-Turner to McGonagall, and McGonagall had tucked it into one of the drawers with a nod to Hermione.

All of the Time-Turners had been destroyed by the Ministry years ago.

...right?

There was surely no reason for McGonagall to keep one. She had been reluctant to let Hermione have one, giving her very specific instructions that anywhere further back than a day would include both a week's recharge for the Time-Turner and the possibility of things going very, very wrong.

Hermione stepped around the desk. It was just curiosity. She was simply wondering if McGonagall had given it to the Ministry or denied having one.

Her finger hooked on the drawer handle, and she paused.

This was a violation of privacy. McGonagall had entrusted her with the information of the Time-Turner, had believed in her, and trusted that she would use it responsibly and carefully, and return it promptly. McGonagall had trusted her, and now Hermione was standing in her office with her hand on the drawer.

She had already come this far, though.

She shook her head, pulling her hand back. God! She had been far too influenced by Harry and Ron over the years. What was she thinking?

"What are you doing, Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't have it in her to spin in fright, just turned sadly to face the woman in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Professor."

McGonagall stepped forward, looking concerned. "It's alright. I noticed you stopped yourself. Why?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's a violation of privacy and trust, and I don't know what I was thinking."

McGonagall gave her a look that Hermione couldn't decipher. "What were you looking for, Miss Granger?"

Hermione dropped her head. "The Time-Turner," she said quietly.

"Oh, sweet child," McGonagall said softly, striding forward to pull Hermione into a hug. Hermione found her eyes immediately tearing up, returning the first hug she had received in ages. "You know you can't undo all of this. It's unsafe and far too far back."

"I should have, right when he killed Fred," Hermione sobbed. "I should have turned right around and sprinted upstairs and turned it and killed him before he could, I should have just killed all of them while I had the chance."

"I gave it to the Ministry, Hermione," McGonagall whispered, stroking Hermione's hair. Hermione froze. "There was nothing you could have done. They're all destroyed."

"Oh," Hermione whispered. She felt no less guilt. "I see."

McGonagall held her out at arm's length, studying her face. "It will get better, Miss Granger. You will heal."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Hermione whispered. "I'll be okay; I've got the grades and the connections to have any job I want, I have enough knowledge to rationalize my feelings, my family isn't dead. But- but Ron's brother- and he's a wreck and I can't help him, and Harry- God, Harry-" she sighed shakily, tears running down her face faster. "I can't help them, Professor, and it's killing me more than the war does."

McGonagall shook her head. "It will all come in time, Hermione. It just takes time."

Yeah, Hermione thought as she stepped out of the office. Time.

"And Hermione?" Hermione turned around to face her professor. "Happy birthday."