Ancient Runes.

Hermione's head spun as quickly as the golden time-turner clutched covertly in her hand. She stopped studdenly while throngs of other students bustled around her, a solitary buouy in a sea of robe-billowing black.

Where am I supposed to be? she asked herself, panic attempting to seep in before she mentally batted it away.

Look it up.

She thrust a hand into her satchel, grabbing a calendar.

One o'clock.

Hermione inhaled deeply, reassured at the answer.

Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Her shoulders slumped, a rare submission to fatigue.

Maybe it was too much.

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