Her Head of House placed the Time Turner into her cupped hands as it were no more significant than handing over car keys. Hermione received it with studied nonchalance despite the awe and reverence that nearly overwhelmed her. Rapidly she had learned that she must pretend not to be surprised by anything, lest acknowledged gaps in knowledge should poke holes in the image she was careful to maintain. So she looked at her Professor and not the device while soaking in every word of Professor McGonagall's lecture on the rules of time travel. Rules. Those were good. Constraints. It would be chaos otherwise, right?