Everything Buffyverse belongs to Mutant Enemy, everything HP-verse belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers.
“It’s a time-turner,” Hermione tells her in a low voice as they huddle over the tiny object, bright against the dark wood of the library table. “I used one in my third year here. See the writing around the bottom? It’s in…”
“Sumerian,” Dawn finishes for her. “One of its earliest forms.”
Hermione gives her a quizzical look. “You speak ancient Sumerian?”
“You know I had an interesting education,” Dawn pauses and glances from side to side. “Well, probably not as interesting as yours...” She turns her attention back to the matter at hand. “But this… I thought they were a myth.”
A half-smile, a slight narrowing of the eyes. “Like vampires and demons and a secret school for magical children?”
Dawn leans forward until her forehead is pressed against Hermione’s, their faces hidden behind their mingled hair. “Or like a mystical key in love with a witch.”
Beyond the familiar scent of her girlfriend, Dawn can smell library-smell, of musty books and years upon years of ink and parchment and silent students. She knows it well, but here it is mixed with a faint but heady tang of magic. She can’t explain how much she loves this place. How much she feels like she has finally come home.
"I want you to feel it,” Hermione whispers, quickly slipping the silvery chain around both of their necks. Dawn’s heart races in her chest as all around them, time begins to fly.