Half an hour later, Hermione was already lying in a bed in the Hogwarts hospital wing, where, to their surprise, it was Filch who had brought her and Ron. Of course, he wasn't acting on his own but following McGonagall's orders. Somehow, Dumbledore had let the professor know that Ron and Hermione needed her care. On the way to the hospital wing, the castle caretaker didn't say a word to them, but his expression said it all. Hermione could constantly hear him grumbling under his breath. In that stream of complaints, she picked up remarks about students sneaking around at night, nostalgic memories of the old days, and daydreams about how he'd set the school straight if he had the power...
Madam Pomfrey quickly relieved their pains and left Hermione and Ron in the ward until morning, saying she needed to keep an eye on them. Hermione, finally able to relax after such a long, stressful day, was just starting to fall asleep when they brought Harry in. Sleep disappeared instantly, and she jumped out of bed to run over to him. But Madam Pomfrey firmly blocked her way:
"Miss Granger, I strongly suggest you stay in bed and don't disturb Mr. Potter. I promise you, he won't hear a thing right now. What he needs most is complete rest."
Still anxious, Hermione turned to Dumbledore, who was standing in the doorway with a heavy look in his eyes:
"Professor! Will Harry be all right?"
Dumbledore looked at her, and for a moment, she saw a shadow of pain cross his face before he slowly spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness and regret:
"That's something I can't promise you…" he said, then sighed deeply and followed Madam Pomfrey out of the room.
"Harry! Harry! Can you hear me?" Hermione called out, but there was no answer. No reaction at all.
Overcome by the realization of the tragedy, Hermione clamped her hands over her mouth. Tears poured down her face in a torrent. Next to her, Ron, who had been quiet, furrowed his brow and kept sniffling. Hermione figured he was probably crying too, just not wanting to show it.
Soon, Madam Pomfrey returned, fussing over Harry as she cast healing spells and poured various potions into his mouth. Hermione would sometimes doze off into a fitful sleep, waking up only to check that Harry was still lying motionless in bed, while the Hogwarts healer kept fighting for his life.
At one point, during one of her brief moments of wakefulness, the door to the ward suddenly opened, and... Hermione let out a scream of terror, shrinking into the corner of the bed. Professor Snape entered, just as tall... unharmed... and frightening as ever. Madam Pomfrey looked at Hermione in surprise, while Snape simply raised an eyebrow and asked:
"Is something wrong, Miss Granger? Did you have a nightmare?"
Hermione was too scared to even breathe, gripping the blanket tightly, and just shook her head no. Snape looked at her for a moment, squinting, but since she didn't say anything else, he turned to Madam Pomfrey and said:
"Poppy, here's the potion you asked for. It should help."
"Thank you, Severus. I don't know what I'd do without you," the Hogwarts healer replied.
Snape gave a curt nod, accepting the thanks, then shot another suspicious look at Hermione before turning and leaving the room. Madam Pomfrey opened the vial of the potion Snape had made. A foul smell instantly filled the air. Grimacing a bit, the healer brought it to Harry's mouth.
"No, don't!" Hermione choked out, and Madam Pomfrey looked at her in surprise.
"Why, Miss Granger? Care to explain?"
"Snape… Snape attacked Harry…"
"Rubbish!" Madam Pomfrey cut her off. "It was Quirrell who attacked him, and Snape is trying to help." Without hesitating further, she poured the potion into Harry's mouth.
"Quirrell?" Hermione repeated, stunned, unable to believe it.
"Yes, Professor Quirrell! Now go to bed and stop getting in the way if you want your friend to recover!" Madam Pomfrey finished firmly.
The next morning, the healer allowed Hermione and Ron to leave the hospital wing. They still hadn't been able to talk to Harry, who was still unconscious. In the days that followed, the friends often sat together, going over the details of that awful night, trying to figure out where they went wrong. Hermione was especially upset that she had left Harry alone.
"Maybe I could've helped him," she insisted for the hundredth time. "I was ready…"
"Quirrell would've killed you!" Ron snapped. "He only needed Harry, don't forget that."
Ron was probably right, but Hermione couldn't shake her doubts. They were especially shocked that it had been Quirrell who was after the Philosopher's Stone. All the clues had pointed to Snape, not Quirrell, who seemed way too timid for something like that. It was hard to believe that the professor who always avoided conflict had managed to get through all the obstacles and was trying to bring Voldemort back.
The friends didn't forget about Harry and visited Madam Pomfrey every day, hoping for good news. But every visit ended with the same response: no change. Finally, after a few days, their patience was rewarded—Harry had woken up!
After a lot of convincing, Madam Pomfrey finally let them in to see him. For the first time in days, they saw Harry lying on the hospital bed, surrounded by a pile of gifts and sweets from other Hogwarts students. Ron couldn't hide his amazement at all the goodies and, like a true friend, immediately started helping Harry with the chocolate frogs and other treats. Hermione sat down carefully next to him, but she couldn't hold back any longer and asked the question that had been bothering her:
"Harry, what really happened after you went on? Everyone's saying it was Quirrell, but I still can't believe it. He's such a coward…"
"Yeah, it was him," Harry said quietly, his eyes darkening at the memory. "But he wasn't a coward at all—he was just really good at pretending to be one."
"But Snape was trying to kill you during the Quidditch match…" Ron began, his mouth full of candy, but Harry cut him off:
"He wasn't trying to kill me—he was trying to save me." Harry went quiet for a moment, then added reluctantly, "If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be here right now," though the dislike for Snape was still clear in his voice.
Hermione's eyes went wide with shock, and she instinctively covered her mouth with her hand.
"So I… I stopped him… from saving you?" she muttered, swallowing a lump in her throat.
"Almost," Harry smiled, "but it's a good thing you knocked over Quirrell on the way, because he was the one trying to finish me off."
Hermione sat in stunned silence, processing what Harry had just said. Then she whispered, "I just got lucky… I almost got you killed…"
"It's alright, Hermione. Don't worry. I'm still here, aren't I?" Harry tried to reassure her, but it seemed like Hermione couldn't easily shake off the guilt, sitting there still shocked by what she'd learned.
The silence didn't last long. Ron, his voice shaky, finally broke it:
"Is it true that You-Know-Who was there?" His eyes showed a mix of fear and curiosity.
"Voldemort?" Harry repeated, making Ron flinch at the name. "Yeah, he was there. Lived... right on the back of Quirrell's head."
Hearing this, Hermione and Ron exchanged quick, disbelieving glances.
"On the back of his head?" Hermione couldn't hide her surprise. "Was he… tiny or something?"
Harry smirked at her words and joked, "Yeah, he strolled around back there and even built himself a little house." But seeing his friends' skeptical faces, he quickly added, "Just kidding. No house. But his face really was on the back of Quirrell's head. That's why he never took off that stupid turban."
"No way," Ron muttered, sounding stunned. "So... he was here, with us, the whole time?"
Ron's realization hit Hermione hard. She looked at him wide-eyed, while Harry continued:
"They wanted me to give them the Philosopher's Stone. I refused... so Voldemort told Quirrell to kill me."
"How did you stop him?" Hermione asked, staring at Harry and hanging on his every word.
"When he touched me, his skin started blistering and burning. Every time he tried, it got worse," Harry said, his eyes clouding over as he remembered. "Dumbledore told me later it was because of my mum. Her love protected me." His voice wavered a bit. "Then Dumbledore showed up, but I didn't see that part…"
They all went quiet, taking in what Harry had said. After a while, Hermione whispered:
"I get it now… Starry died because of us. Quirrell found out about the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest from us…" Tears filled her eyes, the guilt weighing her down.
"Don't be stupid!" Ron burst out. "It's not our fault he overheard us! And we didn't even know who he was!"
"Still…" Hermione said softly, her mood sinking.
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came in, making Hermione and Ron leave so they wouldn't "disturb Harry while he's recovering."
***
On the second-to-last day at Hogwarts, a day that felt more like a celebration than a school day, everyone gathered in the Great Hall for the end-of-year feast. The hall was decked out in green and silver—Slytherin's colors—as they celebrated their seventh win in a row. The Slytherins were in a festive mood, excitedly talking about everyone's contribution to the victory and pointing out standout achievements. Here and there, cheers went up for those who had really shone.
In contrast, the mood at the Gryffindor table was gloomy. Hermione and Ron walked slowly to their seats, heads down. Hermione could feel her fellow Gryffindors avoiding her gaze. Her and Harry's recent mistake weighed especially heavily today. While the events with the Philosopher's Stone had somewhat improved her relationships with some of her classmates, it didn't change the fact that Gryffindor had finished in last place, even behind Hufflepuff. Hermione felt awful—she had dreamed of helping Gryffindor win, but instead, she had played a part in dragging them down.
Suddenly, the hall went quiet, and then a buzz of voices spread as students started jumping up from their seats. Hermione was curious about what was happening, and then she saw Harry. Madam Pomfrey had finally let him leave the hospital wing to join the feast. The sight of her friend brought a little bit of light to what was shaping up to be a depressing evening. Harry quickly made his way across the hall and sat down beside her and Ron. The noise in the hall quieted down almost immediately, as Professor Dumbledore appeared right after Harry and began his end-of-year speech. Hermione listened with half an ear, quietly asking Harry how he was feeling. But when Dumbledore began to announce the results of the House Cup, all eyes turned to him.
"…the points stand thus:" Dumbledore announced, "in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points…"
"Woo-hoo," George yelled jokingly, and a few students turned toward him with sad smiles.
"…third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points…"
'We're forty points behind Hufflepuff, the usual bottom of the House Cup,' Hermione thought, horrified.
"…Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six…"
Hermione looked over at Miranda and, catching her eye, gave her a friendly nod, congratulating her house on second place.
"…and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."
The Slytherin table exploded with noise. Students were cheering, stomping, and banging on the table. Hermione's eyes landed on Elliot Grimm. For the first time in a long while, she saw him smiling. His mistake hadn't stopped Slytherin from taking first place! Hermione smiled sadly, still feeling guilty about him.
Suddenly, the meaning of Dumbledore's words hit her:
"However recent events must be taken into account."
The hall fell silent. The Slytherins, who had been celebrating just moments ago, froze, staring at the headmaster in disbelief. Dumbledore continued:
"I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes… First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"
Hermione held her breath and looked at Ron sitting beside her. He had turned as red as a lobster and looked like he wanted to hide under the table with all the eyes on him.
"…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Cheers and noise erupted from all sides. Everyone around Ron was trying to give him a friendly pat on the back, and Hermione felt the taps too, as Ron, dodging them, unintentionally leaned into her. 'Three hundred sixty-two,' Hermione quickly calculated. 'We're not in last place anymore!'
"Second," the hall fell quiet again, "to Miss Hermione Granger…" Dumbledore said. Hermione felt her hair prickle from the tension. She didn't dare make a sound, afraid to jinx her luck.
"…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Hermione covered her face with her hands. She felt tears spring to her eyes. Now, she became the target for the pats on the back, but she couldn't stop crying—she was completely overwhelmed, her chest rising and falling with emotion. Finally, she managed to calm down enough to hear the end of the next announcement:
"…and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."
She would've known it was about Harry even without all the congratulations pouring his way. The whole table stood, applauding. And, of course, the most important thing—they had caught up with Slytherin. Realizing this, Hermione couldn't stop her tears again.
"There are all kinds of courage," Dumbledore's voice suddenly rang out again, "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
The hall went wild! Victory cheers came not only from Gryffindor—Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff joined in the applause and celebrations. After six long years, Slytherin had finally lost the House Cup.
Hermione noticed Professor Snape trying to argue with Dumbledore, clearly upset, but the headmaster didn't even acknowledge his protest. Slytherin's head of house, obviously disappointed, turned away and refused to join the celebrations, leaving the hall soon after the final results were announced. 'Could it be that Dumbledore gave us so many points to make sure we'd win?' a rebellious thought flickered in Hermione's mind.
***
Finally, the exam results were announced. Hermione had expected good grades, but even she was surprised by the results. She got top marks in everything, including Potions, and ranked first in the school. She couldn't have imagined a better way to end the school year. Feeling on top of the world, Hermione quickly packed her things and, along with Harry and Ron, ran to the boats that took them to the Hogwarts Express.
Her friends had done well too. Hermione didn't miss the chance to remind them that the study schedule she—Hermione—had created worked perfectly. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, barely holding back smiles. By now, they were used to her lectures and found them amusing.
Settling into their compartment on the Hogwarts Express, they happily enjoyed the scenery flashing by and stuffed themselves with the sweets Harry had bought. Suddenly, Ron said:
"Hermione, do you remember that fortune-teller's prediction from Christmas?"
"Sort of…" she replied, unsure. After all the events of the past few months, it had completely slipped her mind.
"Can you tell it to us again?" he asked, curious.
She thought for a moment and recited it to her friends:
What you gained will be lost once more,
The price of power: friends' blood or gore,
In an ancient prison someone is confined,
You cannot avoid meeting him you'll find.
The key of time will cloud your sight,
Yet understanding may set things right.
Step forward with care, in thought, don't be late,
Every move you make seals your fate.
"Don't you think it came true, at least partly?" Ron asked in a sly tone.
Hermione froze for a second, like the scattered pieces of a puzzle had suddenly clicked into place. As she repeated the prophecy aloud, a chill ran down her spine.
"You're right! 'What you gained will be lost once more, The price of power: friends' blood or gore…' That's about my amulet and the potion that needed wizard blood!" she said excitedly. Her eyes darted around, as if searching for clues to other things that had happened to them.
"Exactly!" Harry nodded. "What about the prisoner? Do you think that could be tied to Voldemort trying to break free?"
Hermione thought for a moment, then shrugged, unsure.
"Maybe... but I didn't face him. That prediction would fit you better." She gave Harry an apologetic look.
Harry rubbed his scar, his face twisting briefly in pain or memory.
"Maybe," he said quietly.
"Is it hurting again?" Hermione asked, concerned. Since what had happened in the dungeon, he hadn't mentioned any pain in his scar.
For a moment, Harry paused, unsure what she meant, then waved it off.
"No, no, it's fine, I'm just... it's nothing."
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. The friends fell silent, thinking about the lines of the prophecy. Hermione, biting her lip, went over the events of the past year and finally suggested another idea:
"What if it's about Elliot? If you think about it, he was Honeydew's prisoner…" She looked at her friends, but they didn't seem convinced. Harry shrugged and said:
"Yeah, we'll need to think more about it. Besides, the rest doesn't make much sense. Something about a 'key of time'..." He looked at Ron, who hesitated before saying:
"Maybe it's the key you caught in the dungeon?"
"Or the one Hermione caught with her hair?" Harry smirked. "I doubt you'd call that the 'key of time,'" he added more seriously. Ron nodded in agreement, then said confidently:
"Well, at least the last part is clear."
His friends looked at him, confused. Clearly pleased, he went on:
"What? You don't get it? How did it go in the prophecy? 'Step forward with care, in thought, don't be late, every move you make seals your fate.'" he repeated. "Well, if it wasn't for Hermione, we'd have been stuck in that Devil's Snare. Her quick thinking, watching where she stepped, saved our lives. 'Step forward with care...'" he repeated, tapping his temple with his finger to show how clever he was.
At that moment, the compartment door slid open quietly, and Miranda Ravenclaw appeared. Her entrances were always noticeable—she moved with an effortless grace that even queens would envy.
"Sorry for the unexpected visit," she began softly. "Unfortunately, I'll have to leave right after we get to London. I've got an important matter to attend to."
Hermione stood up to hug her.
"We get it. We always knew you were important," she said with a smile.
Miranda smiled, catching the joke.
"But I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. It'll be a while before we see each other again."
"You always know how to make even a goodbye special," Ron said, trying to cover his nervousness with a joke. Miranda gave him a light, teasing look and said:
"And I'll miss you too, Ron." Then, turning to Hermione, she added, "I'll write for sure! See you soon!"
Miranda nodded to them all, walked out with her usual grace, and disappeared from sight. Hermione noticed Harry and a blushing Ron watching Miranda with admiration and felt a small twinge of envy towards her friend.
***
A week had passed since Hermione came home. The long evenings where she had tirelessly shared stories with her parents about school and the wonders of the wizarding world were now behind her. She didn't weigh them down with her problems, sticking to tales of regular classes, friends, and daily life. Even that was enough to keep her parents asking questions late into the night.
Another typical weekday started as usual. Her mum and dad had already left for work, leaving Hermione home alone. She walked to the window and waved to the Auror stationed outside their house. She had figured him out pretty quickly among the other passersby and now regularly exchanged waves with him, sometimes even bringing him a cup of tea. Sure, it was a bit frustrating to spend her whole holiday under such tight security, but on the bright side, she had such a long list of books to read that she worried she wouldn't get through them all in time.
Hermione stepped away from the window, sat down at her desk, and opened a Potions book. Recent events had reignited her interest in the subject, which had faded a bit during their serious concerns about Snape and his possible role in helping Voldemort return. However, her excellent exam grade had convinced her that the head of Slytherin was, above all, a professional, even if he was unpleasant. With fresh motivation and renewed energy, she dove back into her studies.
"To make a burn-healing paste, you need to take..." Hermione began reading. At that moment, a tapping at the window caught her attention. Outside sat an owl with a small note tied to its leg. Hermione untied the note and let the owl go before unfolding it. She immediately recognized Miranda's neat and tidy handwriting. The note said:
Dear Hermione, I hope you're doing well and that those annoying members of the League of Light aren't bothering you. I'd love to hear how your holidays are going. My family and I left for Brazil on the first day and went to see the 'Wondrous Wyverns' show—magical acrobats. The performance was truly spectacular, unlike anything I've ever seen before. I highly recommend catching a show if you get the chance.
But there's something else I wanted to share. If you remember, I brought a few books on Time Magic with me. In one of them, I found a very interesting note. I think it's pretty old. I've attached it to this letter.
Best, Miranda.
Only then did Hermione notice the small, slightly crumpled piece of paper pinned to the letter. She unfolded it and read:
The Vault of Time exists. Pass this on to Hermione Granger.
At the bottom was a signature: Terry Foster, 1969.