An ordinary autumn evening was drawing in. In the Hogwarts grounds, a light breeze rustled the leaves, playing with them in the dim light of the setting September sun. Benches along the paths cast long shadows. One of them — the farthest away, slightly crooked with age — was occupied by two students.
Hermione and Miranda sat close together, leaning towards one another. They spoke in whispers, their heads almost touching. Any passer-by would have understood at once: this conversation was not meant for other ears.
"He just refused? And that was it?" Hermione asked incredulously, frowning. "But why? What could possibly be so dangerous about that ritual?"
"I don't understand it either," a barely noticeable irritation crept into Miranda's voice — the irritation of someone not used to being refused. "What's more, he didn't just refuse to tell us anything about the ritual. He actually advised us to leave the whole thing alone. According to him, this entire business with Terry Foster has never led anyone to anything good, and we shouldn't repeat his mistakes."
"Hm… That's strange." Hermione frowned even more, her gaze shifting to the letter in Miranda's hands. "Is that it? Quentin Elmridge's letter?"
Miranda nodded and handed it to her.
"Yes. And a very unpleasant one." She gave a slight shiver. "He spent most of it lecturing me about my curiosity, saying I was poking my nose where it didn't belong, and didn't even bother to explain what exactly he'd been doing with Foster. And as for the 'Gaze of Eternity' ritual — he didn't say a single word. Even though Elmridge's name keeps turning up in Terry Foster's notes in connection with it."
Miranda fell silent, then almost immediately added, with a faint edge of irritation,
"Honestly, he's quite an unpleasant man, don't you think?"
Hermione read the letter again, her eyes moving over the neat lines, the letters slightly angular.
"Yes, he's not particularly friendly," she said, tapping her fingers against the bench, then added, "But what if he simply doesn't know anything? What if the Gaze of Eternity is just something Foster made up? Like the rumours about him inventing a Time-Turner?"
"The ritual isn't an invention," Miranda said firmly. "And Elmridge is definitely hiding something."
Hermione looked up at her. "You're that sure?"
Miranda gave a knowing smile.
"I'm sure of something else. People rarely refuse to talk without a reason. There's always a reason." Hermione stayed silent, waiting for her to continue. Miranda tilted her head slightly and added in a whisper, "I don't think he's just hiding the truth. I think he's afraid of it."
"Afraid?" Hermione straightened sharply. "Why would he be?"
Miranda glanced around. Nearby, a small group of first-years was moving slowly along the path, talking quietly among themselves. No one else was close. She turned back to Hermione and, lowering her voice even further, said, "Hermione, there's something you should know." She cast a quick look at the retreating first-years. "Strictly speaking, it's not really a fact. Just that while I was looking into Terry Foster, I came across some rumours about him. Here and there it was mentioned that he used Muggles in his time experiments. And they disappeared. Disappeared for good."
Hermione froze. She didn't even blink — the turn this had taken was completely unexpected.
"Muggles disappeared? Rumours?" she repeated slowly, staring intently at Miranda's face. "Or is it actually true?"
Miranda gave a slight shake of her head.
"Apparently… just rumours," she said with a shrug. "There's no official proof. But there have always been far too many secrets surrounding Foster." She paused, thoughtfully brushing her fingertips against the pendant at her neck, then added, lowering her voice again, "And still, if there's even a grain of truth in those stories, it explains a lot. For instance, why Elmridge doesn't want to say anything. Why he's so categorical. Forbidden experiments, Muggles disappearing… That's not a past anyone would want to have any connection to."
Hermione shivered. Somewhere deep inside, her inner voice was already muttering that she should drop this altogether. But… Time Magic. Secrets no one had ever managed to unravel. A mystery standing before her in all its frightening pull. Even back in the summer, the note about the Vault of Time that Miranda had sent her had refused to leave her alone. Hermione had tried to convince herself it was just another trap set by the League of Light, not worth wasting time on. But the thought of the mystery wouldn't let go. Subconsciously — without fully realising it — she had been waiting to return to Hogwarts to finally get to the bottom of it.
"So that's it, then?" she asked, faintly disappointed.
"Actually, no!" Miranda replied unexpectedly. "To be honest, I wasn't sure Elmridge would reply at all, so at the same time I decided to look for information about the ritual myself — and about Elmridge as well."
"And did you find anything?" Hermione asked sceptically.
"You could say that," Miranda raised an eyebrow slightly. "I started by checking our library, but as you can imagine, there was nothing of interest there. So I tried another approach."
"And what was that?"
"I went to Elidor Lynett. You know him." Miranda said it casually, but there was a faint uncertainty in her voice, as if she were apologising in advance for mentioning his name.
Hermione grimaced at once. Elidor Lynett… One of those who had seriously got on her nerves last year. Even after Miranda had made him apologise, the bad taste had never quite gone away.
"Lynett?" she said with a wince. "And how exactly was he supposed to help you?"
"Not him, of course," Miranda replied, not reacting to Hermione's displeasure at all. "His father." She paused briefly. "Orlando Lynett is an Archivist at the Ministry of Magic. And as you can imagine, the Archive holds a vast number of rare books and manuscripts."
Hermione raised her eyebrows with interest.
"But we can't just get books from the Ministry Archive whenever we like."
"That only applies to classified documents," Miranda countered. "Magical literature on any topic can be requested quite legally. You just need to know how to go about it."
Hermione blinked.
"Wow…" she said, genuinely impressed. "I had no idea."
"Not many people do," Miranda said with mild condescension, then hesitated before adding, "Especially among… no offence meant… among those who grew up in Muggle families."
"Yes, I understand," Hermione replied, her voice colder than she had intended.
Miranda waved it off.
"Anyway, that's not the point. What matters is that I asked Elidor's father to find any information connected with Terry Foster and Quentin Elmridge. And you won't believe it… that very same Elmridge published a book on rituals forty years ago."
With that, Miranda drew a small, rather battered book from her robes. Curlicue letters on the cover read: Dance of the Elements: Little-Known Paths of Magic.
"It's a copy," she said, handing the book to Hermione. "An exact one. Even the torn pages match. The most important thing about it is that, according to Orlando Lynett, this book once belonged to Terry Foster himself. It was the only one of his magical possessions found in the house after he vanished, as if deliberately left there, and it was sent to the Archive." Hermione looked at the book with interest as her friend went on, "That's why I specifically asked for a full replica of the book, not just the text printed out. You never know." Miranda raised an eyebrow meaningfully, hinting that there was more to it.
Hermione leafed through a few pages of the book with interest. Notes kept cropping up in the margins, written in a sweeping but extremely illegible hand. She frowned, trying to make out even a single line, but failed.
"Don't even try," Miranda said with a smirk. "I couldn't make head or tail of it either until I used Calligraphus Veritas."
She drew her wand, touched the page with a light movement, and spoke the spell. The ink began to slide across the paper, changing shape until it settled into perfectly neat, clear letters in the margins of the book: 'Instead of Jupiter's influence, the Magnetic Lenix can be used.'
"What's a Magnetic Lenix?" Hermione frowned, shifting her gaze from the book to Miranda.
"Probably some kind of artefact," Miranda shrugged carelessly. "I already explained that Foster created magical devices that could replace natural phenomena."
"Oh, right, of course," Hermione replied absently. "Still, what's the point of this book?"
"This is the point!" Miranda said, suddenly animated. She snatched the book from Hermione's hands, flicked through the pages deftly, then stopped at page one hundred and three and handed it back to her with a look of triumph.
The heading read: The Gaze of Eternity Ritual.
Hermione took the book at once, her eyes running over the lines. She read intently, biting her lip. Miranda, meanwhile, watched her with a faintly self-satisfied smile.
"It says here that the ritual can only be performed four times a year: either on a solstice or on an equinox," Hermione said under her breath, still studying the page.
"That's right!" Miranda cut in, leaning forward impatiently. "And the nearest equinox — the autumn one — is only four days away. The twenty-second of September. We've got just enough time to prepare."
Hermione jerked her head up, staring at Miranda in shock.
"Prepare?" she repeated, hardly believing her ears. "You actually want to perform this ritual?"
"Why not?" Miranda replied lightly, giving a small shake of her head. "Who's going to stop us? Aren't you curious yourself what Terry Foster found so special about this ritual? Look — even from this page alone you can tell there's something to it. It's covered in his scribbles."
Hermione looked back at the book. The margins were crowded with hurried notes, as if Foster had been feverishly jotting down every thought.
She flicked her wand.
"Calligraphus Veritas."
The ink quivered and began to change shape, forming neat, clear letters. Hermione skimmed the transformed text.
"There are some strange hints about time here, but mostly it talks about some kind of magical device," she muttered. "From what I can tell, it's meant to recreate conditions similar to an equinox. Am I right?"
Miranda studied the page, frowning slightly.
"Looks like it," she said lightly. "But we don't need that device. We'll just perform the Gaze of Eternity ritual on the equinox and see for ourselves what this 'eternity' is and what it looks like."
Hermione bit her lip. She didn't trust ritual magic much. It all struck her as outdated mysticism, with more dancing and shouting than real magical knowledge. And yet… her gaze went back to the page. There was something odd about Foster's scribbles. And besides, Time Magic drew her in. And that note at the beginning of the summer. What if he really had left it for Hermione back then, in the distant past? She let out a breath, made up her mind, closed the book, and looked up at Miranda.
"All right," she said. "Let's try it."
Miranda smiled, pleased.
"Great. Let's start preparing."
***
On the day of the autumn equinox, straight after lessons, Hermione went to one of the abandoned rooms on the fourth floor of Hogwarts, not far from Ravenclaw Tower. Miranda had brought everything they needed there in advance. Now there was only one last step left — to perform the ritual.
When Hermione entered, Miranda was finishing the last preparations, constantly checking Elmridge's book. A complex magical figure had already been drawn on the floor: it looked like four intricate spirals converging at the centre of a circle. Their curves drew the eye, and if you stared at them too long, a strange sensation set in, as if the pattern were shifting slightly, leaving you a little dizzy. In the very centre of the figure stood a massive hourglass. At three of the outer ends of the spirals stood large mirrors, slightly darkened with age. The end of the fourth spiral was left empty.
Hermione remembered from the description that this spot was meant for the wizard performing the ritual. That meant her. It wasn't that she wanted the role, but Miranda had no doubts: Hermione's supposed ability with Time Magic made her the ideal candidate. And perhaps the only one of the two of them who could get the result they needed.
Off to one side lay a strange object, also shaped like an hourglass.
"What's that?" Hermione asked, curious.
Miranda looked up from the book, cast a brief glance at the object, and replied casually.
"A drum."
She went straight back to the ritual description.
"What a strange drum," Hermione muttered, studying the instrument. "Where did you get it?"
This time, Miranda did set the book aside.
"A friend from Nigeria sent it," she explained. "And it really isn't an ordinary drum. It's a bata. When one is made, a 'soul' is put into it."
"A soul? In a drum?" Hermione raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
"At least that's what my Nigerian friend claims," Miranda shrugged. "There are magical rites involved in making this instrument that give it special properties. And most importantly — this is exactly what Terry Foster recommended for the ritual in his notes."
She pointed to another set of scribbles left by the vanished wizard. Hermione didn't bother to check. She carefully picked up the bata, turned it over in her hands, then tapped the surface lightly. A deep, resonant sound filled the room.
"An interesting instrument," she admitted, setting the drum back down. Then she looked around the room and turned back to Miranda. "So… what do we do next?"
"It's very simple!" Miranda brightened. "Take three candles."
She nodded towards three candles neatly laid out nearby.
"They need to go by the mirrors. The burgundy one stands for the past — put it by the mirror on the left. The red one is the present — the mirror opposite. And the pale pink one symbolises the future — put that one on the right."
Hermione carefully placed the candles by the mirrors, following her friend's instructions.
"What's next?" she asked, with a note of boredom in her voice. Ritual magic hadn't impressed her so far.
"When I tell you, you'll need to light the candles and turn over the hourglass in the centre of the mandala."
"In the centre of what?"
"In the centre of the mandala," Miranda repeated patiently, then made a show of slapping her forehead. "Oh, my dear, of course! You haven't studied ritual magic as deeply as I have."
Hermione pressed her lips together. Lately, Miranda had been far too quick to point out, even in passing, her superiority in certain branches of magic.
"A mandala is the magical pattern you see on the floor," Miranda explained.
"Right. And that's it?" Hermione said curtly.
"Of course not. That's only the beginning of the ritual. Do you remember the three phrases I copied out of the book?"
"Yes," Hermione replied.
"Good. When the drum falls silent the first time, turn to the left mirror and say the first phrase. The second time, turn to the centre one, then the right. Simple enough, as you can see."
Miranda picked the book up again, checked the figure and the placement of the objects once more, then lowered herself to the floor with the bata in her hands.
"And now light the candles, turn the hourglass, and take your node of power," she said, nodding towards the end of the spiral left free of mirrors.
"Node of power?" Hermione gave a short, amused huff as she stepped into the indicated spot.
She flicked her wand, murmuring the spell, and the candles flared into bright light. Then Hermione reached for the hourglass and, with some effort, turned it over — it was noticeably heavier than she had expected.
At that moment, the first low beat of the bata sounded in the room. Then another. And another. The rhythm was slow, but the vibrations spread through the room, echoing in her chest and stirring strange sensations. At last, the beats fell silent. Hermione turned to the left mirror.
"The past is sand, slipping through the fingers. I rouse the memory of days, forgotten and gone."
The drum began to beat again, the rhythm picking up. It fell silent a second time, and Hermione turned to the centre mirror.
"The present is a moment that pierces eternity. I hold in my hands the pulse of time, ever in motion."
The drum beat faster still, the rhythm growing tighter, denser, then cut off once more. Hermione turned to the right mirror.
"The future is a fog, impenetrable to the eye. I summon its shadows to stand before me."
The drum burst into a crescendo — sharp, loud beats shook the air, filling the room with vibration. Hermione's heart suddenly began to race, as if trying to match that mad rhythm. Then, all at once, everything fell silent. The candle flames leapt up to the ceiling, wavered, and just as sharply went out, leaving behind thin threads of smoke. A wavering ripple ran across the mirrors, as if their surface were water stirred by the wind… but in the next instant, the mirage vanished.
The mirrors were ordinary again. No visions. No answers. Hermione frowned, peering into the reflection, hoping to catch even the slightest hint of something, but there was only herself. After standing there another second or two, she turned to Miranda and asked:
"And that's it? Not exactly impressive. I thought —" She broke off.
Miranda wasn't looking at Hermione, but seemed to be staring straight through her. Her eyes were wide, her face caught between fear and awe. Hermione spun around sharply. In the central mirror, in a faint, ghostly glow, the outline of a human figure was taking shape.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," the stranger said. "At last, we meet face to face."