Hermione stared at the elderly man smiling at her from the mirror. A dull aura flickered around him, hiding everything behind his back. There was something oddly familiar about the image. The voice, especially — it seemed to echo in her memory, stirring vague recollections. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not remember where she might have met this wizard before.
One thing was beyond doubt: the man before her was a wizard. His clothes, neatly styled hair and posture — everything marked him as part of the magical world. But that was not all. Something in his appearance reminded her of Gareth Bridge, the Ministry employee who had first taken her to Diagon Alley. He had seemed like a man of the old school, someone used to a certain order of things.
This stranger, it seemed, had grown up in similar circles. Yet there were clear differences. He lacked the aristocratic restraint that had struck Hermione the moment she first met Mr Bridge. His gaze was a little too intent, his stance tense, and the way his hands moved betrayed a barely noticeable nervousness.
"If you'll allow me, Miss Granger." The man inclined his head slightly. "Terry Foster, at your service. Or Professor Foster, if you prefer. You can hardly imagine how long I've been waiting for this meeting."
Behind Hermione, Miranda let out a loud gasp and dropped the drum. It hit the floor with a thud, sending a low note rolling through the room. She sprang to her feet and hurried towards the mirrors, but Foster sharply raised his hand.
"Stop! Don't cross the line of the pattern. Break the magic — and everything will go to waste."
Miranda froze, biting her lip. It was clear she wanted to step closer, to make sure what was happening was real, but the sharp command stopped her. For a moment, her brows drew together; she exhaled sharply through barely parted lips.
Hermione, for her part, was no less stunned than her friend. She froze, pressing her palm to her lips and staring at the figure that had appeared in the mirror. Before her stood someone who might truly have mastered the art of Time Magic — and what was happening suggested this was no idle rumour.
The pieces began to fall into place in Hermione's mind. The summer note. The book of rituals that had so conveniently turned up in the Ministry. The ritual itself. And now she and Miranda were standing before Terry Foster — a man believed to have vanished long ago.
"You were waiting? But why?" Hermione finally managed. "This meeting… it wasn't a coincidence, was it?"
"Hermione!" Miranda's surprised cry came from behind her. "We decided to perform this ritual ourselves! What does that have to do with —"
"Miss Granger is quite right," the voice from the mirror cut in. "This meeting is very important. And I could not allow it not to happen."
"Important?" Hermione's brows rose. "But why? Why did you need to meet with us?"
"I should be more precise: with you in particular, Miss Granger," Terry Foster said with a polite smile. "Though, of course, meeting Miss Ravenclaw is also extremely pleasant and very much welcome."
"With me in particular?" Hermione shot Miranda a quick look. "It was actually her idea to carry out the ritual."
Miranda shrugged, lips pressed tight. A flicker of hurt crossed her face. Hermione hesitated for a second, then turned back to the mirror.
"But why do you need this meeting?" she asked warily. "And why with me?"
"It's very simple, Miss Granger," Foster said. "Because of your remarkable ability in Time Magic. That is the main — and, in fact, the only — reason."
Hermione frowned.
"But I don't have any ability to…" She broke off, remembering her own thoughts on the matter. "Er… maybe I do, but I've never tried to control time. I don't even know how to do that."
"And yet you did manage it once!" the wizard in the mirror exclaimed. "Quite by accident. You've already worked that out yourself, haven't you, Miss Granger?"
Hermione blinked, thrown off balance.
"You mean that maths lesson at school?" she said slowly. "But how did you find out? And can that really be called a remarkable ability?"
"Oh yes, it certainly can," Terry Foster said with open enthusiasm. "Those who lack such ability are simply incapable of doing anything like that. What's more, even among wizards who have mastered the most complex spells, almost no one possesses such a gift."
He paused briefly, giving weight to his next words.
"Those who can do this can literally be counted on one hand. In the whole world. And those who can affect time by accident…" He shook his head, as though even he found it hard to believe.
Miranda let out a soft gasp.
"Incredible…" she whispered, staring at Hermione in shock. "I knew such abilities were rare, but I had no idea they were that rare."
A flicker of admiration crossed Miranda's gaze, and Hermione flushed slightly.
"Well…" she muttered. "I suppose I was just lucky."
She gave an awkward smile, then, realising she looked foolish, quickly pulled herself together.
"I'm very grateful for your high opinion of me," she went on more steadily. "And, of course, I'm glad to learn about my abilities. But…" She looked Foster straight in the eye. "I assume the reason you wanted to speak to me wasn't only to see me and tell me this. Am I right?"
"You are very perceptive, Miss Granger," Mr Foster said. "Of course, meeting a wizard who can control time is interesting in itself. However, besides the pleasure of seeing you —" Hermione thought she caught a faint note of mockery in his voice, "— I need a small favour from you right now."
Hermione frowned.
"And what would that be?"
Foster looked Hermione over appraisingly and said, "I need you to help me get out of the Vault of Time."
"The Vault of Time?" Miranda and Hermione exclaimed at once, exchanging glances.
"So it really exists?" Hermione stared at Terry Foster in disbelief.
"But it's impossible to get out of there," Miranda objected, not hiding her shock. "That's stated clearly in the legend —" She broke off, still trying to take it in. "Though it seems it isn't quite a legend after all."
Both of them stared at the professor, who watched their reaction with a satisfied smile.
"Yes, the Vault of Time exists," he finally confirmed, casting a brief glance at Hermione. Then he turned his gaze to Miranda. "And as for the legend… it is both true and not."
"How is that?" Miranda stared at him wide-eyed, trying to grasp what he meant.
"The thing is, it really is impossible to get out of the Vault of Time on one's own. However," now Foster seemed to fix Hermione with his gaze, "you have already realised, Miss Granger, that there are ways in this world to get around even the impossible. Especially with the help of a wizard who has abilities in Time Magic." The corners of his lips barely twitched into something like a smile.
Hermione watched Foster in silence, processing what she had heard. There was something off about his words and his manner. His speech was too smooth, as though rehearsed, and the friendliness felt forced. Despite the smile, his eyes remained wary, assessing. And besides…
"But, Mr Foster, there's one thing I don't understand." Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. "You just said yourself that there are other wizards in the world with the same abilities. Few, perhaps, but they exist. And more importantly, they are far more experienced and know far more than I do. So why do you need to meet with me in particular? Why not turn to one of them? Surely any of them could solve your problem with ease."
Foster did not answer at once. The hint of a smile vanished, and a flash of anger flickered in his eyes — a fleeting spark, instantly hidden behind a mask of calm. He studied Hermione thoughtfully, as though deciding whether to tell her the truth.
"You see, Miss Granger, with some of those who possess this gift I have, to put it mildly, strained relations," he said, the last words dry, almost through clenched teeth. "Some of them tremble with fear; others hide behind rules and conventions."
He gave a short, humourless smile. There was no warmth in it — only irritation.
"They see things too narrowly. And you…" His gaze softened noticeably. "You are quite different, Miss Granger. Despite your young age, I am certain you are wiser and more capable than many of them." He leaned forward slightly, and his voice grew almost confidential. "Some wizards cannot be persuaded. They are deaf, stuck in their dogmas. I tried, but… and why waste effort on persuasion?" He spread his hands a little. "It is far more sensible to turn to those who are ready for something new… the younger generation. To those who are not afraid to step beyond what is familiar."
He tried once more to put on a kindly smile meant for Hermione.
"The younger generation?" Hermione's brows shot up. "You were probably counting on them, unlike experienced wizards, not knowing about your experiments on Muggles. Wasn't that it?"
For a split second, Foster's face hardened. Silence hung in the room. Then, with almost theatrical slowness, the semblance of a smile returned.
"Come now, Miss Granger." He spoke softly, but mockery now edged his voice. "That's nothing but slander from my enemies. What experiments? What Muggles?"
"It's mentioned in the books I've read," Miranda cut in, stepping closer to the mandala.
Foster did not even spare her a glance.
"I'll repeat myself," he said crisply, as if trying to hammer each word into their heads, "this is all slander. Has any evidence ever been found?" He turned sharply towards Miranda and fixed her with a cold, piercing stare.
Hermione did not like his sharpness at all, but a second later she, too, looked at her friend expectantly. Miranda shivered, frowned… and after a short pause, shook her head.
"There you are!" Foster threw up his hands, as though he had just been given absolute proof of his innocence. "Didn't I say so? You see for yourselves — there are no grounds for these ridiculous accusations."
Putting his polite, habitual smile back in place, he went on.
"That is why I believe you, Miss Granger, will be my lucky ticket out. At least the reflections of possible futures," he paused briefly, "keep converging on you again and again."
"Reflections of possible futures? What do you mean?" Hermione asked warily.
"From the Vault of Time, one can glimpse curious… hm… possibilities," Foster drawled. "Sometimes the reflections come together into a single picture… and among them there are some that look especially tempting."
"So you know the future?" Miranda leaned forward, excitement in her voice. "Can you tell us what awaits us?"
"Know the future?" He gave a quiet laugh. "That's putting it too strongly. The future has many faces — far too many to choose just one. But some paths repeat themselves more often than others. And they can be nudged."
Foster turned, glanced at something behind him, as though checking against something unseen, then turned back to the girls.
"And as for telling you about them? That would hardly do you any good." He let a short pause hang, then added almost casually, "Believe me, sometimes ignorance is far kinder than knowledge."
Hermione felt everything inside her draw tight. Arguing with someone who knew the future — and, if the rumours about the Time-Turner were true, could also alter the past — seemed pointless. He reminded her of a chess player who can already see the checkmate while his opponent is still placing pieces on the board. She glanced at Foster: a smug curve touched the corners of his lips, as though he had read her thoughts.
And yet the stories of experiments on Muggles would not leave her alone. With every passing second, the situation unsettled her more. She suddenly wanted to break off the ritual and forget it like a bad dream.
"And why, Mr Foster, are you so certain I would agree to help you at all?" Hermione asked, holding his gaze. "If other wizards refused, they must have had their reasons. And possibly very good ones."
Terry Foster looked at her closely and let out a slow, heavy breath.
"Yes, you're right. Each of them had their own reason," he said. "As for you, Miss Granger, I believe you will want to help me at least out of simple gratitude."
"Gratitude?" Hermione's eyes widened. "Why would you say that? I've never met you before!"
Foster smiled.
"That may be so. And yet… perhaps you will remember the attack at the Christmas ice rink? Or that moment in Hagrid's hut when you nearly spilled your precious potion."
Hermione's breath caught. Of course. That was the voice she had heard then — the voice that had saved her twice in the past year.
"So it was you?!" she cried, her voice tight. "You chased Thomas away… and put the potion back into the cauldron?"
The corners of Foster's mouth twitched.
"At your service, Miss Granger," he said, bowing with mock courtesy. "Your rescuer and devoted servant, Terry Foster."
He made a casual gesture, as if tipping an invisible hat, watching her reaction with open interest.
"But how?" Hermione shook her head, trying to make sense of it. "You said yourself you're trapped in the Vault of Time. You couldn't have —"
"And once again, you're right. I am trapped." He drew a slow arc with his hand, outlining the space around him. "But even this place has its cracks. I could only appear for a moment — to save you, Miss Granger. Or, say… to leave you a note from the past."
A sly curve touched his lips.
"I couldn't very well let the magical world lose your talent. What a tragedy that would have been." He lifted his hands in an exaggerated show of horror, then inclined his head and added, "I might even say… my own tragedy."
Hermione stood there, struck dumb. More than once she had tried to unravel the mystery of her rescuer, had turned over dozens of possibilities, even suspected Dumbledore — and then quickly dismissed it. The voice had been different. And now, at last, the secret was out. The one who had saved her was standing right in front of her.
"I…" She swallowed, then finally said, "Thank you, Mr Foster. You really did… save my life. Twice."
"Oh, please, Miss Granger, no thanks are needed," he said, dipping his head again with easy politeness. "How could I refuse help to someone whose name will one day echo through the magical world?"
Hermione flushed and let out a small, embarrassed laugh. 'Like a silly girl who's just been flattered,' she scolded herself at once.
"I think you're overstating my abilities," she said, still flustered. "I do try to study, of course, but —"
"Not at all," Foster cut her off. Something odd flickered in his eyes. "Trust me, I know what I'm talking about."
Hermione grew even more self-conscious and turned aside to hide the heat in her cheeks. But she immediately met Miranda's eyes — she looked just as stunned. Hermione's pulse quickened, warmth flooding her face. She badly wanted to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"Let's get back to you," she said quickly, clearing her throat. Inside her, two feelings were at odds: the distrust that had not gone anywhere, and gratitude for the fact that he had saved her life. "Before I decide, I want to understand exactly what you're asking of me, Mr Foster."
"Well, now we're getting down to business," Foster said, pleased. "All you need to do is create a magical device — the Eye of Chronos — and activate it near the entrance to the Vault of Time."
"And that's it?" Hermione said, taken aback. "I thought it would be something incredibly difficult, something that required Time Magic!"
"You're right to think that, Miss Granger." A crooked smile touched Foster's lips. "Both are true. That's precisely why you must create and activate the Eye."
"Well then…" she drew it out. "I suppose it must be possible after all. Otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to do it."
"Quite right," Foster said with a nod. "Your abilities in Time Magic and in magical device-making matter here. But there's one more important point I should mention."
Hermione stiffened.
"Activating the device will have a serious effect on the flow of time around you," he went on in an even tone. "I'm afraid you'll have to miss several weeks of classes. Though for you, that time will pass in a single moment."
"What?!" Hermione stared at him as if he had just suggested blowing up the Hogwarts library. "Miss classes?!"
She straightened abruptly, fixing Foster with an incredulous look.
"I can't," she snapped. "That's… no, that's completely unacceptable. If it comes to that, we can do it during the holidays!"
"I'm afraid the holidays won't do," Foster shook his head. "The Vault of Time is in Hogwarts, and it can only be opened during term time."
"But… no. No!I can't miss lessons!" Hermione stood there, shaking her head as though trying to drive away the thought itself. "Do you have any idea how far ahead the others will get?" Her voice trembled with indignation. "And how many tests I'll miss?! No. This… this is completely impossible!"
Terry Foster studied Hermione in silence for a moment, then his gaze drifted to Miranda, lingered for a heartbeat, and returned to her. The smile drained from his face.
"Miss Granger," he said, the earlier courtesy gone from his voice. "No matter how much you might want otherwise, it's hard for me to imagine you'll be able to turn an old wizard away."
He let the pause stretch.
"Especially since this year the paths time will open to you will be far more twisted than before. And along that road there may be drops where… ah… it's all too easy to lose your footing." His face settled into an expression of concern, as though he truly cared. "I would hate for your talents to go unrealised. And without my help…" He let the sentence trail off, spreading his hands in a helpless gesture.
Hermione stood rooted to the spot, staring at Foster, eyes wide. She knew the League of Light was a danger to her even at Hogwarts, but she tried not to fixate on it. Now, though… brushing aside the words of someone who had seen the future would be reckless.
Foster caught the flicker of doubt and went on more gently, "And, of course, this won't touch only you. Time drags many into its current… including those who truly matter to you. Your closest friends, for instance."
Hermione snapped her head up.
"What danger are you talking about? Isn't it the League of Light? What does this have to do with my friends?"
Foster shook his head slowly.
"No. The danger will come from a completely different direction. And believe me… it will be far deadlier. And don't ask what, exactly," he added quickly, seeing Hermione already part her lips. "I can't tell you. And why ruin the surprise? You'll find out soon enough." His gaze fixed on her. "Believe me, Miss Granger, it's very much in your own interest to help me get out of here."
Hermione pressed her lips together. Every line he spoke was riddled with half-answers, and that did nothing to earn her trust. If anything, memories of his dark past and the rumours about vanished Muggles only deepened her unease. And yet… what if he was telling the truth? She grasped for some argument she could hold on to, something solid enough to refuse his pushy offer.
"But my disappearance from Hogwarts… it'll be noticed straight away!" she blurted. "There's no way to hide it! How do you imagine that? One moment I'm a student — and then I'm gone for weeks? What will my parents say? The teachers? They'll come looking for me!"
Foster's mouth curved into another smug smile.
"Oh, leave that to me, Miss Granger," he said lightly. "Believe me, I know how to take care of it properly."
Suddenly his image shuddered, the edges blurring, and Hermione even thought she saw him beginning to show through, almost transparent. Her suspicion was confirmed at once by Mr Foster himself.
"Unfortunately, our time is nearly up," he said. "You will have exactly three months to think it over, Miss Granger. By then, you will see for yourself that the second danger is not just real — it is far more deadly than the one you already know. Your choice will affect many lives, not only your own."
The image rippled again, but his gaze stayed cold and assured.
"So when you finally decide to accept my offer, perform the same ritual on the day of the winter solstice. You will give this some thought, won't you, Miss Granger?"
"I…" Hermione's voice faltered, but she forced herself to straighten. "If you're saying my friends are in danger… I will think about it."
"Good. That is promise enough for me," Foster said, satisfied. "And now I have one more request. A rather unusual one."
For the first time, his gaze settled on Miranda.
"You, Miss Ravenclaw."
Miranda regarded him cautiously.
"Yes, Mr Foster?" she said.
"I would like you to place a Non-Disclosure Charm on everything you have seen and heard here. I know you handle this rare and demanding spell with ease."
Miranda blinked but said nothing, and Foster went on, lowering his voice a notch.
"No one must know about this ritual, except the two of you, of course. It's crucial for your own safety. Otherwise, all sorts of things might happen… very unpleasant ones."
He put extra weight on the last words.
Miranda shot Hermione an uncertain look. Hermione frowned, turning his words over, but, unsure what to say, only gave a small, uneasy shrug. The silence stretched.
"Well then…" Miranda said at last. "I don't see how it would hurt if we keep the ritual and what we learned from you to ourselves."
She looked to Hermione again. Hermione wavered. None of this sat right with her, but she nodded, reluctant. Miranda drew her wand and quickly cast the Non-Disclosure Charm on them both. Then she looked back at Foster.
"Thank you, Miss Ravenclaw." His voice softened, almost warm. "I always knew a student of my House could be trusted."
He shifted his gaze to Hermione again.
"And one last thing, Miss Granger. As a down payment on our future cooperation, let me offer you a small hint."
Hermione tensed.
"The best way to find out what an enemy is planning is to slip into their lair and ask them directly… without being recognised."
Foster's image shuddered, the edges blurring further.
"And now, if you'll excuse me…"
"How exactly are you supposed to ask and not be recognised?" Hermione burst out, but her words were already swallowed by the empty room.
Foster vanished. The silence that followed felt heavy.
"That was some ritual," Miranda said at last. She finally stirred, as though waking from a spell. "Who would have thought."
She shook her head, smoothed her hair, and gave a short snort.
"Does he seriously think we're going to do what he asked?"
Miranda looked to her friend for agreement. Hermione only gave a distracted shrug. Now she had one more problem to deal with. And the worst part was, she still didn't know what decision she would make in the end.