"All right, Miranda, go on," Hermione said impatiently. "Did you manage to find out anything from the Grey Lady about the Green Cloak?"
They were sitting in the Cozy Haven, wrapped in blankets. Even though it was March, snow still lay outside, and the castle was rather chilly. Miranda gave one of her usual cryptic smiles and slowly reached for her mug of cooling cocoa. She took a sip, in no hurry to continue.
"Hermione, you really do love your legends, don't you?" she said, setting the mug aside.
"Don't stall, Miranda." Hermione shot her an annoyed look. "Did you find out anything or not? You know how important this is."
"I did, of course," Miranda replied. "But it wasn't easy. The Grey Lady, Helena Ravenclaw, isn't exactly talkative, you know."
Hermione leaned forward.
"And? How did you get her to talk?"
"At first, the moment I mentioned the Green Cloak, she just ignored me," Miranda said, a faint edge of irritation in her voice. "The first time, she turned away and drifted through a wall. That was the end of it. The second time, she only looked at me with that distant expression of hers. You know the one."
"Yes, I do," Hermione nodded, remembering her own encounter with the Grey Lady.
"So I changed my approach. I asked her what it was like studying at Ravenclaw in her time, what the students were like, what interested them… just kept the conversation casual."
She paused for a moment.
"Gradually, she started answering. Briefly, but not as distant as before. At one point, there was even something like a smile on her face. For her, that's extremely rare."
"Smart," Hermione said. "Win her trust first."
"Exactly. Then I asked, 'You probably know far more about Hogwarts than anyone would ever tell us, don't you?' She went quiet again, but she didn't drift off like before, even though she clearly understood where I was going with it."
"And what did she say?" Hermione was practically bouncing with impatience.
"At first, nothing. Just silence. Then, almost in a whisper: 'There are secrets too dangerous to be revealed. Especially to those who are still young and far too reckless.'"
Hermione frowned.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"I wondered the same thing," Miranda replied calmly. "So I told her, 'But the legend of the Green Cloak is just a story, isn't it? It can't be real.'"
Miranda paused for effect, taking a sip of her cocoa while Hermione stared her down.
"Well?" she asked impatiently, her voice rising slightly. "What did she say?"
Miranda leaned forward.
"She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, 'The Green Cloak exists. And its last owner is still alive.'"
Hermione straightened, her eyes flashing with excitement.
"So it's true? Then who is this owner? What else did she say?"
"Lady Helena spoke in hints, as always." Miranda brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "But if you listen carefully, it becomes clear: the last owner of the Cloak wasn't a wizard."
"Not a wizard?" Hermione cut in, raising an eyebrow. "Wait… you mean a Muggle?"
Miranda let out a bright laugh.
"No, of course not. You're jumping to conclusions. It wasn't a man at all, but a woman. A witch. And she studied here at Hogwarts, which isn't exactly surprising."
"But did she say who it was?" Hermione rattled on, barely containing herself. "Maybe we could find her… talk to her… persuade her to lend us the Cloak for a while or, if it comes to it, we could…"
She broke off, not quite daring to say it out loud.
Not long ago, the idea of stealing wouldn't even have crossed her mind. But ever since she'd got involved with Harry and Ron, the boundaries of what was acceptable seemed to have shifted. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, suddenly aware of how unlike her this was.
Miranda caught what went unsaid and merely raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk on her lips. When it was clear Hermione wouldn't continue, she said calmly:
"No, she didn't give a name. As I said, she only spoke in hints. But one of them was rather strange: 'Everyone sees it, but no one notices it.'"
Hermione stared at her friend, confused, then frowned, thinking it over.
"Everyone sees it, but no one notices it…" she repeated. "How is that even possible? Some kind of Disillusionment Charm? Or… maybe some sort of illusion?"
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, then let out a sharp breath.
"Why are they all like this? I don't get it! The moment someone knows anything important, it's riddles, puzzles, hints! Why can't anyone just say, 'The Cloak is right there, and it belongs to this witch!'"
Miranda gave a small shrug. She didn't have an answer either.
***
"It can't be a dragon. They're far too big, far too noticeable to stay hidden for that long," Hermione said firmly. Her finger rested on a line in the book open in front of her.
"What if it's… well, say, a werewolf? Or some kind of vampire?" Ron muttered, scratching the back of his head. He shot Harry a quick look, as if expecting him to back him up. Harry said nothing, tracing the wood grain of the table with his finger.
Their discussions about the Chamber of Secrets and the creature hiding in its depths had become almost a daily ritual. Hermione had already checked the spider theory and gone through half a dozen reference books on magical creatures, searching for any kind of match, but it had all come to nothing. Nothing matched what Harry had seen in Tom Riddle's memory. By now, she was almost certain that what Riddle had shown Harry had nothing to do with the monster in the Chamber. Whatever it was, it was far older and far more dangerous than a giant spider.
Harry didn't know what to think. Hermione's theory made sense, and, if he was honest, he was fine with it. It meant Hagrid had nothing to do with it. And Harry simply couldn't believe that their good-natured gamekeeper could be the Heir of Slytherin.
"A vampire?" Hermione repeated, as if Ron had just said something stupid. "That doesn't make any sense. The victims… they're not injured, they're petrified. As if frozen in terror. That's not how vampires work. You should know that by now!"
Her lecturing tone, as usual, got under Ron's skin, and he immediately frowned.
"But what if it's some rare kind? Or… or they've changed somehow. Maybe we just don't know everything they can do?"
"I doubt it," Hermione said, flipping through a few more pages before snapping the book shut. Dust rose into the air. "Vampires don't paralyse their victims with magic. They go for blood. They leave marks. Did you see the victims? This isn't a physical attack. No bites, no blood, no signs of a struggle. It's as if… as if they were hit by some kind of curse."
Harry, who had been silent until then, spoke up.
"A curse... What if it's not a creature at all?" He spoke slowly, thinking it through as he went. "What if Salazar Slytherin spread the rumours about the Chamber of Secrets and the horror hidden inside it on purpose? What if there was never any chamber at all?" He looked at Hermione. "What if it's magic? A curse that leaves the victims like this… that's why there are no signs of a struggle. Nothing."
His words made Hermione freeze. She slowly raised her eyes, as if everything had just come together in her mind.
"A curse… or a spell," she said, thinking aloud. "But not a simple one. It has to be something incredibly powerful. Possibly ancient magic that only works under certain conditions."
"Like in someone's presence?" Harry suggested, looking her in the eye.
Hermione nodded.
"In the presence of the Heir of Slytherin."
"Wait…" Ron frowned. "You're saying the Heir chooses the victims and casts the curse on them?"
"Exactly," Hermione said. She stood up from the table and began pacing. "It really does explain a lot. Why no one has seen the monster. Why the Chamber of Secrets can't be found. The Heir just knows how to direct the curse. That's it!"
Hermione shot her friends a triumphant look, clearly convinced she was right. Her words hung in the air. The room fell so quiet they could hear the wind outside the windows. Harry frowned, deep in thought. Ron, on the other hand, looked as though he'd had enough of the whole conversation and was about ready to get up and leave.
"By the way, Hermione…" Harry said suddenly. "When was the last time you got those threats?"
Ron looked up. Hermione froze for a split second.
"What threats?" she asked, then added after a moment, "You mean from the Smiting Hand?"
"Yes, those," Harry said.
"Nothing since Halloween." Her voice wavered, and Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
"It just seems strange to me," Harry went on, "that both the attacks from the Chamber of Secrets monster and the threats stopped at the same time. Don't you think that might be connected?"
"Yes… I hadn't thought of that," Hermione said. "But no one's left the school. How else could you explain it?"
Harry shrugged. Hermione sat back down, rubbed her temple, then said quietly:
"That construct… the pumpkin and the sheet." She exhaled. "It really did scare me. Honestly, I'm glad it stopped. I try not to think about it happening again."
Hermione shuddered, then suddenly stood up, as if trying to shake the thoughts off.
"All right. I'm going. It's late. I still need to finish my Potions essay."
Harry opened his mouth, but no words came. Ron only nodded after her, watching her go.
She stepped into the dormitory. It was already night outside. The soft golden light of the lamps felt warm and calm, but the moment Hermione crossed the threshold, something inside her shifted, and a chill ran down her spine.
She stopped, not immediately understanding what had unsettled her. The room looked the same as always. Nora and Lila seemed to be asleep; the curtains around their beds were drawn. Only Olivia was still sitting on hers, hunched over, her head lowered.
"Olivia, is something wrong?" Hermione asked cautiously.
There was no answer.
"Olivia? Is this… something to do with your father?" Hermione added after a short pause, feeling a growing unease.
Olivia lowered her head even further and let out a quiet, stifled sob, as if trying not to cry. Hermione stepped toward her, about to sit beside her, when something caught her attention. A strange glow. It was coming from the mirror on the wall.
The old mirror, which usually gave friendly advice on how to do their hair or what to wear, and sometimes simply joked with them, now looked different. Its surface glowed with an unnatural, deathly blue light and seemed to pulse faintly, drawing the eye, holding it, calling to her.
Hermione swallowed hard.
"What is this nonsense?" she muttered, taking an involuntary step toward the mirror. Then another. And another.
With each step, a chill seemed to brush against her. But she couldn't stop or look away; the mirror was pulling her in. At last, her own face came into view in the reflection. Everything looked normal… and yet, not quite. Her face seemed pale and sickly.
"It's probably just that stupid glow," she whispered, trying to calm herself. "I look fine. Just a bit tired."
At that moment, a sharp, broken sob from Olivia behind her came so suddenly that Hermione flinched, and in the very next instant the mirror sprang to life.
Her reflection began to change, but not in the usual way. It didn't offer a new hairstyle or wink with a friendly suggestion to touch up her lipstick. Life seemed to drain from the pale face in the glass; the skin turned grey and dry, and dark shadows spread beneath the eyes, deepening into pitch-black hollows.
Hermione watched in horror as her reflection aged, trembled, and faded. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't obey, as if rooted to the floor. She couldn't even turn away or close her eyes; she could only stand there and watch as a cold fear spread through her chest.
The reflection kept changing. The skin on its face sagged, the lips cracked, the eyes sank deep into their sockets. Hermione struggled to breathe. It was as if the mirror were draining the life out of her. Then, suddenly, thick scarlet blood began to seep from the eyes of her reflection. It didn't just flow, it oozed, heavy and viscous, as though the mirror itself were bleeding. Bloody tears slid down, leaving red trails behind them.
Without thinking, Hermione touched her cheeks and felt something warm and sticky under her fingers.
"NO!" a cry rang out from somewhere far away, and in the same instant Hermione felt something yank her back from the mirror and turn her around.
For a few seconds, she stared at the blood on her fingers, unable to understand where it had come from. Only then did she start to come back to herself and saw Olivia backing away from her, pale.
"You… you saw that too?" Hermione rasped.
Olivia didn't answer. Instead, she broke down in tears, sinking to the floor and covering her face with her hands.