As soon as Harry mentioned the sinister voice whispering about murder yet again, something seemed to click in Hermione's mind: 'Harry is the only one who understands Parseltongue. So it has to be a snake!' And at that very moment, she remembered the note about the king of serpents she had once come across while looking for information about verdilisks.
Hermione spun round and broke into a run, and less than a minute later she burst into the library, almost colliding with Madam Pince. Madam Pince hissed something angrily after her, but Hermione was already rushing between the shelves, searching for the book she needed.
There it was: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.
She dropped into the nearest chair and feverishly leafed through the pages.
"I knew it!" she cried, almost jumping in her seat with excitement when her eyes landed on an illustration of a basilisk.
A terrifying, writhing serpent stared back at her from the pages of the book.
"Everything fits…" she muttered, quickly scanning the description of the king of serpents. "Although…"
"A basilisk kills with its gaze. So why are its victims still alive?"
Hermione looked up from the book for a moment, stared thoughtfully at the dusty library window, frowned, tapped her finger quietly on the table, and muttered in annoyance, "All right. I'll work that out later."
She bent over the text again. According to the description, a basilisk could live for hundreds of years. That explained how it could have survived for centuries in the Chamber of Secrets. 'Slytherin would definitely have chosen something like that,' Hermione noted to herself.
She read the page to the end and sank into thought. There was still one detail that made no sense: why had no one seen the basilisk yet? She got up and began pacing back and forth across the room. There was no one else in the library. Everyone had already gone to the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, so she was not bothering anyone. She herself had not even thought of going. The answer was too close. Hermione could feel it.
And suddenly it hit her.
"Pipes!" she cried. "It moves through the pipes! That's why no one sees it!"
Without wasting a second, she snatched up her quill, wrote "pipes" in large letters beside the engraving of the basilisk, and looked at the terrifying image once more with triumph.
"Got you," she breathed.
Hermione's eyes were blazing with excitement. After glancing around to make sure Madam Pince was nowhere in sight, she carefully tore the page out of the book. 'Reparo will fix it later,' she thought. 'Right now, something else matters: warning Harry. Or better still, going straight to Professor McGonagall.'
Jumping up from her seat, Hermione slammed the book shut, put it back on the shelf, and hurried towards the library exit. A scene was already playing out in her head: McGonagall listening carefully, not interrupting, and taking action at once. The school would be saved. And if someone also happened to appreciate her intelligence and quick thinking… Hermione caught herself imagining that moment with obvious pleasure and blushed a little. After all, hadn't she earned that kind of recognition?
But the moment she rushed out into the corridor leading to the staffroom, Miranda looked out from the doorway of a side room.
"Hermione, come here!" she called.
"I haven't got time, Miranda!" Hermione threw back without slowing down. "I know what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is. I have to warn –"
"You have to come in here!" Miranda cut her off sharply.
Hermione stopped dead, almost losing her balance, and slowly turned round. Miranda was standing in the doorway, her fingers gripping the doorframe. Her face was pale and tense.
"The day has come," she said, not looking away.
"What day?" Hermione frowned, her thoughts still caught up with the basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets.
"That day. The day you have to use the Eye of Chronos."
Hermione stared at her friend with wide eyes. Her lips parted, then closed again at once. A second later, she finally managed to say, "But I can't… not now," disbelief clear in her voice. "I have to tell Professor McGonagall. Warn Harry and Ron."
Miranda opened the door a little wider.
"If you want no one to die," she said firmly, "you have to follow the plan exactly. If you don't come in here now, everything will end very badly! According to him…" She swallowed, then added much more quietly, "you could die too."
Hermione stared at her, stunned, not knowing what to do. Suddenly she no longer felt like a heroine saving the school and her friends, but like nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard, being moved by someone else to the next square. Perhaps that move was saving her… or perhaps, on the contrary, it was bringing her one step closer to her own death.
"Please come inside, Hermione," Miranda said, her voice trembling. "Just trust me."
She stepped back, clearing the way. Hermione hesitated for another second, threw a quick glance towards the staffroom, and went into the room after all. She was about to question her friend about everything when she suddenly realised there was someone else in the room. Behind the curtain by the window, she could make out a figure, and beneath the fabric, a pair of familiar-looking shoes.
She looked at Miranda in confusion.
"Who is that?" she asked.
Miranda gave her a guilty look and said quietly, "You can come out."
Something moved behind the curtain. The figure awkwardly pulled the fabric aside, as if not quite daring to show itself. Another moment, and Hermione saw who had been hiding there. Her jaw dropped.
Hermione Granger was staring back at her.
An exact copy. The same robes, the same strand of hair falling over her forehead, even the same freckles on her nose.
"Ah… er… what… what is all this supposed to mean?" Hermione finally shouted, whipping round to Miranda. "Who is that?"
"That's your replacement," Miranda answered calmly. "My house-elf. Pompik. Thanks to him, no one will know you've disappeared."
"A house-elf?" Hermione muttered, bewildered. "But… that's stupid! He won't be able to talk like me. Behave like me. Study. Everyone will realise at once that it's someone else! Harry and Ron are bound to notice!"
"He won't be talking," Miranda replied grimly. "He only needs to take your place."
She paused briefly. Hermione did not miss the shadow that passed over her friend's face. Then Miranda went on in a more businesslike tone.
"And you need to do your part. You already know where the Vault of Time is. Take the Eye of Chronos and the quicksol slime, then go down to the basement. Activate the device there. A door will appear in front of you. Your task is simply to open it. Do not go inside under any circumstances. If you do, you'll stay there… just like Foster."
She looked Hermione straight in the eye.
"Is that clear?"
Hermione did not answer. She only nodded slowly.
"Then hurry," Miranda said quietly. "You have very little time left. Ten or fifteen minutes at most."
For another second, Hermione looked at her friend, then said curtly, "All right."
Then, obeying a sudden impulse, she went over to the elf double, pulled him into a brief hug, and whispered, "Give this page to Harry. Only to him. He'll understand."
She pressed the crumpled sheet, torn from the book about magical creatures, into his hand. Then she drew back and looked into eyes so much like her own. The elf nodded uncertainly, glancing sideways at his mistress.
Miranda watched all of this in silence, without interfering.
"All right," Hermione said at last. "I'll do as you said, though I have no idea how any of this is supposed to work."
She took a deep breath, turned round, and left the room.
***
The dungeons beneath Ravenclaw Tower were cold and oppressively empty. The damp stone walls barely reflected the light streaming from the tip of Hermione's wand. She walked with confidence, but a storm of doubts was still raging in her head. Had she done the right thing by trusting Terry Foster? What if this was a trap? But if he was right, if his plan really was the only chance to save Hogwarts, then the price of a mistake could be too high.
Her thoughts returned to her recent victory: solving the secret of the Chamber of Secrets. For a second, satisfaction took hold of her. It had been her. She alone, in the whole school, had worked out who was behind all those terrible attacks. Even the teachers had not managed it... even Dumbledore! But the pride quickly faded, giving way to anxious thoughts. 'Would Pompik give Harry the note about the basilisk? Would Miranda stop him?' She shook her head, driving those thoughts away. 'The die is cast. It's too late to turn back now.'
Her footsteps came to a halt. According to Foster, the entrance was supposed to be somewhere here. Hermione peered at the stone, ran her fingers over the cold surface, then took a step back from the wall and looked around. The light from her wand picked out the same endless stretch of wall. If the entrance existed at all, it was cleverly hidden from prying eyes.
She nodded slowly, as if making an inner choice, and pulled the Eye of Chronos and the vial of thick quicksol slime from beneath her robes.
"Even if I get it wrong on the first try, there'll be enough slime for one more. Maybe even two. That should be enough."
The device looked almost like a toy: a brass casing, a glass dial with a dull green sheen. Hermione carefully removed the stopper from the vial and cautiously poured a little of the thick, shimmering slime into the narrow opening in the Eye's casing. The slime flowed reluctantly, leaving behind a silvery trail that flashed in the light of her wand.
"Well… let's try," Hermione whispered.
She pressed the tiny lever. The device gave a soft click. Then came the sound, but this time it was deeper and fuller. The Eye of Chronos no longer sounded like a purring cat, but more like a large beast, satisfied after a meal, letting out a deep growl that rolled through the dungeon.
Before long, the sound began to change. The pitch rose higher... and higher... until it became a thin, piercing squeal that made Hermione's ears ring. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears, or even switch the device off, but she forced herself not to. Then suddenly, at the very peak, the sound cut off sharply, slipping beyond the edge of hearing. Only silence remained, so heavy it felt almost physical. It was as if time itself had held its breath for a moment.
Something was changing around Hermione.
At first, barely visible shadows flickered at the edges of her vision. One, two... dozens. They moved too quickly for her to make them out properly. Then thick darkness wrapped itself around the space. The light from her wand now stopped barely a metre from her, pressing against an invisible veil.
The darkness gave way to a dull grey glow. Then darkness again. Then grey dawn once more. It took Hermione several cycles to understand: she was watching day and night racing past.
"I suppose I'd better hurry. Otherwise a whole year might fly by like this..." she said grimly, shivering despite herself.
She turned her head and froze. A little way off, in the wall she had been studying, the outline of a door was beginning to appear. At first it was only a hint: a blurred line, as if someone had drawn it across the stone with charcoal. But the line grew clearer and deeper, until an arch appeared before her, made of black metal, its surface charred, as if scorched. One by one, runes flared across it, shimmering with a cold blue light.
Hermione stared without looking away. Her feet seemed rooted to the floor. 'What if it's a trap?' flashed through her mind again. But then Foster's voice rose in her memory: 'My proposal is the only path where everyone has a chance to make it.'
Hermione clenched her teeth, drew a deep breath and, stepping forward, pushed the door with her hand. Nothing happened. Not a sound, not the slightest movement. She braced her shoulder against it, but it did not even budge. Frowning, Hermione grabbed the handle and pulled the door towards her. It gave way. But the door resisted, as if it were passing through some thick, invisible mass. As if the door itself were trying to stay where it was, refusing to let her near its secrets. Hermione's shoulders tensed, her arms protested, but she stubbornly kept pulling. At last, with a heavy sigh, the door swung wide open.
Terry Foster stood on the threshold. His face was pale and drawn, with deep shadows beneath his eyes. Relief flickered in his gaze, quickly suppressed and replaced at once by blazing triumph.
"Hermione! You did it!" he cried, stepping towards her. Before she had time to say anything, he gave her a quick, firm hug. Then he immediately stepped aside.
"Of course, I knew you'd manage it." He straightened up, ran a hand through his hair, and cast a quick glance towards the room he had just left. "It worked. Exactly as I calculated!"
Excitement still rang in his voice, but that particular note was already appearing too: the tone of a man whose own brilliance had never been in the slightest doubt, least of all to himself.
Hermione let go of the door, and it slammed shut with a heavy, hollow thud. The sound echoed through the stone walls, as if sealing something important away. Terry Foster stared at the door for another second, then, as if remembering something urgent, looked at his wristwatch.
"As soon as I say so, turn off the device," he said, without looking up.
Only three heartbeats passed.
"Now," he commanded sharply.
Hermione did not hesitate. She turned the lever on the Eye of Chronos. The light and darkness, still chasing each other, began to slow. At the very edge of hearing, the squeal returned, turning into a steady growl that gradually lost its strength. And then everything fell silent.
She was standing once again in the same corridor where it had all begun. Daylight filtered in from the far end, lighting the cold stone walls.
Terry Foster stood beside her. The corners of his mouth lifted in satisfaction, and he clapped Hermione on the shoulder. She flinched in surprise.
"Well done, Granger," he said with enthusiasm that sounded quite genuine. "You're worth dealing with."
He looked at her for another moment, as if weighing something up. Then his expression changed. Something cold and assessing glinted in his eyes.
"I take it you're lost in time," he said, not taking his eyes off her. "Do you have any idea how many days have passed?"
Hermione frowned.
"How many?" she asked warily.
Foster raised his eyebrows theatrically and said, "It's the very end of the school year."
Silence settled over the corridor. Hermione's eyes widened, and she instinctively tightened her grip on the Eye of Chronos. Foster, meanwhile, had already turned to his own business. He took a strange device with several dials from an inside pocket and, without hurrying, began checking his wristwatch against it. Only after he had finished and put the device away did he add, "By the way, you may be interested to know that the basilisk has already been dealt with. It no longer poses any threat, and everyone survived. And that only happened because events unfolded exactly on schedule," he stressed. "In full accordance with my calculations."
Foster spoke about it as if he were not talking about saving the school, but about a ledger whose figures had balanced perfectly. For Hogwarts, it was the end of a nightmare. For him, it was simply proof that the formula had been right.
For a moment, Hermione stopped breathing. Then she let out a sharp breath.
"So they did find it?" she cried. "And managed to defeat it? Who?"
"Your friend Harry, of course. Apparently, he really is 'the Chosen One'," Foster said with a smirk, then added, "chosen to get himself into trouble."
"He dealt with the basilisk on his own?" Hermione asked in disbelief, ignoring Foster's mockery. "By himself?"
"Of course not by himself!" Foster cut her off. "Only with the help of a very fortunate chain of circumstances. Every one of which happened at exactly the right time!"
He stressed the last words very clearly, watching her closely. Then he could not help adding, "Although, of course, your hapless friend, and that self-important old fool Dumbledore..." Hermione frowned and pressed her lips together. Foster, meanwhile, went on, growing more heated. "...are absolutely convinced that the phoenix simply came of its own accord. They think the bird understood everything by itself and somehow guessed where it needed to fly."
A contemptuous smirk appeared on his face.
"A phoenix?" Hermione repeated, confused. "What phoenix?"
Foster waved a hand irritably.
"Never mind. You'll find out soon enough."
He began speaking in short, clipped phrases, and it was clear the conversation was starting to tire him. At that moment, a distant shout from some student came from the corridor. Foster jerked his head up, listening, then clicked his tongue in annoyance.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath.
Realising that Foster was about to leave, Hermione hurried to ask the question that had been troubling her for some time.
"But if it's the end of the school year now, then my absence must have been noticed. You promised that wouldn't happen."
"No one noticed anything!" Foster said, brushing it off. "You never disappeared."
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"But the Polyjuice Potion couldn't possibly have lasted that long…"
"It didn't need to," he cut in quickly. "Your sweet little double, the house-elf, is lying in the hospital wing right now. Petrified after seeing the basilisk. And in that state, he can't return to his usual form."
Foster looked at her arrogantly.
"So, as I promised, your absence went unnoticed. It caused only a little concern among your overly caring friends," he finished acidly.
"But the elf… he was petrified!" Hermione looked at Foster reproachfully. "You promised there wouldn't be any more victims."
"I said no one would die." His voice turned cold, and anger flashed in his eyes. It seemed he did not like having his words questioned. But the next second, he pulled his mask of composure back into place and added lazily, "But if you hadn't listened to me, my dear, you would have been dead by now."
He said it lightly, as if in passing.
"You, your precious Potter, his constant shadow Weasley. All of you, and quite a few other students besides. And Hogwarts would have closed its doors. Forever!"
He fell silent for a moment, then leaned a little closer, smiling unpleasantly.
"So I've saved you for the third time now, and really, my dear, you should be thanking me, not reproaching me."
His tone was both spiteful and smug. Hermione felt her jaw clench, and it took an effort to unclench it.
"And the elf? What will happen to him…" she began, trying to sound calm.
"He'll be fine," Foster cut her off dismissively. "The Mandrake draught is being given to all the victims right now. In a few minutes, he'll come round and return to his true form. And that's when our little trick will be exposed."
His mouth twisted as he looked her up and down.
"So if you want to avoid unnecessary explanations, you'd better hurry to the hospital wing. You haven't got much time. And by the way, make sure no one sees you before you get there."
He looked around again, as if searching for a way out.
"And you?" Hermione asked suddenly. "Where are you going? What are you going to do?"
Foster gave her a sidelong glance, a predatory half-smile on his face.
"Me?" He shrugged. "Right now, I'm planning to get as far away from here as possible. I'd rather not run into Dumbledore. The old man and I, let's say, don't exactly have the warmest relationship."
A chill ran down Hermione's spine. She caught herself thinking that since Foster's release, he had been acting with a new, unpleasant boldness. And the way he spoke about Dumbledore only made her more uneasy. To her, the Headmaster of Hogwarts remained an unquestionable authority. And if someone "didn't exactly have the warmest relationship" with him, such a wizard could hardly be called a good person. But it was done. Hermione understood that. And it was far too late to regret what she had done now.
But there was one thing she definitely was not going to let go: the thing she had earned.
"You promised me a Time-Turner," she blurted at Foster's back, just as he turned to leave.
He stopped and slowly turned back to her.
"Ah yes… promises," he drawled. "Are you sure you really need that thing? It's dangerous, you know. And you're still a child, Hermione. It might be more power than you can handle."
"You gave your word," she replied firmly, fixing him with a hard stare.
Foster did not answer at once. For a second, his gaze turned sharp and cold, as if he were assessing her. Then he slowly slipped a hand into the inside pocket of his robes and took out a small amulet. His fingers gripped it as though he had no wish to part with it.
"Here you are," he said at last, handing her the Time-Turner. "A promise is a promise."
But before he let go of it, Foster leaned a little closer. His expression turned serious.
"Listen to me carefully, girl. This Time-Turner is not a toy. Use it wisely. One careless move and you could ruin everything: someone else's future, your own present… even destroy yourself. And the most important rule: if you go back into the past, never, and I mean never, let your past self see your future self. This is very important. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded, gripping the Time-Turner tightly in her hands. Foster straightened up, putting his usual smile back on.
"Well then, my dear, good luck. Try not to get yourself into any more trouble. Although…" A smirk spread across his face. "Who am I saying this to?"
With that, he turned and, without waiting for her answer, walked quickly away.
Hermione watched him go, feeling relief, anxiety, and irritation all at once. Now all she had to do was reach the hospital wing as quickly as possible. Hearing distant voices, she slipped around the corner, silently cursing the lack of an Invisibility Cloak. It would have made getting there much easier.