After the events of Halloween, Hermione had practically moved into the Hogwarts library. Day after day, she leafed through ancient books, examined yellowed scrolls, and read with fierce concentration texts most students would have found painfully dull.
Terry Foster and the Vault of Time. The threat coming from the Chamber of Secrets. Constructs or other versions that might explain the attack on her on Halloween night. Three unsolved mysteries had filled her mind completely, pushing everything else aside. She searched for any scrap of information that might shed light on what was happening.
At first, Foster's warning about a danger hanging over the students of Hogwarts had seemed exaggerated to her. 'What could possibly threaten students in a school protected by the most powerful witches and wizards alive? With Dumbledore himself among them?' she had thought after speaking with him during the ritual. 'Especially if it has nothing to do with the League of Light. Most likely Foster just wants me to agree. He's overplaying it. Or maybe he's made up a danger that doesn't even exist.'
But Halloween changed her mind completely. For one thing, that blood-red message on the wall was an open threat. In other circumstances, it might have been written off as a stupid prank. Not when Mrs Norris, Filch's cat, was hanging nearby, stiff and unmoving. Even the Weasley twins would hardly have dared to do something like that. And it was a mysterious voice that had led them — Hermione, Harry and Ron — to that place, a voice that, for reasons no one could explain, only Harry had heard. That was too strange to be a simple coincidence. And far too complex to be a prank.
Secondly, there was the attack on her. Even though no evidence had been found, Hermione was certain that the League of Light and its mysterious Smiting Hand were behind it. It was not a dream, no matter how hard Nora had tried to convince everyone. The attack had been real, and Hermione did not doubt that the creature had truly threatened her life.
And thirdly, she did not know whether these events were connected. Whenever she thought about it, Draco Malfoy appeared before her mind's eye with his ever-present cold, mocking smirk. "Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!" His voice rang in her head. Could it be that the same person was behind everything — both the message and the attack?
There was no answer. Not yet.
With each day she spent in the library, Hermione's head buzzed more and more from lack of sleep. Her eyes burned from constantly rereading lines of tiny print. At times she felt a desperate urge to share her thoughts with someone, but Miranda was always busy — with her studies, with House matters, or with meetings of the magical arts club. And Hermione told Harry and Ron nothing. The Non-Disclosure Charm would not have allowed it anyway. That only made her burden heavier.
She let out a weary sigh and buried herself in another heavy volume. This time it was a book with a grim title: Crimes in the Magical World. She had picked it up in the hope of finding at least something about the Ministry of Magic's supposed investigation into Terry Foster. Page after page, case after case — Muggle disappearances, illegal use of magic, tampering with artefacts. Magical criminals were far more inventive than she had ever thought.
And then… Hermione froze. In one of the cases described, Polyjuice Potion was mentioned. She could barely believe her eyes as she read about the crime.
The report described a criminal who, while hiding from justice, had taken on the appearance of one of the investigators after first capturing him. In that way, he had managed to evade arrest for a long time, since he was actively involved in planning his own capture. He had only been exposed because he had simply overplayed his hand. Convinced he was impossible to catch, he began setting up more and more elaborate 'traps' for himself, all while moving up the ranks at the Ministry of Magic. In the end, one of those traps became his undoing — he walked straight into it himself while trying to turn the Ministry into a public laughing-stock.
But what caught Hermione's attention was not so much the case itself as the method the criminal had used. And as she read, Terry Foster's words surfaced again and again in her mind: 'The best way to find out what an enemy is planning is to slip into their lair and ask them directly… without being recognised.'
Now everything fell into place. Hermione's eyes lit up; her hand trembled as she turned the page, hoping to find more information, but the book described only the effects of the potion. The recipe was not mentioned anywhere.
Even that was enough.
"Polyjuice Potion…" she whispered.
There it was — the key to the mystery. If she wanted to find out what Malfoy was hiding, she would have to become someone from his circle. She would have to become a Slytherin.
***
One evening, Hermione went to the Cozy Haven, where she and Miranda had finally agreed to meet. After long hours in the library, the thought of seeing her friend — someone she could finally share everything with — felt like a relief.
"You look tired," Miranda remarked as soon as Hermione dropped into the armchair opposite her.
There was concern in her voice, but it was also clear she was excited and barely holding herself back from blurting out her news. Hermione only nodded wearily in reply.
Without waiting for any explanation, Miranda placed a large scroll in front of her. It gave off a soft silvery glow. The room was quite dark — only a few candles flickered in the corners — which made the scroll's light seem even more mesmerising.
"Look what I managed to do in magical arts club!" she whispered, unrolling the scroll with obvious excitement.
A wide valley came to life across the parchment, flooded with midday sunlight. A field of wildflowers shimmered with colour, and the golden pollen rising above them seemed to have a life of its own. High on a hill stood a castle — majestic and solitary, like the guardian of that enchanted world. Hermione caught herself staring, unable to look away: the scroll looked almost like a window into another reality.
Miranda had shown a real talent for magical art as early as last year, and since then she had taken a serious interest in it. This year, after a few years' break, the magical arts club returned to Hogwarts. She could hardly resist signing up almost immediately.
The club was run by Professor Abernathy. He did not work at Hogwarts permanently and came to the castle only once a week. He was a little eccentric — absent-minded, with a faint, mysterious smile — but he had a knack for sparking interest in magical art even among the most indifferent students. According to rumours, he had once worked in the cultural department of the French Ministry of Magic, where he specialised in restoring enchanted works of art and ancient charmed statues.
"Did you cast a movement charm?" Hermione asked, trying to sound impressed. "I've heard that's one of the most difficult spells when creating magical paintings."
She really was impressed, but her exhaustion dulled the feeling, as though a thin haze had settled over it. Miranda did not notice; she simply flushed with pride.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Professor Abernathy said I have a real talent for bringing paintings to life. But the most interesting part came after that…" She paused meaningfully.
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Look," Miranda said, no longer able to hold back, pointing at something in the tall grass in her painting.
Something there was glinting, but it was impossible to make out what it was. Miranda spoke a spell and carefully touched the parchment with her wand. Hermione looked at her in confusion, and Miranda pursed her lips in irritation.
"There's a spell," she began, "that lets you, sort of… reach into a painting. For example, you can place an object inside it. And the most skilled wizards can even step into paintings themselves."
A flicker of interest crossed Hermione's eyes.
"During the club meeting I tried it and managed to place my ring there. That's what's shining in the grass." Miranda hesitated for a moment. "Though the professor helped me a little —"
"Did he help you, or did you help him?" Hermione asked.
Miranda flushed slightly but said nothing. Instead, she suddenly suggested, "We could try it together. The spell works much more strongly with two people. Besides, we already have some experience working as a pair," she added, clearly hinting at last year's assignment.
"Well then," Hermione said a little uncertainly, "we could give it a try."
Miranda carefully explained how the spell worked and showed the proper wand movement. Hermione repeated the motion a few times, trying to catch the rhythm, and then they began.
One attempt… a second… a third. The painting continued to shimmer indifferently, as if mocking their efforts. Hermione's frown deepened, and the excitement in Miranda's eyes gradually faded.
"Sorry, Miranda," Hermione finally said, lowering her wand. "Honestly, I just can't concentrate. There's been too much going on lately."
"Oh, you poor thing…" Sympathy appeared on Miranda's face. "Of course I understand. And here I am bothering you with my art."
"No, no, it's fine!" Hermione said quickly. "It really is interesting. I'm just not in the mood for spells right now. I'm very tired — I spend all my time in the library, trying to find at least some clue, but so far it's all been pointless."
"Is it because of that attack?" Miranda asked hesitantly. A second later she added almost in a whisper, "The League of Light, right?"
"Not only that," Hermione said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Now there's also this whole business with the Chamber of Secrets."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Judging by what Malfoy said, whoever opened it doesn't like Mudbloods either," Hermione said darkly.
Miranda winced at the word.
"Don't call them… I mean, yourself that. It's not proper."
"At least it's short and clear," Hermione shot back. "And now I'm starting to think that the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets and the one threatening me — that mysterious Smiting Hand — might be the same person."
"Why do you think that?" Miranda asked in surprise.
"Think about it. The League of Light wants me dead. And suddenly the Chamber of Secrets is opened. Isn't that a bit too convenient? Don't you think?"
Hermione looked at her friend intently.
"Perhaps you're right," Miranda said slowly. "Though I'm not sure those events are necessarily connected. It really could just be a coincidence."
Hermione snorted, clearly unconvinced.
"Do you have any idea who it might be?" Miranda added cautiously when she noticed her reaction.
"I don't know," Hermione said with a shrug. "It seems to me Draco Malfoy really does hate me. And he's quite capable of something like that. But I don't have a single piece of direct evidence. Or it could be someone else from Slytherin altogether."
"From Slytherin?" Miranda repeated, then suddenly threw up her hands. "Oh! I nearly forgot to tell you. Elliot Grimm has recently joined our magical arts club. And you won't believe it — he's actually quite good at creating magical paintings. A talented Slytherin, it seems."
Hermione raised an eyebrow in surprise as she listened to Miranda, then said with a touch of irritation, "Perhaps. But he's far from friendly. I asked him for help — I wanted to find out whether Draco might be connected to the Smiting Hand. He just laughed at me. If you ask me, all Slytherins are the same. And they all hate people like me."
"Yes, that kind of attitude can't be very pleasant," Miranda said thoughtfully, looking somewhere past Hermione. "Still, hatred alone isn't enough to go to Dumbledore with."
"Exactly! I already tried to explain my suspicion to McGonagall, but…" Hermione spread her hands helplessly, and Miranda only nodded in understanding.
"Do you remember what Foster said at the end of the ritual?" Hermione suddenly asked, changing the subject.
Miranda frowned, and a hint of boredom flickered in her eyes. After the Gaze of Eternity ritual and their meeting with Foster, her interest in him had clearly faded. Hermione didn't understand why, but after noticing that coolness she had lately avoided bringing up the subject.
"I think he said something about… the secrets of your enemy," Miranda replied, almost reluctantly.
"Exactly!" Hermione said quickly. "I think I've figured out what he meant. He was talking about Polyjuice Potion!"
"Polyjuice Potion?" Interest flashed in Miranda's eyes. "Did you brew it? I've heard it's very difficult."
"That's the problem — I couldn't even find the recipe," Hermione sighed. "It's kept in a book from the library's restricted section. And there's no way for me to get in there." She hesitated. "Maybe you could help somehow? You have connections even in the Ministry, after all," she added, giving Miranda a guilty, pleading look.
But Miranda shook her head.
"No, no one would give that to me either. But…" she narrowed her eyes. "I think you could get it yourself."
"How?" Hermione stared at her in surprise.
"You said Gilderoy Lockhart is delighted with you, didn't you? You do all his assignments perfectly. You admire him exactly the way he thinks you should," Miranda said with a smirk.
"Well…" Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she looked away. "Yes. But what does that have to do with getting the recipe?"
"Use that," Miranda said calmly, with the confidence of someone who had clearly used tricks like that before. "Think of a way to persuade him to sign your request to Madam Pince for access to the book you need."
"Trick a teacher?" Hermione was horrified at the very thought.
Miranda looked at her with mild condescension.
"You're planning to brew one of the most powerful — and completely illegal for students — potions. And you're worried about tricking Lockhart?" She snorted. "I'm afraid you won't get far without breaking a few rules."
Hermione's eyes darted around the room, as if she were searching for a flaw in her friend's words. She was about to argue, but after another second of thought she gave in.
"Yes…" she said quietly. "I suppose you're right."
"Of course I am," Miranda said confidently. "Turn on all your charm. Mention a couple of passages from his books, and Lockhart won't be able to resist you," she added, giving her friend a sly wink.
Hermione blushed even more. For a moment, silence settled between them. But Miranda noticed that something else was troubling Hermione, something she still couldn't quite bring herself to say.
"Hermione, is everything all right?" she asked.
Hermione let out a deep breath, as if gathering her strength, and looked up.
"Miranda… I wanted to ask you for one more favour," she said, forcing the words out.
Miranda raised an eyebrow.
"I think I should go through with the deal with Terry Foster after all. It looks like the threats he talked about weren't just words. Which means… I'll need his help."
Miranda looked away and slowly folded her arms across her chest. She stayed silent for a moment, and Hermione noticed the corner of her mouth twitch slightly.
"A deal with Foster?" Miranda said at last, putting a slight emphasis on his name. "Enjoying being the centre of attention, are you?"
Hermione's eyebrows shot up.
"I never asked for that!" she burst out, beginning to realise why Miranda's attitude toward Foster and his secrets had changed so suddenly.
Miranda immediately looked embarrassed, lowered her eyes, and hurried to add in a completely different tone, "His past — and the fact that none of the wizards wanted to pull him out of the Vault of Time — says far more about him than all his speeches." She looked at Hermione again. "I think there's something wrong with him."
"I'm not even sure myself that I'm doing the right thing," Hermione murmured, looking away. "I don't want to get involved with him, I really don't. But he saved me last year. And maybe he's the only one who can help me figure out what's going on now. And protect my friends as well." She fell silent for a moment, then looked up and added more firmly, "I won't be able to perform the ritual without you. You know that — the Non-Disclosure Charm has been placed on me."
Miranda pressed her lips together slightly. She stayed silent for a moment, then nodded reluctantly.
"I understand," she said shortly. "I don't trust Foster at all, but for the sake of our friendship… if you really think this is necessary, I'll help."
She smiled, but the smile was strained, and her gaze remained a little colder than usual.