But it did, or it looked like so. Hermione was already up, from her startling dream; she looked at the clock in the dorm room, and she thought she saw...both hands on top of number twelve.
It couldn't be noon, the shadows were not hard as they are when the sun is right on the cenith.
She discarded midnight, because she saw the light coming in from the window, it was the dawn, and what a beautiful dawn it was; the dawn of days and days of unending darkness, produced by the previous storm, can prove to be the most beautiful dawn of all.
Maybe I'm not seeing the numbers on the clock right, she thought. Maybe I need glasses, like Harry does.
Harry.
How was he? Had he had a good night? She couldn't wait to go have a look at him in the infirmary, where
she and Ron had taken him the previous day, after seeing no improvement on his condition. They would've preferred
to keep this type of thing a secret, as they so usually did, under Harry's advice, but this time -she thought- even Harry himself
would never risk anybody's health like this.
Hermione rubbed her eyes a couple of times, and squinted to try to see the right time on the clock, again.
And then it began to chime.
One, two, three, four, five.
'Everything's right'.
Six, seven, eight.
'Could be eight, it looks like it could be eight, even though it's dawning, isn't it...?'
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Maybe she didn't really need glasses, after all...
Twelve.
'That clock's definitely broken'.
Thirteen.
Her heart skipped a beat. Thirteen chimes was still scary, even when her rational self told her the clock must've been broken.
At thirteen, a shadow loomed over Hermione's bed, startling her, as it began to speak in a soft, sing-song voice:
'It so happened that I needed a little ditty to begin our conversation with'
Hermione looked as if shocked by lightning.
'And I found a very good one on this little black book I stole from a big empty house; would you care
to hear'
It didn't wait for a reply, it just cleared its voice, and began ceremoniously:
'Everything under the heaven has a time'
Hermione looked around hurriedly, trying to define where the voice came from; both the voice and the shadow seemed to be everywhere she turned her head.
'And so it says' --it continued-- 'that there's a time to kill, as well as a time to heal'
It paused, and if Hermione hadn't been so scared, she would've noticed every pause from the voice
had some dramatic inspiration to it.
'There's also a time to break down, and a time to build up' --it paused again, briefly, to add --'oh, how I
love a good rhyme'
The voice seemed to savour itself, as it continued:
'A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together'. It paused once again, and quickly added, registering frustration in its voice: 'ah, but see how they ruined it for me? I don't see how that verse could be relevant to our little business here. But anyway, it goes on like this for few more verses, you know; la-dee-da to keep, la-dee-dum to cast away; yadda-yadda rend, yaddi-yadda sew; but ah, here comes my favourite part.'
It made another dramatic pause, then took a deep breath,...and boomed so strong, that Hermione wondered why no one else was awaken by this:
'A TIME TO KEEP SILENCE, AND A TIME TO SPEAK.'
Then, added in its regular softer sing-song voice: 'This is what brought me here, this is what brought you trouble,
and this is our time to speak'.
Fourteen.
But she wasn't counting chimes anymore.
Hermione gasped, and turned to look at the foot of her bed, as she felt the weight of a big body on it, a weight that
suddenly felt really small.
A silhouette appeared.
The King had arrived for a chat.