Chapter 10 Part 1
The morning sun peeked through the drapes of the infirmary's private wing, its golden rays illuminating the contours of the room. Hermione woke with a start, momentarily disoriented. For a split second, she felt like she was floating in a void, suspended between two worlds. Then, the previous night's events came flooding back, and she turned her head cautiously to find Snape lying beside her, his eyes already open, as if he'd been awake for a while.
"Good morning," she mumbled, surprised at the hint of awkwardness in her voice.
Snape only nodded, his face inscrutable. But she felt his arm withdraw from around her waist, as though he too sensed that the temporary truce from the night before had a finite lifespan, constrained to that room and that particular set of circumstances.
She felt her emotions stir with conflict. How could a person be so comfortable and vulnerable with another in one moment, but so disconnected and guarded in another?
Dressing hastily in the small, attached bathroom, she emerged to find Professor Snape had already left. She tried not to dwell on why she felt disappointed by that; like she needed closure from the night before.
As she snuck out of the hospital wing, she felt different—recharged, yet still carrying the weight of the multitude of tasks ahead. The newly discovered soul bond, the looming dangers of the Triwizard Tournament, and the ousting the Death Eater imposter Moody, were all knots in a tangled web she had yet to unravel. But there was one thing she could do, one action she could take that would serve as a step forward: destroy a horcrux. The thought of it stirred her adrenaline.
As she made her way through the corridors of Hogwarts, her thoughts were on a basilisk fang. She knew it was the first step in her journey to destroy horcruxes. She made her way to the girls' lavatory on the second-floor corridor and was relieved to find Moaning Myrtle was not there. She approached to sink marked with a serpent, and mimicked the word she'd heard Harry use to open the Chamber of Secret.
Cautiously descending into the dark cavern, she kept her wand lit with Lumos. Even though she knew the basilisk was slain, even though she had ventured through the chamber just weeks ago in her prior timeline, she still felt anxiety stir in her stomach. She was filled with memories of the past timeline; her time in the chamber with Ron, and the terrifying destruction of a horcrux. She shivered at the memory.
After what felt like an endless journey through shadowy corridors and echoing rooms, Hermione finally stood before the immense stone doorway that led into the Chamber of Secrets. With an air of solemnity, she pushed the door open; its weight was monumental, requiring a great deal of effort to move. The door creaked loudly, announcing her entry into the dimly lit, cavernous space. Above her, in the gloom, the great statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed, foreboding
"This is it," she murmured to herself, her voice edged with determination. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she stepped into the chamber. Her footsteps echoed as she made her way toward the basilisk, her heart pounding a quick rhythm against her ribs.
As she neared the basilisk, a glint of light caught her eye. Something lay on the ground near the statue's base, shimmering dimly in the inadequate light. She bent to take a closer look and found that it was a piece of shed basilisk skin. The scales, she thought, might make a valuable potions ingredient. She summoned a jar and harvested the ingredients, curious what properties they would behold. She regarded the beast for a moment, suddenly having an idea. Harry could claim Right of Conquest—ownership by victory— and harvest the whole creature. She guessed the basilisk was at least 60 feet long, and she imagined would be a bountiful and valuable harvest. She filed that thought away for later.
She cautiously approached the basilisk's gaping mouth, her eyes fixated on its large, deadly fangs. Reaching up, she tentatively tapped one of the fangs; it wobbled under her touch but remained steadfastly in place. Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, Hermione pushed against the fang. Then, with a resounding crack that reverberated throughout the chamber, the fang broke free. The fang, still dangerously sharp, glinted in the dim light.
Carefully, she stored the fang away safely, for later use. She made the journey back out of the chamber, and managed to sneak a quick shower before she joined her friends for lunch.
Upon reaching the table, she spotted the boys sitting together and talking animatedly. Harry looked up and caught sight of her, his eyes widening in a mixture of relief and surprise.
"Hermione! Where have you been? We were starting to get worried," he said, making room next to him, for her to sit.
"Yeah, you missed breakfast," Ron added, eyebrows raised in mild concern.
The weight of their questions hung heavy on her conscience. Telling them the truth was tempting, but also fraught with risks she wasn't willing to take at the moment. Secrecy, at least for now, was her safest course of action.
"Oh, I was up late studying in the library and lost track of time," she offered, her voice tinged with casualness she didn't feel. "Then I dozed off in one of the back corners, you know how it is. I've been trying to catch up on the research for my charms project."
"You do know you're supposed to relax on the weekend, right?" Ron asked, incredulous yet affectionate. "You can afford to take a breather."
"She never takes a breather. You should know that by now," Harry chimed in, smirking. But his eyes met Hermione's, and she could tell he wasn't entirely convinced. Harry had a knack for sensing when something was amiss.
"I do have to work on balancing my time better," she conceded, gratefully piling food onto her plate as a diversion. "But enough about me, what have you two been up to?"
As her friends launched into an account of their morning—filled with Quidditch practice—and their respective plans for the rest of the day, she felt a mingling of warmth and regret. These were her people, her best friends, the individuals with whom she had shared so many highs and lows. And yet, there was a part of her journey she had to walk alone, at least for now.
As she laughed at Ron's jokes and contributed to the conversation, a part of her mind was already whirring ahead, planning her next moves.
Hermione soon found herself on the seventh-floor corridor outside the Room of Requirement.
"Show me the room of Hidden Things," she whispered, pacing in front of the magical door three times. It materialized, just as it had so many times before, and as she stepped inside, she found it filled with towering stacks of discarded objects—a veritable graveyard of forgotten things.
She trekked into the room and viewed many items she wished to explore more closely. She saw a shelf of books that piqued her curiosity, and an armoire full of dusty clothes from a bygone era.
Her footsteps echoed softly on the cold stone floor as she wandered deeper into the room. A shimmer of gold caught her eye, and she found herself staring at a regal chest, tucked under an old dusty curtain. She pulled away the cloth to get a better look, coughing as dust was stirred into the air.
It was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship, adorned with intricate carvings and embellishments. A golden "G" was prominently displayed on the lid, catching the dim light and sparkling in the shadows.
Intrigued, she lifted the heavy lid, revealing a sight that made her gasp in astonishment. Inside, she found a deep maroon velvet display, on which lay a neatly organized collection of items, each more exquisite than the last.
A small dagger, its hilt encrusted with rubies, gleamed like a dangerous artifact. A diamond circlet of golden vines sparkled with an ethereal beauty, as if it had captured the very essence of starlight. An ornate chest plate, adorned with a gold lion emblem, rested like a work of art. Nearby, a helmet with a golden lion and embedded with rubies gleamed with a fierce, ancient pride. And at the center of it all, a gold ruby ring exuded an air of regal authority.
Hermione's mind raced with possibilities. It seemed too incredible to believe that this hidden treasure was just sitting there, forgotten in this vast room of lost things. Her heart pounded in her chest as she reached out to touch the items, her fingers trembling with awe.
Her logical mind quickly asserted itself, and she cast a series of spells to check for curses or hexes. To her relief, the items appeared to be untouched by dark magic, and she dared to handle them more freely.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione decided to test a theory. She retrieved the dagger, and to her astonishment and correct suspicion, found it was goblin-made, as evidenced by the tell-tale craftsmanship and stamp. The metal work was exquisite, and the gems gleamed with magical radiance.
It was as if fate itself were on her side, she thought excitedly. She remembered how goblin-made items were known for their unique ability to absorb only that which made them stronger. With trembling hands, she pulled the basilisk fang from her bag, and deftly extracted the basilisk venom from the fang. She carefully coated the dagger with it, watching as the venom was absorbed by the blade.
As she closed the lid of the chest, Hermione couldn't help but feel that she had unlocked a hidden legacy. She looked at the engraved "G" again, and her mind naturally went to Godric Gryffindor. Was it possible? She wondered. It felt too exciting to be true, but she couldn't imagine who else would have a chest full of goblin-made armor and artifacts.
With the dagger now holstered under her robes, she made a silent promise to return for the other items another day. The weight of this discovery settled upon her shoulders, mingling with the excitement of uncovering a forgotten piece of Hogwarts history.
She turned to continue her mission, and then, as if guided by an invisible hand, her eyes fell upon a tarnished tiara resting atop a dusty mannequin. Its sapphires twinkled, as if winking at her from its forgotten perch. The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Hermione approached it cautiously. She extended her hand, trembling slightly as her fingers made contact with the cool metal. For a moment, nothing happened; the world around her seemed to pause, holding its collective breath. Then, lifting the diadem off its perch, she felt the malevolent energy it contained—subtle, but unmistakable.
Trembling with anticipation and a hint of fear, she took the goblin dagger, and plunged it into the diadem. A piercing scream erupted from the artifact, and a wisp of dark, acrid smoke came billowing out as the Horcrux was destroyed.
The moment the diadem was rendered harmless, a wave of weakness washed over Hermione, so intense that she staggered, clutching a shelf for support. She barely re-sheathed the dagger as her vision blurred, the boundaries of the room stretching and warping like a distorted mirror. And then, as if carried on a wind from the darkest abyss, she heard it—Voldemort's voice, a venomous whisper that seemed to slither into the very marrow of her bones.
"Bring me the girl," the voice hissed, a cold, malevolent undercurrent to its tone.
Her heart pounded in her chest as her mind raced. Had she just alerted him? What if he sensed the destruction of a part of his dark soul?
As these thoughts spiraled through her mind, her body gave in to the overwhelming fatigue, her grip on consciousness slackening. Just before her vision faded into blackness, the last thing Hermione thought was of Professor Snape.
The irony was not lost on her that he—the man she had spent years loathing and only hours reconciling with—would now be the one she hoped could piece together the events if something went horribly wrong. And with that haunting notion, she fainted, collapsing onto a heap of ancient tapestries and forgotten memories.