Hermione left the dungeons very, very late that night, at nearly 3am. She wore black denims, a black turtleneck, and Harry's invisibility cloak around her.

Part of her was utterly terrified, but part of her felt oddly still and settled.

She had asked for this, hadn't she?

Hermione silently crept up from the dungeons, careful to avoid Mrs. Norris, making her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The door was locked. It yielded to a hushed, "Alohomora!" and Hermione made her way inside.

The classroom had been stripped. Hermione looked around, unable to tell if Quirrell had stripped the classroom, or if another teacher had already been through. She moved towards Quirrell's private office with her wand out, figuring this door would be locked, too. As she reached for the doorknob, there was a sharp zap across her hand, and she stifled a yelp as a cut materialized on her hand, blood pooling from her hand onto the doorknob itself. The doorknob glowed an eerie red for a long moment, and the door swung silently open.

Hermione stared into the darkened room for a long moment, uneasy, before whispering, "Episkey" to staunch the bleeding of her palm.

She was glad she'd gotten permission from Quirrell before trying this. She imagined that curse would have been none too pleasant otherwise.

Not that she would have dared.

This room, too, was dark, but there were two trunks that stood in the middle of the room. Hermione moved to examine them. They looked identical, save one had sealed letter on it, embossed with a wax seal of a skull and a snake. Shivering, Hermione turned it over in her hands.

Miss Hermione Granger

She figured she shouldn't have been surprised, but somehow, she still was.

The letter seemed to leap in her hands as she opened it, giving her a paper cut, and she swore as she stuck her finger in her mouth. The letter unfolded before her a moment later, and Hermione belatedly realized that this, too, was a blood-specific seal. She hadn't realized her blood from the ward stone could be tied to so many things.

Shifting in front of the window, Hermione read the letter by the eerie moonlight filtering through the trees.

Dear Hermione Granger,

If you have this letter, then something has gone wrong. It was a risk, as you yourself said, but one I was willing to take. While I am undoubtedly livid at this setback, whatever happened to me was through no fault of your own. Know that I do not hold you responsible. Your Defense Professor, however, is most likely dead. Do not mourn him; he was largely useless and is the most likely cause for why I have failed. You did not like him, anyway.

Before you stand two chests. The one on the left is a decoy; it contains teaching materials, turbans, clothes, and other irrelevant details of a life not worth keeping. Leave it; the teachers will find it and presume Quirrell had packed and intended to flee in the night after our success. There are some Dark protections on it to make this chest seem genuine; do not try to open it.

The chest on the right is my own. I suspect that you, by now, have long suspected that Quirrell was not just himself. You are a bright girl, and I do not doubt you knew exactly whom you were dealing with when you offered to board my books. Your ambition will serve you well, and it has in this case; here are my books. Guard them with your life.

Alas, this is an incomplete collection, and only what I could gather again whilst I had Quirrell at my command. Some I was able to find from an old home of mine, but my most valuable tomes remain safely hidden. Still, this is probably best – even a very clever first year could get into trouble by delving too deep into the Dark, too fast.

Keep these for me. Do not show anyone. The trunk is keyed to your blood. Books you ought to beware of have been wrapped shut with belts or ribbons; I would advise you to avoid these tomes for now.

Hopefully, I will be able to return soon and see you again. At such a time, if you are still such a willing student, I would be happy to guide you in learning what these books have to offer.

Many pleasant returns.

There was a heavy silence as Hermione stared at the parchment in front of her, unmoving, only broken by the soft hoot of an owl out the window, which finally brought Hermione back to life. Almost robotically, Hermione brought her wand up, and with a whispered, "Incendio," all evidence of the note was gone.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Hermione moved for the trunk on the right. When she touched the chest and nothing happened, she relaxed somewhat, before carefully standing it on end, fiddling with the invisibility cloak. It was a challenge, to wrap it around the trunk as well as herself, and in the end, she couldn't quite do it. She had to settle for wrapping the cloak around the trunk, with the possibility of using the cloak around herself and hugging herself around the chest against the wall if she heard anyone approaching.

Better she get caught alone than with the trunk. If she were caught with this…

She couldn't even imagine the punishment she would face.

Hermione imagined possible outcomes as she carefully aimed her wand at the trunk, and with a Wingardium Leviosa, guided it down to the dungeons, moving slowly to stay quiet, keeping carefully aware of how much power she was expending through the levitation spell. She imagined she'd be immediately expelled, for one, for stealing a professor's things, if nothing else. If they realized she'd been chosen, that she'd arranged this beforehand and hadn't told anyone…

Well, she'd read about Azkaban. She didn't think the wizards had an equivalent facility for the incarceration of minors, but the wizarding world didn't seem too keen on treating children like children, so she'd be surprised to learn juvenile detention was a thing.

It was very, very, very carefully that Hermione managed to finally ease into the dungeons and push the chest underneath her bed, hiding it underneath her clothes. She was sweating and out of breath with wild eyes, her power reserves exhausted, but as the chest vanished beneath her winter robes, tension slowly bled from her body, and she allowed herself to take a shaky breath.

She collapsed into her bed, hesitating only to set her alarm for the usual time. No one could know she had been out late. And nighttime exploits or not, she was expected to get up and look nice for Ron to yell at her the next day.