The boys' dormitory had taken on the air of a top-secret headquarters. Books, parchment, and crumpled bits of abandoned plans were scattered around the floor, while James stood by his bed, looking every bit like an overenthusiastic general preparing for battle. Hermione was seated cross-legged on the bed beside him, one eyebrow raised as she threw in more suggestions, her expression a blend of curiosity and scepticism as each got shut down. Any operation that was just a variation on the teddy bear idea was apparently a hard no go. Sirius was practically bouncing with excitement, unable to stay seated for more than a moment, while Remus looked like he might actually be sick with nerves, both knowing there was only one possible way this could go from here. Peter somehow remained utterly clueless as always.

"Alright, esteemed colleagues," he said with a grand sweep of his hand. "I think it is high time we discussed an unprecedented operation. For too long, our friend Moony has been… confined." He cast a dramatic look at Remus, who was sitting on his bed on the other side of the room, looking like he might just pass out.

Sirius clapped Remus's shoulder with a grin. "And now, Moony, we're letting you off the leash. Just a bit."

Remus, visibly paling, gave him a doubtful look. "This is madness. You know this is madness, right?"

"Oh, come on, Moony," Sirius said, his excitement barely contained. "We're not taking you into the middle of the grounds or anything. Just… letting you stretch your legs in the fresh air. Feel a bit more free."

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but James jumped in. "Exactly! A brief stroll in the forest, close to the entrance, just to give you a chance to breathe. We'll keep close to the tunnel and make sure everything's under control."

Remus shot a pleading look at Hermione, hoping she'd have a voice of reason to keep them from going overboard. "We're sure this is a good idea, right?"

Hermione took a deep breath, glancing around the room before nodding slowly. "I'm not saying it's a good idea, but Sirius is right. We can't keep doing what we have been inside the Shack," she began, keeping her tone even. "Sirius has already been bitten twice—not that he minds—but it is starting to feel like for nothing because you are back to mauling yourself. We want to avoid that at all costs."

"Aye, Kitten is finally agreeing with me! What a glorious day!"

"We still need a plan for every worst-case scenario if we're going to do this," she shot him a glare, but keeping her tone even. "Like, what if Moony got away from us?"

The room fell silent for a moment, everyone glancing at Remus, who looked a mix of grateful and horrified.

"Right. If he… if I got away…" Remus's voice was barely a whisper. "That would be bad."

James waved his hand dismissively. "That's easy. Pads and I can run Moony down in animal form. Even if he bolts, we'll have him back in no time."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "And what if someone gets injured? Inside the Shack, if someone gets hurt, we've got the potions and supplies right there to handle it first thing in the morning. But out in the forest… it's not like we can just pop back in if someone's unable to walk or move."

The room fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. James ran a hand through his hair, glancing toward Remus, who looked more than a little apprehensive. Sirius's grin faltered, and even Peter sat up a little straighter, visibly concerned.

"Alright, so let's think," James said, his tone more serious now. "If, say, one of us can't make it back, what's our plan? We can't exactly stay out in the forest with Moony all night."

Sirius, always quick with a solution, leaned forward. "We could keep something within a hollow tree, like an emergency supply of potions. It wouldn't be everything we have in the Shack, but maybe enough to handle basic injuries."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the practicality of it. "That's… actually not a bad idea. But only the essentials: some healing paste, a Blood Replenishing Potion, maybe a mild pain reliever. We don't need a full apothecary kit, just enough to get us back in one piece if things go sideways."

Remus, who had been quiet, raised a shaky hand. "And what if it's… me? What if I'm the one injured? I can't exactly drink potions or even sit still if I'm injured as Moony."

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the question bringing a new level of seriousness to the plan. Sirius placed a hand on Remus's shoulder, his voice low and reassuring. "If that happens, we'll work together to guide you back. Between me and Prongs in Animagus form, we'll keep Moony moving in the right direction, no matter what."

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "And if Moony's too injured to make it back on his own feet?"

James glanced over at her, his expression hardening with determination. "If it comes to that, between Pads and I, we can probably drag him close to the tunnel, then he can drink the potions as soon as we transform back and hurry down the tunnel before Madam Pomfrey arrives."

Remus looked around at his friends, his eyes a mix of fear and gratitude. "Alright," he whispered. "But please… be careful. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me."

Hermione reached over and squeezed his hand, her gaze determined. "We'll all be careful, Moony. And we'll all be there to keep each other safe."

They all shared a glance, then Hermione pressed on. "Alright, let's think about timing. How are we making sure we're back in the Shack before sunrise? Who's keeping track of time? We don't want Moony shifting back into you in the middle of the forest. Even if we can get him on Prongs'd back for transport that still carries the risk of not making it back before Pomfrey."

"I'll keep an eye on it," James volunteered, flashing a confident smile. "I've got a decent sense of timing."

Hermione shook her head. "We need something better than a 'decent sense.' Does anyone have a watch they don't mind getting damaged?" Sirius and Remus both held up their wrists, though Sirius's watch was cracked, its face stuck at six o'clock. Hermione sighed, taking Remus's arm and adjusting it on her wrist. "I'll set an alarm spell. Just in case."

Remus shot her a look of deep gratitude. "Thank you," he murmured.

She returned his look with a small smile, but her brow was still furrowed. "And what if Hagrid is out there?" she continued. "We know he patrols the forest sometimes. And there are other magical creatures too. Acromantulas, centaurs…"

At the mention of acromantulas, Peter's face paled. "Er… maybe I should stay in the Shack. In case anything… happens."

"Oh no, Wormtail," Sirius said with a grin. "You're in on this too. Think of it as a team-building exercise."

James grinned. "Exactly. You'll be part of the… lookout team." He ignored Peter's groan of resignation, looking back at Hermione. "We'll keep our senses open. If we hear or see anything suspicious, we'll head straight back."

Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes. "If you hear anything? We need an actual exit strategy for each scenario."

"Then let's do it," Sirius said, crossing his arms. "Lay it all out, Kitten. We're ready."

Hermione huffed but launched into each scenario, going through every possible issue—what if they heard Hagrid's voice, if the forest seemed too quiet, if they noticed Moony becoming agitated—and one by one, they set up plans. By the time she was finished, the dorm room felt like a headquarters for a secret mission.

Peter finally piped up, his voice unusually serious. "But we'll stick close to the Shack, right? Not wandering far, just… right by the tunnel entrance. Right?"

James nodded. "That's the plan. It's a small test, nothing more. If it doesn't feel safe, we'll head right back inside."

They ran through the plan once more, covering every detail, every possible contingency. When they finished, Hermione exhaled slowly, her gaze sweeping over the group.

"So," she said, "we have a plan. And a backup plan. Or a hundred."

Sirius grinned, his usual bravado returning. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow night, Moony gets his first taste of freedom."

Remus gave a small, reluctant smile, though his eyes betrayed his nerves. The plan was far from foolproof, and they all knew it. But for the first time, he felt a cautious hope—a chance to experience something other than confinement, surrounded by friends willing to take on any risk for him.

As the others nodded in agreement, the atmosphere in the dorm shifted from apprehension to excitement. Tonight, they would try, and for better or worse, they would see if this plan could be the first of many.

The St. Nicholas Day moon passed smoothly, almost too smoothly, leaving the group in a state of hushed disbelief. As dawn broke, they gathered back in the Shack, tired but buzzing with the satisfaction of a plan well-executed. Remus, in particular, looked different—lighter, more at ease than he'd been in months. The boys were jubilant, exchanging glances of triumph as if they'd conquered a great beast together.

Hermione, watching them with a fond smile, couldn't bring herself to dampen their spirits, though a small part of her remained cautious. She couldn't shake the feeling that the ease of this excursion had been due to the novelty of it for Moony, his instincts occupied with new sights, scents, and the unfamiliar feeling of open air beneath his paws. This was just the beginning, she knew, and every moon would bring new challenges, his instincts growing bolder, his urge to roam further undoubtedly intensifying.

But as she looked at James, Sirius, and Peter—each of them as excited as children on St. Nicholas Day, flushed with their success—she held back her concerns. She would let them enjoy this victory for now, let them have their moment of happiness and pride. They'd earned it, after all. Just as children cherish their chocolates on this holiday, her friends cherished this small victory, however tentative it was.

Later, as they made their way back to the common room from the Hospital Wing, where Remus got his usual clearance from Madam Pomfrey, Sirius threw an arm around her shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "See, Kitten? Not so mad of an idea after all, was it?"

She chuckled, her gaze softening. "It went well, yes. Just… let's be careful. Every moon will be different. We don't want Moony getting too bold."

Remus, walking alongside them, gave her a sheepish smile. "I'll do my best to stay sensible," he murmured, though there was a newfound confidence in his tone.

James clapped him on the back, smiling warmly. "No need to worry about that right now, Moony. This was our first step. And it was brilliant."

Hermione stayed quiet, the echo of her reservations lingering at the back of her mind, but she let herself smile and join in on their celebrations. They had a victory today, a safe and successful first night for Moony outside the Shack. That was worth savouring—for now.

Hermione stood in front of the common room mirror, smoothing out her pale lavender robes for the umpteenth time. The robes shimmered softly in the firelight, catching on the delicate embroidery at the cuffs and hem. She felt a little self-conscious, considering she'd worn them to the Potter's New Year's ball last year, but she liked them, and besides, they still fit perfectly. She took a deep breath and turned, only to be greeted by Sirius's wolfish grin.

"Well, well," he drawled, leaning casually against the back of the sofa. "Look at you two. Kitten and Prongs, ready to dazzle the whole Slug Club, eh? Don't know how the rest of us can handle this much glamour."

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she smiled despite herself. "Don't be ridiculous, Sirius."

James, however, seemed more than happy to play along, looping his arm around her and striking a pose as if they were posing for a portrait. "Think you can handle all this, Padfoot?" he asked with a cheeky grin. "I'd offer to lend you some of my sparkle, but then you'd outshine Remus, and we can't have that, can we?"

Sirius snorted, shaking his head. "Go on, get out of here before you give me a headache. But remember, Hermione—don't let Jamesie steal all the attention."

Hermione laughed, giving him a friendly nudge before she and James made their way out of the common room. As they descended the stairs toward the Slug Club Christmas party, James leaned in close, his voice warm against her ear. She was glad they were allowed to bring a date for this occasion because she wasn't sure if she could handle being in the room with Slughorn, her curiosity regarding Riddle burning but not asking any more questions.

"You look incredible," he whispered, his eyes trailing over her with a mixture of pride and something softer. "But I think we need to go shopping during the break—find something new for you to wear to the New Year's Ball."

Hermione shot him a look, half-amused, half-indignant. "James, I don't need a new set of robes. These are perfectly fine."

"Oh, they're more than fine," he assured her, giving her a smile that made her heart skip a beat. "But I'd like to spoil you a bit. I want to take you shopping and get you something special. Something that makes you feel… I don't know, like royalty."

She shook her head, chuckling. "James, I really don't need anything lavish. Besides, I'd feel strange having you spend so much on something I don't actually need. Or wear only once."

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Alright, what if I promised to buy you two new books if you let me get you a new dress?"

Hermione crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. "Are you bribing me with gifts just so I'll let you buy me… more gifts? Isn't that a bit… counterintuitive?"

He grinned, unrepentant. "Maybe, but it works, doesn't it? You can't say no to books."

She huffed, though her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here I am," he replied, flashing a charming smile as he took her hand, leading her toward Slughorn's party. "Besides, you deserve the best. And I'd like to be the one to give it to you."

Rolling her eyes fondly, she couldn't help but be a little moved by his words, even if she found his persistence amusing. "Alright, Potter, we'll see. But don't get any ideas—if I catch you trying to buy the whole bookshop, you're in trouble."

He laughed, squeezing her hand gently. "Wouldn't dream of it, love."

The Slug Club's Christmas party was nothing short of magical decadence. The walls of Slughorn's private party room were draped in rich evergreen garlands, their needles sparkling with charmed fairy lights. Snow seemed to fall gently from the ceiling, vanishing just before it reached the ground, giving the room a cosy winter wonderland effect without a trace of cold. Round tables laden with glittering crystal goblets and plates of hors d'oeuvres filled the space, each table hosting small platters of miniature mince pies, sugared almonds, and other delicacies that would make even the Hogwarts feast look modest. A gentle hum of conversation floated through the air, blending with the warm notes of enchanted carols drifting from an invisible source.

Hermione couldn't help but look around in awe, her eyes catching the glint of silver and gold décor interwoven with twinkling lights. A variety of guests were mingling, and she noted a few familiar faces: alumni, Ministry officials, and even a few Potions Guild members. Her attention was particularly drawn to one man—a tall, wiry wizard with sharp, thoughtful features. Damocles Belby. Her heart skipped a beat in recognition. He would one day be the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, a breakthrough that would allow werewolves to maintain their sanity during transformations.

Belby seemed caught up in a conversation, so she waited until he was momentarily alone before approaching, tugging James along beside her.

"Master Belby?" she ventured politely, offering a warm smile. "Are you working on anything related to lycanthropy, by chance?"

Belby turned, his expression mildly surprised as he looked her over. "Why, yes… though I'm curious how a student would know of that," he said, one eyebrow arched in mild suspicion.

Thinking quickly, Hermione wove together an excuse. "My brother, Andrew Prewett, is in the Potions Guild," she explained with a confident smile. "He mentioned someone there was researching it, and I got curious. So, here I am, hoping to pick the brain of the great Damocles Belby."

Belby's eyes softened, his suspicion giving way to intrigue. "Ah, a Prewett then? Quite the well-connected family." He regarded her with a little more respect, nodding approvingly. "Yes, yes… though I must admit it's still in the early stages, and the Guild is quite cautious about releasing any details."

Hermione's mind was racing with ideas, snippets of potions theory, and notes she'd once read in a Potions journal in her time. "Have you tried using a combination of the different strains of aconite plants?" she asked. "And perhaps… harvesting under a new moon? Since that would be the antithesis to the magical properties of the full moon that affect those with lycanthropy."

Belby's expression shifted from intrigued to downright impressed. "The different aconites… and the new moon?" He paused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I hadn't considered that. Clever. Clever indeed. Miss Prewett, is it?"

"Yes," she replied, smiling, pleased by his reaction. "Hermione Prewett."

"Well, Miss Prewett, I'd say you've quite the knack for Potions." He seemed momentarily lost in thought, processing her suggestion with fascination. "If this idea works, I'll owe you a great debt. I'll even credit you if it does come to fruition," he added, offering her a nod of genuine appreciation.

"Oh, no need to credit me," Hermione said quickly, waving off the offer with a smile. "The idea just struck me. I thought it was worth discussing."

Belby chuckled, his eyes glinting with approval. "Well, I daresay Hogwarts has a bright future with students like you. Horace must be thrilled to have you in his class."

At that moment, Slughorn himself approached, catching Belby's comment. "Ah, Miss Prewett! I couldn't agree more. Bright as a cauldron flame, that one," he said, beaming at her as if he'd personally had a hand in her every accomplishment. "Did I hear you've been discussing lycanthropy, hmm?"

Belby nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed, she's got a remarkable intuition for Potions—insightful even beyond her years. You're lucky to have such a talent, Horace."

Slughorn's chest seemed to swell with pride as he laughed heartily, patting her shoulder. "Yes, yes! I knew she was special from the first lesson. You've got the makings of a brilliant potioneer, my dear."

Hermione gave a modest smile, her gaze meeting James's for a moment, a shared spark of excitement passing between them. As they moved on from the conversation with Slughorn and Belby, those two turning to discuss Lily Evans as another brilliant witch in potions, James leaned close, whispering with a grin.

"Did you just… potentially speed up the invention of the Wolfsbane Potion?" James asked in a whisper to her ear, his voice a mix of awe and excitement.

Her cheeks flushed slightly, partially from the compliment, partially from the pleasurable shiver that ran down her spine from his closeness, as she shrugged. "Maybe. Possibly."

"When would it have come out?" he pressed, his eyes wide with anticipation.

"1984, if I remember correctly." She paused, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. "I'm not exactly sure when Belby actually started experimenting with these factors… the Potions journal article didn't specify the timeline. But judging by his reaction just now, he hasn't thought of it yet."

James's eyes widened, clearly caught between excitement and disbelief. "So… seven years sooner? That's incredible, Hermione. Remus is going to owe you one huge favour if this works."

Hermione bit her lip, a touch of apprehension mixed in with her excitement. "Well, let's not get too ahead of ourselves. I only gave him a suggestion—it's not like I handed over the recipe. Potions like that take years of trial and error."

He tilted his head, regarding her with a look that was both fond and awestruck. "You're still amazing. Even just planting the idea could make all the difference. So, Wolfsbane in 1977… well, hopefully."

Hermione couldn't help but smile, though a part of her remained cautious. "It's strange, thinking how much of a ripple this could cause, you know? I mean… it changes so much for people like Remus. He'll be able to manage his transformations so much sooner."

James nodded, understanding the weight of what she was saying. "And maybe it means fewer people seeing werewolves as dangerous. Fewer Remuses having to hide parts of themselves."

They fell into a brief, thoughtful silence before James smirked, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "And here I thought the highlight of this party would be the hors d'oeuvres."

She laughed softly, nudging him playfully. "Oh, don't let me steal the spotlight. You're free to go sample some if you like."

"Not a chance." His eyes sparkled with warmth as he pulled her closer. "The only thing I want to sample tonight is your company, Miss Prewett."

Her cheeks flushed again, but before she could respond, he added, "And for the record, if this works… you'll be Remus's hero for life."

Hermione shook her head, though she couldn't stop herself from grinning. "Well, if that's the case, we'd better keep this between us. No need for him to start naming his future pets after me or something."

James grinned, leaning in close, his voice a whisper. "I could kiss you right now."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but before she could protest, he was already leaning in, brushing a quick, soft kiss to her lips, just enough to make her heart flutter.

Suddenly, they heard a jovial, familiar laugh. "Now, now!" Slughorn's voice cut through the air as he walked over, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Save that for after the party, hm? Though, Mr Potter, I can hardly blame you—Miss Prewett's mind would inspire quite a bit of admiration, wouldn't it?"

Hermione flushed a deeper shade of red, but James was unfazed, giving Slughorn a cheeky grin. "Can't argue with that, Professor."

As Slughorn moved away, chuckling, Lily sauntered over with a raised eyebrow, glancing between the two of them. "What did I just walk into? You're getting all cosy over here."

James glanced over his shoulder, flicking his wand behind his back to conjure a sprig of mistletoe, which hovered innocently above them. "Just Christmas spirit, Evans. 'Tis the season and all that."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look, though she couldn't keep from laughing. "Really? That's your excuse?"

"Hey, if it works, it works," he whispered, brushing a stray curl from her face as he pulled her closer under the mistletoe.

Lily just rolled her eyes, but she smirked all the same. "Well, I suppose it's fitting, isn't it?" She leaned in, whispering conspiratorially to Hermione. "But really, you two should get a room—or at least be more subtle."

The three of them shared a laugh, James's eyes twinkling as he pulled Hermione back into a light embrace, the warmth of the festive evening surrounding them.

The next day, curiosity got the better of the Marauders and Hermione as they gathered outside the Room of Requirement. Sirius had declared himself utterly bored just hours prior, citing that they hadn't done any proper marauding inside the castle in ages. So James came up with the idea of checking out the Room again, which—in his opinion—they had utterly neglected ever since they had found it.

Except it did not transform into their Mischief Headquarters, but to the room where Hermione had hidden her Animagus potion two years ago. After a quick exchange of glances, they entered the space once more, intent on exploring further.

The room felt larger and more mysterious than before, towering shelves and crates piled with seemingly endless trinkets, artefacts, and forgotten items. It was a trove of magic, each corner revealing something strange, dusty, or broken that had clearly been hidden here for years. The boys poked through various relics, occasionally holding up something odd and making each other laugh with their ridiculous guesses at its purpose.

After a while, they reached a cluttered area dominated by a chipped bust of an ugly old warlock sitting on a crate near a tall cabinet. Inside the cabinet, a cage housed the skeleton of a long-dead creature, its hollow eye sockets staring out blankly. Atop the cabinet rested an odd assortment of items: a dusty old wig, a few tarnished goblets, and a gleaming tiara that immediately caught James's eye.

"Oy, Kitten, look at this!" James said, plucking the tiara from the top of the cabinet. He held it up, inspecting the intricate, faded detailing of the delicate metalwork. "You'd look regal with this."

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed, giving in to his playful spirit. "Alright, let's see it, then."

As James placed the tiara on her head, Hermione's expression shifted. Her eyes widened briefly, a faint flicker of something unreadable passing over her face, then—without warning—her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

"Hermione!" James caught her just as she fell, his voice cracking with alarm.

Sirius sprang forward, eyes wide with horror. "Take it off her!" he demanded, yanking the tiara off her head and throwing it aside. His face was unusually pale as he looked at James, who was still cradling Hermione, bewildered and shaken.

"What was that?" James asked, his voice tight, checking her pulse with a trembling hand.

Sirius's expression turned grim, a hint of fear in his usually bright gaze. "Didn't you feel that?" he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with something approaching dread. "The thing's steeped in Dark magic, James. It practically hums with it."

James swallowed hard, guilt flickering over his face. "I… I didn't feel anything. Just thought it looked nice. How did you know?"

Sirius shrugged, though his face remained serious, shadows of his family's influence darkening his expression. "Growing up at Grimmauld, you get a feel for these things. It's like a… residue." He glanced back at the tiara, his eyes narrowing. "That thing's not just some old tiara."

Remus bent down to check Hermione, his face set with worry. "She's breathing, but we need to get her to the Hospital Wing. Peter, run and get Dumbledore. Leave the bloody thing here."

Without waiting for a response, Peter took off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he raced for help. James scooped Hermione into his arms, her head resting limply against his shoulder. The four of them left the Room of Requirement in silence, each of them disturbed by the strange artefact.

By the time they arrived at the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey rushed over, clearly alarmed by Hermione's unconscious state. As James laid her down on a bed, she quickly examined her, muttering diagnostic spells under her breath.

Within minutes, Dumbledore arrived, his face unusually sombre. Peter trailed behind, catching his breath as he gave a concerned look toward Hermione. Dumbledore approached the Marauders, his gaze intense as he addressed them.

"Describe what happened," he said quietly, his blue eyes fixed on each of them.

James quickly recounted the events, from finding the tiara and where—not caring that their secret place and how to access it would be revealed to the headmaster—to placing it on Hermione's head and her sudden reaction. Sirius added his sense of the Dark magic surrounding the object, his voice subdued but resolute. Dumbledore's expression darkened with each word, though he maintained his usual calm demeanour.

After listening to their story, he gave a slow nod, as though coming to a decision. "I will take possession of the diadem," he said finally, glancing toward the door. "I commend you all for acting so quickly."

"What… what is it, Professor?" Remus asked, unable to suppress his curiosity.

Dumbledore's expression softened slightly, but he didn't elaborate. "An artefact from a time long forgotten. One that carries… certain dangers," he said carefully. "It would be best if you left it to me to handle. And I must ask that you refrain from discussing this incident with anyone outside this room."

The boys exchanged worried glances but nodded, sensing the gravity of the situation. As Dumbledore turned to leave, he looked back once, his gaze lingering on Hermione before shifting to the group.

"You all did well. And I will do everything I can to ensure no harm comes from this," he added, his tone reassuring yet layered with unspoken worry.

As he left, they felt the weight of mystery settle over them—a mystery that, for now, they had no choice but to leave in Dumbledore's hands.

Hermione drifted in a strange, heavy darkness, as if submerged deep underwater. Shadows twisted and blurred around her, fleeting, half-formed images flickering like fragments of broken glass, each one sharper and more haunting than the last.

A figure emerged in the haze: tall, dark-haired, and unbearably still, like a sculpture of cold marble. Tom Riddle. His piercing gaze glinted with a hungry determination, his hands wrapped tightly around a tarnished, glittering diadem. Hermione recognized it instantly—the same piece that had somehow rendered her unconscious. He held it with reverence, as if it held secrets he was desperate to unlock.

In the surreal fog of the dream, she heard his voice, low and dangerous, echoing through the silence. "There must be a way… a way to house a sliver of my soul in you… Rowena Ravenclaw will not get the best of me, Heir of Slytherin himself." The words came in fragments, disjointed whispers that crawled over her skin. His expression twisted, a flicker of something almost like madness in his dark eyes as he traced his fingers over the diadem, whispering to it as if it were alive, a vessel for the dark magic he sought to unleash.

The scene shifted, fractured again, and she saw Riddle pacing a dimly lit room, muttering feverishly under his breath, a terrible light in his eyes. "Immortality… a legacy that cannot be destroyed… a mark upon the world that none can erase." His voice was tinged with pride and a venomous determination, words spilling from his mouth with increasing fervour. Hermione felt a chill spread through her bones, sensing the depth of his ambition—and the horrifying price he was willing to pay for it.

As Riddle's face grew sharper, Hermione felt an oppressive weight pressing down on her, suffocating and unrelenting. His gaze snapped to hers, piercing her as if he could see through time and space. He smirked, a look of triumph twisting his features, and in an instant, he seemed to lunge toward her, his hands reaching, grasping—

The dream shattered. The final echo of his voice lingered in her mind, hollow and chilling: "Power beyond death… a fractured soul… a destiny unbreakable."

Hermione gasped, feeling herself sinking back into darkness, his cold, haunting voice echoing in her mind.

Hermione woke slowly, feeling as though she was swimming up from the depths of a long, dark dream. The blurry shapes of the Hospital Wing came into focus, and she saw Madam Pomfrey hovering nearby, her face lined with worry. Hermione blinked, the room around her unfamiliar and surreal, and it took her a moment to realise she was in one of the hospital beds, sunlight streaming in through the tall windows.

"Oh, finally, thank Merlin!" Madam Pomfrey breathed, relief flooding her face. "You had us all terribly worried, Miss Prewett. Two days, you've been asleep. Unconscious. I was nearly about to notify your family and arrange for transport to St. Mungo's."

Hermione sat up slowly, feeling a strange weight in her chest as her memories rushed back, though she struggled to make sense of the fragments. "I'm… I'm alright, Madam Pomfrey. I promise. I don't remember much of what happened, though."

The matron's eyes narrowed, sceptical, and she leaned in to check Hermione's pulse. "I did every diagnostic spell I know, but nothing came up, no hex, curse, or illness… I'd begun to wonder if it was something terribly obscure. Professor Dumbledore has been notified of your awakening. He'll want to speak to you."

True to her words, Dumbledore arrived shortly afterward, his usual twinkle subdued as he approached her bed. Hermione met his gaze, schooling her expression into one of calm resolve, her mind already racing to piece together what she'd seen in her dream and why she felt compelled to keep it private.

Dumbledore's tone was gentle. "Miss Prewett, I'm relieved to see you awake. I hope you feel well enough to recount anything that might help us understand what happened?"

Hermione hesitated for a fraction of a second, offering a reassuring smile. "I… I feel fine, Professor. I just remember feeling a bit strange, but after that, it's all quite foggy."

Dumbledore studied her for a long moment, his gaze knowing, though he didn't press further. "Very well, Miss Prewett. You must understand the urgency of discovering what caused this—should any similar artefacts appear. But rest is most important now. Your well-being is our first priority." He gave her a small nod before turning to leave, and Hermione couldn't shake the sense that he was far from satisfied.

As soon as he left, James practically lunged toward her, his face crumpling as he sat by her bedside. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and he took her hand, his voice raw with guilt. "Hermione, I'm… I'm so sorry. I put that on you, that cursed thing, without a second thought. I could've—"

"James," Hermione interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. "It's not your fault. None of us could have known."

"But I should have been more careful. Sirius felt something dark, and I just—" His voice broke, and he wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. "I just don't want anything to happen to you, especially not because of something I did."

Hermione leaned forward, placing a hand on his cheek, her voice steady. "I'm alright, James. Truly. And I won't hear another word of you blaming yourself. We're fine. I'm fine."

Sirius, standing nearby with Remus and Peter, looked visibly relieved. "Good thing you're as stubborn as a Hippogriff, Kitten. Nearly gave us all heart attacks."

Remus nodded, his eyes filled with a quiet worry. "You do look better… though I still think James might be right. Maybe it's best to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays. Just to be safe."

Hermione shook her head firmly. "Absolutely not. I'm going home for the holidays, just like we planned. I'll be fine, I promise." She paused, looking at James with a soft smile. "And if you're agreeable, I'd love to visit you for a few days between Christmas and New Year's. A perfect little getaway."

James gave a reluctant nod, though his eyes held a glimmer of worry. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that something in her gaze suggested she was on a mission, a spark of determination beneath her composed exterior. But he didn't press, instead offering a small smile in return.

"Alright," he conceded, wrapping his arms around her carefully as if she might break. "But you're letting me keep an eye on you, whether it's here or there. And no more cursed diadems."

Hermione laughed, leaning her head against him, feeling the weight of their worry but more certain than ever.

As the days passed, Hermione's strength gradually returned, though Madam Pomfrey insisted she remain in the Hospital Wing until Friday "just in case."

By Thursday, Hermione's recovery was progressing well enough for Madam Pomfrey to allow her to sit up with her notes and textbooks, though the matron insisted she stay put in the Hospital Wing until she was entirely sure there were no lingering effects. Hermione didn't mind; in fact, she was grateful for the quiet. But when James slipped in alone for a visit that afternoon, she set her books aside and cast a quick privacy charm around them.

"I need to tell you about something I… saw," she began, her voice dropping to a near whisper. James leaned forward, instantly focused as she described the fragmented vision that had haunted her unconsciousness. "I didn't want to say in front of Dumbledore or the others."

"When the diadem touched my head, I saw him, James. Tom Riddle, with the diadem, and he was… talking to it. Muttering about finding a way to house his split soul." She shuddered slightly, the memory still chilling her. "What if… what if splitting the soul is the key to his immortality? If that diary was somehow part of it, then maybe… I don't know, maybe he's using these objects to store pieces of himself."

James looked stunned but thoughtful, his brow furrowing as he processed her words. "Splitting the soul…" he repeated slowly. "I mean, it sounds… mad. But if anyone were to try something that dark, it would be him." His eyes brightened suddenly, as though a memory had just clicked into place. "Actually, that rings a bell. I remember seeing something strange in the grimoires—around a particular period, 17th century I think. I'd skimmed past it, thought it sounded a bit far-fetched even for the Potters' archives. But now…"

She nodded, understanding. "That's perfect. If we know which era to focus on, maybe we'll find some mention of this… soul-splitting."

The conversation lulled as Hermione drifted into thought, her gaze shifting away, her expression distant. James waited for her to continue, but after a long silence, she simply looked back at him, a small smile curving her lips.

Then, without warning, she leaned over and kissed him, her fingers brushing his cheek. It was soft and sweet, catching him by surprise. James melted into the moment, his worry melting away.

When they pulled apart, he studied her with a slight smirk. "You're supposed to be taking it easy, you know… not worrying over dark magic."

Hermione laughed, though there was a flicker of something distant in her eyes. "Yes, well… maybe you're right." She didn't bring up their conversation again, seeming content to sit with him in comfortable silence. James, assuming she was simply worn out, didn't press her further, and they spent the rest of the visit simply enjoying each other's company.