On the day of the winter solstice, the cold crept into Hogwarts through every crack. It felt as if even the stone walls had taken in the breath of the longest night of the year. Hermione walked down the empty corridors, pulling her warm cloak tighter around herself — outside the Gryffindor common room, the evenings were especially cold. This time, the walk to the abandoned room where she and Miranda had performed the ritual in autumn felt endlessly long. With every step, her doubts pressed harder, and the anxiety seemed to slow her down, making it more and more difficult to keep moving forward. Deciding to help Foster hadn't been easy, and even now, as she approached the room, Hermione still wasn't sure she was doing the right thing.
The door creaked as she stepped inside, and a sharp gust of icy wind at her back made her shudder. Inside, almost nothing had changed: three mirrors set up in the centre for the ritual, and the same magical pattern — a mandala — on the floor. In the fireplace — how had she missed it last time? — a fire burned, casting red reflections onto the mirrors and the curling lines of the pattern, which faded into the half-darkness.
Miranda stood by one of the mirrors. This time she wasn't fussing like before the first ritual, but met Hermione with a focused look. In her hands she held a burgundy candle, and at her feet lay the same drum, Bata — the one with a 'soul'.
"Strange evening, isn't it?" she said in a low voice.
Miranda's voice was so quiet that Hermione couldn't shake the feeling her friend was afraid to disturb something dozing in the room. She gave a slight shiver, pushing the foolish thought away.
"Did you feel something?" Hermione frowned, but still looked around the room more carefully.
"No. It's just… today, unlike last time, I feel off," Miranda admitted. "I can't explain it… it's like we're doing something wrong."
She tried to smile, but it came out forced. Almost at once, she added, as if brushing it aside:
"Or maybe the first time I was just caught up in the mystery of Time Magic. Though…" She looked at Hermione darkly. "I spent the whole night thinking about Elmridge's warning to drop this and about those missing Muggles. Are you still sure we should be helping Foster?" There was poorly concealed hope in her eyes.
Hermione said nothing. Over the past few weeks, she had gone over every argument again and again, and now that the decision was made, she didn't want to back down. In the end, the story of the missing Muggles had never been proven. And whatever conflicts he had with other wizards were his own business.
She took a deep breath and nodded slowly.
"Well then… shall we begin?" Miranda forced herself to smile again.
She reminded Hermione of the sequence: the candles, the hourglass, the memorized phrases. Then she stepped aside, sat down on a cushion she had prepared in advance, and took Bata into her hands.
Hermione lit the candles — the flames flared up with a strangely cold, white light. She turned the hourglass over and set it in the centre of the mandala, right at the point where all the lines met. Then she slowly moved to her place — at the edge of one of the 'petals' of the pattern. At that very moment, Miranda struck Bata. A deep, resonant sound rolled through the room.
They moved almost mechanically, phrase after phrase, following the ritual as instructed. But with every word, Hermione felt her initial certainty slipping away. The ritual didn't feel the same as she remembered — it was as if something in it had changed, turned alien, cold.
When the last phrase was spoken and the drum fell silent, the candle flames surged up toward the ceiling again. For a moment, they flooded the room with a blinding light — and then Hermione felt it: a chill coming off the fire.
The flames went out. The next second, the now familiar figure of Terry Foster appeared in the mirror opposite.
"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said politely. A barely noticeable smile touched his lips. "I'm glad you made the sensible choice — and may have saved many innocent souls in the process."
At first glance, Foster looked much the same as before. But on a closer look, the differences stood out at once. He still tried to carry himself with dignity, yet he looked worn out: his features had grown sharper, his lips were chapped, and deep shadows lay under his eyes. Behind the polite half-smile and the show of carelessness, tension showed through. It was obvious that living in the Vault of Time was no real pleasure.
"And what do you eat in the Vault of Time?" Hermione asked suddenly. The question slipped out on its own the moment she saw his face clearly.
Foster gave a crooked smirk and spread his hands.
"That's the point — there's hardly anything to eat here."
He fell silent for a moment, as if deciding whether to go on.
"But that's not the main thing," he said at last. "I haven't had a drop of water all day. The thirst is driving me mad, Miss Granger."
He looked at her intently; something flickered in his eyes — something like a plea… or just careful calculation?
"If you don't help me," he let out a heavy breath, "I'm afraid my days here are numbered."
Hermione frowned.
"But how have you even managed to stay there this long?"
"Oh, that's easy to answer," a self-satisfied, though still strained, smile appeared on his face. "I've only been in the Vault for three days. And in that time, I had to come up with and carry out a plan that would get me out of here. Especially after our last meeting, there was so much to do, so much to check, so much to take into account... So there was hardly any time for sleep either."
He straightened, though it was clear even that took effort.
"And I'm counting on your help in this, Miss Granger. And on your friend's as well," he added, suddenly turning to Miranda and inclining his head slightly. "Miss Ravenclaw."
At the sound of her name, Miranda perked up and set Bata aside.
"Come closer, Miss Ravenclaw," the wizard said with a polite smile. "Just remember: you must not cross the mandala."
Miranda got up from the cushion and stepped closer to the mirror. Expectation and unease mixed in her gaze.
"So… this time I'll need both of you," Foster began, but Hermione cut him off sharply:
"Wait, Mr Foster. Before we go any further… first, you must promise that no one at the school will be harmed by the monster from the Chamber of Secrets."
Foster let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping with fatigue.
"I'm afraid I can't make that promise."
"Then our deal is off," Hermione said, her voice firm. "Find yourself another saviour."
"Damn it!" Foster snapped. The anger in his voice was unmistakable; he broke off abruptly and forced himself to stop. Then, breathing heavily, he went on with effort: "Wait, Miss Granger… I'm sorry. It's extremely difficult right now… to keep my composure."
He fell silent for a few seconds, trying to put his usual good-natured expression back on his face. Then he continued, more evenly:
"I chose a version of the future where the deaths of students are least likely. But you need to understand: from the Vault of Time, you can only see probabilities — possible lines of events. I don't see the events themselves until the outcome becomes inevitable."
"So everything you said about students dying and the danger to me — those were just your inventions?" Hermione's voice turned cold.
"Not at all," Foster shook his head. His gaze darkened, and there was the tiredness of someone sick of repeating the same thing in his voice. "In the most likely futures, many students end up dead, and Hogwarts is closed. For good."
He paused briefly, then added quietly:
"My proposal is the only path where everyone has a chance to make it. A chance, not a guarantee. But isn't that better than nothing?"
Hermione frowned, turning the wizard's words over in her mind. You could see distrust and fear fighting inside her.
"Hermione," Miranda spoke up. "If he's telling the truth… maybe we should at least hear him out?"
"If he's telling the truth," Hermione cut in, staring straight at Foster. "How do we know this isn't just another manipulation? Last time he 'forgot' to mention he doesn't know the future for certain. Maybe this time he'll 'forget' something too. Something important."
Foster spread his hands.
"I'm afraid you'll have to take me at my word, Miss Granger."
His reflection leaned closer in the mirror, as if to tell Hermione something in confidence.
"Just… if I'm right, and you refuse to help…" He gave a theatrical shake of his head. "Ah… then I truly feel sorry for your parents — they'll miss you very much…"
Hermione went pale at his words, but only pressed her lips tighter, trying not to show fear. The silence stretched. Terry Foster cleared his throat, as if by accident, breaking it — but said nothing.
"All right," Hermione finally breathed out. "We'll help you. But on one condition. You will never again — do you hear me? never — drag Muggles or other wizards into your experiments with Time Magic. Anyone at all!"
Terry Foster nodded.
"Believe me, girl," he said wearily, "I've had more than enough of experiments."
For a moment, a sly glint flickered in his eyes and vanished. Hermione stared at him, intent, studying. But Foster's face stayed unreadable, like a mask. Then he let out a tired laugh.
"What now?" he asked.
"So it is true after all?!" Hermione blurted. "Everything they've been saying about you…"
"That depends on what you mean by 'true,'" he shrugged. "I haven't killed anyone, if that's what you mean."
"But people… Muggles — they were disappearing!"
Foster didn't answer. He just stood there, watching as Hermione grew more and more worked up.
"All those rumors about your experiments!" she went on. "And the ridiculous stories you spread yourself — that you supposedly managed to create a Time-Turner. How are we meant to trust you?"
Instead of answering, he slowly slipped a hand inside his coat. His movements were deliberately slow. A second later, he pulled out a strange amulet. It was a tiny hourglass set within several thin rings of tarnished metal. The rings rotated slowly inside one another, for no visible reason, as if following their own rhythm.
Hermione went still.
"What… is that?" she asked, unable to tear her eyes away.
"That?" Foster tilted his head, as if surprised she didn't recognize it. "That's that very same 'ridiculous story'."
Hermione's lips moved, but instead of words, only a faint whisper came out:
"This… no… it can't be…"
"Yes, yes. It can't," Foster nodded. "And yet it is. I made it. This is a Time-Turner."
Hermione stared at the Time-Turner, wide-eyed. It was mesmerizing — whether because of the hypnotic spinning of its rings, or because it was real. She understood that at once, the moment she saw it. And not just Hermione — Miranda couldn't tear her eyes away from it either.
Terry Foster, noticing the effect the artifact had made, smirked.
"You know what, Miss Granger," he said. "I'm willing to give you a Time-Turner… if you get me out of here."
"A Time-Turner? For me?!" Hermione stared at him, unable to believe her ears.
"Me too!" Miranda burst out at once, almost bouncing with excitement.
Foster laughed — quietly, but with obvious pleasure. Then he nodded.
"Yes. You too, Miss Ravenclaw. Each of you will get your own Time-Turner."
He paused and tilted his head.
"Well then, Miss Granger?" His voice softened, almost coaxing. "On one side of the scales — the safety of your friends and the whole school. And, as a bonus, a Time-Turner. And on the other…" He trailed off, narrowed his eyes, and rubbed his chin, as if pondering this 'difficult' decision himself.
The choice was obvious. Hermione looked over at Miranda. Her friend nodded eagerly — her eyes shining like a child promised the whole world. It was clear the idea of having a Time-Turner very much appealed to her.
Hermione slowly turned to Foster.
"All right. We'll help you get out. Explain exactly what we need to do."
"A very wise decision, Miss Granger," Foster said, clapping his hands together, pleased.
There was triumph in his voice, yet for a brief moment, relief flickered in his eyes. He hid it at once behind his usual mask, but Hermione still caught it. The corners of her lips twitched. 'So even with all his knowledge — and everything he'd seen from the Vault of Time — he hadn't been sure.' The thought brought her an unexpected sense of satisfaction. She no longer felt like a helpless puppet in his hands.
"So, to get me out of the Vault of Time, you'll first need to create a device. I know, Miss Granger, you've taken an interest in artifacts and magical devices — and more than that, you've proven yourself in this brilliantly. That, by the way, is another reason why you're the perfect candidate for my rescuer," he added with a disarming smile.
Hermione felt her cheeks warm slightly. Foster's praise caught her off guard, and she looked away.
"So," he went on, "for my release, you'll need a particular artifact. The Eye of Chronos."
Hermione raised an eyebrow at the name and looked at the man in the mirror, puzzled. She quickly went through everything she knew about magical artifacts — and she knew quite a lot. But she had never come across anything like it.
Foster caught her unspoken question and moved to explain:
"I came up with this magical device. And I gave it its name as well. So of course, you couldn't have heard of it anywhere."
He straightened a little, and a note of pride entered his voice:
"Its purpose is to alter your perception of time. It speeds up the flow of time around you, while you yourself are placed inside a slowed stream. That's a necessary condition to enter the Vault of Time. Without it… well, let's just say you simply won't find the door."
Foster paused briefly, as if giving Hermione time to take it in, then added, less grandly:
"To be honest, creating the Eye of Chronos won't be much trouble for you. I'm absolutely certain you can handle it. The real difficulty isn't that. It's that to activate it, you'll need to fuel it with… quicksol slime."
Hermione's eyebrows rose again.
"Quicksol slime?" she repeated. "But where would I get it? I've never seen it sold in potion shops."
"Yes, it's a very rare ingredient," Foster replied calmly. "As far as I know, it isn't used in potion-making, so you won't find it in those kinds of shops. But the slime can be found on grass or on the leaves of bushes where quicksols live. It has a distinctive silvery-blue tint. I'm sure you'll recognize it when you see it."
"I still don't understand where we're supposed to find the quicksols themselves," Hermione said, looking at him expectantly. "I remember Hagrid mentioning them once, but he said they're very hard to spot."
"Don't worry, Miss Granger. You don't need the quicksols themselves, only their slime," he replied. "They live in the swamps in the Forbidden Forest. I assume you can find out from your gamekeeper, Hagrid, where exactly those swamps are."
Terry Foster leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice:
"Now listen carefully. This is how you create the Eye of Chronos…"
He began to describe the process of creating the artifact in detail. Despite the strangeness of the situation and her distrust of Foster, Hermione couldn't help being drawn in. The design was unusual, even elegant. There was something of ancient alchemy in it, and something of precise engineering. She caught herself listening with interest, even admiration. Whatever she thought of him, he really was a talented inventor.
At his request, Hermione and Miranda took turns repeating the design and the assembly process. Terry nodded, corrected them, clarified details. Only when he was completely sure they had both memorized everything did he finally allow himself to relax.
"One more thing," he said at last, his expression turning serious again. "I assume you remember what I told you, Miss Granger — that you would have to miss some classes. As you now understand, that's because time will move faster around you when you activate the device. And if nothing is done, your absence will be noticed. Which means we have to be ready for that."
Hermione frowned. She hated missing classes. But Foster had already warned her about this part of his plan, and now she was prepared for it.
"All right," she said, pressing her lips together. "Go on. What do I need to do?"
Foster hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.
"I'm afraid that's something I can only tell Miss Ravenclaw. You, Miss Granger, will learn everything, but only when the time comes. If you know the details in advance, then in no possible version of the future will you be able to manage it."
Hermione went still, staring at Foster as if she hadn't heard him properly.
"So… I won't even know what's coming?" she finally forced out.
"Exactly," Foster said. "But believe me, it's for your own good."
Seeing that Hermione was waiting for him to continue, he finally deigned to explain:
"You're too predictable, Miss Granger. If you learn in advance what's hidden within the walls of Hogwarts, you'll rush off to save everyone. Out of the best intentions, of course. But in doing so, you'll doom many lives. Including your own."
Hermione silently processed what she'd heard. It wasn't fair. It went against her nature — she always thought her steps through ahead. But Foster was right. It was exactly like her — to rush in and try to save people, even when the chances were almost none. Even when common sense told her to stay out of it. She swallowed and finally gave a reluctant nod.
At Foster's request, Miranda stepped up to the side of the mirror, careful not to cross the line of the mandala. She raised her wand and cast a Muffliato Bubble.
At first, Miranda listened, barely moving, but then suddenly jerked upright. From her gestures, it was clear she was upset, trying to argue. Foster said something to her quickly. Miranda went still. Slowly, she turned her head toward Hermione — confusion and anxiety showed in her eyes. Then she turned back. Her shoulders sank noticeably. She didn't argue anymore, just listened with her head lowered. And finally, she gave a short nod.
Hermione strained, trying to follow the gestures, to catch the movements of their lips, but it was useless. The bubble's magic was too strong. When Miranda lifted the spell, she looked at her friend for a long moment, a little guiltily, and said softly:
"It'll be all right. Don't worry."
Foster, as if remembering something important, raised his hand.
"One last thing, Miss Granger." He narrowed his eyes. "You did figure out what I meant when I mentioned a 'conversation with the enemy,' didn't you? I just haven't had time to check…"
Hermione nodded.
"Yes. You meant the Polyjuice Potion. It's almost ready."
"I knew I wasn't wrong about you!" Foster exclaimed. For the first time in the whole conversation, there was real enthusiasm in his voice. "Excellent! You'll need it after your conversation with the enemy as well. So don't use it all at once. Keep some in reserve."
"What for?" Hermione asked, wary.
Foster narrowed his eyes.
"You'll find out when the time comes."
He glanced at Miranda — she nodded at once, confirming:
"Yes. The Polyjuice Potion will come in handy again."
Hermione frowned and was about to ask another question, but Terry Foster's reflection in the mirror was already starting to fade. The outline of his figure wavered and disappeared. There was no one left to speak to.