Now, even if Lucius spilled every last truth, no one would believe him.
Gilderoy Lockhart and Hermione , one a "heroic professor," the other a "genius girl." Nobody was going to take the word of a "suspected former Death Eater" over them.
And even if someone did believe him, he couldn't explain how the diary had ended up in his hands, or why he'd given it to Ginny in the first place.
Coming forward would basically be self-destruction.
Hermione watched Lucius fold, and nodded.
Ginny was free from the diary's grip. Lockhart had his fame and his future. Harry was cleared of any suspicion that his Parseltongue had harmed his classmates. And Draco had received the official, school-board-certified glory of being the Slytherin heir.
Everyone got a bright future, didn't they?
When she thought about it that way, she really was a remarkably kind and generous person.
...
With the truth of the petrifications out in the open, Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts the very next day at the school board's insistence.
Hermione pushed open the door to the headmaster's office and spotted him immediately.
He was sitting at his desk, gazing at the destroyed diary on the table with that deep, unreadable look of his.
The cover was charred black. Something sharp had punched through the middle, leaving a series of ragged, gaping holes.
Hermione studied the Horcrux for a moment. Her eyes shifted, just slightly.
Then she broke the silence.
"Good morning. Welcome back, Headmaster."
Dumbledore looked up. A faint smile crossed his face.
"Good morning, Miss Granger."
He tapped the ruined diary with one finger.
"I believe you recognize this."
Hermione stepped closer and picked it up, turning it over in her hands.
"It's a Horcrux."
Her voice was perfectly calm. Not a flicker of surprise , she could have been commenting on the weather.
Dumbledore gave a small nod, as though her answer was exactly what he'd expected.
"It still carries a fragment of Voldemort's soul. And a deeply unpleasant aura of dark magic." His brilliant blue eyes gleamed behind his half-moon spectacles. "It seems we have all been underestimating Professor Lockhart."
He let that sit for a moment.
"He has courage. He has a sharp mind. And his magical abilities are far beyond what any of us anticipated. To have defeated a young Voldemort single-handedly — and Slytherin's Basilisk, no less." A pause. "What surprises me most, however, is the Mandrake Restorative Draught. He brewed it himself, when just days ago he hadn't the faintest idea how."
Dumbledore turned his gaze to her.
"What I can't quite understand," he said, "is why you let Lockhart take the credit."
Hermione shrugged. She wasn't surprised he'd figured it out.
He had. Dumbledore had already pieced it together , that it was she who'd defeated the Basilisk, she who'd destroyed the Horcrux.
"Headmaster, you know as well as I do — this is the second time I've derailed Voldemort's plans and destroyed something precious to him. I'd rather not spend the rest of my life being watched by people lurking in the shadows." She set the diary back down. "Better to let Professor Lockhart have the spotlight. Besides, he clearly loves it."
Her mind drifted.
Wasn't it supposed to be Harry Potter matching wits with Voldemort? How had all of this become her problem?
The moment she'd gotten involved, the whole series had shifted. Voldemort and the Philosopher's Stone: Voldemort Dies.Voldemort and the Chamber of Secrets: Voldemort Concedes Defeat.
At this rate, she supposed the rest would follow: Voldemort and the Prisoner of Azkaban: Voldemort Really Concedes Defeat. Voldemort and the Goblet of Fire: Voldemort Finally Gets to Come Back. Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix: Voldemort Dies Again. Voldemort and the Half-Blood Prince: Voldemort Dies Repeatedly. Voldemort and the Deathly Hallows: Voldemort Doing Sit-Ups...
Dumbledore watched her zone out. He could tell she hadn't given him the full story.
But that didn't particularly matter.
As long as the outcome was good, the details of how it got there weren't his concern. What mattered , what was beyond any doubt , was that the Horcrux had been destroyed. That was real. That was done.
He changed the subject.
"On another note — the Forbidden Forest went through a rather strange episode a few days ago. Inexplicably turned into a frozen wasteland, completely out of season. Hogwarts' Acromantula venom supply will likely be cut in half for the foreseeable future." He looked at her pleasantly. "Any thoughts on what might have caused it?"
Hermione blinked. Her expression was the picture of innocent outrage.
"It must have been Voldemort. That despicable man , he doesn't even spare the poor little spiders!"
Dumbledore stared at her.
"..."
...
In the days that followed, Hogwarts settled back into its usual rhythm.
Because Hermione had engineered the Chamber of Secrets incident herself, the whole affair had resolved far ahead of schedule. The truth that was originally supposed to surface near the end of the school year had wrapped up barely a term in.
Hogwarts operated on the unspoken principle of one crisis per year. With that quota filled, the remaining months passed without incident , peacefully, almost boringly so.
Hermione spent her time in the Room of Requirement, practicing magic, working on alchemy, tending her garden, looking after her animals.
Lockhart continued teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hermione continued playing the dutiful teaching assistant.
She hadn't pushed him to apply directly to the Ministry yet. Mainly because she couldn't be sure what would happen if he resigned early and left the position vacant. That curse hanging over the Defense job was substantial. She didn't particularly want it landing on her head.
Better to let Lockhart fill the seat for the full year first.
The Room of Requirement.
BOOM. BOOM.
The sound of spells clashing filled the room in a continuous roar, bursts of colored light streaking and colliding through the air.
Two figures moved like shadows, constantly shifting positions, wands cutting through the air as spell after spell fired with precise, deadly accuracy.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Little Voldemort found his opening. Green light erupted from his wand and shot straight for Hermione.
She didn't dodge in time. The green light caught her square in the chest.
And then "Hermione" slowly came apart, dissolving into nothing.
An illusion.
Little Voldemort's stomach dropped. He spun around ,
A wand pressed against the back of his neck.
He exhaled. "You win again."
"You actually tried to Avada Kedavra me." Hermione's voice came from directly behind him, quiet and carrying a distinct edge. "Were you hoping to finish me off? Get a little revenge for old times' sake?"
"You said you were immune," he pointed out.
"Heh." She lowered her wand.
Sure, she'd said she was immune to the Killing Curse. She'd never actually demonstrated it. And he'd gone ahead and tested it anyway.
"Is that all you've got? Just Avada Kedavra?" She gave him a sideways look.
"Imperius and Cruciatus work too," he said, completely matter-of-fact. "They just don't kill anyone."
Which was the whole point of this exercise.
The two of them had been running combat drills together. After weeks of recovery, Little Voldemort had clawed his way back to something close to his peak , the sharp, dangerous sixteen-year-old he'd once been. Most of his time outside developing new applications for Dark magic went toward these sessions with Hermione.
Every time, Hermione throttled her own power down to roughly match his.
He was, at this point, the only person who could go toe-to-toe with her at equal strength and actually make her work for it.
He was young Voldemort, after all. The raw talent was undeniable.
Even if he almost never won.
➤ Next: The Tesseract is Lost
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