The werewolf chased the girl with a terrifying roar, its speed so blistering it seemed ready to pounce at any moment, jaws dripping with saliva, ready to tear into her with its sharp fangs.
Hermione kept glancing back, her anger slowly giving way to despair.
Magic!
She yearned for the power of magic.
Right now, she felt like a helpless Muggle thrust into a world brimming with magic—magic everywhere, except within her.
The old witch brewing potions who had guided her, the red cloak that held some sway over beasts and monsters, even the forest she was running through—all were helping her. As the werewolf sped after her, nearly as fast as a Firebolt, the forest seemed to stretch endlessly, as if enchanted with an Extension Charm, giving her precious distance from her pursuer.
But it wasn't enough to stop the werewolf from closing in. Several times, she could almost feel its hot, musky breath, reeking of wild beast.
If not for the nimble horse beneath her, dodging and weaving with uncanny agility, she'd already be dead in its jaws.
Soon, Hermione noticed something strange about the horse.
Its silvery-white, translucent form, its long mane fluttering like shimmering ribbons in the wind, the faint mist of silver swirling around it—this was…
A Patronus!
She could tell the difference between a Patronus and a real animal. And she knew this wasn't her Patronus.
A free horse, spirited and lively, brimming with wisdom yet playful…
Clinging to its neck, her cheek pressed against its side, she could distinctly sense Professor Lockhart's presence.
She didn't know why Lockhart's Patronus was protecting her, helping her escape the beast in the castle, shielding her from the werewolf's pursuit.
Lockhart had always said the Patronus Charm was the best defense against dark forces, universally effective. Yet this Patronus wasn't by his side, protecting him—it was here, with her.
Magic surrounded her, but where was her magic?
From the moment she received her Hogwarts letter to now, she had never felt so discouraged, nor had she ever craved magic so desperately.
For the first time, she felt humble. Never had she approached magic with such reverence, no longer treating it as a tool to wield with the knowledge she'd mastered. Instead, she pleaded with it, equal and earnest.
Magic, oh magic, please help me.
This was her first attempt to connect with magic itself—or rather, with the magical force within her that she'd always taken for granted. It felt so unfamiliar.
Then, something extraordinary happened.
She suddenly felt the magic within her, alive and vibrant. She even noticed her wand in her hand, its weight reassuringly real.
A realization hit her.
It was always there. I just never saw it.
It's been yearning to connect with me, but I ignored it, overlooked its role in my spellcasting. I was too focused on book knowledge and incantations.
It was like something her brilliant dentist father had once told her: "It wasn't until I recognized my own talent that I truly began my life's journey." Ignoring your gifts, believing everything comes from effort alone, could lead you to overestimate yourself, to step into areas your talent couldn't cover, and face catastrophic failure.
You had to learn humility and respect.
For the first time, proud Hermione understood humility and reverence.
Having magic versus not having it changed everything. The world felt entirely different.
The most immediate change was looking up and seeing a massive red cloak floating in the sky, faintly visible against the dark night, billowing as if clawing at the air, fending off Patronuses cast from various corners below.
Yes, Hermione realized with a start, her friends were still out there, fighting.
The situation had grown dire. Silver mist swirled in the sky, Patronuses leaping and darting, battling the red cloak.
Even though everyone was scattered across this strange world, each on their own fairy-tale adventure, they were fighting together—except for her.
Then she noticed something even more chilling.
The red cloak—it was on her.
Yes, it was an odd sensation, but she could feel it clearly: the red cloak she wore was identical to the one in the sky, even moving in perfect sync!
She gasped, suddenly understanding why Lockhart's Patronus had been protecting her.
Because Lockhart was already at the forefront, battling the dark magical creature that was this red cloak!
Hermione even had a fleeting thought: the werewolf chasing her wasn't after her. It was after Lockhart's Patronus and the red cloak she wore. The forest wasn't helping her—it was helping them.
Yes, the forest was fighting the werewolf, resisting this demon that sought to attack and devour everything!
She had to do something.
She should do something.
Waving her wand, she felt an unprecedented surge of magical power, a unique harmony that filled her with confidence.
"Levicorpus!"
This spell, suggested by Lockhart and taught by Snape, was designed to counter dark magical creatures with immense size and resistance to physical damage.
Unfortunately, though she could feel her magic was stronger than ever, it still couldn't pierce the werewolf's formidable magical resistance.
She wasn't surprised. This was just a test. Lockhart had explained in class that spells like this might not work against creatures like basilisks with high magical resistance.
"Levicorpus!"
She cast again, her intent crystal clear.
In an instant, the thick snow, the layer of leaves beneath, even the solid earth exploded upward in a geyser.
It was as if an anti-tank mine had gone off. Several towering trees from the ancient forest were uprooted, spinning and crashing into the werewolf as her magic guided them.
But it didn't seem to harm the creature at all. Despite being shrouded in dark, flame-like mist and struck by trees so thick it would take seven people to encircle them, the werewolf was flung back but appeared unscathed.
Still, it was enough to buy them distance.
With the Patronus horse galloping at breakneck speed and Hermione destroying obstacles in their path, they finally shook off the werewolf.
The silver horse raced on, the red cloak fluttering through the snow. They reached the beast's castle, and Hermione climbed back inside using a rope made of knotted bedsheets, finally breathing a sigh of relief.
Catching her breath, she realized something and yanked off the red cloak. Glancing out the window at the battle of Patronuses against the sky-bound cloak, she swallowed hard and aimed her wand at the cloak in her hands.
She always had a knack for finding the heart of a problem.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Silver light erupted from her wand, swirling and spiraling in the air. A white sheep with sturdy, long horns emerged—a ewe, but with massive, aggressive horns rarely seen on females.
I cast a full Patronus Charm!
Hermione's face lit up with a joyful smile, gazing at her Patronus with delight.
A sheep, symbolizing spring, renewal, and strength—a bold pioneer, fearless in adventure, driven to pursue goals with calm, steady wisdom.
Renewal, courage, adventure, wisdom—these were the traits of her heart in this moment.
A wizard's Patronus wasn't fixed. Books noted that as a wizard's heart changed, so could their Patronus. There was even a romantic tale of a wizard whose Patronus remained unchanged for decades to prove his love to a witch.
Of course, there were also cases of Patronuses "dying" when a wizard's heart was consumed by dark forces.
Perhaps this was one of the many ripple effects of Lockhart's arrival.
Hermione was quietly forging her own magical path, her inner strength beginning to manifest in fascinating ways.
Her current heart no longer aligned with the otter of the original story. Neither the playful connection between an otter and Harry's stag nor the chase between an otter and Ron's Jack Russell terrier fit her anymore.
She was herself.
Still Harry and Ron's friend, but also a girl stepping onto her own adventure.
As her Patronus glowed in the room, the red cloak on the floor seemed to flare with anger, rising and thrashing as if alive.
Bang!
The door slammed open. A pale, handsome young man stormed in, eyes blazing with fury as he glared at Hermione. "How dare you cast such magic in my castle!"
Startled, Hermione dispelled her Patronus and grabbed the red cloak, trying to put it back on.
"You can't wear it anymore!" the young man sneered. "Your heart is free of loneliness and insecurity. It's rejecting you, and you're rejecting it!"
He was right.
No matter how she struggled, the cloak resisted, slipping away from her grasp.
"I… I…"
Hermione quickly shook off her panic, gripping her wand tightly. Why rely on this cloak when she could trust her wand and the magic in her heart?
"You won't attack me, even if I'm weaker than ever right now!"
The young man crossed his arms, glancing at the bedsheet rope dangling from the windowsill, a slight smirk on his lips. "I know you escaped my castle, but you came back."
"You need my help. I can feel the desperation in your heart, you poor little witch. Helpless against everything, always craving the strength of others. Foolish, weak, pathetic."
Hermione tossed aside the struggling cloak, one hand pulling a glass vial from around her neck, the other pointing her wand at the young man. "Who are you?"
"I forgot!"
His response was bizarre.
He seemed confused, gazing around the castle and out at the forest. "I feel incomplete. I sense something terrifying out there, watching me, ready to devour me."
"I only remember my name…"
He looked at Hermione earnestly. "Tom Riddle."
Tom Riddle?
Who?
Hermione didn't know him, but despite his arrogant demeanor, he seemed open to talking.
She was about to try reasoning with him when a chilling howl pierced the air.
"Awooo!"
A lone wolf's cry shook the entire forest.
"It's here!" Tom Riddle's face paled, his eyes darting to the window in fear. "That monster trying to devour me—it's here! Damn it, you brought it here, didn't you?"
His anger boiled over. "At my weakest moment, you led it right to me?"