Hermione was in a panic.
In that fleeting moment, her mind raced through countless lessons from Professor Lockhart's classes. She recalled Lockhart quizzing George Weasley on how to counter a Dark wizard's Killing Curse, breaking down George's dozen or so responses into intricate details. She remembered the answers from other students, and her own answers too.
But all those thoughts were abruptly shattered by a chilling sensation that seemed to rise from the depths of her soul.
The cold surged through her body, jolting every cell with an icy sting.
She shivered uncontrollably.
It was the werewolf!
The werewolf's ghostly form passed right through her, charging toward Tom. As it left her body, it seemed to burst into vibrant life, its colors vivid and real.
"Roar!"
In an instant, the werewolf pounced on Tom. Its razor-sharp claws dug into his cheeks, gripping his mouth and silencing his spell mid-cast. It yanked his head back, exposing his pale, slender neck.
"No!" Tom let out a muffled, desperate cry, his eyes wide with terror as he stared at the werewolf's all-too-real form. Wasn't it dead? Hadn't his Killing Curse struck it down?
Why did it seem so wild, so ferocious, so… alive?
Then Tom saw something even more horrifying.
As the werewolf opened its massive, fanged maw, a green glimmer flashed across its teeth—familiar, unmistakable.
The Killing Curse!
Tom's sharp mind instantly recognized it. The glow even carried the signature of his own technique, using death to fuel powerful magic.
How dare you! How dare you use my own method against me!
"No!" Tom roared in fury, but his mouth was clamped shut, his voice stifled.
He could only watch as the werewolf lunged, its jaws snapping toward him.
In that split second, he felt the piercing chill of life draining away, followed by a burst of fiery, intense magic as his thoughts, desires, and ambitions popped like bubbles, erupting in a blaze of power before fading into nothingness.
It was bizarre.
Tom realized he wasn't dead.
Even with the werewolf's Killing Curse, a spell that could kill in an instant.
Even with its sharp fangs tearing through his throat, blood spraying under the pressure of the beast's massive frame crushing his body, he still lived.
"Oh…" He finally understood.
He wasn't Tom Riddle. He was merely a fragment of Tom Riddle's memory.
Memories don't die. They linger in minds, in Horcruxes, in Pensieves.
This wasn't a fairy-tale world. It was just a construct of thoughts.
But the pain of being torn apart was real.
The agony of the Killing Curse's repeated strikes was real.
It hurt. It hurt so much.
Meanwhile, Hermione snapped out of her daze. Her brilliant mind kicked into gear, and in a flash, she devised a perfect plan to deal with both the Dark wizard and the werewolf.
She quickly pulled out the potion bottle her grandmother had given her, popped the cork, and poured it out. With a flick of her wand, she cast a Transfiguration spell to bind the potion to Tom's body.
Her grandmother had said this potion could suppress a beast's nature and turn it human again. Surely it would work on a werewolf too.
Then there was the red cloak, still writhing in her hand. Tom had mentioned it could turn a werewolf back into a human.
But how to get it onto the werewolf?
Hermione gripped her wand tightly, took a deep breath, and whispered to herself, "I need to trust in magic. It'll work miracles."
With a gentle wave of her wand, she incanted, "*Wingardium Leviosa!*"
The red cloak floated upward, unfurling in midair under her wand's guidance, and draped itself over the werewolf's back.
She did it!
She'd never managed anything like this before. Neither the Transfiguration to bind the potion to Tom nor the Levitation Charm to place the cloak had ever felt so effortless, so fluid, so… magical.
Magic wasn't just rigid formulas anymore.
It was alive, full of possibilities.
So exciting!
But Hermione's excitement quickly faded. She watched, hopeful, only to see Tom go still, lifeless. The werewolf, its thick gray fur now matted with blood, kept tearing at him, showing no sign of stopping.
Her grandmother's potion had failed.
The red cloak had failed.
What now?
She clenched her teeth, unwilling to give up, and ran outside.
As she ran, a sudden realization hit her. No, that red cloak was definitely a crucial item. Maybe she'd used it wrong.
Going back was dangerous.
But she had to take the risk.
She moved as silently as she could, creeping back to the shattered cave entrance like a thief. Hiding at the edge, she aimed her wand inside and cautiously peered in.
Her eyes widened in shock.
What she saw was unbelievable!
The red cloak lay on the ground, wriggling and slithering toward the exit.
Aside from a pool of blood, there was no trace of Tom.
But that wasn't the main issue. The real shock was the blood-soaked werewolf shrinking rapidly. Could it control its transformation?
That wasn't what the books said!
No, wait!
Hermione realized it must be because the full moon was over. They were deep in the castle's dungeons, unable to see the sky, but the timing made sense.
This was her chance!
A werewolf's magic resistance was too strong for most spells, but if it turned back into a wizard, she'd have a shot—especially with the element of surprise.
"Petrificus—"
She started to whisper the spell but quickly clapped a hand over her mouth, staring in disbelief.
The werewolf…
The werewolf was Professor Lockhart!
She pressed herself against the wall, her heart pounding wildly, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, unsure of what to do.
Then she felt a warm breath near her, making her jump. She opened her eyes cautiously and found Professor Lockhart standing right in front of her.
"Hermione…" His voice was heavy, complex, as he absently rubbed his wand. "We try to avoid doing bad things, but sometimes fate plays cruel tricks, forcing our hand."
"I can't let word get out that I'm a werewolf. It'd cause me a lot of trouble. You understand, don't you?"
Hermione nodded frantically, her eyes wide with fear as Lockhart raised his wand toward her.
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I need you to forget this completely."
Forget completely?
Her mind flashed to her childhood favorite, Sherlock Holmes, and the saying that only the dead keep secrets.
No! Please!
Hearing Lockhart begin a spell, she blurted out, "I'll keep it secret! I swear!"
"Will you?" Lockhart's gaze flicked to the wand in her hand.
Hermione froze, then quickly tossed her wand aside. She clutched her robes, pressing herself against the wall, turning her head and squeezing her eyes shut. "I swear, I didn't see anything, I didn't hear anything, please!"
Her voice broke, tears welling in her eyes. "Professor Lockhart, I admire you so much. I sleep with your signed books every night. Please… please let me go!"
The little witch stood frozen against the wall, trembling, her defiance from facing Tom gone.
She could feel his presence, so close, so real.
She sobbed quietly.
Lockhart looked down at her in silence for a long moment before sighing. "Alright, it's not that big a deal. Forget it."
Hermione let out a shaky breath, collapsing to the ground, feeling like she'd just escaped death.
"Don't tell Harry or Ron, okay?"
"Ron doesn't know what's important, and Harry's quick to label people. I don't want them thinking I'm a villain or a monster." Lockhart sounded resigned.
"I won't!" Hermione said earnestly.
"Good." Lockhart smiled, ruffling her hair. He picked up her wand from the ground, handed it to her, and helped her up. Then he turned and stomped on the red cloak, which was still inching away.
He snatched it up and glanced back at Hermione. "If I told you this cloak was the real monster in the forest, trying to devour everything, would you believe me?"
"Of course!" Hermione instantly recalled the lesson before their adventure, where Lockhart had explained the traits of dark magical creatures like cloaks and the power of the Patronus Charm.
It clicked. They'd come to face a dark magical creature that had hidden the Bowtruckles for decades. These creatures fed by wrapping around wizards, digesting them and breaking down their mental strength with dark magic. Their journey into this fairy-tale world, guided by Lockhart's "mind connection" technique, was likely the creature's attempt to consume them.
"Sometimes we need to dive into the fairy-tale mindset to feel the wonder of magic," Lockhart said.
"But sometimes we need to step out of that fairy tale to feel reality's truth."
"Because only in reality does the fairy tale become truly wondrous. Only in reality do we find our true purpose, not just play a role in someone else's story."
Lockhart's words carried weight as he waved his hand, a shimmering green light rippling before them, revealing a new scene. "Come on, the fairy-tale adventure is over."
"Welcome back to reality."
Reality was often harsher.
When Hermione followed Lockhart back to the real world, she found many of their friends already there, buzzing with excitement.
All around them…
Were bodies, strewn across the ground.
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