The silver thread sank into the crystal ball. The clear sphere filled instantly with milky white light.
Every student in the room turned to look.
They held their breath. Not one of them moved.
The light faded. An image took shape before them.
A gloomy cemetery. A large cauldron bubbling and steaming in the dark. A figure cradling something the size of an infant, walking slowly toward the cauldron.
The figure didn't hesitate. It dropped the "infant" straight in.
The creature hit the boiling liquid without a sound. Not a single scream.
Time passed. Something changed inside the pot.
The body began to swell. Limbs stretched outward. Skin turned pale, then paler still.
And then, slowly, a bald figure in gray robes rose from the cauldron. No nose. No expression. Just that hollow face ascending from the steam.
Even as an image, it made everyone's blood run cold.
The classroom went dead silent.
"He... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!" Someone finally recognized that silhouette , a trembling finger jabbed toward the crystal ball.
Those words hit like a hex. Panic swept the room in an instant.
None of them had lived through Voldemort's era. But they'd all grown up hearing his name whispered like a curse, the kind of story parents used to silence children crying in the night.
Harry shot to his feet. "Voldemort!"
He turned to Hermione. "What is this?!"
Hermione shrugged. "A precise prophecy. Professor Trelawney — precise enough for you?"
Is this really the time?!
Everyone screamed it internally. Look at what you've just prophesied!
Trelawney had finally snapped out of her stupor. She looked at the crystal ball. She looked at Hermione. Then she lowered her head, lips trembling, muttering under her breath. "Impossible. How can this be. How could anyone prophesy like this..."
The Voldemort revelation seemed almost secondary. Her entire worldview was the thing in crisis.
...
The Headmaster's office.
The door slammed open.
Snape swept in like a black storm, robes billowing behind him, the vein at his temple pulsing visibly. He looked like a man who had just barely outrun an Auror raid.
"Albus!" His voice came out raw. "That Granger—"
He couldn't finish. A fit of heavy panting overtook him, as if he might keel over at any moment.
Dumbledore set down his quill. He looked up at Snape with perfect calm.
"Severus." His voice was quiet and steady. "Calm down."
There was something in that tone, some indefinable quality, that worked like a pair of gentle hands pressing the agitation flat. Snape felt the pressure in his chest ease. His breathing slowed.
He crossed the room, dropped into the chair across the desk, snatched the cup of pumpkin juice sitting there, and drank two long gulps. The cold liquid went down, and with it came something resembling coherent thought.
Dumbledore watched him with faint amusement, a trace of helplessness in his eyes. "What has Miss Granger done this time? Surely she hasn't used an Unforgivable Curse in class again?"
Snape set the cup down. The corner of his mouth twitched. "No. She didn't. If it were only that, things might actually be simpler."
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, elbows on the desk, hands clasped and fingers interlaced. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes glittered with curiosity.
"Oh? Do tell, Severus."
"What earth-shattering feat has Miss Granger pulled off this time, to put you in such a state?"
A hint of amusement in his tone. It wasn't often anyone got to see Snape like this.
Snape rolled his eyes. He reached into his robes and produced a crystal ball , unmistakably Trelawney's prized possession.
"See for yourself."
He thumped it onto the desk and looked away.
He had no desire to sit through that image again.
Dumbledore picked it up and gave it a light tap with his wand.
Milky white light flooded the sphere.
Then the light faded, and the image came.
The gloomy cemetery. The bubbling cauldron. The "infant" being dropped into the pot.
And then , that noseless figure, climbing out.
Dumbledore's pupils contracted. His breath caught.
Snape watched him register it and spoke again. "Dumbledore. Do you remember last year? That Granger stood up in Defense Against the Dark Arts and walked the entire class through the Unforgivable Curses. In front of everyone."
"This year is worse. She produced a prophecy about the Dark Lord's resurrection. Just conjured one up."
"Next year , what? Does she make it come true? Does she bring Voldemort to Hogwarts herself?"
His voice cracked slightly as he worked himself up.
Dumbledore's expression had settled back to its usual composure. "Severus," he said evenly, "as I've mentioned before , calling a young lady 'that Granger' is not the behavior of a gentleman."
He studied the nearly-undone man across from him, a flicker of helplessness moving through his eyes.
He knew where Snape's anger truly came from. Underneath all of it was fear.
Because Hermione's prophecy was very likely real.
Voldemort would return. When he did, he would come for Harry. That was never in question. Lily's death was a wound that would never fully close, and he would not let Harry pay for it.
He could not afford to.
Dumbledore tapped the desk lightly. A gentle signal. Then, after a moment of thought: "Did she say anything else? The specific time, perhaps, or the location?"
Snape's eye-roll was nothing short of spectacular. "Do you think she would? That Gryffindor witch delivered her prophecy, then walked out like nothing had happened. Just got up and left."
"Left behind a classroom full of terrified students. And Trelawney, who was..." He paused, as if searching for the right word, his voice dropping into something that sounded like gritted teeth. "...nearly broken."
"You have no idea. By the time every student had gone, Trelawney was still standing in the exact same spot, muttering 'impossible' and 'how can this be' over and over..."
"Like she'd lost her mind."
Dumbledore imagined the scene. He couldn't quite stop the laugh that escaped.
"Severus. You have to admit — Hermione is genuinely... exceptional. In certain respects."
Snape gave a cold snort. He didn't deny it.
There was nothing to deny. Even he couldn't find grounds to belittle her talent.
He'd originally assumed Hermione was gifted in magic and alchemy. Then last year's petrification incident revealed that her aptitude for Potions was equally extraordinary. And now this , she could apparently prophesy as well, with enough force to send Trelawney into an existential crisis.
Where exactly had this girl come from?
If he didn't know that Hermione, like Lily, was Muggle-born, he might have started wondering whether she was a descendant of Merlin himself.
➤ Next: Soft Girl Hermione
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