It wasn't until a Seer performed a divination on Eloise Mintumble's time-travel incident that the truth emerged.
Divination was far more mysterious than magic itself.
And the Seer's message crushed everyone's hopes—
He foretold that the Mintumble family should have had twenty-five additional descendants.
Yet in real recorded history, stretching back nearly five centuries, those twenty-five people never existed.
They were never born.
This meant Eloise's accident—her journey, her entrapment in the past, and even the warped week that followed—had all been predetermined.
The timeline had always included her interference.
The Eloise incident, though triggered by misfortune, left an enormous impact.
It was the first verifiable case of long-duration time travel—nearly five hundred years in scope.
And it was also the first time the wizarding world realized that time travel does not break destiny.
Time travel itself… was part of destiny.
But Dumbledore knew one thing very well:
Vaughn did not believe in destiny.
And indeed, in the silence, Vaughn finally spoke:
"...It's fascinating. Time behaving like a line folded into a circle—everything and everyone moving endlessly along the inner edge."
"But I have one question."
He paused.
"Has it always been like this?"
"A few years ago, I read a Muggle magazine. A Soviet physicist proposed a theory—the Novikov Self-Consistency Principle."
"It rejects the idea of parallel universes. Its foundation is simple: time and space are unique. The past cannot be changed."
"But here's the interesting part: it does not forbid the existence of time-travelers. In fact, it suggests there have been many time-travelers throughout history… and it does not forbid them from interfering with events."
Dumbledore blinked in confusion.
"That sounds contradictory."
"No. Not contradictory."
Vaughn shook his head.
"It can be summarized in two statements:
1. The past we remember is already a past that has been altered by time-travelers.
2. The outcome we see—whether good or bad—is the final result after all possible interference by all possible time-travelers."
"Events do have infinite possibilities. But just like in quantum mechanics—"
Vaughn raised his hand slightly.
"When an observer observes a particle, the wavefunction collapses to a single state. Among infinite possibilities, only one becomes real."
"That single reality… is what we experience."
"..."
Dumbledore's hand froze in mid-stroke against his beard.
He opened his mouth—
Closed it—
And was left staring, shaken to his core.
Because beneath Vaughn's mention of "Novikov," Dumbledore sensed a familiar thought—
The same concept Vaughn had hinted at months ago, when they first discussed creating the painting-world.
A hypothesis:
Perhaps, long ago, past, present, and future could be altered.
Until something—an Observer—appeared.
Its existence collapsed all uncertain possibilities into one fixed timeline.
From that moment on, the past could no longer be changed.
And the terrifying question followed naturally:
Who is the Observer?
The moment the thought formed, Dumbledore felt an instinctive chill.
Not even a legendary wizard could imagine the kind of power capable of something so vast.
No one could.
Which was exactly why Vaughn proposed creating a small controlled world—
To test his theories of time, destiny, and the Observer.
Dumbledore looked at the smoky curtain of symbols covering the firmament—formed by the Key and by his own magic.
Suddenly, he hesitated.
If Vaughn was right…
If this world revealed something unbearable…
What then?
Sensing his fear, Vaughn spoke gently.
"Shall I take over?"
Dumbledore stayed silent for a long, long moment.
Finally, he let out a breath.
"No. I may be old. My ambition is not what it once was. But even the oldest lion can still face the truth."
Despite his words, he tapped his temple with his wand and drew out a strand of silver memory.
"This contains the method of controlling the key."
He flicked his hand.
The silver strand drifted toward Vaughn.
Vaughn didn't touch it directly—he caught it with the tip of his wand.
He hadn't forgotten that Dumbledore was a master of memory magic.
Touching such a memory unshielded would be foolish.
Dumbledore didn't mind Vaughn's caution.
He stepped off the edge of the carpet—
Onto thin air.
Magic hardened the air beneath his feet like solid ground.
He walked forward, step by step, toward the smoking curtain covering the sky.
As he approached, a wave of immense magic radiated from him.
Light bent.
Air shimmered.
Reality warped.
Silver-white energy pulsed around him—
Signs of magic interfering with the fabric of the world.
Then Dumbledore thrust his wand into the smoky veil.
Instantly, the sky brightened as countless symbols appeared—
Shimmering out of the void like a galaxy—
Arcing across the heavens in luminous currents.
It was the world… responding to its creator.
On the magic carpet, Vaughn flicked his gaze upward.
He felt something—
A ripple.
It swept over him—
Swept through the world—
Through every breeze, every speck of air, every photon.
Every energy transition collapsed into a precise pattern—
Into the grasp of a higher will.
The world had ceased to be chaotic.
It now revolved around a single consciousness—
A single intention.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
Like destiny itself.
…
FWOOOOOM—
A spear screamed overhead like a cannon shell.
BOOM!
Dirt exploded upward.
A tall plane tree groaned and toppled as Hermione yanked her broom upward at the last second, barely clearing the blast.
Debris rained like a storm.
Splintered wood scattered.
The ground shook.
More spears howled through the air like a rain of missiles.
Chaos.
Violence.
The brink of apocalypse.
Hermione did not dare slow down.
Far ahead, Harry was on the causeway, smashing stone guardians apart with desperate swings.
His spear snapped.
He grabbed broken stone limbs to use as weapons.
But he was only one person.
The guardians were endless.
Those Harry did not intercept were launching volleys of spears—
Saturating the air around Hermione.
Only one thought remained—
Run.
Run as far as possible.
On the broom, she swerved past barrage after barrage, cool-headed despite the deadly chaos.
It wasn't cowardice.
It was clarity:
If she stayed near Harry, she would only burden him.
WHOOOO—
Another spear nearly clipped her leg.
The shockwave made her ears ring painfully.
She angled her broom upward.
The spear roared beneath her, trailing a white contrail before slamming into the forest far away.
A plume of dirt rose.
Trees cracked and fell.
Hermione exhaled sharply—
Then realized the sky had grown darker.
Not naturally.
Not as weather.
Like smoke…
"When did that happen…?"
She had no time to ponder.
More spears streaked toward her—white streaks slicing the air.
She adjusted her broom—
And then—
The unexpected happened.
A twist of wind.
A shift in the air.
Something small.
Insignificant.
But enough.
One spear—just one—
Veered ever so slightly.
Only a few degrees.
But at such speed, even fractions became catastrophe.
CRUNCH—
The broom jerked violently.
Hermione's mind went blank—
The broom had been hit.
It was spinning out of control.
"AAAH—!"
Her scream ripped across the air as the spiraling broom dragged her—
Directly back toward the causeway—
Toward Harry—
Toward the stone guardians.
Later, people would chalk it up to "bad luck," "an accident," or "unfortunate trajectory."
Because no one inside the world could sense the true cause—
That one person's will had bent the world's flow.
That the world responded to his intention.
He needed Hermione near Harry.
So the world obeyed.
The interference was natural.
Effortless.
High above, Vaughn watched without blinking.
Only when the smoking, spiraling broom miraculously returned Hermione to Harry's vicinity did he exhale softly.
"No need to worry. I'll watch over Miss Granger."
A whisper—like wind—brushed his ear.
"Albus?"
Vaughn raised a brow.
He could clearly see Dumbledore still inside the smoke-curtain.
"It's me."
"What state are you in? Is your consciousness covering the world, or has the world become part of your consciousness?"
"A little of both… hard to describe. You should experience it yourself someday."
Vaughn noted the idea—but now was not the time.
Through the smoky veil, he saw the battle shift.
"Hm. We can talk later. Harry's in trouble."
…
Let us return to a few seconds earlier.
Harry's heart nearly stopped.
Hermione—
who should've been far away by now, hiding safely—
was instead screaming past him on a crippled broom trailing smoke.
"HERMIONE!"
Tears glinted at the corner of her eyes, frozen in slow motion under his accelerated perception.
Harry reached for her—
A stone guardian seized his arm.
Then another.
Then two more.
Then—
Dozens.
In seconds, Harry was buried under an avalanche of stone bodies, unable to move, unable to breathe.
He struggled with all his strength—
But all he could do was watch helplessly as Hermione—
was dragged into the horde.
A single drop disappearing into an ocean of stone.
For a moment, Harry's mind went blank.
This was the second time today.
Earlier, Ron—
Damn it!
Rage and regret exploded within him.
Why did he act so arrogantly?
Why did he insist on coming?
Why was he always so stubborn, so reckless?
If not for him—
Ron wouldn't have died.
Hermione wouldn't—
The towering Queen-form stood frozen as stone guardians piled over her.
Harry himself was buried in pain and despair.
…
"Ah—my trial is complete."
Dumbledore's soft sigh echoed in Vaughn's ear.
"Harry has finally learned what his recklessness can cost. I believe he will remember this pain for the rest of his life."
"I don't expect him to become a wise and cautious man overnight… but I hope he learns to think. To consider whether he can bear the consequences."
Vaughn listened silently—disapproving, but unable to deny the truth:
For a twelve-year-old boy, "losing" two friends in one day was trauma enough.
Perhaps too much.
He spoke quietly.
"Albus… without a dramatic turn, your Chosen One's mind might break."
"HAHAHAHA!" Dumbledore laughed.
"Then let the child witness a miracle worthy of fairy tales."
The narrator's voice returned—
"The hero's heart sinks into darkness. Though he fought bravely, the dragon's stone guardians are endless. His companion has fallen amidst the chaos, and Harry Potter wonders whether he chose wrongly. He blames his own recklessness!"
"What touching bonds and growth!"
"Dear warrior, remember today's pain—but also remember: pain exists not to make you flee, but to teach you why you pursue justice and responsibility."
"The Observer sheds crocodile tears… and makes a decision with unknown consequences—
Rule One is now lifted."
Harry heard the voice.
He wanted to scream.
What good is lifting that stupid rule now?
Could it bring Hermione back—
His thoughts spiraled—
Then through the grinding stone around him—
A clear voice cried:
"Everte Statum!"
Harry didn't know the spell.
But he knew the voice.
Hermione.
He blinked.
The dullness faded from his eyes.
He tried to lift his head—
But too many stone guardians smothered him.
"H… Hermione…"
He stretched out his hand—
Straining—
Fighting—
And, for the first time in six years—
He prayed for a miracle.
And the miracle came.
BOOOOM—
The causeway shook violently—
Stone guardians flew upward as though launched by an explosion—
Flipping through the air—
Crashing to the ground.
Harry's view cleared—
And there she was—
Hermione Granger, pale, trembling, standing among broken stone limbs, wand raised.
"Her—Hermione…"
"Idiot Harry! Why are you just standing there!" Hermione shouted, breathless, sprinting toward him.
Despite being scolded, Harry nearly sobbed with joy.
"You're alive—you're really alive—there is a miracle!"
Tears ran down the Queen-form's cold stone cheeks.
Hermione froze for half a second—
But now wasn't the time for emotions.
She climbed onto the Queen's back—grabbing the carved cape for support.
Once stable, she whacked him with her wand.
"Harry! GO! Run across the bridge—toward the castle! I'll cover you!"
Harry didn't hesitate.
He grabbed a stone limb and smashed aside a leaping guardian.
Laughing through tears—
"I thought I lost you—when I saw you fall into the stone guardians I—"
"Stop talking! Bridge—left side!
Bombarda!"
Two guardians climbing the railings were blasted off the bridge.
Hermione was panting harder.
CRACK—
Harry caught another incoming spear—creating a shockwave of air and dust.
"Hermione! Are you okay? You sound—hurt—"
"I'm not hurt—just exhausted! Too many spells!"
Her face was pale—but she couldn't stop.
Rule One was gone.
Magic was allowed now.
Quirrell could appear at any—
"HARRY! GO!
If Quirrell shows up—"
The thought struck him like lightning.
He had forgotten—
Quirrell.
And as every old witch liked to say—
Speak of the devil… and he shall appear.
A whisper slithered through the air—
"Heehee… Mr. Harry Potter, Miss Granger… were you waiting for poor, poor Quirinus?"
Harry spun around.
At the far end of the ravaged battlefield—
A hooded figure stood calmly.
"QUIRRELL—!"
Rage surged through Harry's blood.
Quirrell bowed slightly.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter. We meet again."
Before finishing, he flicked his wand—
Hermione reacted instantly:
"Protego!"
The Iron Shield flickered—
Barely blocking the curse—
Then shattered.
Quirrell chuckled.
"As I wanted to say earlier—your spellwork is still crude… But don't be sad, Miss Granger. For your age, you're already quite impressive."
Quirrell was relaxed.
He didn't hurry.
Why should he?
There were dozens of stone guardians still present.
Why waste his own effort when the stone soldiers could do the work for him?
He twirled his wand idly while strolling forward.
"You really want to stare at me? The stone guardians are still coming."
"H—"
"HARRY!" Hermione snapped.
"You deal with the guardians.
I'll deal with him!"
Harry trembled with fury—but obeyed her.
He charged into the crowd, smashing wildly.
Quirrell laughed softly.
"So, Mr. Potter… this transformation is your reward for winning the chess match? Quaint. Dumbledore truly is a master of Transfiguration, isn't he, Miss Granger?"
Hermione ignored him.
Her mind raced.
They were trapped—
Guardians ahead, Quirrell behind.
The causeway was barely six feet wide.
No room to dodge.
Harry's Queen-form couldn't harm a spellcaster—
And Quirrell's spells couldn't pierce the Queen.
A stalemate.
Unless—
"Why hasn't Quirrell used the Reductor Curse…?"
That spell obliterated solid objects—
Perfect against the Queen.
And Quirrell definitely knew it.
So why not use it?
Then Hermione remembered—
The potion bottle with unicorn blood.
Quirrell coughing blood the night they met.
His weak spell output.
His limited spell choice.
Her eyes widened.
She suddenly called out—
"Professor Quirrell!"
"Oh? You finally acknowledge your dear professor again?"
Quirrell smiled. "Have you come to surrender?"
Hermione smiled sweetly—
But her words were knives.
"I was just wondering—how someone can switch personalities so quickly."
"When Dumbledore was around, you grovelled like a clown, desperate to please the students who mocked you—just so Dumbledore wouldn't notice you."
"When magic was forbidden, you acted weak, gloomy, resentful."
"But now? Suddenly you're smug and confident—mocking two children.
It's amazing how shameless one man can be."
A crack echoed.
Quirrell had crushed a tooth.
His expression darkened.
"You insolent little girl…"
"Why? Are you going to torture me?" Hermione shot back.
"I heard dark curses require powerful magic and deep hatred.
But you—"
She sneered.
"—you're just a coward who bullies the weak and grovels before the strong."
"We heard the centaur say it—you sold your soul to the Dark Lord.
Imagine choosing to be a dog."
Quirrell trembled with fury.
He raised his wand—
magic swirling silently—
"Protego!"
Hermione shouted immediately.
Her shield shattered again—
She rolled aside, dodging the second curse.
Black scorch marks stained the stone where she had stood.
Hermione gasped—
Then shouted:
"Expelliarmus!"
Quirrell instinctively lifted his wand to counter—
Then froze—
Because—
Hermione had only shouted.
She hadn't actually cast anything.
There was no red light.
Quirrell's face flushed crimson.
(End of Chapter)
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