The Hero Who Turned the Tide

A chain of reasoning rapidly took shape in her mind, precise and efficient as the finest alchemical instrument.

Every emotional fluctuation—the complexity of her feelings about Professor McGonagall's dying gaze, the faint pang of unease over Dumbledore's final, unfinished spell—

was forcibly stripped away, compressed, and buried deep.

This was no time for sorrow. It wasn't even time to rest.

Caesar had survived, but he was still fragile.

The Philosopher's Stone's power could only stabilize him temporarily. He needed a safer place, more careful treatment, and a much longer recovery.

And she herself was badly wounded, her magic nearly spent, and she bore the absolute taboo of having "killed the deputy headmistress and caused the headmaster's death."

The outside world's understanding of events was at its most confused and vulnerable.

Grief, panic, a desperate need for a hero, and fear of order collapsing—this was the most dangerous window, but also the easiest time to shape "the truth."

Although Voldemort's temporary body had been destroyed by her, the remaining Death Eaters and the summoned dark creatures were still there.

They were the last "evidence," the final "obstacle," and, best of all, the "culprits" and the proof of her "achievements."

Hermione braced herself against the workbench and struggled to stand.

Tearing pain flared throughout her body, especially in her left shoulder and the wound on her back. Every breath tugged at the searing agony.

But she only furrowed her brow slightly and tightened her grip on her wand, though her fingers still trembled uncontrollably.

She took one last, deep look at the unconscious Caesar. Exhaustion, determination, and a trace of tenderness buried deep in her heart churned in her eyes.

Then she turned and pushed open the door that had shut out some of the noise.

The corridor was dim, filled with dust and the lingering smell of gunpowder.

A few younger students passed by, supporting one another. Their faces were streaked with tears and confusion. When they saw Hermione, they froze for a moment, then their eyes lit up with a mix of awe, reliance, and desperate hope.

"Granger..."

Hermione didn't reply. She only gave them a slight nod, her face expressionless, her pallor as still as water.

She set off toward the main battlefield, toward the places where the last scattered clashes and cries of pain could still be heard.

At first, her steps faltered, but they grew steadier and faster.

With every step, her magic seemed to revive a little, gathering around her cold resolve.

It wasn't a restoration to her former strength. Instead, it coalesced into something more concentrated and focused, existing only to "purge."

For the next few hours, the dark forces remaining at Hogwarts endured a silent, absolute nightmare.

People saw only that the gifted witch who had stood against Voldemort at dawn and saved them from disaster had thrown herself once more into the fight to eradicate the remaining enemies, despite her grievous wounds.

She appeared in every corner of the castle where Dark wizards or dark creatures were still putting up a desperate resistance.

Her fighting style was simple, ruthless, and efficient. There were no dazzling exchanges of spells, no drawn-out duels.

More often than not, one perfectly precise strike was all it took: a spike of magic through the heart, shadow that drained the life from its victim in an instant, or an ancient curse that shattered the soul itself.

The darkness vanished with it, leaving behind a corpse that quickly grew cold or crumbled into ash.

She killed in silence, as if carrying out a predetermined cleansing procedure.

Wherever she went, the darkness was utterly purged, leaving nothing behind. Some tried to surrender, some broke down sobbing, and some tried to take her with them.

Before her, the outcome was the same.

By the time the sun had risen high enough to lay Hogwarts's carnage and grief bare in the daylight, the last discordant whisper of darkness had vanished.

Blood-soaked and battered, her face pale as a ghost but her back straight as a spear, Hermione Granger stood alone in the square before the main tower, surrounded by rubble, scorch marks, and bloodstains that had yet to dry.

The survivors gradually gathered: professors, students, and Ministry officials who had arrived late.

They looked at the girl before them, at the absence of any living enemy, and at the ground beneath her feet, cleared almost unnaturally "clean." Their expressions were too complicated to read.

There was relief at having survived, immense grief for the dead, and deep uncertainty about the future.

And above all, there was extreme awe at Hermione's terrifying power and iron-fisted methods—along with, perhaps, a hint of fear they couldn't quite name.

But whatever the truth, in the "history" about to be set in stone:

After Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had died bravely in the final battle against Voldemort and his followers,

Hermione Granger, grievously wounded but composed in the face of crisis, had drawn on extraordinary courage, wisdom, and strength not only to shatter the Dark Lord's plot completely,

but also to sweep away the remaining dark forces with overwhelming force, preventing an even greater disaster from engulfing Hogwarts and the wizarding world.

She was the hero who turned the tide, the light that shone through the darkest hour, and Hogwarts's new legend and pillar.

As for the details of the battle that had been too "thorough," the figures that had vanished into the darkness before dawn,

and any possible doubts about the circumstances of the headmaster's and deputy headmistress's deaths—

in the face of her unquestionable achievements, the survivors' gratitude, and the instinctive awe inspired by overwhelming power,

they became blurred, quietly overwritten by the prevailing narrative, and reduced to irrelevant footnotes in a heroic saga.

The dust settled, but the pain remained. Life and order had to go on.

Professor Caesar Habs, who had been gravely wounded, was confirmed to have been ambushed with Dark Magic amid the chaos.

Thanks to Hermione Granger, who used the Philosopher's Stone to stabilize his injuries in time, he miraculously survived treatment at St Mungo's Hospital.

His magical abilities, however, had been severely damaged, and he needed a long period of recuperation.

Given his irreplaceable expertise in the history of Ancient Magic, his public status as a "victim" of the battle, and Hogwarts's severe shortage of staff in the aftermath,

Caesar Habs was allowed to keep his position. As soon as his health had improved, he returned to the castle and stood at the lectern once more.

For her extraordinary courage, precise magical skill, and leadership in a crisis during the final battle, Hermione Granger received the Ministry of Magic's highest commendation and Hogwarts's Special Contribution Medal.

She earned perfect marks in her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s without a hint of surprise, graduating with record-breaking scores and dazzling everyone.

Two years later, thanks to his scholarly standing, his "indispensable" contribution to rebuilding Hogwarts, and the subtle but firm support he had earned among some of the School Governors and rising powers within the Ministry of Magic,

Professor Caesar Habs was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, despite rumors that his magical abilities had never fully recovered.

The decision came as a surprise, yet on reflection seemed inevitable.

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