He is the Hero Who Turned the Tide

The logical chain built itself in her mind, complete, cold, and efficient—like the most precise alchemical instrument.

All emotional fluctuations—that shred of complexity over Professor McGonagall's dying gaze, that faint tremor of unease at Dumbledore's final, uncast spell—she forcibly stripped them away, compressed them, buried them deep.

Now was not the time for sentiment, nor even for rest.

Caesar had survived, but he was still fragile.

The Philosopher's Stone's power could only stabilize him temporarily; he needed a safer environment, more careful treatment, a longer recovery.

And she herself—gravely wounded, her magic nearly exhausted, carrying the absolute taboo of "killing the Deputy Headmistress and causing the Headmaster's death"—was in no position to falter.

The outside world's perception was at its most chaotic, its most fragile moment.

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

Voldemort had been shattered in his temporary body by her own hand, but the remnants of his Death Eaters and the summoned dark creatures still lingered.

They were the final "evidence," the final "obstacles," and also the best "culprits" and "achievements."

Hermione braced herself against the experimental table and struggled to her feet.

Tearing pain shot through every part of her body, especially her left shoulder and the wound on her back; each breath dragged with it a scorching, searing ache.

But she only furrowed her brows slightly, tightened her grip on her wand again, even as her fingers still trembled uncontrollably.

She cast one last, deep look at the unconscious Caesar, her eyes churning with endless exhaustion, resolve, and a trace of hidden tenderness.

Then, she turned and pushed open the door that had separated her from part of the chaos.

The corridor's light was dim, thick with dust and the lingering smell of gunpowder smoke.

A few younger students stumbled past, supporting each other, their faces streaked with tears and blank with confusion. When they saw Hermione, they froze, then their eyes burst with a light mixed with awe, reliance, and supplication.

"Senior Granger..."

Hermione did not respond. She only gave them a slight nod, her face expressionless, a calm, pale stillness.

She took a step, heading toward the main battlefield, toward the direction where sporadic fighting and wails still echoed.

Her steps were unsteady at first, but grew firmer, faster.

With each step, the magic within her seemed to revive, coalescing with the freezing of her will.

Not restored to its former state, but re-gathered into a more condensed, more focused form—existing solely for "cleansing."

The next few hours, for the dark forces lingering in Hogwarts, were a silent and thorough nightmare.

People only saw that the genius witch who had stood against Voldemort at dawn, saving the crisis, dragged her grievously wounded body back into the battle to purge the remaining enemies.

Her figure appeared in every corner of the castle where dark wizards or creatures still put up resistance.

Her fighting style was concise, cold, efficient. No dazzling spell duels, no prolonged skirmishes.

Often, it was just a single, precision strike—a magic spike piercing a heart, a shadow erosion instantly draining life force, or an ancient curse directly unraveling a soul's structure.

Darkness was annihilated, leaving only a rapidly cooling corpse or ash.

She killed in silence, like executing a predetermined purification procedure.

Wherever she passed, darkness was completely cleansed, not a blade of grass left. Some tried to surrender, some collapsed in sobs, some attempted mutual destruction.

Before her, the outcome was no different.

When the sun was fully high, exposing Hogwarts' tragedy and sorrow to the light of day, the last discordant whisper of darkness vanished completely.

Hermione Granger—drenched in blood, scarred, her face pale as a ghost but her spine straight as a spear—stood alone in the central square before the main tower, littered with rubble, scorch marks, and still-wet bloodstains.

Survivors gradually gathered: professors, students, belated Ministry of Magic officials.

They looked at this girl before them, at the surrounding ground where no living enemy remained, at the land beneath her feet that had been cleaned so exceptionally "thoroughly." Their eyes were complex.

There was relief at surviving the disaster, immense grief for the fallen, deep confusion about the future.

And there was extreme awe at Hermione's terrifying power and iron-blooded methods, even... a trace of unspeakable fear.

But regardless, in the "history" about to be frozen:

It was Hermione Granger who, after Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall had bravely fallen in the final battle against Voldemort and his minions, remained calm in the face of crisis despite her grievous wounds.

With unparalleled courage, wisdom, and power, she not only completely shattered the Dark Lord's scheme but also, with the force of a thunderbolt, purged all remaining dark forces, preventing Hogwarts and the wizarding world from falling into greater catastrophe.

She was the hero who turned the tide, the light that illuminated the darkest hour, the new legend and pillar of Hogwarts.

As for the overly "thorough" details in the battle, the figures that vanished into the darkness before dawn, along with certain possible doubts about the Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster's sacrifices—in the face of absolute achievements, the gratitude of survivors, and the instinctive awe of overwhelming power—they all blurred, eventually covered over and revised by the mainstream narrative, becoming irrelevant footnotes in the epic of a hero.

The dust settled, the pain remained, but life and order had to continue.

The grievously wounded Professor Caesar Habs was confirmed to have been ambushed by dark magic in the chaos.

Thanks to Hermione Granger's timely use of the Philosopher's Stone to stabilize his injuries, after treatment at St Mungo's Hospital, he miraculously clung to life.

However, his magical power was severely damaged, requiring a long period of convalescence.

Given his irreplaceable expertise in the field of ancient magical history, his public identity as a "victim" of that battle, and Hogwarts' severe shortage of faculty in the wake of the trauma.

Caesar Habs was able to retain his teaching post. Once his health had somewhat recovered, he returned to the castle and stood before the lectern.

Hermione Granger, for the extraordinary courage she displayed in the final battle, her precise magical talent, and her leadership under pressure, received the highest commendation from the Ministry of Magic and the Special Contribution Medal from Hogwarts.

Her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were, unsurprisingly, all Outstanding. She graduated with record-breaking scores, dazzlingly brilliant.

Two years later, backed by his profound academic reputation, his "indispensable" contributions to Hogwarts' reconstruction, and the subtle yet solid support from some board members and the rising powers in the Ministry of Magic.

Despite rumors that his magical power had not fully recovered to its former state, Professor Caesar Habs was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts.

This decision was unexpected, yet upon reflection, it seemed like an inevitability of history.

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