As Hermione stepped into the Headmaster's Office, a cacophony of shouts erupted from the portraits of past headmasters.
"Who are you! Why are you here!"
"An intruder! An intruder!"
"Where are the professors? Where the hell have they all gone!"
"Such a pretty young lady. Are you married? I have a grandson-would you consider him?"
Something odd seemed to have slipped into the mix.
Hermione simply waved a hand. A powerful pulse swept through the room, restoring silence. Only the old men in the portraits remained, clutching their throats in terror, their mouths moving without a sound.
Half an hour later, Hermione shook her head helplessly.
Nothing.
Information about Nicolas Flamel was locked down tight.
Still, that hardly surprised Hermione. He was the world's greatest alchemist, had lived for over six hundred years, and possessed a curiosity like the Philosopher's Stone that could grant immortality. Wizards with designs on him were probably everywhere. Such strict secrecy was only natural.
Since she had found nothing, there was no point staying. She turned to leave.
The instant she turned, a black leather glove appeared in the doorway without warning.
The glove slowly floated over to Hermione, spread its fingers, and waved from side to side in greeting.
There it was-the legendary "black hand behind the scenes"!
Hermione's mouth twitched, and she rolled her eyes hard.
Old Dumbledore loved this sort of mysterious, theatrical nonsense.
Even a simple meeting had to come with its own ceremony.
Without hesitation, she stepped forward and grasped the black glove.
In an instant, everything around her dissolved into a blurred whirlpool.
When she opened her eyes again, Hermione's feet rested on hard roof tiles.
The night wind howled, whipping her wizarding robes about.
Hermione glanced around and discovered that she stood at the very top of Hogwarts'