Hermione stared at him like he'd grown horns.
"You expect me to believe that?" she asked coldly, stepping in front of the vault, wand drawn. "You just walked into the Ministry—the Department of Mysteries no less—to confess to a prophecy?"
Draco Malfoy didn't flinch. He looked at her like he expected the suspicion. Maybe even deserved it.
"No," he said, voice calm. "I came to stop what's coming. And unfortunately for you, Granger, you're the key to it."
"Try me."
Draco gave a slow exhale, his eyes flicking to the mirror behind her. "That isn't just a mirror. It's a seal. One of the last surviving relics of the Old Blood Orders—families that ruled magic before the Ministry was even founded. Before Hogwarts."
Hermione's wand didn't lower. "Convenient you're the one with the answers."
He ignored the jab. "That mirror has another name. In the older tongues, it's called The Heart of Null. It doesn't show your reflection because it doesn't care about who you are—it shows what you deny."
Hermione's stomach twisted.
Vale stepped forward, tension radiating off her. "You're suggesting this relic is sentient?"
"I'm saying," Draco said, "that it's been watching. And now that it's open, they will come looking for it."
"They?" Hermione asked sharply.
He gave her a long look. "The Veiled."
Silence.
Even Vale paled.
"The Veiled were wiped out," she said. "An extremist blood cult—one of Voldemort's predecessors tried to revive them."
Draco tilted his head. "You think Voldemort was their leader? He was a child playing with matches. The Veiled predate him by centuries. They believe in balance—not just of magic, but of bloodlines. If the Heart is open, they'll think it's time to reclaim what was stolen."
Hermione was growing tired of riddles. "And what does this have to do with me?"
Draco's eyes darkened.
"Because according to every blood record, magical registry, and vault record we've ever had access to—" he paused, voice steady—"you don't exist."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"You're not in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. You weren't in the early Muggleborn records. There's no record of your magical bloodline at all. Not even in the Goblin banks. And yet—" he gestured to the vault, "that mirror responds to your touch."
Hermione took a step back, the pressure in her chest coiling tighter.
"Are you saying I'm—what? A part of this cult? That I'm one of them?"
"No," Draco said softly. "I'm saying you're something they lost. And now that you've touched the seal… they'll come to claim you."
For a moment, no one moved. The torches crackled. The vault pulsed again—just faintly.
Vale broke the silence.
"This is Ministry property now," she said. "The vault, the mirror, the scroll—"
"Destroy it," Draco said, eyes sharp. "Or lock it so deep no one can breathe near it. If the Veiled rise again, they'll come for her first."
Hermione's hand tightened on her wand. "I don't need you to protect me, Malfoy."
His eyes met hers—something cold and fractured behind them.
"Don't flatter yourself," he said. "I'm not here to protect you. I'm here because I owe a debt I can't repay."
Hermione's voice wavered for the first time. "To who?"
Draco looked away.
"To your mother."
The words hit like a punch. "My mother's a dentist."
"She's not," he snapped, suddenly raw. "She's a shield. Someone made her that way. Someone powerful enough to erase you from history and still place you in front of a troll in first year."
Hermione's blood ran cold.
A shriek echoed from the corridor beyond.
Vale raised her wand. "What now—?"
But Hermione already knew.
It was here.
Whatever had waited for centuries behind seals and spells was no longer waiting. The mirror pulsed again. This time, the stone cracked.
And from the black surface of the Heart of Null, a whisper escaped—not a sound, but a breath in her mind:
"Come home."