The moment the whisper echoed in her head, Hermione's vision swam.
The room warped, stretched—like the world had blinked sideways. Her knees nearly gave out, but a strong hand caught her elbow. She looked up into Draco's eyes. There was no smirk there, no arrogance. Just fear.
Real, human fear.
"Get back!" Vale barked, flicking her wand. The room lit with defensive wards, spirals of blue and gold curling around the vault like a spider's web.
Too late.
The mirror cracked straight through the centre.
A black, viscous fog bled from the split—slow at first, then faster, spilling across the vault floor like ink spreading through water. The temperature dropped. The torches flickered and dimmed.
Then something stepped out.
It wasn't human.
It had the shape of a man—tall, hooded in tattered grey cloth, its face hidden in shadow. But where its skin should have been, there was only shifting void, like looking into a starless sky. It moved without sound. Without weight.
Vale's lips barely had time to part before it raised an arm and—
Boom.
A blast of silent force knocked her across the room, sending her crashing into the stone wall. She didn't move.
"Vale!" Hermione screamed, darting forward.
Draco grabbed her wrist. "Don't. That thing—it's not alone."
Two more figures stepped through the mirror.
No footsteps. No breath. Just presence—cold and ancient.
Hermione's magic surged in response. She flicked her wand. "Protego Maxima!"
A radiant shield pulsed around them just as one of the creatures struck. Its hand cracked the shield but didn't break it.
"Malfoy, do something!"
Draco's eyes were fixed on the mirror. "They're not attacking to kill."
"Could've fooled me!"
"No—look. They're circling you."
Hermione's heart thudded. She looked down. The fog was curling around her ankles now. Not burning. Not binding. Embracing.
"Come home," a voice echoed again, and this time it wasn't in her mind—it was real. Spoken from the mouth of the hooded thing in front of her. Its voice sounded like five people speaking at once, overlapping—male, female, child, ancient.
"You carry the seal," it hissed. "The stolen blood. The broken line. Come, Heir of Null. Come to where you were made."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, her voice shaking.
Another step.
Draco shoved her behind him.
The creature tilted its head at him. "You are marked, son of Malfoy. Your blood sings of failure. Of defiance."
"Yeah?" he spat. "Funny. I was about to say the same."
He drew a small, silver object from his pocket—an old coin etched with runes. He threw it at the mirror.
It exploded in light.
The creatures screamed—not in pain, but fury—and the vault shook violently. The fog recoiled. Cracks spread across the mirror like lightning bolts. The edges curled inward, the seal fighting to close again.
"We have to get out—now!" Draco shouted, grabbing Hermione's arm.
"But Vale—!"
"She's breathing! We'll come back—MOVE!"
Together they sprinted out of the vault as the creatures howled, their voices rising into a shrill chorus that echoed off every stone in the Department of Mysteries.
The door slammed behind them just as the vault collapsed in on itself—an implosion of shadow and silence.
Then stillness.
Panting, Hermione leaned against the wall, eyes wild. "What the hell was that?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. His eyes were locked on the runes now glowing faintly on the back of his hand. Marks she hadn't noticed before.
"I told you," he said quietly. "The Veiled want you. And that mirror—that was the first test."
Hermione stepped back. "How do you know all this?"
His jaw clenched.
"Because I nearly became one of them."