A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER FIVE

Page count: 14

Unknown Location - Sunday 8th November 1981

"What?" echoed around the room, confusion thick as smoke.

"A Horcrux," Hermione repeated, voice steady. "Does anyone here know what that is?"

Silence stretched. Unease shifted across faces. She hadn't expected an answer — and yet the emptiness of the room's response still sent a chill down her spine.

"I didn't think so." She turned to Dumbledore. "...Professor?"

Dumbledore's brows drew together. "I recall the term — faintly. But the precise meaning escapes me."

Hermione nodded grimly. "As expected."

"Why wouldn't we know?" one of the Prewett twins asked. Fabian, she thought — his eyes sharp with suspicion.

"Because only a handful of living witches and wizards do," Hermione answered. "And the knowledge is so vile that even the darkest practitioners refuse to speak of it. The concept has been ripped from nearly every book in existence — save three. Hidden. Censored. Nearly myth."

Gideon swallowed. "You mean to say it's worse than the Unforgivables?"

Hermione let out a breath that wasn't quite steady. "The Unforgivables look like playground hexes in comparison."

A low hiss of shock slid around the table.

Moody's magical eye spun, voice rough. "Then spit it out, girl. Enough dramatics."

Hermione's gaze snapped to him — cold and exhausted.

"I am preparing you for something horrific, not telling a bedtime story," she bit out. "If the truth unsettles you, that is a good sign — it means you're still human."

"You're wasting time."

"And you're wasting oxygen," she shot back. "Trust me, I didn't survive a war and travel across time to stroke egos."

Sirius choked on a laugh. Remus looked between them warily. James sat tense, protective hand on Harry's back.

Moody grunted. "You're trying to frighten us."

Hermione stared at him, hollow and deadly calm. "I'm trying to prepare you."

She raked a hand through her curls — the motion betraying just how frayed she was.

"I learned of Horcruxes from Professor Dumbledore. Then I spent a year researching how to destroy them — because the only other person who knew was Voldemort."

Flinches rippled again. Names still carried ghosts here.

She continued, voice flat with fatigue and memory:

"Before I explain, every person in this room must swear an Unbreakable Vow. This knowledge can never leave this table."

Murmurs rose — fear, anger, disbelief — but no one argued. Wands lifted. Hands clasped. Magic burned around wrists and throats as vows snapped into place like iron collars.

When the final spark faded, Hermione inhaled.

"The first Horcrux was created by Herpo the Foul — an ancient dark wizard," she began quietly. "To make one, you commit an act of supreme evil. The most unnatural violation possible: you take a life. And in doing so, you tear your soul."

Faces paled — even Moody's went still.

"That torn fragment can then be sealed... into an object. Or a living being. Ritual. Spell. Sacrifice. Once done, the soul cannot die. The body may fall — but the soul persists. It creates a form of immortality."