Silence hung heavy in the dim candlelight. They'd spent long, sleepless nights dissecting the accident at the Ministry, but every theory brought more questions than answers.
Hasel ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "It could be coincidence, a terrible one. Or... maybe the veil isn't just about time, maybe it's... other possibilities, other versions of reality."
Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Multiverse theory… always seemed more like science fiction than practical magic. But if there's one 'Tom Riddle', there could be others, countless others…"
A chill ran down Hasel's spine as the magnitude of it dawned on her. "Each with their own choices, their own paths..." The image of Voldemort rose in her mind, but so too did a flicker of something she couldn't quite grasp.
"Which begs the question," Hermione continued, her expression troubled, "What kind of Tom Riddle did we end up with? Is he destined to become Voldemort? Or... can we stop it?"
They lay awake in the quiet, listening to the muffled sounds of London, the weight of history settling on their shoulders. Hogwarts, their tumultuous years fighting a dark wizard, suddenly felt like a distant, bittersweet memory. The battlefields had shifted, the stakes grown unimaginably higher. Yet, through it all, a quiet determination ignited within them. They had faced impossible odds before, survived unspeakable horrors. They wouldn't give in to despair, not now, not here.
"We find the answers," Hasel said firmly, as much to herself as to Hermione. "About Riddle, about the veil, about getting back home someday. We find the answers, and we keep fighting. That's what we do, remember?"
A faint smile touched Hermione's lips. "Yes," she agreed, her voice raspy with exhaustion yet unwavering. "That's what we do."