The Triwizard of Sixth
Summary: AU: Hermione Granger has become an intelligent wallflower, abstract from her peers but that all changes in 6th when mysteries are afoot concerning the Triwizard Tournament and… worst of all she's noticed. HPHG
Chapter One
"A room without books is like a body without a soul."
GK Chesterton
A large green snake watched with chagrin as the man that she loved was reduced to a state that he was being cared for by food that she didn't even see fit to even attempt to digest. The rat-man scurried out of the room to fetch something else and Nagini moved, her tail and stomach coming into contact with the hard wooden floors.
'That one is not even fit for food. He's a rat that lives in plague and breeds fleas.' She hissed at her master who looked at her wanly, his blood shot eyes melting into his red pupils. He once had such beautiful eyes. Nagini remembered those. It had been his voice that had drawn her to him from the depths of the limitless forests of the world most deadly jungle but it had been his eyes that had entranced her to follow him, and it was loyalty to those that made her stay.
'Although, I have to say, this state of yours isn't that much better.' His eyes met hers, and he glared and replied in his heavy accented parsel-tongue.
´He will pay for doing this to me. All he has to do is fall into my trap… and the ministry fools have just started the paths to destruction…'
Nagini let her tongue quiver in the air, testing and tasting it for the smell. It was raining and the rat-man was back and he'd brought in some despicable type of food for dinner. Un-natural food she called it, and slithered out of the room. She'd rather face the British Woods in the rain, for although summer was considered the warmest part of the year it was still a far cry from the heat she remembered living with in her native jungle.
However, there really was only one place in England that was not artificially created that resembled the jungle that Nagini dreamt so often of. It resembled it not because it was leafy or hot but it was chaotic and held the feeling that one could walk for days in either direction and not come out the other side and had that slightly stuffy, sticky feeling that tropical jungles tend to have.
This place was often called a jungle, to which the wood that made it's floorboards and walls was exceedingly proud, but it was also often called a bog, a bombsite, a dump and a hovel.
This place was, to be far more politically correct, a bedroom belonging to two Weasley Siblings who found no enjoyment in sharing or rooming together and the fact was that neither Weasley's were very clean nor were they very tidy. The house was usually very empty all year round except for those particular summer holiday when the entire brood had come home to spend some beloved time with 'mummsy and daddy.' However the Burrow only really had five bedrooms and that left a slight over crowding problem.
Molly and Arthur had tried the best they could. After all it was impossible after all to fit seven children equally in four bedrooms, one of which was the attic. Bill and Charlie had been responsible had taken the attic-room and Bill had moved the ghoul to the basement, it had been the room they had shared to begin before moving out and it was again. Fred and George kept their room and Ron faced with either sharing his beloved room with Percy or begging his sister for her sympathy had taken the lesser of two evils.
Ginny's room had never looked better.
The youngest Weasley children were so proud, and as Harry looked around he whistled, a low note that sent shivers through the spiders who ducked for cover. For a moment, only a moment, he was glad he was staying away from his friends (but with Sirius in the House of Black instead). Ron grinned, and stretched over the large pile of dirty laundry and Ginny practically bounced on her chair, her eyes gleaming. The room wasn't the only thing that came from two Weasley's being in such close quarters. There was mischief afoot.
"I say, on a dark and stormy night," Ginny moved her hands dramatically in order to create a better picture, Harry and Ron looked at each other and Harry found himself twitching, not to grin and the twitch threatened to explode the later half of his face as he saw Ron grinning, and agreeing with the sister who was only thirteen months younger than him. It was a hard task for Ron to remain serious, especially when Ginny felt in a dramatic mood.
"We ambush Charlie and drag him down into the pits of the burrow to be attacked by the Ghoul who haunts it, and when he is still in possession of his wits, but barely, we force him to divulge the information that he has seen fit to hide from us." She cackled evilly and Harry shook his head.
Sirius had said he had needed a break but this was ridiculous.
His two best friends had been complaining ever since he had arrived about the fact that everyone else seemed to know something that they didn't. To quiet them down he'd given them Coke. Which they'd all wanted a taste since Harry had been complaining about Fat Dudley's drinking habits. It had been a bad idea.
"The night before we leave for Hogwarts?" He asked tactfully and Ginny nodded enthused.
"We've been trying all week, Harry, and they won't say anything but: wouldn't you like to know?" Ron nodded in agreement and began scrimmaging through the pile that looked like it was his entire wardrobe.
"Or, I wish I was still at Hogwarts." He said turning up his nose and throwing a yellow (previously white Harry guessed) sock into another pile.
"Or even, it'll ruin the surprise." Ginny said scowling and then looked at Ron.
"You mixed up the piles!" She said pouting and Ron grinned and extracted a large book from the bottom.
"All with cause." Ron said catching Harry's eyes… leaving Harry to realise the reasons wizards or witches didn't have soft drink.
It was too much of a hype up.
"What's the plan." He asked sighing and Ron grinned.
"We simply curse him with a balding charm. He'll be singing like an angel." Harry nodded, doubtfully agreeing and following them out of the tropical jungle and wondering how on earth they'd torture Charlie and be ready for the Hogwarts Express that would depart in less than twelve hours later.
Miles away from chaos brewing in the Weasley household and England, across the channel that separated France and England, and past the settlements of nomadic wizards and witches descended from the Gauls, and into the Germanic area of the country a man, who no longer was a boy, sat surrounded by a muggle community but he was not one of them.
It was almost nine in the morning, and he looked distastefully at the smoking masses and the clouds of human-made smog that filled the air. In appearance he fit in quite well: his straight hair fell into his sullen eyes, his grey coat pushed against him so that it was comfortable and his green scarf wrapped around his white neck in an attempt to keep warm. He looked like an everyday working class man striving for enough money to pay the bills, and perhaps help out his mother and younger siblings but he wasn't.
He fell into none of those categories.
He wasn't even an everyday man.
He was a wizard, and was, by no means the male equivalent of a witch.
"Can I help you, sir?" A lady asked him, she was wearing the coffee-shops uniform, and fit in with the atmosphere that came with the place. Unremarkable in everyway and if he didn't know any different he would've assumed she was. It was very improbable that many would ever give her a second look. Her pale skin could've come from a number of European branches that had been scattered throughout the western world, as could any of her features from her nose, hands, eye-shape or body shape, all of which were generally unremarkable to an extent that she could fit with an ease of a master into any European-based society. In height she was a perfect average, not too tall to attract attention, nor short to do so in the other extreme, her eyes were a brown colour that also tended to blend her into the back ground.
She'd remarked once that she was the perfect plain Jane. And her only outstanding features were her hair which preferred, much to her annoyance to run a wild bushy course but she found strength that could tame it into hairstyles so it strained in its holders. The other feature was her teeth; oversized and buck-toothed when she was younger she'd attempted to rectify them with shrinking spells to her parents displeasure and managed to placate them by going to the orthodontist and being fitted with the oddest of muggle torture devices: braces. She wore them now, and fit perfectly into the scene as a quaint little waitress. It was easy for her.
"Excuse me, sir? This isn't a park. If you want to sit here, you buy something." He glared at her and dismissed her own opinions about being plain Jane. For what Hermione Jane Granger lacked in appearance she made up in brilliance.
"Sorry, been a long night. I'd like a coffee, with new dregs not the old stuff sitting it that pot and today's paper." She nodded, fixing a smile onto her face and went behind the counter. The man shut his eyes and placed his head on the table and took a deep breath.
School began in less than three days and then hell would probably break loose.
"That's not good for the brain," She replied with a grin and handed him the paper.
"Your coffee will be ready shortly." He nodded and flicked open the paper. And caught the sight of movement in one of the frames. His eyes flashed up to meet hers and she grinned, showing the glint of black plastic and silver metal.
"It seems that this year will be very interesting, if you look at the forecasts." She replied, grin fading to a smile, a cloth already in her hand and wiping the table that a couple had recently vacated.
"I'd say it will be a very chaotic year indeed, with both the old men." He commented and shook his head at the article that covered the front page. It was the British Wizarding Newspaper. The Daily Prophet. He hadn't seen it for ages…. And it seemed like nothing had changed. Apparently Cadmus Bulstrode had married again, this time to the reputable Fredericka Fruggle, it was an approvement to the half-banshee, half-muggle that had been Millicent's mother, but only just.
"The community has been far too quiet and filled with ridiculous tales for my liking." He continued, browsing and Hermione nodded.
"I hope to keep it that way."
"And I don't?" The man asked affronted and she gave him a look and moved to his table, wielding her mighty cloth. Her hand methodically moving in circles. He took the opportunity to deposit the information which was the reason for their meeting. Germany of neutral ground. Her voice was low and full of warning as she leaned in to straighten the shakers.
"Lie low, sir. I expect you to be fully aware at what happens at your school. After all it would be awful is somebody tried to stir up the woes of the elder generations among the younger." His brow furrowed and a ping was heard at the back of the coffee shop. Hermione let her cloth fall over her arm and darted back to the pot.
The next page had a tiny column dedicated to politics. Cornelius Fudge was looking good for the election, Augusta Longbottom had portrayed an interest into investigating the destruction of a large amount of security wards in wizarding households from London to Birmingham. At the bottom, only a picture the size of a thumb nail and three lines remained of a call for the public to be aware of, and bounty hunters to follow the entrapment of one Sirius Black.
Hermione got back, a hot coffee mug steaming between her pale hands.
"Here, you go sir, have a nice day," She said smiling and handed the hot pottery to his outstretched hand.
"I'll look after Durmstrang, Miss Granger." He said in a low voice and she met his eyes, but this time she was out of character. No grins or smiles were given.
"That's very good, because apparently I'm being reinstated as a Hogwarts student, you know, as 'protection for the saviour'." His pale eyebrows shot up and she nodded, and turned around swiftly travelling to the next table and chatting with the elderly man. He watched her for moment. A large white envelope disappearing into her pocket, he could feel that inside the newspaper a similar envelope that was to be read and destroyed before he departed on the hazardous trip to the boys-school in Bulgaria.
Hermione signed off the paper work roster that detailed her thirteenth and final shift at the coffee place. She glanced at the rack of coats and bags and located hers easily: the charcoal coloured coat was easy to spot compared to the brighter colours of her 'co-workers' as was the patchwork handbag against the more sophisticated and popular bags. The chains hanging off jingled uneasily and she smiled, fingers tracing the miniature owl, cat, and the final two: one which seemed like a wooden box, the other far more ambiguous.
"You going 'ome?" Another girl – Rose she remembered - who had finished at the same time as her asked and Hermione jumped.
"Yeah, back to England." The girl's unusual violet-coloured eyes brightened.
"Wow that's - " the sound of a ringtone went through the room and the girl looked apologetic and tug into one of the pockets of her black jacket.
"Well, see you then Jane." She said and flipped open the phone. Conversation over. Hermione shook her head and made her way to the bathroom, and locking herself within the disabled stall. Durmstrang began three days later than Hogwarts and if she was on time she'd have enough time for the ever pleasant opportunity of 'class-mate bonding' on the train.
In the privacy of the disabled toilet she discarded the apron that had been the only part of the uniform supplied to her, and quickly scanned the Durmstrang student's messages, he raised only three titbits that she had not already known.
"It seems like this'll be an interesting year indeed," She whispered and slipped into her charcoal jacket, and fiddling inside her pockets for both a cigarette lighter and the object shaped like a cigarette lighter. Taking hold of both items, she rolled the thick envelope into a cylinder and expertly set the paper on fire. The remains were flushed down the toilet. The fire-alarms dead from constant smoke abuse didn't pick up a thing. She looked sceptically at the ceiling, and spotted the camera and smiled to herself as she sat down on the toilet lid and filing the yellow cigarette lighter in her pocket removing the other lighter shaped object. Her bag sat on her lap, and she flicked the lighter in her hand, instantly all the lights in the building flickered and all went out.
Apparition in about a minute afterwards was an easy procedure; registering and appearing on Platform 9 ¾. She was early and she spent the rest of her time distracting herself by transfiguring her coat back into robes, retrieving her sweater and tie from the handbag and assuring the keychain of her owl Orpheus and the furious feline Crookshanks that they wouldn't stay key-chains forever… just until arrival at Hogwarts.
However when that was all done, and perfected she was left with watching, with a heavy heart and a stomach that felt it could touch the floor, the hustle and bustle that would become part of her school life.
"Hermione? I know you hate leaving early for school, but are you sure your okay with this?" Her mother asked, the lovely woman packed the new car needlessly because all the registered witch had to do, and was going to do was transfigure everything as soon as she got to the platform. Hermione grinned, her mother was always slightly highly strung. The woman hated the fact that her and her husband started work weeks before Hermione went back to school and had always made sure the holidays before work were twice as exciting as other students.
"Yeah, the headmaster just has some final things to iron out. It'll help, I swear." Her mother nodded still biting her lip.
"Are you sure? I mean, he's old and I worry because you don't talk about-" Hermione cut her off with a gesture.
"If it makes you feel better, we're thinking about sending me back to classes. For security measures." Her mother's eyes brightened.
"You'll be with people your own age." She nodded.
Suddenly that idea didn't sound so good but as the Hogwarts Express train let off a sharp squeal and she felt the jolting pressure as the train began to move to it's destination somewhere in Scotland. Students were already moving. Laughing. Pushing around her and she moved towards the centre of the train.
Hoping against hope that she'd at least get an empty carriage before dealing with the children her age. Her contacts were different. So many of them had seen too many things to ever be a child ever again.
These people, although they were age, some even older, were infants compared to their counterparts. She suddenly felt very old and pushed open one of the doors falling forwards as the train jolted again and straight into a crowded carriage full of her former classmates. The Boy-Who-Lived included.
She swallowed, very glad she hadn't transfigured the work pants into the skirt the governors liked the girls wearing.
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