The egg, of course, was a riddle. Hermione usually loved riddles, ever since she was a child—it was a wonder she wasn't placed in Ravenclaw—but this one was infuriating her. A treacherous, tiny part of her wanted to let her forget about it, since she'd done alright on the first task without knowing anything. But she knew that this was important. Now that she was in the lead (well, sort of) she felt in inner competitiveness rising to the surface. She wanted to win, show them all what she could do. Not just impress them with fancy, flashy pieces of magic.
A week after the first task, when Hermione was sitting in the library, struggling (what else) to research her way out of the egg's secrets. A presence settled beside her, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She twisted her neck, just a little, to see who sat next to to her—Merlin, it better be Harry, she thought to herself—only to find herself staring into the dark eyes of Viktor Krum.
"Krum." Hermione said, flatly. It was mean, she knew, but she wanted to make it clear he wasn't welcome here.
"Herm-own-ninny." He returned. Not flat, but close. He sighed. "Am here to apologize. Ve should have told you. Vould have, if ve knew you did not know."
His eyes were dark. Too dark. Hermione searched them, hoping to find something—something honest, hopefully, something true—and found no lies in them. He wasn't lying. He certainly hadn't been kind, but he would've told her if he thought she was totally ignorant. She nodded to acknowledge his apology.
She turned back to her notes, and grabbed her pen to continue writing, when a large hand caught her forearm. She inhaled sharply, and turned. Krum's eyes were fastened on her arm and—oh, right. Her sleeve had stretched when she went to pick up her pen, and the rune scars, angry and pink, had shown.
She flushed and looked down. She didn't know why she was embarrassed. They kept her alive. But…they were ugly. That didn't—that didn't matter, she knew, but she was a girl, after all, no matter how people looked at her. And it wasn't like she needed anything else to worsen her appearance. Her hair, her teeth, her height… that was enough.
She tugged her arm back, but Krum held tight. He pushed the rest of her sleeve up, examining them. Raido, for a journey. Hagalaz, for air and transformation. And Uruz, for power. And on her left, the arm he couldn't see, were Nauthiz, Thurisaz, and Algiz, all for protection. Basic runes, but when drawn in blood all on the same body, and were combined with a spell… well. The results spoke for themselves.
"Not a scratch, they said." Krum frowned.
"Not from the dragon," Hermione said.
"Healers… they did not help you?" Krum asked.
"No, I suppose they didn't. Self-inflicted doesn't count—tournament rules." This time it was Hermione's time to frown. She had passed out almost directly after the task, and had hardly noticed the runes afterwards. But if self-inflicted wounds couldn't be used to detract points, then she supposed the logic followed they couldn't be healed by tournament medical staff, either.
She was lost in her thoughts for a moment before she realized Krum was tugging, pulling her out of her seat. But his grip on her wrist was gentle.
"Hey," she exclaimed, "what are you doing? I have work to do, and these books—"
" No matter. Vill get you fixed up. Come."
Hermione worried her bottom lip for a moment, before following him. She didn't think this was a trap, of course, but it might be best to remain on her guard just in case. She stashed her wand in her sleeve and played along while Krum walked her out of the library. Stormed out, more like. She wasn't sure why he was so angry, but perhaps she was pulling him away from his own studying? Maybe someone else had sent him?
They reached a stone wall before Krum stopped, abruptly, causing Hermione to almost fall. She scowled, but when he paced three times in front of the wall, her brows drew together curiously. And then a door appeared, and Hermione was amazed and a little in awe. If only she had this room to use, and then she and Harry wouldn't have had to ward and lock their practice room so heavily!
Krum walked through the heavy wooden door and Hermione obediently followed. She was too curious not to, now. But upon entering, she paused.
The room was lush and covered in shades of deep blue, filled with couches and bookshelves and a warm, crackling fireplace. But that wasn't what stole Hermione's attention. It was the two students sitting on a sofa, deep in conversation—Diggory and Delacour. Shamefully, Hermione almost backed away right there. But Krum's grip on her wrist was firm.
"She is hurt," he said, which caused Diggory and Delacour to spring up and turn surprised eyes to Hermione. She felt herself shrinking behind him. Any minute, and the insults would start flying—or worse, the laughter. Why, oh why, would she ever think he was helping her?
Hermione twitched when Delacour moved closer, graceful as some kind of large wildcat. She had a predator's grace, which was scary enough without factoring the energy that crackled in the room. Hermione felt like all of her hair was standing on end. Delacour's eyes were narrowed.
"What is zis?" She asked. Krum pulled up Hermione's sleeve, letting the runes sit red and angry in the open.
"It doesn't hurt, really, I barely noticed it after the task—" Hermione began, wondering all the while she was trying to prevent their help. And, more, why they were offering it. Guilt, maybe?
But Delacour was already running diagnostic charms, and Diggory was taking long strides to a cupboard Hermione was certain wasn't in the wall before to grab some ointment. He tossed it to Krum, who let go of Hermione just long enough to catch it (bloody quidditch show-offs, she inwardly seethed, missing twin smirks above her head). With lightning efficiency, her arms were rubbed with a thick, green paste and bandages were tightly secured around her skin. She was grateful, but confused. Not one word was spoken through any of this. It was like they all knew what to do. How could they know?
But before Hermione could put words to anything she was thinking, she was ushered into a deep blue loveseat, her feet tucked under her, and a blanket over her lap. The other three champions sat parallel to her. Hermione couldn't help but feel she was entering an interrogation.
Diggory was the first to break the ice.
"I think, er, Krum came, but we both wanted to say it, too. We're sorry about the dragons. Merlin above, I can't believe I let you walk into that tent without helping, or something. You could've died! Bloody good Hufflepuff, I am." He was angry at the end of this, Hermione noticed. His cheeks were flushed.
"Diggory—" Hermione began.
"Cedric. Just Cedric. You deserve it, after all, you know."
"Okay, Cedric. I—you—don't have to apologize. I thought, you know, you figured I was cheating, and I was ruining your tournament the whole time, and I can't fault you for—"
"Fault him! 'Ermione, we are all at fault. Terribly. 'Ou did nuzzing wrong. Nuzzing. We were—blinded, 'ou could say, by our own eyes," Fleur cut in.
"Your own… eyes?" Hermione asked, despite herself.
Fleur's eyes darkened. "Oui—blinded. You are… 'Ermione, 'ou are a force." She muttered something in French too low and too fast for Hermione to catch. "—Excuse moi, you are, euh, small and strong. Zat is scary."
"I don't…" Hermione trailed off.
"We like you, Granger." Cedric said, bluntly. His lips twitched into a smirk.
Hermione blinked. "Uh, I like you too," she said. "I didn't, of course, not at first, but you apologized, and recognized you were wrong, and what I mean is, er, I'd like to be friends, too. I think we all know I need them, right now." She shrugged.
Three collective breaths were released. Hermione licked her lips, and three pairs of eyes zeroed in on that tongue. She didn't notice.