Author's Notes: The Goblet of Fire finally makes an appearance! I don't think the way it works is ever actually explained, so I've come up with some theories of my own. (And yes, Hermione does reference Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in the section about the Goblet.)

Chapter 11 will be posted on 5th September as per the normal schedule.

10. Scenes From A Memory

Just over two weeks later, the day of her decision – the day when the candidates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would arrive – was upon her. The last class of the day had been cancelled in honour of their guests, and most of the other Gryffindors had already left the common room to go outside, to gossip and watch the skies. Even the few stragglers were starting to filter out of the room now – but Hermione found herself strangely reluctant to join them. She was in the middle of writing an essay for Defence, but that was more of an excuse not to leave on time than an actual reason.

"We're going to be late, Hermione." Her name in that tone of voice made her shiver slightly, as it always did, but now really wasn't the time.

She scowled at Draco, who was leaning against a wall and looking down at her with an amused glint in his eye. "It'll be fine," she insisted. "I'm not going to be late. When am I ever late for anything?"

"There was that one Potions class..." Draco grinned and raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"I wasn't late, even then," Hermione replied, acidly. "But if you're going to bother me until I agree to come down to the entrance hall, then fine, I will. God knows, I'm sure I'll have ever so much time later to finish this essay." Not for the first time, she wondered how a Triwizard Champion was supposed to keep on top of their schoolwork throughout the tournament. Perhaps it would be better if she didn't enter... but she had promised Draco, and she knew that she would find it very difficult to lie to him about it.

"That's the spirit," he said, now, deliberately missing her attempt at sarcasm. "Well, sort of, anyway. Let's go and see what the competition looks like. I would've thought that you'd be interested."

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes. She hadn't been getting enough sleep lately, and she still felt as if she was only just managing to get everything done. Having a boyfriend was a lot more time-consuming than she'd expected it to be. Not that she intended to give him up. "I... yeah, sorry, Draco. I'm being too uptight about work again, aren't I?"

"Yup," he said, brightly, flashing her a rather lopsided grin that made her wish that there was no one else in the common room at all. "But then again, I think if you weren't obsessing over your work, it'd be a sign of the end times. It's just who you are. We all know that." Here he smirked. "Of course, that means it's my job to make sure that you take breaks every now and again."

"Oh, is that the excuse you're using now?" Hermione replied, archly. Draco snorted, his expression caught somewhere between smug and embarrassed. Shaking her head slightly, she dried the ink from her quill and laid it down on the desk. "Alright, I'll let you drag me off to watch the other schools arrive." A mischievous impulse made her add: "Though you do have much better ways of distracting me from my work."

Draco almost seemed to preen at this comment, looking more like Sirius than he ever had before. "Well, I suppose we can make time for that later..."

Hermione ruthlessly ignored the images this conjured up in her traitorous mind, and the warm breathless anticipation that accompanied them. Now was not the time. She wanted... but there was no helping that. "You're going to be the death of me," she said, trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably. She sighed and stood up. "Shall we go, then?"

Most of the school was already lined up outside by the time they reached the main doors, but then Hermione had been expecting that. Draco looked around at all of the people and made a disapproving tsk noise, then elbowed her in the ribs and more or less marched her over to where the other sixth year Gryffindors were standing. From the look on her face, Lavender was having trouble keeping herself from laughing. She wasn't the only one.

"I should've known you'd manage to get her out of there," Seamus said, his face cracking into a grin.

"You really should know, by now." Draco was far more pleased with himself than he had any right to be.

Hermione cleared her throat and scowled at both of them. "I am standing right here, you know." Draco had the decency to look at least a little ashamed, but Seamus laughed, thoroughly unrepentant.

Lavender rolled her eyes. "Honestly, boys, I think we can all see why Hermione is the best student in our year. Probably in the school, even." She reached over and squeezed Hermione's arm. "We can work on finishing those Defence essays later. In the dorm, if the common room is too noisy and full of distractions." She shot a mild glare at Draco, apparently classifying him as a distraction – which, to be fair, was exactly what he was sometimes.

"Thanks, Lavender." Hermione smiled at her friend, genuinely grateful for the support. Despite all of the time she spent with Draco, her marks actually seemed to have gone up since she'd come here and acquired such a conscientious study partner. "I should've thought about it and realised that you'd help, but you know how I can get..."

"Fixated?" Lavender offered, smiling gently. "Yeah, I know. I'm the same. It's like you just can't think sensibly at all until you've finished the – oh! Look at that!" She pointed up at the sky, and everyone around her looked up to see what it was, even Hermione, who already knew exactly what she'd see. From her point of view, this had happened two years ago; it was downright surreal to be experiencing the same thing all over again. Although... well, somehow it just wasn't quite the same. Perhaps it was her irreverent friends, or the fact that she hadn't been pulled out of a lesson – or just that she had gone through it all before – but this time around everything felt more relaxed, less momentous.

Still, as the dark shape in the sky over the Forbidden Forest resolved itself into the giant horse-drawn carriage, and a chorus of breathless whispers rippled through the crowd of students, she felt a thrill of excitement that she couldn't suppress. And, really, the elephant-sized palomino winged horses were hardly any less impressive for the fact that she'd seen them once before – and nor, for that matter, was Madame Maxime.

"I didn't know Hagrid had a sister," Dean said, as the Headmistress of Beauxbatons climbed out of the blue carriage. He punctuated his sentence with a low whistle, which made Professor McGonagall glare and hiss an admonition at him. The teachers were just as nervous about the visitors as they had been the last time, Hermione realised; she hadn't noticed this before now, perhaps because she had been far too busy to think about it.

"Don't be silly, Dean; that's the Headmistress of Beauxbatons. She's French." Given the relationship that had developed between Hagrid and Madame Maxime in her own timeline, the idea of them being related was actually rather disgusting to Hermione. She realised that she might have spoken a little harshly, though, and quickly added, "Can you honestly imagine Hagrid knowing how to speak French?"

Dean snorted, undaunted as ever by Professor McGonagall's disapproval. "Nah, not really. Good point. Still... never seen a woman that big before. She could crush a man, I bet."

"Only if he really annoyed her." Hermione exchanged an amused look with Lavender, who obligingly added:

"And, really, any woman can do that if she puts her mind to it." She smiled wickedly. Seamus shifted rather nervously.

Professor McGonagall shot the sixth years another blistering pointed glare. Discretion being the better part of valour, they wisely fell silent – or, at least, they tried to. It worked for a couple of minutes, and then:

"Those horses drink single-malt whiskey? My da would love them." Seamus paused to consider this, head on one side, then snorted. "Actually, maybe he'd hate having to share with them. I bet those big buggers can drink a lot."

"They're Abraxans," Hermione said, automatically, the habit of reciting any relevant facts she knew proving itself too ingrained to resist. "Whiskey is the only thing they can drink. So you can tell that they're magical creatures; if they weren't, they'd just be drunk all the time." She nearly giggled at the thought of giant drunken horses lolling around in a paddock. Seamus was not quite so restrained and let out a slightly manic-sounding hiccup, then flushed red to the roots of his hair when everyone in the nearby rows turned to look at him. At least he hadn't drawn another McGonagall glare.

After the spectacle of the winged horses – and the giantess headmistress – the Beauxbatons students were hardly all that interesting by comparison. Without Fleur and her part-Veela appeal, there was nothing very dazzling about the tired young people hauling themselves out of the powder-blue carriage. They barely seemed to look at the splendour of Hogwarts, but this time around Hermione recognised that this was because they were cold and exhausted, not due to any sort of snobbery. She wondered what sort of preparation Madame Maxime had put her potential Champions through, and why nothing of the kind had been offered at Hogwarts.

Even though she was seventeen and theoretically the equal of these French students, looking at them made her feel like the same gauche fourth year she had once been. Why had she even imagined that she could compete? Her self-doubt must have shown on her face, because Draco's arm slid around her shoulders, squeezing her gently in an encouraging hug. "No match for you, any of them," he whispered in her ear, raising pleasant tingles in her body that very effectively took her mind off the Triwizard Tournament.

"If you say so," she murmured, watching as the Beauxbatons delegation filed into the Great Hall. Once they were gone, she looked around with narrowed eyes, putting a little distance between herself and Draco for the sake of her sanity. "I wonder how Durmstrang will manage to upstage that arrival."

She already knew what they would do, of course, but when the water of the Black Lake began to seethe and boil, she felt just as awed as she had done the first time she had seen it. The mast of a ship appeared slowly and dramatically, and it seemed that every Hogwarts student was holding his or her breath. Then the ship was before them, floating placidly on the surface of the lake – and the amazed silence was broken by everyone trying to speak at once.

"An underwater pirate ship," Neville said, in a hushed voice. "Yeah, that'll do it."

The feast seemed to pass by in a blur. Hermione barely noticed the food she ate or the speeches she was supposed to be listening to. All she could think of was the Goblet of Fire, now unveiled and safe to talk about, soon to be standing in the Entrance Hall awaiting their entries. She was numb and frozen, dreading approaching the magical artefact, but knowing that she had to. Even if she had never told Draco that she would enter, she probably would have done so anyway, just to assuage her curiosity about how the Goblet worked. It would be necessary to know, especially if the same plot was in play here as had been in her fourth year.

Though, if she was honest with herself, she was more afraid of the judgement of the Goblet of Fire than she was of the possible return of Voldemort. She dug her fork savagely into a small portion of baklava and wondered how a Gryffindor could be such a coward.

"I think it's already dead, Hermione." Draco's voice tickled her ear and made her jump. She turned towards him and tried to scowl, only to find that she couldn't. "Nervous?" he asked now, his smile too warm for her to resent his interference.

She sighed. "Yeah. I mean, I was just thinking... I don't know."

Draco moved one hand to rest gently on her thigh. Hermione nearly dropped her fork. "You know, you don't have to enter if you really don't want to. If the idea scares you then I'd never make you do it, and nor should anyone else." He looked almost indignant, as if he suspected that there were others who were encouraging her to put her name into the Goblet. Which, of course, was true; it was not only Harry, who would never have been so polite or considerate as to say that she didn't have to do what he wanted her to do, but also Professor Snape, Sirius – even her own conscience was against her.

Resolve hardened within her. "I think... I think I have to know," she said, quietly but firmly. Draco nodded and smiled, and she knew that, despite his understanding words, he was pleased by her decision. Was it only because he wanted her to live up to her potential, or was there...? Her mind blanked abruptly as his hand crept a little further up her thigh, not quite indecent but definitely tending that way. She opened her mouth to say something – she wasn't sure what – but when she saw the look in his eyes she just couldn't. It was... a strange shiver ran up her spine, and she wondered when it had become quite so warm in the Great Hall. "I..." Her voice rasped and trembled in her throat. "I had better finish that essay tonight, so I'll put my name in the Goblet before breakfast tomorrow." The words came out too fast. Such a simple touch had flustered her beyond all reason. What was wrong with her?

Draco gave a soft laugh, and the low-pitched sound vibrated through her in a way that was disconcerting but definitely not unpleasant. "You had better finish your dessert before you leave," he said, mildly, trailing his fingers just a fraction higher – Hermione stopped breathing for a moment – before removing his hand and applying himself to the remains of his own dinner.

She tried to glare at him but couldn't quite muster the force for it. "I feel a bit... well, I'm not hungry anymore," she managed to say.

From across the table, Lavender piped up. "Oh, does that mean you're ready to go work on Snape's essay now?"

"Yes. Definitely." She had to go somewhere to regain the composure that had mysteriously deserted her. And that essay did need to be finished.

"Alright, let's go get started on that now, while this lot are still stuffing their faces in here." Lavender swung herself off the bench and began to walk towards the doors. Hermione stood and followed, grateful for the chance to get out of the Hall – but, before she could feel too relieved about her escape, Lavender treated her to a knowing smirk that reminded her of her friend's tendency to gossip. Perhaps it would have been safer to stay, but there was no helping that now. "So, what was Draco saying to get you all stirred up?"

For all her many good qualities, Lavender simply did not understand that some things were none of her business. On the other hand, if she had been stirred up, that was nothing to do with what Draco had been saying. Her cheeks flushed pink, and she felt that strange warmth run through her body at the memory. It wasn't so much that he'd touched her – no, it was how that had made her feel, the... the desires it had awakened. Two weeks ago she would not have believed it possible that she would even think of such things. She had kissed Viktor, of course, and she had wanted to kiss Ron, but she had seldom if ever wanted to do anything more than that. That she now did was something she found both thrilling and terrifying.

It was not until Lavender laughed and said, "So, too juicy for you to want to tell me?" that Hermione remembered the question.

"Oh! No, no... I was thinking of something else." Hopefully her face was not actually about to catch fire. "No, we were just talking about the Goblet of Fire and the Triwizard Tournament, nothing exciting." Or, at least, not exciting in the way that Lavender was insinuating.

"Oh, right." To her credit, Lavender stopped smirking and dropped all suggestion of mockery or teasing from her manner at the introduction of a more serious subject. "So, are you going to enter? Should we wait around for the Goblet to be set up?"

Hermione shook her head. "I want to get my Defence essay finished. I'll put my name in the Goblet before breakfast tomorrow."

"If that's what you want." Lavender reached over and squeezed her arm. "You'll be the best Champion Hogwarts has ever seen, we all know it." Then, before Hermione had time to be touched by this glowing compliment, Lavender drew her closer and murmured, "So, whatever were you thinking that made you go brick red like that?"

"Nothing important," Hermione said, wishing Lavender was capable of taking hints and leaving well enough alone.

"Aw, but Hermione, don't I always tell you all about Seamus and me?" Lavender wasn't pouting, but that was only because she knew that it wasn't a good look for her.

Hermione shook her head. "And do I not always beg you not to tell me those things?" She was a little exasperated, but somehow also found herself trying not to laugh. This was just how Lavender was, and she liked the other girl too much to be offended by her silliness.

"I know, I know." Lavender sighed and tossed her hair back. "Alright, if you're going to be like that, let's go get this essay done." She smiled, and Hermione thought that the drawbacks of her friendship with Lavender were more than compensated for by the advantages. It was still refreshing for her, to find herself so well understood.

"I thought you'd never ask," she said, with a little half-smile, and the two studious Gryffindors made their way towards their Tower, arm in arm as they climbed the many flights of stairs on the way. The common room was silent and still, which came as no surprise to either of them, and Hermione's work was still laid out at their usual table, exactly where she'd left it. She settled into her seat and picked up her quill. There was no way of knowing how long it would be before the rest of the chattering horde descended on the common room, and she intended to make the most of it.

Her furious determination not to think about anything but Defence Against the Dark Arts led to the essay being finished much sooner than she'd expected. Lavender was still bent over her own steadily growing roll of parchment, caught up in the finer points of basic curse detection and removal – so, rather than disturb her, Hermione decided that it was actually the perfect time to go downstairs and put her name into the Goblet of Fire. It was still early enough to walk the halls without getting into trouble, but hopefully late enough that no one else would be there. As long as she was alone, she could take the chance to examine the Goblet in detail, without observation or interference.

She told Lavender where she was going – although her friend was absorbed in her work and probably didn't hear a word she said – and slipped away out of the now noisy and crowded common room. The corridors were peaceful at that time of night, and she was grateful for it; much as she liked being in Gryffindor, there were times when the atmosphere threatened to overwhelm her. And tonight, with the excitement of the Tournament practically buzzing in the air, was definitely one of those times.

The Entrance Hall was cool and quiet. None of the Durmstrang or Beauxbatons students were anywhere to be seen. Even Filch had found somewhere else to be. The Goblet of Fire stood alone in the centre of the Hall, set upon a stool and guarded only by the Age Line. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she swallowed heavily as she approached. Aside from the uncanny blue flames, it was a rather plain object, and it was much smaller than she'd thought it would be. It reminded her of a film she'd seen once, of a very ordinary drinking cup that had, in fact, been the True Holy Grail. Looking at it, Hermione was more than usually conscious of her fear of being judged and found wanting. True, she wouldn't crumble to dust if she failed, but...

She mustered all of her courage and stepped towards the Age Line, her hand reaching inside her robe for parchment and quill.

The door to the Great Hall opened just before she reached the Goblet. Surprised by the sudden movement, Hermione spun around to see who it was, her heart racing with panicked adrenaline as if she'd been caught in the act of breaking a school rule. She didn't want an audience, not for this, but she could think of no polite way to tell the interloper to go away. And then she noticed who it was – a tall, elegant man with a rather sheepish expression on his dark handsome face. She let out a gasp. It was Kingsley Shacklebolt!

Hermione opened her mouth to say something – but then remembered at the last moment that it would probably be a bad idea. She might very well not even know the man in this reality, and she couldn't afford to give herself away so foolishly. "I... I'm sorry. You startled me." Not her best conversation opener, but at least it was something that was safe to say.

Kingsley laughed, a low rumbling sound. "I saw. I should be the one to apologise." He gestured towards the Goblet. "You're entering the Tournament?" Luckily, his conversation seemed hardly any more scintillating than her own.

She smiled. "Yes, I was going to. It's slightly nerve-wracking, though."

"I can imagine." He sighed. "Still, I might trade my bored out of my wits for your nerve-wracking. Accompanying the Minister everywhere definitely has its drawbacks, even if it does sound impressive to be part of his personal security detail." It was not until Kingsley said this that Hermione recalled seeing Minister Fudge at the head table during dinner. Had he attended the feast in her own world? She rather thought not. A strange point of difference, but not one she had any idea how to account for.

"Somehow it doesn't surprise me that following Minister Fudge around might end up being rather boring," she said, and Kingsley made a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a cough.

"Smart girl," was his unmistakeably amused reply. Then: "I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, by the way. I'm an Auror, and now also personal bodyguard to the Minister. It was supposed to be a promotion." He looked dubious.

"Hermione Granger," she replied. "Sixth year Gryffindor." She hesitated, then said, "I... it's silly, I know, but would you mind...?"

"You don't want anyone to watch?" Kingsley was as quick-witted as ever.

"No, not really." She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. "I don't want to be rude, though."

He smiled. "Don't worry about It," he said, good-humouredly. "I'm supposed to be standing guard over the meeting in the back room, anyway. I just wanted a closer look at the Goblet... but I suppose I should at least try to take my job seriously. More seriously than Fudge takes his, at any rate."

Hermione snorted at this. Kingsley had never had a very high opinion of Fudge. "Thank you," she said, softly, to which the big Auror only nodded and disappeared back through the door into the Great Hall.

Once she was sure that he had gone, Hermione walked right up to the Goblet of Fire and looked inside, staring into the dancing blue flames. Cautiously, she waved a hand through the fire, and found that it didn't burn her. It wasn't hot at all. But then, why should it be? It wasn't a natural fire; it was pure magic. How exactly it worked, she couldn't tell. There had been no mention of noting down the name of her school along with her entry, so she had to assume that it would know that, just as it could apparently divine her suitability to compete.

As she peered into the flames, she noticed something: there was a band of Runes engraved just inside the lip of the Goblet. Her heart quickened with excitement. This was something that could shed some light on the inner workings of the artefact! She drew out her quill and parchment, and quickly copied down the symbols, walking around the Goblet several times to ensure that she had them all, and in the correct order. Once she had finished, she put the sketch away inside her robes – and then, almost as an afterthought, she wrote her name on a scrap of parchment and dropped it into the fire.