Author's Notes: And now we come to the First Task! It's a little different to the canon one, mostly because I see little value in retreading what Rowling wrote when I could be writing my own thing. The end of this chapter is probably a little abrupt, but dissecting the clue for the Second Task is best left for another day/chapter, I think.
Work is a nightmare at the moment and Chapter 21 is nowhere near finished; at the moment it looks like I'll keep the two week update schedule until Christmas and then take January off to catch up.
14. On The Wings Of A Dream
The day of the First Task dawned cold but clear, perfect weather for both participants and spectators.
Hermione had slept fairly well, all things considered, but her dreams had been troubling enough that when she woke at a little after half past five she made no attempt to get back to sleep. Instead, she lay in bed, quietly staring up at the red velvet canopy of her four-poster, thinking about the day to come and breathing steadily to keep from panicking. There was no reason to be ill at ease; she was as well-prepared for the Task as anyone could be. She had a well-researched plan – and if that didn't work as expected, she knew exactly what she would do instead. And what she'd do if that backup plan also failed. No one could ever accuse Hermione of doing things by halves.
Still, she couldn't quite shake the memory of watching Harry and the Hungarian Horntail from her mind. This would be difficult and dangerous, and anything could go wrong at any time. No matter how many possibilities she considered, there would always be something she hadn't thought of. And then what would she do? She'd proved time and time again that she just wasn't very good at thinking on her feet; if faced with an event that she hadn't foreseen, she might not be able to deal with it. Why did I ever imagine that I could do this? And why on earth did the Goblet choose my name? It seemed so foolish now, the idea that a bookworm and theoretical genius could compete in such a terrifying test of practical skill.
Still more discouraging was the knowledge that she had only been able to make such elaborate plans because of Harry's act of kindness. A little over a week before, during a lesson changeover, he had pulled her aside in a crowded corridor to tell her the secret of the First Task. It was exactly what he'd done in another life for Cedric, and she took heart in the fact that, Slytherin or not, Harry was still a decent person with a sense of fair play – though she was more than a little annoyed that she had no idea how he'd come by the information. She knew that the disguised Barty Crouch must have been involved somehow, but in the absence of details Hermione was no closer to figuring out who he was masquerading as. It ought to be Professor Slughorn, but she couldn't be sure about that just yet.
The information Harry had given her hadn't been exactly what she'd expected, which had caught her off guard, though it probably shouldn't have. So much else was different about this world, so why should she be surprised by an altered Task? She wasn't entirely sure if the change would prove to be a good thing; while very deadly, a dragon was a predictable creature. Her adversary for this Task – another legendary beast known for guarding treasure hoards – was more intelligent and thus more difficult to trick or confuse. And... while she didn't know the exact nature of the Task, it seemed likely that just getting to the creature's hoard would be part of the challenge. Hermione thanked her lucky stars that she wasn't scared of heights.
Even so, it would be more a test of her raw nerve than of her intellect. Hermione intended to show everyone exactly why she had been Sorted into Gryffindor. She had her plan, along with several new spells that she'd learned when she'd decided they might be useful, but in the end it was all going to come down to audacity and courage. These were two of her greatest strengths, so she ought not to have any problem with the Task at all. Ought not. But, as her long friendship with her own Harry had taught her, nothing was ever that simple. There was always a chance that something could go wrong.
Hermione cursed under her breath and rolled out of bed. She couldn't allow such thoughts to take root in her mind; that would be the opposite of helpful. The only foolproof way to stop them was to find something to do – and so she found herself once more sneaking down into the dark and silent Gryffindor common room. The fire and lamps flared up as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the magic of Hogwarts warming and comforting her, and she made her way over to her favourite armchair to read. She'd done more than her fair share of preparation already, but perhaps reading the relevant chapters in Smith's Bestiary one last time would be worth it.
It had to be better than worrying herself sick, at any rate.
When Lavender came down nearly an hour later, she didn't say anything about Hermione's last-minute studying frenzy. Instead, she gently but insistently removed the book from her friend's hands, and cheerfully forced her to go downstairs and eat breakfast. Hermione knew that Lavender was in the right, and she supposed that she ought to be grateful. Her mother had always sworn by a "proper breakfast" before particularly stressful days, which this certainly would be. And the last thing she wanted was to pass out from low blood sugar during the Task itself.
Still, everything tasted like sawdust, and it took her a ridiculous amount of effort to chew and swallow the food. Her throat felt tight and her stomach twisted unpleasantly as she tried to eat. She didn't remember ever feeling quite so nervous before. It was awful. How was she ever going to put her plans in action when her stomach was sick, her limbs were trembling and her thoughts were blurred and fragmented?
She felt a hand on her arm and flinched. "Relax, Hermione." Lavender's voice was soft and soothing. "You're going to be fine. You'll be the greatest Champion that Hogwarts could hope for no matter how the Task goes, remember that." The hand squeezed her arm reassuringly. "You wouldn't have been chosen if you couldn't do it."
"I know that," Hermione said, feeling slightly embarrassed as her voice cracked. "It's just..."
"It's okay," said Lavender, brightly. "You just needed reminding."
"I..." Hermione looked up at her friend and couldn't help but return the smile. "Yeah, I suppose I did. Thanks, Lavender."
"Any time," she said, taking her hand back and picking up her abandoned knife. "Now, try to eat at least a little bit more."
Hermione gave a heaving, long-suffering sigh and did as she was told, finding that the knot in her stomach seemed to have lessened slightly. Perhaps she could do this after all.
But all too soon breakfast was over, and she and the other Champions were taken away to a special waiting room, and then to a gaudy coloured tent so that they could wait some more. None of the others seemed to be brimming with confidence either, which went a long way towards making Hermione feel better.
Even Nadya was nervous, pacing back and forth restlessly, not even sparing a glance for any of the rest of them. Harry was staring into space, his eyes glazed, and Hermione knew that he was running over his plan in his head. Etienne bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to pass off his fear as excitement, but a twitching nerve in his jaw gave him away. Hermione hadn't known how obvious her own agitation was until she realised that she'd torn a handkerchief to shreds without even noticing. She blushed and quickly Vanished the evidence.
The tension was unbearable. Surely if something didn't happen soon, one of them would start screaming.
Then, just as she thought that she couldn't take one more minute of suspense, the tent flapped open and the Minister appeared, flanked by Kingsley and Ludo Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Hermione had never before been quite so pleased to see a pair of dishonest politicians.
"These are the Champions?" Bagman asked, his hearty voice making the question sound a little less astoundingly stupid than it might otherwise have done. "A fine crop of young people, wouldn't you agree, Cornelius?" He slapped Fudge on the back, nearly knocking the Minister to the ground. Fudge gave him a vicious glare. Kingsley seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh, though when he saw Harry and Hermione looking in his direction, he spared them both a friendly nod.
"Indeed, Ludo." Fudge's tone made the polite agreement sound more like a string of curses. "Now, we are here to reveal the First Task to you." All four Champions looked amused, sheepish or some combination of the two; evidently they all already knew. "And – Ludo, please, the bag – to allow you to choose your fate." He produced a small bag from behind his back and held it out to the nearest Champion, which turned out to be Harry. "Ah, Mr. Potter. Our... surprise entry. Put your hand in the bag and draw out one counter, if you please."
Harry reached into the bag very gingerly, as if he believed it might bite him. When he pulled it out again it was clenched into a fist around something small – the counter? Harry opened his hand to reveal a figurine of a fierce and proud creature, its wings spread, beak and claws poised to strike, haunches coiled in readiness under its weight. It was a black griffin, and there was a white cloth marked with the number 2 wrapped around it.
"So you will face the black griffin and will go second in the running order," Fudge said, stating the obvious with what he seemed to believe was style and flair. Hermione looked at the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons Champions again. No, they weren't at all surprised by any of this. But then, neither was she. Or Harry. Though that was no thanks to the Hogwarts teachers.
When it was Hermione's turn, she pulled out a white griffin with the number 4 on it. So she was to be the last, and would be confronted with the type of griffin that was reputed to be the proudest – as the black ones were the fiercest, the red ones had the sharpest talons and claws, and the yellow ones were by far the strongest. A proud griffin could work for or against her plan, but she thought it was most likely to be a good thing. She could only hope that she was right about that.
Griffins. Smith's Bestiary contained a wealth of information about the habits and powers of the griffin. They hoarded treasure and guarded it fiercely, just as dragons did, but owing to their pride and intelligence were far more difficult to tame for use as guard animals. There were dragons that protected high-security vaults in Gringott's, but even the goblins didn't have any griffins. She remembered what Harry had said about the creatures: Beautiful but deadly. Far more dangerous than a hippogriff, but just as proud. Yes, dragons would be a more impressive spectacle, but perhaps a griffin would make for a better test.
Hermione smiled. She knew what she was doing. This was just another practical exam to pass.
"Now that you have your griffins, I can outline the aim of the Task," Fudge announced, breaking through Hermione's thoughts. She looked around, noticing that Etienne had taken the yellow griffin marked with a 1, while Nadya had a red one with the number 3. "In the testing area, you will find a griffin's nest – an eyrie. As is the habit of the griffin, it is at the top of a high cliff that we have set up for the purpose. Your Task is to reach the eyrie and collect the golden egg, without being incapacitated by the mother griffin." He smiled a little nervously. "I am sure you will all perform admirably. The best of luck to you all."
"Now, Cornelius," said Bagman, beaming at the Champions. "I don't suppose this lot need any luck!"
Fudge sighed, apparently annoyed to have met someone with even less sense than himself. "Come, Ludo," he said, holding back the tent flap. "Leave the Champions to contemplate their Task."
Once the three men had left, the four Champions stood looking at one another in awkward silence, until Harry broke through the tension by saying, "So, does anyone feel in need of luck to deal with their griffin?"
Nadya laughed. "Luck is for those who have not the skill to win any other way," she declared, her eyes flashing brilliantly with the light of challenge and bravado.
"We have a saying, in the dungeons," Harry said, with a slight smile. "'Slytherins make their own luck'. So I suppose Nadya and I will leave the Minister's good luck wishes to the two of you." He bowed mockingly to Hermione and Etienne.
"There's an element of luck to even the best-laid plans," Hermione replied, smartly. "I'll take whatever help I can get." She smirked at Harry, who rolled his eyes but then laughed. "This is ridiculous."
"Better to say ridiculous things than to talk of – "
Etienne was interrupted by an anonymous aide poking his head around the tent flap and calling: "First Champion!"
"Ah," the French boy said, his voice shaking only a little. "Yes. It is this that I meant. The Task. It is my turn. But fear not; I shall go bravely to Madame Guillotine." His mouth set in a grim line, rather spoiling what he had meant to be a joke.
"Overdramatic, isn't he?" Harry said, after Etienne had swept out of the tent to meet his fate. Neither of the girls replied.
If they had thought that the tension in the waiting tent was unbearable before, that was nothing to how it felt after Etienne's departure. It was so quiet that, had her fellow Champions not remained upright and conscious, she would have wondered whether they had stopped breathing. All three of them were still and silent, straining their ears for the slightest hint of what was going on outside between Etienne and the yellow griffin. But there was nothing. Not a murmur. No sound at all.
"Silencing charms on the tent fabric," Hermione said, flinching at how loud her voice sounded as it echoed in the dead silence.
"You have the right of it, no doubt," Nadya said, kindly, and Hermione no longer felt quite so awkward.
It was worse for both of them when Harry was called. Alternate universes and other complications aside, Hermione still thought of Harry as one of her best friends. It was awful to know that he was facing a fearsome magical creature on the other side of that thin canvas wall, where she could neither see nor hear him. At least last time she had been able to sit in the stands and watch him. And as for Nadya... the Durmstrang Champion was pacing again, her face white and strained, her emotional turmoil obvious. Did Harry have any idea how she felt? Hermione wasn't sure.
Nadya's summons came as a shock to both of them, shattering their intense focus on the absolutely nothing they could hear from the outside. Before the other witch left, Hermione called out, "Nadya!" And, when she stopped and half-turned back, added, "Good luck."
Nadya snorted, but the smile that followed looked genuine. "Thank you," she said. "You too."
And then she was gone. Hermione was alone.
Time seemed to pass even more slowly, if such a thing was possible. Hermione hadn't realised quite how comforting the mere presence of another person had been, even without exchanging a single word. Now, alone in that tent with no way to see or hear anything from outside, she felt as if she were the only person in the world. There was nothing but the grass beneath her feet, the soundproofed canvas, and the stale silent air around her. No entertainment and no distractions but her own thoughts and worries.
It was a blessed relief when the aide called for the "Final Champion".
Hermione stepped out of the tent, and was immediately hit by a wall of sound and frigid autumn air. The stands were packed with spectators who cheered enthusiastically for the Hogwarts Champion, and over this din Hermione could just about hear some official announcement, though she couldn't make out the actual words. This was her moment, and as she strode down to the judges' table, wand in hand and robes billowing in the wind, she felt a weight lift from her mind. The waiting was over. There was no point in worrying any longer. All she could do now was follow the plan she had devised and hope that it worked as it should.
The familiar rush of exam day adrenaline buoyed up her spirits as she made her bow to the judges and turned to face her challenge. A near vertical cliff rose out of the ground not far away, perhaps thirty feet long and seventy feet high. At the top would be the griffin's eyrie, the golden egg... and a doubtless angry and territorial white griffin. Acquiring the golden egg would be a difficult and dangerous feat in itself – but first she had to get there. Looking up as she stood at the foot of the cliff, she wondered if Harry had tackled this obstacle with the help of a broom.
Not that that was an option for her. Instead, she cast an Incarcerous spell on a pebble and tied the resulting loose rope around her waist before levitating one end and tying it around the most solid thing she could find at the top. Then, with a dramatic flourish of her wand, she set about Transfiguring the surface of the rock face into a stone ladder. She heard a gasp from the crowd, probably the Ravenclaw section; it was a complicated and very draining piece of magic. There were more economical ways to have the same effect, but Hermione was well aware that this was a contest. Being efficient and effective wasn't enough; she would need to be impressive if she wanted to win.
She had to admit that it was just as well that her plan didn't involve casting any particularly difficult spells at or on the griffin, though.
After a quick semi-circular wand motion to ensure that her rope always had a safe amount of slack, Hermione pocketed the wand and began to climb the ladder. This would be the hardest part of the Task, physically speaking. A seventy foot ladder was no joke. She kept moving upwards doggedly, in spite of the strain on her muscles and the conviction that she must look ridiculous to her audience. Hand up, foot up, hand up, foot up – over and over until her limbs were shaking with exertion and her breathing was heavy and laboured. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps there was a charm that would allow her to walk on the cliff wall as though it were the ground, and perhaps that would have been a better choice.
But it was much too late for such thoughts to do any good, and soon enough she was dragging herself over the top of the ladder and onto the sparse turf that surrounded the eyrie. She had just enough time to note that her rope had tied itself around a small tree – this was a very realistic fake cliff top – before she heard an ear-splitting screech, and turned to face the griffin.
It was angry – no, enraged – by her presence, she could see that easily enough. Pristine white feathers bristled as the griffin's cruelly sharp eagle beak snapped in her direction. The haunches of a pure white lion bunched under the creature, betraying its intent to pounce. Hermione's throat was dry and tight with fear, and she was sure that she was visibly shaking. She managed to move away from the edge of the cliff without drawing the griffin to attack, but she knew that she would never get close enough to get the golden egg without somehow subduing the viciously protective mother.
She drew her wand for just long enough to sever the rope around her waist, then stowed it away again. If all went according to plan, she wouldn't need to use it. Slowly, very slowly, she took a measured step towards the nest.
The griffin spread its wings, screeched out a challenge, and charged.
Hermione's heart was racing. She could hear it echoing in her ears, feel it trying to escape her chest. Every instinct in her body told her to flee, or else to fight – but her intellect overruled them. Instead, conscious of how close the griffin was, and how deadly its beak and claws were, she opened her arms wide and bowed deeply and respectfully towards the proud creature. She could hear it rushing nearer, could imagine the agony of talons closing in her flesh, but Hermione held her ground.
The moment passed when the griffin would have skewered her, and she was just beginning to breathe a sigh of relief when she felt something hard rest against her head. A faint sound told her that it had to be the griffin's beak. The creature was investigating her. Still suppressing the urge to run, Hermione remained perfectly still until the pressure of the beak was removed. Then, and only then, did she straighten up and look the beast in the eye.
"I don't mean you any harm," she said, loudly and clearly, maintaining steady eye contact with the griffin. The creature stared back at her, its head cocked slightly to one side, its sharp black eyes boring into hers. Hermione stood very still and tried not to blink or fidget. She couldn't risk doing anything that the griffin might see as disrespectful while it was still in the process of evaluating her. "I promise I won't hurt you – or any of your young," she added, a little desperately, thinking that the mother was probably more afraid for her eggs than for herself.
After an agonisingly long wait, the large white eagle's head dropped in a slight bow, and the great beast took two steps back to give her space. Hermione let out a deep sigh of relief that her gamble had paid off. Like hippogriffs, griffins could understand human speech – not the words, but the meaning behind them. Buckbeak hadn't known exactly what Malfoy had said about him, but he'd known well enough that it was an insult. And griffins were still more powerful in this respect: a griffin didn't just understand a human's words, but could tell whether or not they were truthful. The white griffin had detected that Hermione was honest in her intention to cause no harm, and so it had decided to back down.
Now for the most difficult part. "I need to approach the eyrie." The beady eyes were fixed on her once more, and Hermione felt a shiver pass down her spine. "There is an egg in your nest that does not belong there. That's the one I want to take. I won't take or damage any of your eggs." She held her breath and waited while the griffin continued to look at her, knowing that it was weighing her words and judging the truth of them. She knew when it had made its decision; the piercing eyes blinked, and then the griffin backed away, allowing Hermione access to the nest.
The crowd was well below her, but she imagined that she could hear the rumbling sound of several hundred stunned murmurs echoing through the stands. Hermione smiled a little, though her nerves had not subsided completely, stepped forward towards the eyrie and looked inside. The griffin eggs that rested there were large and white, shimmering in the light of the November sun. They were coated in a glittery substance that had led fanciful wizards in times gone by to believe that they shone with the pure essence of magic. The theft of eggs to extract this supposed power had once been widespread and, while it was now illegal, the griffins still remembered. No wonder the mothers defended their nests with all the strength and fury they could muster.
Compared with the true eggs, the golden egg seemed cheap and gaudy. But that was what Hermione had come for, and so she picked it up and cradled it against her chest, stepping away from the nest as soon as she could. The griffin had been very patient and generous so far, but it was better not to stretch the point. As she passed, she held out the false egg for the griffin to inspect, then bowed and said, "Thank you." The creature bowed in return, before turning away and returning to the eyrie, ignoring Hermione's continued presence on the cliff top.
Shaking her head, she decided to apply herself to getting back down. She knotted the conjured rope back around her waist, cast a couple of safety spells, and walked backwards off the edge of the cliff. That gasp was definitely real and not a figment of her imagination, but this time Hermione was in no danger. Muggles abseiled all the time, and without any of the protective charms she'd just used. Honestly, how did this crowd expect her to get down? She had no intention of climbing back down the ladder. Once had been enough.
And then she was at the bottom, safely on the ground again. Hermione Vanished the rope and walked towards the table of judges, her eyes glowing with triumph as she clutched the golden egg.
The applause was deafening.
As she drew closer to the judging panel, the elation began to fade, and Hermione grew more and more self-conscious under the eyes of the entire school. By the time she stood in front of the table, she had to fight the urge to hide her face. She'd always wanted to be recognised for her skills and knowledge – but now that she had that recognition, she found it all rather overwhelming. Much as she usually despised the man, it came as a great relief to her when Minister Fudge silenced the crowd and began to speak.
"And now, after that very interesting method of dealing with her griffin, the judges are to present their scores for the Hogwarts Champion, Miss Hermione Granger!" Hermione held her breath. She already knew that her approach would not have impressed a sportsman like Bagman, but what of the others? It had seemed like a foolproof plan, but did that make it too dull to score highly, even though neither she nor the griffin had been harmed?
And there was Barty Crouch Snr., fulfilling the same role as a judge for the Tournament despite the presence of the Minister. He raised his wand, thought for a moment, and then shot a large 9 into the air. Of course; Crouch favoured intelligence and efficiency. Madame Maxime went next, awarding Hermione another 9, accompanied by an indulgent smile. Perhaps that was her love of magical creatures showing. Then Bagman, whose score was a 7, which seemed harsh and unpleasant to her despite not being all that surprising. Dumbledore's score was a third 9, and an insufferably smug-looking Karkaroff finished the scoring with an 8 and a triumphant smirk.
"The total for Hogwarts is 42!" Fudge announced, beaming as though the points had been awarded to him. Riotous applause once more shook the stands, and Hermione saw Kingsley Shacklebolt give her a little nod of approval. "And now that all of the scores have been awarded, all four Champions must approach the judges, as there is an important announcement to be made about the Second Task!"
Hermione was happy to see that no lasting harm had come to any of her competitors – and happy to have someone to share the limelight with. Though it was a little awkward when, apparently caring nothing for the opinions of the many onlookers, Harry grasped her forearms and growled, "Were you trying to give me a heart attack, woman?" Then he pulled her into a brief yet bone-crushing hug before taking his place in the lineup of Champions. Nadya, having observed this, raised an eyebrow at her, but Hermione only shrugged and looked away, feeling a little exasperated. Honestly, couldn't a boy and a girl be friends without everyone suspecting that there was something more?
Then Fudge was speaking again. "After the First Task, the rankings stand thus: in first place, with forty-four points, Nadya Zinchenko of Durmstrang!" No wonder Karkaroff had looked so pleased with himself. "In second place, with forty-two points, Hermione Granger of Hogwarts!" Hermione smiled and bowed, and tried to tell herself that she wasn't disappointed by the result. "In third place, with forty-one points, Harry Potter – also of Hogwarts!" Harry slung his arm around Hermione's shoulders and waved up at the crowd in a show of smiling solidarity, which the spectators seemed to appreciate.
"And finally, in fourth place, with thirty-nine points, Etienne Lefèvre of Beauxbatons!" Etienne gave what Hermione had always thought of as a Gallic shrug – and found it amusing to see from an actual Frenchman – and adopted a philosophical air about his defeat. He seemed to be favouring one leg; perhaps that explained the comparatively lower score.
Once the applause and cheering had died away, Fudge spoke again. "Now for the announcement about the Second Task. The egg that you each retrieved from the nest of your griffin contains a clue that, if correctly solved, will inform you of the nature of your next Task. You have until 25th February to solve the clue and make ready for the challenge. I wish you all the best of luck with your preparations."
Hermione had suspected that this would be the case from the moment that she'd heard about the golden egg, but she wasn't all that sure about the clue itself. The First Task had been different, so who knew what the Second would be? It was unlikely to be the same at all – but even so, she was very careful when opening the egg. In the previous Tournament Harry's had been ear-splittingly loud and discordant, and she wanted to be ready to snap this one shut immediately if it showed any signs of similar caterwauling.
It did not.
Hermione let out a breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding as she looked into the egg at the innocuous – and silent – clue. A small piece of gilt-edged card sat in the centre, daring her to pick it up and discover what the future held.
And so, after a suitably dramatic pause, she did.