Things were coming along nicely so far. Harry and Hermione had just finished their visit to Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop and were now walking towards Honeydukes, although Hermione had longed to visit Madam Puddifoot's teashop instead.

"It's too stuffy and full of kissing," Harry said as they walked down the High Street, "not that I've actually been in there before."

"Well, if I have to suffer a long queue at the sweetshop, then we're going to have a nice little talk later on."

They joined the growing line of students outside Honeydukes, and it must've been around half an hour later when Harry and Hermione finally entered the sweetshop. You couldn't move a metre without bumping into someone in here, as everyone was pushing one another to get as close to the emptying shelves as possible.

"Make vay, please," Harry heard Krum say somewhere in the store. "Ve vant to get to those sweets over there."

Sally-Anne was at his side, although she was taking a slightly different approach to getting through the crowd. "Out of my way before I deck you."

"Your champion sucks," some older girl said in response, "and I'm not talking about Viktor Krum over there."

Nothing else happened as Harry and Hermione squeezed their way around the store. They ended up purchasing two large bags' worth of biscuits, chocolates, fudges, and sweets — enough to last them a good three weeks or so.

"Where to next?" Harry asked once they stood outside, and then he saw Hermione smile. "Oh no ..."

Madam Puddifoot's was a cosy little teashop located up a side road off the High Street. And although Harry had never been in here before, the place looked exactly as he'd have thought on Valentine's Day. It was cramped, steamy, and filled with frilly decorations to emphasise the clearly romantic atmosphere all around.

"What are the odds of finding us a table away from any kissing neighbours?" Harry asked as he glanced around the packed teashop. "Urgh, look at Roger Davies going at it with that chick. Guess he's done trying to reel in Fleur."

Hermione, on the other hand, was simply delighted to be part of today's atmosphere. "Oh, stop being such a sour grape, Harry. Let's grab a seat!"

They ended up choosing a corner table near the windows, where a few older students were sitting nearby. Nobody cared much for their neighbours' conversations, though, despite the barely two-foot gap between each table.

"What can I get for you, m'dears?" Madam Puddifoot asked, once Harry and Hermione had settled into their spot. Puddifoot was a black-haired, stout woman who had to squeeze her way between the tables as she walked. She had a notebook in hand, which was used to keep track of the orders coming her way today.

Harry shot Hermione a glance, and she instinctively took the lead by ordering them a few slices of cake as well as one cup of tea each. With that taken care of, Hermione sat back and relaxed — which Harry copied.

"So, um, what did you say about having a 'nice little chat later on'?" Harry asked. He preferred to strike up some sort of conversation instead of having to pay attention to all the kissing happening around him. Why was he getting a slight headache when surrounded by this much romance?

"Do you remember when Fleur and I were discussing house-elves, at the ball?" Hermione asked, and Harry nodded. "Well, she never got back to me on that topic."

No surprises there. Harry could see where this was going, but it was at least better than listening to the constant slurping going on all around them. "Oh, yeah, you said something about it still being slavery?"

"That's right, and it is indeed slavery. Can you imagine how hard those poor, enslaved elves had to work that night? It must've been a nightmare down in the kitchens."

"Or a dream come true," Harry said. "Listen, everyone's gonna tell you the exact same thing: house-elves enjoy being subservient. They're born to take care of us and do their jobs, as we'd expect."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Wow, Harry, with words like that, you might as well have joined the CSA over a century ago. They'd've loved your pro-slavery attitude."

"The what?"

"Never mind. There must be some part of you that sees the house-elf situation as wrong, right? I mean, how can you justify any form of slavery in today's age?"

Seconds later, Madam Puddifoot returned with Harry's and Hermione's orders, which she placed on their table before turning around and heading for the one nearest the door, where Millicent and Marcus had just taken their seats. Hermione, meanwhile, kept her eyes fixed on Harry while glaring at him.

"Like what you see?"

"Don't change the subject. I'm surprised that someone like you, who spent their whole childhood being wronged, can't bring themselves to empathise with house-elves' plight."

"What plight? You're forcing your own ideals on them," Harry said, and he sat back and crossed his arms. "That's where your logic fails."

Hermione snorted. "That's rich coming from someone who once needed me to solve a simple potions-riddle, and who fled from a straightforward Arithmancy-puzzle."

There was a moment of silence until Harry spoke. "And it's quite rich for you to take the high ground on house-elves when you barely know anything about them."

"And what do you know about them?"

"Let's see ... Slytherin has the highest number of students who have house-elves at home, and we also get the elves to fetch our mail from the Owlery, or wherever. They enjoy being subservient without question."

"And what about Dobby?" Hermione pulled her chair closer to the table and started on her cake. "Have you ever considered that, perhaps, house-elves in general have been enslaved for so long that they're suffering from Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Huh?"

"It's like hostages who side with their captors. They see them as being kind and essential to their survival," said Hermione, which was quickly shot down by Harry. The latter then followed up by inquiring as to how many house-elves Hermione had actually seen in person, to which she responded with: "Um, not much."

"Not at all, you mean."

"And how many elves have you seen? Even Puddifoot doesn't use them, and look how busy she is today!"

"Who's to say they aren't in her kitchen? A lot of them prefer to work without being noticed." By now, Harry was struggling to ignore the passionate surroundings of the teashop. Wish we didn't have to notice all this smooching, though.

They argued their points for another ten minutes before Harry's headache grew worse. There was no point in pretending to enjoy that place any longer, and he therefore stood up and led the way out of Puddifoot's, towards the Three Broomsticks. So what if the latter was filled to capacity today? Harry would much rather be in a crowded tavern than in some stuffy, pretentious little teashop — although he noticed the slight look of disappointment on Hermione's face.

"Sorry about leaving so soon," Harry said, as they chose a table at the back of the tavern, "but my head wasn't feeling too good in there."

"Then sit down if you're feeling sick. I'll deal with Madam Rosmerta."

Unwilling to turn down Hermione's favour, Harry sat down and allowed himself to be served on. The food was great and the atmosphere was — thankfully — less mushy than in the teashop, and so Harry finally eased up and enjoyed the company of his date. It was probably over an hour later when they got up, stretched out, and left the tavern in the early afternoon — with Harry offering to carry their Honeydukes bags.

"Feeling any better?" Hermione asked as they stepped out into the cold. "From having lunch, I mean."

Harry tried explaining that his earlier discomfort wasn't due to anything he'd eaten, or anything at all — except for the overly romantic atmosphere of that damn teashop. "Maybe I'm insane in the brain after all."

"That's not funny."

By now, the wind and rain had both picked up, and Harry decided it was best to return to the castle, which they did under a torrential downpour. The near freezing droplets were hammering Hermione's umbrella, and so she closed it and cast a Shield Charm instead.

"Not bad, but mine's better," Harry said while looking at the transparent barrier blocking the rain. You could only see the Shield Charm properly while something was being impeded by it. "Tell you what, how about you keep us shielded, and I'll keep us warm, OK?"

"That'd be lovely."

At this, Harry drew his wand and began casting a Hot-Air Charm, which he kept going on them both — like a hairdryer. It made their journey far more pleasant up the slopes, although Harry wasn't sure whether the tiny hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end from the heat or from walking so close to Hermione.

"I've been thinking about something over these past few days," Hermione said when they entered the castle. "What if Sirius was right to suspect Merula Snyde? I don't care how dedicated she is to seeing Hogwarts claim the Triwizard Cup; it's just not normal for her to still be here, helping you out like that."

"I like Merula, OK?"

Hermione gave a sardonic smile; the type where one slightly narrows their eyes. "Could you just, for a moment, try thinking with your upstairs instead of downstairs? Something feels off about that girl, Harry."

"What girl?" a familiar voice asked from the Great Hall's doors, to Harry and Hermione's right. "Who you lovebirds gossiping about?"

"Er, maybe you?" Harry said. He couldn't believe how close Alyssa had come to overhearing their conversation regarding Merula Snyde, who was supposed to be their secret. Shit, why didn't I pick someone else instead?

The expression on Alyssa's face showed only mild offence. She crossed her arms and shook her head very slowly. "Honestly, Harry, I thought you knew better than to backbite like a little firstie."

"Consider it payback for telling me that I stink, then," Harry said, and Alyssa couldn't help but smile.

"But you do."

"No, he doesn't!" Hermione said, scowling at the older girl. "At least Harry's the sole champion of his school — unlike you, second option."

It was amazing how much tolerance Alyssa had towards the one insult she'd heard almost every week thus far, ever since the champion selection. She just kept smiling and was about to respond when a tall, snobbish-looking Slytherin, whom Harry recognised as Hayden Rowle (a sixth-year), exited the Great Hall.

"For your information, filthy Mudblood, a lot of us don't want Potter as our champion. Slytherin or not —"

Alyssa immediately threatened to curse Rowle, causing him to back off and retreat to the dungeons. "Some things never change," Alyssa said, sighing. "Just ignore it."

Hermione said nothing, and neither did Harry.

"Anyway," said Alyssa, "if I were you, I'd end my date on a high. Go upstairs and maybe break into the prefects' bathroom, or something." And with that, Alyssa exited the castle while giving that same, sneaky grin as when she first told Harry that he stank.

"Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood!" Hermione said, throwing up her arms and groaning once the Hall was empty. "It's always about the blood! Oh, look at me, I'm a Mudblood!"

Harry was about to respond when someone ran up the dungeon staircase and shoved him against the marble one, beside it. "What the —"

"My thoughts exactly!" said none other than Professor Snape, who was glancing from Harry to Hermione and back. "Care to explain this lunacy, Potter? I wasn't aware that your idiocy could spread at such an alarming rate."

"Hey, Harry!" Hermione said while standing in the centre of the Hall. "Did you know that I am a Mud — Oh ..." She caught sight of Snape and went red from embarrassment. "Um, er, a mudpuppy in terms of my Patronus, Professor."

"Really?" Snape said, looking as if he'd sooner award some house-points to a Gryffindor. "And mine's a stag. Now, Miss Granger, I don't know what caused your moment of insanity, and neither do I care, but you'd best cease this foolishness at once! Is that clear?"

Hermione nodded. "Y-yes, Professor."

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor as well as de — What is it, Potter?" That was when Harry told of the earlier incident with Rowle, to which Snape narrowed his eyes. "Fine, consider yourself spared from detention, then, Granger."

Once Snape had returned to the dungeons, Harry looked at Hermione and blinked. "What the devil was all that about? Are you crazy?"

"We're a perfect match, yes. Now let's go upstairs and split the sweets."

Harry shot Hermione a worried glance every so often as they walked. That earlier outburst sure as hell came out of nowhere. "Maybe you should lay down a bit and get some rest."

"Why? Because I flipped out after hearing my third blood-related insult of the week? Oh, if only I can make prefect next year ..."

Was she fishing for compliments or genuinely uncertain? Harry couldn't quite tell. "Of course you're gonna make prefect; that's signed and sealed already."

"What?" Hermione widened her eyes and gasped in delight. "Did you ... did you see that in Professor Dumbledore's office, perhaps? Is my name on an envelope, or something?"

The fact that Hermione was looking at him like a giddy little schoolgirl made Harry chuckle. "Don't be silly; I haven't been in there since, er, when last? Everyone knows you're guaranteed to make prefect, Hermione —"

"Based on what, exactly?"

"Based on how amazing you are," Harry said, and then he cringed a bit on the inside. Was that a bit too cheesy? Well, at least Hermione looked pleased at the compliment. "It's true. You're gonna look great with that 'P' on your chest." All right, don't overdo it, mate.

"And I'm dead-certain you'll make prefect too, Harry. There's no better option."

They spent the rest of their afternoon cosied up in an empty classroom on the fifth floor, where they organised a makeshift campfire. It was quite an easy arrangement, seeing as conjuring portable, waterproof fires was a speciality of Hermione's.

"So," Harry said while sitting before the bluebell flames, which were burning atop the bare, stone ground without spreading an inch further. It gave the dimly lit classroom a relaxing shade of blue in the dying hours of the afternoon. "Do you really think I can beat the likes of Malfoy and Nott to the badge, even though they're both doing Arithmancy?"

"There's still time to change, if you're that insecure," Hermione said, shifting to sit right beside Harry against the wall. "And I'll personally tutor you," — the corners of her mouth twitched — "champ."

"Tutor me in what, exactly?"

It was getting tougher and tougher to maintain casual conversation without lowering one's voice in this dark-bluish room. In all likelihood, Hermione knew exactly what she'd done by giving it this soothing hue. "Calculations, patterns, synergies, etc."

"Sounds terrible," Harry said, or rather, almost whispered. How they went from casual talk to having Hermione lean on his shoulder was anyone's guess, but Harry sure as hell wasn't about to complain. He could smell the Potters' patented wealth on Hermione's hair, and he could feel the heat of her skin by how close they were.

"Arithmancy's not terrible at all," Hermione whispered. "It's wonderful, really. Far better than suffering in Trelawney's classroom. Come on, we both know you're better than that, Harry."

"I'm not as good as you," said Harry, knowing full well that he was better than Hermione at quite a few things.

It was getting hotter by the moment in this old classroom, and Hermione — who was leaning against Harry's left shoulder — now moved to run her fingers up the back of Harry's neck. Well, Harry made a mental note to tell Sirius that the latter was right. Witches sure loved playing with a Potter's hair.

"Nope, not gonna lure me over to your class like this."

"And what kind of a girl do you think I am?" Hermione whispered in response.

"The kind I wouldn't mind sharing a kiss with."

For a moment, Hermione looked surprised, and then she went a brilliant shade of magenta while fidgeting with her fingers. "Oh, um, well ... I don't have any experience in that department."

"Neither do I," said Harry.

The next few seconds passed by in a blur, and Harry was relieved to find that Hermione was every bit as inexperienced at kissing as he was. They were about to go for round two when the sound of crashing metal, as well as a familiar cackle, could be heard in the corridor outside — causing Hermione to jump backwards in shock. "Wh-what was that?"

"Peeves!" Harry whispered. "That stupid cockblocker!"

Hermione was struggling to contain her laughter while rearranging the classroom. "And where in the world did you learn that terminology from?"

"Let's move before he finds us and stirs up shit with the whole school!"

They scrambled to bring the classroom back to its old, disorganised state before hiding beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak. And what a stroke of luck that was, seeing as Peeves came shooting through the wall just minutes later. He had no idea that the room was currently occupied, and so he upended a few desks (for no apparent reason) before going on his way down the corridor.

"Close call, huh?" Harry said, although Hermione was breathing at a slightly faster pace than usual, while standing right behind Harry beneath the Cloak.

"'Thrilling' is more like it."

The temptation to kiss Hermione over and over burned like a Horntail's fire within Harry, and so — once they reached the seventh floor — he couldn't help but go at it again. Their second was even better than their first, and it was only after several long moments — or possibly days — that they finally broke apart.

"Try not to play with yourself too much tonight," Hermione said while having her arms wrapped around Harry. "Wouldn't want you missing out on sleep and looking like a zombie tomorrow."

That night, Harry saw no point in keeping things secret from his roommates, and so he proceeded to tell them all about his near perfect Sunday. In response, Daphne and Pansy were almost rolling on their beds from laughter (at Harry having actually kissed Hermione), Tracey and Millicent applauded Harry on his bravery, Sally-Anne told him that this was just the start of 'many good things to come', and Merula was quick to dispense some adult advice right then and there.

"Better read up on some of the more 'specialised' spells, then," she said while lounging on her own bed in the room. "Never know what might happen in the heat of the moment again."

All Harry could then do was just sit there and listen to his roommates predict where he'd end up having fun with Hermione for the first time. There were some real colourful ones, such as the library (because, well, Hermione), the Forbidden Forest (for 'forbidden fun', as Merula so eloquently put it), the Divination classroom, Filch's office (with all of its questionable devices), as well as the staffroom itself. Then, after all was said and laughed at, the group of seven finally tucked themselves in for the night.


Even though the third task was looming on the horizon, Harry was still as clueless as ever about his egg. He and his usual group had perused numerous books on anything to do with suffering (seeing as the egg just kept on screeching) but found nothing of significance. For all any of them knew, Harry could be hit with a legalised Cruciatus Curse, or something.

"Don't be ridiculous," Yasmin said on Monday evening, as the group studied in secret yet again. "Maybe we're just looking at this the wrong way."

"Well, it's almost March," said Cho, "and Harry still needs to actually prepare for his task, you know."

Harry snorted while sitting in a corner of the classroom. "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

"And you're Captain Oblivious."

"Nah, that was Lockhart," Harry said.

Nearly everyone else became increasingly agitated towards the end of February, as the Hogwarts vs. Durmstrang match had suddenly been cancelled. It didn't matter who or what was at fault; every student was just as disappointed as the next.

"What do they think they're playing at, getting us all hyped up and then wasting our time?" Marcus said in the common room on Friday evening. "I was looking forward to taking on Krum's boys and girls!"

"Yeah, me too!" Yasmin said, looking positively miffed while sitting near the fireplace. "And to think we almost had our team finalised!"

The entire school now had something other than the Tournament to talk about, with students of all houses expressing their dismay to one another. Hell, even those who weren't on speaking terms were now lamenting the missed opportunity for both schools. But, as all things did, that topic soon fizzled out as the days moved on. Oh well, at least it gave the whole school a chance for equal conversation, which made Harry wonder whether that was the whole point in the first place.

March had arrived, and it was now over a month since Merula had smuggled herself back into Hogwarts. "Um, guys, I think I could've worked a lot harder on that egg," she said one evening in her dormitory.

"If you wanted to," said Pansy, with a knowing expression, "but it's quite obvious that you've been dragging out your stay for as long as possible."

Merula smiled. "Well, I suppose you could say I might've heard something similar to that egg back in the day. Wasn't easy to remember, though, considering all the bad stuff that happened back then —"

"Just get to the point," said Millicent, who had grown tired of watching everyone fail to decipher Harry's clue. "This is worse than trying to keep up with Arithmancy. No offence to your tutoring, Tracey."

"None taken."

Over the next few minutes, Merula explained how she reckoned Harry's egg sounded similar to a merperson out of water, which made Millicent shut her textbook so loudly that her cat, Spooky, leapt off the bed in surprise. "What? You mean we've all been going in circles while you just sat there with the answer? Geez!"

The fact that even Millicent, of all people, had raised her voice was quite telling — seeing as she was usually reserved. It just went to show how fed up everyone was with this whole golden-egg thing by now.

"Hey! I only thought about it a few days ago," Merula said, looking highly offended. "Look, let's just move on, OK? Harry, how about we solve your egg right here and now? All we need is some water, I think."

"Why not use someone's bathroom?"

Merula rolled her eyes. "Watch this; it's called maaagic." And then she conjured up a large bucket in the middle of the room, filled it with the Water-Making Spell, Aguamenti, and proceeded to place and open the golden egg within it. "So, who's up for dunking their head in here? Shall we draw sticks?"

Daphne climbed off her bed and got on all fours at the bucket. Then she dipped her head underwater and waited a good few seconds before coming up, with a gasp of air. It look her numerous attempts before she finally seemed satisfied and then looked at Harry. "They're gonna take something from you that you'll sorely miss, and you'll have to look for it in the lake."

"Hell no," said Harry, shutting his trunk with a spell. "Nobody's taking my Cloak!"

Pansy began drying Daphne's hair, with a Hot-Air Charm, as the latter spoke. "Oh, and there's a part that says: 'But past an hour, the prospect's black. Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'"

"An hour?" Sally-Anne asked, staring at Daphne. "How the hell is our champ supposed to survive underwater for so long? The lake is huge!"

"Not to burst your already shattered bubble," Harry said, or rather, muttered, "but I'm not exactly the best swimmer around. Never got any lessons from those Muggles."

"Oh, great!" Sally-Anne said, throwing up her hands. "Now what are we going to do?"

"I think you children are overreacting," said Merula, who was practically ignored by Pansy's gang as they brainstormed all sorts of ways of keeping Harry alive underwater. First, it was Pansy and Daphne going into Muggle mode, by mentioning things such as aqualungs, which was quickly turned down by Harry.

"I'd prefer something magical, thanks."

After that, Tracey considered the possibility of using some form of charm, while Millicent and Sally-Anne decided to page through their Defence Against the Dark Arts textbooks. They carried on brainstorming for almost an hour before tucking themselves into bed. Perhaps a good night's sleep would allow for more critical thinking tomorrow?


The following day saw Harry meet up with his Triwizard study group after dinner, in an empty classroom on the fifth floor. He explained all about how the golden egg had been solved, as well as crediting Merula for the breakthrough.

"Hang on," Cedric said while leaning against a wall, "why does that name sound so familiar?"

"'Cos it's me, you dolt." Merula took off her Invisibility Cloak, and then she basked in the wave of recognition from Cedric, Cho, and Yasmin. If Fred and George were here, they'd've probably recognised her as well. "See, Harry? You're not the only celebrity around these days."

The group switched their focus from figuring out the egg to figuring out ways of keeping Harry breathing beneath the lake. Cedric immediately settled upon the Bubble-Head Charm, Yasmin wondered whether there was some plant or potion that could help Harry underwater, and Cho went into Muggle-mode just like Pansy and Daphne had done. Then it was Hermione who proposed the idea of Harry turning himself into a submarine, to which everyone murmured their disagreement, including Cedric.

"Pulling off that level of Transfiguration is practically impossible for any of us," he said. "I still say Harry ought to play it safe and go for the Bubble-Head Charm instead. Better to at least have something before it's too late, right?"

And so they spent the next hour going over the basics of the Bubble-Head Charm, during which the older students ended up tutoring Harry, Hermione, Ron, as well as Pansy and her gang — while Merula stood watching from her corner of the classroom. "Well, I guess this is our plan from here on out eh?" she said.

"Not quite," said Cedric, who had just finished practising the charm with Ron. "There's still the issue of Harry not really knowing how to swim in a lake."

Merula crossed her arms and smiled. "You offering your services or should I teach him instead?"

"Let's flip a coin."

Seconds later, it was decided that Cedric would meet up with Harry in the prefects' bathroom at least twice a week. Cedric was known to be a good swimmer (a fact that Cho was quick to acknowledge), which meant that he was certainly able to bring Harry up to scratch in less than a month.

Life was pretty straightforward over the next two weeks as Harry started on his swimming lessons, kept up with his classes and preparations, spent time with his little Mafalda, and did his part in helping the other youngsters cope as well. He was, as Hermione said one afternoon, shaping up to be a good candidate for prefect.

Unfortunately, someone else had also set their sights on that badge — as word soon spread that Theodore Nott was offering to assist the third-years with their Arithmancy studies. It was obvious to Harry that Nott was trying to one-up him by tutoring both an older student group and by choosing a more complicated subject.

"Ugh, Nott is such a loser," Sally-Anne said in the dormitory one evening. "Bet he's still butthurt over his stupid daddy and wants to stop you from making prefect, huh?"

Pansy scoffed while lying on her bed. "If that happens, I'll throw mine in the bin."

"And what makes you think you're beating me to prefect?" Tracey asked, and Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Are we really having this conversation again?"

At the end of the day, everyone knew that Pansy was most likely to make prefect next year, despite not being the smartest of her group. Sure, Tracey's marks were usually good, but she often lacked the ability to be assertive with random strangers. Then there were Millicent and Sally-Anne, both of whom had their own strengths and weaknesses too, although Sally-Anne was the better choice overall. Daphne, on the other hand, couldn't care less.

"Prefect is boring, unless you like adding an extra layer of boredom and annoyance to your life," she said. "Still, may the best witch win."

Elsewhere around the school, it seemed as if every single fourth-year had some kind of prefect-battle going on between them and their roommates — except for the Gryffindor boys.

"... seriously recommend that you speak with them," Harry heard McGonagall say to Hermione, as Harry passed by the near-empty Transfiguration classroom on Thursday morning, right before lunch. (There was now just under a week left until the third task.) "I cannot, for the life of me, remember the last time I've had such a lacklustre dormitory, Miss Granger."

"I know, but I can't force them to want it," Hermione said while rearranging her bag. "Dean or Roger might be good enough, I think."

McGonagall sighed while sitting at her desk. "Thomas is far more interested in making the Quidditch team next year, and Malone, well, he's already requested that I don't make him prefect."

"What?"

"My thoughts exactly," said McGonagall. "Which is why I'd appreciate it if you could speak some sense into someone in there. Weasley, perhaps? I know his mother would appreciate having a prefect in the family again, especially since both of the twins had missed out."

"I'll see what I can do, Professor. No promises."

"Fair enough. Oh, and while you're at it, please teach our champion over there" — Harry almost jumped at the door — "some manners."

Suffice it to say, Hermione ended up giving Harry a nice, thorough talk on 'proper student etiquette', in addition to common decency, as they made their way through the ground-floor corridor towards the Entrance Hall. But that topic soon died down in favour of next week's task. "I don't think you need any more practice with the Bubble-Head Charm. It's good enough."

"So, I'm all set?"

"We still need to find a way to keep you warm beneath the lake, which won't be nearly as comfortable as the prefects' bathroom."

The next day, Harry made the bold step of staying behind after Potions class. It was yesterday afternoon's Divination lesson (as hot and stuffy as ever) that had given him the idea, and he now stalled for time until the classroom had emptied, before speaking. "Sir, I was wondering if there was a potions-based method of keeping warm —"

"Champions are not permitted to seek help from their teachers, Potter. Ask again, and I might be tempted to inform the Ministry of your inherent disregard for authority. Now get out of my classroom."

That sounded pretty final, and Harry therefore swung his bag over his sore shoulder and rushed out the classroom. Well, at least he tried, even though it was a stupid idea in the first place to seek help from the man who hated his father to no end.

No wonder Mum dumped his sorry arse.

Time was running out, and the thought of walking into the lake without any means of keeping warm sent chills down Harry's spine. Perhaps he ought to smuggle in a bottle of Firewhisky? Nah, too risky — not to mention stupid. The best way forward was to think back, and that was exactly what some of Harry's friends ended up doing.

"I've got it!" Pansy said, or rather, whispered, in the library after dinner that evening. She was standing at a bookshelf while paging through a book on common potions. "Remember how you and Granger once used ice potions to get through some flames?"

"First year, yeah."

"So, logically, the reverse should be possible too." Pansy looked mighty pleased with herself while scanning through the book's table of contents. "There's gotta be something in here that helps someone get through ice, or freezing-cold conditions at least."

"That's what I thought too," Hermione said while rounding a bookshelf. "Never thought you'd beat me to it, Pansy."

As much as Harry wanted to believe that these two were vying for his attention, the truth was that they were far more focused on beating each other. Pansy stole Hermione's seat at the desk and refused to share her book, to which Hermione rolled her eyes and simply found a copy — which she started paging through herself. Nothing but the sounds of pages being turned could be heard over the next half an hour, until Hermione looked up at Pansy.

"Read it and weep. I've found an antagonist to the Fire Protection Potion!"

"Would you like a medal?" Pansy asked, and Hermione grinned.

"Another one, please."

Harry waited for the cheeky exchange to die down before he moved closer to Hermione, who proceeded to explain how her newly found potion would keep him relatively warm beneath the lake. "Er, what do you mean 'relatively'?"

"The insulating effects of this potion totally depends on the skill of its brewer —"

"And the quality of its ingredients," Pansy said. "Not to mention that some of them aren't found in your everyday classroom, and I doubt Professor Snape would give anyone access to his private stores."

That wasn't much of a problem for Harry. "So what? I'll just use, er, what's his name again? That Slug-man I mailed last year?"

"Slughorn," said Pansy. "Here, lemme jot that down and send it to him. You and Granger can put your heads together and figure out the complicated parts so long — and no kissing!"


Saturday had arrived, and with just three days left to prepare himself for the third task, Harry made sure to practise his spellwork as much as possible in private. His Bubble-Head Charm was able to last for just over an hour until it started wearing off. And as for the rest of his preparations, Harry spent most of that afternoon getting his Frost Resistant Potion going, after which he snuck off to the prefects' bathroom for his sixth (and final) session with Cedric.

"Let's see," Cedric said partway through their session, after both boys had swam up and down the heated pool a few times. "At this point, the only thing I'd recommend is a good dose of Girding Potion before lunch on Wednesday. That as well as the Bubble-Head Charm and your heating potion should be enough for the lake."

"Thanks, man."

Cedric smiled. "You can make it up by doing well in the task. No pressure."

As expected, Harry found himself on the receiving end of quite a few stares and whispers that evening. Were people talking about the next task or about Harry's life in general? He couldn't be certain, so he sought out one particular Slytherin known to spend much of her time hidden beneath her Invisibility Cloak.

"Hey, Merula," Harry whispered once he'd tracked her down at the back of the library. "Got any ideas as to why the gossip-train's picked up again? Heard anything juicy?"

Merula remained hidden beneath her Cloak while speaking. "Forget about that schoolyard nonsense, and focus on your next task instead. I didn't spend two months here just to watch you get distracted like a nosy little kid."

"Yes, ma'am."

Perhaps Merula was right? A lot of the students and their mannerisms did come across as being little more than 'schoolyard nonsense', now that Harry took a proper look at things. Perhaps some of them were just looking to throw him off his game, whether out of jealousy, spite, or to sabotage the competition in favour of their own champion (or champions, in the case of Beauxbatons). Well, Harry wasn't about to fall for such petty tricks, and he remained diligent with his studies until it was time for bed.

There were so many distractions from Sunday onwards that it wasn't even funny. First, Harry noticed that Nott had moved his dozen-strong tuition group to the proximal end of the common room (closer to the entrance side), and he was barely five metres away from where Harry tended to sit as of late. Then there were Malfoy and Zabini, both of whom ended up talking a tad too loudly when walking past him, which Pansy explained.

"I heard that Nott once told them he didn't care about making prefect," she whispered to Harry in his corner of the common room on Monday evening. "But then he did a turnaround and suddenly started this group of his. You get what's going on here?"

"Yeah, but tell them to take their spitefulness elsewhere where it doesn't affect me," Harry said, and then he took a cue from Tonks and stuffed some jelly slugs into his ears, drowning out most of the noise around him. Seriously, why did he have to get caught in the crossfire between some of his former roommates now, of all times?

Sure, Harry could always study in the peace and quiet of his dormitory room or the library, but he just felt like hanging about the common room at this hour. He could see Nott's group just a few metres away, Marcus and some of the Quidditch team in the centre of the room (near the fireplace), some sixth-year boys and girls gathered together in a far corner (probably conspiring over the Head Student positions), random other students scattered about, as well as Harry's favourite first-year trio — Mafalda, Laraline, and Irma — doing their homework at a table. Everyone was just going through the motions and living out their lives without much hassle, unlike Harry — who was beginning to feel a growing sense of dread with regards to the rest of the Tournament.

What if Viktor Krum, Alyssa Parkinson, or Fleur Delacour ended up taking final victory in the end?

That one line of thought drove Harry to study even harder (even though he was already well-prepared for the upcoming task) the next morning, and so he got up earlier than usual on Monday in order to practise his Bubble-Head Charm yet again.

"Just give it a rest already," Millicent said while opening her emerald curtains. If she, of all people, felt that you were overdoing things, then it was best to listen. "You're going to burn yourself out from stress at this rate."

Harry scowled while standing with an enormous bubble around his head. "I'm sick of being in last place."

"You tell 'em, Bubble-man," said Merula, who'd also just woken up. And then she yawned and laid back on her side. "Ugh, whatever. Not like I have to go to classes or anything."

Later that day, after Care of Magical Creatures had ended, Hagrid approached Harry and patted him on his shoulder. "You OK? Listen, there's no need ter look so stressed, especially no' with all the practisin' I hear yeh've bin doin'."

A slight shiver travelled down Harry's spine, which had nothing to do with the weather being cold. "Just thinking of how good the others will be in the lake."

"Olympe keeps tryin' ter lead me inter vague conversation abou' the giant squid an' stuff," Hagrid said, staring towards the powdery blue carriage nearby. "Hmph, as if I'd ever go against yeh, Harry. No' a ruddy chance o' me letting slip any hints abou' the task. Nope."

Harry waited until most of his classmates had dispersed, and then he looked up at Hagrid. "Wouldn't it be terrible if something bad were to happen down there to Hogwarts' champion?"

"Nice try," — Hagrid smiled — "but I know yeh're goin' ter win. And yeh don' need ter cheat a few tips outta the ol' gamekeeper ter get there. Hold yer head high and, come Wednesday, walk inter the lake knowin' tha' yeh're goin' ter do well, if no' outright win it, Harry."

"I'm going for the latter," said Hermione, who was leaning on Hagrid's garden fence behind them. "Hagrid's right; you don't need to cheat in order to get ahead in this Tournament."

And so, with that in mind — and with Hermione at his side — Harry returned to the castle and carried on with the rest of his day. There wasn't anything of note as the evening came and went, although the following morning brought a nasty little surprise for Harry in the form of an article written by ... Rita Skeeter.

"I'm not reading that trash," Harry said at the breakfast table. It was bad enough to have so many heads glancing at him on occasion, but it was even worse to have Alyssa and Fleur (who'd taken to sitting at the Ravenclaw table as of late) looking at him with those smug little smirks on their pretty faces. "How the hell did she even know I tried asking Hagrid for tips on the next task?"

Pansy, who was sitting beside Harry as usual, placed a finger on her chin whilst thinking out loud. "Maybe she kidnapped Granger and took her place for that one moment?"

"Nope, it was Hermione next to me" — Harry lowered his voice — "on the map. We did a quick check for anyone around before hanging out in that empty classroom last night."

"Well, shit," said Pansy, sighing. "I don't know."

"None of us do," Daphne said. "Skeeter always manages to get the dirt on people when they least expect it. That's just her way, y'know?"

It came as a massive relief to Harry when Rita's article (which questioned his character in the Tournament) didn't have any far-reaching consequences. Neither the staff nor the Ministry of Magic came down hard on Harry, as they likely dismissed the article as pure sensationalism. Merula, on the other hand, was quick to issue a warning to Harry once more.

"Goddamnit, man," she whispered to Harry in the corridor, as he took the long route to Defence Against the Dark Arts that morning. "Didn't I warn you about Skeeter having some way of fishing out and twisting stuff? Hell, I once gave her an interview on my life, and she ended up twisting it into some overly dramatic, tragic excuse of a story. She didn't even care to mention me being the best witch at school back then! Oh, I'm gonna find out her secret one of these days ..."

"Hermione's pretty determined as well," Harry whispered, even though there was nobody else in the corridor. "The two of you ought to put your heads together and expose this annoying woman once and for all."

"Damn right we will."

Defence Against the Dark Arts took its usual, practical approach to having its students protect themselves against various attacks — after which Professor Moody gave Harry a similar pep-talk as to Hagrid yesterday. The difference here was that Moody insisted that Harry keep his eyes and ears open for any signs of an ambush in the lake, and not just from the merpeople or the Grindylows. Moody was more concerned about the possibility of some Dark witch or wizard deciding to hide down there, or set up some form of a trap, in order to ambush Harry within the task.

"Would be a perfect opportunity to make it look like the creatures got you," Moody said in his usual, almost growling tone. "So watch your back down there, and be ready to strike at a moment's notice, OK?"

"Yes, sir."

Later that day, Potions failed to bring about any form of encouragement or pep-talk for Harry, as expected. And so — when the bell finally rang — Harry went straight for dinner, after which he freshened up and eventually tucked himself in for some much-needed rest that night. Tomorrow would be the deciding factor for the champions going into their final task (however the points system might work in June), and Harry wasn't about to let himself be hindered by lack of sleep. Nothing and nobody was going to stop him down there in the depths of the lake ... nothing at all ...


Harry was awake before he knew it, and he couldn't even remember if he'd dreamed at all last night — not that it mattered. He looked around, saw Pansy's empty bed, and wondered just how the staff were going to safely stash her beneath the freezing lake.

"All right," said Merula, who was lying in her blue pyjamas. "You'd better not make me regret having stayed in this school for two whole months, you hear? First or second place, Harry; nothing else is acceptable!"

Daphne's curtains flew open at that moment. "Would you stop putting pressure on him already?" she asked, glaring at Merula. "Not everyone has the luxury of lounging around and playing cheerleader for two months, Snyde."

"Hey, it's not like I wasn't keeping myself busy and stuff."

"Actually," said Millicent from her bed, once she'd opened her curtains, "I'll have to agree with Merula over there. Harry, you need to do better than the last time you were at the lake."

Tracey and Sally-Anne soon woke up and offered their well wishes to Harry, after which the latter opened his dresser and retrieved two hip flasks each containing a separate potion. "Go big or go home, huh?"

"Nah," said Daphne, "more like: 'go big or suffer lifelong regret over not having done your best in the Triwizard Tournament'."

Nobody wanted to bring up the awkward topic of Daphne (and, by extension, Pansy) having to someday make the inevitable choice between Harry and Alyssa, and so they ended their conversation right then and there before getting themselves prepped for the day ahead. And when Harry later walked through the common room, he received so many pats on the back, well-wishes, and an all-round show of support that he almost felt dizzy. The same could be said for when Harry reached the Entrance Hall about twenty minutes later, where students of all houses treated him like the underdog that was about to make his mark at last.

Where was the time going? One minute, Harry was walking between countless faces (of which Hermione wasn't present) wishing him well for today's task; the next, he was stuffing himself full of breakfast; and then, finally, he was downing his two flasks (one after the other) before standing up from his seat.

"Please tell me there aren't any side-effects?" Tracey asked. She was looking up at him with a slightly wide-eyed look behind those oval glasses. "You did test this before, right?"

"Never felt better, yeah!" Harry said. Honestly, he had tested this combination before — and the rush of soothing heat only felt better when coupled with a kick of energy from within. Nothing could make him shiver now, and Harry was positive (he'd tested it in the prefects' bathroom before) that he could swim far more than usual whilst under the effects of the Girding Potion.

Lake be damned, Hogwarts was about to claim its rightful spot atop the leaderboard!