Harry tumbled through the water, not sure which way was up or which was down for a few moments but eventually he managed to right himself. The water had swept up the sand on the lake's floor and it was impossible to see anything. The little light at his shoulder almost made it worse. Harry couldn't see Ron - Where was Ron? - or Gabrielle.

"Ron?!" he shouted. "Ron?! Point me!" His wand spun and then stopped and Harry kicked frantically in that direction, not able to see more than about a foot in front of him. His legs protested at the idea of more swimming, but worry let him ignore them.

"Gabrielle!" He heard Fleur cry. He wasn't sure where she'd called from, but if she could shout for her sister then she hadn't drowned, at least.

"Harry?" That was Ron's voice and relief flooded through him at the sound of it, even if it was panicked. Harry's wand twitched; up, Ron had gone up, which made a lot of sense, it'd be clearer, and that was closer to the surface even if only by a few metres-

"Oof!" Harry reached out to steady Ron, only it wasn't Ron, that was a silvery blue wetsuit- "Fleur!"

"Gabrielle." Her voice was frantic. "Where ees Gabrielle-"

"With Ron, I hope," Harry said, feeling his way down her arm to find her hand. He gripped it tight, pulling her with him and she didn't resist.

The water was clearer higher up but neither Ron or Gabrielle were there. Beside Harry, Fleur's panic was almost tangible, as thick and present as the water and sand around them.

They must have gone up, Harry thought. Ron had had the gillyweed, and he'd wait for a bit but when Harry didn't appear, he'd know to get himself and Gabrielle to the surface.

Point me, Harry told his wand, and it twitched again, this time below them. Harry didn't hesitate to dive back down, squinting through the murky, but slowly clearing water. Seconds dragged by, maybe even a minute, and he was too slow, he was taking too long.

Ron knows what he's doing, he told himself. He trained for this. We trained for this-

And then he spotted them; Ron, hanging limp and still in the water, little Gabrielle pale and lifeless a few feet above him, her hair floating eerily around her face.

Beside Harry, Fleur made a sound that almost wasn't human and wrenched free, kicking for Gabrielle.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, but Harry, feeling like he was suffocating despite his bubblehead charm, moved toward Ron as quickly as his aching legs would allow.

Harry flicked his wand over Ron, conjuring a basic bubblehead charm and then one to clear his lungs of water. And they did clear, but Ron didn't breathe, didn't cough, didn't respond at all. Harry felt for a pulse at his wrist, put his head to Ron's wetsuit-covered chest to listen for a heartbeat, but the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat - somehow pounding in his ears even though Harry was fairly sure his heart had stopped - and Fleur's broken litany of Non, Gabielle, non, non-

Harry was numb because this wasn't how it was supposed to go, because he couldn't imagine a world without Ron in it; even in second year when he'd been without Hermione and Draco because of the basilisk's attacks, he'd had Ron. Ron who was the best friend Harry could ever have asked for, Ron who always knew the right thing to say - whether it was to help, or to lighten the mood, or to change the subject - Ron who had Harry's back, always, be it against Hermione's well-intentioned fussing or against the likes of Wormtail and Riddle, who'd helped him train for the Tournament, Ron who was as good as Harry's brother, whose family were a second family to Harry… Ron who'd only been here and in danger because of Harry...

Harry made a strangled sound, thrashing against the lakeweed that must have tangled around him while he was still- He knocked his bedside table, spilling the glass of water there and sending his glasses and wand clattering to the floor.

There was a yelp from Neville and a garbled question from Seamus.

Draco said Harry's name in a way that could have been an explanation or complaint, but Harry only had eyes for Ron, who was alive and breathing… and awake and helping Harry free of his sheets.

"What'd you see?" he asked, and he sounded worried. Ron righted the bedside table and offered Harry his glasses, which didn't do anything at all to make the room clearer. "Harry?" It was only when Harry opened his mouth to answer that he realised his breathing was too ragged to let him speak, realised the blurriness was tears. "Mate?" Ron sounded scared now, and put a tentative hand on Harry's shoulder, which was so soaked with sweat that he could well have come right from the lake. His hand was warm - living.

"Potter?" That was Draco, sounding much more awake than before. "Merlin, is someone dead?"

And Harry couldn't help it; he looked right at Ron, who paled, seeming to take it as confirmation.

"Who?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"No one," Harry managed, wiping his face on his sleeve. "Nightmare. It wasn't real." Draco relaxed, gave Harry a small, sad smile, yawned enormously and rolled over.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Not really," Harry said. Ron nodded slowly and perched on the edge of Harry's bed.

"It wasn't real," Ron offered.

"I know," Harry said. It had felt real, though, as real as some of the ones he had where he was Voldemort - and those were real. This one hadn't been. It had just been his imagination and his memories of the morning running wild in the worst way. Only wild wasn't really the right word for it, was it, because Harry's dream could very easily have been the way things happened.

"You reckon you can go back to sleep?" Ron asked after several long moments, smothering a massive yawn.

"Yeah," Harry lied. Ron eyed him.

"We can play chess or something? Or go to the Room?"

"I'll sleep," Harry said, and faked a yawn.

"All right," Ron said, scent uncertain, and returned to his own bed. He left the curtains undrawn so Harry tugged his own shut, though he had no intention of going back to sleep. Tiredness tugged at his eyelids but he didn't dare let them close again.

Instead, he lay there in the dark until Ron's snores started up again. Then, he scooped up his wand and crept from the dormitory, intending to go and find something to practice in the Room until morning.


All three boys looked tired at breakfast the morning after the third task, and Hermione - who'd had the best sleep she'd had in weeks - frowned at them as they sat down. They didn't look tired in an overslept sort of way, or in an up-late-training sort of way (she'd grown very used to the latter over the past few months), and when she caught Ron's eye across the table, the corners of his mouth turned down and he glanced quickly at Harry and then away again.

"Dreams," Harry said shortly, helping himself to toast and jam. Clearly he'd noticed the exchange. "Nothing that wasn't mine, and nothing to worry about-" He gave both Ron and Draco pointed looks, making Hermione think they'd discussed it on their way downstairs already. "-just everything… catching up with me, I s'pose."

He didn't look like he wanted to talk about it. And, if it was just a normal nightmare, then there probably wasn't much point in talking about it anyway.

"Well," Hermione said, lowering her voice, "on the upside a sleepless night helps you look the part of recently dumped. Fleur'll be happy." Hermione pursed her lips but Harry huffed a laugh and did a little bow.

"So what's our excuse, Weasley?" Draco asked, biting into an apricot. "Were we just really invested?"

"Nah. We just obviously had to sit up all night listening to Harry pine," Ron said, and Harry scowled. "Rub his back while he cried himself to sleep-" Harry threw a bit of toast crust at him. Ron scrunched up his nose slightly in a way that Hermione had come to associate with wandless magic, but whatever it was mustn't have worked; the crust hit him between the eyes and Harry, Draco, and Hermione all laughed.

"Missed it," Ron said. "Go again, Harry." But Harry didn't seem to be listening, or at least, didn't seem to be listening to Ron; his head was cocked and he was frowning slightly. "Mate?" Harry cringed and reached for the copy of the Prophet that Hermione had received but not yet unfolded, distracted as she'd been by the boys' arrival.

Harry unfolded it, scrunched up his face, then flipped it to page four and set the paper on the table where all four of them could see it.

Triwizard Love Triangle?

By Rita Skeeter

Taking up a good chunk of the page were three photographs; one of Viktor looking as surly as Hermione had ever known him to, one of Fleur looking cold and beautiful and disapproving, and one of Harry and Hermione that looked like it had been taken somehow from through Viktor's goggles, or perhaps of the lenses that the audience had been watching; it showed Harry on the ground - having just landed in the dome - and Hermione just about on top of him, her arms around his neck. Even as Hermione watched, the photo reset - she threw herself at Harry, they hugged, and then she withdrew slightly, only to launch herself at him again. She glanced up to see Harry watching her, a grimace on his face. She made a face back and then began to read:

It's been a big weekend for our Champions, with the third task being held in Hogwarts' lake yesterday morning (page 2 for more details), but it's been an even bigger one for our Champions' personal lives.

Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour's romance sprung up suddenly and intensely over the Christmas holidays and they've been almost inseparable since. But, the fun competitive spirit we've seen between them turned nasty yesterday, with a dramatic lakeside breakup following the task's scoring.

You could be forgiven, dear reader, for thinking Delacour ending things with Potter was an ungrateful but competitively understandable response to his saving of Delacour's younger sister, which cost her points in the task's scoring. This reporter managed to catch up with Delacour yesterday, and Delacour confirmed their relationship was over but didn't provide details, and Potter hasn't been available for comment. But, investigative journalist Rita Skeeter has uncovered evidence to suggest there might be more to the whole situation.

Viktor Krum and Hermione Granger are another couple we've watched with interest as the Tournamnet's gone on; they've had a slower, steadier romance, and - compared to Potter and Delacour at least - a slightly more private one. But, never let it be said that this journalist doesn't know how to appease her readers; in the aftermath of Granger being chosen yesterday as the most important person to Krum, the couple did not make declarations of mutual love, nor did the rumoured proposal take place-

Hermione choked a little.

-but instead, Krum confessed the depth of his feelings for Granger, and, as one thing led to another, confronted her about her relationship with Potter. Granger, not sparing any thought for Krum's feelings, admitted she loves Potter more than anyone else. It's no secret that Potter and Granger are close, but the assumption's always been that they were simply friends. This, though, makes you wonder…

Looking back, Potter was regularly seen away from Granger in the lead up to the Yule Ball - hurt feelings over her budding relationship with Krum, perhaps? - and he didn't sit near her or Krum on the night. Granger and Fleur have never seemed to like each other much either, in the time Potter and Delacour have been together.

So one has to wonder; was Potter's relationship with Delacour merely a way to make Granger jealous? Or has Granger been the one trying to make Potter jealous?

"It's got to be Granger trying to get Potter," said one of Potter and Granger's classmates when this reporter asked. "Potter's not my type but he's a Champion and the Boy Who Lived so at least he's got a few things going for him. Granger on the other hand is obnoxious, and a muggleborn nobody, and she's not much to look at either. Especially not for Potter, who's spent the last few months with a part veela girlfriend-

The Prophet on the table burst into flames.

For a moment, Hermione wondered if it had been her, accidentally - she was trembling, and she wasn't sure yet whether it was with impending tears or because she was furious - but then Ron lowered his hand and Draco vanished the burning mess.

"It's rubbish," Ron said, as Hermione looked for Viktor in the Hall and couldn't find him. "And for the record, you're not a muggleborn nobody, and you're nice to look at-" Ron's face was red but he had a stubborn look about him that eased a moment later: "-and you're only obnoxious sometimes-"

Tears. It was going to be tears, but before she could say anything - either in response to Ron or to Harry who was being dragged through the papers again now and all because of her, a throat cleared behind them.

"Now's perhaps not the best time, Delacour," Draco said, though not unkindly. Harry, who'd cautiously started to rise, stopped when Fleur held up her hand.

"Not you," she said. "'er."

"It's Skeeter's usual rubbish," Harry said, voice hot all of a sudden. "You of all people should-"

"'ermione," Fleur said, with a tilt of her head that didn't look as unfriendly as Hermione might have expected. Cautiously, Hermione stood and Harry scowled at Fleur who rolled her eyes at him and led Hermione away with a gentle hand on her back. "Where is Ginny?"

"I don't…" Hermione glanced around and spotted Ginny's bright hair at the Ravenclaw table with Luna, Colin, and Michael Corner. "There." Fleur marched them that way without another word, and when they got there, she tapped Ginny on the shoulder. Hermione was aware of the eyes on the pair of them, and the whispers.

Ginny turned, scowling and then looked even angrier at the sight of Hermione - the Prophet was open on the table beside Colin, and Hermione thought Ginny was angry for her rather than at her - and opened her mouth but Fleur held up a hand that turned into a gesture of invitation. Ginny glanced at Hermione and stood without another word.

"Oh," Luna said, also standing. "Are we having another girls' talk? Excuse us," she added to Colin and Michael. And she trailed after them as Fleur led them back to the Gryffindor table, though at the end closest to the staff table (and usually not as heavily populated as a result).

"What are we doing?" Ginny asked warily.

"We are 'aving breakfast," Fleur said. "Sit." Ginny crooked an eyebrow but did sit without hesitation and Hermione copied her after a moment. Fleur sat gracefully and Luna sat down beside Ginny, cross-legged on the bench.

"I take it you've seen-"

"Oui," Fleur said dismissively, and Hermione nodded too; she wasn't sure which of them Ginny was addressing. "And zat is ze only discussion of it zat is warranted zis morning. Let's talk about somezing else." Hermione stared at her, as did Ginny, and Luna stared in Fleur's direction but Hermione doubted it was for the same reasons. "What?"

"Why are we having breakfast?" Hermione asked.

"I thought I said we would not be talking about it," Fleur said, arching a perfect eyebrow.

"Yes, but- are you-" Was Fleur helping? Making a silent but public announcement that there was no bad blood between them? Hermione continued to stare and after a moment, Fleur sighed and shrugged:

"I 'ave been where you are," she said. "I would not wish it on anyone, and I will not let zat Skeeter woman ruin anyone else if zere is anyzing I can do about it." She lifted her chin as if daring Hermione to challenge her on that.

"Thank you," Hermione said after a moment, and the stiffness in Fleur's shoulders eased a little. She reached for an almond pastry and Ginny looked at Hermione, eyes wide. At the other end of the table, Hermione could make out Harry, Ron, and Draco staring down at them. She wondered if Harry could hear them from across the noisy Hall, or if the boys were just trying to guess what was happening. "You don't have to-"

"I know," Fleur said coolly. Hermione was trying to think of something else to talk about since Fleur clearly had no interest in this, but before she could, Fleur asked, "Is zere any truth to it?"

"A bit," Hermione said. "I'm not actually the most important person to Viktor - his parents are. And he's not to me, either. He assumed it would be Harry, and he's probably right, but it's not like what Skeeter's making it sound. Harry's like a brother to me, and I'm positive it's the same for him." Hermione frowned. "And I think Viktor knows that. I hope Viktor knows that." She'd thought they were on the same page after yesterday, and he was famous enough and experienced enough with people like Skeeter to surely know…

"Krum'll trust you, Hermione," Ginny said reassuringly, but there was a glint in her eyes that promised words with Viktor if he didn't.

"I'd love to know how Skeeter even heard us talking - we were alone in a section of the tent and we had Silencing charms up." Ginny waggled her eyebrows and Hermione flushed; Ginny, of course, knew all the details of Hermione's conversation with Viktor.

"Perhaps she's part demiguise," Luna suggested.

"Or has an invisibility cloak," Hermione mused, sharing a look with Ginny.

"What was Harry's theory at Christmas?" Ginny asked. "Something to do with muggle electrical beetles?"

"Bugs," Hermione said. "But there's still no way they'd work at… Beetles." She paused. Harry's original suggestion had been that Skeeter was an animagus, but he'd discounted that because he hadn't seen, heard, or smelled her anywhere, and Harry was usually right about those sorts of things. But what if Skeeter had been too small for even Harry to notice? "Viktor pulled one out of my hair in the tent," Hermione said. Ginny's eyebrows shot up; she'd been there for that first conversation too, so she'd clearly made the connection between animagi and beetles.

And so, it seemed, had Fleur:

"You are suggesting Skeeter is a beetle?" Fleur asked, cocking her head.

"Maybe," Hermione said. "From memory, there have only been ten registered animagi this century - Professor McGonagall, Sirius, Pettigrew, Harry's dad, and six others. I don't remember Skeeter's name being one of those six, but I'd have to check the register in the library to be sure…"

"So she's unregistered," Ginny said, unfazed. "Wouldn't be the first one of those this century." Hermione gave her a warning look and Ginny smiled, innocent: "Sirius and Wormtail and Harry's dad got away with it until Sirius' trial."

"I don't think I'd like to be an animagus," Luna said.

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised.

"Really," Luna said. "As a non-animagus, you've got infinite possible forms, but once you're an animagus you have a form but that's your only form. It just seems a bit limiting to me."

"But it's still one form more than you have now," Ginny said.

"I suppose that's a nice way to think about it," Luna said. "But I still like the idea of keeping my options open."

"Can we go back to Skeeter?" Fleur interrupted, and for once, Hermione felt the two of them were on exactly the same page. "If she is an animagus, what do we do about it? Confront 'er? Or tell ze Aurors? Black-"

"Nothing yet," Hermione said, already making a list of things to read up on in the library. "Except make sure we're not having any private conversations with any beetles around."

"But we must do somezing," Fleur said, eyes narrowed. "She-"

"I didn't say nothing at all," Hermione said. "I said nothing yet." Fleur's eyes narrowed further but she was shrewd rather than angry. "Leave it with me."


Draco awoke to a shout, ragged breathing, and then, once the breathing was back to normal, the whisper of four poster curtains being drawn and quiet feet moving across the dormitory.

There was a groan from one of the others - Thomas, perhaps - as the door opened and closed again, and then the dormitory was silent.

Draco was just dropping back off to sleep when he heard curtains again - more aggressively this time - and a second pair of feet on the floor:

"I'm fine, Ron," Weasley grumbled. Draco could hear him stomping around the dormitory. "Nothing's wrong, Ron, stop worrying, Ron."

"How about shut up, Ron," Finnegan grumbled and Weasley snorted, but his movements became noticeably quieter. Draco's own curtains were yanked back a moment later and Weasley flopped down on the foot of his bed.

"He's not fine," Weasley said and Draco looked through the newly opened curtains to where Potter's bed lay empty and unmade. He sighed.

"It's the middle of the night," Finnegan complained.

"Sorry," Weasley said, and pushed off of Draco's bed again, going to fetch his worn dressing-gown. He headed for the dormitory door and Draco considered him and then considered the warmth of his bed and the fact that it was very, very early, before sitting up with another sigh. He retrieved his own dressing gown and followed Weasley out onto the stairs.

"We're playing Prefect now are we?" Draco asked. Weasley gave him a blank look. "Off to drag students back to bed?" Weasley huffed a laugh but was quick to sober up:

"I cast a Finite on his curtains before I went to sleep," he said. "He's been using silencing charms - he must be."

"He's considerate, at least," Draco said, and Weasley elbowed him. "Unlike you - if you removed his charms, you're the reason we're all awake right now."

"I removed his charms because I knew he'd been lying," Weasley said.

"A brilliant deduction," Draco said, deadpan, and Weasley scowled; it was no secret there'd been something up with Potter since the third task. He'd been looking pale and tired and he'd been up late and awake early almost every night, practicing in the Room though it was only late March and the task wasn't until the end of June and they didn't yet have any idea what the task would be. And, while it was not unusual for Potter to be a bit cagey about how he was sleeping, or why he wasn't hungry, of late he'd just about bitten the head off anyone who'd dare ask.

And yet, Draco suspected that was exactly what they were going to do; they reached the dark emptiness of the common room and Weasley didn't even break stride, heading straight for the portrait.

"I ought to just not open for you," the Fat Lady said, as they stepped out into the moonlit seventh floor corridor. "You should be in bed-"

"We should be," Draco agreed, and they left her there, spluttering.

Weasley made the Room's door appear and the pair of them hurried through it before Filch or Mrs Norris could show up, then tiptoed down the walkway toward the small fire burning in their sitting area. There was no sign of Potter, but there was a large black wolf curled up by the fire. He didn't lift his head to look at them, but his ears swivelled in their direction and his eyes tracked their movement.

Weasley didn't seem to know what to make of Potter-as-a-wolf - doubtless he'd had a two-sided conversation in mind - and paused, arms folded and a flummoxed look on his face. Draco collapsed onto the couch.

"You going to change back so we can talk?" Weasley asked at last.

Above the mantel where the dragon Draco had given to Weasley sat, the usual Gryffindor banner turned into a large blackboard with the word No written on it. Draco snorted.

Weasley didn't seem to know what to make of that either, looking first surprised, then exasperated, and then impatient.

"Fine," Weasley said after a moment. "I'll talk and you can listen." Potter lifted his head, nose turning up toward the blackboard, which still said No. "Too bad," Weasley said, with false cheer and sank into the closest armchair. "Because it's either that, or we go to Sirius."

On cue, a door appeared in the wall. Potter gave him a baleful look.

"Thought so," Weasley said, and his smugness was ruined somewhat by an enormous yawn.

"You should be in bed," Potter said. Draco'd been looking at Weasley so hadn't seen him change back, but there he was, human again, still sitting by the fireplace.

"So should you," Draco said. Potter looked awful; pale and the shadows under his eyes were so dark that he almost looked like he was nursing two black eyes. Potter pursed his lips and looked away.

"What's going on, mate?" Weasley asked.

"Nothing," Potter said sharply. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Dreams?" Weasley asked. Potter said nothing, but his jaw set. Draco couldn't tell if he was angry or stubborn or both. "Bad ones, right?"

"No, good ones," Potter said sarcastically. Weasley put his hands up in surrender.

"I'm just trying to help."

"Well, you're not," Potter said shortly.

"All right," Weasley said, "sorry. Is there anything we can do to help?"

Potter opened his mouth, glowering, and Draco could almost see Weasley bracing for it even as he himself braced for it. Then, Potter's eyes flicked between them and he shut his mouth, swallowing whatever it was he'd been going to say. He gave a curt jerk of his head.

"What about Dreamless Sleep?" Draco asked carefully.

"No," Potter said.

"Are they important?" Weasley asked. "The dreams, I mean?" Potter said nothing. "Because if they're not, Malfoy's idea about Dreamless-"

"No," Potter said.

"We could nick some," Weasley said. "Pomfrey wouldn't have to know, if that's what you're worried about. Or Malfoy could wheedle some out of Snape." Draco arched an eyebrow at Weasley.

"No," Potter said again.

"Potter-"

"It doesn't work," Potter said stiffly.

"You've tried already?" Weasley asked. He sounded as alarmed as Draco felt; Potter wasn't the type to seek out potions unless he was affectionately bullied into it, either by one of them, or, if he was being really stubborn, by Black or Lupin or someone. Since Potter had reluctantly agreed to talk to them in exchange for not bringing Black into it, Draco assumed it hadn't been any of the adults (there was no way either of the Lupins would keep Black out of the loop on something like that), and he knew it hadn't been any of them. So had Potter gone for potions of his own volition? And if he had, just how bad were the dreams?

And, perhaps even more concerningly, why wasn't it working?

"Maybe Sirius-"

"No," Potter said flatly. "What's he going to be able to do about it, other than worry?" Potter's expression softened a bit until he himself looked worried. "If Dreamless Sleep isn't able to fix it... " Potter shook his head. Weasley was silent.

"Are they from the Dark Lord?" Draco asked. "Is that why Dreamless Sleep didn't work?"

"I don't know," Potter said, but he didn't sound troubled or frustrated, only lost.