A/N: Part two of a two-chap update!

Chapter Thirty-Six

Letter to the Editor

The hubbub surrounding the Triwizard Tournament eventually began to peter out. After a week no one even saw traces of those annoying POTTER STINKS badges, much to the relief of Harry – and Alex, if she was going to be honest.

"The real enemy is Beauxbatons," she confided to Hermione and Ginny in the student lounge one evening.

"Why?" asked Hermione, her brow furrowed. She was a real fan of France, having travelled there several times in her young life.

"Because they're obnoxious." Alex didn't know if it was a Beauxbatons thing or a French thing, but they turned their noses up at everyone and everything at Hogwarts. Sure, their dingy old castle probably couldn't compare to their palace—or whatever it was they resided in—but nothing was fouler than their nasty attitudes as they nit-picked at everything. They didn't even have the dignity to do so in English, choosing instead to bad-mouth them in French. One of these incidents almost ended in a duel, in fact.

It occurred during breakfast the other day, and although their French visitors had initially settled themselves at the Ravenclaw table, they had slowly begun to migrate to Slytherin one as the day went by. The reason for the move was obvious: over half of her Housemates were competent in French, having received lessons throughout their childhood. Alex didn't know if it was because they all had relations in France, or if the country had a high concentration of purebloods—perhaps a mix of both—but what mattered was that now she couldn't go a single day without hearing copious amounts of French. Fortunately, Agatha could, and it took little convincing for her to translate the conversations she overheard. Most of it Alex didn't care for, but apparently a few of the Slytherin firsties did.

"Enough complaining," snapped Edwina Saez—a second year—from across the table. Her face was red and splotchy with anger as she glowered at the pair of Beauxbatons students sitting nearby. "No one's making you eat here – in fact, if you hate this castle so much, why don't you all return to France?"

The female Beauxbatons student sniffed audibly and said something in French to her male companion.

"And speak English, will you? Don't you know how rude it is for those who can't understand you?"

"Seeing how you're not part of the conversation, I don't see why you feel a need to listen in," drawled the male student in heavily accented English. He paused as his friend muttered something in rapid-fire French. "Also, Vivienne says she would rather cut her tongue off before degrading herself by speaking your language."

Edwina bore her teeth in a small, vicious grin. "That can be arranged," she said, reaching for her wand.

As much as Alex would've liked to watch that play out—dinner and a show, amazing—Snape swooped down from his perch up the head table to rain on her parade by putting an end to things before they could grow more heated. To make matters worse, he even deducted a handful of points from their House as compensation for the offense suffered by their guests.

"Traitor," Jacob muttered when Snape was out of hearing vicinity.

Or not, because their Head of House overheard him and rewarded Jacob with a detention for his cheek. Maybe he really did have bat ears – that would explain why he liked to keep his greasy hair shoulder-length.

"Wow," said Zubair, eyebrows raised in wonder. "He must really be pissed to actually give one of us detention."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "Don't be too surprised. Not all of have the immunity of a Malfoy when it comes to Snape and his good graces."

"Shut your big mouth," hissed Agatha with a glance at Draco. Fortunately, he was too busy making eyes at an impassive Krum to have overheard them.

"Why are you so scared of him, Agatha?" Alex had asked, more than a little confused. "Draco's harmless."

Katherine scoffed. "To you, perhaps. In certain circles, his family has more influence than you realise."

Alex recalled having adopted a smug smile in response to Katherine's wariness. "Why would a snake fear a ferret?"

Even now she could hear her Housemates' laughter as loud and clear as the bell chiming throughout the castle as precursor to the upcoming curfew. She wished Hermione and Ginny goodnight as they made their way to Gryffindor tower. Alex, meanwhile, stayed behind out of obligation rather than desire; she had a prefects' meeting to attend. It took place here in the student lounge every fortnight, and although the older prefects claimed this time of year was typically the quietest when it came to prefect duties, the presence of two additional lots of students meant things were deviating from their set ways.

Like Alex, a few of the other prefects were already in the common room prior to the meeting. As usual, they helped organise the furniture into a circle around the largest coffee table available. Since they were their first, they snagged some of the better chairs for themselves. All that was left to do was to wait for the rest.

Alex was content to whittle away the time by staring at the tapestry of the Four Founders, but Jonathan Spratt and Damian Perriss—Hufflepuff prefects from fourth- and fifth-year respectively—decided to disturb her peace and quiet by gossiping about everything from some poor first-year Gryffindor's tragic haircut to the convoluted love triangle involving one student from each of the three schools.

A secondary Triwizard Tournament, Alex thought wryly.

"People will find it rather creepy when you smile in your sleep like that."

Alex felt her whole body tense even before she opened her eyes. She didn't need to, of course – she could pick out Cedric's voice even if they were in a crowded hall, let alone a mostly empty room. Maybe if she pretended she hadn't heard him, he would leave her alone.

The sound of him settling into the seat beside her dashed all such hopes. Alex heaved a quiet sigh before succumbing to temptation and prying her eyes open to glance at the boy on her left. She was forced to bite back an unexpected grin at the enormous pimple decorating his nose.

"What are you doing so far from the North Pole, Rudolph?" she couldn't help but ask, smirking.

Cedric's scowl only further highlighted the spot on his nose. "At this rate I'm going to rescind my apology before I even make it."

Alex softened at his admission. They hadn't exchanged so much as a nod since their little fight, and she missed her friend dearly, even if they were both preoccupied with their own responsibilities as students, prefects, and now as a Champion – a title that should've been Cedric's.

She bit her lip to distract her from that thought. This was for his own good, and besides, the Goblet had chosen her in the end. Still, logic did nothing to rid her of the guilt that plagued her whenever she so much as glanced Cedric's way.

He leaned towards her, keeping his voice low in case his Housemates were eavesdropping. "I really am sorry," he said sincerely. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. My accusations were baseless. I shouldn't have let my jealousy overcome me like that."

Jealousy. Ha. If only he knew what being a champion truly entailed.

"It's okay," replied Alex, smiling tightly. "I'm sure we were both strung up that night."

Cedric smiled, visibly relieved even as Alex's fingers began to twitch from their place on her lap. Now her mind was full of the tournament and the first task, which was right around the corner. Judging by the fire-themed lessons they'd been having, it seemed she was destined to go up against a dragon after all.

Before she could begin hyperventilating, the head boy and girl filed in. The meeting was about to begin. Alex's panic was thrust to the side as the head boy narrowed his eyes at her and immediately began railing the Slytherin prefects for the international incident their Housemates had almost caused with the Beauxbatons students the other day.

Alex's eyes glazed over halfway through his rant. She was so tired.

BREAK

Rita Skeeter's highly anticipated article was released the following Saturday. And just like that, interest in the tournament was renewed with a fervour.

Well, sort of. Truthfully, most of the piece itself was about Harry and his life story which, while tragic, wasn't nearly as melodramatic as Skeeter alleged it was.

Five minutes after the owl post had made their rounds that morning, the hall exploded with noise – most of which came from the Slytherin table. Raucous laughter filled Alex's ears as her Housemates eagerly read and re-read the article with gleeful relish. Once Alex was done skimming the publication, her concerned eyes sought out Harry, who seemed like he was doing his best to disappear without the aid of his invisibility cloak. Perhaps it was time she returned it to him.

I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they'd be very proud of me if they could see me now…

Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit it…

I know nothing will hurt me during the tournament, because they're watching over me…

Yeah, that was definitely Skeeter's voice, not Harry's, seeping from the writing. She knew that, and the trio knew that, but the rest of the school? That was a whole other story altogether.

"The Boy-Who-Lived cries himself to sleep?" Katherine asked sceptically.

"I mean, you would too if your parents were murdered in front of you as a baby," Jacob reminded her.

"I can assure you Harry does not do that," Alex replied with a scoff. The poor lad didn't have the luxury of self-indulgent crying, having been forced into slave labour as soon as possible while under the Dursleys' roof.

Four pairs of eyes zeroed in on her.

"How do you know that?" Zubair asked curiously while Agatha's eyes darted towards the article in her hands.

"Because we're friends?" Alex offered feebly as her stomach twisted and turned. "Why?"

Agatha wordlessly flipped to the next page, which was dedicated entirely to Harry's supposed love life.

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty muggleborn girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.

However, it isn't smooth sailing just yet. An obstacle is apparent in the slight form of Slytherin fifth-year and additional Hogwarts Champion, Alexandra Fortescue.

Alex's mouth fell open.

What. The. Hell.

But there was more.

The charming and charismatic prefect has been known to accompany our favourite Champion from time to time, and some say he's the sole reason she has volunteered to participate in the life endangering tournament in the first place. A risky move to be sure, but a bold one nonetheless. Perhaps this unlikely Gryffindor-Slytherin pairing will shine bright and true in the demanding Triwizard Tournament.

Skeeter then spent one final paragraph hammering out the genera details of the tournament. Fleur and Krum were mentioned a total of two times, and the former's name was misspelt both times.

Great. As if the other schools didn't hate them enough.

Well aware of the eyes scrutinising every minute tic and twitch of her face, Alex carefully adopted a neutral expression as she asked, "Can I sue her for slander?"

"Libel," corrected Jacob. "Since it's written, not spoken."

"Although now I'm not sure she'll ever stop speaking," Katherine scoffed as she flicked through the rest of the paper.

"And probably not," continued Jacob. He stole the last muffin available, much to Richard's irritation. "Better people have tried, and Skeeter always gets away with it. Makes her even more notorious."

"At least you look good here?" offered Agatha. She was gazing at the photo beneath the headline, where they were all looking either discomforted (Harry and Fleur), grumpy (Krum), or just plain indifferent (Alex).

"Oh," Zubair murmured in slight surprise, his brown eyes studying the photo. "You're actually quite photogenic."

Alex rolled her eyes. "I'll add that to my list of talents," she spat, her grip on the article still vice-tight.

Before breakfast was over, Alex forced herself to endure one more reading of the article before she set it alight. The first sentence continued to burn into her mind as brightly as the actual piece itself as it disappeared in the fireplace.

Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts.

At last? He was fourteen, and some people never found love in their entire lives, which was fine. Now that she thought about it, the veracity with which Skeeter was reporting on the supposed romances between a bunch of teenagers was nauseating at best, predatory at worst. It was based on these grounds that she dragged Harry to Dumbledore's office and requested that Skeeter remained as far away from the school as possible.

But Dumbledore had merely spread out his hands as though he were as helpless as her in this situation. "She is the journalist assigned to report on the Triwizard Tournament by the ministry itself," he explained to her, albeit with a note of sympathy in his warbly voice. His old age was shining through at the moment – a calculated move on his part, she was sure. "I'm sorry, children, but there is nothing I can do."

You could kill her, a cold voice inside her head whispered. Really, it would be no loss. Skeeter had destroyed many lives and careers with that awful quill of hers, and not all of them were deserved either.

Dumbledore's expression darkened as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. After that Alex hastened from his office, but not before she waved to the portrait of her dad's dad on the wall between the other ex-heads of Hogwarts. He didn't even react.

"Useless old coots," she seethed once they were a safe distance from Michael the gargoyle. But what did she expect? Dumbledore and his ilk couldn't even prevent Harry from being entered in a deadly competition as part of an elaborate assassination attempt; of course they were similarly incompetent in other areas as well.

She was dragged out of her red haze of rage when she noticed how quiet Harry was. He was just as frustrated as her, if not even more so, since he was at the centre of all this mayhem. Except, unlike her, Harry was the type of person to keep his anger bottled up – until it reached a boiling point, of course, which typically resulted in a messy explosion that left everyone reeling.

Alex placed her hand on his shoulder in quiet support, but he hastily shrugged her off and glanced at the empty corridor like a panicked mouse. Realisation struck Alex like an arrow to the heart.

Her arm fell limply to her side. "Are you worried people will see us?" she asked, shocked. Had Skeeter's piece affected him that badly? "Harry, no one'll believe her. Her entire career is built off lies."

"Ron believed her," Harry confessed miserably. "Just for a minute. Hermione had to convince him nothing was going on between us. I mean, Hermione's a solid mate, but I definitely don't see her like that – especially since she keeps calling Wronski Feints wonky faints. Ron goes barmy every time she does that."

Alex snickered. "You're welcome."

He gave her a look. "You mean you taught her that?"

"You're welcome," she repeated, grinning unrepentantly.

"You're the worst," he said, his voice laden with faux disgust.

"Don't say that," she gasped. "Our fans will be heartbroken."

Harry shuddered. "I want to erase that article from my brain."

"There's a potion for that."

Harry rolled his eyes, but as the day wore on, they were both beginning to wonder if it was possible to erase all memory of the piece from everyone's minds. Poor Hermione was thrown into the mix, too, as everyone suddenly seemed to have interest in her looks. Yesterday she was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age and tenacious swot. Now she was Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's love interest and beauty extraordinaire – or ugly hag, depending on who you asked. Those jealous of her seemed to think so, at any rate.

Fortunately, Hermione didn't let the snide comments get to her. And even if she did, she pretended not to care, so people eventually grew bored of her and renewed their efforts in taunting Harry instead. By the end of the day he had snapped at no less than five people, most of which were Slytherins. They were down by twenty points that night thanks to Alex's rigidity as a prefect – a fact which did not endear her to her Housemates.

"Protecting your boyfriend, Fortescue?" a sneering sixth-year asked her when she walked past him in the common room. She forewent acknowledging his incentive save for a single-fingered gesture that left him spluttering.

But if they thought the day of the article was bad, it didn't hold a candle to the grievances suffered the day after. It was the first day Alex received hate-mail.

"Merlin's bollocks," murmured a wide-eyed Zubair, much to the displeasure of Katherine and Agatha. He didn't notice their grimaces, too busy gawking at the pile of letters dumped in front of Alex courtesy of one of the school's many owls.

Jacob prodded a steaming package with the end of his fork. "You might want to Vanish this," he told her, eying the purple smoke warily.

Frowning, she followed his advice. "I'm not opening any of these," she informed them.

"Can we?" asked Katherine, a glint in her eyes.

As soon as Alex nodded her go-ahead, she scanned the Gryffindor table for her fourth-year friends. Harry had received but one letter, which—judging by his unruffled expression—was from someone he knew.

Probably Sirius, conceded Alex.

Hermione, however, was not so lucky. Her pile of letters was less a mountain and more an ant-hill, and she appeared bemused but not outraged. Curious, Alex forwent decorum by leaving her seat at the Slytherin table and moving towards the Gryffindor one. She nudged Ron's shoulder and gestured for him to make room.

"So," she said, sitting down, "I got hate-mail."

"What, only just now?" replied Ron, and she wasn't sure if he was serious or not. Either way, she kicked him as she shifted to cross her legs. He accepted it with a grimace.

"I have fan-mail," Hermione admitted, waving the letter in her hand. "Support from the same people who are sending you hate-mail, Alex."

Alex cocked an eyebrow, somehow unsurprised. "Congrats."

"Told you you shouldn't trust Colin Creepy," Ron said as he finished off his toast.

Colin was doing his best to avoid looking their way.

"Sirius says he's going to try to do some damage control," announced Harry, handing Hermione the letter. "Dunno how much he can do, though."

"How come you don't have any mail besides that?" asked Ron, brow furrowed.

"Probably because he's a passive participant of this supposed love triangle," replied Alex with a roll of her eyes. "Also he's a boy."

"What does that matter?"

She shrugged. "Women are easier to smear."

Hermione frowned, troubled. "I've been thinking… How come Harry hasn't received any mail before this incident? I mean, if you found out the Boy-Who-Lived was alive and at Hogwarts, wouldn't you try to access him?"

Alex's eyes widened as she connected the dots. "You're saying his mail is screened?" she asked, glancing at the head table. She almost did a doubletake when she realised almost every professor was gazing in their direction.

"Makes sense," Ron confessed thoughtfully. "Otherwise who knows what he'd get?"

"I have some idea," muttered Alex as she turned back to her proper table.

Katherine, upon noticing her, signalled for her return with a slight nod. Alex did so with a sigh, quite cognizant of the dozens of students tracking her movement across the hall.

"From your parents," Katherine said explanatorily, handing her an unopened letter. "Allegedly."

"We applied some detection spells, but nothing came up," offered Agatha.

"You received a lot of stink-bombs," Zubair informed her cheerfully. "We dealt with them, though."

She heaved another sigh – the second one in five minutes. "Thanks."

With mounting dread, Alex used a butter knife as a makeshift letter-opener and slid the contents from its envelope. At least it wasn't a howler. People sent those from time to time, mostly bereaved exes and occasionally furious parents. Alex had no idea why; it was just plain embarrassing to air out your dirty laundry in such a crass way. No Slytherin would be caught dead receiving a genuine howler. The Weasley twins had once pranked quidditch captain Marcus Flint in such a manner, but the punishment they received—both officially and unofficially sanctioned—left them sorely regretting the conception of such an idea in the first place.

Alexandra, it began, and said girl swallowed back her trepidation. She couldn't remember the last time her parents had used her real name and not a nickname.

My dear daughter, what in Merlin's name have you done? Your mother is absolutely furious right now, partly at you but mostly at Rita Skeeter (fortunately). More importantly, we're worried about you. You don't strike us as the type to chase glory and fame, especially in such a dangerous manner. Slytherins pride themselves on their self-preservation, correct? Or have times changed that drastically since I've set foot in the castle?

Is Miss Skeeter correct? Did you enter for Harry's sake? We love your sense of justice and responsibility—your mother's traits, I'm sure—but this is a bit much.

Please write back as soon as possible,

Mum & Dad

P.S. We're rooting for you anyway

"Are they furious?" asked Jacob when she was done.

Alex shook her head. "Worse," she whispered. "They're disappointed."

The knowledge of their disapproval weighed heavily on her mind for the rest of the day. Alex had barely thought of her parents prior to entering in the tournament, let alone what repercussions they would face. Hopefully her parents wouldn't be hassled about it.

They won't if I do well in the first task, Alex realised halfway through writing her response to her parents. That'll shut everyone up.

For the first time since she had slipped her name into the Goblet, Alex felt a smidge of hope shining within her. She could win the first task, and the second, and the third, and somewhere along the way, perhaps everything would resolve itself.

Okay, that was a bit much. Still, she had a clear goal in mind now, and it fuelled her inner fire.

Speaking of fire…

As soon as she convinced Hedwig to accept her letter, Alex went down to Hagrid's. She did her best to keep from running there, and only just managed a brisk walk. She knocked; Fang barked; Hagrid hastened to open the door. He seemed surprised to see her there, her hair windblown and her cheeks pink with warmth.

"Did yeh run 'ere, Alex?" he asked, chuckling.

"Basically," she responded, shuffling inside. It seemed to be getting colder by the day. At this rate, all of Britain would freeze over before Christmas rolled around.

Alex gratefully accepted a cup of tea from her favourite CoMC professor. As per usual, Fang bounded over the short distance between his owner and Alex, contentedly resting his big head in her lap as she absently played with his soft ears.

"How're yeh and Harry holdin' up?" he asked, black eyes dim with sympathy.

"I'm okay." Alex booped her finger against Fang's wet nose. He tried and failed to catch it with his tongue. "Harry's struggling. D'you know if his mail is monitored, by any chance?"

Hagrid's beard twitched as he frowned. "Think Professor Dumbledore mentioned it a while back. Why? Yeh want him ter do the same with yeh?"

"Nah," she replied dismissively, sipping at her tea. "That's what my friends are for."

Though visibly confused, Hagrid respected her decision. "I'm afraid I dun have any rock cakes for yeh today," he stated ruefully. "Wasn't expectin' yeh company again til next month."

"That's alright. I'm not here for snacks." Alex inhaled deeply, steeling herself. "I'm here about the first task. Do you know what it's about, Hagrid?"

"Oh… Well…" Hagrid coughed loudly, a sure sign he was about to lie.

"So you do." She bit her lip. "Dragons?"

His massive form tensed. "How'd yeh know?" he all but yelled. "Who told yeh?"

Alex flinched back at the volume; Fang whined. "No one," she hastened to assure him. "I just figured it out based on the clues available."

"What clues?"

She nodded at his roaring fireplace. "The salamander."

Hagrid sighed as he followed her gaze. "I decided ter call her Sali."

"Innovative."

"Yer right, 'course. Dragons are involved in the first task. Dunno how or why, but they are – Professor Dumbledore told us as much, so yeh lot could prepare yerselves accordingly."

He said it so casually, like their lives weren't at stake. Alex wondered what it was like to have such unshakable faith in another person, especially in someone like Dumbledore. When you were that old and amoral, did you even count as a person anymore?

"Then help me prepare," demanded Alex, her head held high. She paused. "Please."

"I dunno… Sounds a bit like cheatin'," he informed her gruffly.

"Just this once," she continued, softening her tone. "They're dragons, Hagrid."

He considered her words for all of five seconds. "All righ'," he conceded with a decisive nod. "But yeh gotta tell Harry, too."

Alex grinned. "Of course."

BREAK

"What d'you mean you won't help us?" Ron asked, deeply offended.

Alex shrugged, momentarily avoiding the trio's betrayed expressions as she swept her eyes over the abandoned classroom she had pulled them into. She had warned them moments ago about what the first task withheld, but that was the extent of her knowledge at the moment.

"I'm a champion too, y'know," she reminded them, finally meeting their gazes. "I'll supply you with hints and stuff, but I'm in it to win it, which means I can't just expose my tactics to Harry."

Ron shook his head, his upper lip curled in unveiled disgust. "Just when I was starting to have faith in you," he scoffed beneath his breath.

His open display of disappointment was purposeful, which meant Alex should've rolled her eyes and dismissed his immature reaction. She was aware of that, and yet, her jaw tightened the same moment her chest constricted. Who knew she was that desperate for validation?

"I'd like to remind everyone I'm not interested in the tournament," Harry interjected dryly. "Win all you like, Alex. That'll be a load off my plate."

She frowned sympathetically. "No luck with Karkaroff?" But then again, what did they expect? There wasn't much a bunch of teenagers could do, magical or not.

"You know what we need?" she said, straightened from her slumped position against a dusty desk. "An inside man."

"How do you mean?" prompted Hermione.

"Someone—one of us, or a mate we trust—should get all close with a Durmstrang student, be it romantically or platonically. The former would probably be better, because romance and hormones make people do stupid stuff," Alex amended speculatively. "Flirt with them, y'know? Make them trust you, drop their guard, then ask about their headmaster every now and then. Maybe we could even bug his office." Her mum would've had a bunch of gizmos and gadgets designed for such purposes thanks to her job.

"That's…a bit extreme."

Because she adored Hermione, Alex managed to refrain from rolling her eyes at her friend's naivete. "He's a Death Eater committed to killing our friend. I'd say that calls for extreme measures."

Though clearly uncomfortable with the prospects, they ultimately had no other choice. With evident reluctance, they got settled around a group of tables and began to plan. As they ran through a list of trustworthy friends, Alex occasionally checked on the rudimentary wards she had set up right when they entered the room; they were meant to alert her if a sizeable magical signature attempted to breach the wards. So far, so good.

Neither Harry nor Ron could act to save their lives, and Hermione was uncomfortable deceiving people and/or using them for her own personal motives, so they were all out of the running. Alex similarly rendered herself useless with the claim that she had neither the time nor the wherewithal to emotionally invest herself in such a task.

Ginny was Alex's immediate alternative, since she possessed both the necessary likeability and courage, but a swift refusal from her big brother quickly derailed that train of thought. Enlisting Luna's help would've been more trouble than it was worth, and Duncan and Grant were already a couple, so it'd be way too obvious something was afoot. Cedric's moral compass was closer to the trio's than Alex would've liked, and she didn't even bother considering her Housemates for the job.

"Don't you guys have any friends outside of your House?" she asked them once they exhausted their references.

The boys shrugged helplessly, but Hermione perked up as an idea struck her. "How about Stephen?"

"We aren't close," hedged Alex. He seemed to be their only option, though – unless Alex was willing to dedicate her time and energy instead. It was her plan, after all. "I'll consider it."

Making promises one couldn't keep was utterly tasteless in Alex's opinion, so she sought Stephen out after wrapping things up. Hermione tagged along with her since she was headed to the library, where most Ravenclaws preferred to spend their time; Stephen was no exception. She headed to his usual spot, which was a decent distance away from Krum and his fanbase.

"Surprised they haven't been kicked out yet," confessed Alex in a low murmur as they walked past them.

Hermione threw her head back imperiously. "They're on thin ice all the time," she said with a pointed look towards Madam Pince's office.

"You could always steal their voices." It was a jinx Alex was struggling to master.

To her delight, Hermione didn't shoot down the idea right away. They must've really been annoying, then.

An amazing sight waited to greet them when they reached Stephen 's desk. Stacks of books were piled atop of it like paper mountains. They were so tall they obscured all view of Stephen completely. The only indication there was someone even at the desk was the occasional turning of a page and a quiet mutter as Stephen fell into his bad habit of reading aloud to himself.

"Exams are still a while away," pointed out Hermione, looking concerned – perhaps for herself and her own studies.

Stephen poked his head out from the side. "Oh. Alex. You haven't been turning up to Charms club this year."

Alex waved that away. She had no time for that this year. "I need a favour," she began. "How do you feel about using people for your own gain?"

"Depends what I'm gaining."

Alex moved to his side and explained their situation in hushed tones. Stephen didn't appear surprised by much of what she had to say; he had probably come to his own conclusions in the meanwhile.

"I thought something was up," he said, confirming her suspicions. "Harry doesn't strike me as the sort of bloke to cheat his way into a tournament."

His faith in Harry boosted her confidence. "So you'll help?" Alex asked excitedly.

"Sure. I'm actually one step ahead of you guys," he said, returning to his furious scrawling.

"How d'you mean?"

"My cousin goes to Durmstrang," explained Stephen, shrugging. "We're not that close, but we're still family."

"Really?" Alex blinked as she tried to think of any Durmstrang students who had hung around either Stephen or his sister. "Who?"

"Chinese-Russian girl. Tanya Rivako. She's a seventh-year, same as Krum. I hear they're quite close."

"Is she there with him?" Hermione asked with a narrow-eyed glance towards the noisiest part of the library.

"Oh, no, definitely not," chuckled Stephen. "As much as she loves to be surrounded by girls all day, none of them are her type."

Yeah, Alex doubted that giggling hoard was anyone's type. "Try to keep her in the dark as much as possible when you're enlisting her help," clarified Alex as she turned to go. "The less people know about this, the better."

Stephen saluted her without peering up from his papers. Slightly miffed by his blatant dismissal, Alex huffed and turned to Hermione. "Dragon section?" she suggested.

Hermione nodded eagerly.