Chapter 6 – Firsts

The Saturday of the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year dawned crisp and cold; it didn't stop Harry's palms from sweating. Today was his first date with Hermione and he was determined to have it go perfectly, or as perfectly as things could go in the nuthouse that was Harry Potter's life. He even scrubbed behind his ears when he took a shower and everything. He chose a simple outfit of navy blue slacks and a t-shirt underneath a warm woolen jumper in Gryffindor scarlet. He tucked his wand into a front pocket (Moody's warning that he'd blow a bum cheek off had stayed with him even 2+ years removed), grabbed his jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves, and headed downstairs to the Common Room. He tossed his unworn accoutrement on the back of one of the chairs in front of the fire and parked himself in said seat, his foot tapping nervously as he stared into the flickering flames thinking to himself while he waited for Hermione to come downstairs.

Harry had put decidedly more thought into this date than he had the exactly one other date he'd been on in his entire life. That had been a clusterfuck of epic proportions; wrong day (what fucking brain case has their first date ever on Valentine's Day?), wrong place (Madame Ohmygodsomuchpink's or whatever it was), and definitely the wrong girl (it's not like there was anything wrong with playing tonsil hockey with the girlfriend of the guy you saw violently murdered not even a year before, right?). He'd been told that girls expected to do things outside of the normal 'Zonko's and Honeydukes before a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks' when it was a date, and so had looked over the Daily Prophet for the last two weeks for any mention of different things going on in Hogsmeade. He wasn't going to be caught dead in that tea shop again, though; he still had the occasional flashback to being pelted in the face with confetti. That was a great look on a date.

It was an odd twist of Fate (whose asses he still intended to kick the next time he saw them) that the right girl happened to be who he ditched the wrong girl for that day, and who he now had his second first date with. He'd been giving it a lot of thought since he'd come back and had come to the conclusion that he was probably some mixture of completely oblivious and in denial about the nature of his relationship with Hermione Jean Granger, combined with the Horcrux buggering up that weird complementary color life thread thing Chloe had talked about when he'd been . . . wherever the hell he'd been. Looking back on his life he could see a bunch of examples of where something between them could have, perhaps even should have, sparked but didn't. Even as far back as first year: she had meant to say something else after 'friendship and bravery' when she'd hugged him before he'd gone after Quirrell, and Harry would bet his left nut that word had been 'love.' He remembered the way his stomach had dropped out when he'd found out Hermione had been Petrified, and how he couldn't get the image of her frozen body out of his mind, and how good he'd felt seeing her run toward him after she'd been cured. She'd helped him bend the laws of time and faced her almost crippling fear of heights in order to save Sirius. Both last time and this time she'd believed him and helped him train for the Tournament. His heart had threatened to shatter for those few moments before Neville told him that she was still breathing in the Department of Mysteries. The list went on. I must be the daftest idiot in Britain Harry thought to himself looking back. And I almost never thanked her. Never even properly acknowledged what she'd done. What she meant to me. Not again.

As he continued to wait he thought about what he would do when he saw Hermione. Should I just say 'good morning' like I always do? Should I comment on how good she looks? Should I ask if she's excited? Should I outline my plans for the day so that she can veto anything she doesn't want to do? Should I have borrowed some of Seamus's product to try and keep my hair down? Should I have worn different shoes? Should I have gotten some flowers? Should I have planned a more intimate breakfast in the kitchens? So intent was he on watching the fire and thinking what else he could/would/should do when Hermione came downstairs that he missed the event entirely, the first indication being when a hand lightly touched his shoulder and he jumped a foot in the air, twisting mid-way and almost landing himself ass-first in the fireplace. His eyes were wide as saucers, his heart going a mile a minute as Hermione had to put both hands on the back of the chair to hold herself up as she laughed. "Oh that's just not fucking cricket," he exclaimed.

"Language, Harry," Hermione scolded, though there was still a smile on her face.

Composing himself, Harry crossed the short distance between them. "Uhhh . . . hi." Smooth.

Hermione shook her head. "Good morning, Harry. Are you ready to go?"

"Absolutely," he replied before grabbing his things and offering her his arm.

{-}

"So what's the plan for today?" Hermione asked as the two of them rode in the thestral (which Harry could still see)-drawn carriage down to the village. He knew that on the bench across the way Lavender and Parvati were listening in while trying very hard to make it appear as if they weren't listening in.

"Oh, well . . . I was thinking that it might be nice to maybe do a little shopping first. I know you like looking around the bookstore, and I could use a few new quills. And maybe you'd . . . like to try and find some Christmas presents for your parents? Less than five shopping weeks left," Harry finished, feeling like a complete idiot for saying something so ridiculous. Hermione smiled at him, though, so he kept going. "Then I heard about this new restaurant on the far side of town. It's got some weird French name . . . Petty Assets or something like that?"

Hermione laughed. "Petites Assiettes, Harry. It means 'little plates.' I heard Pearson in Third Year talking about it; I guess his mother and oldest brother are running it."

"Yeah, that's the one," he answered. "I thought it might be a nice change from the Three Broomsticks. Then, the local theater is doing a production called . . ." he pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket, "Paradox of Choice. No idea what it's about, but the name sounded cool."

"So, a bit of shopping, followed by lunch and a show?"

"Yep." He saw a look on her face he didn't recognize. "Is that alright?"

Hermione peered at him oddly for a few moments more, and Harry eerily felt like he was being weighed and measured. Eventually she nodded and with a smile responded, "That all sounds lovely, Harry."

Harry leaned his head back against the wall of the carriage, closed his eyes, and sighed in relief. This should work out fine he thought.

With his eyes closed he didn't see Hermione's continued appraisal of him as they made their way down to the village.

{-}

"What the bloody buggering hell did we just watch?" Harry asked as he and Hermione left the theater.

"Language, Harry," Hermione said. "It was definitely . . . interesting."

"Did you understand what the guy with the horse floaty ring and wearing a shoe on his head was all about? 'Cuz I've got nothing."

"Well –"

"And did you understand what that old woman was screaming at the end?"

". . . it sounded like one of the Scandinavian languages."

"Okay, good, then I don't feel bad about not knowing. Still better than trying to read the menu at the restaurant." Hermione giggled as he mentioned the restaurant. "Oh, laugh it up. It's not my fault I got freaked out at my lunch."

"What were you expecting?"

"You told me it was fish; I was expecting a nice filet, maybe some chips on the side. What I wasn't expecting was for it to still have eyeballs! I mean, it was like it was staring at me. Judging me." This changed Hermione's giggle into a full-blown laugh, and Harry couldn't help but laugh with her. While the day hadn't been a disaster, it certainly hadn't gone the way he'd expected; Harry determined that, if there was a second date, he would do better about actually knowing what was coming as opposed to choosing the stuff that sounded suave, sophisticated, and/or expensive. Of course, there had to be a second date first. "I had a really nice time today, Hermione."

"I did too, Harry."

"Do you think we could . . . maybe . . . make this a regular thing?"

"What? Me taking the micky out of you for being scared out of your wits by your food?"

"Cheeky. No, I mean . . . us . . . you and me . . . you know . . . dating and stuff."

Hermione stopped on the narrow street they were walking down and turned to face him. As happened every time he saw her, he once again heard her screams in Malfoy Manor, but now it seemed like he was hearing them from a distance. The same look of consternation from the carriage crossed her features again for a split second. Daring and nerve Harry thought to himself as her screams were carried further away. "And I was wondering if you would . . . maybe . . . think about being my girlfriend." Hermione's eyes got wide for a second, and Harry found himself rambling. "Or not. We could try a few more dates and see if we have as much fun on them. Or we could stay just best friends. That'd be . . . fine . . . totally fine . . ."

Hermione shut him up by reaching a hand out, grabbing the back of his neck, and pulling him down into a kiss. As first kisses went most people would probably say it wasn't anything to write home about; no tongues, no roaming hands, nothing beyond their lips moving against each other gently. To Harry though it was like fireworks; sky blue and bright brilliant orange flickering behind his closed eyelids. Even better was that the moment her lips touched his the screams stopped, as if she herself had banished them away. Instead, The Monster roared in victory and satisfaction at the feel of her against him, one hand on her hip while the other raked its nails along the nape of her neck, eliciting almost a purr from her as they continued.

As their kiss ended and his eyes opened again he looked down at a smiling Hermione as she spoke. "That was . . ."

"Yeah. Bloody brilliant."

She pulled back and looked at him seriously. The bossiness of her tone in the comment that followed almost made Harry laugh; he might have if he didn't think she was being 100% serious. "First rule of being my boyfriend: curb the language."

"Aw sh . . . ugar I'm in trouble," Harry answered.

Hermione pulled him back down for another quick kiss. "Good boy."

"Thank you, Mistress," he responded before their lips locked once again.

{-}

Harry Potter hated a lot of things. Voldemort. Vacuuming. Umbridge. The 1980 Flash Gordon movie. Death Eaters. Olives. Nazis. Cold tea. The list went on and on.

At the moment though First Place for the 'Thing Harry Potter Despises Most in the World' trophy (which he was dubbing 'The Voldy') was his notoriety in the British wizarding world. Specifically, that any piece of information that popped up about him warranted column inches in the Daily Prophet; the juicier the news (or even supposed news; the Prophet was one step away from being The Sun, after all) the more inches it earned. And of course those inches in Sunday morning's Daily Prophet just had to be written by Ms. Rita Skeeter: society gossip monger, current dark horse runner-up for The Voldy (and ranking above the man who murdered your parents and hit you with the Killing Curse – twice - took some work), and all-around thorn in Harry's side. He had hoped that giving her a big story after the Weighing of the Wands would sate her more unsavory journalistic tendencies until at least after the First Task, and that the worst thing he'd have to deal with before Tuesday was seeing Hagrid chatting up Madame Maxime while he showed her (and Harry) the dragons being kept in the forest late the previous night.

A picture on the front page of Harry and Hermione kissing in Hogsmeade yesterday, which Harry wasn't even sure how she'd gotten, put paid to that. It wouldn't have been so bad if the headline 'Boy-Who-Lived-The-Life' hadn't been pasted above the photo in a font that could probably be seen from space. Rita had apparently decided that instead of characterizing him as a weepy child starved for attention and approval, as she'd done in his past life, that going down the opposite path and portraying him as Don Juan reborn would be the better play. On an intellectual level Harry couldn't blame her; sex sells better than tragedy, after all. But that didn't help the fact that the 'journalist' in question was – allegedly, of course, and always in a 'tasteful' manner - attaching him to a large number of females in the student body of Hogwarts.

His date with Hermione was mentioned in such great detail that she must have been following them in her Animagus form. How did she even know where to find us? We weren't anywhere near the areas that students normally travel. Harry sighed. Should have worn fu . . . reaking bug spray. Harry blinked. Wow, even my internal monologue is censoring my cursing? Man, I've got it bad. Skeeter went on to talk about how during the school week he and Hermione often went missing for hours at a time together and returned sweaty and exhausted but with satisfied smiles on their faces. I mean that's true, but we weren't shagging; we were training for me to fight a . . . blanking dragon and the Death Eaters. It also appeared as if someone had blabbed to Rita about both his and Hermione's blow ups at Ron in the Common Room the night they'd taken turns decking the ginger. Harry's encounter that day was classed as being 'like a virile cockerel staking his claim to a fertile hen,' while Hermione's secondary decking of Ron, plus her warning about what she'd do to him (and presumably any male other than Harry) if he touched her again, marked her as 'an alpha female wholly dedicated to her chosen wizard.'

If that had been all perhaps he would have been alright; he and Hermione had weathered similar in the previous timeline and could do so again. At least there was no mention of Hermione's flippant comments about dating whomever she wanted or asking out Viktor Krum; that would probably have had Rita casting Hermione in the role of harlot and seen letters coated in bubotuber pus headed her way again. The reporter had even scored perhaps half a point in her favor by using the same descriptor for Hermione as she did last time: 'a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school.' (1)

But of course Rita didn't stop there; not by a long shot. Reading between the lines and through the innuendo, it would seem that Harry had been doing the entire Gryffindor Chaser line since some time the previous year, as evidenced by their actions in the Common Room the night they'd apologized to him. The girls were portrayed as 'very direct, very inventive, and very enthusiastic;' apparently Harry had even had a wild orgy with them in the locker room showers after winning the Quidditch Cup last season. Not that he would have minded had that been true (hadn't he dreamed of something very similar that same night they'd apologized?), but society's double-standards would likely have the populace seeing the Chasers in a very negative light while at the same time calling Harry a stud.

After that the claims just got more outlandish and made Harry even angrier. Hannah Abbott's apology had morphed from an innocent, shy, embarrassed conversation in the Entrance Hall to a secret rendezvous behind a suit of armor in an out of the way alcove. Yes our conversation took place next to a suit of armor, and yes I ducked behind it when we were done, but that's because it hides one of the shortcut secret passages up to the Seventh Floor. Hannah was already leaving when I did that. Harry was reported as having introduced Ginny Weasley to the sins of the flesh in a tent at the Quidditch World Cup. The girls had their own tent; I never even saw the inside of it! Do people really think Arthur Weasley would let his THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD daughter be alone with a boy in the next tent? Plus, wouldn't the mood have been ruined by oh, I don't know, THE FLIPPING DEATH EATER ATTACK?! Fleur Delacour hadn't been in the country 10 minutes before she had been introduced to 'proper British hospitality' courtesy of . . . surprise, surprise . . . Harry Potter. All I did was pass her some Merlin-be-da . . . praised . . . soup! As far as Rita's article, and unfortunately via said article the rest of wizarding Britain, were concerned, when Harry Potter entered a room the panties of every woman under the age of 20 dropped faster than a busted racing broom.

There was one character attack, though, that shoved Harry's fury at the bleach blond bit . . . ter woman into the stratosphere. The skank (That word should be safe he thought) had managed to have a stab at the Quibbler by roping Luna into her luridly obscene fairy tale, claiming that the petite Ravenclaw was often found rubbing up on Harry in order to try and find a story good enough to drag her father's absurd publication into the mainstream. She'd morphed Luna's joining them at the table when he'd given his interview into the young woman trading her virtue for a headline, and her feeding him strawberries (which had happened on more than one occasion; apparently umgubular slashkilters were rampant this year) as a metaphor for . . . well, everyone could pretty much guess what for. Rita's libelous attacks about Luna 'playing with our saviour's heartstrings, amongst other body parts, to legitimize her family's outlandish claims and failing business' made Harry seriously consider Accio'ing that cu . . . ounterproductive person into the enclosure during the First Task and using her as a snack to distract the Horntail.

He turned to his left, where Hermione was just finishing re-reading the article. "How can she get away with saying all of this stuff about children?"

"Unfortunately it would appear she is very good at her job," Hermione responded, and when Harry looked at her with a crinkled brow she clarified. "Well, she never outright says anything lurid or obscene, does she? She insinuates. She uses innuendo and hyperbole. She paints a vague picture and lets the reader draw their own conclusions. She skirts the line but doesn't cross it, at least not severely enough to earn a reprimand, but definitely enough to increase the Prophet's circulation. The Chasers had a 'private celebration' with you after winning the Cup. You showed Fleur 'how a proper wizard treats a beautiful woman.' Her line about Luna only implies sexual misconduct because our minds choose for it to; she could have meant, or rather could claim she meant, Luna was playing with your mind, or your foot for that matter. And while there was enough suggestive mentions between you and me to imply we've been . . ." she blushed, "intimate . . . on almost a nightly basis, the only overt and direct part of the article was the story about our date, and our kiss."

Harry sighed as the headache behind his eyes got worse. "Hermione, I am so sorry for all of this."

He could tell she was upset, but she was taking it very stoically. "Why? You didn't write this, Harry, and I know none of this other rubbish is true. You couldn't have known she would do this."

Harry winced slightly, thinking that he actually very well could have known, given his previous knowledge of Skeeter. "Still, Rita only said those things about you, about all of you, because of me. Because my name sells papers."

She answered in a low whisper so that only he could hear her. "The others are your friends, and know you did nothing to instigate this, Harry. They won't blame you. As for me . . ." she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, "if this is the price I pay for us being together, I'm willing to pay it. What I'm more curious about is where she heard most of this from. It's been a week since the incidents in the Common Room, and Rita Skeeter doesn't seem like a woman who sits on a story." Hermione pondered for a moment. "The only thing that makes sense is that she met someone in Hogsmeade yesterday and they told her everything."

Harry was about to respond when the owls started flying into the Great Hall with the morning mail. He watched as a good number homed in on the people mentioned in the article, and some of the correspondence was obvious in its intent. "Hold that thought," he said before standing and drawing his wand. "Accio Howlers!" he called out, and there were several squawks of indignation as the red envelopes were unceremoniously ripped from the owls that had been delivering them; the one that had been about to land in front of Hannah traveled almost two meters with its envelope before releasing it. With a Seeker's reflexes he plucked each one out of the air as it approached him and crushed them all in his hand. The entire Great Hall watched in fascination as Harry slammed the Howlers onto one of the golden serving plates, pointed his wand at them, and growled out an Incendio before slamming a lid on the platter of burning letters, all the while staring down the table at his housemates. "Alright, which one of you gossipy whore . . . ible people is responsible for this?" he asked. He wasn't sure if Hermione would mind that word but decided to err on the side of caution. "Only a Gryffindor would have heard those fights, or seen Angelina, Alicia, and Katie's apology, so only a Gryffindor could have relayed all that to Skeeter. Anyone wanna fess up?" He kept his eyes moving up and down the table, looking for any tells by the guilty party. Seeing the head down, hands in the lap, and eye contact avoidance he was looking for, he left his spot by Hermione and walked over to who was most likely the culprit, the muffled screams of the conflagrated hate mail loud enough for a good portion of the table to hear. The people nearby his target made space, and he sat down. "Would you like to explain, Lavender?" He saw the normally bubbly girl cringe at his question so he softened his approach. "Look, I'm sorry I got angry; I hope you understand why I was, and am, though." She nodded fervently, still not raising her head. "But why?"

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry. Parvati and Lily Moon and I ran into Rita Skeeter in the Three Broomsticks. You know how I love her column, so I really wanted to talk to her. Maybe impress her, right? I mean, she's a good person to know if you want to get into that business. So we got to talking, and even after the other two left she kept buying me butterbeers and asking me questions. And I just kept answering them, that damnable green quill scribbling next to her the entire time. I didn't even realize what I had told her until she bolted out of the pub after I'd mentioned what I knew about yours and Hermione's date."

Harry sighed deeply; given what he knew about how Rita had gotten Dumbledore's secrets out of Bathilda Bagshot, he had a probable cause of Lavender's looser-than-normal tongue. It was more than likely that a few relatively innocent stories, combined with some liquid assistance (and not the alcoholic type), were embellished by Rita and that Quick-Quotes Quill of hers and voila, front page byline. "It's alright, Lavender. Rita's very good at getting information out of people; I wouldn't be surprised if she put a drop or two of Veritaserum in your drink while you weren't looking." Lavender's face changed from apologetic to apoplectic, and Harry rested a hand on her shoulder. "We'll get her somehow, Lavender, but charging off won't fix anything." He looked toward the rest of the table. "First and last warning, though, to all of you. My private life is just that; private. I forgive Lavender because I think she was manipulated by that biiiiiiiimmmbo," Harry caught himself at the last moment, "but if I find out that anything about me makes it back to Skeeter or the Prophet voluntary, I'll fu . . . oul you up beyond all recognition." Seeing nods of acceptance from the majority of the table, Harry stood to return to Hermione.

As he did, though, he noticed one more owl entering the Great Hall, and all he could do was close his eyes, tilt his head up to the heavens, and sigh deeply. Errol Harry said to himself. This should be good. Molly Weasley had believed Rita's articles about Hermione the last time through, though hadn't been angry enough to send a Howler then; she'd been more of the passive-aggressive type. Of course, now Skeeter had implied that Harry was sleeping with not only Hermione but the Chasers, Hannah, Luna, Fleur, and even Molly's own daughter, so it shouldn't really be surprising. He opened his eyes expecting the aged bird of prey to make its way toward him, followed shortly by a tinnitus-causing verbal assault by the Weasley matriarch about his despoiling of her daughter, defiling of innocent girls, bringing shame on his ancestors, etc., etc.

And so his surprise was complete when Errol instead took a nose dive in a different trajectory, wings and legs everywhere as he crashed into the table and the red envelope was dislodged, landing in front of its recipient. Before Harry could raise his wand to Summon the letter it had already been picked up and flipped open.

No. If there is anyone in the universe that doesn't deserve a Howler . . .

Harry's thoughts were ignored by the universe, however. The letter jumped from the girl's hands and floated not 2 feet in front of her face as the angry mother's voice radiated out at jet engine-level decibels for all the Hall to hear.

"LUNA PANDORA LOVEGOOD YOU SHAMELESS HUSSY! HOW DARE YOU USE OUR HARRY LIKE THAT?! YOU DISPICABLE GIRL! I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT! AND YOUR MOTHER WOULD BE SO ASHAMED OF –"

That was as far as the tirade got before a blue bolt of light impacted the envelope, the Reductor Curse silencing the Howler by the simple expedient of disintegrating it. Harry was next to Luna an instant later, and in his peripheral he saw Hermione and Ginny approaching at speed from the Gryffindor table. He sat down and for the first time saw Luna with an expression that he'd never seen on her before and never wanted to see again.

Disbelief.

On most people a look of disbelief would be innocuous, perhaps even amusing. But on the face of a girl who willingly and happily believed in the most unbelievable things, and had believed him when almost no one else did, it was akin to what he would have imagined had he been asked to describe the facial features of 'suicidal.' He rested his hand on her shoulder gently as she stared straight ahead, silver eyes blinking over and over. He blatantly ignored the images The Bill flashed in front of him as Luna spoke in a quiet voice.

"That's the first letter I've ever gotten from someone except Daddy," she began almost mechanically. "I knew it was Errol; I've known the Weasleys all my life. I've spent so many Summer afternoons playing with Ginny in their back garden; Mrs. Weasley would always invite me to stay for dinner. Said I was too thin and I'd float away in a strong breeze. She baked us a blackberry pie after Mum died. It was her favorite." She turned to look at him and as her voice broke so did his heart. "Why, Harry? Why would she say those things? Why would she say Mum . . ." she couldn't finish, and Harry didn't ask her to, instead wrapping her in his arms as she burrowed her face into his chest. He could feel her shaking. Luna probably could have taken hearing anything else in that Howler. Every other foul, disgusting thing Molly could think of would have flowed off her like water off a duck. But Molly found her Achilles Heel and drove the arrow deep. Maybe by happenstance, maybe intentionally. Doesn't really matter, I guess; the effect is the same. Harry hadn't thought it was possible, but there was a new frontrunner for The Voldy and her name was Molly Weasley.

His thoughts of retribution stopped as the other two girls arrived, Hermione gently rubbing circles on the diminutive blonde's back while Ginny took over 'shoulder to cry on' duties from Harry. He took a moment to look around, seeing a bunch of people gossiping about the morning's events but more than a few of the Ravenclaws looking at the quartet. He felt the need to lay down the law with them the same as he had his fellow Gryffindors. "The first one of you who tries to use this to attack, belittle, or bully Luna is going to find me waiting for them, and you will not enjoy how that encounter ends. Am I understood?" His eyes burned with the fire of righteous fury, but even without that his tone left no room for interpretation and no doubt what would happen to them if they found him waiting. A series of quickly nodding heads confirmed he'd been understood. That settled, he turned to help Ginny and Hermione basically carry Luna out of the Hall. He didn't know what additional rumors this would cause and he really didn't care; his priority was helping his obviously hurting friend.

Ginny, however, felt something else take precedence. As they reached the staircase she said to them, "I need to do something real quick. Where will you guys be?"

Hearing where she was headed had Harry grinning before he answered. "There'll be a door on the Seventh Floor, across from the tapestry of a wizard trying to teach trolls to dance. We'll be in there." The redhead nodded before hurrying off on her mission, one Harry wholeheartedly approved of.

After all, winning First Place deserved a prize.

{-}

Molly and Arthur had just sat down to dinner when a barn owl swooped into the Burrow's window and dropped an envelope on the table with the precision of an RAF bomber pilot before pulling up hard, wings pumping energetically as it sought to escape what it knew was coming.

Before Molly or Arthur had a chance to do anything the missive exploded into action. It leaped off the table, Ginny's magnified voice shaking the Burrow's rafters.

"MOTHER I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE DISAPPOINTED IN OR DISGUSTED WITH ANOTHER HUMAN BEING, AND I HAD YOU-KNOW-WHO PLAYING AROUND IN MY HEAD FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR! WHAT DID YOU THINK GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO SAY THOSE TERRIBLE THINGS TO LUNA?! BRINGING HER DEAD MOTHER INTO IT?! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH SHE STILL WORSHIPS MRS. LOVEGOOD. THAT WAS A LOW BLOW, EVEN FOR YOU.

"AND IF YOU BELIEVED THAT TRIPE ABOUT LUNA YOU HAD TO BELIEVE THE REST OF IT, RIGHT? THAT I SLEPT WITH HARRY AT THE WORLD CUP? EVEN IF I FANCY THE IDEA OF, MAYBE, LOSING MY VIRGINITY TO HARRY SOMEDAY, DO YOU REALLY THINK I'D WANT THAT TO HAPPEN AT 13 IN A TENT THAT SMELLED LIKE WET CATS WITH MY FATHER AND ALL MY BROTHERS AND A HUNDRED THOUSAND OTHER PEOPLE NOT 10 FEET AWAY?! DO YOU REALLY THINK SO LITTLE OF HARRY? DO YOU REALLY THINK SO LITTLE OF ME?! YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO ASK ME OR LUNA OR HARRY IF ANYTHING THAT MISERABLE SHREW SKEETER WROTE THIS MORNING WAS IN ANY WAY TRUE WHICH, ASIDE FROM HARRY AND HERMIONE'S DATE AND THEM DECKING RON, IT WAS NOT I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW! NO, YOU BEHAVED LIKE A CRAZY WOMAN JUST LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO AND LEFT A GIRL YOU'VE KNOWN SINCE SHE WAS BORN PSYCHOLOGICALLY SCARRED AND EMOTIONALLY DESTROYED.

"SO I WILL SAVE YOU SOME EFFORT MOVING FORWARD: DO NOT WRITE ME OR LUNA OR HERMIONE OR HARRY. DO NO BOTHER TO SEND CHRISTMAS PRESENTS; THEY'LL JUST GET TOSSED IN THE FIRE. NONE OF US WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU UNTIL YOU GET ON YOUR KNEES IN FRONT OF LUNA AND TELL HER HOW SORRY YOU ARE AND HOW WRONG YOU WERE TO SAY THAT HER MUM WOULD BE ASHAMED OF HER. YOU WILL BEG HER TO FORGIVE YOU, AND WHETHER SHE DOES OR NOT WILL DETERMINE IF ANY OF US EVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN."

Its message delivered, the letter shredded itself into confetti and floated down onto a Molly Weasley who had been blown backwards onto the floor under the raw power and emotion that Ginny had poured into the Howler.

"Molly, what did you do?" was all Arthur could manage in the wake of the long-distance bollocking that had just been administered by his youngest child. He had a feeling he was not going to like the answer, but he'd have to wait a while for it anyway. For the first time in 25 years of marriage, his wife had been struck speechless.

{-}

Unfortunately the only way Harry managed to get the girls out of the funk about Molly's Howler to Luna was to put them in a funk about what he'd have to face in the First Task. He wasn't sure how much of Hermione's 'I'm going to Stick you to a chair and park myself on your lap until after the Task so that you don't have to fight a dragon' strategy was tongue in cheek and how much of it was honest thought, but it seemed to win the support of the other two. Him stating that he had a plan was met with doubtful gazes which, while deserved given his track record, he didn't really appreciate. Then he told them his plan and he really felt unappreciated.

"You call that a plan? That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!" was Ginny's initial response. Then she heard his Plan B and it didn't get much better from there. "Okay, nevermind. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. That'll never work! It's . . . it's . . . Hermione help me out here."

"Perhaps not well thought out," Hermione injected, which in Hermione-speak was 'I can't believe how much of a moron you are for even thinking that had a snowball's chance in Hell of ever working.'

Luna barked out a laugh. The others looked over at the blonde, shoulders that had just a bit ago been shaking in sadness now doing so in mirth. Eventually she couldn't help it anymore and started outright cackling at Harry's plan. "It's genius," she said when she'd finally managed to catch her breath. The other two girls looked at the Ravenclaw like she'd grown a second head which, granted, wasn't that uncommon an occurrence (the look, not the head growing) but usually for a different reason. "Well, think about it. I guarantee you neither judges nor the other Champions have thought of it, and it's not only elegant in its simplicity but so dim-witted that it actually has a good chance of working."

"Oi!" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah, but . . ." Hermione began to protest.

"We all know Harry. It's either this or doing something even more insane like trying to outmaneuver a dragon on his broomstick or something like that." Harry winced. That hit kinda close to home. "Which would you prefer he do, Hermione? Ginny?" Neither girl had anything better than the stick-him-to-a-chair strategy, and so Harry's (debatably) most asinine plan to-date was given the green light. It wasn't the only plan they agreed to that night, though he had no trouble gaining approval for the second once they heard the target.

{-}

Later that night in the Common Room Harry found the last piece he needed for the after-Task entertainment.

{-}

Tuesday at lunchtime found Harry at the Gryffindor table with Hermione attached to his left hip, Luna to his right, and Ginny across from him. Various other friends filled in around providing support to their Champion, but it was these three that had barely let him out of their sight for the last two days, since they were the ones that knew what he was going up against. He really appreciated their concern but he actually thought he was going to be fine. Granted, going one-on-one with a 4-story tall, 1500 kilo, magic-resistant, fire-breathing set of teeth with wings wasn't something one should do on a lark. And it lent itself to a host of unexpected possibilities of death and dismemberment. And he had to factor in the fact that it was him and all the messed-up stuff that that entailed. And his entire strategy basically revolved around what was more or less a prank. And if Plans A and B didn't work Plan C was to outfly a dragon again, or more accurately try to outfly a dragon again . . .

Harry pushed his plate away as his stomach gave a warning gurgle. Okay, so maybe he should worry just a little bit.

"Finally figured it out, have you?" Hermione asked after seeing what he'd done. Harry glared for a moment until he saw how much it was costing her to try and be glib, and so he softened his gaze and kissed her on the forehead. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight.

It seemed no time at all before Professor McGonagall approached and told him that it was time to head down with the other Champions. He stood to raucous applause from those around him and received a truly spectacular kiss from Hermione. "You come out of this in one piece and they'll be more where that came from," she whispered quietly to him as they hugged.

"Yes, Mistress," he replied, getting a small smile out of her before he had to head down to the enclosure where the dragons were being kept. As before, McGonagall escorted him down to the tent and her anxiety was there for all to see. She tried to reassure him, and he was able to appreciate her concern more this time now that he wasn't in the grip of gonad-crushing fear about what was to come. Perhaps only gonad-squeezing-just-enough-to-be-painful-but-some-guys-kinda-like-that fear.

The events in the Champions' tent passed in a blur; Harry knew that he had once again drawn the Horntail and last position, and he had the unfortunate pleasure of listening to Ludo Bagman's ridiculous commentary as the other three Champions went up against their own dragons. He remembered that Cedric had transfigured a dog for the dragon to attack, Fleur had tried to Charm her dragon to sleep, and Krum had just shot his in the face and followed wherever that road led him. What in Merlin's name did Hermione ever see in that guy? Shot his dragon in the face, couldn't Transfigure himself fully in the lake, goes to a school that teaches Dark Arts and can't throw off an Imperius, couldn't even pronounce her name right . . . Okay, maybe Harry was being a bit petty, but Hermione and he were together now, and he had no intention of letting the Bulgarian Bon-Bon anywhere near his best friend. Practicing his intimidating glare for if Krum ever approached Hermione occupied the rest of his time until the whistle blew and it was time for him to do his thing.

As before, Harry entered the enclosure from the tunnel to see a large mostly cleared area of the Forest surrounded by a wooden palisade. Stands had been erected around the outside and were full of cheering students and other spectators. And across the way, crouched protectively over her nest, were the shiny black scales and glaring yellow eyes of the Hungarian Horntail. Its tail moved menacingly back and forth, digging long furrows in the soft earth. Harry took a deep breath as he stopped just outside the tunnel, looked around, and then raised his arms up high. The crowd cheered louder in anticipation.

Harry's wand hand came down. "Accio Golden Egg," he said simply. No one was more surprised than him when the clue flew out of the nest and straight into his waiting hands. All the cheering and jeering instantly died; for a moment Harry wasn't sure if anyone in the stands was breathing. Even the dragon had loosened its threatening posture as it gaped at him in shock.

"Huh," was all he could manage. Holding his prize in his hand, Harry immediately turned and headed back up the tunnel.

{-}

Despite Karkaroff docking Harry points for 'not putting on a show,' the speed and effectiveness of his successful retrieval meant that the (properly chagrined) judges couldn't award him anything other than First Place. A few announcements to the Champions and Harry departed the tent. He found Hermione waiting for him and pulled her into an eager kiss. "I can't believe that worked," she said as they broke apart.

"I told you. Genius," he responded.

"Actually, Luna told me," she quipped back.

"Whatever. Let's head up to the Common Room; I'll bet the Twins are putting something together as we speak." Hand in hand, the two made their way back toward the castle. They'd just rounded a copse of trees when they experienced an encounter Harry remembered from his first pass; Rita Skeeter popped out from the brush to stand right in front of them.

"Congratulations, Harry!" she said, beaming at him. "I wonder if you could give me a quick word?" (1)

"Rita!" Harry said in a happy tone. "How good of you to show up and congratulate me. Though, won't it just give substance to the rumors?"

"Rumors, Harry?" she asked sweetly.

"Oh, right, I forgot," he replied, snapping his fingers. "The Quibbler doesn't come out until Thursday. Yes, the rumors. That, in addition to my escapades with many of the women of Hogwarts, I have been found to woo the occasionally older witch. It would seem you, Miss Skeeter, have been carrying on a torrid love affair with an underage wizard and are secretly carrying my love child. Well, I guess not so secretly when the story breaks." He shrugged and looked over at his girlfriend. "Hermione, as 'an alpha female wholly dedicated to her chosen wizard,' is very understanding. After all, she knows that it's my deepest wish to have a family, and now I don't have to wait. Isn't that great?" He smiled wide, though it was more the look of a predator than a proud father-to-be.

Rita's eyes widened as a single bead of sweat dripped from her brow. "The people will never believe such a thing!" she finally managed.

"Oh, I don't know, Rita," Harry purred as he stepped closer to her. She reflexively took a step back. "They believed that nonsense you said about me on Sunday, didn't they? At least if all the Howlers and other hate mail are to be believed. What's one more woman in the Potter Harem?" He continued pushing Rita until she was backed up to a tree, and both of his hands found their way onto the trunk on either side of her head. "Besides," he whispered, "I've got art."

A flash interrupted the moment, and when Skeeter got over her shock Harry was no longer in front of her. Instead, he was standing over to the side, 2 blondes and a brunette at his side. That taller, older blonde had a camera in her hand. "Got all of that Lavender? Luna?"

"Of course, Harry," Luna replied, the feral look on her face enough to cause shivers down the sturdiest man's spine. "Several photos by the Quibbler's newest investigative reporter, Lavender Brown, of your secret mistress meeting you in a secluded spot after the Task, away from any other adult supervision so as to maintain her secret, thanking Merlin that you were safe and that her child would grow up knowing their father. The coup-de-grace being a shot of her pushed up against a tree begging to be taken by her young lover."

"And then when she shockingly reveals to me that she managed to get on the grounds, not to mention half of her stories, because she is an unregistered Animagus, I just couldn't take the lies anymore. It was that final betrayal by the woman who taught me, a bright-eyed, innocent boy of fourteen, the ways of carnal love that convinced me that I only ever needed one woman in my life." He kissed Hermione's forehead before turning back to the reporter.

"That's a career ender, Rita," Hermione offered. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not, or how much your editors permit and even encourage your muck-raking; a scandal like this will be the end of you. You'd be damaged goods. When this gets out you won't be able to get a job writing the classifieds at Quidditch Weekly."

"You'd never let that happen. You'd be on the hook just as much as I would," she said, indicating Harry.

"Probably. But there's two things about that. First, I'm young and not world-wise; it would be easy to state that I was led astray by an older, more experienced authority figure. I'd be back in the public's good graces inside of a year." Believe me, I know from experience. Harry's eyes shimmered in barely contained anger as he continued. "And even if that failed, I'm more than willing to burn my public image down to the foundations if it means I take you with me. I have resources and options; how much do you have in the bank, Rita? Go ahead and test me; I guarantee you my will is stronger than yours."

Rita fumed, but she knew they had her over a barrel. "What will it take to make sure those photos and that story never see the light of day?"

"It's very simple, Rita. Stay out of my private life, and that of my friends. Report about the Tournament, or anything else that happens before the public at large. If it's seen by the masses feel free to write about it. But any more hints, insinuations, accusations, innuendos, or outright lies will see these photos shipped to every major magical news outlet in the civilized world, not to mention the DMLE and Child Protective Services, along with a personal statement from me. Do we have a deal?" Harry asked, holding out his hand.

Rita's jaw tightened, but she stepped forward and took it with her own.

{-}

The party in the Gryffindor Common Room had been going for the better part of 3 hours; the Twins had not only raided the kitchens but had pulled several cases of butterbeer from somewhere.
There were even a few bottles of ginger wine making the rounds, though that was mostly restricted to the upper years. Harry had been glad-handed, back-slapped, and/or hugged by everyone in Gryffindor at least once, though Romilda Vane had tried on no less than 5 occasions to sneak her way into his arms; it was obvious she too believed Rita's story from the weekend and was trying to weasel her way onto the list. She'd only stopped when Hermione had tapped the younger girl's nose with her wand and asked her where she wanted the first wart, on her nose or on her bum. Romilda had made herself scarce after that.

Finally things seemed to be winding down. There were still classes tomorrow, after all, and dinner would be starting shortly. As people started to peel away, Hermione grabbed Harry by the wrist. "Come with me," she said simply as she started dragging him through the Portrait Hole to loud applause and wolf whistles. Harry offered no resistance, allowing Hermione to lead him to the Room of Requirement. She paced in front of the door three times and then stepped through without waiting for Harry. Well, she did promise there'd be more where that kiss came from he thought to himself. Whatever he had been expecting, though, it wasn't what he found.

The room was very simple. A fireplace crackled along the far wall, with two cushioned chairs sitting across from each other with a low table in between. Hermione was stopped behind one of them, her hand on the back as she stared into the fire. Harry walked over toward her, but she turned before he reached her. She grabbed the front of his robes with both hands and pulled him down for a kiss, which he eagerly returned. As they broke apart she spoke for the first time since leaving the Common Room. "Harry, you know that no matter what I'll always be your best friend, right?"

Harry didn't like how that sounded, and it showed in the tremor in his voice. "Yyeeaaahhh . . . Hermione, what's wrong?"

She let go of his robes and took a step back. "Now that the First Task is over and you can afford to worry about other things and I feel like I can distract you without worrying for your life, I just . . . I need to know, Harry. How far?"

Harry blinked. "How far? How far do I . . . like . . . want to go with you?"

She shook her head sadly. "No Harry," she replied as she looked up at him. "How far back in time did you travel?"

{-}

The chair Thandie had been leaning back in tipped, sending her and her bowl of popcorn crashing to the ground in Theia's house. "Oh fuck."

A/N: (1) denotes a direct quote from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (J.K. Rowling, 2000)

I honestly have no idea where most of this chapter came from. As with most of my writing, I knew where I wanted to start and where I wanted to end, and the middle just kind of happened.

The whole 'can't Summon the Egg' thing is a common fanon plot device that I seriously toyed with following. My first draft had an elaborate idea which involved conjured anacondas, Imperio'd canaries carrying Ton-Tongue Toffee and a particularly energetic Niffler (which was Harry's Plan B, BTW). But I like the idea of everyone overthinking it, and there being an amazingly simple solution when all of the Champions did off-the-wall shit. In the book none of the Champions tried just Summoning the egg, so who's to say if it would have worked or not? There are several instances where it's made patently obvious that most wizards couldn't logic or common sense themselves out of a paper bag. I like the symmetry of the judges overthinking keeping the egg from the Champions and the Champions overthinking how to get to the egg, with Harry following the Occam's Razor approach.

The guy Harry mentions in the play is a shoutout to the classic Far Side comic How Nature Says "Do Not Touch" by Gary Larson. The old woman screaming in Scandinavian . . . yeah, your guess is as good as mine.

I finally managed to get Third Year Pearson in there again.