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So far... After drinking an overdose of Claret Tea, Harry's perceptions were heightened and he began to see much more clearly. He refused to compete in the Triwizard Tournament, sacrificed his magic, and walked away from all that nonsense to make a new life for himself. He set up a new home protected by the Fidelius charm in a Muggle area. Read on...

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Chapter 3

The Death Of Magic

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On her return to Hogwarts from Harry's new home, Hermione was delighted to discover that she'd not been missed at all! The extended Dark Arts lesson had been cancelled without explanation – though the word in the Gryffindor common room was that Mad-eye Moody had not been seen since the day before.

Days passed where Hermione began researching her future prospects. It looked like Harry had been correct when reasoning out that no matter how good her grades, career opportunities would be severely restricted in Britain for a Muggle-born. She spared Harry the Prophet's accusation that he'd behaved cowardly and 'running scared', but she did inform him that there'd been no mention yet of the Goblet of Fire being stolen.

She sighed on the way to Charms class. What to do with my life? What to do?

The weeks that followed seemed empty without her best friend, and Ron was not a fair substitute. A space had grown between her and the young Weasley, so he was spending more time idling with Dean and Seamus. All three of them accepted the Daily Prophet's interpretation of Harry's behaviour rather than her defence of him. What else could they think without any official announcement by the Tournament officials or even the Hogwarts staff of the real reason for his leaving? But their scoffing at her stance only increased her sense of isolation and separation.

The crowd roared as the Tournament began. Fleur Delacour braved a dragon's wrath to win the first task. Hermione was shocked at the size of the beast and relieved that Harry had not been forced to risk his life, because she could imagine no way he could have survived without severe injury.

By Christmas there was still no public information posted about the Goblet of Fire, and Hermione was forced to the conclusion that they'd stored away its casket without checking inside.

What did Harry say he'd put in to substitute the weight of the Goblet? A pumpkin?

They'd be in for a surprise in four years' time!

Rejected by Hermione, Viktor Krum settled for one of his many adoring fans named Patricia Stimpson, a seventh-year Griffindor. Ron went to the Yule Ball on his own, but Hermione returned home that Christmas and visited Harry twice during the festive break. He was taking a home course in computer programming and using a self-correcting Dicta-quill to speed things up. She began working on a runic keyboard to help even further.

"I've made my decision, Harry," she told him. "I'm not going back to Hogwarts. I've been accepted by Beauxbatons."

"Good for you, Hermione!" Harry's relief was evident. "And don't hesitate to ask if you need any support. I'm always here for you."

In the new year she began her first lessons at the French school. The faculty were less restrictive, and she found herself free to visit Harry every weekend and even brief periods during the week. Together they read with dismay the Daily Prophet's report that Fleur Delacour's little sister almost died of hypothermia in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. That deadly threat to a little French girl caused great friction between France and Britain. Cedric Diggory won the task easily because Viktor Krum, not having any knife, bit off the ankle of Patricia Stimpson in his efforts to free her.

"How's it going, Hermione?" said Harry at Easter, frowning at the strange keyboard that she was plugging in for another test.

"Well... it's working but you may need to learn to touch type." She pulled a face. "I suppose I could paint the alphabet over the runes; they'd still function. The asterisk was a real problem because not only can it signify multiplication, but also be a wildcard and other things. I settled for a tiny matrix of seven unimportant runes that I learned last year represents 'everything' or 'anything'. That's the nearest I could think of and it seems to work because the overall keyboard processes detect what's intended. This keyboard recognises your intent, provides creative solutions, is self-correcting, adjusts to your style – oh, and it's even self-dusting. The runic logic is complex, efficient, progressive, and should increase your workflow exponentially. I'm quite proud of it really."

"Wow! Self-dusting? Can't wait!" cried Harry with a grin, then, when Hermione rolled her eyes, he added, "just joking. Seriously, it sounds great."

"My tests have been limited to simple algebra, essays in French, and basic chemistry. Do you want to give it a try with one of your program listings? You'll have to refer to that other keyboard if you can't remember what all the keys are, but I anticipate it'll judge and adjust what you're typing because, as I said, magic works on intent. This'll blow out of the water any Muggle grammar, style or spell checker on the market. It could possibly flesh out a story from a general plot and theme. Pity we can't sell it, but it'd be highly illegal under the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts legislation." She sighed. "Ridiculous because it's not dark or dangerous – it's fantastically useful!"

Harry pounded away for a few minutes and was astonished at the coding that appeared on the display far faster than he was typing, and often ahead of his thought. "It's anticipating me! How is that possible? It takes all the tedious labour out of... wait, look... it's already found an error in my listing! Brilliant! It's..."

Hermione left him to it and went to relax in a comfy chair for a while, thinking about making a pot of tea. The office/study was rather higgledy-piggledy but homely and quite a decent size. Against one wall stood three large white cupboards which were all open enough to perceive them full of stationery, office equipment, and stacks of oversized reference books and magazines spilling out. Shelves covered most of the other walls, and Harry had already accumulated–

"–You have the Goblet of Fire on DISPLAY! Do you no longer intend to destroy it?"

But Harry only murmured in reply, so engrossed was he in trying out different programming concepts he'd not fully understood before.

Hermione's gaze did not turn away from the wooden Goblet whose carved collar and knop, and the entire stem betwixt and around, were glistening with runes in the fluorescent light from above. They did not appear to be carved like the ones around the bowl itself, and she could not help but wonder as to their purpose. The hand of anyone lifting the Goblet would naturally grasp them, but was that relevant? Perhaps to activate them?

"Some of these runes are not cut but charmed onto the surface, Harry," she murmured, but again he did not hear her sufficiently to intrude on his fascination with the software he was working on. They can be changed... she realised. Was this how the operation of the Goblet had been tampered with?

Glancing round only once, she supported the cup by its bowl and carried it to the window, the better to see, but here, away from the fluorescent light, the runes were not so evident, almost invisible in fact. If Dumbledore had changed them he must have better eyesight than–

"–Harry! It must have been Mad-eye Moody!"

"What?" Harry looked up, but out of the corner of his eyes he sensed more coding was appearing on his display as the keyboard continued to clatter on its own.

"There are changeable runes on the Goblet but they're very hard to see at all. I bet Moody's magical eye might see them clearly enough though!"

Harry swivelled out of his seat then and strode forward to look. "And he's Dumbledore's friend, right? I thought there might be an accomplice, but I suspected Snape. Can you make them out? Do you know what they mean?"

She looked up then moved back to the centre of the room with Harry at her heels. "They're fluorescing in your light, Harry, else I'd never have noticed them."

"Can you tell if they've been altered to accept my name? No, wait, someone said it was probably accepting a fourth school and I was the only candidate so it had to pick me as the best of a list of one. At least I'm the best of something," he mumbled.

"I'll need to work on this, Harry. Give me–"

"–My God, it's programmable!" cried Harry as his mind made a new connection. "The carved runes around the bowl are the firmware – that means fixed – and those round the stem are the changeable software. This Goblet might be the oldest computer on the planet! I don't think the abacus counts, do you? This is important, Hermione! This is of historical signif–"

"–And you were going to put a hammer to it," she smirked. "Back to your hardware and computer magazines, Harry, let the witch deal with this."

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The first half of the new year sped by. Cedric Diggory won the Tournament, returning triumphantly with the Triwizard Cup and receiving a thousand Galleons prize money. The Daily Prophet was full of it, yet still had made no mention of the Goblet of Fire or Alastor Moody. The Boy who Lived had long since been forgotten, providing no further interest that any of the magical publications could milk. If they had only known the import of what lay on the horizon, the presses would have run red hot...

Hermione Granger leaned back with a sigh. She was using a side table in Harry's office on which to study the Goblet. "I have most of it now, Harry. The period of four years could easily have been changed temporarily to one day, the Tournament cancelled and restarted a day later, and the Goblet guarded day and night to ensure nobody put your name in again."

"I might have known! I bet Dumbledore knew – well, if not, he should have investigated anyway, and not just tried to force me to accept his demand that I compete! The man doesn't care about anybody or anything except his stupid prophecy!" Harry left his keyboard, got up, thrust his hands into his pockets and began pacing, pausing only each time he neared Hermione to encourage her to continue.

But Hermione was muttering away only to herself. "There's a rune that denotes four entrant sources – schools in actual practice – that surely must have been three originally. This is the rune that was altered. Oh my Goodness! It's a rune that limits whose names may be entered, yet there is no age limit here – that was applied separately by Dumbledore's age line. Holy Cricket! I don't believe–"

"–Hang on!" Harry stopped his pacing. "Are you saying we could run our own weekly tournament with different schools forced to participate? That might be fun."

"What?" She shook her head at the interruption of her train of thought and Harry's failure to grasp the enormity of what she was uncovering. "Harry, it's worse than that. Yes, you were right, the artefact's immense magical power makes it fit for extremely dark purposes. But suppose those schools did not even know? And suppose further that we put in whatever names we chose! They would lose their magic for certain."

Harry's mouth gaped in astonishment. "It's that deadly? We could put Tom Riddle's name in there?"

She nodded, still deep in thought.

"Moody himself? Even Dumble..." His voice faded at the enormity of what was possible.

"Harry..."

"What?"

"There's more that you don't yet know. This artefact is far more terrible than you might imagine. It could spell the death of..."

"The death of who, Hermione?"

"Not 'who', Harry. The Goblet of Fire could invoke the death of... well, virtually the death of Magic itself – at least the personal magic of witches and wizards anyway."

Harry felt a weakness come over him. He stumbled back to the nearest chair and sank down into it. What were they caught up in? "You can't mean that?"

"Well, perhaps not Magic itself but... remember I used a matrix of seven runes on your keyboard as the asterisk? The wildcard? I could write those runes on the piece of paper we drop into the Goblet, then absolutely everyone would lose their magic."

Harry blew air. "What do you mean, 'everyone'? Everyone in the world?"

"Yes, though it could just as easily be limited to Britain."

They stood in silence for a while.

"It would change everything..." murmured Harry in a low voice.

"Every pure-blood bigot would become a Squib, but so would every half-blood and Muggle-born too. Not a single witch or wizard would remain in this country until..."

"Until?" said Harry, thinking it through. "You mean until the birth of the next Muggle-born. This is big. This is very big. Eventually all of British magical society would be Muggle-borns. We'd have true equality at last."

"But in the meantime, who would teach them magic?"

"Squibs with the experience of being a witch or wizard previously would have to manage things until the new Magicals grow up."

"And there are thousands of books to study!" Hermione added.

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Through many days, Harry and Hermione considered and debated the consequences of activating the Goblet of Fire. Twice Harry hefted his great lump hammer and was tempted to smash the antiquity. Twice Hermione stopped him.

"But think of those who'd lose their magic if we use it, Hermione! Could Ollivander craft any new wands without magic? How would Aurors maintain law and order? With sticks? Then there's our friends: Hagrid ... Neville, uumm... well, kids we like at any rate."

"Our list of true friends is short," said Hermione, "but yes, it would be a heavy responsibility."

"Hang on, what about you! Will living most of the time in France exclude you from being affected?"

She nodded, but not very convincingly. "In a way, this makes me feel even more guilty. We're playing God, Harry! What right have we to do this–"

"–What right have we to NOT do it? Think of Voldemort and his supporters without magic! My parents would still be alive if..."

And so their sharing of ideas and swings of opinion continued. The debate persisted on and off through the summer. It was a huge decision they'd have to make, but it would not be long before Hermione would have to return to Beauxbatons.

"I can only stay for a couple of hours today, Harry!" Hermione called up the stairs as she came in the front door on a day close to the end of August. She sprinted up and threw her bag in the corner she usually occupied in his office. "I've got to Portkey over to France to get school supplies tomorrow, then it'll be another busy day after that preparing, so this afternoon I've got– what's up?"

Harry's face had turned glum. "I've kind of got used to having you around most days."

"I'll still be popping over weekends like before and an hour or so here and there in the week."

"Yeah, but..."

"I'll miss you too, Harry. Not even your deductive superpowers can solve the human weakness for company, I guess. Hedwig's going to be kept busy at any rate. Where is she?"

"Back garden. It's a good size. She likes it out there in the sun watching all the movement and activity in the back alley and the neighbouring properties. Don't think she knows that owls are supposed to be nocturnal."

Hermione nodded then rolled up her sleeves. "Right – to business. We need to make a decision today about whether we activate the Goblet of Fire. Your thoughts?"

There was a long silence during which Harry stared at the Goblet which was back on its shelf and Hermione sat at her side table and took out a notebook and pen.

"Why does it have to be us that decides, Hermione?" said Harry finally.

"What do you mean?"

"Those other changeable runes around the stem, what do they do?"

"I don't know for sure but..." She came over. "I suspect they are involved with the selection of those entrants who are to be champions in the Tournament."

Harry's face became more animated. "There are similarities between this magic and the Sorting Hat, don't you think? Both choose the character and ability best fitted for the need, the Hat choosing the entrants most suited for each House, and the Goblet choosing the entrants most suited to be champions. Though how the Goblet works this out from a slip of paper is hard to see, unless it senses the person's magical abilities when they are close to the Goblet to drop in their name."

Hermione sighed with amazement. "You're still making these intuitive deductions after all this time, Harry. I've been wondering myself whether to absorb more of the Claret Tea."

"I recommend it, Hermione! It's opened my eyes wonderfully! Do you still have any left?" He glanced towards her bag, wondering if she carried it with her.

"I was only using one drop a day from a full bottle which I was supposed to hand back to Professor McGonagall at the end of the year. With me leaving Hogwarts that's either been overlooked or she doesn't mind me keeping it. I've half a bottle left."

"Try a teaspoon in one go then; I'd estimate that's about all I absorbed from what I sprinkled on my meal."

"I'll think about it."

"You should. You might gain some insight into these selection runes."

"It's not all about deduction, Harry; knowledge is also needed. Reason needs a foundation to begin reasoning from."

"I know – all software needs data – but you're starting fifth year soon. I assume you're continuing to study runes at Beauxbatons?"

"Of course. It won't be easy though. These runes might be the most advanced magic ever manifested; they're not sentient themselves, yet they must have some ability to react to conscious thought. It wouldn't surprise me if similar ones are sewn into the Sorting Hat somewhere. I'll copy them down to study, and the ones around the bowl to – what you called firmware – because the charmed runes might interact with them."

She turned the Goblet over to confirm there were no other runes on the bottom. "I can't afford to miss anything, Harry," she explained. "A single rune can change so much else." Hermione drew her wand and began using detection spells for any hidden magic.

"Yeah, don't I know it." He lounged against the shelf, one arm propped upon it. "Same as a computer program: one tiny flaw can cause it to crash with a capital C–"

"–HARRY!"

Startled, his elbow slid off the shelf and he stumbled. "Steady on, Hermione! You almost–"

"–There's detection magic operating in this room somewhere! I'm finding unexplained.. omigod! It's a tracking spell! Harry, you've been tracked! Oh why weren't we more careful?"

"Hermione, I've not been out the house for a week and that was only to nip to the mini-mart."

"Stand up straight," she snapped, as she swished her wand around him. "And keep still for pity's sake."

"Well?"

"Nothing on you at the moment – but it's definitely in this room. What other clothes have you lying about?"

"None in here. You should check yourself, don't you think? You do more coming and going than I do."

She groaned with impatience. "Don't you think that's the first thing I did? No, it's elsewhere in the room. I'll have to go over everywhere..."

But Harry was already pointing, and he was pointing at Hermione's bag where she'd thrown it in the corner.

Hermione shrieked when her spell revealing a tracking charm on the bag. "How? I always check myself when I get home and scan the street with a revealing charm when I go out!"

"Did you forget this once?"

"NO!" She was studying the reaction of her spell but it told her nothing except to confirm that a tracking charm had been placed on her bag. Her next reaction was unexpected by Harry: she began sobbing.

"Hey, it's not your fault, Hermione." He put an arm round her shoulder and looked round for the box of Kleenex he used to wipe his computer screen.

"Someone must have been in my bedroom, Harry – that's where I always keep it. What if... I mean what if someone came in the night while I was sleeping and..." She broke down into a new bout of sobbing and Harry gave her a bunch of tissues.

Her feeling of vulnerability pushed aside, anger began to arise. "I feel violated! In my own home! My parents' home! Who would do such a thing!"

"I think we know who, don't we?" growled Harry.

"Dumbledore!" hissed Hermione through gritted teeth. "That settles it. We're going to do this, Harry, even if it takes me another year to figure out those runes!"

"First things first, if Dumbledore has learnt the approximate area where I live then he can stake it out with his supporters and watch for owls and– DOBBY!"

"Master Harry wishes Dobby's help?" squeaked a voice.

"Seal the loophole so no owls can be sent to us. Tell Hedwig to only hunt in the garden until further notice. And Dobby, when Miss Granger is ready to leave or visit I want you to always take her directly so she can't be followed. And, Dobby?"

"Yes, master Harry, sir?"

"I'm in lockdown until further notice. You'll have to do ALL the shopping now."

"Oh thank you, sir!"

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Dumbledore was fuming as he glared at his tracking device, hoping for it to respond once more. He looked up. "I have work for you Sirius. I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher – all the old crowd and as many more as you can muster; I wish we had a hundred."

On the wall behind his desk was pinned a large map and he prodded it angrily. "The area covers several very long streets and Harry probably does not go out very often. Miss Granger is back in France and out of the equation because she must have destroyed my tracking charm either by accident or intention I know not."

"We'll need to patrol constantly rather than stand sentry," muttered Sirius. "Has Snivellus made enough Polyjuice yet?"

Dumbledore frowned. "You will make peace with Severus; we're all on the same side. Harry Potter must be found at any cost! He cannot simply walk away from his destiny."

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Weeks turned into months. Snow was falling heavily outside 12 Grimmauld Place as the members of the Order of the Phoenix gathered in the kitchen preparing for the night shift.

CRASH!

"That you, Kingsley?" called Sirius. "About time! We're all ready to set out."

"Me and Albus's latest recruit," came the deep-toned reply as the speaker appeared in the doorway. "Everybody meet... Tonks, just Tonks."

A young woman, clumps of snowflakes shaking off her shoulders onto the carpet, stumbled into view from behind the big man waving a scrap of parchment. "The amazing missing house! So this is where you all hide away! And on Christmas Eve too!"

"Destroy that address!" barked Sirius. "Throw it in the fire."

"Has Kingsley explained your duties, Miss Tonks?" said Remus. "We've about eight very big roads to patrol and this weather won't–"

"–WAIT!" Severus Snape snatched the parchment as Tonks was about to throw it into the flames. "Don't you think you've all been missing the obvious? Why should that surprise me?"

Sirius glared at him. "I suppose you're going to enlighten us?"

"'The amazing missing house' – I believe those were your words, were they not, Miss Tonks?"

Mundungus tapped out his pipe and blew out a final thick cloud of tobacco smoke. "Missing and now found."

Snape thrust the parchment into the fire with finality. "We should not be patrolling tonight."

Arthur Weasley rose to his feet, frowning. "What is this? We have to–"

"–We should be looking for a missing house number rather than a missing brat who may never step outside it!" growled Snape, irritated at the months they'd wasted.

The crackling of logs on the fire was the only sound in the room for several seconds.

"There are thousands of houses!" cried Molly Weasley.

"And we have all night!" growled Sirius, struggling into a thick Muggle overcoat. "Come on! Tonight we find my godson."

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Harry peered out into the darkness. Through the thickly falling snow he thought he'd seen movement on the other side of the street accompanied by tiny flickers of light above them, as though people were gathering furtively together in the deep shadows. A swirl of wind gave him a single glimpse of a significant gathering of robed figures, some holding aloft enough light to read what each held in their hands. All were keeping very still and quiet, braced as if preparing for action...

Although he knew they'd couldn't see him, concealed as he was by the Fidelius charm, he swung quickly back into the room, panic on his face. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Hermione?"

The walls and ceiling of the room were heavily decorated with colourful streamers, bunches of holly, and a candlelit tree, creating a very magical effect as lengths of hanging tinsel glittered in the festive illumination. Hermione pushed through these silvery ribbons waving the slip of paper in her hand. As she neared the flickering, blue-white light of the Goblet of Fire, Harry could see it was covered in runes.

Hermione sniffed. "Well, I thought spoiling everyone's Christmas like they've spoilt your life was somehow quite appropri–"

"–I'm talking about YOU! Are you absolutely certain you won't lose your magic? Should we wait so you can try – I dunno, return to France and I put the slip into the Goblet. What if it thinks anyone in Britain is British?"

"I'm not waiting any longer, Harry. I'm confident I've worked out how the runes work and I should– will be okay."

Harry didn't think she sounded confident at all. "Is this a guilt thing? You're ready to lose your magic so you don't feel so guilty? Don't do this! They don't deserve–"

–He took a sudden step forward. Hermione did not wait to find out his intention. The slip of paper she threw into the Goblet where it was immediately consumed by the dancing flames.

"And now we wait," she said, wrapping her arms around herself.

Harry wondered if that was an unconscious reaction. An instinctive attempt to embrace her own magic so it couldn't escape perhaps?

"When?" he said. "When will it spit that back out?"

"Midnight of course. The witching hour and the very start of an ancient pagan festival now used to celebrate the nativity we call Christmas Day. What more appropriate time to wash away the old corruption and welcome in the new dawn by making every British magical a champion?"

Harry drew a deep breath. "Five minutes... Less than five minutes... Let's hope we're not mourning your loss along with everyone else's."

"Magic isn't everything, Harry. You yourself are making excellent progress in the Muggle world and can have a happy life, so it won't be that terrible a–"

"–Won't be? You sound like you're expecting your magic to fail!"

She turned away so he couldn't see her expression. Was she upset? Crying?

"We should have–"

–Abruptly the flames within the Goblet flared red – sparks flew up from it – through the window the sound of a distant church bell could be heard ringing joyfully – from the bowl of the Goblet a bright tongue of flame shot high into the air – a charred piece of parchment fluttered out and Hermione lunged for it but stumbled over – voices cried out loudly down in the street – Harry caught Hermione, supported her in his arms – swivelled to stare out the window – the crowd opposite were raising rods – lanterns atop to illuminate hymn books as they softly sang...

Silent night! Holy night! All is calm; all is bright...

"The weakness will pass, Hermione," he whispered, hoping he was right.

"Mmm..."

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just tripped trying to grab the–"

"–Wha...? So your magic...?"

"Magic won't die until the champions fail to compete and thus break the binding magical contract."

Harry's relief was tempered with a frown. "So why am I still holding you?"

Hermione giggled softly and held onto him more tightly. "That's part of the task, Harry."

"Task? There's an actual tournament? Three tasks?"

"The Goblet of Fire is essentially a magical selector for a contest. In this case there is only one task and it is impossible for them to complete it in time."

"Which is?"

"Each champion must be under the mistletoe with the boy who lived before one hour elapses."

Harry's eyes darted to the ceiling, then he grinned when he spotted the white berries. "And if I don't take you?"

It was Hermione's turn to smile. "Then I bind and hover you over."

"Surely you wouldn't take advantage of a poor, defenceless Muggle?"

Hermione received the kiss from Harry that she'd hoped for and their magic began, but within the hour Magic itself abandoned the witches and wizards of Britain. The Ministry could no longer operate, and the only press still functioning was Xeno Lovegood's old lever-controlled magical printer.

In time, Hermione graduated from Beauxbatons and returned to London as the only adult witch resident in the country. She helped form a new magical society based on fairness, justice, and equality. All was well.

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The End

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Author's Notes

Question: if lycanthropy only affects magicals, will Remus be cured now he's a Squib?

The computer theme continues and is embraced more fully next week with a new 'Walk Away' fic called 'Walk Away Rogue Nerd'.

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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