A/N: Standard disclaimer. See chapter 1 for details.

"I can't believe that Ron!" Harry raged as he led Hermione into the makeshift classroom at Claire's cottage.

"What's the red-headed wonder done now?" she asked.

"He claimed I was wasting my popularity by taking Hermione." He flopped into a chair. "He said that she wasn't pretty enough to be a first round pick but maybe could clean up enough to ask if no one else would go with him."

"As if I'd let that neanderthal get dancing-level close," she muttered as she sat down and opened a massive book.

Eying the girl, who had not changed her focus from the tome's pages, Claire commented, "You don't seem too insulted."

"Not worth it, plus Harry's been complaining enough for both of us." She waved the woman over. "I thought about what you said about a submarine, and I managed to get hold of an annotated 'History of the Tri-Wizard Tournament'."

"'L'histoire du tournoi des trois sorciers'?" she read the title. "I didn't know that was ever published in English."

"It wasn't; I had to use a language updating charm because the Wizarding World hadn't yet made the move to Classical French by the late 18th century." She shook her head, curls bouncing. "It was still tough going, so I added a translation spell."

"I don't blame you; one of my friends claimed it was the cause of her migraines." She raised a hand to pause Hermione's impending question. "Middle French is only offered via correspondence at École de Magie. We pride ourselves on keeping up with what's going on in the modern world."

"Did you learn anything new?" Harry decided that his Ron-induced tantrum wasn't worth the effort since the females weren't paying attention to it.

"I think so. There was the occasional use of Muggle armour by some contestants, although that was peripheral to their feats of magic in the competition and merely provided additional protection."

Harry straightened. "So I can have a submarine?"

Claire raised her eyebrows. "Only if you want to limit yourself to Mage Leonardo's design. The ones used by modern navies are out."

"Wait, da Vinci was a wizard?" Hermione was almost sputtering. "Why don't they teach us these things?!"

"They do at EM," Claire informed her.

"Darn. More make-up classes. Anyway," she took a breath, "based on those precedents you could use a drysuit to keep your body temperature in a more comfortable range. However, I don't believe scuba gear will be allowed."

"No matter. I can't swim."

Both Hermione and Claire blinked at him. "Well, crap," the American finally said, "couldn't you have mentioned this a teensy bit earlier?" He sent her a meek apologetic expression. "You're going to need a crash course."

"Even then, I probably wouldn't be able to go fast enough. The lake is huge, and there's an hour limit. I'm sorry, Hermione, maybe you should transfer completely right after Christmas."

"I doubt they'd actually let the hostages die," Claire assured them, "but this definitely calls for a brain-storming session."

"I found the bubble head charm in a library book–"

"More 'light reading'?"

She shot him a quick glare. "–but it isn't taught until sixth year here."

"Yeah, and even if he learns it, he may not be able to maintain it for an entire hour."

"Hey, guys," Harry broke in, "Neville said there was a plant I could use to breathe underwater. Of course, it looks like it would taste like some of Pomfrey's finest potions."

"Gillyweed." Claire's nose wrinkled. "It is disgusting, but it transforms the body to have gills and changes the hands and feet to aid in speedier swimming." She grinned. "If you're part fish, you won't have any trouble getting around in the water."

"So," Hermione raised a finger, "if we combine the drysuit with the gillyweed, he will be faster and stay warm."

"Yes. We might need to adjust the neck for his new breathing organs, but," Claire frowned, "there's still the problem of finding you in the lake. I don't suppose there's an underwater map lying about anywhere?"

"If there was, I bet the Marauders would've made a few trips there back in the day," Harry chuckled.

"And probably thought it a great lark to cavort with the Giant Squid. How about a homing beacon?"

"That would work, I suppose. Although," Claire tapped her chin, "we could really blow their minds if Harry can master the portkey spell."

"But you can't portkey inside Hogwarts!"

"Hermione," Harry said, "is the Black Lake inside Hogwarts? However," he snickered, "it could be if we broke the windows in the Slytherin Common Room."

"Why are you familiar with their common room?" Claire queried, intrigued.

"Never mind," Hermione brushed away the other's curiosity. "But, even if they'd work, aren't portkeys regulated by the Ministry?"

"And aren't the champions allowed a great deal of leeway in their magical use?" she countered.

"But I still won't know where to go," Harry argued.

"What if we make it a paired system?" At the blank looks, she elaborated, "Hermione, you would wear…something…that is magically linked to a portkey held by Harry. When he activates his, he will be transported to your location, and all he'll have to do is bring you back."

"How about a double portkey, where I can portkey back to the dock?" Harry asked, excitedly.

"Remember, you're basically going to be a fish for an hour. It would be better to swim back with her."

"Of course," Hermione pointed out, "he could still have a homing beacon in his outer clothes that he leaves on the dock."

"Are you afraid I'll get lost?" he sniffed, pseudo-offended.

"I won't be wearing a drysuit," she reminded him, "and who knows how long I'll be underwater, waiting for you."

"That's a plan, then." Claire gestured to the shelves and a volume flew to her hands. "Portkey first. We'll manage somehow if he doesn't have time to learn a homing beacon; he'll be swimming back in a magically enhanced body, after all."

"Darn! I just remembered that he wasn't allowed to bring anything but his wand to the first event," Hermione fretted.

"Well, from my experience, he won't be able to hold a wand with his altered hands, not to mention there's no speaking underwater."

"Unless you're a bloody mermaid," Harry muttered, "and nonverbal casting is kicking my butt so far."

"But something like a homing beacon might get him disqualified! Even if he doesn't actually have it with him on the task. His idea for the broom was close to crossing the line as it is, even if he didn't actually use it then."

Claire reached for the worn rule booklet and thumbed through it before nodding her agreement to Hermione's statement..

"What if you set off a homing beacon, Miss Claire?" Harry suggested.

"That would be even worse!" his friend burst out.

"Okay, I have a better idea." Claire set down the pamphlet and, seeing Hermione's twitching fingers, handed her the book retrieved earlier. "I'll have Tek request it as a member of the judging panel, so all competitors can benefit. As you said, it's a huge lake."

"If I wasn't concerned over his hostage, I wouldn't mind if that Bulgarian arsehole drowned during that task."

"Language, Hermione," Harry reminded with a twinkle in his eye.

"Let it go," Claire advised. "Both he and his school have paid a hefty wergild to the dragon reserve. Besides, it was Karkarov who made him doubt your word."

"Then maybe I can convince the squid to play handball–uh, tentacle-ball–with Durmstrang's headmaster." Hermione ceased grousing and scanned through the tome. "Mlle Claire, why do you have a book on auror-level charms?"

"A lot of potioners use portkeys when working with dangerous ingredients. It's a safety feature, so we're allowed their creation. Now, since you'll be underwater–believe me, you'll want to be underwater when you activate it–and unable to use your wand normally, we've got to make a more mechanical way of setting it off. I'll look up pressure sensitive spell triggers." She grinned at Harry after summoning a second book. "WIth any luck we'll be well on the way to solving the logistics before the end of the holidays."

"Don't remind me," he groaned. "I still have to dance in front of everyone."

"Oh, stop being a baby," Hermione chided. "You've improved a great deal."

"Yes," Claire said without glancing up, "but he'll never be a Mikhail Baryshnikov."

"Who's that? Another Durmstrang student?"

Down the stairs and through the halls of Hogwarts came a ululating sound which reminded Muggle-born and -raised students of a police siren. Whispered conversations were conducted at all House tables and even the professors on the dais shared puzzled and concerned glances. Dumbledore paid no heed, having decided to partake of dessert first. ("Lemon meringue pie! How delightful!")

The door of the Great Hall eventually opened and a panting figure hung onto the handle for a minute until she caught her breath. Eventually she stood, ignoring the murmurs which recommenced upon her appearance.

Holding her side with one hand, the other waved frantically in the air as Trelawney made her way to the front in a hitching gait, scarves swaying and leaving a slight redolance of alcohol in her wake. "We are doomed!" she wailed. "Doomed, I say!"

"Ah, Sybill, my dear," the headmaster twinkled over his glasses, "most pleased that you decided to join us for dinner this evening. May I recommend the pie?"

"Albus–!" McGonagall hissed.

"No, no," the slender woman twitched in dread, "this is no time for frivolity. I have seen"–her arms spread–"the Grim!"

Harry turned to Hermione. "You don't think–?"

"No," she shook her head, "he has better sense than that."

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed.

It took several minutes and a wave of Madam Pomfrey's wand before the Divination professor was calm enough to be seated. Hagrid manfully pulled out a chair and filled her plate. Perhaps, considering the circumstances, questioning her about the size of the black dog and where exactly she had seen it was not proper dinner conversation, for it was when he declared, "The poor beastie is jest misunderstood, he is" that she made one final moan and landed face-first into her plate.

"Oh, pooh," came an airy voice from the Ravenclaw table, "what a waste of good pudding."