While Harry, Hermione and Neville were all in good spirits the day of the quidditch match, Hermione soon felt her jitters return. The second task was less than a week away, and while Harry was as prepared as he could be for it, she couldn't help being wary—after all, someone had put Harry's name in the goblet of fire, and whomever they were could have done anything to make the task even more dangerous for him.

She'd gone over the plan again and again, trying to find the contingencies, the loopholes, the risks. She'd become obsessed with it, constantly lost in her thoughts, which was probably why she ran smack into Cho Chang one night after dinner.

"Oh!" Hermione said, as Neville steadied her. "I'm so sorry!"

Cho staggered back a little, confused, then looked up at her.

"Don't worry about it," Cho said, smiling sweetly at her. She turned to Harry. "Hi, Harry. Great match the other day."

"Oh, er, thanks," Harry said.

"Next time you should ask us to play though," Cho continued. "It's been ages since I've been on a broom."

"I know," Harry commiserated.

The next thing Hermione knew, Neville had grabbed her elbow. "Hermione and I have to run to the library to get that book before it closes, but we'll see you in the common room, Harry," he called, as he pulled her away. Harry barely had a chance to say a word back before Neville and Hermione were swept in the crowd heading toward the stairs.

"What book?" Hermione asked, a bit put out.

"There's no book," Neville told her once they were safely away. "But Harry's never actually had a chance to talk to Cho and I really think he's going to do it this time."

Hermione frowned. She knew Harry had had a crush on Cho for a while, but as far as she knew, Cho and Cedric had started dating after they'd attended the Yule Ball together.

"Isn't Cho dating Cedric?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you encouraging Harry's crush on her?" Hermione asked, a bit exasperated.

"I'm not," Neville replied. "If he actually talks to her, maybe he'll realize she's better off with a bloke like Diggory. She's a sweet girl, but she's a little...too nice?" Neville offered as they climbed the stairs.

"Too nice?" Hermione asked skeptically.

"I always see her in the courtyard doing those Witch Weekly quizzes with her friends—you know, the 'What's your dream date?' quizzes? And I've sat next to them a few times at the Three Broomsticks—they remind me of Parvati and Lavender a bit, going on about unicorns and dress robes and just…normal things. The worst thing that's ever happened to her is her favorite quidditch team lost," Neville said.

"What's wrong with Harry dating a normal girl?" she asked, frowning. If anyone deserved a little bit of happiness, it was Harry after all the loss he'd suffered.

"Well, he's not normal, is he?" Neville asked. "The things he has to deal with—you know better than anybody. It's not exactly easy figuring him out all the time, is it? Cho's nice, but she's fairly…uncomplicated? And Harry is complicated. I just don't think someone like that would get someone like Harry. So she's better off with Diggory who is also sweet and nice and not really complicated."

Hermione considered what he'd said as they climbed through the portrait hole. She'd known Harry had a crush on Cho, but she'd never known enough about the Ravenclaw to know if they would suit—but Neville, apparently, knew plenty about her and was certain they wouldn't. Hermione couldn't help hoping Neville was right and that Harry would realize it—better that than he pine after a girl with a steady boyfriend.

By the time Harry entered the common room 20 minutes later, Hermione and Neville were hard at work on their Transfiguration homework. He sat down at their table silently, his brow furrowed. He was clearly wrestling with something. Neville and Hermione exchanged glances.

"How'd it go?" Neville asked carefully.

"What?" Harry asked, looking around as if he didn't realize where he was. "Oh. Hi. It was fine."

He didn't offer any more, and Hermione looked at Neville again. He shrugged. Hermione was about to press for better answers, when Parvati and Lavender approached their table. They both looked nervous; Parvati was smiling a bit too brightly, and Lavender was clutching one of her Witch Weekly magazines.

"Hermione?" Parvati asked. The three looked up at them.

"What's up?" Hermione asked.

"We want you to know that we don't believe a word of it," Parvati swore. Hermione didn't like the sound of that.

"Honestly, if you were using love potions on Harry the two of you would be doing something more interesting than homework right now," Lavender interjected, giggling a little.

What?

Parvati threw her an exasperated look, before turning back to Hermione. "We thought we should tell you right away," Parvati continued. "Lavender's just got the latest issue of Witch Weekly and there's an article about you."

Lavender held out the magazine. Hermione took it cautiously. She scanned the headlines and instantly knew what they were talking about. In large letters on the front cover, right under a headline about Celestina Warbeck's favorite date activities and above one that read "50 ways to spruce up your old dress robes" was "Harry Potter's Secret Heartache!"

"What is it?" Harry asked her warily, but Hermione didn't respond, too intent on finding the article. She flipped to the correct page, and began reading—sure enough, Rita Skeeter had written an article about her.

"Apparently," Hermione bit out, "I'm a plain but ambitious girl who's developed a taste for famous wizards."

"What?" Harry asked, shifting his chair so he could read over her shoulder. Neville did the same on her other side.

A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, muggleborn Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgaria Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys' affections.

Despite her long-standing relationship with the Boy Who Lived, Miss Granger attended the Yule Ball—a highly anticipated Triwizard Tournament event—with none other than Mr. Krum. "Everyone thought it was right awful of her," says fourth-year Daphne Greengrass. "Ron Weasley—whom everyone knows has been Potter's best mate for years—told her so himself at the ball, and the next thing you know, he'd been hit by the bat-bogey hex."

"That wasn't even you!" Harry cried. "That was Ginny!"

But Miss Granger's ploy for attention seems to have worked because she was seen later that night, having ditched her date, canoodling with Harry Potter in a secluded garden. The enamored boy, clearly trying to win back her affections, repeatedly told her, "He's a prat."

Hermione looked up at Harry, confused. "How did she—"

But Harry cut her off with a warning glance and a jut of his head toward Parvati and Lavender, who were very interested in what Hermione had to say.

For a tournament that's supposed to be about international magical cooperation, the duplicitous Miss Granger certainly seems to be sowing as much distrust and enmity between the champions as she can.

Krum, who is openly smitten with the devious Miss Granger, is willing to go so far as to give up his illustrious quidditch career, all at Miss Granger's insistence, who'd prefer he go into banking. "It's a much more intellectually stimulating career," she told him on a recent outing at Hogwarts. "And at least you wouldn't have to worry about any more bludgers."

Who could have told her that? Hermione hadn't seen Rita Skeeter anywhere near the pitch when she said it.

However, it might not be Miss Granger's doubtful natural charms which have captured these unfortunate boys' interest.

"Love potions?" Hermione exclaimed, reading all about how Pansy Parkinson thought she was dosing both boys. "What rubbish!"

She could feel Lavender and Parvati's eyes on her, knew they—and Harry and Neville—were waiting for her reaction. She was certainly annoyed—but less about being maligned and more about the half truths littered throughout the story. How had Rita heard her and Harry in the grotto or Viktor at the quidditch match?

"Well, if that's the best Rita can do, she's losing her touch," Hermione said airily.

Parvati and Lavender narrowed their eyes at her. "So you're not mad?" Lavender asked, studying her.

"Not at all," Hermione said. "It's obviously a bunch of lies."

Lavender looked relieved. "Oh good," she said. "We weren't sure how you'd take it and we wanted you to be prepared."

"I appreciate that," Hermione told her, and she genuinely meant it. She, Parvati and Lavender might not always get along—and they likely would've been happy to be on the receiving end of some gossip—but she did believe they didn't want to see her upset.

"Love potions, honestly," Parvati said, rolling her eyes. "You should watch out tomorrow though—you know the Slytherins will have a ball with this."

"I know," Hermione sighed, as her dorm mates said goodbye and headed up to the dormitory. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned to Harry and Neville. Neville was looking at her, concerned, while Harry's face had grown dark with anger now that they were done reading.

"How did she overhear us in the grotto? And the quidditch match?" Hermione asked.

"What does it matter?" Harry spat. "She's gone too far going after you."

"Honestly, Harry, I don't care what she writes about me," Hermione insisted. "But I do want to know how she's doing this so we can stop her next time. I didn't see her anywhere in those stands."

Harry was still glowering, but he looked like he was attempting to reign it in.

"You really said that about banking?" Harry asked.

"He asked for Bill's contact information," Hermione explained. "At the quidditch match. He said he didn't want to play quidditch forever, but wanted a career that had some sort of excitement to it, and he wanted to talk to Bill and get some more information about curse-breaking. I did tell him that I think it's a more intellectually stimulating career—because it is—but only after he mentioned his interest. And the bludger thing was just a joke."

"Well, weren't there loads of people around at the match?" Harry asked. "Could someone else have overheard and told her?"

Neville shook his head. "Viktor asked about Bill after you'd already won the match," he said. "Everyone was already leaving—I don't think he would've asked unless we were alone. That's not the sort of thing he'd want getting back to his team until he was ready."

"And no one else was around at the grotto," Hermione continued. "At least not on our side of the fountain."

Harry nodded. "And the only people on the other side were Roger Davies and Fleur Delacour—and they were otherwise occupied."

"You're sure there was no one else?" Hermione asked.

"Just that beetle I almost murdered," Harry answered. "Could she be using an invisibility cloak?"

"Possibly," Hermione replied.

"Though it would be risky," Neville added. "Moody was chaperoning and he's got a magical eye."

"So what?" Harry asked.

"Well, they can see through invisibility cloaks," Neville said, clearly surprised that this wasn't common knowledge.

"Really?" Hermione asked.

Neville nodded. "Back during the war, loads of aurors used them," he said. "They'd pop their regular eye in a preservation potion before they went to work. Gran says my mum used to use one."

Ignoring the gross visual that image conjured, Hermione focused on Rita Skeeter—she would find out how that woman was getting her information.

Parvati was right about the Slytherins—and some of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, too. Within a matter of days, everyone had read the article and Hermione could hear incessant whispering about her in the corridors.

She was a constant source of gossip, much to her chagrin. It hadn't been the first time she was the center of attention—she'd gotten plenty of that when Rita had called her Harry's "stunningly pretty girlfriend"—but this time was different. This time, they were more focused on taunting her than Harry.

Viktor's fan club had taken to following her around, calling her all sorts of gendered insults in the corridors. Hermione merely kept her head high, taking the high road, even if she did want to show them exactly how well an uppity, know-it-all slag could hex the lot of them.

Even the blokes had something to say—though most of them seemed more angry that she was trying to force their favorite quidditch star into retirement.

Harry was getting mutinous. After the initial shock at the way Rita had warped the truth wore off, he'd been angry, but as the taunts rolled in, he'd gotten increasingly quiet in a way that usually meant he was about to explode. She was doing her best to keep him calm, repeating their old refrain—ignore, ignore, ignore. But even she was having trouble following it—what rubbish advice. She was beginning to feel a bit bad for giving him such useless counsel. How did Harry handle this all the time?

She had other supporters, too. Fred and George kept asking her to make them love potions so they could dose Professor McGonagall—in increasingly desperate tones each time, ratcheting it up for dramatic effect, so everyone could see how ridiculous they found the idea. And Ginny had hexed no less than three other students—a habit she probably should get out of if she didn't want to land in detention every day of the week.

Hermione had even come across Angelina threatening some fifth-year Slytherin in the library. She'd gone there intending to continue her research into the Triwizard Tournament, but even her usual refuge had been infiltrated by the gossip.

At breakfast today, Luna had come up to her and informed Hermione that her father always said Rita Skeeter was a shill for the Rotfgang conspiracy. Hermione wasn't sure exactly what that was—was certain she probably didn't want to know—but she knew Luna was trying to be supportive. They made plans to meet at Gladrags next Hogsmeade weekend—Luna wanted to buy Dobby some socks before she met him.

Hermione walked down to the dungeons for Potions, her head held high, flanked by Neville and Harry, who was shooting anyone who looked at her funny a dangerous look.

"Ignore them," she whispered, giving him a sidelong glance and a ghost of a smile, forcing herself to believe the words were helpful. But he didn't smile back.

"It's my fault," he told her.

Hermione looked at him incredulously. "I don't recall you writing any rubbish articles about me, did you?" she asked.

"She only wrote about you because of me," Harry insisted.

"No, she wrote about me because I called her horrible," Hermione pointed out.

"Because you were defending me."

"Not everything is your fault, Harry," Hermione said, as they approached the classroom. Neville walked inside but Hermione stood in the doorway and held Harry back from following.

He gave her a look like he didn't quite believe her, and she squeezed his hand. "Truly, Harry, I'm fine," she said, giving him her best smile. And in that moment, despite her aggravation, despite the rampant sexism she was enduring, despite how much she wanted to ruin Rita Skeeter, she was surprised to find that she did feel fine. She had a best friend who was worth all the trouble Rita tried to cause her.

"Anyone who believes that rubbish about me isn't worth it anyway," she added.

He looked at her, searching her eyes, looking for any hint that she was lying to him, and smiled at her, satisfied. "Okay," he said.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" Pansy Parkinson tittered at the sight of them in the doorway gazing at each other, Hermione holding his hand. "I suppose the lovers really have made up then?"

"Or Potter's just gotten his daily dose of love potion," Draco Malfoy remarked. "It's got to be some strong stuff, though. Even Potter's not fool enough to fall for someone as hideous as her."

Harry stiffened, walking toward Malfoy. "I didn't realize Witch Weekly was a favorite of yours, Malfoy," he said darkly. "Tell me, what shade of dress robes did it tell you would bring out the color in your eyes?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and his face grew even more pinched. He reached for his wand, but Harry was faster, hitting Malfoy with the banishing charm and sending him crashing into the table behind him.

"What's going on?" Snape sneered as he glided into the classroom, taking in the scene. Hermione felt her heart drop—things couldn't be worse for Harry.

"Potter attacked me," Malfoy replied automatically.

"That'll be a detention, Potter," Snape snapped. Hermione could sense Harry gritting his teeth, and she and Neville started to nudge him toward a table in the back.

"No, no," Snape said. "Miss Granger, Longbottom, take your seats in the back. Potter, come sit up front by me."

With a wave of his wand, the instructions for brewing an aging potion were on the board, and he instructed the class to begin. Hermione focused on measuring her bat parts, eyeing Neville carefully. He was doing a perfectly competent job—until Snape walked past them, with a sneer and a jab that Neville should avoid cutting off his own finger.

Hermione frowned. Now that she was sitting next to Neville in Potions every class, she had begun to realize there was a pattern: Neville did fine until Snape meddled. Then he was a nervous wreck, messing everything up in a huge way.

"You've got this, Neville," she whispered encouragingly. "Just cut your fluxweed like this." And she demonstrated how for him. He smiled at her and then concentrated on his potion, focused on getting it right.

Snape had moved back to the front of the classroom and was now standing in front of Harry, whispering intently. She didn't know what he was saying, but there was an ugly sneer on his face and an evil glint in his eye. Harry's back was straight, taut, and she could feel the tension rolling off of him.

Pretending like she needed to get some more fluxweed out of the store cupboard, Hermione crept to the front of the room.

"You don't have much fluxweed left, Potter," Snape hissed. "Almost as if you've been using it."

"Yeah, I have," Harry retorted. "In Potions class. I thought that was rather the point?"

Snape leaned down closer to Harry, and Hermione made herself as small as she could. "If I find out it was you, not even Dumbledore will be able to save you, you nasty, self-important, arrogant little boy," he hissed.

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked.

"Someone's been stealing from my private store," Snape hissed. "If I catch you breaking into my office again—"

"I haven't been anywhere near your office," Harry said angrily.

"Don't lie to me," Snape threatened dangerously. "Someone has been breaking in, someone who can make himself invisible. Who might that be, Potter?"

"Anyone who knows the disillusionment charm?" Harry quipped. Hermione closed her eyes. Snape was a bully, but antagonizing him only made it worse.

Snape's nostrils flared. "You might be under the impression that everyone here is impressed with you, Potter, but I know that you're just an overindulged halfwit with an inflated ego."

Harry opened his mouth to respond—Hermione wasn't sure what exactly would come out of it, but she knew it wouldn't be good—but Snape spied her.

"Are you growing the fluxweed, Miss Granger?" he barked. She grabbed a handful, and caught Harry's eye, silently pleading with him to keep his anger in check, not to give Snape the satisfaction. He gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod, and she hurried back to her desk.

Snape leaned in close to Harry again. She could no longer hear what they were saying, but Harry kept his eyes focused on his cauldron, carefully stirring the ingredients. She sighed with relief.

Hermione's week didn't get much better. The day before the second task, Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherins loudly joked about her in Ancient Runes, and given that Professor Babbling was mostly deaf, she didn't do anything about it. Seamus and Parvati gave her commiserating smiles, but that didn't do much to help her concentration.

After nearly a week of ignoring the insults, having to sit there for an hour, hearing about her inferior looks, her charmless personality, what dolts Harry and Viktor were, Hermione finally felt like she was going to snap. As they left the classroom, she broke off from Seamus and Parvati—she was feeling furious, and she didn't want anyone to see her like this. She didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing Rita was getting to her.

Instead she headed downstairs, and before she knew it, she was outside in the courtyard. It was freezing and she didn't have a proper cloak, but the cold felt good. It gave her something to focus on besides the anger.

She watched her breaths coming out in small puffs, focusing on the rhythm of it. How was Rita Skeeter doing it?

She tramped through the snow, could feel the bottom of her robes getting wet, but each step felt like a march—to where, she didn't know.

And then she saw a figure in red robes walking toward her from the direction of the Durmstrang ship. Viktor waved to her in greeting.

"Hello," she said, when they finally met up.

"How are you?" Viktor asked. "You must be cold."

He made a move to take off his cloak to give to her, but she waved him off. She turned to continue walking and he fell into step beside her. He looked concerned, and she could tell it was about more than just the wintry weather.

"So you read the article too, then?" Hermione asked, embarrassed. She'd been half hoping that at least the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students wouldn't know. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this. Rita Skeeter was just trying to get back at me, and she used you to do it."

"I've had my fair share of press," Viktor told her. "I know how it vorks."

"And it doesn't bother you?" she asked.

"I know it's not true," he said. They walked in silence for awhile before he added, "This Rita Skeeter voman must be truly terrible to pick a fight with a teenager."

Hermione shrugged. "I may have attacked her a bit," she admitted, and Viktor grinned at her. "But only because she told some really awful lies about Harry and our old professor."

"You're very protective of him," Viktor observed.

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I'm protective of all of my friends," she said. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

Viktor turned toward the castle and nodded toward it. "He's protective of you, too," he said.

Hermione turned and saw Harry striding toward them, her cloak in his hands.

"Here," he said, handing it to her when he caught up to them.

"How did you know?" she asked.

Harry jerked his head toward Gryffindor Tower. "I saw you from the window and summoned your cloak from your room," he said as she slipped it on, feeling warmer instantly.

"Thanks," she said.

Harry shrugged. "It's the least I could do."

He turned to face Viktor and squared his shoulders. "I'm glad you're here, too," Harry said. "I don't know if you've seen that rubbish article, but I never called you a prat."

"I believe you," Viktor said, and Harry looked relieved. "These articles haff always been exaggerations and lies."

"Still, I'm sorry she brought you into this, too," Harry said. "She's been trying to get something on me for months."

Viktor looked between Harry and Hermione and laughed.

"What?" Harry asked, confused.

"I just tried to apologize to him too," Hermione explained.

"And it's ridiculous for either of you to apologize," Viktor said. "Ve're only responsible for our own actions—not the actions and misdeeds of others."

They continued talking with Viktor for a while, but it was growing dark and Hermione told them in no uncertain terms that they both had to get a proper dinner and a good night's sleep for the task tomorrow.

They walked back to the castle, but had just made it into the entrance hall when Professor Flitwick found them.

"Ah, Miss Granger, good," he said. "Professor McGonagall is looking for you. She needs you in her office."

"I'll save you a seat," Harry said, and Hermione nodded, but Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"Actually, this might take awhile," he said. "Professor McGonagall has got dinner for you upstairs, I believe. I wouldn't expect Miss Granger tonight."

Hermione thought Professor Flitwick looked a bit uneasy.

"Don't wait up," she told Harry. "Get a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

She turned to Viktor. "Good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Harry nodded at her, with one last uncertain glance at Professor Flitwick, and then he and Viktor entered the Great Hall. Hermione and Flitwick walked in relative silence up to Professor McGonagall's office, anxiety building in her with every step. Something was clearly wrong.

When they entered Professor McGonagall's office, there was a roaring fire, a plate of sandwiches, and some delicious looking desserts waiting. Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her desk looking exceptionally grim. Cho Chang was sitting in one of the seats in front of her desk.

"Thank you, Filius," Professor McGonagall said as he left and Hermione slipped into the empty seat.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

"We're still waiting on two others," Professor McGonagall said, "but you're here to take part in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament."

That didn't make any sense. Unless…

Hermione's anxiety turned to dread and crystallized in her stomach. "We're the treasure?" she blurted disbelievingly.

"What do you know about the task, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall asked sharply. Hermione looked down, unable to come up with a lie—not after she let slip that she knew about the treasure.

Professor McGonagall sighed, though she didn't look angry. Hermione got the sense she didn't exactly approve of this task.

"Yes, you are the treasure," she confirmed. "You're both what the champions will sorely miss. Have some dinner, Miss Granger. Afterwards, and once the other participants have arrived, you'll be put into an enchanted sleep. When you wake, you'll be back above the lake."

Participants—more like hostages, Hermione thought, as she made herself a plate. She returned to the desk, plopping down angrily next to Cho. The Ravenclaw was eyeing her speculatively.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Which one do you think you're here for?" Cho asked.

Oh, honestly, Hermione thought. Shouldn't the answer to that be obvious?

She couldn't read any maliciousness or insinuations in Cho's tone—just plain curiosity—but even still, in that moment, she couldn't help but dislike the other girl.