On Sunday morning, a rather cold and dreary day, Mrs. Longbottom and Diggy brought the trio back to King's Cross station. Harry and Hermione thanked Neville's gran for letting them stay, and when she responded that they could come back anytime, Harry could tell she really meant it.
They stowed their bags and settled into an empty compartment.
"Do you think we should try to find Ron and Ginny?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked at her watch and frowned. "We got here pretty early and the Weasleys are almost always late," she commented. "I bet they're not here yet."
Neville revealed a bag of muffins Diggy had made for the ride and Harry took a bite, as Hermione told them about a train trip she and her parents had gone on through Austria and Switzerland one summer.
"That was my favorite trip there," she explained. "Usually, we go for skiing."
Neville frowned in confusion. "What's skiing?"
As Hermione explained the sport—her parents were big fans—and how it involved sliding down a mountain strapped to two narrow bits of wood, Neville's face grew more and more horrified.
"And that's fun?" he whispered.
Hermione frowned—she didn't like it much when wizards made fun of muggles. "Well, it's not all that different from zooming around in the air on a stick of wood at high speeds, is it?"
Harry thought they were probably very different activities, but Neville just shook his head aghast. "Well, I don't much fancy flying on a broomstick either," he pointed out, earning a laugh from Hermione, who realized Neville's horror was directed toward any dangerous extracurricular—magical or muggle.
"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm not a huge fan of the skiing," she admitted, glancing between them both. "It's fine, I suppose, but I much prefer sitting by the fire and reading a book."
Harry exchanged an amused glance with Neville. "What?" Harry said in mock disbelief. "Hermione Granger prefers books?"
Neville grinned conspiratorially. "This is brand new information," he added.
"Oh, shut up," Hermione retorted, though there was no real bite in her words. "I do other things, too."
"Clearly," Harry answered. "You've done loads more than me—I've never been skiing or camping or done anything like those museum days you do with your dad."
Neville looked at them questioningly.
"Once a month, dad and I would always go into London," Hermione explained, as she sat back in her seat and crossed her legs. "We'd go to the British Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the V&A. Or, we'd go to Westminster or St. Paul's. We'd do all the tourist activities and make a day of it."
"That sounds fun," Neville commented, and from the certainty in his voice, Harry guessed Muggle Studies had at least mentioned some of those places.
"It is," Hermione agreed enthusiastically. "Now that I go to Hogwarts, we try to fit a year's worth of museum days into the summer."
"And your mum doesn't go?" Neville asked.
Hermione shook her head. "Not unless we have tickets to the theater," she explained. "Usually Shakespeare. She's a huge fan of Shakespeare."
"Really?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked at him incredulously. "My name is Hermione," she said, as if this was supposed to mean something to him.
Harry exchanged a glance with Neville, who looked similarly unsure. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Hermione is a character in one of his plays," she explained, "though I suppose not one of the more well-known ones. Mum said she didn't want to name me Juliet or Ophelia or Desdemona or one of the really famous names."
"Desdemona Granger?" Harry asked, laughing a bit.
Hermione wrinkled her nose. "Hermione is better than that," she agreed. "Even if it's a bit unusual."
"I like it," Neville declared.
"Yeah," Harry smiled. "It suits you. It's one of a kind, just like you."
Hermione turned extremely red at that, and Harry, unsure if he'd said something wrong, added, "I just mean… well, I always had four other Harrys in my class, didn't I?"
Returning to a normal shade, Hermione nodded and leaned her head against the window, watching as the late-comers arrived at platform nine and three-quarters. They were all silent for a while before Neville finally blurted out, "But don't the skiers run into each other? It seems fairly dangerous, doesn't it? And how do you get up the mountain?"
And so Hermione explained the particulars of controlling your speed, how to turn, and the lifts and trams, and Neville looked intrigued yet still vaguely terrified.
Hermione eyed Harry speculatively. "I bet you'd really like skiing," she declared.
"Well sure," Neville agreed, "but he's the sort who thinks being chased by a bludger on a broomstick is fun."
Harry had never really thought about whether he'd like skiing or not. All of his life, muggle activities—with the exception of school and chores—had been completely out of reach. Skiing, camping, swimming, going to a museum or even to a movie—these were all activities that sent him straight to Mrs. Figg's while Dudley got to enjoy the fun.
And then he'd found out he was a wizard, and freedom had meant flying and eating ice cream for breakfast in Diagon Alley; it hadn't even occurred to him that there'd come a time when freedom from the Dursleys would mean he could do whatever he wanted in the muggle world, too.
His focus ever since he'd found out that Madam Bones was looking into Sirius' case had been on freeing Sirius and then what it would be like when they lived together—but if he were exonerated, they could also do something as normal as go on a holiday.
Would Sirius like skiing? Had he ever been skiing? Harry guessed he hadn't, but if it really was like flying, he had a suspicion Sirius would really like it, too.
And, he thought, with a glance at Hermione, who was still studying him with that knowing look of hers, he'd also bet anything that Hermione would like skiing a whole lot more if she was with a couple of beginners whom she got to teach the particulars to.
"What?" Hermione asked.
"Just thinking about Sirius skiing," Harry answered—it was mostly true—and Hermione beamed.
"If I were him, after the past 13 years, I'd want something a bit more relaxing," Neville said. "Like a beach holiday."
Harry shrugged. "That sounds good," he said. "I've never been on one of those either."
He hesitated, wondering if he was somehow jinxing Sirius by coming up with all of these plans before he'd even been freed. He'd promised himself he'd have enough hope for both him and Sirius, but what if he was just fooling himself?
"Harry?" Neville asked, peering at him shrewdly, and from the look on both his and Hermione's faces, he guessed that they knew what he'd been thinking.
Harry didn't like talking about his feelings, but it was different with the two of them. Hermione always seemed to know what Harry was feeling anyway, regardless of if he said anything or not, and the things Neville had been through were so similar to Harry that he knew Neville would always understand.
"I got my hopes up once before," Harry said. "Last year. It was the best half hour of my life, thinking I'd never have to go back to the Dursleys, thinking I'd live with Sirius. But I ruined everything when I let Pettigrew escape."
"That wasn't your fault, Harry," Hermione said sharply. "There were a lot of contributing factors—what if it hadn't been a full moon? What if Professor Lupin remembered he hadn't taken his potion? What if Snape actually brought the potion to the Shrieking Shack? What if Snape actually listened to us? What if we'd all decided to bind Pettigrew to someone besides Lupin and Ron? It's not on you."
"And who said hoping is a bad thing?" Neville asked. "If you don't expect good things and try to make them happen—well—then they probably won't. I wouldn't have a new wand if you two had given up without even trying."
Harry considered that.
And then Neville straightened and his face lit up. "Besides," he said, "even if Sirius doesn't get exonerated yet, who says you have to go back to the Dursleys."
Harry frowned. "Well, I've got to go somewhere," he pointed out.
"So you'll come to my house—you and Sirius!" Neville said excitedly.
Hermione and Harry exchanged a wordless glance—if Sirius wasn't exonerated, he'd still be considered a fugitive. Harry was amazed, unsure if Neville knew what he was offering.
"It'd be perfect," Neville continued, smiling. "We've got the Fidelius, so it's not like the Ministry would ever be able to find him there. And who'd ever suspect prim and proper Augusta Longbottom of hiding a fugitive?"
"I can't ask your gran—"
Neville waved him off. "She wouldn't mind," he said, and there was so much conviction in Neville's voice, Harry almost believed it.
"I've lived with her my whole life," Neville reminded Harry. "If the Ministry tries to bury Sirius' case, she won't like that at all."
Neville looked rather pleased with himself for coming up with such a good solution—everything about him was so sure, so confident in what he'd said. Harry felt a wave of gratefulness wash over him—it was one thing for Neville to offer to take in Harry. It was another thing entirely to offer to take in his fugitive godfather.
Not knowing exactly what to say, how to thank him, Harry said, "You're a really good friend."
Neville beamed and the train lurched—the last of the families who had waited to see the Hogwarts Express start moving sped quickly out of view—and Hermione was proven right about the Weasleys when a harried-looking Ginny opened their compartment door. Her clothes looked rumpled, her hair was damp and she had an annoyed look on her face.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked immediately, sitting up a bit straighter.
"Oh, nothing," Ginny replied, as she displaced Crookshanks from his seat next to Neville. Crookshanks hopped up next to Harry instead. "Fred forgot his Transfiguration book and then Ron forgot the essays he'd worked on, and then George realized he didn't have his broom, and we've only just arrived."
"Where's Ron?" Harry asked.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "He ditched me as soon as we got on and ran into Seamus," she said.
"Oh," Harry said. "Do you know how his meeting with Amelia Bones went?"
"Fine, I think," Ginny replied distractedly, as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. "He and dad didn't say much about it, but they didn't say anything bad."
"Oh," Harry said, trying not to sound too glum. "Well, that's good."
He couldn't help but feel disappointed at Ginny's lack of information, and when he turned toward the window, Hermione was giving him a commiserating look.
"How was your break?" Neville asked.
Ginny made another face. "Awful," she said. "Mum was so freaked out about Crouch, and she kept pestering Ron about why Harry and Hermione went to your place for break instead of ours. And Ron kept skirting the issue, so they were both in foul moods, so then she started pestering me about why I hexed Ron at the ball, so I told her. And then Ron and the twins were mad at me for breaking our code of silence about mum, but honestly, I was helping Ron out. She was thinking up all of these awful scenarios that were way worse than what actually happened, and anyway, you've got it all sorted now, so what's the big deal?"
Hermione scrunched up her face. "That does sound awful," she replied. "Sorry about that."
Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "It's not your fault," she said. "Besides, that was only the half of it. Fred and George spent all their time in their room, and when Mum found out they were working on things for their joke shop, they had a row. And Percy was being more uptight than usual—he's gotten a lot of flak at work on account of Barty Crouch Sr. And then Ron got that notice from the Ministry to appear about Sirius Black, and he had to explain to Mum and Dad what you three had gotten up to last year. Dad was okay about it, but Mum about went through the roof."
Normally, Harry very much enjoyed spending time at the Burrow, but he couldn't help but be very glad that he'd spent this break at Neville's.
"Anyway," Ginny said, "how was your break?"
She looked around expectantly, and Harry didn't have the heart to tell her how much better their break had been. From Diggy's thoughtful meals, to Augusta's stories, to the hours spent in the Auror Room and the Secret Garden, to the blanket that he'd tucked carefully away when he'd packed, everything about this Easter had been wonderful.
"It was really good!" Neville replied, and then he took out his new wand. "Look what Gran bought me!"
"Brilliant!" Ginny replied happily, as he showed off his new skills, levitating a muffin toward her.
A half hour into the train ride, Harry was very much enjoying Hermione, Neville and Ginny's company—her mood had vastly improved once her hair dried and she'd eaten two muffins—but Harry couldn't stand not knowing anymore what had happened with Amelia Bones.
"I'm going to go find Ron," he announced, standing up.
Hermione looked up from the book she was absentmindedly flipping through. "Do you want company?" she asked.
She looked quite content settled into the corner of the compartment with Crookshanks sidled up beside her, chatting happily with Ginny about Charlie's latest letter from Romania, and Harry didn't want to disturb her peace.
Harry shook his head. "It's all right," he said. "I'll bring him back here, so he can tell all of us."
Hermione nodded and Harry exited the compartment and headed down the corridor, searching for some sign of Ron or Seamus. He found them at the very end of the train sitting with Parvati and Lavender.
The four of them were laughing wildly at some story Ron was telling about George and a punching telescope. Ron's smile was wide, and he looked happier and more relaxed than Harry had seen him in a long time. He must have gotten over his bad mood.
"Harry!" Ron grinned, interrupting himself.
"How was your break?" Lavender asked.
They all agreed they'd had a good time—Ron didn't mention any of the things that Ginny had told Harry—and after exchanging all of the usual pleasantries, Harry looked to Ron.
"Do you have a minute?" he asked, motioning him out the door.
Ron frowned. "Sit down, mate," he said. "There's plenty of room."
Harry looked around nervously. He really didn't want to talk about Sirius here, not when everything about the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was still so unsure. "Er, I wanted to ask you about…" he trailed off, gesturing helplessly, and Ron's eyes widened.
"Oh, right!" he said, getting up and turning to the other Gryffindors. "We'll see you later."
As they exited the compartment, Harry saw Seamus roll his eyes at Lavender.
"What was that about?" Harry asked, as they walked down the corridor.
"What?" Ron asked uncomfortably, but Harry got the impression that Ron knew exactly what he was talking about.
"Seamus' look," Harry replied.
"Oh, that," Ron said, his face turning a little red. "Well, apparently, Seamus and the others think we're a bit…secretive."
Secretive?
"Can't imagine where they got that idea," Ron added, grinning. "It's not like we ever ran around the castle fighting trolls or giant spiders or anything."
Okay, so maybe they had a point.
"Anyway," Ron added awkwardly, "Seamus sort of made this comment about how they all figured since you and I started talking again, that maybe I wouldn't, you know, hang out with them as much."
Harry frowned. He hadn't really thought about it, but Ron had spent a lot of the past few months hanging out with the other Gryffindors in their year. Ron couldn't drop them any more than Harry was willing to drop Neville just because Ron was back.
"It's not like I don't want them around," Harry said. "It's just—"
"I know," Ron agreed easily. "But it's not like I could say, 'Well, we're going to go talk about Harry's godfather now, who, by the way, is not a psychotic murderer who tried to kill us all last year.' Lavender would have a billion questions and we'd be back at Hogwarts and miss dinner before we finally got away."
Harry grinned, and was about to make a joke about nicking down to the kitchens, but stopped himself—he really didn't want to bring up house elves with Ron right now.
"So… your break was okay, then?" Harry asked.
Ron's expression turned gloomy. "No," he complained. "Mum was a nightmare and Ginny was no better. And Percy was his usual charming self—I seriously contemplated locking him up in the attic with the ghoul."
"I'm surprised Fred and George didn't," Harry commented, and Ron grinned.
"How was your break?" Ron asked, smiling knowingly. "Let me guess: Hermione had you on a strict study schedule? Were there practice exams?"
As soon as he said it, Ron looked uncomfortable.
"I didn't mean anything bad… well I just meant… well, she likes studying, doesn't she?" he finished, looking a little flustered.
It had been like that ever since Harry had yelled at Ron about the house elves before break—he'd been overly polite to Hermione whenever he spoke directly to her, like he was afraid anything he said would set Harry off. Harry had hoped things would be better after break, but Ron still seemed unsure where the line was.
"It's not like I think you've got to agree with everything she says," Harry said. "You're different people, I know that. I just think there's a difference between joking, 'Where's Hermione? She must be in the library,' and calling her obsessed when it's something she's passionate about or saying things that make her cry."
Ron nodded, but he looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt, so Harry forged ahead and answered Ron's question.
"My break was fine," Harry said. "Better than fine, actually. And, you're right, there was a schedule. But it was a lot of fun."
There hadn't been a moment over the break when they'd been practicing in the Auror Room or studying in the garden that had felt like work.
Ron looked like he didn't quite believe studying could ever be fun.
"Neville's gran isn't a stickler about not doing magic outside of school, so we had loads of time to practice," Harry explained. "It doesn't really feel like studying when you're blasting things apart."
"Wish Mum was like that," Ron grumbled.
The Weasley kids did plenty of magic at home—usually to play jokes on each other—but Mrs. Weasley always got aggravated whenever they did.
They'd reached the compartment again. Ginny had left—probably a good thing given Ron's attitude toward her—and Ron said hello to Hermione and Neville.
Harry couldn't hold back anymore. "How did your meeting go?" he asked.
Ron grinned. "Really well," he said. "They asked me so many questions about Snape—why we attacked him, how he treats you. Honestly, it was like Christmas morning—a room full of adults asking me to describe in detail what an evil git Snape is."
Ron trailed off, a dreamy look on his face.
Finally, after he'd completed whatever fantasy he was having about doing something terrible to Snape—a feeling Harry couldn't help but sympathize with—Ron added, "They asked me plenty about Crookshanks, too."
He surveyed the cat, who was nestled between Harry and Hermione. "And they asked Dad about Scabbers—wanted to know how we missed an ordinary rat living for more than a decade," he reported.
"What'd your dad say?" Hermione asked.
"Well, all magical rats have some sort of powers, don't they?" Ron asked, and Harry remembered the clerk in the store mentioning exactly that when they'd bought Crookshanks. "Dad said he and mum figured slow aging was his. Not a particularly useful skill, of course, but that would be just my luck."
"Do you think they believed you?" Harry asked.
"Dad reckons they did," Ron said. "He said that the twitch in Fudge's eye couldn't mean anything else."
Harry felt cheered at the thought.
He was still feeling happy at dinner that night when the four of them sat with the other Gryffindors their year. Dean, who had been invited to Seamus' but opted to stay at Hogwarts on account of all the work they had to do—he was no Hermione, but Dean was a lot more studious than Seamus—told them all how boring the past two weeks had been. Ron glossed over his break, and Parvati bragged about the shopping excursion she and Padma had gone on.
But, everyone agreed, no one had a better break than Neville.
"It'll be a lot less dangerous sitting next to you in class now, Neville," Seamus joked, inspecting Neville's new wand.
"Too bad the same can't be said for sitting next to you," Dean retorted, earning a light punch from his best friend.
Seamus and Ron debated the latest game between the Kenmare Kestrels and the Montrose Magpies, which Seamus had attended with his mum and Ron had listened to on the radio. Usually, Ron explained the game—and the players—in intricate detail for Harry and Hermione, since neither of them had ever attended a league game and didn't know any of the players well. But with a captive audience in each other, Ron and Seamus quickly forgot about the rest of the group, arguing over chaser strategy.
Harry felt a bit left out—he didn't know anything about the Kestrel's playbook or Marcus Webb's signature fakeout, and the conversation was a bit hard to follow without that particular information. Then he caught Dean's eye—the other boy shot him an amused glance and rolled his eyes at Seamus and Ron before returning to his pudding. Dean still preferred football to any other sport, something both Ron and Seamus found outrageous.
Harry turned to his right, where Neville, Hermione and Lavender were debating which creature Hagrid would be teaching them next in Care of Magical Creatures. Lavender thought for sure it would be a manticore, and while Harry secretly guessed that she probably wasn't much off the mark, in loyalty to Hagrid, Harry speculated that they'd learn about fwoopers, figuring Lavender would probably like the vivid birds.
Hermione shared a conspiratorial look with him that she knew exactly what he was doing, and Harry grinned.
So Ron had someone else to talk about quidditch with. There wasn't anything wrong with that—and Harry still had plenty of friends he liked being around, too.
The only bit of awkwardness came at the end of the night, when all five Gryffindor boys were in their dorm. Dean was lounging on his bed while the others unpacked.
Ron pulled out his pajamas and Harry noticed he'd never seen them before.
"Hey, those are new," he said.
Ron looked up. "Oh, yeah. The old ones got too short, so Mum got me these."
And then, with a sullen look at them, he added, "They're still maroon though. She always buys me rubbish stuff."
The maroon clothing that Mrs. Weasley bought was a common complaint for Ron—and Harry was quite used to it—though he noticed Neville glaring at Ron with contempt. He didn't really appreciate Ron's complaints about his family.
"Have you told her you don't like maroon?" Neville asked, his tone a touch cold.
Ron looked at him. "Of course I have," he said. "She never remembers."
"Well, then why not just try a color-switching spell?" Neville asked.
"What?" Ron asked.
"Color-switching spells," Dean chimed in. "Parvati uses them all the time. I bet she could do it for you. The pajamas might have no-dye enchantments on them, but I doubt the jumpers your mum makes do."
"Oh," Ron said, before going back to his unpacking.
Harry stored his clothes, and then took his mother's blanket and placed it carefully on his bed.
"What's that?" Ron asked. He strode toward Harry's bed and inspected it, then grinned. "Wicked!" he declared, clearly impressed.
"Isn't it?" Harry grinned. "My mum made it."
And Ron, who rarely ever heard Harry talk about his mum, was flabbergasted. "Where'd you get it?" he asked curiously.
"Neville," Harry answered, with a grateful smile at the friend in question. "Our mothers were friends."
Ron's smile faded slightly before it brightened again. "Well, that's really cool," he said.
But as Harry got into bed that night—reflecting on Ron's faded smile and the severe look Neville had thrown Ron—Harry wondered if Ron and Neville would ever really be friends.
Now that they were back in school again, things seemed to move very quickly. Their teachers kept piling on the work and the only bright spot was the first Potions lesson—something Harry never thought he'd say—when Neville's Girding Potion had turned out a violent shade of purple, far from the color it was supposed to be.
Hermione looked completely victorious as she discreetly scooped some of Neville's potion into a couple of vials, and once she explained the plan to Neville when they were safely away from the dungeons—with an apology for not helping him during class—Neville had been overjoyed.
"Brilliant!" he said, a bit awed.
Then he added, with a sheepish grin, "And honestly, if it'll help get rid of Snape, you can let me mess up a million potions. I'm spectacularly good at that!"
The biggest difference in their schedule was that Alastor Moody—the real Alastor Moody—had been released from St. Mungo's and was teaching classes again—or rather, for the first time. Neville looked fairly terrified the first day they entered class and saw Moody standing there, and Harry couldn't really blame him.
Of course, he looked exactly like the man who had Imperiused Harry's best friends, but what was more unnerving was how similar they were—his mannerisms, how he spoke, what he said… If Harry didn't know better, he'd think Moody and Crouch were the same person.
"That was unsettling, right?" Hermione asked squeakily after their first lesson, glancing between Harry and Neville as they packed up their books. "I mean, he's…"
She trailed off, but they knew exactly what she meant.
Worse still was when Moody held them back—supposedly to thank them for figuring out Crouch's plan, but Harry suspected Moody was also sizing them up.
Finally, he turned to Harry and looked him straight in the eyes. "You know Voldemort's planning something, right?" he asked.
Harry nodded. He had always known it, but being back at Hogwarts and seeing the man Crouch had impersonated to get Harry's name in the goblet of fire had somehow made it more real to him. He was so used to being in danger at Hogwarts that he was in some ways desensitized to it—but seeing Moody, seeing the shock on his best friends' faces at the sight of him, seeing them reliving what they had been through had somehow jolted Harry into realizing that the third task wasn't some far off thing; it was a very real, very dangerous event that would be happening in two months.
He could forget skiing with Sirius and Hermione if he didn't figure out a way to get through the task first.
"Well, if you need any help with the task, just ask," Moody offered, seeming to understand that all three were still a bit wary of him.
Not sure how to answer and wanting to stall, Harry asked, "Isn't it against the rules?"
Moody snorted. "This is Voldemort, boy," he said. "Who cares about the rules of some meaningless tournament?"
Harry nodded.
"What do you think?" Harry asked his friends, after they'd left the classroom.
Hermione looked decisive. "I think we could use all the help we can get," she said briskly.
Harry wasn't entirely shocked by her answer. Since returning to Hogwarts, Hermione had become downright militant about his training. Every afternoon after classes, they spent hours in empty classrooms practicing spells, before having a very late dinner.
She'd always been serious about the tournament, of course, but now it was like she was singularly focused on their plan. If it was possible to win him this tournament through her sheer force of will, Harry was certain she'd be able to accomplish it.
Harry turned to Neville, who looked a little more hesitant, but then his face turned to one of resolve. "I'm okay with anyone who's willing to help you," he declared.
And so they spent three afternoons a week in Moody's classroom—the other days they worked on their own. Moody had taken a look at the list of spells Hermione had come up with and given her an approving nod, though he indicated to Harry that he'd be willing to show him a few darker spells as well.
"Voldemort won't hesitate to use them on you," he pointed out.
One by one, they worked through the list—Stupefy, Oppugno, Confundo, Incarcerous, the Stinging Jinx and Levicorpus. The last spell had been on Sirius' list, and while Harry mastered it fairly quickly, Hermione didn't like it much.
"It reminds me of the spell they used on those muggles at the World Cup," she'd confided to Harry, Neville and Ron one afternoon when they were practicing alone.
Ron, who had been on the receiving end of Harry's spell—Neville and Hermione were wearing their school robes and he was wearing muggle clothes—didn't really like it either.
"Could've aimed the landing a little better," he told Harry, rubbing his head. Harry hadn't righted him as smoothly as he'd dangled Ron in the air, and his friend had missed the pillows by a bit.
"Sorry," Harry said, and Ron waved him off.
Harry thought about Hermione's words. The spell didn't seem all that different from the one the Death Eaters had used. "But… isn't that the point?" Harry asked. "If I'm going up against Voldemort or Death Eaters, shouldn't I be using spells they would?"
He looked around at his friends. Neville's brow was furrowed, Ron looked a bit out of his depth and Hermione bit her lip.
"Moody offered to teach me some dark spells," he said quietly.
"Wow," Ron remarked, suitably impressed. Neville and Hermione shared a nervous glance.
"I didn't give him an answer yet," Harry added. He'd been thinking about the offer since their last session with Moody—those spells took a lot more time to learn. Could he master them in time? Or would he just be wasting time that would be better spent learning other things?
"What were you thinking of saying?" Neville asked.
"I wanted to know what you lot thought," Harry said truthfully.
Ron was the first to speak. "It couldn't hurt, right?" he said. "You don't know what the third task will be and Krum, at least, will know spells like that. They teach the Dark Arts at Durmstrang."
"Dark magic is almost always advanced," Neville said. "It'd take a lot of time out of the schedule."
Harry turned to Hermione. "Is there enough time to learn them?" he asked. "Without sacrificing the other spells?" Since he didn't know what he was going up against, he'd rather learn a hundred useful spells than one or two.
Hermione looked like she was thinking a thousand things at once. "I think so," she said quietly, pacing a bit. "You've been moving through the list a lot faster than I expected. And I do want you to learn anything that could help you with the task."
Harry heard what she wasn't saying.
"There's a but, isn't there?" he asked.
Hermione looked up, surprised at his perception. She hesitated before admitting, "Well, yes. It's just… Well, it's like you said in the garden, isn't it? When we talked about the Killing Curse?"
Both Neville and Ron looked perplexed, but Harry knew exactly what she was talking about—he'd told her he didn't think you could know what you were going to do in a situation like that until you were in it.
"You can't know for sure what you'll do when you see him, Harry," she said. "And we only have a finite amount of time before the task—we have to use it wisely. Maybe we should stick to spells we know you'll use, so we don't have to worry that you'll end up getting hurt because you hesitate and he doesn't."
She looked unsure, and it unsettled Harry—Hermione was the most opinionated person he knew. He could see the two sides warring inside her: the militant side that had come up with his schedules, wanting him to survive by any means necessary, and the part of her that didn't think he was someone who could kill or torture.
Wrestling with these thoughts himself, he asked, "So what, you think I haven't got the guts to do it?"
It sounded a bit bitter, even to him.
"I think you've got more guts than anyone I know," Hermione said with conviction, and Neville was emphatically nodding his head.
Then, she added softly, "But I also think you're the best person I know."
She looked down, her face turning scarlet. Harry couldn't exactly be mad at her when she was complimenting him.
Would he hesitate? When he thought Sirius had betrayed his parents, he'd had him cornered, but he'd hesitated, which gave Remus enough time to come into the Shrieking Shack and disarm him. But had he hesitated because he couldn't do it or because he didn't know the right spells?
He hadn't let Pettigrew die that night either.
And yet, there was a difference between killing an unarmed man and using dark magic against Voldemort.
"Do you know what I was thinking when I was fighting Crouch?" he finally said.
Hermione eyed him curiously and shook her head wordlessly. Neville looked intrigued too, though Ron looked uncomfortable.
"That everything I knew was useless," Harry said. "That the only reason we were all still alive was because, for some reason, Voldemort didn't want Crouch to kill me at that moment. I was fighting a Death Eater with anything that could slow him down—I used the tickling spell at one point—just to try to bide time so that someone who knew what they were doing would get there."
"But you know loads more now, Harry," Neville pointed out. "Expulso and Oppugno aren't exactly nothing spells."
"But would they be enough?" Harry asked. "Against Voldemort?"
Ron and Neville both flinched once again at the name. Hermione twisted her hands anxiously.
"Hang on," Ron said, looking at them incredulously, "are we actually saying that You-Know-Who is going to turn up at the third task?"
He looked around at all of them, his mouth agape. "Well, it's a bit nutters, isn't it?" he cried. "In front of all those people? With Dumbledore right there?"
Harry let out a breath. He couldn't see Voldemort materializing right in front of Dumbledore.
"He'd need a body, too," Harry commented. "Pettigrew's far too invested in self-preservation to share his."
But Hermione still looked worried. She slowly shook her head. "I don't know," she said shakily. "But there's something about this task that's special, isn't there? Otherwise, Crouch wouldn't have helped you with the first two. Maybe it won't be You-Know-Who—but what if he sends another Death Eater?"
Harry stared at Hermione, wishing he had a good answer for her, but the more they discussed it, the more it became clear to him that he should be prepared for anything.
"I think I've got to say yes to Moody," he finally said. "Learn the spells and figure out if I'll use them later."
He looked at his friends: Ron and Neville looked like they agreed, and Hermione was contemplating his words.
"Besides," Neville added, "isn't that why Dumbledore wanted us to see the Unforgivables? Even if Harry doesn't use any dark spells, knowing what they look like could be useful."
And then Hermione looked Harry in the eyes, and he could see clarity in hers. She stood up straighter.
"Yes," she agreed, nodding, "that's probably the best way."
"You're sure?" Harry asked.
"Yes," she said. "You've been learning the spells so fast, I'm sure we can add some more in. And, besides, whatever happens at the third task, it'll be you deciding whichever spell feels right."
"What difference does that make?" Harry asked.
"Well," Hermione replied, her face a bit pink and her eyes earnest, "if dark magic doesn't feel right in the moment, you just won't use it. You always seem to know the best thing to do in high-pressure situations."
That was a nice way of saying that Harry had a knack for barely escaping almost certain death, but pride rippled through him at her compliment anyway.
So it was decided—he'd ask for Moody's help learning darker spells.
With Moody now involved in Harry's training, Hermione spent some of the afternoons Harry spent with Moody in the library, which Harry was a bit relieved by.
Moody hadn't taught him anything truly terrible yet—they were working on the Snare Curse, which produced ropes that bound your opponent, but then twisted and squeezed in a manner not unlike Devil's Snare—but Harry liked that she thought so highly of him, and he didn't want her looking at him any differently because of spells he now knew.
For his part, Neville still accompanied Harry to his meetings with Moody, and Harry suspected it was out of solidarity—to make sure this wasn't some other Death Eater impersonator trying to catch Harry unaware.
Harry would be lying if he said he didn't check the map to make sure Moody really was who he said he was.
Ron sometimes trained with them, and sometimes stayed in Gryffindor Tower with Seamus and Dean. And, of course, on Wednesday afternoons, he had chess club. (A couple of months back, Seamus had apparently gotten so fed up with his latest loss against Ron that he'd dragged him to the club meeting, with a retort that if Ron wanted to play chess so much, he should play it against people who actually knew what they were doing. And Ron had liked the club so much he continued to go even without Seamus for company.)
While Harry was glad Hermione wasn't around to see him performing dark spells, he found he missed her more than usual. They'd been inseparable the past few months, especially the two weeks they'd spent at Neville's.
He, Moody and Neville finished up practice early one evening—Harry had managed to squeeze apart a thick cast of cement—and while Neville was ready to head down to the Great Hall, Harry stopped by the library first to see if Hermione was ready to eat too.
He found her sitting in the corner, half hidden behind a large stack of books with no titles—only years—talking feverishly with Lavender and Parvati. That was unusual.
"What's up?" Harry asked, as he approached the table. The three girls looked up.
"Hi, Harry," Hermione greeted him, smiling warmly, while Lavender and Parvati giggled.
"Hi, Harry!" they said, grabbing their books and standing. "See you later, Hermione!"
Harry slid into the seat Parvati had just vacated, while Hermione looked distractedly through her notes. Harry eyed the two girls as they exited the library.
"Do I want to know what they were giggling about?" he asked.
"Oh, just the plan," Hermione murmured, organizing her parchments.
"Which one?" Harry asked, confused. Hermione had been focused on the Third Task Plan for a while now, but he didn't see what Parvati and Lavender would find funny about that.
Hermione looked up, wide-eyed. "Oh, the Snape plan," she said. "They're helping with the Snape plan."
"How?"
"They saw my vials of Neville's potions in the dorm, and they offered to give me some of theirs from class," she explained, stuffing her parchments into her bag. "And then I taught them the Girding Potion in our dorm, and now I've got three sets of proof. Parvati and Lavender aren't scared of Snape like Neville is, but they both improved a lot once I actually explained to them why they were adding ingredients in a particular order and showed them the proper technique for cutting their roots."
"That's great!" Harry beamed. "Are you done here now? I'm meeting Neville down in the Great Hall for dinner."
Hermione checked her watch. "Shoot, no, I'm late!" she cried. "I was supposed to meet Ernie ten minutes ago." She started pushing things into her bag more quickly.
"Ernie Macmillan?" Harry asked. Hermione never hung out with Ernie. "Why?"
Hermione smiled at him as she stood. "For the plan," she replied. "He's helping me with the plan."
"I can help you with the plan," Harry blurted. She was always helping him—he could help her for once. And he seemed to be the only person at Hogwarts she hadn't asked to help.
Hermione laughed. "You're not a Hufflepuff," she grinned, before seeming to realize Harry was sitting there. She straightened, frowning slightly, and the officious Hermione who was only focused on Harry's training was back. "Besides, you're supposed to be working on the other plan—why aren't you with Moody?"
"We've been working the past three hours," Harry pointed out. "We got loads done and Moody thought we were at a good stopping point. And what does being a Hufflepuff have to do with anything?"
"Well, we need more proof, don't we?" Hermione said, glancing at her watch again and grimacing. "The Hufflepuffs are making potions, too. I've really got to go. You go get something to eat—I'll see you later!"
And like a whirlwind, she was gone.
Probably the biggest test of Harry's resolve to take his training more seriously came the following Saturday. Ravenclaw and Slytherin had decided they couldn't be outdone by Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and so they'd decided to hold their own rogue quidditch match. Whether or not to go was the topic of conversation after breakfast between Harry, Ron and Hermione.
"Come on, Harry," Ron wheedled as they sat in chairs in the common room. "You can take a couple of hours off from training. You deserve a break."
Hermione looked at Ron disapprovingly. "We've got a schedule. And it's just a quidditch match, Ron," she said.
Ron looked at her aghast, clearly over being overly polite now that quidditch was involved. "Just quidditch?"
"Well, it's not like it's a Gryffindor match," Hermione pointed out. "And it's not like there's a Quidditch Cup where the outcome of this match affects us. It'll just be a couple of hours of watching the Slytherins play dirtier than ever since there's not even going to be a real referee."
"You've literally just described why we have to go," Ron insisted. "Besides, Fred and George are going to try out their new fireworks on the Slytherins, and we've got to see it. And Harry's done plenty of preparation—"
"People die in this tournament, Ron," Hermione hissed. "Do you not remember the dragons?"
Ron blanched. "Of course I do," he said, "but Dumbledore won't let that happen—"
"And You-Know-Who?" Hermione asked.
"He's not going to show up here, not with Dumbledore—"
"Well, one of his followers then?" Hermione snapped. "Do you think Harry's prepared enough to fight another Death Eater?"
"Hermione—"
"You weren't there, Ron," she retorted. "You weren't in that room. You didn't fight Crouch. You don't know what it's like!"
Ron looked like he'd been slapped. Hermione's eyes were flashing and her mouth was twisted into a thin line.
She sighed. "I didn't mean," she started to say, but Ron held his hands up.
"No, I get it," he said stiffly. "I know exactly what you meant."
He was glaring at Hermione defiantly, but the redness in his ears told Harry that it was just a cover—Ron was mad at himself. He hadn't been with them when they'd fought a Death Eater because he'd gotten mad at Harry over nothing. Every other dangerous situation they'd gotten themselves into, Ron had been right by their side, but this was something that he'd never share with them.
Neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to want to be the first to talk, which was absolutely a first for them.
"Look," Harry said, "it's up to me, isn't it?"
Ron and Hermione both looked at him.
"And I think I'm going to skip the game," he said, realizing that he had more interest in learning Confringo than watching Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy fight for the snitch. Of course, he hoped Malfoy lost in a spectacularly embarrassing way.
"Okay, so we'll train then," Ron said.
Hermione was still very quiet and Harry wasn't sure he wanted to be around the two of them when they were magically exploding objects.
"No, you should go to the game," Harry said, trying to give Ron a reassuring smile.
"No—"
"You want to go," Harry pointed out, "and you promised Seamus this morning that you'd save him a seat. You've helped out with training loads of times. Hermione and I can handle it today—honest."
Ron eyed him speculatively. "You're sure?" he asked.
"I'm sure," Harry said. "Besides, it wouldn't be right for you to ditch Seamus."
And so, Ron went to the game, while Harry and Hermione practiced Confringo in Professor McGonagall's classroom.
"Confringo!" Hermione shouted, about an hour into their session, blasting a pillow apart and sending feather fragments everywhere. She was breathing hard and her eyes were flashing.
"You're really mad," Harry said.
"A quidditch match, honestly!" Hermione fumed. "As if this wasn't more important! Even if You-Know-Who's plan fails without Crouch here, it's not like the task will be easy."
"And the thing you said about Crouch?" Harry asked. "And Ron not being there?"
Hermione let out a breath and sat against the edge of Professor McGonagall's desk. "I guess I didn't realize I was mad," she said in a quiet voice. "He apologized for what he said to me and I accepted, but… apparently, I'm still mad about other things."
Harry walked across the room and sat against the desk next to her.
"It's not like I'm mad that he wasn't there," Hermione said quickly, looking anxiously at Harry. "I'm glad he wasn't there. I wish we hadn't been there. But I'm mad at why he wasn't there."
He hadn't believed Harry. And Hermione was still mad about it—and everything that had stemmed from it.
"I guess I just hoped it would be more like last time," Hermione said. "We've all fought before, but moving forward didn't seem this hard."
Harry wished it was easier, too. But Ron didn't know how to act around Hermione. And when it came to Neville, he'd get these flashes of jealousy any time they mentioned their time at Neville's or their last Hogsmeade trip, or anything that reminded Ron that Neville was one of Harry's best friends now. And Neville? His facial expressions ranged from clearly unimpressed to downright savage anytime Ron complained about the jumpers his mum made him or how having a little sister was the worst.
And now, it seems, even Hermione was having trouble forgiving the past. Ron had apologized for what he'd said to her, and she had accepted it, but she was still angry at what Ron had done to Harry. Was there something wrong with him? That both Hermione and Neville seemed to be holding grudges on his account when he didn't feel nearly as angry?
He looked over at Hermione. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were glittering. He didn't know what to say, so he snaked his left arm around her shoulders and settled his hand on her left arm in what he hoped was a comforting way. Hermione stiffened at first, and then she leaned into him, resting her head against him.
And as he held her, it hit him why he wasn't so angry. In the months Ron was gone, he'd gotten closer to Hermione than ever and Neville had become one of his best friends—someone Harry could tell anything to. He couldn't imagine his life any differently, and yet, a part of him was certain that if he and Ron had never gotten in that fight—or if Ron had apologized much earlier—Harry wouldn't have what he had now. And he wouldn't give up his closeness with Hermione and Neville for anything.
He wondered if telling Hermione that would help her gain some clarity on the situation. If she'd be able to view her friendship with Ron the way Harry was: not as close as before, but a friendship nonetheless.
Before he could say anything, the door opened behind them.
"I zought ze red-headed boy said zey would be practicing," Fleur's clear voice called out. "Zis does not look like practicing."
He heard the teasing in her voice, and turned. Fleur, Cedric and Viktor were standing in the doorway.
"I thought you'd be at the game," Harry said, as he and Hermione stood and turned to face them. Cedric's girlfriend had been playing in it; he must have gone.
"We were," Cedric responded. "Cho caught the snitch after about 45 minutes. Good thing, too. The Slytherins were getting nasty."
"I've seen vorse," Viktor commented.
"Yes," Fleur sniffed, "well I still don't really see ze point. I've never liked broomsticks all zat much. And then all of ze players fly around, trying to score points, and ze game is won by ze seeker, and none of those points matter at all."
Cedric and Viktor looked as dumbfounded as Harry felt.
"Well that's just—"
"You see—"
"It just wasn't very exciting," Fleur proclaimed, and all three boys dropped their jaws.
Hermione grinned impishly. "It's a lot more fun when you're invested," she told Fleur. "When you've got someone to root for."
She smiled at Harry and he felt his face get as red as hers.
He cleared his throat and then said, "Well, I hope you all were rooting for Ravenclaw."
"Obviously," Cedric grinned.
"Yes," Viktor said, frowning. "That Drano boy never stops badgering me with questions."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a snicker at Viktor not even knowing Draco's name—Harry could just imagine Malfoy's face if he heard that—and then he asked Cedric, "Shouldn't you be celebrating with Cho?"
"Nah," Cedric replied, an easy smile on his face. "This was a Ravenclaw win. She should be with the Ravenclaws."
"So, what are you all doing here?" Harry asked.
Cedric, Viktor and Fleur exchanged glances.
"We were talking at the match," Cedric said, "about You-Know-Who."
"Ve all agreed that Crouch put your name in the goblet of fire for nefarious reasons," Viktor added. "So none of us should be thinking of it as a competition at this point."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
"He means we have to be ready for anything in ze third task," Fleur said. "So we agreed we should all train together."
Harry looked at them all in surprise. "Really?" he said. The last time they had talked, Viktor and Cedric had seemed to believe him, but Fleur hadn't been completely on board.
"Won't Karkaroff and Madame Maxime get mad?" Hermione asked.
Viktor's face turned dark. "Karkaroff has been in his own vorld for months," he said. "And I don't really care vot he thinks anyway."
"I was a bit skeptical at first," Fleur admitted, "but Madame Maxime has been speaking with your Hagrid. I'm not sure what he told her, but she seems to agree zat zere is something wrong here."
Harry grinned—Hagrid's tendency to tell everyone exactly what he knew had worked in their favor.
He looked at Hermione, and her eyes were shining. He could see exactly what she was thinking: Cedric, Viktor and Fleur knew more advanced magic than she, Neville or Ron did. Between dueling them and Moody's help, training was going better than even she'd planned.
"Unless you don't vant to train vith us?" Viktor said uncertainly, studying Harry.
"I do," Harry replied quickly. "That sounds great, honest."
Fleur moved into the room and picked up one of the feathers from Hermione's exploded pillow. "What are we working on?" she asked.
"Confringo," Hermione replied.
Fleur grinned. "Zat's one of my favorites!" she said.
Cedric and Viktor started magically moving more desks out of the way to make room for all of them, and Harry couldn't help but feel hopeful. He'd gone from no one believing in him but Hermione at the start of this tournament to more help than he'd ever had before.