Hermione Granger was not someone who was used to being speechless. Or unable to think. But kissing Harry Potter made her both.
She wasn't even sure how it had all happened. She'd spent dinner with her stomach in knots over what would be occurring the next day, prattling on about school in an effort to make everything seem perfectly fine. And then she'd wanted to go train some more, but Harry wanted to take a walk. And he looked so nervous and stressed about the third task, and he sounded so convinced that this was the right thing to do, and… well… she couldn't say no to him.
And then the walk had been so perfect. She'd spent all of her time the past couple of months trying to pretend like nothing had changed, trying to stay focused on the third task, trying to make "Save Harry, Snog Harry" a reality. And it had been difficult, especially the past few weeks, with him carrying her books, stealing her quill with a fantastic bit of advanced magic that she couldn't help but marvel at, taking her hand when she was worried about Neville, telling her that the unruly, awful mess of hair on top of her head looked pretty… It was like everything he did was designed to undermine her plan, and it took all of her willpower to stay the course.
But then they'd been on their walk, and the lake had been beautiful and serene, and thanks to Professor Sprout's greenhouse, the scent in the air reminded her of the secret garden, and she'd let down her defenses just a little bit and leaned into him. She couldn't help it. The moment was too perfect.
Except it wasn't because then he'd kissed her and she'd realized that had made it perfect.
It's also when her brain stopped working.
He'd leaned in and she'd gone completely blank, the pixies in her stomach exploding as soon as his lips touched hers. But too soon, he was gone, and he'd looked at her, his green eyes mesmerizing, and she'd just reacted—like instinct, like impulse, exactly as Angelina said it would happen.
But it was so much better than Angelina, Alicia and Katie had described. She'd fancied him and fantasized about what kissing him might be like, but nothing she had dreamed of felt like this. This just felt right.
She wasn't sure how long they kissed—her other hand wound its way into his hair, and both of his found her waist, pulling her closer—but by the time they pulled away, they were both completely breathless.
She still couldn't think properly standing so close to him, so she took a step back, hoping to gain some perspective.
His hair was a mess—even more so than usual, which was saying something.
Goodness. Had she done that?
He was grinning widely as he adjusted his glasses. She played with a piece of her hair nervously, not sure what to say, but it was usually up to her to break the ice when it came to talking about feelings with Harry.
"You ruined my plan," she heard herself say.
Well. Whatever she'd meant to say, it wasn't that.
"What?" Harry asked, looking utterly perplexed.
"My plan," she blurted. "We weren't supposed to kiss until after the third task."
Oh, god.
She bit her lip, her eyes not quite meeting his, her face starting to turn red—she'd definitely not meant to say that. Had his kisses made her stupid?
"Oh," Harry said, not quite understanding, looking at her awkwardly. "Sorry."
He looked confused and she instantly regretted opening her mouth and ruining this perfect night. Yes, she'd had a plan, and yes, Harry's safety was still the most important thing, but now that she'd gone and kissed him properly, she realized her plan had been her most idiotic notion since she thought Gilderoy Lockhart was a skilled wizard.
Wanting to recapture the moment, she admitted, "It's all right. Your way was better."
She peeked up at his eyes, a shy, hopeful smile on her face.
And then his brain seemed to catch up with the rest of him, and he realized what she had said—she hadn't just kissed him back in the moment; she'd had a whole plan about it.
His entire face changed. He started to grin, his eyes lighting up with wonder, as if he had just discovered a thirteenth use for dragon blood or some other great mystery of the universe.
"You fancy me a bit," he said, sounding surprised and prideful all at once.
Her face felt even hotter. It was true—more than true—but having that truth sitting out there between them was nerve-wracking. Sure, he'd kissed her, but, well, he was a teenage boy. Most of them would kiss anyone. What if this had just been some sort of fluke?
"Well, you kissed me first," she pointed out. "What was that about?"
Harry's hands were in the pockets of his robes, and to her surprise, he turned a little pink. "Well," he shrugged, still grinning at her, " I fancy you a bit, too."
Hearing him say the words sent the pixies into a full-on celebration.
She grinned at him and he grinned back, and she felt very silly and happy and ecstatic, and honestly, this had to be the best day in her entire existence.
They stood like that for an eternity, just smiling at each other, until Hermione started to feel a little self-conscious about it. She needed to regain a bit of control over her emotions.
"Right," she said officiously, nodding her head firmly, "so it's settled then. We both fancy each other a bit."
"Right," Harry agreed, grinning at her again, making her feel warm inside.
They stayed down by the lake for a while, sitting side by side, her hand in his and her head on his shoulder, watching the sun go down. They didn't talk much—they didn't need to.
But as the last of the sun's rays disappeared, and darkness fell, the quiet suddenly felt like too much.
"Are you nervous?" she asked. "About tomorrow?"
She felt Harry shrug. "I'd be stupid not to be," he admitted. "But it's not like there's much I can do about it now."
She squeezed his fingers, needing to firmly feel his presence.
"Are you nervous?" Harry asked.
Well, that was a ridiculous question. When was she not worried about Harry's welfare? She would be surprised if she didn't have gray hair by 17 on account of him.
She was quiet for a moment, trying to think of the best way to answer him without letting him know exactly how terrified she was—he didn't need any more stress.
"I believe in you and in what you can do," she finally said. "You're a great wizard, remember?"
She smiled at the memory—the first time she'd hugged him, back when they were just first years attempting to steal the philosopher's stone. She'd been sending him into the unknown, just as she was now, but then and now, her faith in him was unshakeable.
Harry scoffed. "Hermione, whatever happens tomorrow, I'm only prepared for it because of you," he said.
"No, Harry," she said quickly, sitting up to look at him. "I just… did a bit of research. You're the one who's been training and practicing every day. You're the one who's learned spells you shouldn't even be seeing until N.E.W.T. level—and even beyond. You deserve the credit for that. None of that was me."
He smiled slightly, looking a bit embarrassed by her praise.
"All right, then," he said, "it was both of us together."
"We make a pretty good team," she agreed, liking the sound of that.
She shivered a bit—without the sun, sitting by the lake was cold—and Harry tugged on her hand, pulling her up.
"We should probably go back to the common room," he said, sounding regretful.
He didn't let go of her hand as they made their way to the castle.
They'd held hands before, but somehow this time felt different—possessive somehow?—and she found she rather liked that.
When they reached the seventh floor, she slowed. They'd agreed that they fancied each other a bit, but not much more than that.
"If we go in there holding hands, people will assume…things," she said.
Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Half of them have been thinking we've been dating for months anyway," he pointed out. "All I really care about is what we think."
We. Hermione definitely liked the sound of that.
She gave Harry a sidelong glance—there was still a small smile playing on his lips and his eyes looked mirthful. Despite the looming third task, he looked happy, and she felt a burst of pride that she'd done that.
She honestly still couldn't believe that this perfect night had happened.
All year, people had been prying into his life—hers too. She liked the idea of this being their moment, one that they didn't have to share with the world—at least for a little while longer.
"Don't take this the wrong way," she said, turning to Harry, hesitating a bit.
He furrowed his brow at her, his face full of caution. "Take what the wrong way?" he asked.
"Well, maybe this could be just for us for tonight," she said, before quickly adding, "It's not that I don't want people to know… It's just… well… it's none of their business, is it? And tonight was so special that I just don't really want to share it. Not yet, anyway."
She searched his eyes, hoping he'd understand. He studied her face, silent, while she held her breath. Then his lips lifted in a half smile.
"Just for us sounds nice," he agreed, and she grinned at him.
He understood. Of course he understood. Harry wasn't the sort of person who went blabbing every detail of his life to everyone he met.
The Fat Lady eyed their joined hands suspiciously, but uncharacteristically said nothing as she let them pass. Harry let go of her hand to let her through the portrait hole first, and she surveyed the room. It was mostly empty, but Neville was sitting with Ron, Seamus and Dean by the fire.
"How did your Divination homework go?" Hermione asked nonchalantly, as she and Harry sat on the sofas with them.
"Good," Ron said cheerfully. "Lavender and Parvati were loads of help."
Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes—by "help" she knew he meant "did his homework"—but then she glanced sideways at Harry, and her frustration melted away. He smiled at her, a secret little smile that she returned.
Ron, Seamus and Dean didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but Neville eyed the two of them knowingly, his eyebrow raised. She blushed, and he and Harry seemed to communicate something she couldn't decipher, and then Neville grinned at her, clearly happy for his friends.
In Hermione's opinion, "happy" didn't even begin to describe how she felt.
"How did you sleep?" Hermione asked Harry as they walked down to breakfast the next morning.
"Fine," he replied, though he looked tired.
Well, of course that's what he'd say. Harry rarely complained or wanted to burden anyone with his problems, even when he had more reason than most people to do so.
She turned to Neville for confirmation. Harry saw and rolled his eyes.
"How would Neville know?" Harry asked. "He was snoring as soon as the lights were out."
"I don't snore," Neville said indignantly. "Do I?"
"Er, just a bit," Harry replied, laughing, a sound that made Hermione's heart lift. Neville frowned at this new bit of information.
"But Seamus talks in his sleep and that's much worse," Harry added sympathetically.
Breakfast was lively. Hermione sat next to Harry and slipped her hand into his under the table as they ate. No one seemed to find it unusual that she was using her fork with the wrong hand, except Alicia, who waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Hermione and gave her a thumbs up sign.
Hermione blushed and grinned back. Well, she'd known it couldn't be "just for them" forever.
Fleur had joined Cedric at the Hufflepuff table this morning, but Viktor was sitting a few seats down at the Gryffindor table, answering Seamus' many questions about professional quidditch with what Hermione thought was a fair bit of patience.
Harry received a letter at breakfast—a good-luck card from Sirius that consisted on a single muddy paw print—which seemed to cheer him up.
"Are you ready for the History of Magic exam?" he asked Hermione.
She nodded. She'd spent most of her time helping Harry to prepare, but she thought she'd logged enough hours revising for exams.
"How hard can it be?" Ron asked, waving his fork around. "Goblin rebellion of 1692, goblin rebellion of 1612, Ulric the Ugly, Stephen the Smarmy, goblin rebellion of blah blah blah…"
"It's Samuel the Smarmy," Hermione corrected, "and he was actually a really important figure! Without him, the goblins would have lost the Battle of Willow Vale, and that win was the whole reason for the treaty that ended the goblin rebellion of 1727."
Ron looked bored, Neville and Dean were clearly taking mental notes, and Harry was eyeing her suspiciously.
"You've got a favorite goblin rebellion, haven't you?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with humor.
"What," she replied, a bit thrown. Where had that come from?
But before he could answer, Professor McGonagall's shadow loomed over them.
"Potter," she said, "the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast."
"But the task's not until tonight!" Harry said fretfully.
"I'm aware of that," she replied. "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task, you know. This is simply a chance for you to greet them."
Harry gaped at her as she mentioned the same to Viktor and walked away.
"But I haven't got any family," he said, before glancing at Sirius' note, his expression darkening. "None that could come here anyway."
Hermione looked at him regretfully. "I'd come with you if I could," she said, but Harry shook his head.
"You've got exams," he replied.
They sat there for a few minutes more. Harry clearly didn't want to go into that room. Hermione saw Cedric and Fleur cross the Hall, and then Viktor raised his eyebrows at Harry.
"Should ve go?"
Harry hesitated. "Well—"
"My father vould really like to meet you," Viktor added. "I've told him a lot about you."
Harry looked surprised, but then nodded. "All right," he said, turning to Hermione and his friends. "Good luck on your exam."
And then he and Viktor walked off together.
Well, he might not have family, but at least he had a friend to keep him company.
The History of Magic exam was much easier than expected. There hadn't been any questions about any of the goblin rebellions of the seventeenth century, and one of the longest essay responses had been about Walter the Wicked, whom Hermione had written fifteen feet on last semester.
Professor Binns might be a bit dry, but he at least didn't mind when Hermione went a bit long with her homework.
She and Neville made a beeline down to the Great Hall for lunch, and she was surprised to see Harry sitting with Mrs. Weasley and Bill. The other Weasleys had already joined them, as had Fleur, Viktor and their families.
Fleur and Viktor both appeared to be very interested in what Bill was saying.
"I introduced Bill and Viktor earlier," Harry whispered as Hermione sat down next to him in the seat he had saved for her, "since Viktor's interested in curse breaking and had asked you for Bill's contact information. But Fleur seems to…."
"Fancy him a bit?" Hermione finished, leaning in closer and raising her eyebrow suggestively at him in a shameless bit of flirting she didn't know she had in her. Harry grinned, turning a bit pink.
"Hello Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley said, a bit too brightly, making a big display of greeting Hermione. "How are you doing, dear? How was your exam?"
"It went really well," Hermione replied. "I thought it was quite easy."
"Wonderful! Of course, that's to be expected coming from you," Mrs. Weasley complimented her, nodding vigorously, and then she turned to Ron.
"And you?" she asked her son. "Did you find it easy?"
As Mrs. Weasley proceeded to interrogate Ron, Hermione turned to Harry, puzzled.
"Does something seem off about her?" she asked.
"I think she's just uncomfortable because of what happened at the train platform," he muttered, a note of censure in his voice. "She's trying to be extra nice because of the awful things she thought about you."
She heard the criticism in his voice and his eyes looked more guarded than usual.
"Harry?" she asked. "Was everything all right this morning?"
He turned to her. "Fine," he said a bit tightly, but she didn't believe him.
She raised her eyebrow at him questioningly.
"Honestly," he whispered, "I'm glad Dumbledore asked someone to come and watch me, and that the Weasleys care enough to come. But… well, they're Ron's family."
The unspoken "not mine" was obvious.
It was a far cry from how Harry had felt at Christmas, worried that Mrs. Weasley would cut him off because of his fight with Ron—but a lot had happened since then.
"And there are people who should be here who aren't," Harry added.
She felt her heart ache for him. His parents should be here, first and foremost. Sirius, for sure. Even—
"Professor Lupin!" Dean shouted in greeting, from halfway down the table.
Harry, Hermione and Neville all swiveled toward the entrance, and sure enough, there was Lupin, still looking a bit bedraggled and worn, but smiling happily as he returned greetings with his former student.
"Harry!" he said warmly as he sat down next to Neville and across from them. "Sorry I'm late."
Harry didn't look sorry at all—he looked positively overjoyed.
Lupin leaned in. "I was helping a friend get sorted," he said, eyeing them significantly.
"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, looking surprised to see Lupin. She leaned across Ginny and Fred to be closer for the conversation. "Hello. It's so nice to see a teacher take an interest in a former student."
She said it all warmly enough, but it still rankled Hermione—Harry was a lot more than Lupin's former student.
Ron rolled his eyes at his mum. "Mum, I told you," he said. "Professor Lupin was one of Harry's dad's oldest friends."
"Hmm," Mrs. Weasley said, her lips pursed. "Yes, of course. I had forgotten."
But there was a hint of criticism in her voice, and Hermione couldn't tell if it was because Mrs. Weasley didn't believe a man who had only met Harry last year could possibly be such a good friend of his father's, or because she had believed the lies Rita Skeeter had spread about Lupin, too.
For his part, Lupin pretended not to notice. Hermione supposed he had a lot of practice at that, being a werewolf.
Harry leaned in closer. "Where's—"
But Lupin cut him off. "Somewhere safe, and maybe this afternoon we can cut away and visit him—but let's not talk about that now. You never know who's listening," he whispered.
Harry looked regretful. "You're right," he said in a low voice. "Rita Skeeter's been listening to more of our conversations."
Remus regarded them sharply. "You're sure?" he asked.
Neville nodded, but didn't speak until he'd looked around the table and saw everyone near them was engaged in other conversations. "We thought at first maybe she had an invisibility cloak—but disregarded that since Moody had a magical eye."
"Of course," Harry muttered, "it wasn't Moody at all."
"Still," Hermione added, "if the fake Moody had seen her, surely he would've reported it. She could have ruined his plans."
She felt the knots in her stomach again; for all they knew, Crouch's plans hadn't been ruined at all and there was something terrible waiting for Harry in that maze.
Lupin was shaking his head. "We saw Rita Skeeter right before she spied on us," he said. "She wasn't carrying an invisibility cloak or a bag. Unless she had stashed it in a tree."
Hmm. Hermione supposed she could have stashed it in a tree, but for something as expensive as an invisibility cloak—wouldn't it have been easier just to carry a bag? No one would think that unusual. The expression on Lupin's face said he'd come to the same conclusion.
"At least she seemed to go easier on Sirius than she did on me," Lupin said amiably.
"Not Fudge though," Hermione commented. She disliked Rita Skeeter with every fiber of her being, but after Fudge's refusal to listen to them last year and his behavior at her hearing, she couldn't drum up a whole lot of sympathy for him.
Lupin snorted. "Albus told me that Cornelius Fudge was supposed to judge the last task," he said. "But he got someone else to fill in on account of his ongoing feud with Dumbledore."
"Who?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," Lupin answered.
"I can't believe he's still sticking to this ridiculous belief that Dumbledore is after his job," Hermione said.
She may have come to question Dumbledore a bit this year, but it was obvious he had no interest being anywhere but Hogwarts.
Lupin sighed. "Cornelius Fudge is someone who likes to be liked and admired. And he's not a fan of difficult decisions. Everything about Sirius and everything about Barty Crouch Jr.—he's been stumbling through all of it because there's no clear, easy win," he explained. "And sometimes it's easier to clutch to the truth you've known then accept there's a different one out there."
"Rita Skeeter dragging his name through the mud probably hasn't helped him gain perspective," Neville added.
"Precisely," Lupin agreed. "The Ministry has always been a target for her, but Fudge is taking this one harder than the rest."
"I'd still like to know how she's doing it," Hermione said.
"Well, there's got to be loads of ways to magically bug someone," Harry responded.
It was an offhand comment, but Hermione froze. Could it really have been that simple all along?
The beetle Neville flicked off her shoulder after the match. The beetle Harry saw in the rose garden. Hagrid's window had been open, and Harry, Lupin, Seamus and Dean had been standing outside where no one would have noticed a beetle.
And just minutes ago, the four of them had been talking about Sirius—an unregistered animagus. If he, Harry's dad and Peter Pettigrew could do it, who's to say there weren't loads more?
Harry was staring at her with concern. "What is it?" he asked.
"I think I may have just figured out something," she said excitedly. "But I have to check to be sure."
She stood quickly, but Harry grabbed her hand. "What is it?" he asked. "I'll come with you."
Certainly, she'd like that… but Lupin was going to take him to see Sirius.
She shook her head. "You've got more important things," she said, nodding her head toward Lupin significantly. "I've got this."
She smiled at him—and noticed Mrs. Weasley eyeing them curiously—and then hurried out of the Great Hall.
She was halfway to the stairs when she realized Neville was on her heels. She looked at him questioningly.
"What?" he asked. "I don't have a visit with Snuffles to go to."
Hermione grinned, and filled Neville in on her theory as they ran toward the library.
It was pretty full—it was exams week after all, so plenty of students wanted to get in some last-minute revising—but Hermione knew exactly where to go from the time she'd researched this last year. The library kept several Ministry registers on hand—including those for people who became an animagus.
While everyone was busy revising, the pair of them did get quite a few looks as they passed by. Neville noticed, looking around, and turned to her with a puzzled expression on his face.
"What are they all staring at?" he asked. "Harry's not even with us."
He had to be joking. Neville was still the topic of conversation amongst just about everyone, thanks to his encounter with Snape. She'd been in Sanctuary with Katie just the other day, and she'd heard Lavender giving Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott a play by play, the two Hufflepuffs listening with rapt attention.
"They're staring at you, Neville," she told him. "You're a bit of a hero now. I imagine most of the students have wanted to attack Professor Snape at some point or another."
Neville looked a bit dazed as Hermione found the register she was looking for.
"But I didn't even know what I was doing," he said. "I just reacted."
Hermione gave him a wry smile. "And now you sound like Harry."
Neville looked a bit blown away by that assessment of his actions and was silent for a moment. Then his demeanor shifted and he seemed to focus particularly on her.
"Speaking of Harry," he said, "I see you made some adjustments to your timeline."
Hermione buried her face in the register, not clearly seeing the words in front of her.
"Well," she said diplomatically, "Harry made some very good points."
Neville eyed her teasingly. "Particularly eloquent last night, was he?" he asked.
"You'd be surprised. He can be quite persuasive," she said as lightly as she could, even as her face grew hot.
She peeked at Neville, saw the amused expression on his face, and they both burst into laughter.
When they settled, he looked at her earnestly. "In any case, like I told Harry last night, I'm happy for you both," he said.
It was a simple act of support, but it was still a strange feeling for Hermione. Harry, Neville, Alicia, Katie, Angelina, Augusta, Viktor and the other champions, Ginny and Luna—she'd never had more support than she did this year.
"Thank you," she said, smiling at her friend, before thumbing through the register for the right information.
"I knew it!" she crowed victoriously. "She's not on the list. So if she is an animagus, she's unregistered."
"So she's been breaking the law," Neville said excitedly. "What do we do?"
Hermione dragged him to Gryffindor Tower where she summoned a couple of empty jars from her trunk and put an unbreakable charm on them.
"Here," she said, handing one to Neville. "She's bound to be spying on Harry tonight. If you see her, catch her."
Rita Skeeter wouldn't be spying on anymore of their conversations—not if Hermione could help it.
Harry met Hermione and Neville in the entrance hall before the evening feast. The second he saw them, he asked her what her theory was, and she told him all about her discovery regarding Rita.
"We can catch her now, Harry," Hermione insisted. "Now that we know what to look for!"
While the last article hadn't worked out so badly for them, it didn't erase everything Rita had done before.
"Did you see Snuffles?" Hermione murmured.
Harry nodded, grinning. "Viktor gave me the opening, even if he didn't know it," he said. "Asked Bill a bunch of questions about his job, and Remus and I were able to sneak away."
"What did Sirius have to say?" Hermione asked.
"Be safe, be cautious, try not to be the hero," Harry shrugged. "What he usually says."
Hermione was thankful for Sirius' cautious advice—her exams and the discovery about Rita had been a distraction, but her stomach was back to being in knots.
Dinner was a much more solemn affair. There were more courses than usual, but Hermione couldn't do much more than pick at them. Harry, she noticed, didn't eat much either.
People kept wandering by to wish Harry luck, and he nodded politely at all of them, except for Luna. She told him to watch out for the nargles, and she received a warm smile, a "Will do," and an insistence that she join them for pudding.
Ludo Bagman was now sitting at the staff table looking exceptionally cheerful, and there was a woman Hermione didn't know: a toad-faced witch in garish pink robes whom Dumbledore introduced as Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. She seemed unpleasant.
As Hermione tried to force-feed herself potatoes that tasted like chalk, the knots in her stomach grew and all of her limbs felt heavy. This was it—the night they'd been training for. She had every confidence in Harry and his abilities, but she couldn't wait until this blasted tournament was over and they were back in Gryffindor Tower.
Anything could happen tonight…. You-Know-Who could have anything planned. She had a sudden, unbidden vision of Harry sprawled on the floor of Professor Moody's office, desperately grabbing for his wand as Barty Crouch Jr. advanced on him.
A wave of inspiration seized her—how had she not thought of this earlier?—and she tugged on Harry's arm, muttering for him to follow her. Eyes followed them curiously as they exited the Great Hall.
"What is it?" Harry asked, as she pulled him toward the bench in the alcove, the bench where he had initiated a hug with her for the first time.
"Here," she said, pressing her wand into his hand. "I don't recall seeing anything in the rules about carrying more than one wand, but put it in your pocket quick, just in case."
Harry looked perplexed. "I can't take your wand!" he insisted. "It's—you need it. It's your wand."
She already felt empty without it, but it didn't matter.
"You need it more," she argued. "I'm just going to be sitting in the stands with hundreds of wizards and witches, all of whom have wands. You… if you run into a situation like with Crouch…"
She paused, but she could see he was remembering exactly how it had happened. If she hadn't broken free of the Imperius at the right time, he would have been obliviated.
It didn't matter that her wand felt like an essential part of her, that she felt wrong without it. Harry needed every advantage he could get—and, in a way, it was like he was taking her into that maze with him. Like he wouldn't be alone.
"Two wands are better than one," she argued. "And mine worked all right for Neville, so it should work all right for you. Just—please take it. I'll feel loads better if you take it—honestly!"
At her admission, she saw the resolution in his eyes and felt his fingers curl around her wand. She felt a wave of relief that he'd agreed.
"You're brilliant," Harry said gratefully.
She looked around quickly to see if they were alone—they were—and she kissed him. It was swift and chaste, but she thought it got her point across.
"For luck!" she said, smiling at him, feeling herself blush. She was still a bit in awe that kissing him was something she was allowed to just do.
Harry grinned, but instead of heading back into the Great Hall, he pulled her into another kiss—this was decidedly not short and swift, and the pixies made short work of the knots in her stomach.
He pulled back, his hand still cupping her face, rubbing circles lightly on her cheek, and grinned mischievously. "Two is better than one, right?" he asked.
She laughed at his joke, leaning into his touch. Honestly, how could he make her laugh at a moment like this?
A half hour later, she was sitting in the stands, Neville on one side of her and Luna on the other. Ron and Ginny were nearby with their family, and Lupin was in front of her. He had the Marauders Map open on his lap, his eyes trained on Harry's name. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Angelina, Alicia and Katie seating themselves behind her. They each threw her sympathetic nods.
The quidditch pitch was filled with the maze—the hedges were 25-feet high—and it all looked foreboding and quite creepy. Hermione shivered.
"I've been talking lately with the Gray Lady," Luna said conversationally. "She's not very forthcoming about her life, but she's usually more open with Ravenclaws."
"Oh?" Hermione asked, not sure what that had to do with Harry and the third task.
"She's more than a thousand years old," Luna continued, "so I thought she might be a good person to speak with about the house elves."
Hermione closed her eyes, self-recrimination filling her. Of course. Helping the house elves had been her idea, hadn't it?
Hermione turned to Luna and smiled at her as best she could given the current situation of Harry facing who-knows-what. "Tomorrow, let's go find her together," Hermione said.
Luna smiled, the dreamy look on her face. "Harry will want to come too, of course."
She said it so matter-of-fact that Hermione couldn't help but feel affection for the girl—in Luna's eyes, there was no way Harry wouldn't be perfectly fine in the morning.
"Yes, he will," Hermione agreed, her voice sounding a bit croaked.
Neville patted her comfortingly on the arm, assuring her the four of them would go together.
She honestly didn't know how she would've gotten through this tournament without him. Neville might appear at first to be shy and clumsy, and a bit of a pushover, but in reality, he was solid as a rock. And with everything that had happened this year, she and Harry had needed that.
She watched as Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Madame Maxime approached the champions before heading to the judges' table—Dumbledore pulled Harry aside, and whatever he was saying, Harry was nodding in response—and then Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Moody and Hagrid took their places around the maze. They'd be patrolling the entire event.
Bagman made his announcements, but Hermione wasn't paying much attention. She was too focused on watching Harry. He was standing straight, his wand arm relaxed. If you didn't know him, you might think him ambivalent about the whole event. But she did know him, and she knew he was just preparing himself, the way he did before a quidditch match.
She let out a forceful breath, and grabbed both Neville and Luna by the hand.
The first whistle blew—it was Harry's turn to enter the maze.