"An honour, Cissy," came Bella's voice, their footsteps echoing in the large, ornate rooms of Malfoy Manor. "If I had a son I wouldn't hesitate-"

"Please keep your voice down. My son is barely fourteen."

She can already feel the cold barriers Narcissa Malfoy erects in her head as they near the room - such a self possessed lady, as though something as trivial could keep her out.

"Well, you can start to think of it at the very least-"

"My Lord,' said Narcissa, bowing slightly. Bellatrix stopped, flushing and repeated her sister's actions.

"Is your cousin here?" she asks, gauging their faces for reactions. Narcissa goes paler.

"No, my Lord."

"Very good. This is not for his ears."

Bellatrix looks at her strangely for a moment, an almost puzzled expression. She yearns to look into her mind, but her barriers are smooth and strong- after all, it had been her who had taught Bella.

"You must have heard, courtesy, of your son, Narcissa, Lucius, that the Granger girl has been expelled."

"She's too bold for a mudblood-" seethed Bella, but she stops her tirade quickly.

"This is not just about the mudblood. We have put Lucius in charge, but I hope Lucius has not got any far fetched ideas of his own."

"Of course, not, my Lord. This whole things- it has been an act for you. You are the real, the real leader."

"Now," she said smoothly. "Having extinguished that little question of suspicion, and I have been assured of the unwavering loyalty of my own Death Eaters, who dared to put the Granger girl's name for the Tournament?"

Hermione woke up laughing.

The velvet curtains had been drawn across frosty windows, and it was comfortably warm in the compartment, with Transfigured beds that would change back in the morning. Her eyes landed at the little clock across her bed, right above the other Slytherin champion's bed. The girl, who had been sleeping untill now, woke up with a loud rustling of bedclothes.

'Will you shut the fuck up, Granger?'

But it was just too ironic not to laugh- considering whatever she'd seen just now was reality.

'Sorry for disrupting your beauty sleep, Zaidi.'

'You're bonkers,' she said, shaking her head. 'I'll be surprised if you're in one piece after this muddling Tournament.'

'Way too subtle.' said Hermione, and laughed again.

Hermione pulled out the little sickle Millicent had slipped in her hand the day before leaving Hogwarts, her legs dangling from the bed she was sitting on. She rubbed it slightly, thinking about Ms. Rehana's stories. She often told them some when she was in a very good mood. Aladdin, with his magic lamp and Ali Baba and traveling rocking horses and a ruthless maidservant who killed people by drowning them in vats of heated oil.

She didn't want to write to Millicent about it, she was pretty sure any mail that was to be routed to Durmstrang (who seemed to guard their location to utmost secrecy) was passed through a hundred checks. Nevertheless, Ron had written to her, and so had Padma.

Dear Hermione,

I know you're probably very worried on the First Task, and I'm sorry to say, but Karkaroff is a wanker. A total arsehole. "Think on your feet" is bullshit advice. I think it's Durmstrang's way of rigging the tournament, which is rather ironic considering that I've snuck around a little and he's actually a Death Eater. An acquitted one. (Makes no sense, I know)

Oh, and the antiques trade is just rising and rising. I think it's got to do with Aaron Greengrass, slimy fellow that he is.

I suppose the Durmstrang library is way more extensive than Hogwarts, but still, Padma and I have decided to send you a few books.

Best of luck,

Terry Boot.

The second Hermione had realised that it was Adrian Pucey who was the Hogwarts champion, was when she'd finally felt like everything was settling. She met with Cedric Diggory once, who had, unfortunately, not been selected.

"It's fine,' he'd said, waving his wand to create smoky patterns in the air. "Pucey's decent."

As always, after any conversation with Cedric, Hermione would always be awed by how nice he was. Nothing seemed to rattle him.

"I'd have cheered for you," she'd said, biting her lip. Cedric laughed heartily. "Now you can cheer for yourself."

Now she walked behind Stefan and Pucey, through the cold halls of Durmstrang. She was struck with the sudden feeling of importance, of having succeeded. It felt like every step of hers here was defiance, was something that made history. It was hard to neglect it anyway, hard to ignore the searching stares and jeers of the students (somewhat worse because she didn't even understand half of their English, slurs in foreign languages was well out of her league.

'The ability to think on your feet,' quoted Hermione, as Stefan picked up pace. 'Have any ideas, Pucey?'

Adrian Pucey shrugged. They now entered another corridor and Stefan waved his wand at a rune engraved in the wall. The wall merged into the grilled gates of a lift. Stefan muttered something under his breath, as they entered and Hermione was hit with another sudden urge to throw up her breakfast.

'The library,' said Stefan, as the lift deposited them gracelessly to a large pair of doors, with metal work on them. The inscriptions were written in almost every language other than English.

He looked at her oddly. 'We will go first,' he said, gesturing with his hands as though she was deaf.

'Fine,' said Hermione and Stefan pushed the doors open, giving view to an enormous room, filled with spiralling shelves on shelves of books. She followed them looking up, knowing there must eb a stupid smile plastered on her face. There were tall windows, and though there was very less sunlight shining through, the edges were decorated in ebony. Several tables branched together in one corner where a boy was sitting with a girl. There was no one else in the library, and nodding at them, Stefan left.

'So these are the other Triwizard champions?' asked Hermione, as they moved to the table. She was once again aware of how young she was compared to them. To top it off, she was, in their eyes, a criminal.

The girl seemed to be French and she was the most beautiful girl Hermione had ever seen in her life. Her sheet of blonde hair seemed like silk and as she turned, her mouth slightly open, Hermione was once again, suddenly aware of the mess her hair was in.

'Ah,' she said and the boy beside her turned too, nodding at Pucey, who nodded back. He had dark hair, and sharp features, almost hawk like.

'So this is the 'Ermione Granger, we have been hearing about?' asked the girl, extending a hand with perfectly manicured fingernails. Hermione shook it, feeling strangely formal.

'Fleur Delacour. Beauxbatons.'

'I am Viktor Krum,' said the other boy, shaking her hand and nodding slightly. He seemed slightly amused that she didn't say anything other than her name. Hermione smiled back politely, wondering if she really should know this bloke.

'You've got an, er, nice school.' said Hermione, feeling very awkward. All she could think was Hogwarts- Hogwarts with its warm beds and changing staircases and annoying pranksters but to her it had been home, and she had been away, but now she knew she would never be able to go back and-

Hermione took a deep breath and Krum nodded again, while the Delacour girl seemed to look at everything with distaste.

'It is a little small, I think, compared to Hogwarts.'

'Yeah,' said Adrian. 'I don't suppose you'll be telling us Durmstrang's secrets, anyway?'

Krum seemed offended. 'Of course not.'

'Cheating, zey say, is an integral part of the tournament,' said Fleur. Hermione turned from where she had been perusing a list of books on advanced Transfiguration. She and Pucey had spent the last hour in the library, because neither of them had any idea as to how the first task was going to be. (If Pucey did know, well then, he was wasting his time in lying to her. Hermione had learned early on how well some people guarded their secrets.)

'Who's the one cheating, then?' asked Hermione, now skimming the back of Human Transfiguration: do's and don'ts.

Fleur laughed, a tinkling sound that seemed to float in the air. 'You seem too young, little girl.'

She was struck by a sudden stab of irritation.

'I'm not more than two years younger than you,' she snapped, placing the book back. 'Do not call me little girl.'

Fleur laughed again. 'You have a temper.' she said, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear. 'At Beauxbatons, we always have, what do you call it, sportsmanship. It is not fair, you see, to put you in a competition against your wishes.'

Hermione didn't say anything, and instead pulled out another rather seedy looking volume, like the tattered ones in Knockturn Alley.

'So,' said Fleur, smiling. 'If you ever want help, you can ask.'

Like hell she would.

Hermione flashed a fake smile and continued to read.

Durmstrang was black marble floors and high ceilings. It lacked that aura of Hogwarts, something that seemed to shout home, something that seemed to talk about legacy and beauty. She'd had breakfast in the carriage itself, but after having spent the first half of the day in the library, she was now walking to lunch. Apparently the lift was usually off limits.

And in all this time, she hadn't met a single person from Durmstrang other than Stefan. She found it fascinating and disgusting at the same time.

The people here hated those of her birth so much?

Hermione rolled her shoulders, picking up pace; their footsteps echoing on the marble floors.

'Krum's taken a fancy to you,' said Adrian Pucey, as they left the library together. Again, this was something very unusual. It was an addressed fact that none of the upper years in Slytherin bothered themselves with the kids, or atleast anyone under fifth year. But she supposed neither of them really had any company and Hermione was convinced the boy was hiding something. Just something she hadn't figured out yet.

'Huh?'

Pucey rolled his eyes. 'You heard what I said, Granger.'

'Of course, I'm not fucking deaf, Pucey. The point, is, I barely said a word to the bloke.'

'Because he's Viktor Krum.'

'And so?'

Pucey laughed loudly, as they skipped the last flight of stairs. 'Oh, you're hopeless. Fame, Granger.'

Hermione arched an eyebrow. Pucey continued to laugh. 'He's the Bulgarian star star seeker, you idiot. And there you are, talking to him like he's a nobody.'

'Oh,' said Hermione, feeling disgruntled. 'I don't see what's so funny about it.'

They had arrived at the main hall, which couldn't have been a bigger contrast to Hogwarts even if it had tried. There were no long House tables, there were only just several rows of stone ones. There was no special podium for the Headmaster or the staff, because apparently they liked to have their food in different rooms. It all sounded increasingly posh to Hermione.

Basically she didn't like it.

'We have the wand weighing thing tomorrow, don't forget. See you around then, Granger.' said Pucey and walked to where Zaidi, the other Slytherin champion was sitting. Hermione looked around, feeling very lonely and stupid. The Beauxbatons was sitting together separately' so were those of Durmstrang.

Fat chance for international co operation.

So she moved over to where Cedric was sitting, talking animatedly with two Durmstrang girls. The Hufflepuff beside him didn't seem very pleased.

'Oh, the champion's here!'

'Shut up.'

'You...seem a bit too young...' trailed the Durmstrang girl with blonde hair.

'She wasn't supposed to compete, not really,' said Cedric, now drawing nonsense lines in his gravy.

'The tournament's rigged.' offered Hermione, feeling very satisfied with the way the girl's lips flattened into a thin line.

The weighing of wands ceremony seemed to go on without much hitch. She was very glad that Rita Skeeter's commentary was absent.

The wandmaker who examined hers was a wizened, old man named Gregorovitch. He was the one who'd made Krum's wand and seemed intrigued that Fleur's wandcore was her own Grandmother's hair.

Of course, the lack of reporters didn't last long. There, were of course, Bulgarian reporters, especially one enthusiastic one who spoke with her in a thick accent she had much difficulty understanding.

'It's rather ironic,' Cedric had said, when he was called to play translator. 'It's usually the opposite situation.'

And so, the days to the First Task seemed to hurry on, like something rolling down a slope at an alarming speed. And she had no fucking idea.

Letters from Hogwarts didn't seem to help.

Dear Hermione,

First of all- Viktor bloody Krum!

Dear Hermione,

Hope you're doing well...and what about Viktor Krum-

Dear Hermione,

Sorry, but I have no idea on what the tasks are to be. They don't seem to repeat tasks (the only one that was repeated is somewhat eerie because it involves a death and some memory charms. Not a very reliable source.)

Of course, that was very relieving.

Hermione wanted to go drown in that lake with its impeccable surface.

She had nothing. McGonagall, being the stickler for fair rules, had, obviously provided next to nothing. The only tactic she hadn't tried with Pucey was holding her wand to his throat. And she didn't think that would be very advisable, what with the enthusiasm Adrian Pucey was going through the Durmstrang books.

She had settled into a routine- which mostly consisted of her staying cooped up in the library. There was some limited tutoring by the Durmstrang staff and even more limited tutoring from McGonagall and a few other substitute teachers who'd come along. Nevertheless, there was no feel of a real classroom, and she thought bitterly, that she was never going to get some stupid feel again. It was a rather random arrangement and they were never allowed in classes with the other children. Hermione might have even been worried about her studies, but there was just too much eating at her for her to consider the fact that she might just not be able to take her OWLs.

(What use were OWLs if you died before the fifth year?)

The cold had started, seeping slowly but steadily. The vibrant reds and greens of the little alcove gardens were too bright among the sheet of ice that seemed to spread. Winter was starting in all its glory. But the windows here didn't paint landscapes. The windows here were small, the fires weak, the ice harsh.

She might have been intrigued, once. Eleven year old her would have been thrilled beyond measure to have even set foot in Durmstrang. But now, she couldn't feel excitement, it was dread, dread sitting cold, pulling her into a round of anxiety that seemed to claw at her.

And Hermione was just too bloody proud to go ask the Delacour girl for some help.

She was grateful for the letters her friends sent from Hogwarts, but it didn't mean she was happy. Hogwarts was changing under Selwyn, and the subject was rarely broached. Everytime she saw Cedric, nowadays, he seemed to look more exhausted than anything.

'It is...Granger?' came a gruff voice, shaking Hermione from her reverie. Her wand was half raised, and she felt herself blushing. Krum sat down at her table, which was hidden away in a nook of the library.

'Yeah.'

'I think I haff heard a little about you.' said Viktor Krum. 'They call you the Girl Who Lived, do they not?'

'They call me a lot of other things, nowadays.' said Hermione, and she could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. It felt like she was trying to build a wall that crumbled down everytime she finished.

Krum smiled wryly. 'I haff some experience with the press too. It is tiring.'

Hermione made a non-committal noise and exhaled heavily, pulling another stack of books towards her.

'I've been researching for the first task.' she said. She hoped he would splutter something about his own preparations, so she could get at least a little something about the task, but in retrospect, she shouldn't be too hopeful. Krum didn't seem to be the talkative type.

Krum seemed to be in a deep thought on something, but a few seconds later, he said,

'I heard you were expelled.'

'You heard right.' said Hermione coolly. Was her expulsion a matter so interesting?

'In Durmstrang, we do not expel students for such matters.'

'I see,' said Hermione. 'I suppose its different when said person is the son of a School Governor.'

'Yes, of course,' said Krum, and she didn't know if it was sarcasm or not. Perhaps it was the accent. 'In fact, I got into somewhat of a similar...situation a while ago.'

'They might have let you go because you're on the Quidditch team,' said Hermione, feeling her scar give another stab of pain. Beside their table one of the Hogwarts girl was looking at Krum intently; who didn't even seem to take notice.

'You don't seem very interested in Quidditch, yes?'

'I don't get the hype.' she said. Krum laughed.

'You are a very strange girl, Hermione.'

'It's Hermione,' she corrected and he laughed again.

'So,' she said, cutting in. 'what situation did you get in anyway?'

Krum's laughter disappeared. His jaw was clenched as he began to speak, dropping his voice.

'Grindelvald studied here, you know. And ven he vas here, he carved this symbol on a vall. And an idiot copied it onto his books and clothes, thinking to make himself impressive- untill, those who'd lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better.'

'He killed your-'

'Grandfather.'

'Ironic,' said Hermione, feeling very frightened all of a sudden. She clenched her knuckles till they were white and the cold seemed to be settling. The ebony framed windows, the harsh ice, it was eerie. 'My ah, situation was almost the same.'

'The boy?'

'He mocked my parents,' she said through grit teeth, and her nails dug into her palms, leaving bloody crescent moons.