Hermione had always known she was bad in situations like this- where your instinct speaks louder than the nasty little voice that somehow wanted to apply logic. Nevertheless, as she stood here, staring up at the shoddy canvas of the green tent she was in, all she could think was ohmygodwhathefuckamigoingtodo
Beside her, Fleur Delacour chuckled. 'Cheating,' she laughed. 'is integral to the tournament.'
Hermione took a deep breath and forced herself to be polite. The tumultuous nature of the weeks leading to the first task had ended in almost no time and she had no fucking idea-
Delacour leaned back on her chair, as there was a loud uproar from the crowd outside. Viktor Krum and Adrian Pucey were competing right now, outside the little tent she and Delacour were cooped up in. She was panicking, Hermione could feel a headache building up. She clenched her fingers together, as the loud commentary reached her ears.
("Artful dodge by Krum, right there!
PUCEY!
Beautiful save, simply marvelous, oh, Pucey needs to watch out, some quick spellwork on Krum's part-")
'Who's going to win, you think?' asked Fleur. Hermione had absolutely no idea why the girl seemed to persist in her attempts to have a conversation with her. No one had ever done that with her - most people had simply avoided her everywhere- because of her appearance, because of her blood, because of her accent-
The headache was making its presence very well known.
'Pucey.' said Hermione, even though she knew Viktor was probably the better one at magic. It was a cheap sense of loyalty, anyway.
Fleur's tone turned jesting. 'And who d'you think will win, between you and me?'
'Me, of course.' said Hermione, not feeling very confident at all.
Fleur laughed again, tossing her shiny hair, a pink tinge in her cheeks. She looked strangely radiant. 'We will see.'
She realised then, that Fleur Delacour has made somewhat of a game out of Hermione Granger.
"And Pucey, oh, that was close, very close, and KRUM WINS!'
The crowd was a multicolor sea of people, shouting in different languages, as huge, glimmering flags floated in the air. Boos and cheers punctuated the air, as Hermione and Fleur walked out of the little tent. Her robes rippled across her in the breeze, her hair had been tied up in a messy knot. It presented a stark contrast to the tall, willowy figure of Delacour whose shiny hair was in an immaculate braid.
They were in those frosty, smooth stretches of ice. The levitated stands filled to the brim with people were floating around her in the air, and again, she would never get used to magic, never feel that this was normal, maybe she would always be like this- eleven years old and wide eyed with awe.
Viktor's nose was bleeding heavily and Pucey was standing with his head between his legs. Shimmering dust settled around them, and the commentator was still babbling something. She knew they had translating spells on them for anyone who didn't understand English, but it was still meaningless in her ears. A swarm of green robed people crowded around the two boys and soon, even Krum and Pucey disappeared into another of the tents.
Hermione took a deep breath, craning her head to look up at the judges, who were seated on a floating dais. How nice.
Flying, said a voice in her head, a voice that was searching for weakness. When have you ever been able to do that, Hermione?
Yes. She was bullshit on a broomstick. Up there the world was at funny angles; up there everything was crooked and wrong. Her breath would catch in her throat; everything a wide expanse; like some dark ocean she would drown in-
"And give us some applause for the Beauxbatons champion, the amazing Fleur Delacour! Competing with her; one of the youngest Triwizard champions ever, we call her the Girl Who Lived, we do, we'll see if this girl can win too- loud applause for the fourth Triwizard Champion- Hogwarts's very own- Hermione Granger!''
At the centre of the icy stretch, there lay a circular platform, coated completely in black marble. Fleur stepped up first and Hermione followed, trying to pretend like her heart wasn't racing in her chest; the way her legs were almost shaking-
The platform rose. They were truly flying now, the wind whooshing in her ears, hair escaping from the messy knot-
She looked down and regretted it immediately.
They were now level with the spectators, the circular thing she was standing on had somehow become steady, but it did nothing to alleviate her fears.
"And we know the rules, they know the rules- nothing lethal, nothing fatal- but everything else- and the crowd are going to love this, they will- and I repeat, everything else included. We just saw a world class seeker at his best, now, Granger, Delacour, on the count of three-''
There was no time to take deep breaths. There was no time for fake assurances; no time to fucking think this through- and sparks issued from Delacour's wand and Hermione was ducking, rolling out of the way...
So this was how real duels went. Something rhythmic, something like a symphony, just moving, just moving to the music but then occasionally a spell would graze past her-
Her ear was bleeding. A lot.
A shining haze cocooned them and they rose higher in the air. The frigid air whipped her face, the cold seeping in even through this sphere of magic they were duelling in.
Hermione knew she was spitting curses faster than she could think, she knew half of the pronunciations were off, and you had to stress the jab for the Incendio-
Her ear was still bleeding. It was starting to hurt.
"Oof, we all know, we all know- magic has a mind of its own- they're going higher and higher- excellent spellwork by Delacour, simply excellent, but Granger doesn't give up easy; nope this girl-woah! Hogwarts!"
Someone cursed loudly in French and Hermione laughed, taunting, mad- shield spells already forming around her...were they going higher now?- God, please, no-
Fleur feinted and she didn't see it. Her shield charm split like glass fracturing- a precise cut in the middle and now she was suddenly weightless.
'Molliare! Incarcerous! Impedimenta! Obscuro! Deprimo!'
Hermione bounced back to her feet, slashing her wand in the air and there was scarlet light glinting in the air and one of Fleur's fingerbones had vanished. Her triumphant shout was cut short by a scream of agony as something large seemed to strike her in the abdomen. Her scar chose this moment to add to the pain, as well, and now it was crippling her- she didn't want to fly, she was lost, she would just fall to the ground, plummeting to her death-
Delacour's next spell bound her neatly in ropes.
"Incredible!" came the commentator's voice, from somewhere far away. Fleur was now transfiguring the ropes and her eyelids were lead. All she wanted to do was sleep. After all, she had spent the night reading up for this, had spent the night practicing spells and incantations and wand movements. The listless night was weighing on her, Hermione's ragged breathing was now slowing down, settling into a comfortable rhythm...and what was this stupid Tournament anyway- everyone needed their rest, surely, and honestly who cared if they were floating miles above and they were going to be judged on their performances; how ridiculous; all Hermione needed to do was lie here like this for ten seconds, just sleep-
"and if Granger doesn't get out of the ah, situation in another two seconds, Delacour wins, Delacour does-"
Delacour shouldn't win. Not after all the work Hermione had done.
Everything hit her like some speeding truck. Her lips were cracked dry- but no, she would not give Delacour the satisfaction of winning over her- never-
The binds vanished as Hermione leaped to her feet, still groggy, graceless but she was bloody there-
There were loud shrieks and curses from the Beauxbatons section. She ignored them ("Oh, Granger nearly gave me a fright, how last second- but that doesn't matter- ladies and gentlemen, the duel continues...and as we know, only the winners of the first task only those champions who win the duel; or who render their opponent unable to strike back for more than ten seconds, only the winners get clues to the nature of the second task- and oops, there goes Granger again-"), and trying to regain her footing, Hermione slashed her wand in the air, and they were dancing to the unknown music once again...
Time didn't exist in this glimmering cocoon of magic, like the two of them caught in one large, soapy bubble that just floated higher and higher. Then, with a sudden shock, Hermione realised that the circular platform they were standing on, the one over where they'd been captured in this large bubble, this magical sphere was shrinking.
("The ability to think on your feet-")
Delacour had noticed too, she had levitated herself while Hermione conjured up her own platform, as the one below her feet shrunk and shrunk- leaving behind nothing but millions of miles of the sky.
"Fast thinking by the champions right there, good dodge from Delacour, oh no-"
Oh no, was very inadequate to sum it up. Delacour had just set a bloody flock of birds at her. She ducked most of them because her shield charms didn't seem to hinder the mad birds, she vanished a few, she stunned a few, but there were just too many of them.
As a particularly vicious looking bird clenched on her fore arm, Hermione threw a bone shattering hex at Delacour. Hermione inhaled sharply, the pain almost blinding her, but the snap she heard was enough. Delacour crumpled, except of course, that they were floating in mid air and she couldn't obviously crumple anywhere. Her vision was obscured by the damn birds and another one clenched painfully on her shoulder and she could feel something warm trickling, seeping into her robes- these weren't any normal birds-
Delacour was stirring. Hermione sucked in an agitated breath, casting a nightmare jinx. It wouldn't last less than half a minute; but Hermione was riding on instinct alone- if she could just get these bloody birds off her-
The violet jet of light streaked the air in front of her and as Fleur's screams rented the air, something wet was seeping in her shoes.
Hermione froze. Fuck.
The magical sphere was filling with water. Rapidly. (She was going to drown.)
Fleur had stopped screaming; she had thrown off the jinx.
'Impervious! Impedimenta! Stupefy!' cast Hermione, looking around madly; anything, something-
'Ex- Expelliarmus!'
And she couldn't help it; the water that was pooling around her knees, sagging robes, she was going to fucking drown- that Hermione could not do anything but watch her wand slip out of her hand, as the water rose and rose...
All Hermione had was ten seconds. Ten seconds to wrest back her wand and return to the game or ten seconds of being clawed at by monsters- (and were the birds increasing in size?) and of course, defeat. But she couldn't lose, she had to do something, anything...
("Certainly a sticky situation they've got in and is this true, is this true, Delacour has got Granger's wand- cheer up, Beauxbatons- maybe this game is to end now-")
The water was almost to her chest, still rising, still rising. There were precious seconds left.
This game wasn't ending now. She would not let it.
With all her strength, Hermione kicked back at the floating platform she'd been using and cutting through the water, the mental birds following, she aimed a kick at Fleur's face. It missed the aim, but she managed to get at her shoulder and the Bubble headed charm on Fleur wore off. Hermione, gasping for air, spat water from her mouth, her hands clamping over Fleur's. Her heart was doing a drum roll against her ribs, she couldn't breathe and it had been ages since she'd gone swimming...what if she really did drown-
She groped for her wand, pulling up her knee again, as her hair pulled at her scalp, suddenly heavy...her eyelids felt like lead...
Hermione's nails raked across Fleur's face, and now water was rushing in her nose but not before her fingers wrapped around the reassuring holly of her wand. She had to focus, the water was everywhere now, she had to stay still and her eyes were burning, she had her wand, all she needed to do was cast a bubble head charm, then she could breathe...
Sanuspirantes
The protective sphere formed around her head just as she was blasted off her feet. She hit the shimmering walls of the magic sphere and was bounced back. Rolling her shoulders, Hermione dived into the water, going deeper and deeper. It was cold, so cold, like it might freeze any moment; her teeth were chattering already. Her fingers were vice like on her wand, like it was the last aloft thing of a ship wreckage.
She could see the swish of blonde in her vision and a spell struck her in the shoulder. Pain shot through her like some intertwining threads that came together to make some elaborate designs, almost creeping in. Hermione couldn't move her shoulder, it seemed to be paralysed and it was like a stone sinking her to the bottom.
But she couldn't lose. It was like a mantra; she couldn't, just could not let this brush of victory go. She couldn't give any of them the satisfaction for "putting the mudblood in her place."
She sucked in an agitated breath, moving her legs faster but Hermione still felt like she was weak, that this was her best but it wasn't enough; that her best had never been enough. Pain stabbed through her again, the cuts on her body were burning. She was casting non verbal now, dodging the thin streaks of light. Fleur was Transfiguring something from above her and Hermione kept to the shadows. This was a sphere and there were no corners but Hermione knew she wouldn't be able to win over Delacour face to face. It was the truth and she had to admit it, even when it left a bitter taste in her mouth. To win this, she needed stealth. Simplicity was key. She couldn't do any elaborate spells with the risk that they might not come out the way she hoped.
She took another deep breath.
Moving though the water was hard, this was not normal water, not a swimming pool. Thankfully, the birds at least seemed to have gone. Her eyes darted across the sphere she was stuck in, water mixing with the blood on her robes. That ear was still bleeding.
There was no sign of Fleur. Hermione cast a super sensory charm and without thinking much, Disillusioned herself.
"Oho, the two of them have made themselves invisible! Tricky, tricky..."
Stupefy. Petrificus Totalus. Reducto. Flipendo.
She had no clue where Delacour was. She was shivering, cold and losing.
She cut to the right, kicking up. One last trick. The water was rising like it wanted to smother her, she twirled her wand, conjuring a ball of blue flames. It floated in the water like some bizarre sea animal, but it would do the job she needed. With her wand invisible, she cast a silent spell.
The water crashed near the blue flames as the luminous ball floated away and away from her. Specks of white blue water followed, the waves flowing and receding,the flames bright.
In the corner of her eye, she saw the slightest glimmer of a reflection.
A smile curved her lips, blood roaring in her ears as she aimed her wand.
The deafening cheers from the audience was response enough.
Someone had managed to tie back her hair in some sort of braid; and even with all the heating charms, Hermione couldn't stop her teeth from chattering. Delacour was beside her, but she wasn't shivering as badly. She was poised, perfect, as always but now, Hermione didn't give a damn because fuck it all, she'd won. It was like a war chant in her head; you've won, Granger, you've won-
They were, thankfully back on ground, but the spectators were still high up; though they had reduced altitude. The commentator was jabbering rapidly, waving his hands for emphasis and the Beauxbatons head teacher, Madam Maxime, was talking with McGonagall. Hermione craned her head to look up at the judges. There was a short man called Kamenov, Bulgarian head for the Ministry of Magical sports and games. There was the head of international affairs, Rusev and of course, Karkaroff, McGonagall, Maxime.
She stood there, taking slow, deep breaths, twisting her fingers together.
"And now we'll get the scores, of course- a magnificent duel, and again, we know who's won, we know who's leading, but ladies and gentlemen- scores! Without those, we will not have our ranks, will we? First up- our dazzling French champion- Fleur Delacour!"
Delacour got an eight from Maxime, six from Karkaroff and McGonagall and fives from the Bulgarian ministers. She was ahead of Pucey by two points then.
And Hermione, Hermione got a nine from McGonagall, five from Karkaroff, six from Maxime and the other two.
Perhaps this Tournament wasn't as bad as she had originally thought.
Dear Hermione,
Congratulations! You were brilliant, simply brilliant and when we were all thinking you were gonna lose. You have no fucking idea how pissed Selwyn is! And no idea how mad Hogwarts is for you! I mean, Pucey lost and you won.
The Prophet has to cover it now, even with their blatant Anti Dumbledore stance, cuz you're the only one from Hogwarts who's won anything. And you know how everyone is here; they're too starved for victory, they're ready to take anything. Except Malfoy though, who's extremely bitter; we got into a little bit of a fight and being the wanker he is, he had to go and complain on top of it so I'm stuck with a week's worth of detentions...
Keep the letter safe, don't burn it or anything. Anyways, it's boring here without you; and even beating Bulstrode at chess has lost its appeal. Write to me, if you need anything at all.
Best of luck,
Ron.
Hermione was worried to hear he'd got detentions for defending her; she felt a sudden surge of rage for Selwyn- because detentions were no longer going to be helping Filch mopping up floors or doing lines. Hopefully it wouldn't be very bad, hopefully he would be alright.
She read the letter again, breeze tickling her hair; a rare day of sun in these too vibrant gardens. She could see little hints, small references to things that would not be obvious for anyone else.
Keep the letter safe, don't burn it or anything...
That meant there had been a duplicating charm on the parchment, so whatever she wrote on this one would be reflected on its pair that Ron would have. Clever. She could write her reply on this itself, if she could increase its size a little.
Anyways, it's boring here without you; and even beating Bulstrode at chess has lost its appeal...
That was Ron's way of saying he missed her. She dipped her quill in ink, a goofy, childish grin lighting her face.