LUCIUS MALFOY: HISTORY AT HOGWARTS

Education is the birthright of every witch and wizard, and so is, says Lucius Malfoy (Head of Hogwarts Board of Governors; Lead Opposition in the Wizengamot), the right for every Wizarding child of Britain to be educated on recent Wizarding History. Not more than two months ago, with an advent of change in the Hogwarts curriculum ( for details on former Minister Fudge's assassination, Pg 4-5), there has been the introduction of Wizarding History as a new subject.

"With this threat of the Dark Lord, and numerous rumors on the rise, it is understood and addressed that the most significant part of our community is our children; indeed, it's them who are going to make the future. Therefore, it follows, that they must know about the First Wizarding War (Readers can check page 8-9 for further details), especially, the system of attacks, the perpetrators and the political climate that led to it. As it has been said, those who are ignorant of history are doomed to repeat it. There are lesser known facts on, for instance, the administration during when the Ministry of Magic saw it's highest population of Muggle borns working, and how propaganda led to induction into illegal societies other than that of the notorious Death Eaters, or say, the pro Muggle policies that led to the untimely demise of Anson Blunt (Member of the Sacred Twenty Eight) as well as the dwindling political mindset that endangered our society...

If anything, thought Hermione, Lucius Malfoy was a fucking coward.

BODY OF BARTEMIUS CROUCH SENIOR FOUND IN OWN HOME! AURORS SUSPECT SON, BARTY CROUCH JR...HOUSE ELF TAKEN INTO CUSTODY...evidence points to date of death being as early as Halloween...

In between worrying articles and just the general gloom of Durmstrang; the magic of the Yule Ball dwindled in less then two days. Hermione had recently been quite lax in everything; but then there was the point; she didn't want to worry about the Tournament. She didn't give a single fuck about it; all she cared about was her survival. She wondered sometimes, if perhaps, she was simply growing overconfident but then again, she didn't care.

Where was this attitude going to land her?

Hermione simply decided she needed a distraction. As usual, it came in the form of a disaster- one of Krum's friends, Nevena.

'You're not allowed there.'

The words seemed to hang in the air like some sort of warning sign before a cliff. Hermione simply gripped her wand tighter, tried to ignore the way those words seemed to prick at her, and stared right back.

Nevena was beautiful, in an aesthetic way, if Hermione cared about that sort of a thing. Wavy, glossy hair- dark with a tint of red; and black eyes; an angular look to her features. She tapped her foot slightly; her hands grazed the sill of the arced window beside where she was standing.

'Yeah, a year ago.'

'It's for your own good, girl. They've been busy clearing up the castle for your lot, you know, clearing all the Muggleborn spells and those old wards. But some places,' she said, giving a sort of dramatic hand gesture, 'have old wards. You know what these ancient rituals and magic are like; you should, if you spend less than half the time in the library as you do actually reading. It festers. Time strengthens it. Power attracts it; and by that of course, you know what I mean.'

Hermione managed, very successfully, not to grimace. 'Pureblood,' she said, like the word meant nothing. Nevena bit her lip; her dark eyes had a strangle light in them. Perhaps it was just the castle; that strange lustre that seemed embedded in its walls.

'Very good. So, moya devushka, you're not allowed there. It's all for your good, you see.'

Moya devushka, you're fucking sixteen years old, and I'm fifteen, act your age.

'Very grateful for your thoughtfulness,' said Hermione drily, watching as Nevena sighed audibly.

'You're a very famous person, Granger.'

Her name sounded vile in Nevena's mouth.

'Yes, I've noticed.'

'I'm sure you have,' she whispered, showing even teeth. The cold air was suddenly suffocating; her fingers curled tighter around her wand. 'But then, fame does not necessarily mean you are well liked.'

'...and, therefore, Granger, I'm going to win. I just know it.'

'Keep dreaming, Pucey.'

He kicked a stone across the grounds, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Snow dusted his hair; he looked thinner than ever. She had never seen him like this; strangely out of depth.

'Maybe I'm a Seer then. What does Krum say, anyway?'

Hermione scoffed, ruffling her hair. 'We've been researching on how best to kill you. Lessens, the competition, you see. He's suggesting poison, but I told him you're quite good at Potions and would probably recognize it. I'm suggesting something dramatic, like say a faerie knife-'

'Why,' he asked, drawing out the word, 'do you need to be so fucking perceptive.'

Hermione giggled, gaining an absurd glance. 'I still vote for the faerie knife.'

'Where did you learn to braid your hair like that?'

Aafreen Zaidi was stretched across her bed, a thick quilt arranged comfortably over her. Hermione turned back, glanced at the mirror and then stared back at Zaidi.

Hermione looked in the mirror again. By her standards, today was average. Several strands were already threatening to escape.

'Is it just me, or are you going blind?'

Zaidi shook her head. 'I'm not complimenting you on your hair or design, idiot. It's how fast you do it. It moves like...like water or something in your hands. You sure you don't use magic?'

Zaidi herself had thick, dark hair, that was always elaborately done. Casual elegance.

'There was this girl I knew,' said Hermione, reassessing herself in the mirror again; of all the things that could be admired about her; hair was like the last thing on the list.

'Had very beautiful hair,' she said. 'Long, light. Almost like silk. And she used to do it up differently every day.' She smiled slightly. 'Used to braid my hair too.'

'Muggle?' asked Zaidi, her lip curling slightly. It was ugly on her face.

'Yes,' said Hermione defiantly. 'And dead.'

A pale moon seemed stitched in the night sky; a cool breeze blew in. Hermione's footsteps were quieter than the heavy breathing of Sue. But they shouldn't blame Sue for it, of course, Ms. Rehana always said. It wasn't her fault she had asthma and moments were she couldn't breathe and then the lights were switched on in the middle of the night. Sue always had her inhaler somewhere next to her. You could hear her fear, almost, in times like that, when she couldn't find it for a second.

Hermione didn't like her anyway, but not because of that. Just because she was generally rude to people in general. Either way, at six years old, Hermione considered herself a somewhat expert on the human respiration process. There was a difference between respiration and just breathing. She'd spent an afternoon trying to explain this to Selene. She didn't seem to share that enthusiasm.

'What are you doing here?'

Hermione jumped; a figure was suddenly illuminated in the light from the window. Then, she slumped in relief, because it was just the new boy. A weedy looking boy, with dark, curly hair.

'I'd ask you the same question,' she said haughtily, and continued her way into the kitchens. She found a box of cold sandwiches; took one and did not offer any to the boy. He'd been crying the whole dam night. His eyes were still puffy and red.

She took a bite. The crust was hard, but she was hungry. She wondered if some of the soup was left.

The boy was staring at her. His eyes were still red.

She took another bite; pondered over it while chewing, and then, offered him half.

He took it, but they fought anyway.

Hermione woke up.

'This,' spat Hermione, 'is why I fucking hate reporters.'

Viktor Krum looked slightly amused; slightly puzzled. Of course, thought, Hermione, for someone who'd been in the spotlight since pretty much the age of fourteen; he must be very used to it. Light streamed in through an arced window; a slight chill perpetrated the air. She was sitting on the wooden desk, legs dangling under her; an array of newspapers in her hands.

Hermione was wearing sweater on sweater; a thick muffler looped around her neck. Winter had always been the favorite time of her year; but not when the weather was so bloody cold. She felt the sudden itching to get into a snowball fight, but it receded as another cold draught blew.

'You can alvays write your own article, can you not?' asked Viktor, a bemused expression on his face.

'Who's going to publish it, anyway?'

'All newspapers only care about sales,' said Viktor sagely. 'In fact, Hermione, if you go send an owl to them right away, they vill publish it!'

'With a dramatic title that will do wonders for my reputation.'

He chortled. She had the sudden impulse to tell him about Nevena; but then, wasn't that what Nevena wanted?

Viktor was now reading some other article, eyebrows furrowed. He paused, meeting her eyes, and gestured to an image of Bartemius Crouch Sr. 'I am knowing this man.'

'He's dead.' said Hermione.

'Yes, yes. It says here that he has been dead since months.'

'It's a complicated case,' supplied Hermione. The Ministry had never been known for a fair judicial system; but she wouldn't say that out loud herself. Whatever it was, Viktor was still a foreigner.

'I have heard of this man. It has something to do with Headmaster Karkaroff, I think.' Almost immediately, his eyes darted across the classroom, a frenzied, panicked manner to his actions. He muttered something under his breath; dust was illuminated in shining light for a second. A sigh, and then he was back in his chair. He smiled, though it looked more tired than anything to her.

'It's just the castle,' he said. 'It doesn't like secrets.'

'And they say you're only fourteen years old-'

'What would you like to say about the rumors regarding Viktor Krum and-'

'Is it true that you have a criminal case-'

The swarm of reporters were like angry mosquitoes. There was the click of a camera; a sudden blast of smoke to her right. Hermione shook her head dismissively, navigating through the tight crowd; her head down. Very few were British, even fewer were the French as Durmstrang protected its location to the utmost secrecy. Hermione had heard that every reporter had to go through week long security checks and most of them were way more complex and hard than the one she'd been through.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Here, we are, assembled for the much awaited, invigorating, second task of the illustrious Triwizard Tournament!"

She smoothed her hair; tucking a few stray strands behind her ear, as she watched Viktor evade his own swarm of reporters with some interest. Fleur Delacour smiled at her; she did not smile back, because she was petty that way.

This time, thankfully, the judges' podiums were on the ground and the numerous spectators sat in rings and rings of large chairs in steps; arranged like a grand amphitheater. Large flags waved in the air, glinting in the fading light as well as the numerous blinking lamps floating around. The vast ground they were to be performing in was completely bare; like the aftermath of a drought. She was standing on a golden dais; like a sort of pedestal. A few feet away from her, Delacour was standing on her own pedestal. She glanced at Hermione; then at the crowd; giving them a wave. Hermione clenched her wand tighter, trying to school her features into a calm expression; even when panic and terror was flaying in her heart.

"In contrary to the suspense of the previous task," boomed the commentator. "the second task is very much straight forward. To put it very simply; we'll call it a race. A very hot one, if you get my drift."

Hermione gave a nervous chuckle; somewhere beside Delacour, Viktor nodded at her. She thought it might be something like "good luck".

"And here we go, ladies and gentlemen- on the count of three!"

Hermione counted along with the crowd, wand tight, muttering the correct pronunciation of the smoke repelling charm; slight jab; slight jab- nothing else- you have an advantage, Granger, you know what's coming-

The countdown had ended. For a split second, there was a silence so frigid, so controlled; it seemed to be telling her something.

And then the moment ended; she aimed her wand, already forming shield charms. Red and orange flames licked at her feet as she jumped down from the raised pedestal, the air was already filling with smoke. She caught a glimpse of blonde hair like a dazzling sliver of light through the haze.

She had not expected it to be this straightforward.

Her spells kept the flames at her feet away; and she started to run. Her throat was too dry; but she willed herself to go faster; all this would be over in a few minutes.

And then she stopped dead.

A wall of flames had risen; she was now enveloped in it. There was the smell of singed cloth. She dived blindly; hit something hard but she'd got to her feet quickly enough. She fell again; there was something heavy pressing at her. One breath. Two. Time was ticking away.

The flames were like monsters she used to see in nightmares. Towering over her, spiraling out of control, threatening to perhaps, burn her too...

The heat was scalding. There was red in her vision. Her heart was beating so fast; like some trapped animal. She sucked in deep breaths, sweaty palms tightly clasping her wand, trying to ignore the burn of the flames. What should she do?

(Fire burns in the presence of oxygen, right? Carbon dioxide extinguishes it. Carbon's valency was six, no four. Long forgotten lessons spring to her mind; and all the practice she'd done over the weeks leading to the task seemed to fade away; her Muggle school was clear in her eyes; the yellow jacket of the science textbooks-)

"What's Granger doing? Hogwarts- the girl's frozen in place. What is this- Granger isn't doing anything- sabotage, Hogwarts?"

The commentator's giddy, excited voice made her feel sick.

'Fire,' muttered Hermione to herself, clutching her wand tight. 'Cross the fire. Nothing else.'

Boos and hisses of the crowd reverberated around her and they seemed to be louder than the cheers and songs. Sweat shined at her forehead. She willed herself not to look at the other contestants; not that she could, to be honest; not with the thick smog surrounding her. The fiery monster, scalding flames surrounded her.

Protego. Impervious.

Good. That was the first step.

Hermione swerved, jumping over something, as she conjured a shiny shield. She scrambled backwards, her legs moving faster than ever, her fingers restless on her wand. Orange, red, yellow, a burning inferno rose in front of her, taking the head of something that resembled fire spirits; Hermione thought suddenly of Boggarts. The flames diverged; for a split second it looked like a fiery monster with two heads.

"And Fleur Delacour has crossed the first mark already! Beauxbatons! Merlin, that's the loudest we've heard the French since the season. New year, eh, folks?''

The words seemed to fuel something in Hermione; she swerved again, through thick smog and the scathing fire; water burst from the end of her wand, dousing the flames; but even then, more fires sprang to life; the more she tried to extinguish, the more they rose...

"Viktor Krum has done some sort of Transfiguration to give him an...er, extra layer of skin. Well, it has certainly been efficient, he is now neck in neck with Fleur Delacour! Granger's coming last right now; Adrian Pucey of Hogwarts at third place; and at the speed he's going, I won't be surprised if he surpasses our French champion as well..."

She didn't hesitate; she ran straight through the fire and for a moment it was like being drenched in ice cold water; before the nature of the flames started.

Hermione screamed; now she was trapped in a spitting ball of fire; red was in her vision. And then suddenly everything had disappeared. Everything was white; so bright it was hurting her eyes. Her lungs were burning, she needed water. Hermione licked her lips, kneeling on hard ground.

Move.

There were red, angry blisters all along her right leg. It hurt. Hurt like hell.

Move.

The world seemed to sway; the white was hurting her eyes; but the heat was still there. She lurched forward, more lost than anything else. Everything hurt. She whispered spells whose uses she couldn't remember; wand her lifeline.

She crawled, and the ground seemed unsteady; she tried to hoist herself up, and with a muttered spell, she was suddenly blasted out of it. Hermione rolled herself into a ball, hands over her head, wand held tight, untill she skidded to a stop.

She had perfect timing, really because the ground had just split into two.

Everything went black for a second; there was blood in her mouth. She spat it out, dragging herself across the ground. Her forearm was burning; she ignored it and crawled a little more.

Hermione pointed her wand skyward, letting magic encapsulate her in sort of shield, but in this state; the charm broke apart in seconds. She was fucking losing. She tried to switch out the obnoxious commentary, even though she knew that was the only clue she had, but she didn't care; she forced herself to get up.

She spit a blasting charm at the ground and then, she was suddenly airborne.

Smoke was in her lungs; she could not breathe and spluttering, she cast a cushioning charm as she dropped down and another of the fiery monsters surrounded her, but Hermione did not care; she had spotted the final line.

And then she seethed, spitting out another mouthful of blood, because she had just seen a glimpse of light blonde hair.

Notes:

Slightly delayed chapter due to my internal assessments; but don't worry, I have the pre boards lined up too, so yeah...
Hope you enjoy the chapter, however, uh, delayed it was-