Silver filigree crowns an exquisite sapphire. In the background, there's a high pitched, out of control scream.

A smile curves Voldemort's thin lips. Jacob Selwyn...well, some persuasion had been necessary. But a few hours of pain and stewing Polyjuice could fix this lull of security.

This was the most satisfied he had felt in a long, long time.

Of course, it had been foolish now, thinks Voldemort, a foolish thing to assume that the Room of Requirement could ever be safe enough to satisfy him...the room only existed as long as the castle did, and the castle, as he had spent so many summers studying, the castle was built on the old magic of intent. Sentimental fool, he may be, but Dumbledore was also extremely intelligent.

Dumbledore was the major issue, yes, but now Voldemort must be more pragmatic, more careful rather than a brash, Gryffindor ruthlessness.

A Horcrux of his needs more safety.

There is the rap of knuckles on wood; a casual flick of his wand has the diadem in its hidden place, just as the door opens, revealing a scowling Sirius Black. Behind him is the tall, dark figure of Bellatrix Lestrange, she sighs softly; the sound echoing in the room.

'My Lord,' says Bellatrix. The door shuts close; Sirius shuffles into the room. There are dark shadows under his eyes, a criss crossing scar on his left cheek illuminated in the faint light.

Voldemort does not acknowledge their greetings. Instead, he simply says:

'When is the Third Task?'

'The- The end of this month.'

Voldemort does not like the way he stutters.

'Then?'

'We are making plans, my Lord,' Bellatrix cuts in, looking desperate. 'The Order is being equally as busy-'

'Bellatrix,' scoffs Sirius, sparing a sideways glance at her. 'One would think I'd had my tongue cut out. My Lord, everything will work out as planned, on the day of the Third Task-'

'My Lord, he was insisting he needed a Time-Turner-'

'Bellatrix-'

'A time turner?' Voldemort asks, voice cutting through the two of them. Such impertinences were not to be tolerated.

Sirius stares at him, mouth still open; Bellatrix glaring. They are always like that when around the other; so alike that they seem to repel, almost...wasn't that what the fools at the Muggle school used to say?...science-ridiculous notion-

'Yes, Sirius?'

He closes his mouth, then after a hissed breath, 'It would be useful.'

Voldemort cocks his head to the side, curious, curious...a time turner of all things- but then the Granger mudblood had always been irksome...

'I will consider it.'

'M-my Lord, please, please do not take this the wrong way- my cousin-'

How endearing her fear is-

'Bellatrix, please. My Lord, it does not matter- the-the plan will work perfectly well without the Time-Turner. I will work it out. Till then, maybe, Bella will help you weed out the traitors.'

There's a strange silence, Voldemort finally turns to face them.

'Will it, Sirius, if you're the traitor?'

'Fuck, fuck, fuck-'

'No swearing, Granger.'

Hermione and Adrian Pucey were standing at the edge of the vast, lush grounds, staring at the mass of witches and wizards swirling around, the magic nearly palpable in the air. They were setting up some sort of crystal dome for the Third Task; making it look like some strange drawing from a sci-fi novel. The very thought of the Third Task made her want to puke.

'I swear; you'll just cry your eyes out during the night.' she said weakly, closing her eyes, trying to calm down. The hallucinations had, thank God, stopped, but she still felt like she'd gone mad; like they might do a repeat-act anytime. She had started having these weird- un-Voldemort related nightmares. She didn't know whether to be happy or not.

'Who do you think will win?' asked Pucey.

'Me.' she said defiantly.

'Yeah, right, after getting the lowest score in the second task.'

'It won't matter if I get to the cup first.'

Pucey shrugged, scrutinizing the now bluish light filtering through the grounds, that icy lake seemingly reflecting a million different colours. 'I'm starting to think survival is victory enough.'

'Stop,' said Hermione, wondering why she was suddenly finding it so hard to swallow. 'You're demotivating me, Pucey.'

Was survival actually enough? Had it ever been enough?

In more ways than one, Hermione dreaded the Third Task. The Third Task meant the end of the tournament, yes, but it also meant her official expulsion and she couldn't, she couldn't bear to be parted from magic-

Why had she ever gotten that letter? Why had she ever been eleven and wide-eyed and naive? Why hadn't she just died when Voldemort had wanted her to?

Why did she have to be so fucking emotional?

No more Hogwarts. No more magic. Get ready, Granger.

Even Luke was gone.

No more tournaments with higher mortality rates than epidemics. No more sitting in the green Common Room under a lake and laughing with Ron. No more slamming boys into walls.

No more Girl Who Lived.

She was supposed to be happy.

She wasn't. She tried, she'd tried her best, but she wasn't.

'Your schoolmate has a Time-Turner.' said Delacour one windy morning, as all four of them- Krum, Pucey, Delacour, her were standing at the edge of the lake, wrapped in as many layers as possible as they looked on the now- reddish dome the wizards were building.

'What's that?' asked Hermione, having never heard of such an artefact.

Delacour smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. 'He can go back in time and there will be two Adrian Pucey's roaming around. It won't matter then, that it's illegal during the Tournament. A time turner can go back and forth a few hours.'

Her head was hurting. She didn't understand a word; and besides, she had borrowed three books on Arithmancy the previous day, all waiting in her room.

'Do I look like I care?' asked Hermione, even though she found that she did, in fact, care very much.

Delacour shrugged. 'It looked like you needed it, so there is zat.'

Viktor spared a cursory glance at her and Delacour; she gave a hopefully reassuring smile, and then said: 'You don't seem to stressed, do you?'

Delacour laughed. 'Why would I be? If I win in the present, I win in the past. If I win, sorry, when I win, that win is forever. You understand, Hermione, yes? Victory is forever.'

Hermione was hit with the niggling suspicion that Delacour did not mean anything she said. However, it felt quite unwise to voice this out loud.

Even after so many interactions with Fleur Delacour, and taking a long time to work through her jealousy of the girl, Hermione did not like these cryptic words. Anyone else would have felt that this was banter, but Hermione was finding it exceedingly different, like she was the star of some morbid documentary she had no idea was being filmed.

Maybe she was overthinking this bit. Delacour was humming loudly; and like most things, she excelled at it.

Well, at least she knew what to borrow next from the library.

'...and then, you will absolutely not believe this Hermione, but the French government is actually refusing to take back their statements, c'mon, it was just a game-'

'Sanne.' snapped Hermione. Sanne stopped walking and pursed her lips. Hermione sighed, but she just couldn't take people talking about fatal tasks as though they were as simple as some duelling tournaments.

'Look, I understand that you feel its damaging Durmstrang's reputation,' started Hermione, trying to be soothing, 'but to be pretty frank, it was a horrible task. It was not just a game. It was just fucked up, alright? If you want more explanations, you could just ask Viktor. And I'll let you know, Durmstrang's never exactly had the lightest of reputations.'

'Alright,' said Sanne softly, biting her lower lip. 'I suppose you only understand some things when you're on the field. I've always felt that way, you know, its different when people are attacking you for their own - like, what do I say, problems, and its different when you're duelling in class, because you get time to be prepared, if you know what I mean...'

Hermione zoned out, and let her continue till they reached the classroom, and with a feigned attempt to act as though she found their conversations extremely enlightening, they departed ways. She walked aimlessly for awhile, divided between pursuing her morbid fascination to watch the wizards building the dome for the Third Task and going to the library.

(" That's Hermione for you," Ron was saying, twisting his fingers together. "When in doubt, go to the library.")

'Ah, Hermione!'

Hermione looked up, her leg on the first step of the flight leading to the library. A smile found its way on her lips.

'Hi, Viktor.'

Hermione did not really think whatever that was going on between her and Krum was anything serious. Yes, she found it easier to be in his company than anyone else's, but she did not fool herself into thinking that this was going to be anything permanent. She liked him, she supposed, but this was not the epic lovestory you read about in novels. This had always felt more of a partnership.

'I have just come back from History,' he was saying, hoisting his bag over one shoulder as they fell in step together. 'You vere going to the library?'

'Yes, actually,' said Hermione, letting out a long breath. 'There's been the most ridiculous rumours; apparently Adrian Pucey has a Time-Turner.'

'Oh,' supplied Viktor, as though he was trying to figure out which end of the world that rumour had come from. 'I vas thinking you Britons were always one for honour. This sounds like-cheating.'

'Precisely why it's a ridiculous rumour,' said Hermione, now ascending the second flight of stairs. 'but then, the Champions have always been exceptionally desperate. Anyways, you were talking about History?'

Viktor waved a hand. ''History is interesting, but not when you haff to research on the fifteenth century diets of vampires.'

'Weren't they exiled from the continent?' asked Hermione, remembering long forgotten lessons. Trying to get Ron stop doodling Quaffles on parchment reserved solely for notes, sunlight streaming in through tall windows, Binns wheezy voice-

'Huh? I thought those vere the giants?'

Hermione shrugged, trying to be dismissive when instead she was being hit by the horrifying notion that she was missing Binn's history lectures.

'Forget it. Will you help me out with this Conjuring spell?'

Granger,

So the Prophet did a cover issue of the Second Task. Witch Weekly also did a column on how your hair remained the same even after being singed. I set them all a nice Howler and another cursed letter. I put it in an envelope with Bulbador pus. All for you, you see.

I er, talked with Snape. And Zabini's stepfather, number seven, I believe. He works in the Ministry and is pals with Draco's Father. Because you're a mumud muggleborn, your expulsion and underage magic antics are now extremely complicated. Snape, being as a depressing as ever, feels there is nothing to be done on the matter and that your expulsion is final. I personally believe that's rubbish and equivalent to a mass of Doxy droppings, and so does Zabini, because he believes that Dumbledore is trying too hard to be pro-Muggleborn. Not that that's anything bad wrong, but well.

Anyways, even I wouldn't wish Hogwarts on you at the moment, because Selwyn has gone off the rails and is driving the teachers mad; Snape is threatening to poison the Gryffindor firsties (he has my utmost sympathies) out of frustration, but well- I suppose it is home.

So untill then,

M. Bulstrode

She rather appreciated the gesture, really, even if it had been a rip-off of the Weasley twins.

Hunger gnawed at her stomach. Hermione was making her way to the dining hall, and after a cursory glance at the lithe figure of Nevena and blonde Sanne talking together at the other end of the room, she walked towards the Hogwarts table. Nevena turned; her pale eyes fixing on her for a second, and her mouth formed some word she couldn't interpret. Hermione supposed she could equate Nevena with the likes of Pansy Parkinson, but while Pansy was just a spoiled brat who thought the world revolved around her; Nevena was a spoiled brat who knew it didn't, but wanted the world to revolve around her.

She supposed she could equate Nevena to Malfoy then, but at least Nevena didn't hurt to look at.

When she reached the Hogwarts table, the usually cheery banter was filled with an undercurrent of tension. She didn't miss that the Slytherins- Pucey and Zaidi weren't there.

Hermione pulled out a chair and took a bite of some fish. It was good. Far better than the atrocity they'd presented as fish the night before. Hermione leaned forward, trying to catch a snippet of the conversation.

'...of course, Alicia says the Weasleys seem to be pretty involved-'

'The Weasleys?' asked Hermione, concern and anxiety bubbling in her. 'What-what happened?'

Johnson, who'd been talking, turned to face her. Her long braid had been tied back in a ruthless coil. 'You're late to the conversation, Granger,' she said coldly.

The hostility of her tone put Hermione off for a second. Her time at Durmstrang had mostly been regulated by blood-status prejudice; so much, that she'd now become so used to it. Yes, it still stung, but it was only a fresh cut on an already healed wound. It was known; it was expected.

This, she had almost forgotten, how much the rest of the school despised the Slytherins. Hermione loathed the Slytherins too, but not just because they were Slytherins. She hated them because they were bigots and hypocritical arseholes. Cedric had always been so nice, that she suddenly felt like a shielded kid who'd never known the true world.

'I'm friends with the Weasley's.' she said simply. 'I just wanted to know what happened.'

Johnson stared back at her. 'Well, Granger, Professor Zenik's apparently missing. There's talk of a werewolf on the grounds.'

'And so,' cut in Cedric, as though he was trying to protect Hermione from having to listen to anything mean, 'the Weasley twins have been taking advantage.'

'Last I heard,' said another Hogwarts girl. 'they're trying to blow up Selwyn's office. Using Dr. Filibuster's Fireworks.'

'And locking up Mrs. Norris up in some cupboard-'

'That wasn't Filch's ugly cat, that was Montague-'

'They're both ugly, what's the big difference-'

'I'm pretty sure it was Flint,' said Johnson primly. 'Well, anyway, its the Slytherin Quidditch team, so I reckon we'd just be grateful.'

'Right you are, Angelina. And to be honest, from what I'm hearing, Hogwarts deserves some shite like this. Selwyn's been lording it; just because he got there on the recommendation of Lucius Malfoy-'

'Let's not talk politics, guys!' said Cedric, smiling amiably. 'We wouldn't want to let our esteemed foreign friends know what's going on, would we?'

'Also because its a never ending whirlwind?'

'And all our politicians are equivalent to a pile of Doxy droppings!'

'Hey, Dumbledore is pretty great!'

'Dumbledore's the best thing after that Brain Boosting Elixir for a galleon a pint-'

'Dumbledore,' said Johnson, with an air of finality, 'is literally the best thing that could have happened now. Especially for the Muggleborns.'

'Did I just not say we should drop the topic of politics?' asked Cedric.

Hermione laughed, drawing nonsense lines in her gravy. The food was grand, and the weather was beautiful, and all she wanted to do was sleep, but there were barely six days left for the Third task, and she had victories to claim.

Hermione had fallen asleep. Again.

The portable fire she'd conjured was sitting precariously on the edge of the table. She smoothed back her hair, forcing her eyes open, trying to focus on the minuscule print of the book open in front of her.

...and in 1783, the Champions were locked in a dark box with no air...

Hermione caught herself reading the same sentence twice; she shook her head, refocusing.

...locked in a dark box with no air...

...dark box with no air...

Idiots. How would you breathe if you had no air?

Hermione giggled madly, then sobered immediately. What the fuck would she do with no air?

Sighing, Hermione pulled up another book, where the intricacies of Vanishing your fellow participants had been thoroughly explained. As she flipped to page 156, a spare piece of parchment fell out. Even a sleep deprived state of mind did not quell her curiosity; but it had delayed her recognition skills quite a bit, because she took nearly a whole minute to realise it was Ron's writing.

HERMIONE, ARE YOU THERE?

GRANGER?

HERM-NEVERMIND, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

Hermione squinted, then cast a Lumos.

HERMIONE GRANGER, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?

She shook her head, as though trying to clear off something, and then dipped her quill in the inkpot.

What happened? Is this something due to Zenik?

She waited, watching as the ink dried, her eyelids droopy and equal to lead...

Ron's writing came back- with so many ink blots it hurt her eyes.

In the name of Merlin's last- never mind, where the fuck were you for the past three hours?

WHAT HAPPENED?

Hermione scribbled back faster, now finally out of the haze of sleep. Capital letters always carried over the message well.

Jacob Selwyn happened. All communications out of the school have been stopped. We're locked inside the school. We can't send letters or communicate with you anymore. Professor Zenik is missing; has been, since yesterday night. And you know what- they're saying there's a FUCKING WEREWOLF on the school grounds-

Hermione read the last part twice to make sure she wasn't hallucinating.

It's Lupin, I know it! He's a werewolf. But it'll be alright if he takes the potion, but why was he out in the first place- and anyways, what happened with this communications being banned thing? And where is Zenik? And are YOU okay?

It seemed to take an eternity before Ron's words appeared on the surface. And when it came, it was not a joke. Three simple words that seemed to haunt her breath.

I should be.