Special shout-out to Perpetual Nonsense for taking the time to sense check me on this one.

Thank you to all those who have reviewed or sent me PMs on here or on Fanfiction net, it's very lovely of you. It puts a smile on my face, even if I am appalling at replying :/

If you are 18+ and like Harry Potter F/F pairings, feel free to join a discord group of like minded souls: discord. gg / d4wgtA5jrA (delete the gaps, I had to chuck them in so AO3 wouldn't auto yeet that link)

Z x

The winds picked up and leaves threw themselves from the trees as the weeks passed. Temperatures plummeted further and rain perpetually beat against the worn stone blocks of the Hogwarts castle.

Hermione frowned at her own reflection in a window. It was barely evening and it was already so dark outside the windows reflected her own face back at her. Her expression looked so serious, framed by her wild and unruly curls. She was more pale and her hair was missing some of the lighter highlights it usually had, a result of the lack of sun. But it had the effect of giving her a solemness that echoed how she felt inside.

It had been a couple of weeks since the evening she fell asleep cuddling with Fleur and she wasn't sure what to make of the whole thing. It seemed a trivial thing, really, worrying about a pretty girl's feelings towards her— particularly when Harry was facing potential harm with the Tournament.

That evening it had seemed like Fleur was finally beginning to bring her icy walls down… Hermione had felt the closest to her since the revelation of her terrible research project. If Hermione shut her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of creamy pale skin against her, the light floral scent emanating from platinum blonde hair.

Hermione shook her head, turning away from the window in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Hermione?" Harry called out. He was nearby, on an overstuffed couch, but his voice seemed to come from a mile away.

"Leave her be, mate," Ron replied to Harry, "You know she's been nothing but broody and melodramatic the past few weeks."

Hermione's eyebrow twitched at that, still easily irritated, even though her mind was elsewhere.

She wasn't sure why, but Fleur had put a distance back between them since the night they had cuddled together in bed. It was different to the angry distance of before. Fleur was still perfectly cordial, offering a polite greeting or a slight smile when she saw her in the halls. But she hadn't sought her out, hadn't asked for another English lesson, hadn't lingered for more than a 'hello' with Hermione.

The brunette had of course, discreetly tried to glean information from Gabrielle, the mini-Fleur still appearing frequently in the library and around the castle to spend time with her. Unfortunately, whatever had changed Fleur was also a mystery to the small girl, who offered no insight at all into Fleur's distance towards Hermione.

Hermione was trying not to let it get to her. After all, all she had wanted was for Fleur not to be angry with her… Right?

Still, it stung. That, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a hot prickling at the back of her neck every time she saw Viktor lean close to the blonde, constantly whispering quiet words into her ear.

Rita Skeeter had even picked up on the two champions' new closeness, posting a photograph of the two outside the castle, Viktor bundling Fleur up in his own bearskin cloak to protect her from the cold. Hermione knew Rita wrote nothing but rubbish, but the photograph had still made her jaw tense and her teeth grind.

Ron, in his own clumsy way, had tried to cheer her up about the entire situation. He reasoned that if Hermione were to lose out on a girl she liked, surely it may as well be to a handsome, famous athlete? Shockingly, this did little to balm the burn Hermione felt inside.

"What if the Second Task is during winter?" Harry queried, looking past Hermione at the black windows, "How am I supposed to stand swimming in the cold?"

Hermione's chest clenched at the memory of Fleur's sensitivity to cold and to bodies of water. She frowned, turning back to look at the boys.

"Warming charm, mate," Ron said, folding his arms behind his head as if it were as simple as that, "Sorted."

"Warming charms wear off, Ronald," Hermione said tersely, "You'll need to practise casting spells underwater so you can be sure you can continue to cast warming charms while you're down there."

Ron cast a sly look at Harry, as if his foolish answer had been a ruse to get Hermione to snap out of her funk all along. Harry ignored him, his pale features contorting into concern.

"I dunno how I'm even going to stay underwater that long without breathing," Harry said, running a hand through his hair.

Harry was running his thin hands through his hair often these days. It was a nervous habit of his, one that made his already messy black hair even messier. It was standing up on odd angles at that moment, making it look like he had just risen after a night of tossing and turning.

Harry, still not eating or sleeping well, seemed even more wiry and thin than he usually did. His cheekbones were more pronounced and he had a darkness smudged around his eyes from lack of sleep.

Hermione was tired of picking up after Harry, of constantly being the one to put in hard work to solve his problems. But she supposed she was just grumpy over the Fleur situation. Harry was— yet again— in danger, and not because of his own doing. The poor boy looked like a wreck and Hermione knew she was the only one out of the trio likely to be able to find the tools he needed.

She sighed heavily.

"How about you and Ron run strategies for how you might approach different challenges or creatures in the lake?" Hermione suggested tiredly, "I'll go back to the library and search some more for a way to breathe underwater."

Hermione was growing sick of Harry's anxious interjections interrupting her reading when they searched in the library together. He never read that much himself, spending the time running his hands through his hair and posing nervous questions to Hermione instead. It would do him well to do some planning with Ron. Ron, for all his clumsy faults, was a strong strategist, and could at least minimise some of Harry's tendency to 'wing it' in dangerous situations. She shot the redhead a meaningful look and he met her gaze, smiling grimly and nodding.

Ron, with his unruly red hair, usually looked boyish and hastily pulled together. Especially now his red curls (far tamer than Hermione's) were just about past the lobe of his ears and his face was bristled with ginger attempts at facial hair. However, now, Ron's jaw was set and his eyes were serious. In this rare moment, Ron looked more grown up than he was.

Sometimes it felt like Hermione and Ron were co-parenting Harry.

It wasn't Harry's fault, really. He just happened to be the most unlucky boy in the Wizarding World.

Still, Hermione had to get to the library before her already short temper boiled over with Harry. She slung her book bag on her shoulder and turned towards the portrait hole.

"'Mione," Harry called out suddenly.

Hermione turned back, wondering if Harry was about to thank her for her tireless efforts. It felt like she spent all her time outside of classes poring over books to help him.

"Take this," Harry said, tossing a folded parchment and a bundle of silky cloth at her, "You'll probably be out past curfew again."

Hermione caught the items, the Marauder's Map and the Invisibility Cloak.

"Thanks," Hermione said flatly, restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

"You're welcome," Harry said simply, turning to face Ron.

Hermione frowned sourly, stuffing the items in her bag before heading out of the Gryffindor Common Room.

It's not his fault, Hermione reminded herself, He doesn't mean it. He's just stressed and terrified for his life.

Fleur pulled the scarlet and gold scarf tighter around her neck. It was icy cold in the Hogwarts library, putting her in a thoroughly bad mood. Julie had already left hours ago, taking Gabrielle back to the carriage.

Fleur was staying late yet again to work with Viktor.

They were preparing for the Second Task together, as well as working on their side-project of figuring out what the heck the eccentric Hogwarts Professor Moody was up to.

Fleur lifted a hand to tuck a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear, frowning as she noticed one of her pastel pink nails was chipped. She would have to fix it later.

Really, Viktor and Fleur could have been doing all this in the warmth and comfort of Fleur's room— or the vastness and privacy of Viktor's quarters. But with the damned Rita Skeeter already starting rumours that Fleur and Viktor were sleeping together, neither of them wanted to fan the flames of gossip. Viktor had a partner back home in Bulgaria that he very much did not want to upset.

Viktor looked up, catching Fleur's gaze. He scratched at the bristles on his chin, frustrated. He'd shaved his hair down to a close crop again. He was a particularly hairy man, hair growing incredibly fast. It had the effect of making him appear older and more mature than his peers. That and his calm grey eyes.

"You okay?" Viktor asked.

Fleur nodded.

"I just don't know how much we can prepare for past the water," Fleur sighed, crossing her arms.

She'd found a stronger, longer lasting warming charm which made it slightly more bearable to be in the water. Or at least allow her to be in the cold of the water without passing out. They'd managed to teach Viktor enough about swimming that he wouldn't drown.

They were continuing to work on those main obstacles during the day, while studying the other elements in the evening. How to breathe underwater, protective and offensive spells they might need…

"Moody took me aside after Potions today," Viktor informed Fleur, "He spoke of sharks and transfiguration."

"That's an incredibly difficult type of transfiguration he's hinting at," Fleur frowned. Her mother was very gifted at Transfiguration and Fleur loved the subject. It seemed an awfully dangerous suggestion for someone to put to a student. Most adults wouldn't be able to transfigure themselves into sharks without something going horribly wrong.

"Further sabotage?" Viktor suggested, frowning.

"Absolutely," Fleur concurred, "Why would you try such a risky spell on yourself and risk serious harm when you could try something like the Bubblehead Charm?"

The Bubblehead Charm was one of the front runners in their planning for the task. It seemed complex, but not too difficult to learn. It was fragile, but the easiest and most convenient method of breathing underwater for a prolonged period of time.

"We need some hard evidence of his attempts to place us in harm," Viktor frowned, "The problem is he only approaches me when I'm on my own and nobody else is around."

"And a motive," Fleur agreed, "Why rig the competition at all? Just for Hogwarts to win? He's only started teaching here this year."

"Maybe he placed a large sum of money on the results," Viktor suggested.

"Do you think he is attempting to sabotage Cedric too?" Fleur wondered out loud, "Or he only cares about Hogwarts winning?"

"Maybe he is the reason they have two Champions," Viktor mused, twiddling his quill in his large hands.

Fleur sighed heavily, flipping her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Maybe we should just tell our Headmasters?" Fleur said, closing the book in front of her.

She was tired. Merlin, she was tired.

It felt like they had put in so much work but only got marginally closer to surviving the Second Task and nowhere in finding out what the heck Moody's endgame was. Her nails were chipped and she wanted to check in to see Gabrielle before the small girl would be asleep for the night.

"I don't know," Viktor rumbled in his bassy voice, shutting his own book, "I'm not sure about Maxime, but Karkaroff is not someone I would necessarily trust confiding in."

Fleur rolled Viktor's words around in her exhausted mind as they packed up their belongings, an unspoken agreement that they had given up for the day.

Madame Maxime only really cared about two things: the reputation of Beauxbatons; and the way that reputation reflected back on herself. It was possible that an attempted sabotage of the Beauxbatons Champion would spur her into a wild frenzy of action. But… It was also possible that Maxime would try to cover the whole thing up. She hated Beauxbatons being wrapped up in scene above anything else. She called it "unbecoming."

Fleur and Viktor shouldered their bags, rubbing at tired eyes as they headed towards the exit of the library.

There were still a few studiers left in the library. Various hungry eyes roaming over Fleur and Viktor, depending on their preference. She could also hear the murmuring undertone of gossip.

Fleur rolled her eyes.

"Flurr," Viktor rumbled.

Fleur flicked her cornflower blue eyes back to the Bulgarian beside her.

Viktor nodded at the shadowy corridors just outside the library. A loud thunking rung out as a hunched figure lumbered into the shadows, a large and suspicious backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Moody?"

"Let's follow him," Viktor said, his grey eyes glinting a little with his reckless words.

"Are you sure?" Fleur faltered. She wanted to figure out what Moody was up to as much as Viktor, but stalking a professor through the shadowy and ever-changing hallways of Hogwarts was due to lead to trouble. Fleur had enough trouble finding her way to class with the trick stairs and moving staircases, let alone tailing someone potentially dangerous.

"Call it a gut instinct. When else will we have the chance to find out more?" Viktor shrugged, "I am sick of not knowing what he is up to. It looks like he is up to something, and maybe we can finally catch him in the act."

"Oui, or catch a detention," Fleur responded tersely. She was tired and at this rate wouldn't be back to the carriage before Gabrielle was asleep. But still, she found herself following the heavily muscled Bulgarian as he quietly followed in the direction that Moody was headed in.

Hermione was on her way down to the library, Invisibility Cloak under one arm and Marauder's Map under the other, her satchel strapped across her chest.

She was about to catch one of the moving staircases as a shortcut when she caught sight of two Champions across the shifting staircases. Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum were leaning into each other, discussing something intently.

Hermione knew better than to believe Skeeter's rumours, but the sight of it still sparked a flame of jealousy in her stomach.

Hermione paused, a foot hovering above the first staircase step. She only had a few moments before this staircase moved away.

She really needed to get to the library and research the Second Task for Harry. The image of his thin and anxious frame was stuck in her mind. She couldn't let him down.

Viktor and Fleur nodded at each other before taking a staircase to an the abandoned Third floor.

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

Really… If Harry was that anxious, surely he should be studying some more himself… Right? Besides, Ron was helping him strategise right now.

Hermione whipped the Invisibility Cloak around herself, rashly changing her plans. She moved away from the staircase and caught another one, then a second one, heading off after Viktor and Fleur.

Hogwarts was a gloomy castle. A gothic design, it was all cold stone and dimly lit hallways at the best of time. However, the Third floor, which had been abandoned as long as Hermione had been at Hogwarts, was even darker and spookier.

It seems even Harry, Hermione and Ron almost dying on this floor in search of the Philosopher's Stone in their First Year hadn't even prompted Dumbledore to send in any cleaners.

The hallways were extremely dim and thickly coated in cobwebs. Only a very few candles were scattered down the walls, flickering weakly against the draft.

Hermione had taken too long to get to the floor and had lost sight of Viktor and Fleur already. Squinting against the dim lighting, Hermione pulled out the Marauder's Map and tapped it with her wand, muttering the necessary words.

As the blueprint of the castle scratched its way onto the battered map, Hermione quickly located her own dot amongst the scurrying of the castle. Sure enough, only down the hall and around the corner were two dots labelled Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum heading rapidly down the hallway.

Where were they going?

Hermione's eyes only managed to flick to the dot slightly ahead of them before she hurriedly stuffed the map back in her robes.

Bartemius Crouch.

Why on Earth were Fleur and Viktor chasing the Ministry Official on the judging panel of the Triwizard Tournament to an abandoned floor? Nothing good could come of this.

Hermione pulled out her wand and set off in the direction of the Champions as quickly as she could.

Why follow Crouch?

Why were they all on the Third Floor?

Hermione's mind was in overdrive trying to make sense of the bizarre situation. She hurried her pace, a part of her wondering why she was wandering an abandoned floor so close to curfew just because a couple of Champions were doing it. Something about Fleur had her breaking rules even faster than Harry and Ron.

Hermione was getting close enough she could hear footsteps. She shoved the Marauder's Map in the pocket of her cloak and neared another corner, following the direction of the commotion.

"Fuck!" a bassy Bulgarian voice rang out.

Adrenaline pumping, Hermione raced around the corner, whipping the Invisibility Cloak down and brandishing her wand.

To her dismay, Hermione found the Champions on their own at the end of the hallway. No Barty Crouch in sight. Viktor was perplexed, scratching his chin. Fleur was tapping her plump lips with her fingers, though she stopped and turned to look at Hermione. A brief flash of surprise— and something Hermione couldn't quite recognise— crossed Fleur's face before being quickly hidden. She narrowed her long-lashed eyes suspiciously.

"What are you doing here?" Fleur asked. Viktor turned to fix Hermione with a steely gaze, looking a little startled.

"I… What are you doing here?" Hermione deflected, "This floor is abandoned; students aren't supposed to come here."

"We—"

"—We were just leaving," Viktor interrupted Fleur. Hermione felt her heart sink a bit, even though she knew that they clearly weren't sneaking there to snog.

"Fleur," Hermione tried to reason. Mercifully, Fleur's eyes seemed to thaw a little and she gave Viktor a small push forward.

"Viktor, wait for me around the corner?" Fleur asked.

Viktor didn't look convinced, but nodded all the same, lumbering back down the hallway to wait.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, voice barely above a whisper, "Look… I don't know what I did… But, I want you to listen to me when I say it's dangerous to go to abandoned or restricted places at this school."

Fleur smiled and Hermione wondered if she imagined the sadness on her lips.

"Like I listened when you warned me about Pansy?" Fleur asked, cocking her head to one side.

It had been a while since Hermione had been in such close proximity with Fleur, and Hermione tried to ignore the pleasant shiver running through her body. There were more important matters at hand.

"Yes— I mean, what do you mean?" Hermione asked, confused.

Fleur took a deep breath. She seemed to be internally conflicted about something, shutting her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, Hermione could see her walls were back up again.

"We were trying to follow Moody," Fleur said in a low voice, "We think he is trying to sabotage the Tournament."

Hermione wanted to scoff. She wanted to point out that they hadn't even been following the right person through the halls. But she digested Fleur's words. She herself didn't trust Moody. She also got the impression Moody was up to something. But she hadn't had anything concrete other than his vague attempts to help Harry.

"Do you have proof?" Hermione asked, releasing her breath in a whoosh. She hadn't even realised she'd been holding it.

"Non," Fleur said, her brows furrowing.

"How sure are you that he is sabotaging the tournament?" Hermione asked.

"He suggested a very dangerous tactic to Viktor," Fleur replied tensely, "I… I have a very bad feeling about him, Hermione. But there is nothing solid to point to. I worry that Viktor and I are marching to our certain deaths in this Second Task."

Hermione knew Fleur wouldn't say those words lightly. She reached out, worried, taking one of Fleur's forearms in her hands. Goosebumps erupted over the skin Hermione could see.

"Fleur…" Hermione said softly. Her warm brown eyes locked with sky blue. She could feel a kind of electricity beginning to thrum under her fingers, just at the skin to skin contact with the other teen.

For a moment Hermione felt like she finally had a clear and open connection with Fleur. She could see the blonde was scared, genuinely so. Hermione remembered rescuing her from the lake, holding her tight as she trembled from the after-affects of the cold in her bed.

But then the moment was gone, Fleur's eyes hardened as she raised those walls again.

"I should go," Fleur said quickly, pulling her arm out of Hermione's grasp and flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"Why don't you tell someone your concerns?" Hermione asked, not wanting Fleur to disappear just yet.

"With no evidence?" Fleur scoffed, "And tell them what? That Viktor can barely swim and I don't like the cold? Karkaroff and Maxime would laugh in our faces and tell us to toughen up!"

"Fleur," Hermione said sympathetically, reaching out for the blonde instinctively.

Fleur flitted out of reach, her full lips straightening into a firm line. She looked annoyed and Hermione didn't understand why.

"It doesn't matter, the magic binds us to compete. We must do it." Fleur said dismissively. She turned around and began to walk away, her heels clicking on the stone.

"Fleur—" Hermione called out. She didn't want Fleur to walk away just yet. She didn't want to leave things like this.

Fleur looked over her shoulder, her beautiful face a mix of annoyance, fear, and something Hermione couldn't read.

"Why don't you just talk to Pansy about it?" Fleur said suddenly, "Gabrielle told me all about your rendezvous in the library."

Hermione felt like she'd just taken a punch to the gut, caught entirely off-guard. By the time she recovered and was ready to reply, Fleur was already gone.

Hermione exhaled heavily, letting the invisibility cloak fall to the stone floor.

So that was why Fleur was acting distant with her. She must have thought that was the entire reason Hermione had warned her to stay away from Pansy. Hermione swore softly under her breath.

Hermione hadn't been standing in the abandoned hallway for long when a tapestry twitched. Hermione quickly grabbed the Invisibility Cloak and donned it again.

A thin and gangly Durmstrang boy emerged, looking each way before scurrying quickly away. Hermione recognised him vaguely as one of the many hangers-on that followed Viktor around. One of the many fans desperately trying to cross the line to become the famous Seeker's friend.

What the heck was he doing here?

The tapestry twitched again and, of all people, Pansy Parkinson emerged in her Slytherin uniform. She smoothed down her skirt daintily, before her blood-red lipstick split into a smile and she began to walk away.

Maybe it was the sting of Fleur distancing herself because of Pansy. Maybe it was the bizarreness of the entire night. But Hermione found herself once again shedding the Invisibility Cloak.

"What are you doing here, Parkinson?"

Pansy jumped, whirling around.

"Shut up, Granger," Pansy replied, without missing a beat. She grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled, dragging her down the hallway, around a corner, and into an abandoned classroom.

"What on Earth is going on?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms, "Why are you here? Why is that Durmstrang boy here? Why is Barty Crouch around here?"

"Why do you ask so many goddamn questions all the time?" Pansy groaned, "Just… Just wait here for five minutes and then we can go without you being seen."

"Why can't I be seen?" Hermione frowned, "What's going on?"

"Jesus Christ, Granger," Pansy rolled her eyes, "Do you ever shut up? I feel like I'm in an interrogation. This is the last time I do you a favour."

"Favour? How is yanking me into an abandoned classroom and refusing to answer any questions a favour?" Hermione growled.

Pansy narrowed her dark eyes at Hermione.

"One more question and I'm hexing you," Pansy threatened.

Hermione scoffed.

"I'm sick of this, I have to go to the library before curfew," Hermione said curtly, going to leave. Pansy grabbed her arm again.

"Don't, Hermione," Pansy said firmly.

"Hermione now? Not 'Granger?'" Hermione asked, quirking an eyebrow. She noticed Pansy's eyes darken a little and her eyes flick down to look at Hermione's lips.

"Nuh-uh-uh!" Hermione yelped, pressing a finger against Pansy's blood-red lips, "I didn't come up here to— I don't — This isn't why I'm here, Pansy!"

Pansy looked very much guilty, stepping away, but making sure to stand between Hermione and the door.

"I'm not going to kiss you again, Granger," Pansy sighed. For a moment Hermione even wondered if Pansy looked a little sad. "But you shouldn't be following people around the castle. It isn't safe."

Hermione scoffed louder.

"Isn't safe?" Hermione shook her head, "Since when have you cared about my safety?"

Pansy narrowed her eyes, but not before Hermione noticed the Slytherin's eyes roam up and down her body.

"You're an insufferable, bossy know-it-all—"

"Gee, thanks, Parkinson!"

"— But that doesn't mean I want you to get caught up in something that could get you killed," Pansy said, avoiding looking at the brunette momentarily.

"Killed," Hermione deadpanned.

That could mean anything in Hogwarts. From basilisks to werewolves to Voldemort himself, Hermione had already come across plenty that could get her killed around the school.

Unless…

"Is this to do with the tournament?" Hermione asked in a low voice. Pansy's eyes widened slightly before she tried to pass off her reaction with a flimsy smile.

"What do you know?" Hermione asked, stepping closer to Pansy. The reaction Pansy was having to her was giving her an unexpected upper hand.

Hermione had never, ever been one of those girls that could use something like her sexuality to her advantage. The very idea of it almost made Hermione laugh. She wasn't a Lavender or a Parvati. Yet, she could tell, from Pansy's darting eyes and the slight blush on her cheeks, that she did in fact have an advantage over the Slytherin.

"There are people gathering information on the competitors," Pansy said vaguely, her eyes not quite meeting Hermione's, "Interested parties."

"So the competition is rigged," Hermione surmised.

Pansy bit her lip.

"I don't know about the whole competition," Pansy muttered, "But at least the next task."

"By who? Crouch? Moody?" Hermione demanded.

Pansy, becoming agitated, waved a hand for Hermione to stop speaking.

"Look, I've said too much," Pansy said nervously, "I'm only roped into all of this because of my stupid parents. Forget I said anything and stop snooping around."

"Pansy…"

"I think it should be fine to go now," Pansy said dismissively.

Almost as abruptly as Fleur, Pansy wrenched her eyes off Hermione and left the room.

Hermione furrowed her brow.

Hermione hadn't seen anyone else on the floor on her way out. She had even taken the time to properly scour the Marauder's Map before she left. But whoever had been gathered there, were long gone. The only dot on the floor was a Hermione Granger.

But Hermione hadn't forgotten about it by the time she finally got to the library, or even when she headed back to Gryffindor tower late, circles under her eyes.

She sank into an over-stuffed couch in front of the dwindling fire in the Gryffindor Common Room. Everyone else had long since gone to bed.

Confirmation that the tournament was being rigged.

But no way of proving it.

Perhaps Hermione could go straight to Dumbledore, insist he drag Pansy in and get her to corroborate Viktor and Fleur's fears?

Would he listen?

Had the professors listened in previous years? Ever stopped the dangers? With the basilisk that Petrified her? With Quirrell literally hiding Voldemort inside the castle all year?

Even when Dumbledore had effectively given the 'okay' to use the time turner to save Sirius, it had been Hermione and the boys that had put a stop to everything.

Hermione rubbed her temples. It went against her grain not to talk to the teachers first. As much as she had let the odd rule slide here and there with experimenting on Fleur and sneaking around to study… This was a hard line for her. She would talk to McGonagall in the morning.

"Cup of tea?"

Hermione pulled her gaze away from the flames dancing in the fireplace.

Ron was standing beside the couch, a cup of tea in each hand. He was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee, hair ruffled like he had been in bed.

"Yeah, thanks," Hermione mumbled.

"Much luck at the library?" Ron asked, heaving himself onto the couch beside her. He took a greedy gulp of his tea, massing the other mug to Hermione. Hermione simply nursed her tea, enjoying the warmth of the mug against her hands.

"Not really," Hermione replied tiredly, "Much luck here?"

"Not really," Ron replied, "Harry's a wreck. But at least he's sleeping at the moment."

"How is it that Harry seems to wind up in the centre of something life-threatening every year?" Hermione sighed.

Ron shook his head, looking into the fireplace.

"Beats me," Ron grunted, "Getting a bit over the constant danger, to be honest. Wonder how he must feel."

"I know he has nobody else, except Sirius," Hermione said softly, "But sometimes it feels like he leans so heavily on us. Sometimes I feel like I have no room to breathe."

Ron nodded absently and grunted, continuing to sip at his tea.

Hermione told Ron about all she had discovered that night, carefully leaving out the strange sexual tension between her and Pansy. Ron seemed more awake then, a heavy concern setting across his features.

"So… Just another bloody potentially life-threatening situation on top of an already life-threatening tournament," Ron groaned.

"I'm going to talk to McGonagall tomorrow," Hermione told Ron, "Tell her everything I know. I don't care if Pansy ends up being pulled in and dosed with veritaserum. This needs to come out."

"What about Harry?" Ron asked, running a large hand through his hair, "Do we tell him?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied honestly, "He's lost so much weight, he's barely eating… Can he take that pressure on top of everything else?"

"I dunno," Ron replied.