Harry Potter and the Goblet of Liars

Author Note: I have seven godsons of varying ages. I have read all seven books of HP out loud to each one. All. Seven. Books. Seven. Times. Aloud. As a result, I have many bones to pick with JK Rowling. My youngest godson wants me to write him an original HP story. Here it is. Posted online, per his impertinent challenge.

Re: rights etc., JK Rowling, it's all yours, since heaven knows it's not mine.

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"Harry Potter!"

Even without the defeat in Harry's emerald eyes, Hermione Granger knew he had not put his name in the Goblet of Fire. Logic dictated it. As clean and neat as a proof for Arithmancy, the facts fell into place, leading to the conclusion.

One: The age line prevented underage wizards from putting their names in the flame-spitting goblet. Ergo, Harry could not have done it. The twin Weasleys had, and earned a sharp reminder of why Headmaster Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of their age. The age line worked.

Two: According to the books she had read upon learning about the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the Goblet of Fire was inscribed with runes to prevent anyone's name being added if levitated, thrown in, shot by arrow or spear, tossed when wrapped around a rock, and similar. Therefore, the name had to be submitted by living human hand. The books said so. Since Harry could not cross the age line, per Point One, then Point Two showed he could not have violated the age line by other means.

Three: Therefore, based upon the goblet's own protections, and those of Professor Dumbledore, Harry Potter could not possibly have found a way to enter his own name.

Four: It thus followed that Harry's name was put into the goblet, by hand, by someone of age.

Five: The usual suspect in such matters was a professor working for Voldemort.

Six: Dumbledore would stop this, because Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of their age, maybe of any age since Merlin.

Her proof collapsed, at least on its sixth point, when Dumbledore smiled with his twinkling eyes, amiability written in every wrinkle, and told Harry to come forward.

Hermione had a very good brain, well-trained, swift, and stuffed with libraries of information. She was not a know-it-all bushy-haired bookworm. She was a wanted-to-learn-it-all fluff-haired bookworm. And what she wanted to learn was why, exactly, Professor Dumbledore was not stopping this. Or McGonagall. Or, really, any of them. Professor Snape looked briefly flummoxed, which from him qualified as overt concern, but he did not speak.

Hermione reached a new conclusion.

Dumbledore must want Harry to compete.

Leave the breakdown for later, her rational self said. Save Harry now!

"Oh no," exclaimed Hermione, and leapt to seize Harry's hand when Dumbledore ordered him up there, in front of everyone and their hateful, hating stares. "No, Harry, no, you didn't, I know you didn't! You couldn't! Professor, Professors, I can prove he didn't, he couldn't! In Tournament Tales by Harry Scarum published in 1731, he cited the Summa Magicae of Tommaso d'Aquino, written in 1264, that clearly states the Goblet…"

Dumbledore's voice rumbled kindly at her. "That is enough, Miss Granger, and five points to Gryffindor."

Still attached to Harry's hand, and ignoring her friend's stare at that hand, Hermione gasped in shock. Then, reminding herself to be brave, Hermione stamped a foot where she stood and raised her voice and said, "No! It isn't enough! The Summa Magicae, the Dictae by Nikolai Kopernik, and even On Phenomena by Trinity Isaac of Cambridge all clearly state that the Goblet of Fire cannot accept someone's name unless they put it in by hand! After the tournament in 1223…"

Harry appeared in her vision. He shook his head, and tapped his ear with his free hand.

Hermione flushed with outrage. Someone had cast a silencing spell on her. Not the first, nor the last, she supposed, but the only wand hand she saw twitching belonged to the headmaster.

"And five points from Gryffindor," Hermione heard the headmaster intone, "for interrupting our feast. Come, Harry."

Finding herself un-silenced, Hermione whispered, "I'm not letting them kill you," and released Harry to the headmaster. She had long ago perfected a look of blank indifference, what with all the bullying, and drew it across her face now like a mask. Good Girl Hermione would sit down and obey her headmaster, and mumble a shamed apology.

Hermione J. Granger, witch, bookworm, and oft-proclaimed pain in the neck, decided to be Bad Girl Hermione. Very bad. She might be expelled, a thought that briefly caused her to shiver, but sometimes, she decided, one must be very bad for the greater good.

The greater good of Harry Potter.

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"Sirius! Sirius!"

Somewhere on a warm island with amazing fruits and quiet beaches, Hermione Granger's voice failed to pierce the sleep of a fugitive known as Sirius Black.

Holding hands with Dobby, the house elf who would do anything for Harry Potter, Hermione drew on the magic and yelled at the top of her lungs, across time and space, "Harry needs you, you stupid mutt!"

Nothing occurred.

Exhausted, Hermione sank to the stone of the top of the Astronomy Tower. "Oh, Dobby, who else can I trust? The professors didn't say a word! Not even Muh-muh… Not even Puh-Puh… Oh! I don't know who to trust besides you and Sirius!"

Dobby the house elf stood tall, as much as he could, and beamed proudly. "Miss Grangy trusts Dobby?"

"Of course I do!" said Hermione warmly, and gave the elf an awkward one-armed hug. Sighing, she sagged, and cuddled Crookshanks on her lap. The cat-kneazle purred like thunder. "Oh, Dobby, the headmaster cast a silencing charm on me! And Ron says Harry entered this awful tournament! And nobody else believes him, just me. And you," she added, lest the elf wail. "I don't know what else to do. I guess Sirius is too far away to be reached even by spells."

Dobby's ears flopped upright. It was a remarkable feat. His eyes bulged. "He is being Harry Potter's godfather?"

"Yes, Dobby, that's right," sighed Hermione, and stared at the ice-cold stars above, her fingers stroking Crookshanks' fur. "He is."

"Dobby is being right back! Maybe tomorrow even!" said Dobby, and popped away as elves did, leaving Hermione to groan. The FarSpeak spell took two hours to prepare, but relied on too many variables. Distance, for example, was unknown; location was at best a guess, based on a messenger bird; the magic typically took three casters, and not a girl, a house elf, and a half-kneazle cat. She had the recipient's name, and a clear night. It simply wasn't enough.

"Oh, why do wizards not have telephones!"

Crookshanks butted his head into her chin, and she nodded at him. It was halfway to dawn. She needed to sleep, and hope that inspiration struck more accurately after breakfast.

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Hermione and Harry had finished the stack of toast she brought, and were huddled together by the lake. Habit demanded Hermione rush to class, but Harry's despondency kept her firmly rooted to the spot.

Some time later, perhaps before her knees grew numb, but well after her back side did, Harry said dismally, "Those books you talked about… You're sure? They all say the only way to put a name in is by a physical, living, human hand? No slingshots or wands or wingardiums leviosas?"

"I'm sure, it's in the writings of the best minds of science and magic alike," answered Hermione, and forced her toes to wiggle in her shoes. "The tournament kills. That's why it was discontinued. Before that, it would settle disputes between wizarding… Well, I suppose the best word isn't school the way we mean it, but by disciplines. For an analogy, the Catholic Church provides us with the various monastic orders. Dominican, Benedictine, Franciscan… You're sleeping!"

Harry yawned enormously behind his hands and rubbed his forehead. "No, but I don't know anything about churches, Hermione. It's not like the Dursleys took me, or owned a whatever-you-call it."

"A bible, but that's not the point, okay, what about…" Hermione cast about in her capacious brain, and tried again. "Schools of thought in philosophy! Plato. Aristotle."

"No idea, never heard of 'em."

"Honestly, Harry, did you learn anything in school?"

"How to avoid my cousin," he replied angrily, ticking the points off on his fingers. "How to skip homework so I could get my chores done. How to pretend I wasn't so hungry I'd look for extra food in the…"

When he refused to continue, Hermione nudged him gently. "In the?"

Harry leapt to his feet, marched away from her, shouting at the sky, the rocky crags, and her, all in one. "In the bins, all right? In the bins! I'd look for extra food in the bins!"

Horrified, Hermione stood to follow him, but her hours in the cold, sitting, had taken a toll. Her legs refused to work. "Oh! Stupid!" she scolded herself. "Warming charm! Idiot!"

By the time the warming charm had thawed her enough to allow her to function, Harry had gone a clear hundred or more meters. Hermione trotted quickly after him. Food from bins (and she knew he didn't mean nice, clean ones in the shops). Chores over homework. Hug-aversion. No care for his own safety. Oh, how stupid was she? The smartest witch in books, but the twins had meant it when they said they had to break him out like he was in prison.

No, she reminded herself. Tournament first, Dursleys later. My parents are required by law to report this, and it was in front of me, I've heard them talk about it, how did I miss it? No, later, later! Dursleys later! Oh, I will hex them! But later.

Harry heard her footsteps, and snarled, "Go away! Just go away! Okay? Leave me alone!"

"No!"

The wind gusted. Hermione's hair flew into her eyes and mouth. She sputtered. Baldness frightened her, but at that moment, it seemed preferable to being choked and blinded by her own blasted recalcitrant hair.

"Harry Potter, if you think I will leave you alone, then you are a bigger moron than Crabbe and Goyle!"

Red-faced, Harry yelled, "Then I'm a moron! Who'll die in this tournament and save Voldemort the trouble!"

"Are you really that stupid?" shrieked Hermione, clenching her fists lest she succumb to the temptation of using her wand. "Who do you think would want you in the tournament? Voldemort!"

Gobsmacked, Harry Potter went pale, and might have spoken, if a crack had not occurred.

Dobby had returned.

He landed on Harry. "Harry Potter sir!" he squealed happily, without regard for cold earth and the impact of a house elf on his hero.

Hermione had no idea what landed on her, but the world went sparkly, then disappeared.

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Hermione groaned in pain. She spat mud and muddy hair from her mouth. She also spat out a bit of turf.

Someone male was muttering obscenities under his breath. Adult, she judged, from the depth of the voice.

She squawked as she sat up, robes askew, hair a mess, and bits of the Scottish Highlands smeared over her skin. "Harry?"

"Oh, now you care, now you…"

"I is much sorry-ness, Harry Potter sir!"

"You're sorry, all right, you…"

Ears ringing, in time to the throb in her head, Hermione watched as Dobby, Harry, and Sirius Black fell into a three-way argument about whose fault it was that she'd been smashed into the ground as if she'd been the target of a hexed bludger. Sighing, she disregarded the trio in favor of checking her wand, and then casting a dozen episkey on herself. Two scourgify later, she felt dignified enough to announce, "I'm alive, thank you for asking, and also for, yes, not bothering to help me sit up, clean up, or tend my bruises."

It was peculiar how boy, man and elf all shrank in the same manner. Hermione summoned her inner McGonagall, and raised her eyebrows with what she hoped was the same world-weary scorn.

For the first time in her memory, Harry hugged her first. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean…"

"Can't breathe!" she squeaked.

Harry released her, face red, and pointed at Dobby. "He said you told him to get Sirius?"

"No, I said I didn't know who else to trust!"

"Yes, so Dobby is thinking, the great wizard who is godfather to the great Harry Potter must be…"

"Short version, please?" requested Hermione, turning to the alleged adult, AKA Sirius Black.

"Since Dobby doesn't work for anyone but Hogwarts, and he's not a bound elf, but a free elf," said Sirius grimly, "he decided to pop himself into his old master's house. Narcissa is my cousin, you see, and thus a Black by birth and by blood."

"And that meant Dobby could track Sirius!" yipped Harry in shock.

"Not quite," corrected Sirius, before Hermione had the energy to ask any questions. "It's more like he got told to bugger off, pardon my English, Hermione."

Having heard far worse from her dad when he watched a match on telly, Hermione graciously nodded her acceptance of his apology.

"And then I remembers, the professor wolf-man is friends with doggy-father!" chirped Dobby, his ears wiggling with joy.

Hermione shut her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, "I will wake up and discover the world is a rational place."

She counted ten.

She opened her eyes.

"Oh, drat," she sighed, and gave Dobby a smile. "You went to Professor Lupin? How?"

"He was forgettings his washing, so's as Hogwarts elf, I must be givings it to him!"

"You used his laundry?" exclaimed Sirius. "You can do that?"

"Hogwarts elves must be returning laundries no matters where. It was only his sockses, but sockses be important!"

"So that's why nothing is ever left at school," said Harry, and grinned. "Well, that'll save me trouble at end of term."

Hermione decided to be bossy. Someone needed to be. "Oh, will the three of you stop! Let me summarize: Dobby found Lupin, told Lupin about the situation with Harry and the tournament and Sirius, Lupin told him where to look for Sirius, and Dobby found him."

"Yes," said Sirius and Dobby.

"Good. Now, Harry, let's get Sirius somewhere safe. Wait, why isn't he safe? He can be seen! Dobby, go rest, you must be exhausted popping who-knows-where for however far! Harry, we need to go to lunch! Sirius, go hide! Change into Padfoot, go, shoo!"

Dobby popped away. Sirius became a large black dog, and promptly loped toward the Forbidden Forest. Harry, however, stared at Hermione as if he had never seen her before.

"Wow," he said in awe. "You told an adult to shoo!"

A tiny meep left Hermione. She had told an adult wizard animagus to shoo.

Harry caught her as she staggered. "C'mon, you definitely need a good lunch. Then we can figure out how to get Sirius to get me out of this mess."

Somewhere in Hermione's mind, the circuits fired busily, data points falling into order, making a picture of random dots. Most of her brain, however, was preoccupied by the fact that not only had she scolded an adult… Harry was holding her hand.

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Lunch proved exactly as horrible as breakfast. Dinner was worse. After two more days, having seen nothing of Sirius, and plenty of disgust from the school (and Snape), Hermione and Harry crept to breakfast ready for battle. What they'd do, Hermione did not know, but she hoped to try out a few things she'd read about in a sixth-year textbook. If all else failed, she knew she could punch a boy. She had flattened Draco-the-Ferret Malfoy the previous school year, after all.

"I feel like we should have that music playing," muttered Harry to her under his breath. "Y'know. Clint Eastwood, old western…"

"High Plains Drifter," agreed Hermione.*

Harry tried, and failed, to whistle the tune. "My cousin watched a lot of late-night telly. Where'd you…?"

"Mum loves westerns. Any films set in deserts, actually. The anti-England, she calls them. Harry, someone's…"

"I see them."

They stopped two paces shy of the Gryffindor table, ready to wand-whip Neville Longbottom. He wheezed out a greeting and scurried away.

Ron Weasley announced to Dean and Seamus, "Here comes Hero Zero and his nightmare girlfriend!"

Ginny Weasley stood in their way of hexing Ron. She rolled her eyes at them, then said very loudly, "Look, Ron! It's a spider!" and with a flick of her wand, turned his bacon into a very odd arachnid.

In the ensuing mayhem, Harry and Hermione grabbed seats, food, and the chance to eat something other than toast.

While McGonagall scolded Ginny for turning Ron's breakfast into a porky eight-legged freak, Hermione whispered, "I'll go to the library once classes are over and…"

"And I'll go with you," murmured Harry, to her pleased surprise. He pushed up his glasses and hunched his shoulders under his robes. "Madam Pince doesn't let anything happen in there. Ever. It's bound to be safer than…"

The doors to the Great Hall slammed open.

Without turning, Hermione spat, "If someone announces a troll, that's it, I'm going to walk to a telephone, ring my parents, and transfer!"

"Just take me with you, yeah?" said Harry, then carefully looked over his shoulder. He hiccupped.

Hermione steeled herself, twisted around, and made the same noise.

Sirius Black, in full gold-embroidered robes, crest flashing, eyes shining, teeth gleaming, strode into the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

"Hellllooo!" he caroled out to everyone, arms spread wide, and his face broken by a manic grin. "Ah, good old hoggy Hogwarts! Foggy soggy moggy…"

McGonagall bristled.

"And dare I say, boggy old Hogwarts!"

Harry hid his face in Hermione's hair, by accident, since it did tend to fluff out like her cat-kneazle's tail. "Oh no. He's lost it. He looks like Malfoy's dad!"

"Only not blond," agreed Hermione, and bit her lower lip. "Oh, what is he doing here? He'll be arrested and…"

"Dumble-fumble-mumble-more!" saluted Sirius with an elegant, mocking bow. He blew a kiss to Snape, causing that man's face to turn burgundy. "Snippy-Snape! How delightful! And dear Nitflick…"

"He's gonna die," moaned Harry into her shoulder. Hermione would have hugged him, but she couldn't move. She had last been this petrified by a basilisk.

"McGonagall, I almost still respect you, at least. Oh, there's Professor Pout! And who's this?"

Mad-Eye Moody stood, wand pointed at Sirius, his false eye whirling. "You know me, Black."

"No, I don't. The Moody I knew was paranoid, reckless, and ruthless. But he'd never let a child participate in this tournament. I wonder what I'd find if I went looking in your closets, old man? Skeletons? Or worse?"

"He's insane," stated Ron, and for the moment, Hermione agreed.

"Oh, do sit down," said Sirius grandly to Dumbledore. "I'm hardly a fugitive from justice. You see, I took a vow. Godparents in the magical world aren't just place-holders, diaper-changers, or someone to coerce into reading bedtime stories for a week at a time!" Sirius spun, taking in all the student bodies of three schools, as well as some very startled portraits and ghosts. "The vow is binding. Binding. As Albus Dumbledore there knows, and ignores. Ignored, too. Very important, those verb tenses."

At this, Hermione gave up and let her heart rule her. She spun round, grabbed Harry, and hugged him close. To her shock, he squeezed back, muttering in her ear, "Don't let go. If you let go, I think my head might explode."

"I won't let go," promised Hermione, and ducked with a flinch as something sparkled past her.

Students cried out, but in amazement.

"See that? A wand! A working wand! Magic intact! I can even make other magic. Now tell me, tell the students, Headmaster, what that means?"

"Mr. Black, you are not well."

"Oh, I'm very well! I'm well on my way to blasting your kneecaps to Ethiopia. Then I'll send your toes to Argentina. I might leave you the beard."

"This isn't happening," chanted Harry under his breath, and into Hermione's hair.

Hermione spotted Nearly-Headless Nick, their house ghost, and mouthed a plea for help. The ghost shrugged and vaporized itself elsewhere.

"State your business!" shouted McGonagall, standing straight, her wand nowhere to be seen. "And do so without your theatrics, Mr. Black, we were quite tired of them enough when you were a student!"

"Y'know, Minerva, you're wise," said Sirius, and became blessedly normal, for a wizarding-given value of normal. "I took a vow when I became Harry Potter's godfather. If I betrayed him, or that vow, I'd have lost my magic. Years ago. In 1981, to be precise. The vow included protecting him. Ratting out his parents would have violated the vow. The breaking of that vow would have cost me my magic. Since I did not lose my magic, it follows that I did not break the vow. Having demonstrated this to the Ministry, under veritaserum," he added, "I am now a free man. And, as it happens, Lord Black, of House Black, guardian and godfather to Harry James Potter, and he will not participate in this death trap tournament."

With a finger-snap, Sirius produced a parchment, and floated it to McGonagall. Her eyebrows rose as she read, then she nodded. "All is in order. It is signed by the minister, the head of the department of mysteries, and the head of the DMLE. This is rather sudden, Mr. Black."

"Yes, it is," agreed Sirius merrily, still grinning that terrible toothy grin at Dumbledore. "And it's going to be very sudden for a lot of people after this, I suspect. For now, I only request one thing, and I request it as the head of House Black, invoking my place among the Most Noble and Ancient. Bring forth the Goblet of Fire."

"It's out until the next tournament," said Dumbledore mildly.

"Miss Granger, what did you read in the Summae and Dictae?"

To her mortification, Hermione's legs popped her upright, and her hands went behind her back. She answered as if in elementary school, "In cases where tampering is suspected, the Goblet of Fire may be re-lit by the rite of Illuminare, or illumination, in which the fire will…" Her voice trembled as book words gained terrible real world meaning. "The fire will re-ignite and burn the hand of those who tampered with its wards and bindings when the hand is placed in the artifact."

Harry bounced to Sirius's side. "Wait, all I have to do is stick my hand in that thing? And it proves I didn't do it? And I don't have to participate?"

Hermione hid her head in her arms with a whimper. It had seemed quite simple when she was reading books and memorizing them and taking notes and researching. It had seemed very simple when she decided to call in a trusted adult, although she wasn't certain about Sirius's status as an adult in the typical sense. It had even seemed simple when Snape took points from her for walking too quickly in the hallways the previous afternoon. Knowledge was power. Power was safety. Safety was good.

Sticking one's hand into a centuries-old artifact? No. Not good. Bad. She had utter faith in Harry, but Sirius? The Goblet of Fire itself?

"I will hex that mutt into the Mariana Trench if Harry gets hurt," she swore, and was only aware she spoke aloud when Ginny Weasley asked, "The what trench?"

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After considerable showboating by Sirius, and grumbling by Dumbledore, and glaring from McGonagall and Snape (albeit for different reasons, Hermione suspected), the goblet came rolling into the center of the Great Hall.

Karkaroff from Durmstrang and Maxime from Beauxbatons watched with smug complacency as first Viktor Krum and then Fleur Delacour stuck their hands in the quiescent artifact. Flames roared up in soft dancing rainbows in each case, and a peculiar not-quite-noise rang against the magicked ceiling. It made Hermione think of wind chimes in a breeze, half-heard in a dream.

Cedric Diggory marched up, a little white around the mouth, and shoved in his hand.

Again, fire leapt up rainbow-hued, gentle, and musical.

"The three champions are recognized," intoned Dumbledore. "Really, Lord Black, must we waste our time?"

"Better your time than my godson's life," snarled Sirius. "C'mon, Harry, show 'em."

Hermione heard Ron jeer, sotto voce, "Bet he cries when he gets burned," and promised herself she'd owl her parents for a good non-magical prank, to get revenge on the faithless prat.

Hermione didn't realize she was back on her feet, hands clutching the front of her robes, until someone tugged at her, and asked her to sit down and not block their view.

Block their view? I'll block the…

Harry smiled hesitantly at her. She nodded rapidly, and forced a return smile.

He thrust his hand into the goblet.

Nothing happened.

Professor Flitwick made an undignified squeak before he managed to declare, "The goblet does not recognize him as a champion!"

"Ha!" brayed Ron.

"Or as a cheater!" added Flitwick, and snapped at Ron, "Twenty points from Gryffindor!"

"Please, Filius, I will see to it. Mr. Weasley, that is twenty points from Gryffindor, and a week of detentions… With Filch," bit out McGonagall.

Inwardly, Hermione cheered. Cancel prank, nothing can match that!

"So now what?" asked Harry in a small voice, which rang very loud for some reason.

"Now, we have every single stinking person in this castle put their hand in this goblet until we get the one who put that name in. The person who burns is the person who put in Harry's name," boomed Sirius, "and our dear headmaster knows it."

"There are other means," said Dumbledore in his grandfatherly voice.

"Sure, I'll try one," said Sirius cheerfully, and with a whisk of his wand at the goblet, he uttered, "Confundus!"

The spell bounced off the goblet, and ricocheted around the Great Hall, before fizzling out like an infant firework.

Hermione's faith in Dumbledore shattered, along with her temper.

She rushed forward, giving Harry a tremendous hug, before she wheeled on Dumbledore. "How could you! I told you! In this hall! You cast a silencing charm on me! So nobody would know! All the books said the goblet is almost as sentient as the Sorting Hat! It can't just be fooled! It had to be enchanted by a powerful wizard or witch to get around its own protections!" She inhaled tears, then raged, "Why did you want Harry in this awful tournament? Are you working for Voldemort?"

Screams and yells followed the feared name. Hermione ignored everything but Harry's hand on her shoulder. "Easy," he cautioned. "We'll be killed. Or worse. Expelled."

"Oh hush," she huffed, but smiled a little, then glared at the professors. "Well? You're all of age! Get down here and prove you didn't do this! I'll go first from the students!"

"You are not of age, Miss Granger, that is not necessary!" bellowed Dumbledore.

"Really, then why was it necessary to test Harry?" retorted Sirius. "Go on, Hermione."

She thrust her hand in. Nothing.

Professor McGonagall was next, head high.

Flitwick, Sprout, and Pomfrey followed.

When Snape did it, Harry mumbled, "Just once, is it him?"

The goblet didn't care if Snape's hand was in it, on it, or within a time zone of it.

Harry sighed. Hermione put her head on his shoulder, and tried to cheer him up with a soft, "Maybe next year."

Dumbledore's hand passed in without a problem.

Moody stumped up to the goblet, hawked out a curse nobody cared to hear, and stuck his hand in…

In his pocket.

Sirius whipped around, and used his cloak to shield both Harry and Hermione from the sight of Moody's next action, and cast a muffling charm around them to prevent them from hearing, as well.

Hermione and Harry burrowed into him from opposite sides. Sirius shook along with them.

They really weren't sorry, or at least Hermione really wasn't sorry, that they did not see Mad-Eye Moody die by suicide with his own wand, proclaiming the greatness of Voldemort. They were both very glad, and Harry loudly said so, to have been protected from the awful revelation of some strange man instead of Moody lying on the stone floor. And they both wished, or at least Hermione did, that they could have heard everything said to and by Dumbledore when it happened. Not that many people did, it was later reported, what with half the students fainting, the other half vomiting or going into shock, and only Pomfrey and Snape with their wits still about them enough to distribute chocolate and draughts as needed.

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"We shall miss you both, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," said Dumbledore at the end of that term.

Sirius squeezed each on the shoulder, lightly. "I'm sure you will, Headmaster. Whatever will you do for entertainment now?"

"I'm certain you will provide, Lord Black," said McGonagall with a tiny, private grin, barely noticeable to those less observant than Hermione.

"No, I will not. I'll be relocating to keep an eye on my godson at his new school."

"I was under the impression they were returning after Yule," said Dumbledore, his composure visibly broken. McGonagall's grin broke free, to be answered by Hermione and Harry both. Their head of house hadn't let them down on this, at least.

"Off to the next adventure, sir," chirped Hermione in her best Good Girl voice. "You see, we've transferred to another school, and begin there after the first of the year."

"Yeah," said Harry, and bumped her shoulder with his, and they traded smirks. "It specializes in wizarding and witchcraft for people born or raised in the non-magical world."

"Indeed, and what is this school?" inquired Dumbledore silkily, eyes glittering.

"At the moment," answered Hermione, "it is being called the International Academy of Magic, and it is on an unplottable island."

"With lots of sunshine," enthused Harry.

"And beaches," added Hermione.

"And fresh fruit!"

"And lessons in how to integrate non-magical and magical lifestyles," continued Hermione.

"Yeah, and it's got this really great school charter," grinned Harry, and nodded to Hermione with a glow in his green eyes that gave her stomach a case of butterflies.

"Students will never be used as pawns to lure out a headmaster's enemy," said Hermione haughtily. She nodded regally at the headmaster. "Have a lovely life, sir."

Hermione blocked out the raucous laughter of Sirius Black, the demands from Dumbledore, and even the shouts from certain students. In fact, she was able to ignore everything for once, even books, because Harry Potter was once more holding her hand, and tugging her eagerly forward into their future.

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*Obviously, that belongs to whoever it belongs to, not me, or Hermione, but check out the Ennio Morricone music on YouTube. Title theme.

Bones I picked: 1. Goblet being too enchanted to be corrupt yet being beat by a confounding charm. 2. Sirius has access to the goodies in ancestral home but can't bribe his way to freedom. 3. Romione. 4. Sirius not being able to travel or help. 5. The goblet going totally inert until "next time". Well, declare it "next time" then! If it can be charmed to allow an illegal entry, you can charm it for a do-over. Make sense, darn it!

I salute you, Potterheads (yes, even my impertinent youngest godson!), and bid your fandom adieu!