Hermione took Vector's words to heart: there must be something in the world outside of her equations that had missed her attention. There were other things to think about, anyway. That helped her too, for she had to focus on Harry's name eventually coming out of the Goblet of Fire.

Hermione had been subtly sowing seeds with her classmates to curry their favor. She didn't want Harry to have to be so very isolated after his name came out of the Goblet – it never should have happened that way in the first place, but Hermione hadn't known how to manipulate people back then (or even cared that people agree with her. It was one of the things that made her more Gryffindor than anything else).

She sat in the hall, contemplating the little cup that would cause her friend so many problems in the coming year. Suddenly, Fred and George trooped in, bringing an entourage of giggling students. She had forgotten about this! They were using an aging potion to try and fool the age line.

Hermione had to keep herself from laughing out loud. In her warded, formerly-abandoned classroom, she had a year-long stash of potion that would make anyone appear the magical age they desired. If only she hadn't decided to let Harry get put in the tournament again. She would have enjoyed Fred and George wreaking havoc upon the Tournament.

Instead, she sat back with a small grin on her face as they put their names in the goblet triumphantly, and then the horrible backlash as they both sprouted giant, white beards.

Anton, who had been sitting at the Ravenclaw table, came over to Hermione and sat down. Immediately, his food transferred to the new plate, and he made an exclamation of surprise. "I suppose you British have more going for you than I thought. Although some are still quite silly."

Hermione grinned. "Oui, the Weasley twins. They are like more playful versions of you and Margot."

"Oh my, I take it back. You British are ridiculous. Please never compare us to those hooligans again."

Harry came to sit down with them, and Hermione gave him a cheerful grin in greeting. "I happen to like them. For all of their antics, they lighten up the place. Maybe you could use that as well, no?"

Harry looked at Hermione like she had grown two heads. "Wow, that's amazing! Erm, I didn't know you spoke French, 'Mione."

"Oh yes," said Hermione, "Ever since my family started vacationing in France, they've made sure I speak the language. Anton, how is my accent?"

Anton made an uncomplimentary face. "If I weer deaf and from Belgium, peerhaps I would imagine you a native. Steel unlikely."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, in his book that's practically a mastery. Have you met Anton, Harry?"

"Can't say I have," said Harry, bemused. "Nice to meet you, Anton. Erm, I'd try to speak French to you, but I'm afraid my only foreign language is German, and it's not nearly so good as Hermione's."

Anton replied haughtily, "Oh yes, Geerman. Well it ees good you are learning something, I suppose."

"I'm really proud of your German, Harry. I can't speak a lick of it, myself." Hermione said diplomatically. "Anton, did you want to compete?" She gestured to the Goblet of Fire.

"No, eet is not my goal to find success in combat. I will succeed as a cursebreaker, or a spellweaver." Harry seemed to react oddly to that. He had been surrounded by Gryffindors, who all seemed to have a thirst for the Tournament, and was pleasantly surprised to find a like-minded individual.

"I'm not a big fan of it either, Anton," said Harry. "I'd prefer to have Quidditch, to be honest."

From there, the two were involved in a heated debate over whether Bulgaria deserved to win at the Quidditch World Cup, and Hermione was left to her thoughts. She had about twelve hours before the champions would be announced, and wished she had someone to consult about how Harry could present his case.

She knew it was fruitless to try and keep Harry from telling the truth. Even if she convinced him to lie, he would be upset about lying all the time instead of focusing on improving as a wizard. So her best bet was to convince the rest of the school that Harry really didn't want to put his name in.

Just as she was contemplating how to do this, a large, menacing owl swooped in. It dropped a letter on her plate and glared at her with eerie yellow eyes. She held its gaze guilelessly, and it quickly snapped a piece of bacon and flew away.

Hermione had a feeling she knew who had sent this letter, and it wasn't something she'd like to read in public. She tucked it into her book bag (next to a bottle of Veritaserum, coincidentally,) and continued munching on her toast. Harry seemed embroiled with his conversation, thankfully, and the little event passed without attention.

It seemed Rita Skeeter had replied.

Hermione took a modified schedule to her time-turning that day, so she could read Skeeter's reply in her little classroom and send a reply directly. It was a Monday, so she had to go back for Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies. She could get O's in her sleep for both of those classes, so she turned back the clock before the Halloween feast.

Dear "Heroine,"

It's so very lovely to hear from you. Considering the situation, I will be happy to refrain from writing about you in the paper. I have to say, your letter surprised me. It's not very heroic to blackmail a journalist, you know.

It continued to tell Hermione, or the Heroine, that she was going to pay for this one day, she didn't know how she figured it out but she would kill her informant, she would go to hell, yadda yadda yadda. Hermione skipped down to the important bits.

How do you want me to do my job, if you limit my stories and don't contact me?

Yours truly,

Rita Skeeter

Writer at the Daily Prophet

Hermione laughed at the letter. It might've been intended as an attempt to take back some semblance of power, but it came off more like a child whining about their favorite toy being taken away.

She crafted a quick reply.

Dear Rita,

Thank you for the sweet letter. I am so pleased that you want to become closer. I have a few articles I want you to write. You'll find that I am not interested in losing you your job, you're much more useful where you are. Never fear. Although, you might fear if you do cross me, I've a letter already written to Rufus Scrimgeour, and after that article about his potential affair few months ago, he doesn't seem to like you very much.

Please meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in four days, I will be expecting you at promptly ten A.M.

Sincerely,

The Heroine of Sussex

Hermione folded the letter carefully and sealed it with a waxed H, just as she had with the last one. She chose Saturday as the best day for her to escape for a while, as she really had no obligations besides helping Harry with the fallout of the Goblet. She would just wind back to 9 AM, don her disguise, and ask Dobby to take her to the Leaky.

At five, she replaced her past self in an abandoned hallway and visited the owlry, choosing a nondescript barn owl and putting a notice-me-not on it for good measure. She didn't want anyone to realize the owl was coming from Hogwarts. She wrote down her extra hours (ten) in her notebook and made her way to the common room to meet Harry and Ron.

The common room was a madhouse. Some people were telling their friends about what they'd do with the winnings from the Tournament, others were reveling in the idea of eternal glory, and even more were gossiping about who they thought would be champion.

Hermione saw Fred and George taking bets on who's name would come out of the goblet. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over. She was at a happy one hundred and twenty galleons between the Quidditch World Cup and her parents pocket money, but a little extra security never hurt.

"Betting again, Hermione?" Fred said cheerfully. "Did you do more of those Arithmancy equations?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, just a good hunch. Has anyone bet for Cedric yet?"

"Cedric Diggory?"

"Our neighbor, you mean?"

"Good ol' Ceddy?"

"That's the one," Hermione said cheerfully.

"How much're you betting? The pot's pretty big and there's a lot of names in there. Don't want to lose all your Cup earnings!"

"I'll bet twenty galleons." She said firmly, handing over a little bag.

George (she thought) dutifully wrote down her contributions, and Fred, (or maybe that was George,) tucked her coins into a larger chest. "Gutsy, but we've come to expect that from you!"

"Yeah, this little lion grew claws!" said George. "And here we were, thinking you'd be the next Percy. Twenty galleons for Cedric Diggory. If you're sure?"

"Positive." Hermione replied. She thought she saw Fred and George changing their own bet for Cedric, but she couldn't be certain.

It seemed like the whole of Gryffindor House decided to troop down together, some cheering for Oliver or Angelica, the most popular candidates from Gryffindor. She met up with Harry and Ron on the way down, and they too were chatting about the Triwizard Tournament.

"Blimey, I could use a thousand galleons," Ron said for the billionth time. "Still wish I could do it."

"I don't," said Hermione darkly. "You'd both better hope no one put your name in as a joke. It's going to be ever so dangerous."

Harry looked a little nervous at that. "You mean you can put other people's names in? And they'd still have to compete?"

"Oh yes, it's happened before." Hermione said, in a tone of voice that belied no argument. "There's quite a bit of subterfuge in the history of the Triwizard Tournament. In fact, the 1663 Tournament saw all three champions entered by their headmasters or headmistresses. They hadn't wanted to compete because of the death toll."

She was certain that neither of them would have the patience to look up the truth, for she had completely invented that. "Anyway, I would be very cross if someone entered me. Not that I think I'd get picked. That would be much more like your luck, Harry."

Ron gave a bark of laughter at that, and Hermione hoped this would keep their relationship a little less strained this time.

The feast passed unremarkably, for the most part. Anton and Margot seemed to be bored of the Ravenclaws and switched fully to the Gryffindor table. A lot of Durmastrang and Beuxbatons students followed their lead, and the students mingled between all four tables. Hermione hadn't anticipated this much mixing, just from her actions, but she figured that it had more to do with Anton and Margot breaking the seal than her intervention.

They did ruffle a few feathers when they started insulting Hogwarts' cooking, however, so Hermione engaged them in a conversation in French which went over much better.

All too soon, unfortunately, the Goblet started turning an ominous green. Victor, Fleur, and Cedric in turn got called up, and Hermione clapped hard for all of them. Everyone had returned to dessert, gossiping about the Goblet's choices, when it turned green once more. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in denial; but the hall was going quiet, and Dumbledore reached out and grabbed the slip of paper from the air.

"Harry Potter." He said softly. The whole room gasped, and they seemed to be collectively holding their breath for what followed.

Harry's face frowned in confusion and what she thought was annoyance. Hermione looked at him sadly. To her surprise, Ron slammed his hands on the table. It echoed in the silent room, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

"That's bullshit!" He yelled loudly, eliciting more gasps. "You must've gotten it wrong, Professor!"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley, I am not wrong. Harry Potter, would you please come here?" Dumbledore said calmly. This seemed to break the silence in the great hall, for everyone was suddenly whispering to one another frantically.

Hermione had never cared for Ron more than that moment, because he marched up with Harry to the head table. The whispers turned into a roar as Ron looked like he was trying to rip Dumbledore a new one. Harry just looked embarrassed, and eventually put a hand on Ron's arm. He stopped abruptly, asked Harry something, and then stormed back to the Gryffindor table.

"He didn't put his name in!" Screamed Ron loudly. "Who the hell put my best friend's name in that Goblet? He didn't want it!" It was barely heard over the noise in the Great Hall, but Hermione saw the students around them nodding their agreement.

Harry and Dumbledore disappeared into the room beside the head table, and chaos reigned. Ron was complaining hotly to her, and she nodded her agreement; the other students spread theories like wildfire, shouting and calling to one another over the din. Fruitlessly, Hermione saw Ludo Bagman try to get their attention. She saw him up at the head table but couldn't make his voice out at all.

Finally, the man cast a sonorous on himself. "Everyone, attention please!" he boomed, and all heads turned to look. It was silent in the hall, and Bagman's voice echoed loudly.

"The champions and their sponsors are sorting everything out, everyone. There's no need for alarm. Once the Goblet chooses a champion, they are required to compete, no matter how their name got in! We will have four champions this year, folks. We're making Triwizard history!" At this announcement, the hall got even more rowdy.

Needless to say, it was a long time before anyone left the hall that night.

AN: Thanks for all your support! I know I've been updating less often, so I hope this extra long chapter makes up for it.