The morning of the task dawned earlier than anyone wanted. Hermione sat on her bed, reviewing her plan.
On Hermione's second go-around, she attended classes with the sole goal of salvaging the Skeeter situation. In hindsight, she didn't need to be Krum's hostage to capture Skeeter, it just insured a location. So long as she could find her prior to the end of the task, all would be well.
Hermione also realized she owed Draco some catching-up, not having told him about the memory debacle.
"Mione, you're an idiot." Said Draco promptly, once they had settled in the room of requirement.
She sniffed. "Severus said as much. I don't need two lectures, Draco."
"Oh don't get me wrong, he already told me everything that happened. You're an idiot not to have taught me immediately."
Hermione cocked her head.
"We can use this to take down Skeeter. Don't you see how helpful that would be?"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't even know how much I retained of the skill, and I'd rather not mess around with it in case I have some other mishap."
"But you only had problems because you had to shield your memories. It's not like there's anything you need to shield from me."
Hermione's lips twitched. It really was true, there was very little she would ever want to keep from Draco. Maybe how much she enjoyed Viktor's company.
"Alright, I suppose it doesn't hurt. Unless it does start hurting, and you tell me immediately, ok?"
Fortunately, nothing did go wrong, and an hour later they were able to speak quite comfortably without making a sound. They quickly hashed out a plan to catch Skeeter, half aloud and half in Communicative Legilimancy as practice (and not at all because it was incredibly wicked).
As the sun rose above the treetops, Hermione held the small, unbreakable jar in her palm and frowned. Something was coming back to her, that she had given up on long ago. A reason for her domination of Skeeter besides a bit of good press.
Hermione chewed on a quill, reading yet another article about the "Glorious" Father of the Wizarding World, Lord Voldemort (written by Goddard Gumbin, who's children had coincidentally disappeared a few days prior). They were well into hiding at this point, only months before Poppy would pass.
"It will never stop, you know," Poppy said sadly.
Hermione whipped up, almost dropping her half-chewed quill. "What won't stop? The propaganda?"
"No, the cycle. What have we seen in the last forty years? Grindlewald, then the Dark Lord, only a few years reprieve before he returned. How do we allow them to come back?"
"We don't allow them," Hermione scoffed. "They take power and abuse it." No one would just step aside and hand a Dark Lord the reins to the wizarding world.
"Not you and me, dear. The Wizarding World. Time should be like a flowing river, learning from history but dropping the heavy burdens like fallen rocks. Why do we endlessly circle around them?"
Hermione cocked her head. "The river has to change course to avoid the rocks, then. Make sure you've stayed your course."
Poppy smiled bitterly. "It's too late now for us to do anything. Changing public opinion, changing the systems that allow for abuse and defeat - those were what pushed our glorious leader to darkness, after all."
Changing public opinion. Changing the course of their future by assessing before they hit a roadblock like Voldemort, and instead working to stop not only him, but the next dark lord, and the next, and the next.
Hermione didn't know if it was possible, but if it were, you'd need at least the press on your side. People are generally happy to believe what they're told, after all. She learned that thousands of times over. If only this could have been done before any of them had to suffer. Hermione clutched the jar so tight she would've broken it, were it not spelled.
It was just a hope, but it was one worth working towards.
The rest of the dawn she sat pensive, waiting for Harry to arrive. She also called for a house elf to bring some toast, as Harry surely would forget to plan for breakfast.
Mostly, her time was spent weaving the Soul Sight Charm. Soul Sight was an old, old spell that had fallen out of use with the Ministry of Magic's magic detection charm. It was used to find any active magic in muggle areas, and with a lot of guesswork could lead you back to the caster. Soul Sight worked a bit like ultraviolet light on invisible ink, but cast directly on her eyes. She idly smirked about windows to the soul.
"Animo cernere magicum," she chanted. It had to be said over and over, layering but by bit, or her eyes would never adjust to the ambient magic. It would look like a miniature sun, and burn as badly.
By the time Harry came to the common room, she had looked around the room and realized that the mantle was the most magically saturated spot in the room, maybe because of the floo. Harry looked disheveled and panicked. "Thanks for being here," he muttered. She handed over the toast with a nod. "What if it doesn't work?"
"It will." She brushed the crumbs off and pat his shoulder. "You'll be just fine. Do you remember how to cast without words? Do you have your Gillyweed?"
She muttered assurances all the way to the lake, where the rest of the champions started to gather. Viktor grinned at her when he saw her. She was slightly distracted, but gave a sweet smile in return.
Hogwarts, which lit up like a huge magical lightbulb, made concentrating on any one person difficult.
She had to find Skeeter before she buzzed away at the end of the task. The unbreakable jar was tucked into her robes, and a featherlight, disillusioned net strapped to her leg. Just in case.
She looked around at the mostly-empty stands and landed on Draco. Seen her yet?
He shook his head slightly. Nothing. Keep me posted. Even withmental speech, Draco sounded hushed and strained.
Thankfully, the animagus transformation took plenty of magic to start with, and concentrated in a tiny figure, Skeeter would look just like a snitch.
Bagman was approaching to greet the champions, so Hermione gave Harry a quick hug and backed away to the first row of stands. "Good luck, Harry!"
The champions went off with a splash, and cheers rose like a choir behind her. She smirked, realizing she could watch as the champion's lights got murkier with depth. One of them stopped abruptly, then turned around. So Fleur was caught by the Grindylows again. She tore her eyes away to scan the stadium for a little golden light. After what felt like hours of waiting, head on a swivel, a bright dot flitted across her eyes.
Skeeter had arrived.
Hermione looked back at the stands, locking eyes with Draco. She's here.
I see her too. Let me try. He said. Hermione, happy to let the seeker try, made no argument.
But from the stands rose a big circle, like her own net. It was completely invisible to the naked eye, but with the Soul Sight, it shone like a golden balloon. She watched, anxious, as Skeeter settled on a guard rail, inches away from Dennis Creevy's elbow. She saw Draco wince minutely before maneuvering the net inch by inch.
Dennis jumped up as he saw something move in the water, and Skeeter buzzed away.
Dammit!
She jumped slightly. That was Draco's voice, and Hermione hadn't made eye contact.
Draco? She said tentatively. Can you hear me?
There was silence for a minute, then, oh my. This is even better than we thought!
She grinned. Viktor never said you didn't need eye contact! Magic continued to surprise her, even after everything.
I've got her. She heard once more. Just gimme one second…
Hermione looked up and saw Draco leaning around Pansy to look behind him.
The beetle buzzed just across the aisle from Draco, lingering near Fred and George. She watched with bated breath as the net went up, over, and finally around Skeeter. Hermione sighed with relief. Draco shuffled out, and she saw the glint of a bottle as he scooped her up.
She allowed the spell to unravel as Draco walked towards Woody's Whiz-a-Jon, Your Pocket Powder Room! that they had set up for the task.
Hermione finally let herself relax. Idly, she wondered who was Viktor's hostage.
It would take her a few more minutes to find out, for just then Harry's head emerged around thirty meters from shore. The crowd went mad with excitement. Ron bobbed around uselessly in the water before spluttering awake, and they started making their way slowly to shore.
As they trekked back, Viktor's dorsal fin emerged. A dark skinned girl was with him, and Hermione felt the vaguest tinge of an emotion she couldn't identify. It surely wasn't jealousy, for she hadn't enjoyed being dragged in her robes by a half-shark. She chalked it up to the visual reminder of her failure to keep the timeline intact, brushing the feeling aside.
They were neck-and-neck. Harry and Ron struggled to shore. Viktor and the girl, however, had the benefit of a shark tail (and hadn't Viktor had human legs last time?)
It came down to a few moment's difference, but Ron gave Harry a good shove to help. Harry stumbled, and fell head first onto shore.
Hermione laughed in glee, the sound swallowing up in the crowd. They did it, they had won! They had Skeeter, and Harry only got one 4 (from Karkaroff). Things were looking up.
AN: I'm baaaack. Sorry for the literal 2 year hiatus, but if anyone is still interested in this story, hope you enjoy another chapter :). The latin is credited to my best friend from college, and roughly means, "To see magic with your spirit."