"Spectacular, isn't it?"

"Yeah, spectacular." Gazing about as Harry and Cedric walked onto the Quidditch Pitch for the first time, the pure size of the arena was larger then the boy had ever imagined. Sure he had flown a broomstick while at the Lovegood's, but that was forever ago, and it was nothing compared to this. Up above in the spectator area, Hermione was dutifully wrapped in a navy and white scarf borrowed from Luna with a book open in her lap. The Winter months were upon them now, as it was nearing December, and though Harry wasn't bothered by the cold, his friend very much was. She wouldn't ever leave the warmth of the castle if she had it her own way.

"Come on then, Harry. Let's see how you fly."

Watching as Cedric kicked off expertly and began some warm up laps around the pitch, Harry beamed at him and followed suit. Soon they were side by side, swooping, diving and making sharp turns in the open airspace around them, "not bad, you'd be a shoo-in for the Ravenclaw Team," he mentioned as they took a break in the air, hovering side by side high above the pitch, "so, your bird not a fan of flight?"

"My...oh, you mean Hermione?" Glancing down at the bookworm, she was animatedly conversing with a pretty blonde who had arrived at the pitch and taken the seat beside her. Shaking his head, Harry returned his attention to Cedric, "sorry, no, Hermione's not a flyer. She doesn't like heights. Who's that she's talking to?"

"Her? That's Fleur Delacour, the champion from Beauxbatons. She's quiet; usually doesn't leave the castle," leaning forward on his broom, Cedric grinned stupidly, "rumor has it she's got some Veela blood in her. Wouldn't surprise me; she's pretty."

"I guess," Harry shrugged, making note to ask Hermione what a Veela was during their nightly study ritual, "I want to go check on her. Be right back."

Nodding, Cedric flew down towards a brown box he had left on the pitch as Harry glided towards where Hermione and Fleur were sitting. They were conversing, quite excitedly apparently, but not in English. As he landed with the clunking of his shoes, both girls turned to him.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to hug him, "I wish you wouldn't fly so high. You know how nervous it makes me,"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. But I can't help it, it's been so long since I've been in the air," Harry insisted, accepting the hug tightly, "I just came down to see how you were,"

"Fine! Brilliant, actually," Hermione nodded, tugging at Harry's hand to bring him closer to Fleur who stood and smiled gently at him, "this is Fleur, she's from Beauxbatons in France. Isn't that wonderful?"

"Really cool," Harry nodded, extending a hand for a shake, "I'm Harry,"

"Fleur," the girl introduced, her tone heavily accented but still lovely, "I 'ave heard much about you, 'arry Potter,"

"You have?"

"Oui, just stories though. I never thought I'd 'ave the chance to meet you in person. Ma petite sœur is a fan."

"Oh," rubbing the back of his neck, Harry wasn't sure how to continue. After all, he spent most of his life running from his supposed 'fame'. The idea of people from all over the world knowing about his past long before he even knew about magic was a bit off-putting. Hermione shivered beside him in a shallow gust of wind as he turned his attention back to her, somewhat thankful for the distraction, "are you cold, 'Mione?"

"A bit,"

Shedding his outer cloak without a second thought, Harry wrapped it around his friend. Tucking the fabric to cover as much of her small frame as possible, she beamed at him from behind cherry kissed cheeks, "thanks, Harry. I think I may go back in with Fleur in a bit? I have some reading I'd like to catch up on."

"Cedric and I are gonna run some drills, then I'll escort you back inside. Care to hold out a bit longer?"

Nodding from within the warm confines of his cloak, Hermione and Fleur settled back to the bench where they immediately began to talk in very soft French. Rolling his eyes with a smile, Harry mounted his broomstick again and headed back down towards where Cedric had the Quidditch box open. It took twenty minutes for him to give Harry a chance with all of the practice balls; he scored a few hoops with the Quaffle, and practiced his ariels with the wild Bludgers. The last ball, a small golden one about the size of a Muggle golf ball, was easily his favorite. It was intricate and shimmered in the light of the pitch. The buzzing of it's tiny wings rang in Harry's ears as he swooped and dived about for the small item, his heart speeding excitedly. It felt like no time at all when his hand wrapped about the Snitch, clutching it tightly as Cedric gave him a thumbs up from the ground.

"That was amazing," Harry breathed as he landed, handing the ball back to his friend, "I've never been so...so hyped up."

"You'd make an excellent Seeker, Harry," Cedric agreed with a grin, "go on and head back up to the castle. I'll clean up here. You, my friend, have a Princess to get back inside."

Glancing at Hermione, who was alone and reading again, Harry nodded and passed the borrowed broomstick to Cedric with a happy thanks. Fetching the freezing bookworm didn't take long, but it was enough to be intercepted by a familiar redhead at the doors to the Castle. Ron Weasley looked older now, as it had been a good few years since they had seen one another. He looked rather cross about something, narrowing his eyes slightly as the pair made it up the final stairs.

"Hello, Ronald." Hermione greeted the boy briskly, shifting a bit closer to Harry as though sensing the redheads poor mood.

"No cat with you?" The ginger snapped angrily, forgoing a proper greeting and rather scowling at them accusingly. As Hermione furrowed her brows and glanced at Harry, the boy felt white hot annoyance flare within him. They hadn't even spoken to Ron since arriving, yet his accusing tone wasn't appreciated, "bloody figures. Scabbers is gone, and so's your ugly beast."

"Ugly!" Hermione cried in outrage.

"Yeah, ugly! Your cat ate my rat!"

"That's a rich accusation, considering we haven't spoken to you since we arrived," Hermione seethed, "and even if Crookshanks did eat that smelly old shoebrush you call a pet, it's hardly my fault. It's in a cats nature to catch vermin."

"Scabbers isn't vermin!" Ron snapped, taking a step forward. Hermione moved to club him in the jaw with her fist, but Harry held her back, wrapping an arm across her collar to let her decompress without causing a scene, "and you, Potter," Ron continued, "I bet you love all the attention you're getting huh? First Cedric becomes your mate, now Fleur Delacour is running after you, too. Bet that's just wonderful, innit it? Fraternizing with the Champions."

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Weasley, but you need to piss off," Harry insisted, keeping Hermione against him as she steamed and willed her eyes to kill the ginger still leaning in the doorway, "just leave us alone."

Ron moved to say something else, but was stopped by Tonks appearing in the doorway beside him. She looked red faced, puffing slightly as though she'd been running.

"Where in blazes have you both been?" she seethed, "I've been looking everywhere for you! Moody was ready to take my head off!"

"Just a bit of airtime with Cedric Diggory," Harry explained to her. Tonks seemed to relax at the idea of them with an older student, but soon was glancing between Ron and Hermione who were still glaring daggers at each other, "what's up with you two?"

"Ronald has lost his rat," Hermione grumbled, forcing Harry's arms off her as she clammed up and looked someplace else. Ron though didn't seem ready to back down as he sneered and pointed a finger at her.

"I didn't lose him. Your cat killed him!"

"Did not!" Hermione cried in exasperation.

"Did."

"Didn't."

Turning on a heel red faced and furious, Hermione ran off down the grounds. Harry watched her go, swinging to stare at the Gryffindor boy with as much venom as he could muster.

"You're a right git, you know that?" Harry spat, "you probably don't even have proof it was Crookshanks," shaking his head, the boy turned to Tonks who looked deeply confused, "I need to go make sure she's alright. We'll be back. I promise we're not trying to run."

Tonks didn't say anything really as Harry sprinted towards where he saw Hermione go. He found her near the lake, having sprinted down a large stone staircase settled on the cliffs. Grunting as he paused on the final landing before the beach, Harry looked out across the dark pebbled shore. Hermione was standing by the waters edge, conversing with a dark, brooding sort of boy. He was in a tank top adorned with a red hydra marking, and stood at least three heads taller then Harry. The two were clearly having some sort of conversation, though Harry was to far away to hear what was being said. Something hot curled like a snake in his gut as he clenched his fists on the stone balcony. As the boy passed something to her before turning and jogging off towards where he had come, Harry sighed and approached.

"'Mione? Ron was a prat, I'm sorry," he breathed, still tired from flying and running as his best friend turned towards him. She was crying, her dark eyes glistening with crystal tears. In her fingers was a small flower, no doubt picked from the shore, given to her by the dark boy, "oh, god...oh, no, Hermione don't cry."

Quickly pulling his best friend to his chest, Harry held her as she began to sob. If Harry had another jacket, he would've given it to her, desperate to quell her shivering. Resting his chin atop the girls head, Harry mindlessly rocked them back and forth on the beach. He hated when Hermione cried; if he ever faced a Boggart, no doubt it would be the image of her just like this, "you know he's wrong, right?" he mumbled in her ear, running his hand down her back in an attempt to be soothing. Hermione nodded a silent 'yes' against him, her pale fingers dropping the flower she held in favor of fisting the fabric of his shirt, as though trying to vanish completely into his arms. It was a little while of standing in silence before Hermione hiccupped and lifted her head.

"Viktor,"

"What?"

Glancing down into his best friends face, she was very red as she wiped at her nose and eyes with a sleeve.

"The boy who gave me the flower," Hermione managed out, her voice cracking awkwardly, "his name is Viktor Krum. He's the champion from Durmstrang. He saw me crying and...wanted to-to make me feel better. He...he said he'd punch the person who hurt me."

"Maybe I'll take him up on that," Harry chuckled, tucking a curl of hair back behind Hermione's ear with a smile, "you should really take your hair down, sometime."

"Harry," Hermione chided, stepping away from him to run a hand across the bun as though fixing it back into place, "thanks for coming after me. I-I'm sorry, I just lost my composure for a moment,"

"You don't have to apologize for crying, 'Mione," Harry insisted with a frown, "Ron was just being a git."

"I know. I really just wanted to hit him,"

"I probably should've let you," Harry laughed, swinging an arm around the girls shoulder and pulling her closer as they began to walk along the beach, "so, we've met all three Tri-Wizard Champions between us," Harry mused, "maybe I should convince old Dumbledore to let me compete?"

"You wouldn't dare, Harry James," Hermione hissed, punching his chest lightly as her face turned cross, "I worry enough about you as it is. I don't want to worry about you dying from some silly tournament."

"Right, like I need more fortune and glory," Harry guffawed, shaking his head, "so what have you found out so far about the Polyjuice Potion? Could it work?"

"I honestly don't know," Hermione admitted, "it's complicated, and the exact instructions on how to brew it are in the restricted section of the library. And even if we could, I don't know if the wards would let us through, since we'd still technically be us."

"So we need a plan B?" Harry asked, glancing to Hermione who gave a little nod.

"If it were up to me, we'd have plan A-F," Hermione cringed at herself, "but yes, a Plan B might be important,"

"Ok, cool." Shoving his hands into his pockets as the two friends paused to look out over the glassy black lake, Harry licked his lips. Something had just occurred to him; something Cedric had said when they had first met in the hospital wing, "hey, Hermione? Can I ask you something?"

"You don't need my permission," Hermione chuckled, "what's on your mind?"

"It's just...I dunno, Cedric mentioned something about a ball, since-since there's this tournament thing going on? And I-I was, you know, wondering if...well, if Dumbledore allows it, if you maybe...erm, wantedtogototheballwithme?"

Wringing his hands, Harry exhaled shakily. Why he was suddenly so nervous, Harry didn't know. Hermione was giving him that unimpressed eyebrow whenever he mumbled, and the boy rubbed his hair and chuckled awkwardly, "sorry. I meant, would you like to go to the ball with me?"

"Oh! Yes, Harry. I'd love to," Hermione agreed with a grin, "but I have absolutely nothing to wear,"

"Neither do I, so I guess just our school robes would be fine."

Grinning awkwardly at one another, Harry felt his neck heat up as Hermione quickly glanced down to her shoes. Inwardly, Harry was berating himself. He just asked his best friend to a ball. A. BALL. With dancing, and fancy music. And bloody hell, what did he just get himself into?