Chapter VI
Devouring Flames
The arrival of the other schools happened to occur on a day that conflicted with the combined Gryffindor and Slytherin potions class. Teachers were required to release their students thirty minutes early to greet the guests. In honor of this, Snape had assigned an extra thirty inches to their weekly essay, one for each minute of abusing Longbottom he was cruelly deprived of.
But that did not dampen the spirits of any student as they hurried along to see the Beauxbaton and Durmstrang arrivals. Even Hermione was excited. She had seen Beauxbaton from a distance two summers prior, but she had not seen any students.
"I've heard that the Beauxbaton girls wear silk gowns as their uniform," Daphne said, almost looking as bubbly as Astoria for once.
"And the Durmtrang guys wear nothing but bear pelts," Tracey gawked with a grin.
"No, they probably just ride bears without shirts," Astoria popped up between them.
Tracey's eyes popped. "Even better!"
Hermione laughed. Everyone was making up more and more outlandish ways for the schools to arrive. Beauxbaton would come in on unicorns. Durmstrang would come by blimp. The French flew on magical French flags. Durmstrang would burrow into Hogwarts on some kind of underground train.
In the end, Beauxbaton came in a giant carriage and Durmstrang in a submergible ship, in which they somehow did not drown. The French marched up to the castle, cold Scottish breeze blowing over the lake, shivering in their light blue silken robes. Hermione could only say that they were very… French. They looked none too happy about being in the cold. Their snippy French chat could be easily translated by anybody as "this place sucks". And the girls… well, of course they were all of age, and most had no qualms showing it. One tall, blonde girl strode around like she owned the land under her feet, her robes clinging in all the right places and leaving the rest to the wild imagination of just about all the Hogwarts boys.
Hermione was quite proud when she saw that Draco wasn't slobbering over the passing French girl. No, he was eyeing the Beauxbaton headmistress with distress, and not without reason. She was taller than Hagrid by several feet.
"Is that a giant?" Pansy quivered nearby. "They let a giant into Hogwarts?"
"Looks like she has more class than you," said Hermione.
"What does a mudblood know about class?" snarled Pansy.
Hermione felt the urge to smack her, but excited shouts went up and the crowd surged forward, blocking her view of Pansy. "That's Victor Krum!" Draco and Tracey shouted, almost at the same time. Victor Krum, the man who caught the snitch in the World Cup Final. When he finally came into view, Hermione was a bit let down. He just looked like a slouching, grumpy boy hobbling along after his headmaster. But everyone went wild for him. As the Hogwarts students filed back up to the castle behind them, even Daphne was craning her neck to look ahead.
I-I. ⌡. Γ┐
"Let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."
Hermione pondered the fairness of that set-up. Three British wizards, one French, one… eastern. She wasn't quite sure where Karkaroff was from. He could have been from Siberia for all she knew, but it would seem that Hogwarts was already off to a good start.
Filch strutted out from the shadows carrying a large, wooden and bejeweled chest.
"There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways…. Their magical prowess – their daring – their powers of deduction – and, of course, their ability to cope with danger. As you know, three champions compete in the tournament, one from each of the participating schools. They will be mared on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion wityh the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."
Dumbledore tapped on the chest. It opened and he produced an old, withered looking wooden cup. Except it as full of blue flames. Although she had finished supper, Hermione felt a deep hunger.
"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon the slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet. Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy of to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.
"To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."
I-I. ⌡. Γ┐
Hermione got up even earlier than usual. Normally she tried to get up before anyone else to have free reign in the showers, but this morning she couldn't pretend to sleep for another hour. She had to wake up.
The castle was always drowsy in the morning. Those few who were out of their dormitories moved around on autopilot, barely noticing each other. The Great Hall was sparsely populated, and the entrance hall even less so. The Goblet of Fire rested on its box in the middle of the hall. It took Hermione several moments to tear her eyes away from the trophy and look at the silvery circle floating around the floor at the base of the box.
She moved to the edge of the line, making sure she neither touched nor crossed it, and peered at the goblet. It was only a few feet away. Too far to reach out and touch, but close enough. She reached into her bag and tore a piece of parchment out of her notebook and scribbled her name on it. Again careful to not cross the line with any part of her body, she crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it at the goblet.
The parchment ball soared out from her hand in a perfect arc towards the goblet. But at its apex, a silvery wisp darted out from Dumbledore's Age Line and reduced the parchment to soot.
Hermione looked at the ground and saw a thin layer of the black ash coating the ground. Perhaps it would take a bit more ingenuity to get past Dumbledore's line. She retreated to the shadows on the wall as a few more students made their way in for breakfast.
One older boy, a Slytherin seventh year she hadn't really bothered to know, made straight for the goblet. He crossed the line with no problems and dropped his paper into the blue flames.
What if she dropped it in from above? The age line didn't go up to the ceiling, did it?
Hermione watched a few more early comers put their names in, a pair from Beauxbaton and a solitary Durmstrang guy. She noticed a pattern. They all approached in the same way. And they held their paper the same, in their hand by their side, until they were in front of the goblet. Then they dropped it in the fire. Simple.
Maybe simple was best. Dumbledore might have been able to engineer a line that figures out how old someone is, and eliminates rogue papers, but could it tell if a paper was attached to someone? Would he have thought of all the mundane possibilities? Or did he believe the beards – as Hermione had heard – would dissuade intrepid students?
Hermione peered down the hall. No one in sight. She scribbled her name on another strip of paper and tore it out. She placed it on the ground and took out her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa," she whispered, lifting the paper off the ground. She levitated it out towards the goblet at about waist height, trying to imitate a walking pace. It floated across the line, over the ashy floor, and into the goblet. The simple brilliance of her ploy made her grin. When her name came out of the goblet...
"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall said sharply.
Hermione blinked back into the present. The class had turned to look at her, and McGonagall was frowning severely.
"I see you haven't even attempted to transfigure your bird," said the professor. Hermione's brown bird hopped around her desk while the others existed in a state somewhere between bird and pig.
"I…" Hermione mumbled, stealing a look at the clock. Had she really daydreamed away the last half hour?
"I would expect such a thing from this one," she jerked a finger at Draco sitting beside Hermione, "But not you. Five points from Slytherin."
I-I. ⌡. Γ┐
"Victor Krum!"
The Great Hall exploded into cheers, and not just from the Durmstrang section. Boy and girls from across Hogwarts shouted their support for the Bulgarian, whose scowl was slightly less severe as he walked, hunched shoulders, to Dumbledore and the other headmasters. They all shook his hand and he was led off to an exit behind the staff table.
Silence fell upon the hall again. Dumbledore returned to the goblet, and another crispy paper whooshed out of the flames. He snatched it out of the air and brought it up to his eyes.
"The champion of Beauxbaton is," announced Dumbledore, "Fleur Delacour!"
There were less cheers than for blonde witch than for Krum, but that was because half the school was too busy trying to get their jaws to shut.
Daphne clapped politely and leaned over to Hermione. "I think she'll win."
"Maybe she used her Veela charm to fool the goblet?" smirked Hermione, and Daphne giggled.
After Delacour was congratulated and ushered offstage, everyone quieted down. The real champion was next. Their champion. The Hogwarts champion.
Hermione bit her lip and edged closer to the goblet. Her eyes fixed on the paper that floated down to Dumbledore's hand. The Headmaster brought it up to his eyes and Hermione noticed him smile slightly. Her heart jumped. What would make him smile? Did she actually do it?
Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, milking the attention, and then boomed, "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"
Hermione exhaled deeply and slumped down on the bench. "Damnit," she said, but it was lost in the rapturous celebrations of the Hufflepuffs.
"A badger?" Draco cried, dismayed. "I thought you said to entered, Warrington?"
"Oh, fuck off, Malfoy," the meaty seventh year grumbled back at him.
Diggory had to stop every five feet to shake someone's hand on his way to Dumbledore, who almost hugged him. Professor Sprout was bouncing.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore said when the Hufflepuffs quieted down. "We have our three champions. Now, by cheering your champions on, you will contribute in a very real –"
The goblet puffed again. Something shot into the air. A parchment fluttered down.
Hermione pushed herself out of her seat – with what seemed like half the school. The insane thumping of her heart filled her ears so that she didn't hear the hushed words of those around her. She only stared at Dumbledore as he plucked the parchment out of the air. He stared at it for several long moments before looking up and scanning the room. His eyes met hers. She felt a jolt in her stomach.
And then they moved on.
"Harry Potter."
Every ounce of excitement left her body in an instant. Hermione suddenly became a shell of disappointment.
Dumbledore called his name again, and Potter stumbled out of his seat and began to walk forward. It was then that Hermione realized that she wasn't disappointed. No, she was angry. With each step Potter took, Hermione's fury increased.
How did Potter get in? Which level of hell was she living in that Harry Fucking Potter was chosen to enter the Tri-Wizard Tournament over Hermione Jane Granger? What were her sins to deserve this? How, in the name of Christ, did the goblet think that Potter was a better choice than her?
Hermione was still half-standing, staring at the portal Potter disappeared through as the rest of the hall was shuffling out.
"Come on," Draco said, pulling on her arm.
"You go," she replied. "I've got more studying to do."
Draco shrugged and moved off with the rest of Slytherin.
Hermione stayed there for several more minutes, just staring at the goblet. The flames had gone out. When she was the last student left in the hall, a couple of men came in and began packing the goblet away.
She wondered if it was sentient. Whether it was like the Sorting Hat. Could she ask it why?
The men shut the box and carried it out of the hall. The torches dimmed all around, and Hermione remembered that Dumbledore had scheduled a lesson after dinner. She swore and hurried off towards his office.
The corridors were dark and empty. The portraits' eyes followed her. Couldn't they just screw off? She had half a mind to set the whole lot on fire and blame it on Peeves.
Hermione reached the gargoyle and waited. It usually leapt out of the way after a moment.
But it didn't.
She reached out, hesitantly, and knocked on the stone.
Nothing, except – maybe – that the gargoyle's eyes narrowed. But that might have been the darkness playing a trick on her.
It felt like everything was playing a trick on her. The goblet was, obviously. Potter, too. Of course he was. No way he would have entered if she hadn't. And Dumbledore. It seemed like Dumbledore was playing a trick on her as well because this damned gargoyle wouldn't move.
"Let me in," said Hermione. "I have an appointment. Dumbledore invited me." The gargoyle didn't budge.
"Come on," she said, taking out her wand and pointing it in the stone creature's face. "Don't make me."
Did it wink at her?
Hermione growled. "Alohabora."
Nope.
"Tarantellegra."
Of course not. Dumbledore's office wouldn't be able to be unlocked by moving the damned thing out of the way. There was a stone wall behind it, anyway. Hermione gritted her teeth and turned away. She walked halfway down the hall. Nobody was there besides the gawking portraits.
"Lost, are you, lass?" a fat man with a red beard man called from his lounge-chair.
"No," said Hermione.
He shrugged and took a sip of his wine.
Hermione twisted around and stomped off the other direction.
"Keep it down!" an old lady cried. "Some of us have to sleep."
"You're a painting," said Hermione. "Shut up."
"Ohohoh!" the lady teetered. "A scrappy little girl, aren't you? Mighty tough, eh?"
Hermione brandished her wand at painting. "Shut it, or I'll make you sleep permanently."
I-I. ⌡. Γ┐
She heard the footsteps long before she saw the people. Hogwarts was very quiet after dark, and the echoes came from far off.
Four figures come around the corner, and Hermione picked herself off the floor. Professor McGonagall was speaking quickly to Dumbledore, Snape walked on the other side of him, and Professor Moody followed up behind, his walking staff clinking on the stone floors.
McGonagall and Dumbledore didn't even notice her as they passed, the gargoyle jumping out of their way as the wall parted. "Professor," Hermione started, but found herself staring down the length of Professor Moody's wand.
"What have we got here, eh, girlie?" Moody's magical eye whirled in its socket. "Out after hours?"
"Moody," Snape said smoothly, sliding in between them. "I will deal with my student."
The ex-auror grumbled, but put up his wand and followed Dumbledore and McGonagall.
"Put that away," Snape snapped at Hermione, who had subtly drawn her own wand. "What are you doing out of your dormitory?"
"Professor Dumbledore's lessons," Hermione responded. "He said to come up after dinner. Dinner was an hour ago."
Snape smirked. "You've been up here for an hour? Professor Dumbledore had more important things to attend to than your vanity project."
Hermione felt a twitch in her cheek. If she had been chosen, Dumbledore wouldn't have forgotten. Or maybe he didn't forget. Maybe he knew full well he was leaving her hanging, and he decided that Potter was a better use of his time.
"I'll be going, then," she muttered, fists clenched.
Snape nodded. "I'd avoid Filch, if I were you. He'll be out for blood, now. Might blame you for Potter getting special treatment…"
Hermione stomped through the common room, not even registering if anyone was there. She jumped down the stairs and cut the corner so close she lost some threads from her robe.
"Have we decided who we support now?" Tracey was saying as Hermione burst into the room. "We've got two champions."
"You'd really support Potter?" Daphne asked, perched on the foot of her bed.
"He's good at Quidditch," shrugged Tracey.
"Krum," Pansy said without any doubt. "You'd both be stupid to support a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff."
Hermione bit her tongue and tore off her robe, throwing it with all her strength back into her trunk. They wouldn't be saying that if a Slytherin had been chosen. They wouldn't be saying that if Hermione had been chosen. Well, Pansy might...
"Krum isn't from Hogwarts," Millicent said.
"Doesn't matter to Greengrass," Pansy pulled a face. "She goes for the most eligible."
"What's that mean?" said Tracey.
"I think we have to go for Diggory," said Daphne. "He was chosen first, and he didn't break any rules.
"Oh, pretty boy Diggory now?" called Pansy. "Well, if you're going for looks… though I did see you swooning over Krum."
"I don't swoon," Daphne sniffed.
"You're probably going to go for them both," said Pansy. "Wouldn't put it past you."
"You've got a problem, Pansy," said Daphne. "A jealousy problem."
"I'm not jealous," huffed Pansy, standing up, her face slightly pink. "I just don't like what you're doing."
"And what am I doing?"
"Stealing everyone. You and your abominable sister."
"I can't steal what someone never had," Daphne shot back.
"Really? Want to know –"
"No, I don't. No one does. Get over yourself."
"Get over myself? You're the one who is so full of yourself you can't keep your hands off – "
"You have no idea what is going on. Just get over yourself. You aren't as important as you think."
"I am from one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight!" screeched Pansy in an earsplitting, high-pitched voice.
"Shut up!" Hermione shouted at her, pulling her shoes off and rubbing her feet. Pansy ignored her.
"I am the heir of the House of Parkinson! I deserve the best!"
Hermione felt pounding right beneath her forehead. She dug her fingers into her head but couldn't alleviate the pain.
"You deserve a dog, Pansy. A big, mangy, dirty dog. It would complete you," Daphne said coolly. "Because you're an annoying bitch."
A tremor ran through Pansy. She stepped closer to Daphne. Hermione watched her out of the corner of her eye. She could almost see a vein popping in Pansy's neck. "You're going to regret that."
"No, I'm not." Daphne crossed her arms.
Pansy lurched forward, diving towards Daphne, arms extended. Hermione had already reacted, reaching for the closest thing – her shoe – and hurling it at Pansy. It nailed her in the head. Pansy cried out in surprise. Daphne spun away and Pansy toppled headfirst onto Daphne's bed.
"You are a dog, Pansy," Hermione said through gritted teeth. Everything was making her head hurt. "A loud, obnoxious dog, who just needs to shut up."
Pansy pushed herself off the bed and fixed her livid eyes on Hermione. "You're the dog, filthy whore. You're just a mudblood Draco keeps around to take for a ride whenever he wants."
Pansy didn't even have time to raise her wand. Hermione was up, burning with fury. After everything tonight, Pansy wanted to take her on? There were no mistakes this time. Hermione wasn't going to lose this. Potter may have gotten one over on her. Dumbledore might have forgotten her – forsaken her – but there was no way Hermione wasn't going to beat the bitching out of Pansy. All of her shit that had piled up for four years. All of the names. All of the insults. All of the smirks and sneers and laughter and disgusted little faces. She was going to pay.
"Crucio!" screamed Hermione, holding her wand dead-steady at the girl.
Pansy hit the floor, shrieking. Hermione relished waves of euphoria that crashed across her body. All the crimes that had gone unpunished for so long were finally being set right. Justice was finally served. Pansy screamed again, writhing on the floor. Her face was twisted in agony, and Hermione already saw tears streaming form her eyes. She smiled.
Hermione lifted the curse after a few more seconds. Pansy curled up, hugging herself and shivering. Hermione saw beads of sweat rolling down her face. She reveled in the scene. It was so simple. One word, a few seconds, and Pansy was reduced to this pathetic state.
The silence was only broken by the sounds of Pansy's sobs. Hermione stepped towards her, slowly. She bent down and picked up Pansy's wand – a stumpy, black little thing – and tossed it under Pansy's bed. "You call yourself a witch," Hermione scoffed. "I know Muggles who would put up more of a fight." Hermione stood straight and rolled Pansy over with a foot. Through the welling tears, Hermione saw her fear, her pain. "Did you like that? Hmm? Answer me."
She shook her head, trying to roll away.
"Do you want me to do it again?"
Pansy shook her head again and sobbed even louder.
"Then you need to know that I am better than you." Hermione kicked Pansy's side and she cried. "Say it. I am better than you."
"You're better," Pansy wailed.
"Again," said Hermione, kicking once more.
"You're better than me!"
"Good." Hermione tilted Pansy's head towards her with her foot. "You're scum. Not even fit to lick the bottom of my foot." Hermione smirked. "But I'll allow it this once."
Pansy sobbed.
"You can lick my foot," she explained. "I'm high-class mud. You might never get a taste of something this much better than you, ever." Hermione lifted her foot over her mouth. "Come on." She grinned at the look of resentment on Pansy's face as she slowly stuck out her tongue. "Uh, uh, uh," Hermione chided, lifting her foot a few inches higher. "You have to work for it." With a whimper, Pansy lifted herself up enough to lick the bottom of Hermione's foot. "There you go. What a good girl." Hermione pushed her foot down on Pansy's face, wiping her saliva all over her cheek, grinding Pansy's head into the floor. "If you keep being a good girl, I might get you a treat."
Hermione turned to Daphne, who was starting at her with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. "A dog needs to be disciplined when she gets out of line."
