Hermione, Ron, and Harry went up to the Owlery after breakfast on Sunday to send a letter to Percy, asking, as Sirius had suggested, whether he had seen Mr Crouch lately. They used Hedwig because it had been a long time since she'd had a job. When they had watched her fly out of sight through the Owlery window, they proceeded down to the kitchen to give Dobby his new socks.
The house-elves gave them a cheery welcome, bowing, curtseying, and bustling around making tea again. Hermione's heart ached for them and their misinformed ignorance of their treatment. Dobby, however, was ecstatic about his present.
"Harry Potter is too good to Dobby!" he squeaked, wiping large tears out of his enormous eyes.
"You saved my life with that Gillyweed, Dobby, you really did," said Harry.
"No chance of more of those éclairs, is there?" said Ron, who was looking around at the beaming and bowing house-elves.
"You've just had breakfast!" said Hermione irritably, but a great silver platter of éclairs was already zooming towards them, supported by four elves.
"We should get some stuff to send up to Snuffles," Harry muttered.
"Good idea," said Ron. "Give Pig something to do. You couldn't give us a bit of extra food, could you?" he said to the surrounding elves, and they bowed delightedly and hurried off to get some more.
"Dobby, where's Winky?" said Hermione, looking around.
"Winky is over there by the fire, miss," said Dobby quietly, his ears drooping slightly.
"Oh dear," said Hermione as she spotted Winky near the fireplace.
Winky was sitting on the same stool as last time, but she had allowed herself to become so filthy that she was not immediately distinguishable from the smoke-blackened brick behind her. Her clothes were ragged and unwashed. She was clutching a bottle of Butterbeer and swaying slightly on her stool, staring into the fire. As they watched her, she gave an enormous hiccough.
"Winky is getting through six bottles a day now," Dobby whispered to them.
"Well, it's not strong, that stuff," Harry said.
But Dobby shook his head. "'Tis strong for a house-elf, sir," he said.
Winky hiccoughed again. Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes and wanted to rush over to the poor elf, but she didn't want to scare her and make her fall off the stool.
"Winky is pining, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered sadly. "Winky wants to go home. Winky still thinks Mr Crouch is her master, sir, and nothing Dobby says will persuade her that Professor Dumbledore is her master now."
"Hey, Winky," said Harry, walking over and bending down to speak to her. "You don't know what Mr Crouch might be up to, do you? Because he's stopped turning up to judge the Triwizard Tournament."
Winky's eyes flickered. She swayed slightly again and then said, "M-master is stopped – hic – coming?"
"Yeah," said Harry. "we haven't seen him since the first task. The Daily Prophet's saying he's ill."
Winky swayed some more. Hermione could see this was upsetting her immensely. "Master – hic – ill?"
Her bottom lip began to tremble.
"But we're not sure if that's true," said Hermione quickly. She didn't want Winky to have to deal with this on top of her already evident suffering. It was cruel.
"Master is needing his – hic – Winky!" whimpered the elf. "Master cannot – hic – manage – hic – all by himself."
"Other people manage to do their own housework, you know, Winky," said Hermione, trying to make her see reason.
"Winky – hic – is not only – hic – doing housework for Mr Crouch!" Winky squeaked indignantly, swaying worse than ever and slopping Butterbeer down her already heavily stained blouse. "Master is – hic – trusting Winky with – hic – the most important – hic – the most secret –"
"What?" said Harry.
But Winky shook her head very hard, spilling more Butterbeer down herself. "Winky keeps – hic – her master's secrets," she said mutinously, swaying very heavily now, frowning up at Harry with her eyes crossed. "You is – hic – nosing, you is."
"Winky must not talk like that to Harry Potter!" said Dobby angrily. "Harry Potter is brave and noble and Harry Potter is not nosy!"
"He is nosing – hic – into my master's – hic – private and secret – hic – Winky is a good house-elf – hic – Winky keeps her silence – hic – people trying to – hic – pry and poke – hic –" Winky's eyelids drooped. Suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool onto the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of Butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor.
Half-a-dozen house-elves came hurrying forward. One of them picked up the bottle, the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.
"We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and miss!" squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. "We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and miss!"
"She's unhappy!" said Hermione, exasperated. "Why don't you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?"
"Begging your pardon, miss," said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, "but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served."
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" said Hermione angrily. "Listen to me, all of you! You've got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don't have to do everything you're told – look at Dobby!"
"Miss will please keep Dobby out of this," Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she was mad and dangerous because that was what they were trained to think.
"We has your extra food!" squeaked an elf at Harry's elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes and some fruit into Harry's arms. "Goodbye!"
The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and began shunting them out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the small of their backs.
"Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter!" Dobby called from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.
"You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?" said Ron angrily, as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them. "They won't want us visiting them now! We could've tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch!"
"Oh, as if you care about that!" scoffed Hermione. "You only like coming down here for the food!" Why was she the only one who could see how cruel and appalling it was?!
By breakfast the next day, Hermione and Ron had calmed down and stopped arguing (they had argued most of that past evening).
When the post owls arrived, Hermione looked up eagerly; she seemed to be expecting something.
"Percy won't've had time to answer yet," said Ron. "We only sent Hedwig yesterday."
"No, it's not that," said Hermione. "I've taken out a new subscription to the Daily Prophet. I'm getting sick of finding everything out from the Slytherins."
"Good thinking!" Harry said, looking up at the owls. "Hey, Hermione, I think you're in luck –"
A grey owl was soaring down towards Hermione.
"It hasn't got a newspaper, though," she said, looking disappointed. "It's –"
But to her bewilderment, the grey owl landed in front of her plate, closely followed by four barn owls, a brown owl and a tawny.
"How many subscriptions did you take out?" said Harry, seizing Hermione's goblet before it was knocked over by the cluster of owls, all of whom were jostling close to her, trying to deliver their own letter first.
"What on earth ?" Hermione said, taking the letter from the grey owl, opening it and starting to read. "Oh, really!" she spluttered, going rather red.
"What's up?" said Ron.
"It's – oh, how ridiculous –" She thrust the letter at Harry, who saw that it was not handwritten but composed from pasted letters that seemed to have been cut out of the Daily Prophet.
You are a WickEd giRL. HaRRy PottEr desErves BetteR. gO Back wherE you cAME from mUggle.
"They're all like it!" said Hermione desperately, opening one letter after another. "'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you.' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog-spawn…' Ouch!"
She had opened the last envelope, and yellowish-green liquid smelling strongly of petrol gushed over her hands, which began to erupt in large yellow boils. She could feel the pain instantly. The pain made the accompanying letter blur out of focus, but not before the random words "irate farts" stuck out at her.
"Undiluted Bubotuber pus!" said Ron, picking up the envelope gingerly and sniffing it.
"Ow!" said Hermione, tears starting in her eyes as she desperately tried to rub it off her hands with a napkin, but her fingers were now so thickly covered in painful sores that it looked as though she was wearing a pair of thick, knobbly gloves. Pain was raging up her arms like she had never felt before.
"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry, as the owls around Hermione took flight. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone."
She didn't need to be told twice. She knew she had to get to the hospital wing soon, or she was afraid she would pass out from the pain. Hermione blindly ran through the Great Hall and through the corridors, finally bursting through the Hospital Wing doors.
"Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey!" Hermione shouted hoarsly as she sunk to the floor in pain.
"What- Oh, my goodness!" Madam Pomfrey said, rushing to Hermione's side. By that point, the edges of her vision had dimmed, and Hermione succumbed to her pain.
Hermione woke up a few minutes later. The first thing she noticed was that her hands still hurt but, instead of a burning sensation, they were abnormally cold. She looked down to see Madame Pomfrey wrapped her hands and forearms in thick bandages, and she suspected some sort of potion or salve underneath them was causing the cold feeling.
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Ms Granger," Madam Pomfrey said. "Perhaps you and Mr Potter should be issued a punch card with how often you two seem to need my services."
"I'm sorry," Hermione said.
"Where did you get undiluted Bubotuber pus? I thought that lesson had long since passed in Herbology."
"Someone sent it to me," Hermione said.
"What do you mean?"
"In the post this morning," Hermione explained. "I got some hate mail about Rita Skeeter's article in Witch Weekly, and one of them had Bubotuber pus in it."
Madame Pomfrey gasped. "That's outrageous! The nerve of some people."
Hermione shook her head miserably in agreement.
"Well, the potion I applied will take about 24 hours to cure the boils on your hands and arms completely, but I do want you to take it easy for the next week - no lotions or perfumes for at least that long."
"Alright," Hermione said.
"And please be careful opening any more mail," Madame Pomfrey added. "Perhaps you can arrange for Mr Filch to screen your mail for the foreseeable future?"
"Maybe," Hermione said. "We'll see how much more mail I get."
"Unfortunately, Rita Skeeter has a vast audience," the healer said. "I can speak with Professor McGonagall on your behalf?"
"I guess that's wise, thank you."
"No problem at all. Now, it is up to you: you may stay here for as long as you'd like or return to class. You are perfectly fine to do either. There is no danger in leaving, but it will probably be quite uncomfortable."
"I'd rather get back to class," Hermione said.
"I figured you would," Madame Pomfrey smiled. "Please take care of yourself, Ms Granger. I hope not to see you any time soon!"
By the time she had left the Hospital Wing, Hermione had already missed Herbology (though she could argue she already had enough Herbology for one day). Care of Magical Creatures was nearly over. She thought twice about skipping the rest of the day's lessons but decided she couldn't afford to miss two classes this far into the term. She figured she'd be able to make up some of the class one-on-one with Hagrid.
Hermione walked across the lawn towards the class, where it seemed like everyone was having a brilliant time. Small little black creatures were diving in and out of a patch of dirt, retrieving gold coins enthusiastically. Hagrid's voice travelled over the grounds.
"Well, let's check how yeh've done!" said Hagrid. "Count yer coins! An' there's no point tryin' ter steal any, Goyle," he added. "It's leprechaun gold. Vanishes after a few hours."
Goyle emptied his pockets, looking extremely sulky. It turned out that Ron's Niffler had been most successful, so Hagrid gave him an enormous slab of Honeydukes chocolate for a prize. The bell rang across the grounds for lunch; the rest of the class set off back to the castle, but Hermione, Ron, and Harry stayed behind to help Hagrid put the Nifflers back in their boxes.
"What yeh done ter your hands, Hermione?" said Hagrid, looking concerned.
Hermione told him about the hate mail she had received that morning and the envelope full of Bubotuber pus.
"Aaah, don' worry," said Hagrid gently, looking down at her. "I got some o' those letters an' all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou' me mum. 'Yeh're a monster an' yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an' if you had any decency, you'd jump in a lake.'"
"No!" said Hermione, horrified.
"Yeah," said Hagrid, heaving the Niffler crates over by his cabin wall. "They're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire."
"You missed a really good lesson," Harry told Hermione as they headed back towards the castle. "They're good, Nifflers, aren't they, Ron?"
Ron, however, was frowning at the chocolate Hagrid had given him. He looked thoroughly put out about something.
"What's the matter?" said Harry. "Wrong flavour?"
"No," said Ron shortly. "Why didn't you tell me about the gold?"
"What gold?" said Harry.
"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup," said Ron. "The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"
Harry paused to remember, but Hermione had no problem recalling what Ron was referring to.
"Oh!" he said at last. "I dunno, I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?"
Hermione flinched. That was probably the worst answer Harry could have given to Ron. Ron was quiet as they climbed the steps into the Entrance Hall and went into the Great Hall for lunch.
"Must be nice," Ron said abruptly when they had sat down and started serving themselves roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."
"Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night!" said Harry impatiently. "We all did, remember?"
"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," Ron muttered. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas."
"Forget it, all right?" said Harry.
Ron speared a roast potato on the end of his fork, glaring at it. Then he said, "I hate being poor."
Harry and Hermione looked at each other. Neither of them knew what to say.
"It's rubbish," said Ron, still glaring down at his potato. "I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a Niffler."
"Well, we know what to get you next Christmas," said Hermione brightly, trying to lighten the mood. Then, when Ron continued to look gloomy, she said, "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus." Hermione was having a lot of difficulties managing her knife and fork. Her fingers were so stiff and swollen. "I hate that Skeeter woman!" she burst out savagely. "I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!"
Hate mail continued to arrive for Hermione over the following week. Although she followed Hagrid's advice and stopped opening it, several of her ill-wishers sent Howlers, which exploded at the Gryffindor table and shrieked insults at her for the whole Hall to hear. Even those who didn't read Witch Weekly knew all about the supposed Harry–Krum–Hermione triangle. It was all Hermione could hear as she walked through the castle corridors.
"It'll die down, though," he told Hermione, "if we just ignore it ... people got bored with that stuff she wrote about me last time –"
"I want to know how she's listening into private conversations when she's supposed to be banned from the grounds!" said Hermione angrily. She was going to figure it out, no matter what it took.
Hermione hung back in their next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson to ask Professor Moody a few questions to help her with her quest. Moody had given them such a rigorous hex-deflection test that many were nursing small injuries.
"Professor Moody?" Hermione said as the last of the students shuffled out.
"What do you want, Granger?"
"I was just hoping you could help me with something, sir," she said. "I suspect Rita Skeeter is somehow trespassing onto the grounds and spying on the champions. Have you seen her, perhaps, around the castle under an invisibility cloak?"
Five minutes later, Hermione caught up with Harry and Ron in the Entrance Hall. "Well, Rita's definitely not using an Invisibility Cloak!' Hermione said. "Moody says he didn't see her anywhere near the judges' table at the second task, or anywhere near the lake!"
"Hermione, is there any point telling you to drop this?" said Ron.
"No!" said Hermione stubbornly. "I want to know how she heard me talking to Viktor! And how she found out about Hagrid's mum!"
"Maybe she had you bugged," said Harry.
"Bugged?" said Ron blankly. "What ... put fleas on her or something?"
Harry started explaining about hidden microphones and recording equipment. Ron was fascinated, but Hermione interrupted them.
"Aren't you two ever going to read Hogwarts: A History?"
"What's the point?" said Ron. "You know it by heart, we can just ask you."
"All those substitutes for magic Muggles use – electricity, and computers and radar, and all those things – they all go haywire around Hogwarts, there's too much magic in the air. No, Rita's using magic to eavesdrop, she must be ... if I could just find out what it is ... ooh, if it's illegal, I'll have her…"
"Haven't we got enough to worry about?" Ron asked her. "Do we have to start a vendetta against Rita Skeeter as well?"
"I'm not asking you to help!" Hermione snapped. "I'll do it on my own!"
She marched back up the marble staircase without a backward glance. She was going to take down that "journalist" no matter what, and Hermione knew the first place she needed to go was the Library.
She was a woman on a mission. With her head bent down, Hermione rushed into the book stacks and made a beeline towards her alcove with a handful of books.
And then she ran into a brick wall.
But, within a second of impact, she knew it wasn't a brick wall at all. It was Viktor.
"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor exclaimed as her books went flying.
"Viktor!" she replied, bending down to pick up her books. He was not who she wanted to see at that moment.
"I haff missed you, my smartest girl. Why haff you ignored me?"
"I've been really busy," Hermione said, which certainly wasn't a lie… but it also wasn't the true reason.
"I am glad you are here now. I believe we need to talk, yes?"
"Yes, we do," she said nervously. She had hoped to be much better prepared for this inevitable conversation.
Hermione brushed her bushy hair out of her eyes. Viktor gasped and grabbed her hand. There were still faint scars from the Bubotuber pus boils all over her hands and arms. "Vat is wrong vith your hands?"
"Well," Hermione started, unsure of how to proceed. "Let's go into the alcove, and we can talk all about it."
They sat down opposite each other, and Viktor grabbed her hands once more and gave them a soft kiss. "Please, Herm-own-ninny, tell me vat happened. I beg of you."
She took a deep breath. Honesty was key. "After Rita Skeeter's article came out in Witch Weekly about me, I started getting hate mail. Lots of it. One letter had undiluted Bubotuber pus, and it spilt all over my hands. They're loads better now, though."
"That evil woman!" Viktor said and then muttered a foreign word that Hermione was pretty sure was a Bulgarian swear word.
"She is," Hermione agreed. "In fact, that's why I came here today - I want to bring her down."
"Down to vere?"
"That's just a saying," Hermione explained. "I want to end her career; get her fired."
"Ahh, yes. I help. But now ve talk about article, yes?"
Hermione shut her eyes momentarily and willed the anxiousness to quell, knowing full well it wouldn't ease at all. "Ok, we can talk about the article."
"Just tell me. Are you seeing Harry?"
"No," Hermione said with certainty. "We are best friends, but nothing more."
"But you talk about him always, and do not talk to me now."
"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Hermione said. "About why I have been avoiding you. It's nothing to do with Harry. It's everything to do with me."
"Vat do you mean?"
Hermione paused to gather her thoughts. "Viktor, I like you. I really do. I think you are an amazing person, inside and out. Many people just see you as a Quidditch player, but you are so much more. You are kind, smart, funny, and compassionate. I have never felt as special as I have when I am with you." Hermione took a breath. "But I think you love me more than I can love you right now."
Hermione looked at Viktor and could feel tears burning her eyes. She knew she was being honest and vulnerable, but it didn't hurt any less. Viktor looked so sad and to know she was the cause of it made her feel terrible.
"You are breaking up vith me?"
"Yes," Hermione said and then forced her mouth shut. She knew that if she started elaborating, she wouldn't stop. When Hermione got anxious, she tended to babble.
"Because you cannot love me?"
"No," Hermione said. "I do love you. Just not as much as you love me."
"Why can you not love me? Haff I done something?"
"No," Hermione said again. "I am just not… ready for a serious relationship. You are almost three years older, after all."
"I see," Viktor said, deep in thought.
"I'm so sorry, Viktor," she said sorrowfully.
"As am I," he said stiffly and got up from the table. "Please excuse me, Hermy-own. I must go."
Before Hermione could say another word, Viktor Krum stalked from the library. Sadly, Hermione wondered if she was, in fact, the stupidest girl at Hogwarts, and not the smartest.
As the Easter holidays drew near, the amount of work they were assigned mounted higher and higher. Hermione was pleased, however, to be able to focus on her school work rather than how she had broken Viktor's heart. Every time she was near a window overlooking the lake, she looked out, hoping to see him and make sure he was ok, but Viktor was nowhere to be found.
Harry continued to send food to Sirius in the cave up in the mountains. He told her that after being nearly starved by his aunt and uncle last summer, he didn't want anyone else to go hungry again. Hermione vowed that after taking down Rita Skeeter, she'd focus her energy on finding a way to get back at the Dursleys for being so cruel to her best friend.
Hedwig didn't return until the end of the Easter Holidays. Percy's letter was enclosed in a package of Easter eggs that Mrs Weasley had sent. Both Harry's and Ron's were the sizes of dragon eggs and full of homemade toffee. Hermione's, however, was smaller than a chicken's egg. Her face fell when she saw it, and then the realisation hit her like a ton of bricks.
"Your mum doesn't read Witch Weekly, by any chance, does she, Ron?" she asked quietly with a pit in her stomach.
"Yeah," said Ron, whose mouth was full of toffee. "Gets it for the recipes."
Hermione looked down at her egg, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She felt almost as bad as she had with Viktor. The very thought that Mrs Weasley thought her to be some heartless floozy was almost too much to bear.
"Don't you want to see what Percy's written?" Harry said, trying to get her attention away from Mrs Weasley's egg. She nodded sadly, and Ron read the letter aloud to them both.
As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr Crouch is taking a well-deserved break. He is sending in regular owls with instructions. No, I haven't actually seen him, but I think I can be trusted to know my own superior's handwriting. I have quite enough to do at the moment without trying to quash these ridiculous rumours. Please don't bother me again unless it's something important. Happy Easter
"Well, that was less than helpful," Hermione said, fully embracing her bad mood.
"Whaddya expect," Ron said, his mouth full of toffee again. "It's Percy. He hasn't been helpful a day in his life."
Hermione couldn't shake her depression. Even as the Hogwarts grounds bloomed at the first hints of spring, she felt like she would never be happy again. She tried to lose herself in her school work, but all she could think about was how Viktor was impressed by her intellect and work ethic regarding school work. Ron and Harry didn't even begin to fill that void.
Additionally, the nagging reminder that Mrs Weasley believed the words of a half-wit gossip reporter over Hermione made her want to cry. The mother's love she had experienced for the first time in her life (because although Mary and Bert had come around, they had always compared Hermione to what could have been) seemed to be slipping away.
To think, she had given up Viktor for a chance with Ron - who was no closer to becoming a mature, passionate man than he was in their first year. The thought Ron would ever change and be the person she wanted him to be was positively barking. Hermione was dreadfully stupid for breaking things off with the only person who truly appreciated her for her.
She desperately missed how Viktor made her feel. Without him to remind her how smart she was or to look at her like she was the most beautiful girl in the world, Hermione just felt like a bushy-haired, filthy Mudblood.
There. She said it. Was that really the truth? Was she really just a filthy Mudblood? Because, if she was, the fact that no one else seemed to care about the cruel treatment of House-elves was probably indicative of how the Wizarding World would eventually treat her. First, people make excuses to keep House-Elves as slaves; next, they hang Muggles by their ankles at an international sporting event. What was stopping them from doing it to Mudbloods next? Was that what her future held?
The mental image of the Robertses exploded behind her closed eyes. The fear in their son's eyes as he hung upside down amidst thousands of Wizards and Witches was too much to bear. Would that be her parents' fate one day, as well as hers? If even half of the hate mail she got was any indicator, it certainly was. Witches and Wizards from all over the world hated her and only wanted her to suffer.
The only hope Hermione could logically have was to throw herself entirely back into her studies so she would have enough book smarts to survive in the Wizarding World. There was no hope for her social and personal skills, after all. Hermione thought that perhaps she could take over for Madame Pince in the library one day, and maybe be able to hide her blood status from those who cared about that kind of thing. Dumbledore wouldn't be much help, as he was the one who employed the House-Elves, but Hermione truly believed Professor McGonagall would protect her.
"Hermione, are you ok?" a voice shook her from her spiral of dark thoughts. She looked down and realised she had been shredding her parchment into a million pieces that nearly covered the whole of her bed. Crookshanks was sitting and staring at her, too scared to be petted by the looks of it. Hermione looked up to see Ginny's concerned face looking down at her. "Jillian came to get me. She said she couldn't get you to answer her."
"Oh, is she alright?" Hermione asked. "Is it her Cochlear Implants? Or did I fail that too?"
"What are you going on about?" Ginny asked. "Hermione, what's going on?"
"Nothing. Everything's fine."
"So, that's a lie," Ginny said. "Move over."
Hermione moved over on her bed to make room for Ginny even though she didn't want to. Ginny pulled the curtains closed to give them a bit of privacy, even though Hermione's roommates weren't there.
"Talk to me," Ginny said.
"About what?" Hermione said miserably.
"Don't play dumb with me," Ginny said.
Something about those words broke Hermione, and she just started sobbing into her hands. Within seconds, Hermione was experiencing a full-on panic attack. It was probably one of the worst ones she had ever had. Her heart was nearly beating out of her chest, and her whole body felt numb. She felt Ginny wrap her arms around her, and the two friends remained in an embrace until Hermione ran out of tears, and her breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Sorry about that," Hermione sniffled, embarrassed.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Ginny said. "Are you ready to tell me what's going on?"
"I don't even know," Hermione said.
"Can I take a guess?" said Ginny. Hermione nodded. "I think you're much more broken up about Viktor than you let on. That, along with all of the stress of the tournament, your hate mail, and my mum and brother being prats, I'd say you're depressed, and rightfully so."
"Maybe," Hermione said.
"That's most certainly it. Breaking up with someone is awful to do, but it is especially horrid for your first relationship. Then you add all the other things you've been upset about on top of that? Frankly, I'm surprised you don't have some Firewhisky hidden somewhere around here."
The mention of drinking made Hermione think of Winky down in the kitchens, and she nearly started crying again.
"Come on, what else are you thinking?"
Hermione shook her head. She knew her anxiety was taking control. "I don't know. Everything just seems so wrong. I feel wrong. I am wrong."
"You're Hermione Granger," said Ginny. "You're never wrong. You're always right."
"Not anymore."
"You're full of it," Ginny said firmly before she went back to being comforting. "But I get it. It doesn't feel like that right now, and nothing I can say will convince you otherwise, even though I am the rational one at the moment. But that's ok. I can sit here as long as you need me to sit here and remind you of how absolutely brilliant you are until you believe it again."
"Thank you," said Hermione.
"I can also sit here for as long as you need me and talk shit about Viktor and Ron if that would help, too." Ginny said with an impish grin.
Hermione laughed. It wasn't a big laugh, but it was a laugh nonetheless.
"There we go," Ginny said, giving Hermione another hug. "I at least got a laugh. Progress."
"I miss him, Ginny," Hermione said sadly.
"Your Bulgarian Stallion?" Ginny said with another grin, clearly trying to get Hermione to smile again. "I'd miss him too. But you know it really was for the best. He wanted much more than you did. And I'm not stupid; I know you fancy Ron."
"That obvious?"
"Oh, even more so this year than last," Ginny said. "But you know that regardless of what you do or think, my brother is an immature wanker who will take years to come around to being a suitable mate. Don't get me wrong, he will come 'round eventually, but it's going to take time. And that's all on him, not you."
"You're probably right," Hermione said.
"I know I'm right, and you know it too," Ginny said. "But I am so glad you had that time with Viktor because you finally got to experience what you should be treated like, and you will be able to recognise when Ron has finally come 'round. Now you won't settle for his shit before then."
"I shouldn't have broken up with Viktor, though," Hermione said. "Especially if it's going to take Ron so long to come around. I could have stayed with him longer." Hermione could feel the tears start to flow again. "He is one of the nicest and most kind human beings, and I broke his heart. For what?"
"For his own good," Ginny said. "He will eventually move on, and so will you. I promise."
"How do you know?"
"I've been around the Common Room a few times," Ginny laughed. "Just kidding. Kind of. But, in all seriousness, breaking up sucks. It's universal and can only be rectified by eating ice cream and drinking Butterbeer."
"That sounds delicious," Hermione said.
"Let's go down to the kitchens and grab some!" Ginny said.
"I don't think I should be going down to the kitchens right now," said Hermione. "The House-Elves are another part of all of this. And Rita Skeeter. And the Quidditch World Cup. And O.W.L.s next year. And-"
"All the more reason to get ice cream," Ginny said, interrupting another one of Hermione's spirals. "How about I just run down to grab some and bring it back up, and you can just pretend I ran to the market to get it or something of the like."
"I can try."
"That's the spirit. I'll be right back. Maybe ease up on the paper while I'm gone, yeah? And how about this: When I get back up here with the ice cream, you can tell me all about S.P.E.W. and make me an official member, ok?"
"Really?"
"Sure," said Ginny. "Anything for you." Ginny gave Hermione another big hug and ran out of the room to get their sweet treat. Hermione still felt horrible, but she could deal with anything when she had friends like Ginny.
The following week, Hermione felt slightly better, though she still had her moments of depression and anxiety. Luckily, Ginny always had a pint of ice cream to lift her spirits. Ginny also must have told Sophie that Hermione was having a hard time of it because Sophie demanded an emergency Arithmancy Club meeting (and then showed up with Butterbeer).
Despite her slightly erratic moods, Hermione was powering through and had fully embraced the quintessential stiff upper lip that she had always seen in her parents. She decided to busy herself with something entirely unrelated to any of her issues: increasing her chances of becoming a Prefect next year. She was still working out how to squash Rita Skeeter, and running S.P.E.W., of course, but focusing on bettering her chances of becoming Prefect was a task she could escape to when she got too overwhelmed and sad to do anything else.
Hermione had asked Professor McGonagall one day after class for the qualification list:
Prove yourself at transfiguration
Prove yourself at charms
Prove yourself in herbology
Prove yourself in potions
Show you can enforce school rules
Provide assistance to a first-year
Be mentored by Mr Filch
Have a meeting with the headmaster
"As you can see, Miss Granger, you are already well on your way to being qualified as a Prefect candidate. I am quite certain Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape will join me in signing off on your proficiency in our classes," Professor McGonagall said. "Additionally, I believe your assistance with Jillian will more than satisfy the eligibility requirements for helping a first-year student. So it seems that all you have left to do is be mentored by Mr Filch and meet with the Headmaster."
"Is this why you asked me to help with Jillian? So I could be eligible for Prefect next year?" Hermione asked.
"To attest to that, Miss Granger, would be attesting to playing favourites, and to orchestrating your selection as Gryffindor Prefect from the beginning of term," Professor McGonagall said sternly. Still, the wink she gave Hermione assured her that that was exactly what she had done.
"I see," Hermione said with a grin. "Well, I am certainly glad I was randomly selected to help Hogwarts' first student with a cochlear implant."
"Indeed," Professor McGonagall mused.
"May I ask what 'Be mentored by Mr Filch' entails? That seems like a very broad task."
"If you allow Mr Filch to pontificate about how much he detests Hogwarts students for half an hour, we'll mark that task as complete."
Hermione tried not to giggle. "And what should I expect from a meeting with the Headmaster?"
"I assume it will involve him asking you a few questions, getting acquainted with your temperament, and possibly a cup of tea," Professor McGonagall said. "I don't believe you will have any issues there."
"Are there any other fourth-year girls from Gryffindor interested, do you know?"
"I believe Ms Patil is, although she hasn't approached me recently. It was briefly mentioned at the beginning of term."
"Okay," Hermione said, thoughtful. "I appreciate your help with all of this."
"I am always happy to help, Ms Granger," the Professor said sincerely. She paused a moment before asking in a gentler tone, "If I may ask, how did speaking with Mr Krum go?"
"Very difficult," Hermione said, the hot tears suddenly appearing again.
"As matters of the heart usually are," Professor McGonagall said, sounding almost sorrowful. "I am sorry you had to experience such heartache, but try to keep in mind that this experience is one in a long list of experiences that will help you continue to become a better person. It may be hard to remember at times, but I do hope you will."
"Thank you, professor."
"Please let me know if you need my assistance setting up a meeting with Professor Dumbledore or Mr Filch."
"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said and took her leave feeling slightly better than she did before. It was comforting (and an honour) to know that Professor McGonagall believed in her.
During the last week of May, Professor McGonagall asked Harry to stay after class. Hermione wondered if Professor McGonagall was trying to help Harry become the male Prefect for Gryffindor next year. In looking at her fellow students, Harry would be the most obvious choice.
"What was that about?" she asked after he caught back up with her and Ron.
"I have to report to the Quidditch Pitch tonight at nine o'clock. Bagman will be there to tell us all about the third task."
Hermione tried not to let her anxiety skyrocket or outweigh her support of Harry. She gave him what she hoped was a warm smile and squeezed his shoulder. What she would have given for the conversation to be about becoming a Prefect instead!
At half past eight, Harry left the Common Room for his meeting at the Quidditch Pitch, leaving Hermione, Ron, and Ginny behind in the Common Room. Ginny hadn't really left Hermione's side since her panic attack, and was true to her word: every now and then, Ginny would point out a positive trait about Hermione to share. Slowly but surely, Hermione began to feel better about herself.
About two and a half hours after Harry left, he burst through the portrait door. He appeared out of breath and quite upset. Hermione's heart sank.
"Oh no, what is it? What's the task?" she asked shrilly.
"It's a maze," Harry panted. "But that's not the half of it."
"What do you mean?" Ron asked.
"Give me a minute to catch my breath," Harry answered, bending at the waist and gulping the air. Ginny offered up her glass of water which Harry greedily drank.
"Well, what is it?" Ron asked again after Harry took a drink.
"Crouch," Harry said, still breathing hard, though Hermione wasn't sure if it was from physical exertion anymore.. "He disappeared."
"Well, we knew that," Ron said.
"No, he was here, and he was barking mad. Completely mental. Not making any sense. And then he just vanished."
"What?" Hermione said. "Start at the beginning."
"Ok, so Bagman was telling us all about the final task being a maze with obstacles and whatever and after, Krum came over to me and asked if we could take a walk."
At Viktor's name, Hermione's chest tightened. Ginny glanced over at her, and Hermione felt Ginny's hand rest on her back, out of the view of the boys.
"We started walking near the forest, and Krum wanted to know if the rumours were true about us dating Hermione. I told him we were just best friends, and then he started talking about what a good flyer I was-"
"Oh my God, Viktor Krum was complimenting you on your flying?!" Ron blurted out before he realised who he was talking about.
"Right? He said he watched me during the first task and that I flew well. I started telling him that his Wronski Feint-"
"If you two could stop fanboying over Krum, I'd like to hear the rest of the story," Ginny interrupted.
"Right, sorry," Harry said to Hermione's great relief. "So, I was about to tell him about his Wronski Feint when we heard a noise behind us. It was Mr Crouch! He looked as though he had been travelling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody. His face was all scratched and unshaven. He looked a mess, and was acting a mess, too. He was muttering and waving his arms like he was talking to someone only he could see. When we went over to see if he was ok, he kept muttering orders to Percy that made no sense. I asked him if he was all right, and then it was like a switch got flipped, and he was totally coherent. He grabbed me and said he needed to see Dumbledore because he did a 'stupid thing.' But then he snapped back out of it and started talking crazy again - kept mentioning how his son got twelve O.W.L.s and then started talking about Bertha Jorkins and Voldemort getting stronger."
"Oh my!" Hermione exclaimed.
"So I left him with Krum to go get Dumbledore, but Snape wouldn't let me see him at first. Finally, I was able to get to Dumbledore and tell him what was going on. He went back with me but, when we arrived, we couldn't find either of them. Dumbledore and I searched around, and then we found Krum sprawled out on the ground."
Hermione gasped. Ginny slid her hand all the way around Hermione's shoulders in a half hug as they listened to Harry continue.
"He was okay, but was saying that Crouch had attacked him from behind and stunned him. Then Hagrid showed up, and Dumbledore sent him to get Karkaroff. Moody showed up, too, and went out searching for Crouch. When Hagrid and Karkaroff came back, Karkaroff was livid, screaming about how a Ministry Official attacked his student and that the Ministry was out to get them and all of that. And then he spat at Dumbledore's feet and Hagrid…" Harry paused incredulously. "Hagrid went mental. He grabbed Karkaroff and slammed him into a tree, yelling for him to apologise. It was… it was scary. He - he was almost out of control. Hagrid nearly killed the Headmaster of Durmstrang in front of us all."