Disclaimer: CPT symmetry: everything in our universe obeys the same physical laws if the charge, wavefunction sign, and time are flipped. JKR symmetry: everything in Harry Potter's universe is owned by JK Rowling.

A/N: I made a small change to Chapter 63 to correct something that didn't make sense and comes up again here.

I have posted a new one-shot story this week, The Philosopher's Red Herring, providing an alternate ending to first year.

Update: Thanks to HE-SpecOps for correcting my maths.

Chapter 66

"Hermione?!"

The shout drew attention to the youngest girl from the Beauxbatons delegation, and much of Hogwarts's attention was diverted from Victor Krum to the return of her own native daughter. Many of the students didn't recognise her at first, but most of her acquaintances soon did, and whispers ran up and down the lines about her surprise appearance. Certain Slytherins scowled, but most of them were eager to see her.

Hermione herself spotted her friends from the sound of their shouts and walked towards them with a smile on her face, but she was nearly bowled over when Ginny broke ranks and slammed into her.

"Oh my God, Hermione, I can't believe you're here!" the little redhead squealed, hugging her tight.

"Good to see you, too, Gin," she grunted. Ginny could hug harder than Hermione could herself. It must come from her mother, she thought.

"Bloody hell, we didn't think we'd see you till Christmas," Ron said as she hugged him and Harry in turn. "What's up? Are you entering in the Tournament or something?"

"Entering in the Tournament?" Hermione said. "Are you mental? I'm not old enough, and I wouldn't be mad enough to enter even if I was. I'm only here for a visit. I'm going back on Tuesday."

"Oh. That's cool, I guess."

"Oh, eet eez freezing 'ere." A tall girl with alabaster skin and silver-blond hair came up beside Hermione, pulling a muffler away from her face.

"I told you you'd want a cloak, Fleur," Hermione said, suppressing an eye roll. "We've come fifteen degrees north in latitude."

"You did not tell me that eet was already winter 'ere. Ugh. Zese are your friends, 'Ermione?"

"Yes. These are Ginny and Ron Weasley—Ronald!" Ron was staring at Fleur, slack-jawed. He snapped out of it at once. "Oh, and these two are Fred and George Weasley." She motioned to the Twins as they approached.

"Actually, I'm Fred, and he's George," George said.

"Don't listen to them. He's George, and he's Fred," Hermione said without missing a beat. "And, of course, this is Harry Potter. Everyone, this is Fleur Delacour—from my Arithmancy class."

Fleur shook Harry's and Ginny's hands in a friendly enough manner, but she seemed a little warier of the Weasley boys—probably rightly, to be honest. "I am pleased to meet you," she said. "'Ermione 'az told me much about you."

"Only good things, we hope?" Fred asked.

"You she said not to eat or drink anything you offer. Zee rest of you, she speaks well. Pardon, 'Ermione, we must join zee rest of our classmates."

The students all filed into the castle. Hermione sighed wistfully when she saw the Hogwarts Great Hall. It had a certain medieval charm to it. "It was built in the tenth century," she explained to her classmates quietly. "Similar magic to Beauxbatons, but an older style. Each House has its own table."

There was no dedicated table for the visiting students. They were instructed to sit wherever they liked. The Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin table—no surprise there—while most of the Beauxbatons contingent opted for Gryffindor after Hermione took her seat with her friends. (She waved to Luna warmly along the way.) She could tell she really stood out with her blue robes and green coat amid a sea of black with red trim, but she didn't care as long as she got to talk to her friends again.

"It's great to see you, Hermione," Harry said. "How'd you get back here? We thought you were gone for good."

"I have Madame Maxime to thank for this. She's wonderful. She could tell I was missing Hogwarts, so she wrote my parents and asked their permission for me to visit for Halloween. She said I would come in with the Triwizard entrants today and help get them acquainted with Hogwarts, and then I'll be taking a Portkey back on Tuesday morning."

"You came for Halloween?" Harry said in surprise. "Hasn't that been the most dangerous night of the year for the past three years? I'm surprised your parents let you."

"Yes, me too, but they know how much I was missing this place, too. Of course, they only allowed it because Madame Maxime said I'd be under her supervision the whole time, and I won't be sleeping in the castle."

"Well, it's good to have you back for a day," Fred told her.

"Yeah, we could've used your advice with some of our stuff," George added.

"I've really missed all of you, too," she replied. "It's good to be back."

Professor Dumbledore made his welcome speech, and food filled the tables. Hermione waved to Professor Vector from across the Hall, and she smiled broadly at her, as did Hagrid beside her.

"Whoa, freaky food," Ron said, seeing the international selection. "What's this one?"

"Bouillabaisse," Hermione said.

"Bless you."

"It's French, Ronald—come on, you know French…and you know food. You should be an expert."

Ginny and the Twins chortled as Ron turned red.

As everyone ate, two more guests came into the Great Hall, one whom Hermione wasn't so happy to see, and one whom she was very interested to see: Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman.

"Well, will you look at that," Fred grinned conspiratorially. "Looks like Bagman came to us."

"Yes, indeed," George replied. "Hermione, what do you say the three of us try to catch him for a little chat?"

"You still haven't heard anything from him?" she said in surprise.

"Not a word. He's been lying low," George told her.

"Yes, very suspicious," Fred agreed, "but he can't escape us here. He has to be here for the Tournament, doesn't he?"

Hermione was surprisingly popular that evening, and the Weasleys gallantly moved to the side after a while to make room for her other friends to sit and talk to her. When Lavender Brown got close enough, she hugged Hermione almost as hard as Ginny had.

"Oh, Hermione, it's so good to see you!" Lavender squealed. "We've missed you, and we've been wondering what you were getting up to down there, and—Merlin, you look hot!"

"Excuse me?" Hermione said.

"Well, you finally fixed those teeth, and your hair looks really nice, and you've really—grown."

Hermione snorted. "I've grown, Lav? Look who's talking." Lavender's robes were definitely looking tighter in certain places than last year.

Parvati Patil giggled nearby. Lavender barely blushed. "Well, yeah," she said, "but you never…you know, seemed the type?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she elected not to say anything.

"This is a beautiful coat, Hermione," Parvati added. "What kind is it."

Hermione grinned at her: "It's genuine Indian basilisk."

Parvati's eyes grew saucer-sized: "No. Way."

"Yes way. A pair of cursebreakers in India killed with the help of a spell I invented."

"Merlin's beard, you really get around, don't you?"

"Well, by muggle standards, the magical world is tiny. It's not that big a deal. Anyway, how are you girls? What have you been doing?"

"Well, Lav's dating Seamus—" Parvati started.

"We are not dating," Lavender interrupted. "I think he might be interested, though. Anyway, Divination's great. We're doing a whole unit on astrology; you would've liked that." Hermione refrained from noting that, from what she had read, wizard astrology was virtually identical to muggle astrology and equally useless. "Oh, and Professor Trelawney says Harry's going to get in trouble this year."

Hermione froze: "It wasn't another prophecy, was it?"

"No, it was a regular prediction," Parvati replied. "She just said he had dark times ahead or something like that."

"Oh, well, that's what she usually says."

"Have you heard about Hagrid's new pets?" Lavender changed the subject.

"The Skrewts? Uh huh. Luna sent me some sketches. And no, I don't have any idea what they are."

"They're a right menace, that's what they are," Parvati said. "Be glad you don't have to deal with them."

They were interrupted when Fleur came by from further up the table, saying "Excuse me, 'Ermione, are you finished wiz zee bouillabaisse?"

"Go ahead, Fleur," Hermione replied. "Oh, and these are my old roommates, Lavender and Parvati."

Lavender shook Fleur's hand excitedly, two-handed. "Oh Merlin, it's such an honour to meet you Mademoiselle Delacour," she gushed. "Hermione's told us all about you…" And within seconds, the three of them were happily talking about fashion. Hermione chuckled seeing them go at it like that, although she was a little surprised to find that Fleur looked a little less at ease with the conversation than Lav and Parv did.

"Hello? Ronald? Brother of mine?"

Hermione turned around and saw Ginny waving her hand in front of Ron's face. Ron had turned a disturbing purplish hue and was clearly staring at Fleur again.

"What? What're you going on about, Gin?" he said, blinking in annoyance.

"You were staring," Ginny admonished him. "Girls don't like that, you know."

"She's right," Hermione agreed. "And really, she's only a quarter-blooded. Her allure isn't that strong."

"What? I just want to…get to know our guests," Ron told them in annoyance.

Ginny rolled her eyes: "I don't see Harry using that method of getting to know our guest."

Harry turned red at that remark. "Um, actually?" he said. "Sirius taught me some techniques to stay focused when there are veela around."

"Oh," Ginny said.

"Might not hurt to teach them to Ron, then," Hermione suggested. She and Ginny giggled, but Harry only turned redder, and Ron scowled at them.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, Professor Dumbledore stood up and introduced Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman to the school as the organisers of the Tournament. Many people started wondering if one of them would be the judge who was to select the champion, but the truth turned out to be much more fantastic. The "impartial selector" was an ancient artifact called the Goblet of Fire—a large, but otherwise unremarkable-looking wooden chalice that was nonetheless filled with very remarkable blue-white flames that looked paler and hotter than Hermione's trademark bluebell flames.

"Anyone wishing to enter the Tournament must write their name on a piece of parchment and place it in the Goblet," Dumbledore explained. "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet to ensure that no one under the age of seventeen is able to enter." That drew annoyed murmurs from around the Hall.

That's interesting, Hermione thought. The Goblet itself doesn't know the ages of the entrants.

"And I must warn you," the Headmaster continued, "that placing your name in the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once your name is selected, so entering into the Tournament is absolutely not to be taken lightly."

Oh, well that doesn't sound ominous at all, she thought.

They were dismissed to bed after that. Sadly, Hermione had to sleep in the carriage with the rest of the Beauxbatons students, as per her agreement with her parents, but tomorrow promised to be a good day.

In honour of the beginning of the Tournament, Professor Dumbledore had declared a special holiday from classes on Halloween, since it was a Monday, giving everyone a long weekend. That was an incredibly rare event at Hogwarts. Not even the Chamber of Secrets fiasco had got a day of classes cancelled, and Astronomy classes had even gone on at the same time that the Aurors were hauling Pettigrew off to the Ministry.

But Hermione was glad that her friends at Hogwarts had the day off, since it gave her that much more time to catch up with them. The visiting students all rose early to go in for breakfast, and to enter their names in the Goblet of Fire. When she came to the Entrance Hall, Hermione ran into Fred and George, who had smugger grins on their faces than usual. That was probably a bad sign.

"Dare I ask what you two are so excited about?" she asked.

"We've just implemented our little plan," Fred told her.

"I've been out of the loop lately. Which plan?"

"The Ageing Potion," George said. "We've just taken it."

"Just a drop each. We only need to be a few months older to enter the Tournament," Fred continued.

"Do you want some? We have enough to make you seventeen."

Hermione saw realised what they were up to and giggled.

"What?" they asked in unison.

"It's not going to work," she said in a sing-song voice.

"Oh? And why not?" they said.

"Because there's no way a genius like Dumbledore would be fooled by something as pathetically dim-witted as an Ageing Potion."

"But that's the beauty of it," Fred said.

"Because it's so pathetically dim-witted," George continued.

"Dumbledore will never think of it," they said together.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course he will. If I were drawing an Age Line, given that we're in a school and not just anybody can come in the building to start with, I'd add some runes to cross-reference student's names with the school records to check their actual birth dates, just in case somebody tried to fool it by any means, including an Ageing Potion. And Dumbledore's smarter than I am, so I'm sure he came up with something similar, if not better."

The Twins gaped at her in mock astonishment. "Dumbledore smarter than Hermione Granger?" George said.

"Inconceivable!" they said in stereo.

"We'll just see how smart Dumbledore is, shall we?" Fred said. They waved to Harry, Ron, and Ginny across the room, then walked right up to the Age Line, paused as every eye in the Entrance Hall turned to watch them, and hopped across it. For a split second, it seemed that they'd beaten the Line, but then, there was a sizzling sound, and they were blasted away from the Goblet, landing at Hermione's feet and suddenly growing luxurious, Dumbledore-esque beards.

"I warned you," Hermione said, crossing her arms amid peals of laughter from the Entrance Hall.

"As did I." Professor Dumbledore came out of the Great Hall to greet the crowd. "And I do appreciate your faith in me, Miss Granger." Merlin, that man heard everything. "Perhaps you would like to escort these two to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey is already tending to two other students who attempted the same ploy."

"I'd be happy to, Headmaster," Hermione said. She helped Fred and George up, threw one arm around each of their shoulders, and pulled them along to the Grand Staircase. The boys were laughing upon seeing each other's beards, but soon enough, they were scheming again.

"What if we levitate our names in from outside the circle?" Fred suggested.

"Seems a little obvious, don't you think?" Hermione said. "Dumbledore could easily put up an anti-magic ward."

George considered that and said, "What if we send an owl with an envelope addressed to the Goblet of Fire and using our names as the return address."

"No, no, too complicated," his brother replied. "Just crumple up the parchment and toss it in."

"Maybe—or we could just ask an older student to put them in for us. That's the obvious way."

"George! Fred!" Hermione huffed. "Checking your names against the school records, remember? And before you talk about going and altering the records, I really don't think you should be trying to enter at all. I know you want to make some quick money, but this isn't the way to do it."

"What, you don't think we can do it?" Fred demanded with noticeable annoyance.

"I think you'd have a chance," she conceded. "Maybe more than most people, but look, this Tournament is dangerous, no matter what Dumbledore says. I won't believe they've got the kinks worked out of the safety standards until I see it, and if one of you somehow did get yourself chosen, I'd be worried about you all year. It's bad enough that Cedric wants to enter. It's bad enough that Harry always seems to stumble into someone who wants to kill him. Honestly? I need a break from worrying whether all my friends are going to make it to next summer."

Without warning, George unilaterally pulled Hermione into a hug and said, "Sorry, Hermione, we didn't know you were taking this so hard."

"Oh…maybe I'm being over-dramatic," she said as she awkwardly hugged him back. "It's just that being pulled out of school because it's too dangerous tends to do that to you."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Fred countered. "It's not like it's You-Know-Who or dementors again. It's just a contest."

"Well, she's kinda right, though," George said. He broke off to face his brother. "People used to die all the time in this thing."

"In the eighteenth century."

"But we only have the Ministry's word that it's safer now, and you know how they are."

"And Dumbledore's word."

"Just the same, I think maybe we should pass on the Tournament."

Fred's eyes grew wide. He clearly wasn't used to being so directly contradicted by his Twin, and Fred always was the more reckless one of the pair, Hermione thought. "You can't actually want to back out of this, George!" he said with complete seriousness.

"Hey, it'd be nice to be able to compete," George defended himself, "but let's be honest, are we really gonna get past Dumbledore's tricks in the next twelve hours?"

Fred pressed his lips together in a way that Hermione had seen Mr. Weasley do a few times and admitted, "No, probably not."

"Yeah. And besides, Bagman's in the castle. I say, once we have a shave, the three of us get together and go have a word with him."

Fred looked a lot less disappointed at that and grinned a little again. "That does sound like a good plan B," he said.

They reached the Hospital Wing, where Madame Pomfrey took one look at the Twins and said, "I should've known I'd see you two this morning. Come on in."

Fred went to the nearest open bed, and just before George went to the next one, Hermione leaned towards him and whispered, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he whispered back.

In principle, it was great having so many friends at Hogwarts, but right now, that meant more people to miss and, of more immediate concern, more people to catch up with in one day. And in the meantime, she was still supposed to show her fellow Beauxbatons students around the castle.

Introducing Luna to Fleur had not gone well.

"Fleur, this is Luna Lovegood, the, er, artist I mentioned. Luna, this is Fleur Delacour."

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Delacour," Luna said in perfect French. "It is good to meet you."

"You as well, Mademoiselle Lovegood," Fleur replied. "'Ermione tells me you are an artist. What do you draw?"

"Magical creatures, mostly. My great-great-grandmother was a brilliant magical naturalist. Most of my family were, of course, but she was the best one. I'd like to update her field guide for rare creatures someday. By the way, Hermione, have you seen any Kruger's vanishing mites at Beauxbatons?"

"Um, no, I don't think so," Hermione said.

"What are Kruger's vanishing mites?" Fleur asked.

"They're tiny bugs whose bite causes lowered inhibitions. They hibernate for most of the year, but they're very active around the fourteenth of February. There's a French subspecies that's active year-round, but they're mostly concentrated around Paris. And some people believe that they are attracted to veela."

"What? That's crazy!" Fleur exclaimed.

Luna looked hurt. "Fleur!" Hermione chided.

"Well, it is."

"Luna gets enough grief already from people around here calling her Loony. And anyway, I don't think there have been any formal studies into the existence of most of the creatures Luna talks about. I think it's appropriate to keep an open mind."

Fleur was probably more chastened by how hurt Luna looked than by Hermione's words, but she lowered her gaze and said, "My apologies, Mademoiselle Lovegood. I meant no offence. I have not seen any sign of…Kruger's vanishing mites in my experience."

Perhaps because of that debacle, Hermione didn't invite any of her friends to visit the house elves with her. Truthfully, the only magical person who didn't look at her at least a little patronisingly over her friendship with the elves was Harry, who sympathised with their state of bondage, although Dobby's bizarre attempts to save his life were still a sore spot.

When Hermione entered the kitchens, she was pleased to find they greeted her warmly again, more so than they had at any point last year. Sending Winky to Dumbledore had apparently reconfirmed her credentials as a friend of elves and not an active abolitionist.

"Miss Hermione!" a squeal came from one mop-wielding elf. "It is being Hermione Granger, everyone!"

Hermione's closest elf-friend, Sonya, had been growing her hair out. Personally, she thought it looked better short. She'd never seen an elf with good-quality hair. But her cobalt-blue eyes were as sharp as ever, and she ran over to Hermione excitedly, nearly whacking her shins with the mop. "Miss Hermione, Dobby has said you is visiting."

Hermione had paid Dobby six sickles to get him out of work at Beauxbatons for two days for so he could visit with her.

"It's good to see you, Sonya—and the rest of you."

"Oh, where is Grandmum? Grandmum!" Sonya said.

Pop! "Sonnitt, what is you wanting—" an irritated older elf squeaked before she noticed their guest. "Oh, Miss Hermione Granger. It is being good to see you," said Tilly, the elf-children's teacher.

"Thank you. I couldn't visit without stopping by the kitchens. How are you doing?"

"It is very exciting, miss, with so many visitors in the castle," Tilly replied. "There is being a few Beauxbatons and Durmstrang elves here to help with the foreign foods. The Beauxbatons elves has been tell us about you, too."

Sonya giggled. "Is it true you is telling them to make chicken curry pizza, miss?" That got giggles from several of the other elves.

"No, I told them they should make chicken curry and pizza. On different nights. I just wasn't clear enough…And I'd recommend not trying that here," she added before Sonya got any ideas. Actually, Hermione had thought it wasn't too bad, but few others shared her opinion. "Anyway," she changed the subject, "I heard Winky was here. How is she doing?"

Sonya and Tilly lowered their gazes a little. "Tilly is afraid Winky has not been doing well, miss," Tilly said. "Tilly will finds her." The grey-haired elf led Hermione through the mass of cleaning elves and came to one familiar one with a large red nose. "Winky, miss."

"Oh, Miss Hermione Granger," Winky stammered. "You has come back."

Hermione could see what Tilly meant about Winky not doing well. The younger elf seemed to have aged ten years since she had last seen her. Her face was gaunt, and she was slouching sloppily, unsteady on her feet. She wore a Hogwarts tea towel, but it was not well-cleaned, and she still wore the necktie that Mr. Crouch had cast at her, wrapped around her neck like a scarf. She was also carrying and open bottle of Butterbeer. Neither were good signs. "Hello, Winky," Hermione said worriedly. "Um, how are you holding up?"

"Winky is getting by," she said with a sniffle, and she took a swig of Butterbeer. Now that she noticed, Hermione saw that Winky was at least a little drunk.

"Winky, isn't it a little early for that? It's not even two in the afternoon."

The elf sniffled again: "Miss Hermione Granger cares very much for Winky." Her eyes started to tears up, and she wiped them with the necktie. "Winky tries to be a good elf…"

"You are a good elf, Winky," Hermione encouraged her, but that only made her cry more.

"Miss Hermione Granger," Tilly whispered, "please come away. There is being nothing you can do."

"But—"

"Please, miss."

Hermione reluctantly went back with Tilly. "How much of that stuff has she had?" she asked. "Butterbeer's not that strong."

"It is being strong for elves, miss."

"Tilly, I don't understand. What's wrong with her? And why is she still wearing that tie? She's a proper bonded elf again."

"Winky is hoping her old master will take her back, miss. She is saving the tie for him. It is a badge of shame for elves, miss. Not all elves can adjust to being free, miss, even if they is finding new masters. Elves is taught that it is their fault if they are freed for being bad elves. And it is usually true. Most masters is not freeing elves unless they is very bad."

Hermione didn't know what to say to that. She supposed maybe it was true what they said—that you couldn't help someone who didn't want to be helped—at least not all the time. Tilly led her back to Sonya, who was not speaking to Dobby, and shaking her head in disbelief.

"You is getting a holiday to visit Hogwarts, Dobby?" Sonya said. "That is just being wrong."

"It is not really a holiday," Dobby replied proudly. "Miss Hermione's parents ordered me to make sure she was safe at school." Sonya's eyes widened, and many of the elves suddenly stared at Dobby. Dobby himself seemed oblivious. He was used to stares by now. "Dobby would have had to come anyway." At that, many of the elves broke away, although Sonya still eyed him suspiciously.

Hermione had no idea what that was all about. She'd noticed similar stares when she visited the elves at Beauxbatons, but she could never make sense of it. This time, however, she overheard a couple of the elves murmuring things like "must have misheard". Even more confused, she went back over Dobby's words, and was shocked when she'd noticed it. The elves had all started freaking out when they heard Dobby use the word "me". Now that she thought about it, she didn't think she had ever heard any other elf use the word "me", and even Dobby had only started this past summer. They used "I", but even that less than half as much as a human. It wasn't surprising in a bred servant race, sublimating their individuality into the identity of their masters—or something complicated and psychological like that. Dobby had just put his weirdness on display to them again, but what really warmed Hermione's heart was that he looked as if he was proud of it.

Sonya continued to give Dobby a suspicious look, but whatever she was think, she seemed to resolve it in her mind. She said, "Sonya is still thinking you is a mad elf, Dobby, but it is good to be seeing you and Miss Hermione again."

To be honest, Hermione was avoiding her arithmancy study group, or rather Cedric in particular. She really didn't want to try to get through the same conversation she'd had with the Fred and George with her friend who had already entered and whom, she was forced to admit to herself, she really did have a crush on. She'd rather catch him tomorrow morning, when it was decided one way or another. Of course, the odds weren't great that he would be chosen, so she was probably worrying too much.

But the highlight of her day was tea time, when she paid a visit to Septima. Little Georgina was there, too, and Hermione enjoyed regaling her with tales of Beauxbatons.

"Well, Fleur isn't the only part-veela in the school. There aren't many, but there are quite a few more students who aren't full-blooded humans there than at Hogwarts," she explained as part of one of the incidents involving Fleur. Come to think of it, those incidents were disproportionately romance-related. "Full-blooded veela are almost exclusively home-schooled, but I know there's at least one hag there, and two vampires—both of them have to take dietary potions to attend, though, so they don't cause much trouble. Anyway, Sylvie and Fleur don't like each other because of some veela clan feud that I really don't understand, and it apparently really hit a nerve when they were assigned love potions in Potions class—Madame de Cotte really dropped the ball there—and no one's really sure what happened, but it ended with both of them shovelling out the Abraxan stables that night and several unexpected relationships being exposed amongst the seventh years."

Actually, Hermione had the misfortune to know a few more details than that, but Georgina was already wide-eyed enough, and Septima gave her a warning look, so she didn't share them and quickly changed the subject before the younger girl could ask any more awkward questions. "But most of the stuff that goes on there isn't so…weird," she said. "I was surprised how much I enjoyed Magical Creatures down there. We did a big unit on tending the Abraxans—how they got us here in one piece with as much whiskey as they drink I'll never know. So what about you, Georgina? How's Slytherin treating you?"

"Well, I think it's a good house," Georgina said. "Some of the older people are annoying, but I like all my roommates. And I made friends with Astoria Greengrass—she's a second year."

"That's nice. No one's giving you any trouble, I hope? Not that I would expect it, but—"

"No, no," she said, a little too quickly. "I mean…they talk, but that's it."

"They…talk?" Hermione asked. She knew that being friends with a muggle-born would have certain Slytherins looking down on someone like Georgina.

Georgina lowered her gaze, her dark hair falling into her eyes. "Sorry, Hermione, but we…kinda have a rule: problems in Slytherin stay in Slytherin."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense," she conceded. Slytherin always seemed to have a united front compared with the other houses, especially given how unpopular they were. "It's okay, Georgina. I can respect that—except I would strongly encourage you to speak up to your Aunt Septima if it involves Draco Malfoy in any way. He could be downright dangerous."

"Oh, he wouldn't do anything to me—not with Aunt Septima being a teacher." The younger girl paused, thought for a moment, then whispered conspiratorially, "but he's the most annoying one, though. He complained a lot last night about you being back."

Of course he did, Hermione thought. Other than Malfoy, though, Georgina seemed to be settling in well and enjoying her classes. She still didn't know what her life's ambition was, but Septima assured her that she had plenty of time to figure that out, even as a Slytherin.

After about half an hour, Septima dismissed Georgina so that she and Hermione could talk about something a little weightier: abstract algebra.

"So these 'symmetry groups' are very nice to describe the geometry of shapes in multiple dimensions," Septima said, remembering Hermione's most recent letter. "But I still don't see how it applies to spellcrafting."

"Alright, I've been thinking about this," Hermione replied. "Don't worry about the physical geometry. This is about the underlying logical structure. Think of it this way: most spells have a counterspell. We normally think of spells in terms of inverse functions with power series or Fourier series, or sometimes in terms of cancelling the magical energies, but you can also think of the two spells as a pair or group of spells that for our purposes are on equal footing: each one reverses the other. With me so far?"

"Fair enough," Septima said.

"Good. In group theory terminology, it's actually like the group of the integers—its a little more complicated, but you can build a toy model where each application of the spell moves you one space forward on the number line, and the counterspell moves you one space back. But that's not the only way it has to be. Take the Da Vinci Charm, for example." The Da Vinci Charm was a joke spell that made all the writing in a book turn backwards. "The Da Vinci Charm reverses itself. It is its own countercharm. That's a completely different logical structure from the spell-counterspell paradigm. In group theory terminology, instead of an infinite group, like the integers, it's a group of only two elements. It would be only one, but you also have to have the identity element, which is not casting a spell at all."

"So you think there may be arithmantic differences between the two types of spells?" Septima ventured.

"I…no. I hadn't thought of that. It's a good idea, though. But I was thinking of a few cases where there are more complex logical structures."

"Such as?"

"Well, there's not much in the literature, but I found one simple example. It's related to the Colour-Change Charm. Normally we use Colour-Change Charms based on heraldic colours." She drew a hexagon on a piece of parchment and labelled with the letters ROYGBV. "But there's also a Colour Wheel Charm that rotates the colours of the target around a six-point colour wheel, so red to orange, orange to yellow, and so on."

"I've heard of it, Hermione," Septima cut her off.

"Er, right," she said, blushing a little. "And what happens if you cast that spell six times?"

"You wind up back where you started—ah, I see. That's a different logical structure."

"Exactly, and what's more, it's an incomplete logical structure. That spell, and multiple applications of it, form a cyclic group of order six. But the symmetry group of the colour wheel is the dihedral group of order twelve. Theoretically, the Colour Wheel Charm points to the existence of six Colour-Switching Charms based on reflections of the colour wheel." She drew a line through the hexagon to indicate the reflection. "So this one would swap red and purple, orange and blue, and yellow and green." She drew another line. "This one would only swap orange and purple, and yellow and blue. It leaves red and green alone. And then there are four more based on the other possible reflections." She drew in the other four lines.

Septima was starting to get an inkling of what Hermione was driving at with this technique, and it looked like it could be a surprisingly powerful innovation. "So if I understand this," she said slowly, "you're saying that purely from this theory of symmetry groups, you've deduced that it's possible to derive six new spells from this one?"

"Yes, that's it," Hermione said brightly. "Obviously, this example is just a curiosity, and before you ask, I'm still working out the details, but I'm hoping I can find useful group structures in some of the more standard charms, if only in the arithmantic expansions and not the effects. If that pans out, it could be useful to invent a lot of new spells. And those are only the applications for charms."

This could be big, Septima realised, and she wondered how she had missed it before. Hermione was being modest again. It was true that Septima couldn't think of any other good candidates for this analysis off the top of her head, but if it worked the way the girl was hoping, it could lead to inventing whole new classes of spells. "What do mean by 'only the applications for charms'?" she enquired.

Hermione suddenly looked a lot more nervous. "Yes, well…to be honest, I'm a little scared to apply it to transfiguration."

"Scared?" she said in surprise. "I—I know that delving into the deeper aspects of magic can be disturbing at times, but I've never known you to have that problem."

"It's not about the magic, though. It's about the physics."

"How so?"

"Group theory isn't just about logical structures. This is the maths that governs the fundamental particles of nature. It's like the linear algebra applications in transfiguration, but theoretically much more powerful. I'm worried that if I try to apply it that way, I'm going to stumble on a way to flip matter to antimatter and blow up the castle."

Septima couldn't help chuckling.

"That wasn't a joke, Septima."

Septima turned serious instantly. "But you can't…you can't mean…blow up the castle?" she sputtered. "But how could you possibly—?"

"Do you know what antimatter is?"

"I think I've heard the word, but no, not really."

"Okay, then do you know about muggle nuclear power? Nuclear weapons? That sort of thing?"

"Of course."

"And you know about atoms? And how atoms are made of tiny charged particles?"

"I think so. It's been a while since I've read any muggle chemistry."

"Well, nuclear weapons are powered by splitting atoms. Antimatter involves destroying them completely. Antimatter is sort of like the arithmantic inverse of normal matter. It's still made of tiny charged particles, but with the opposite charges. And when matter and antimatter come into contact, they annihilate—they cancel each other out—but there's an enormous release of energy associated with it. It's thousands of times more powerful than nuclear weapons. A speck the size of a grain of sand would explode with the force of a muggle blockbuster bomb."

Septima's eyes grew to the size of saucers. She could tell her former student was completely serious. It sounded impossible, though. How was the world still standing if such a thing existed? Her mind started spinning, trying to solve the puzzle. "Hermione," said said, "this is just theory…isn't it?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, Septima. The muggles have made it in tiny amounts in laboratories—I'm talking individual particles, but with transfiguration…"

To be fair, if Septima had had to pick the student most likely to discover a world-ending spell, it would have been Hermione Granger, but she just couldn't imagine the universe would be that unfair. She thought back over the girl's explanation of the phenomenon and had an idea: "Of course. This…antimatter reaction…is it powered by the same kind of phenomenon as nuclear weapons?"

"Well, not exactly the same, but very similar."

"Well, then, I don't think it will be a problem."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in confusion: "Why's that?"

"It's probably not transfigurable."

"Not transfigurable…? How do you know?"

"Because in the hundred years since it was discovered, no witch or wizard has ever succeeded in transfiguring radioactive material."

Hermione's mouth opened part-way, then stopped. Her own mind started spinning. Magic couldn't create radioactivity? That would simplify a lot of things. Merlin, she hadn't even thought about the possibility of transfiguring nuclear weapons outright, and this solved that problem nicely. Given that, it would probably be possible to prove arithmantically that you couldn't transfigure antimatter, either. Except she realised that wasn't proved in the first place: "Really? But radioactivity isn't one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law."

"No, but it's postulated to be a sixth exception. It's just that no one's been able to prove it."

Now, it was Hermione's eyes that grew to the size of saucers, and Septima froze when she fully registered what she'd just said. "Hermione…You think you can prove it?"

"I think I just found my next paper topic," she whispered. "Thank you, Septima."

Septima Vector shook her head in amazement after Hermione left. The student had officially outclassed the teacher. Forget taking her job; Hermione Granger would be in the textbook before she graduated—and not just the Arithmancy textbook—the Transfiguration textbook. Minerva would faint.

Hermione, Fred, and George were casually hanging out in the Entrance Hall just before dinner, chatting about how their respective years had gone. While it looked innocent to the casual observer, they had perfectly positioned themselves to intercept a certain large, blond ex-Quidditch player as he came in for dinner.

"Hello, there, Mr. Bagman," Fred and George said in an overly friendly manner, catching him on either side.

"Fancy meeting you here," Fred said.

"Quite the coincidence, isn't it?" George added.

Ludo Bagman laughed, but he couldn't quite keep the nervousness out of his laugh. "Er, hello, boys," he said, turning to each side and looking for a way out. "I suppose it is a coincidence. Um, say, should be a great feast tonight, am I right? Better get to it."

He took a big step forward, but he was cut off when Hermione stepped in front of him, standing out brightly in her pale blue robes. "Good evening, Mr. Bagman," she said, trying to mimic the Twins' grins.

"Evening, miss," he said cheerfully. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I really must be going—"

"Now hang on—"

"—this'll only take a minute," the Twins said.

"You never answered our letter."

"We've been worried about you."

"We've been wanting to talk—"

"—but it's awful hard to get a hold of you."

"Now, now, boys, you can see I'm alive and well. So there's no need to worry. I don't think we have any business."

"Well, there is the small matter of the four-hundred sixty galleons, three sickles, and twenty-seven knuts you owe us," Hermione said. "You paid us off in Leprechaun Gold, if you recall. I'm sure it was just an oversight, though. Things were pretty chaotic that night." Never mind that you paid us before things turned chaotic, she thought.

"Did I now?" he said, his voice jumping a couple of pitches. "Well, terribly sorry about that. I'll get on that right away. I'll have my people contact your people, and we'll work something out." And before they could protest again, he pushed between Hermione and Fred and entered the Great Hall.

"Well, that went well," Hermione said. "We don't even have people."

But she still smiled when she saw the Great Hall, reliving fond memories of…no, actually, she didn't have any good memories of Halloween at Hogwarts. But the decorations were always beautiful, and maybe this year would be different…Please?

Although it might have been too late already, given the weirdness that was now sitting next to a disturbed-looking Septima.

"Hagrid?"

"What happened to him?"

"What is he wearing?"

"What did he do to his hair?"

Hagrid was wearing something that looked like a brown suit made of furs and a yellow and orange checked necktie. He looked more like a bear than a man in that monstrosity. His hair was slicked down in two big bunches with something that was definitely not hair gel.

"Is that…axle grease?"

It wasn't just the fashion nuts like Lavender and Parvati who were staring. A large fraction of the school was aghast at Hagrid's fashion faux pas. Something was definitely up with him. Hermione couldn't be certain what, but when she followed his gaze, she got a pretty good idea: Madame Maxime.

It wasn't surprising when she did the maths. It was entirely possible that Madame Maxime was the only woman Hagrid had ever seen who was his own size. It must be a lonely life for both of them, when she thought about it like that. But if he thought he was going to impress her with that getup, he was setting himself up for disappointment. Madame Maxime knew all about fine dress and jewelry, and Hagrid, lovable though he was…didn't. Hermione wished there was something she could do for him.

Most of the students waited impatiently for Dumbledore to finish eating (and he himself seemed wilfully oblivious to this) in order to get to the selection of the champions. At last, though, the food was cleared away, and Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman stood and clustered around the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore had just explained that the champions were to come forward and go into the back room to receive instructions when the brilliant, blue-white flames of the Goblet flashed bright red and spat out a charred piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it one handed and read it off.

"The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum."

Loud cheers of a disproportionately female tone erupted from the Great Hall. Hermione clapped politely. Of course, the star athlete would win.

"The champion for Beauxbatons will be Fleur Delacour."

The cheers carried a disproportionately male tone this time. Hermione clapped more enthusiastically for her sort-of-friend, even if she was worried for her safety. Fleur was no surprise, either. She was at the top of the seventh-year class.

"The champion for Hogwarts will be Cedric Diggory."

The applause from the Hufflepuff Table was thunderous. Hufflepuff so rarely got first billing. Hermione barely noticed the moans of displeasure from her Gryffindor friends. That was unexpected—and not good, in her opinion. Her breath caught as Cedric strode forward, looking so carefree with that enchanting grin on his face, and—Get a hold of yourself! Cedric was a surprise in this. Sure, he was at the top of his class, but it was the sixth-year class, and Hermione was definitely worried for him. If there was any way she could help him—maybe invent a few new hexes, maybe even curses, and send them to him—yes, she would try that.

It had certainly been an exciting evening, but after that, Hermione was quickly feeling ready for bed.

But then, the Goblet's flames turned red a fourth time. It took longer to finish this time, as if it were malfunctioning somehow. Finally, it spat out a fourth scrap of parchment, and Dumbledore caught it in midair. His face was grave when he read it.

The old wizard cleared his throat and read out, "Harry Potter."

Thud!

That was the sound of Hermione's forehead hitting the table.