Recommendation: This chapter's recommended fic is "Harry Potter and the Champion's Champion" by DriftWood1965. Harry gives Ron what he wants: the chance to compete in the TriWizard Tournament. It does not go well for him. Not for Ron fans.

Chapter 20 - I Need a Hero

Sunday, January 3, 1995, Morning.

*SPLASH!*

Hermione screamed, half in delight and half in annoyance, as Ginny made another canonball dive into the pool. Hermione had objected at first when the others proposed setting aside the egg in order to enjoy the pool for a while, but it didn't take long for her to start having fun herself. She had explained that her parents had a pool, but she had never had an opportunity to play in it with kids her own age and tended to associate it with summer exercise, not fun and games.

Jasmine had never had any opportunities to use a pool at all — if the Dursleys had had one, they probably would have tried to drown her in it. This inspired Hermione to give Jasmine her first swimming lessons because if the second task had something to do with water, the ability to swim might be necessary. What Hermione didn't mention to Jasmine was that she was already thinking ahead to the coming summer and how much fun they both might have in the Granger family pool — assuming, of course, that Hermione could find a way to get Jasmine over to her house for an extended visit.

The Dursleys hate her, so there's no way they would mind, is there? she considered. Maybe they'd prefer if she was gone for a weekend... or maybe even a whole week! Why not? I'm sure I can convince my parents to invite her. They leave me alone all day most days anyway. Then Jasmine and I will have all day together. Her, me, the pool... it'll be perfect!

When the four Gryffindor friends had gathered together on the seventh floor that morning, they were in an even more optimistic mood than they had been the previous day. Even if they didn't solve the egg that morning, they knew they would have access to a magical room that would certainly be very helpful in the coming months and years.

It hadn't taken long before simply relaxing in the pool had given way to diving in, which in turn gave way to "Marco Polo," a muggle game which Hermione had to explain to the others. Before Hermione realized it, three hours had passed. She wanted to be angry at delaying work for so long, but it was obvious to everyone that she'd had as much fun as everyone else.

Eventually, though, she had to insist that everyone gather around to actually get to work. Holding the egg in the center of the pool, she said, "Since it's your egg, Jasmine, you should do this, just in case the egg needs your magic to work properly. You dunk the egg and open it under water. As soon as it's completely submerged, we'll all take a deep breath and go under ourselves — that way, we'll all be in position to hear what the egg is doing. Does everyone agree?"

The others all nodded, so Hermione gave Jasmine the egg and she proceeded to follow. Once everyone's head was underwater, they were treated to an egg that was no longer screeching; instead, it was singing with a haunting, melodic voice.

After it started to repeat its short song for the second time, everyone came back up gasping for air, and Hermione rushed to the side of the pool where she had left a quill and parchment. "Does everyone remember the song?" she asked. "We need to get it written down so we can study it." With the help of the others, Hermione wrote down what was clearly the egg's clue for the next task:

Come to where we sing our song,
Do not wait or tarry long,
That which your heart treasures most,
Resides down here with us as host,
You must find what you have lost,
Or give it up and bear the cost,
You have one hour and no more,
Then we'll keep it forever more.

"So," Neville began, "you're going to lose something and you've got to find it. You get an hour, and if you don't find it in that time, you... lose it forever?"

"That hardly seems fair," muttered Ginny.

"We had to have the egg underwater in order to get the clue," Hermione observed, "so I'm guessing Jasmine has to search underwater."

"The Black Lake!" Ginny said excitedly. "That's the only water anywhere near here."

"Right," added Neville. "It's a freshwater lake, so that fits the kelp on the egg. There are merpeople living in the Black Lake. Maybe that was them singing, and they'll be playing 'host' to whatever Jasmine loses."

"Jasmine?" Hermione asked tentatively. Realizing that she hadn't been participating, everyone looked at the champion and found a very troubled look on her face.

"What are they going to take from me?" Jasmine asked in a small voice.

"Maybe your Firebolt?" suggested Ginny.

"That is pretty important," Hermione said thoughtfully, "but Jasmine has other things that mean even more to her, like her father's old cloak. But any of them could be hidden in advance. One of us could even take and hide them in our own stuff."

Neville looked down at the parchment with the song again, then looked up at Jasmine to ask, "What does your heart treasure the most, Jasmine?"

She looked at him for a moment, then her eyes widened, and her head whipped to the side to stare at Hermione. All four were hit by the realization at the same time, and Jasmine started to pale as her mind began to torture her with the implications of the clue. "No," Jasmine said, "no, no, no, no..."

Hermione grabbed her girlfriend in a tight hug and started whispering, "It'll be OK, Jas, don't worry." None of them noticed Ginny fidgeting and looking decidedly uncomfortable with the very open display of affection between two witches wearing only swimsuits.

Neville, for his part, wasn't really paying attention to the two and got a thoughtful look on his face before saying, "Wait a minute — even if they do take a person, how do we know for sure that it would be Hermione?"

Pulling back a bit from the embrace, Jasmine turned her head to face him and said a little heatedly, "No offense, Neville, but there's no one I treasure in my heart anywhere close to Hermione! There certainly isn't any thing that I treasure as much as her."

"No offense taken," Neville responded, holding up his hands placatingly, "but that's not the point. We all know that Hermione means more to you than anyone else, but others don't know — including the tournament organizers. So why would they pick her?"

Both Jasmine and Hermione looked back at each other now, and Hermione smiled as she said, "He's right, Jas. Depending on just how ignorant the event organizers are, they could pick any one of the three of us. Ron might even be a contender. Dobby should be, but I doubt they'd even think of him."

Jasmine started biting her bottom lip before responding, "OK, you've got a point, but that only means that you aren't guaranteed to be what's taken from me. It doesn't mean you're safe, especially since it won't be hard for the organizers to learn that the two of us have been best friends for so long and that you're closer to me than anyone else. Dumbledore knows, at the very least."

The others sobered a bit at this, realizing that Jasmine was right and that Hermione was still in danger. Maybe they were all potentially in danger, but Hermione was still more at risk than the rest. "Look," Ginny said, "we aren't sure yet that they will take a person, though I'll agree that any decent person will treasure another person more than some possession. And even if a person is taken, should we really believe that they will be lost forever? Is there a reason to think that there's real danger to someone who is taken?"

Jasmine looked at Ginny as if she had hit her head. "Ginny, these are the same people who promised to protect the Triwizard Cup yet allowed it to be tampered with so thoroughly that an underaged witch was entered as a fourth champion in a TRI-wizard tournament. And this is happening in the same school where a man was hired to teach defense despite having Voldemort growing out of the back of his head, where a Cerberus was kept behind a door that a firstie could open with a basic unlocking charm, where a basilisk was allowed to roam unchecked for months... need I go on?"

The other three winced at being reminded of just how many dangerous and deadly situations had been allowed to develop at a school that had been touted as the safest place in Britain. No matter what assurances might be offered for the safety of anyone taken hostage for the second task, none of them would believe a word of it. So in addition to coming up with ways for Jasmine to rescue whomever was ultimately taken from her, they also had to develop ways to ensure that they were all protected.

Now it wasn't just Jasmine who was being put in danger by the tournament, it was anyone Jasmine was close to.

This put an end to any more thoughts of frolicking and fun in the pool, which was just as well since it was getting close to lunchtime. Before everyone left, they agreed to split up the research as they had when researching the egg. Neville would research means for breathing underwater, Ginny would review possible dangers in the Black Lake, Hermione would look for spells and other ways of fighting under water, and Jasmine would try to find ways to protect anyone taken hostage.

Sunday, January 3, 1995, Afternoon.

When Minerva McGonagall welcomed Jasmine and Hermione into her office for their regular Sunday discussion, the two younger witches were still rather depressed from what they had learned earlier in the day. When questioned about their mood, they didn't hesitate to tell her everything. They felt that if she already knew about the task, then it wouldn't hurt to tell her that they knew as well; but if she didn't know about it, then she probably should.

Because of the limitations placed on school staff preventing them from directly helping their champions, Minerva was unable to say anything that would confirm or deny that what the girls had discovered was correct. However, she could speak in hypotheticals, so she did her best to ensure that her limited comments would be as useful as possible.

"Do either of you think you might someday have children?" she asked. Noting the confused looks on their faces, she continued, "If so, be sure to study up on how to keep your children safe. Magical parents have access to quite a few spells that can help them protect their offspring — for example, tracking charms that monitor a child's location and even health. Young children have a tendency to wander off, and you want to be sure you can track them down as quickly as possible before they can get hurt."

Hermione immediately smiled and pulled out a quill and parchment so she could take notes on their professor's advice — one never knew when it might be useful someday.

"If you expect to travel with your children, such tracking and monitoring charms can be very useful," Minerva continued. "Speaking of travel, I recommend that someday you take a trip to the beach. It can be a lot of fun for the whole family, especially if you can go underwater to see the fish and plants which live beneath the waves. There are several options available to you to help with that; a good book on magical travel destinations should have some relevant information. Such a book should also have information on how to defend yourself against any hostile animals you might find underwater, but proficiency at silent spell casting would be important when it comes to that."

And so it went, with Minerva offering valuable advice on things they might one day do in the future, and Hermione taking copious notes. That is, so it went until Jasmine asked a difficult question: "Professor McGonagall, champions are forced to participate, but what about everyone else in the three schools? Can any of them be forced? Or can they simply refuse to participate in any way?"

Both Minerva and Hermione were a bit taken aback by this, but in retrospect it was the obvious question to ask. If non-champions could refuse to participate, then protecting them would be a lot easier; if they couldn't, then the schools could put them in danger against the wishes of both themselves and their guardians or parents.

"I don't know, Miss Potter, but I will try to find out," Minerva answered, her voice a mixture of both curiosity and concern.

"Thank you," the young witch said. Looking over at her girlfriend, she continued, "If it's at all possible, I don't want Hermione anywhere near this task. Or the tournament as a whole, for that matter. It's bad enough that I have to participate — I don't want her to be put in any danger simply because of her association with me."

"I'm sure my parents wouldn't give permission for me to participate and be put at risk," Hermione added, "though I wonder if they would even be asked, since I'm only a muggleborn." She practically spat that last word, effectively communicating what she thought of the attitudes of so many magicals. Minerva agreed wholeheartedly with both the young witches, but wasn't sure if she would be able to get the necessary information. She had yet to even locate a copy of the official tournament rules.

When Jasmine and Hermione left later that afternoon, both were feeling a little more optimistic than they had been when they arrived. They still had quite a few problems that they needed to solve, but they had a better idea now where to start looking for solutions and still had nearly two months before they needed to be ready.

Sunday, January 3, 1995, Evening.

After dinner, Hermione acted completely out of character by dragging Jasmine away from last-minute checks of homework in order to spend some time relaxing. When told to grab her swimsuit, Jasmine assumed that Hermione wanted to try out the pool again, but Hermione had come up with what she thought would be a far better idea. It all hinged on just how good the Room of Requirement was in scanning a person's mind to provide what they needed.

When the two arrived at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, Hermione said she would take care of creating the room. After pacing the necessary three times, she motioned to Jasmine to stay there while she opened the door to examine the results. Ohhh, yes — that would do very nicely indeed.

Grinning, she beckoned Jasmine to enter and said with a flourish, "Welcome to the Hot Tub Grotto!"

"What is it, Hermione?" Jasmine asked with bewilderment in her voice.

"Well, Jas," Hermione explained, "I wanted us to spend a little time just relaxing in a hot tub. However, I'm not sure how well the Room of Requirement can produce modern muggle machines, if it can at all. So I asked the room to create something natural that will function in a similar way. So we have a grotto here like we might find in a cave, and over in the corner is a pool with hot water that has bubbles and jets of pressurized water. All of it is theoretically possible in nature, even if very unlikely."

"Wow," Jasmine said as she drank in the atmosphere of a cave-like room that had small clouds of steam drifting through the air.

"Get changed," Hermione called out from a far corner that evidently served as a changing area. Jasmine found a second one, and soon both girls were stepping gingerly into the hot pool, where they found surprisingly comfortable stone seats. Both leaned back a little, draping their arms across the edge of the pool, and moaned in simultaneous relief as the jets of warm water began to work their magic.

"Hermione," Jasmine said slowly, "this may be your best idea ever." Hermione just smiled, knowing that she wasn't done yet. After about twenty minutes the warm water and jets had sufficiently relaxed both witches, so Hermione took the opportunity to move over until she was sitting in her girlfriend's lap.

Their swimsuits weren't risque, but the two witches still had far more skin touching than they ever had before -before their hug earlier that morning, that is, which was part of how Hermione had gotten her idea for the grotto. This, combined with the warm water, caused them both to very quickly start feeling hot, despite the fact that they were doing nothing more than cuddling and a bit of light kissing. The heat started in their faces as they realized just how much skin was touching and it soon moved south, settling in their lower abdomens in a way that was both very pleasant and very frustrating.

As Hermione had expected, Jasmine's opinion of her idea shot through the roof once the bushy-haired witch settled in her lap, and it just kept climbing after that. The time they spent together that evening rivaled their New Year's celebration and was so engrossing that they barely made it back to the Gryffindor common room before curfew.

We are definitely doing that again, Hermione thought to herself. And soon!

Sunday, January 3, 1995, Evening.

In a run-down muggle manor house in Little Hangleton, a blackened, ugly, disgusting baby-thing was screaming in pain and had been doing so since around dinnertime. It was amazing that it hadn't ruptured its vocal chords or passed out from the exertion, yet somehow it kept going. Tom Riddle, whose soul's tattered remnants had taken up residence in the baby-thing, had never experienced pain like this — and he'd been having regular bouts of similar, inexplicable pain since early in December.

Only the pain on New Year's Eve had come anywhere close, and he'd been unable to think of any cause for his suffering, despite his prodigious intellect and unsurpassed knowledge of magic. We are Lord Voldemort! he shouted defiantly in his mind. We are the greatest wizard to ever live! Nothing should be affecting Us like this, nothing!

The best idea he could come up with was that this was some sort of side-effect of creating this homunculus — something that hadn't been spelled out in the notes on the ritual he used. He had his doubts about whether this was true, but it was the only thing he could think of. If it were true, though, it might mean that this homunculus wasn't as stable as he had anticipated, which in turn meant that he might have to move up his plans for acquiring a new body.

Since he couldn't adequately explain or stop the pain, all he could do was use the Cruciatus curse on Wormtail. It didn't actually dull his own agony, but he enjoyed casting that curse enough that it distracted him a little bit. Unfortunately, the last time did that he had held the curse for a bit too long, and Wormtail was now catatonic and drooling into the carpet. Only time would tell if the condition was permanent. Wormtail was useless enough that Riddle normally wouldn't care, but right now he was the only help he had, so he couldn't afford to lose him.

Hmmm... Riddle mused to himself between bouts of pain. Maybe We need to rectify that.

Sunday, January 3, 1995, Night.

It had taken Albus Dumbledore all weekend to to get through the mail that had piled up on his desk over the previous week, but he had finally finished that evening. As happy as he was to complete that task before the new term could technically start, he wasn't really in a good mood. Located within the piles of mail had been an item which greatly troubled him: a letter from Gringotts to Jasmine Potter.

When she was still an infant, Dumbledore had used a spell on her which redirected all but approved owl post from her to him. At the time, of course, no post from magical sources had been approved, completely cutting the toddler off from all communication with magical society. He had known that her muggle aunt and uncle wouldn't have tolerated the masses of magical mail that their niece would receive, even if it had all been just fan mail. He certainly didn't want any of them to suffer from the various items that came through with curses and hexes.

Technically speaking he probably didn't have the legal authority to take such action. He might have been able to get the legal authority if he had sought it, but that would have required revealing too much to the Ministry of Magic about Miss Potter's whereabouts and circumstances. Sooner or later — and probably sooner — that information would have ended up in the wrong hands, like those of some of Tom's servants who had escaped punishment.

So what he did really was for the best all around.

When Miss Potter returned to the magical world, the headmaster slowly started approving various senders so that she could get owl post from them — the Weasleys and Hogwarts itself, for example. He decided, however, that she still didn't need to be burdened with all the fan mail, and she was certainly too unskilled to handle the continued influx of cursed and hexed mail.

It was still the best choice, he was confident.

Gringotts was not on Dumbledore's list of approved senders. He didn't believe that a girl so young and raised in the muggle world needed to be bothered with either the goblins or the complexities of finance. Even I have trouble understanding some of what her regular bank statements contain, he thought, so what's the point of passing them along to an even less knowledgeable young witch? It's not like she can do anything with any of the money outside her trust vault anyway, and I'd rather not inflict that distraction on her.

Now, though, something completely new had been sent to Miss Potter by the bank: a notification of an audit. Why would they be conducting an audit, he wondered, and why would they be contacting her about that? Did they find something wrong? I do hope no one has been interfering with her accounts — goblin policies being what they are, I'd have difficulty intervening on her behalf, even if it's one of the darker families trying to illegally access her money.

Dumbledore looked over at the various magical devices he used to monitor and keep track of Jasmine Potter. So far, none had reported any trips to Gringotts or indeed anywhere outside the castle except for Hogsmeade. Well, not at any point in time while he had been in his office, and it was unlikely that she'd be able to make such a trip when he was taking a meal or walking through the castle.

That still left any number of unknown reasons for why the audit had been launched, however, and Dumbledore didn't like being kept ignorant of such matters.

Is this the beginning of something significant, he asked himself, or just the result of an accounting error? Tom will be back sooner or later and I can't afford to miss anything that might work to his benefit. I was called the Brightest Wizard of the Age when I was young, he thought tiredly, but Merlin knows, I'm fallible. And the consequences of making a mistake at this point could be disastrous...

He briefly considered forging a letter from Miss Potter to Gringotts to ask for more information, but quickly discarded the idea. The goblins took a very dim view of such acts, and he didn't think the current situation warranted such a risk. It looks like I'll have to wait and see what their next letter says, he concluded resignedly, but in the meantime I'll have to keep closer tabs on Miss Potter, just in case this is part of a larger, nefarious plot to get to her or her gold.

Dumbledore's musings were interrupted by a notification from the gargoyle guarding the entrance to his office that Severus Snape was coming up the stairs. "Come in, Severus," he called out when his potions professor knocked on his door. Snape scowled as he entered, and Dumbledore guessed that he was annoyed at how the Headmaster always seemed to know who was at his door even before they knocked. How he did so wasn't exactly a secret, but he didn't make a point of telling anyone, either. It was too useful of a tool.

"Please, have a seat Severus," the Headmaster said in his kind, grandfatherly voice as Snape strode towards the headmaster's large, ornate desk. "Sherbet lemon?" he asked, as he held out a dish of the sweet candies which he invariably offered everyone who came to his office.

"No, thank you, Headmaster," Snape replied, plainly bewildered as always as to why the other man insisted on offering him the sickly-sweet candies when he continually refused them.

"Well, what brings you to my office at this late hour?" Dumbledore asked as he took one of the candies himself and popped it into his mouth.

"It concerns the Dark Mark," Snape said.

"Dear me," the Headmaster said softly, his eyes losing some of their customary twinkle and his demeanor turning somber. "Perhaps you'd care for something stronger than a sherbet lemon, then?"

"Yes, please, that would be appreciated," came the reply, a bit of weariness edging into Snape's voice.

Dumbledore rose from his large, ornate chair and moved to a table at the side of the room where he kept a bottle of old firewhiskey and several crystal glasses. Curious, he thought, eyeing the level in the bottle, I didn't realize I was so low. He shrugged. Ah, well — another victim of these dark times, I suppose. I must remember to send for more. After he poured a generous measure of the amber liquid for his Potions professor, he returned to his desk and set the glass in front of the other man before sitting back down.

Dumbledore waited for Snape to take a drink and then for the steam to stop streaming from his ears before resuming their conversation. "Is it Karkaroff? Has he come to complain to you about his Mark again?"

"No, Headmaster," Snape answered, "not since the night of the Yule Ball when we argued outside in the garden. He is, however, looking more and more nervous every time I see him."

"I suppose you're still convinced that he'll run when Tom returns?" the older man asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, and even more so now." Snape replied.

"Then what is it?" the Headmaster asked, growing more curious about what the problem could be.

Snape set down his glass and frowned as he pulled up his left sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark, inscribed into his skin by Lord Voldemort more than fifteen years ago. "The Mark is... behaving oddly."

"Behaving?" Dumbledore asked with a frown. "I wasn't aware that the Mark could 'behave' in any manner at all."

"Indeed," Snape said, extending his arm across the desk, "but that's the best description I can offer for what's happening. It's still getting darker, as before, but it's also a little reddish at times."

Dumbledore pushed his half-moon spectacles up higher on his crooked nose as he bent close to examine the other man's arm. "Yes…" he said slowly, "I can see what you mean. There is just a bit of red in there. Has this ever happened before, either while Tom still had his body or after that Halloween?"

"No, Headmaster," Snape replied. "I've neither experienced nor heard of anything like it, though I've been reluctant to ask any of my former associates about it."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding as he continued to study the mark.

"But that's not all," Snape added. The Headmaster looked up from the mark to his Potions professor. "More and more in recent weeks... since early or mid December, I think... it's been... bothering me. Itching, burning, and even occasionally sharp pain. It doesn't happen all the time, but it has been happening more often."

"How curious," the Headmaster said as he sat up straight. "And you don't know what might be causing this?"

"No…" Snape said slowly.

"Any speculations?" Dumbledore prodded, suspecting that he had more to say.

"Well," Snape began, "the Dark Lord was capable of causing pain and discomfort through his mark, whether to punish or to summon us. But that required him to have access to another Mark on one of his servants to use as a conduit. And full use of his magic to power the signal, I believe — he never did any other magic at the same time and always had to concentrate fully on it."

"It is possible that he has at least one servant with him," Dumbledore observed.

"That is true, and I wouldn't necessarily have heard anything," Snape agreed, "But I'm not sure how he would have the ability to cause such effects when he's not... recovered enough to bring the Dark Mark all the way back."

The Headmaster took off his spectacles and leaned back in his chair to consider what the other man had said. "That is a most curious set of facts," he finally admitted. "I'm afraid that I have no special insights into why this might be happening. I was never able to learn as much about how the Dark Mark functions as I wanted to. I suspect that whatever is causing you distress in your Mark cannot be good for Tom, though, and that's probably something to be glad about. Beyond that.…" The Headmaster trailed off, not sure what else to say at this point.

"I know," Snape said with a hint of resignation before he quickly finished off his firewhiskey and belched a bit of flame. "I just wanted to make you aware of what was happening."

"Thank you, Severus, I do appreciate all you have to endure," the headmaster replied sympathetically. "Do let me know as soon as anything new occurs, will you?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape said as he rose from his seat. After giving the older man a curt nod, he strode out of the office and back to his private quarters in the dungeons, leaving Albus Dumbledore alone with his thoughts.

What are you doing, Tom? he wondered. What exactly do you have planned?