The following day, Hermione sat in her usual place in the Great Hall for breakfast. She kept an eye on the steps to the boys' Dormitory, waiting for Harry and Ron to start their day with her and to potentially discuss S.P.E.W. further. Jillian was sitting a few seats down and waved at Hermione warmly before going back to talking with all of her new friends.
To Hermione's surprise, Harry came in through the entrance doors instead of from the dorms. A few seconds later, a still half-asleep Ron trudged down the stairs from where Hermione expected both of them to come from.
"Where were you?" Ron yawned, grabbing some toast. "I woke up, and you weren't there."
"I decided to write back to Sirius," Harry explained. "I've just been to the Owlery to send it off."
"What did you say?" Hermione asked.
"Well, basically, I just told him that I imagined it all and to not come," Harry shrugged, putting a bit of milk in his coffee.
"That was a lie, Harry!" said Hermione. "You didn't imagine your scar hurting, and you know it."
"So what?" said Harry. "He's not going back to Azkaban because of me."
Hermione was going to continue giving Harry a piece of her mind, but Ron just put his hand over hers. "Drop it," he said, shaking his head. Hermione conceded it was a lost cause but silently vowed to pay Harry special attention. If she thought his scar was hurting more than usual, she would write Sirius herself.
Hermione found it more challenging to pay attention to Harry during the next few weeks of lessons. Most professors were piling on the homework, bogging the three friends and their classmates down with work during their free hours. Each of their classes seemed to be getting exponentially harder, much to Hermione's delight. She loved a challenge, and she certainly got one in Transfiguration class. The class was working on turning a hedgehog into a pincushion. Hermione was the only one to be able to complete the task, much to her delight.
In addition to all the classes and increased work, Hermione and Sophie had decided to meet up a few times for Arithmancy Club which obviously took her away from watching over Harry.
Thankfully for Hermione, however, Sophie turned out to be the perfect person to run S.P.E.W. things across. After the less-than-fabulous reception by the boys, Hermione decided to retool a few things in her plan. Being from a relatively well-off wizarding family, Sophie could help Hermione discover all the holes in her arguments and give her a bit more context for people's opinions.
"See, that's where you're wrong," Sophie said. "Your friend, Weasley, is right; House-Elves genuinely like to work. They have forever."
"But, don't you see?" Hermione persisted. "That's only because they don't know better. Haven't you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?"
Sophie shook her head.
"Basically, it's a condition in which hostages develop a psychological bond with their captors during captivity, sometimes to the extent of developing positive feelings for them."
"That's ridiculous!" said Sophie. "Why would someone who was kidnapped like their captor?"
"The term was first used by the Muggle media in 1973 when four people were taken hostage during a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden," Hermione explained. "The hostages defended their captors after being released and would not agree to testify in court against them."
"Well, that's just mental," Sophie said.
"Not necessarily," Hermione said. "Well, it may be to us, but that's because we've never been in that situation. Stockholm syndrome can be argued as another method of coping with the stress and anger of being abused. It doesn't seem as bad if you can make excuses for the other person's behaviour."
"And you're saying all House-Elves are suffering from this?"
"Well, probably not all, but most," Hermione said. "Why else would they, as you say, like to be tortured and made to work without any sort of payment? They're afraid to speak up for themselves. At this point, they probably don't even realise how horrible they are being treated… it's all they know."
"I think that's a hard argument to make," Sophie said slowly, "but I won't doubt that it makes a bit of sense."
Hermione beamed. "So you'll be a part of the movement?" she asked.
"If you don't tell anyone, sure," Sophie said.
"Brilliant!" Hermione said, rummaging in her backpack for a S.P.E.W. badge. "Just two sickles, and this is yours!"
"Two sickles!" Sophie exclaimed, but dug into her robe pockets and pulled out her change.
Hermione handed her the badge. "Here's a green one to go with your robes," she said with a smile.
"Granger, if you think I'm going to wear this out in the hallways, you have another thing coming," Sophie said.
Sophie may not have wanted to wear the badge, but that didn't stop Hermione from going around the Gryffindor Common Room every night after dinner, trying to get some more S.P.E.W. members. She hated to admit that she had seemed to overestimate the coalition's popularity, but that didn't deter her ambition. Neville gladly paid the two sickles and proudly wore the badge, much to Hermione's delight.
The next day, to their surprise, Professor Moody announced that he would be putting the Imperius curse on each of them in turn to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects.
"But - but you said it's illegal, Professor," said Hermione uncertainly. "You said to use it against another human was-"
"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," said Moody, his magical eye swivelling onto Hermione, making her incredibly uncomfortable. "If you'd rather learn the hard way - when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely - fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."
Hermione felt her face grow flush and could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't want to leave - that wasn't the point of speaking up. She muttered as much under her breath and stayed seated.
Moody began to beckon each student forward in turn and put the Imperius curse upon them. Hermione watched as, one by one, her classmates did the most extraordinary (and downright terrifying) things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room whilst singing the national anthem. Lavender imitated a squirrel (which Hermione hated to admit was entertaining). Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state.
Not a single one of them had been able to fight the curse off, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it. Hermione was both utterly fascinated and terrified at the same time. She wanted her turn to see what it was like but was scared of what the crazy professor would make her do.
She stiffened in fear as Moody's magical eye spun towards her. "Potter," he growled. "You next."
Harry moved into the middle of the classroom, into the space Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, "Imperio."
Hermione and the rest of the class collectively held their breath. "Jump onto the desk," Moody said in a steady voice. Hermione watched Harry turn towards the desk and crouch down, getting ready to jump.
But he just stayed in that position.
"Jump onto the desk," Moody said again.
Harry seemed to be at war with himself. If Hermione didn't know any better, she'd think Harry's feet were stuck to the ground. He kept squatting and standing as if he was going to jump, but his feet never left the ground.
"Jump now!" roared Moody, and Hermione watched in horror as Harry both jumped and prevented himself from jumping simultaneously. He smashed headlong into the desk, knocking it over, and looked in intense pain.
"Now, that's more like it!" growled Moody's voice. "Look at that, you lot. Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention. Watch his eyes. That's where you see it. Very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling you!"
Poor Harry was subject to the Imperious Curse four more times until, finally, Harry was impressively able to throw off the curse entirely. By then, the class was over, and they all shuffled out into the hall.
"The way he talks, you'd think we were all going to be attacked any second," Harry said, hobbling in pain from repeatedly slamming his shins and knees against the desk.
"Yeah, I know," said Ron. "Talk about paranoid," Ron glanced nervously over his shoulder to check that Moody was definitely out of earshot and went on. "No wonder they were glad to get shot of him at the Ministry. Did you hear him telling Seamus what he did to that witch who shouted 'boo' behind him on April Fools' Day? And when are we supposed to read up on resisting the Imperius curse with everything else we've got to do?"
Ron was disgusted but not surprised when Professor McGonagall gave them a large amount of Transfiguration homework and joined the rest of the class in groaning. Hermione, on the other hand, was just excited about the work.
"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education," she told them. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer-"
"We don't take O. 'til fifth year!" said Dean Thomas indignantly.
"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me. You'll need all the preparation you can get. Miss Granger remains the only person in this class who has managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that your pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"
Hermione could feel her face flush with pride. Professor McGonagall was right - their fifth year was just right around the corner. It only made sense that their workloads would increase.
For example, Professor Binns, the ghost who taught History of Magic, had them writing weekly essays on the Goblin Rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes. They took this seriously, as he had hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Hermione was reasonably confident in her potion but still didn't want to be tested like that.
Professor Flitwick asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms and also gave Hermione a fourth book to introduce the Contego charm for Jillian. Hermione found the books extraordinarily informative and fun to read, though Harry and Ron seemed to have different opinions.
Even Hagrid was adding to their workload, which made Hermione happy. He was finally finding his groove as a teacher and becoming organised enough to assign homework. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace, given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted with their growth and, as part of their 'project,' suggested they come down to his hut on alternative evenings to observe the Skrewts and make notes on their unusual behaviour.
"I will not," said Draco Malfoy flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra large toy out of his sack. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."
Hagrid's smile faded from his face.
"Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growled, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book. I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."
The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but the memory of Moody's punishment was apparently sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting.
When they arrived in the Entrance Hall after their lesson, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign which had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. Ron, the tallest of the three, stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the other two.
TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT
The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early –
"Brilliant!" said Harry. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"
Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.
"Only a week away!" said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him."
"Cedric?" said Ron blankly as Ernie hurried off.
"Diggory," said Harry. "He must be entering the Tournament."
"That idiot, Hogwarts champion?" said Ron as they pushed their way through the chattering crowd towards the staircase.
"He's not an idiot. You just don't like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "I've heard he's a really good student – and he's a Prefect."
"You only like him because he's handsome," said Ron scathingly.
"Excuse me, I don't like people just because they're handsome!" said Hermione indignantly.
Ron gave a loud false cough that sounded oddly like, "Lockhart," causing Hermione to blush deeply. She hated to be reminded of her infatuation with Professor Lockhart in their second year.
The appearance of the sign in the Entrance Hall had a marked effect upon the castle's inhabitants. During the following week, there was only one topic of conversation: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumours were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the Tournament would involve, and how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.
The castle was undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames, muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armour were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any student who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.
Other members of staff seemed oddly tense, too.
"Longbottom, kindly do not reveal that you can't even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.
When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts house – red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers' table, the most prominent banner bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger and snake united around a large letter 'H'. The excitement in the air was palpable, though Hermione looked at all the work done in the Great Hall and got incredibly angry. None of it would have been possible without the slave labour of the House-Elves.
Hermione, Harry, and Ron spotted Fred and George at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices. Ron led the way over to them.
"It's a bummer, all right," George said gloomily to Fred. "But if he won't talk to us in person, we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."
"Who's avoiding you?" said Ron, sitting down next to them.
"Wish you would," said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.
"What's a bummer?" Ron asked George.
"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," said George.
"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry asked. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"
"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen, but she wasn't telling," said George bitterly. "She just told me to shut up and get on with Transfiguring my raccoon." Hermione chuckled under her breath.
"Wonder what the tasks are going to be?" said Ron thoughtfully. "You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We've done dangerous stuff before."
"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," said Fred. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the tasks."
"Who are the judges?" Harry asked.
"Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione. She had looked it up a few nights before. "Because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage."
She noticed them all looking at her and said, "It's all in Hogwarts: A History. Though, of course, that book's not entirely reliable. A Revised History of Hogwarts would be a more accurate title. Or A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School."
"What are you on about?" said Ron.
"House-Elves!" said Hermione. "Not once, in over a thousand pages, does Hogwarts: A History mention that we are all colluding in the oppression of a hundred slaves!"
"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"
"No, of course not," said Hermione curtly. "I hardly think students are supposed to –"
"Well, we have," said George, indicating Fred. "Loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world –"
"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione began hotly, but her following few words were drowned by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead which announced the arrival of the post owls. Hermione stopped talking abruptly; she and Ron watched Hedwig anxiously as she fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder, folded her wings and held out her leg wearily.
Harry pulled off Sirius' reply and offered Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she ate gratefully. Then, checking that Fred and George were safely immersed in further discussions about the Triwizard Tournament, Harry read out Sirius' letter in a whisper to Ron and Hermione.
Nice try, Harry.
I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me. Just watch out for yourself. Don't forget what I said about your scar.
Sirius
"Why d'you have to keep changing owls?" Ron asked in a low voice.
"Hedwig'll attract too much attention," said Hermione logically. "She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding. I mean, they're not native birds, are they?"
Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes. "Thanks, Hedwig," he said, stroking her.
There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Hermione, Ron, and Harry hurried up to Gryffindor Tower, deposited their bags and books as instructed, pulled on their cloaks and rushed back downstairs into the Entrance Hall.
The Heads of houses were ordering their students into lines.
"Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."
Parvati scowled and removed a sizeable ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.
"Follow me, please," said Professor McGonagall. "First-years in front. No pushing."
They filed down the front steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling, and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest.
"Nearly six," said Ron, checking his watch and then staring down the drive which led to the front gates. "How d'you reckon they're coming? The train?"
"I doubt it," said Hermione.
"How, then? Broomsticks?" Harry suggested.
"I don't think so," Hermione said, staring at the dark sky. "Not from that far away."
"A Portkey?" Ron suggested. "Or they could Apparate – maybe you're allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?"
Irritation spread through Hermione's cheeks. "You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds. How often do I have to tell you?" said Hermione impatiently.
They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent, and quiet as usual.
And then Dumbledore called out from the back row, where he stood with the other teachers – "Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"
"Where?" said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.
"There!" yelled a sixth-year, pointing over the Forest.
Something large, much larger than a broomstick – or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks – was hurtling across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing larger all the time.
"It's a dragon!'"shrieked one of the first-years, losing her head completely.
"Don't be stupid. It's a flying house!" said Dennis Creevey.
Dennis's guess was closer ... as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. When the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they were able to make it out more clearly: they saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant.
The front three rows of students drew backwards as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming into land at a tremendous speed – then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backwards onto a Slytherin fifth-year's foot – the horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.
A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forwards, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then, a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerged from the inside of the carriage – a shoe the size of a child's sled – followed, almost immediately, by a very, very large woman. The size of the carriage and the horses was immediately explained. A few people gasped.
Hermione had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in her life, and that was Hagrid. As the woman stepped into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face, large, black, liquid-looking eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.
Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman.
Her face relaxed into a gracious smile, and she walked towards Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.
"My dear Madame Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Dumbly-dorr," said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. "I 'ope I find you well?"
"On excellent form, I thank you," said Dumbledore.
"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.
Around a dozen boys and girls – all, by the look of them, in their late teens – had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes were made of fine silk, and none were wearing cloaks. A few of them had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. They were all staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.
"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?" Madame Maxime asked.
"He should be here any moment," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"
"Warm up, I think," said Madame Maxime. "But ze 'orses –"
"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," said Dumbledore. "The moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation which has arisen with some of his other – er – charges."
"Skrewts," Ron muttered to Hermione and Harry, grinning. Hermione had to agree they were the likely culprits.
"My steeds require – er – forceful 'andling," said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. "Zey are very strong."
"I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job," said Dumbledore, smiling.
"Very well," said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whisky?"
"It will be attended to," said Dumbledore, also bowing.
"Come," said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.
"How big d'you reckon Durmstrang's horses are going to be?" Seamus Finnigan said, leaning around Lavender and Parvati.
"Well, if they're any bigger than this lot, even Hagrid won't be able to handle them," said Harry. "That's if he hasn't been attacked by his Skrewts. Wonder what's up with them?"
"Maybe they've escaped," said Ron hopefully.
"Oh, don't say that," said Hermione with a shudder. "Imagine that lot loose in the grounds."
They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime's huge horses snorting and stamping. But then –
"Can you hear something?" said Ron suddenly.
Hermione strained to listen; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting towards them from out of the darkness, a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner was moving along a riverbed…
"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"
From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water – except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the centre; great bubbles were forming on the surface, and waves were now washing over the muddy banks – and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor. What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool.
"It's a mast!" Harry shouted.
Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it was a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide towards the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor thrown down in the shallows and the thud of a plank lowered onto the bank.
People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. They seemed to be quite bulked up in the shadows, but as they got closer, Hermione could see that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort, sleek and silver, like his hair.
"Dumbledore!" he called heartily as he walked up the slope. "How are you, my dear fellow? How are you?"
"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff," Dumbledore replied.
Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle, they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a slight curl) did not entirely hide his relatively weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.
"Dear old Hogwarts," he said. "How good it is to be here, how good ... Viktor, come along, into the warmth. You don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold."
Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Hermione caught a glimpse of a prominent, curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He looked familiar, but Hermione couldn't quite place him. However, Ron jumped up and down with recognition before she could ask.
"Harry – it's Krum!"
Hermione looked again at the man, and immediately it all fell into place; before them was the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum.