Note: This is the first part of my entries for this year's HMS Harmony Milestone Bingo, all of which share the same AU - some things will be different, others remain more or less the same. I'm writing this purely for fun, since I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does (she's clever like that). English is not my first language. Enjoy and be excellent to each other!

Milestone Bingo Prompt: First bad grade


Hermione is having her hands full helping Harry getting through the Triwizard Tournament. As a result, she receives her first bad grade. Can Harry comfort his best friend? And how do the Beauxbatons students Amélie and Louise fit into all of this?

Or: Hermione learns something about Harry she didn't know, and Harry learns something about Hogwart's rumor mill he didn't want to know.


Hermione was so distracted talking to Amélie that she missed Professor McGonagall passing by their table, giving back the Transfiguration essay that replaced this year's midterm exams. Only when the French girl nudged her did Hermione notice the parchment in front of her.

„Where did... oh my, the essay!" She took a look around and saw professor McGonagall back in class, handing back the last parchments to the other students.

„You probably just got another Outstanding, I know it." Amélie grinned, but there was a slight edge to it. Before coming to Hogwarts, the Beauxbaton girl had been one of the top three students in any class – or so everyone had told Hermione. Now, though, the curly blonde was struggling to stay among the top five students in any class.

In the privacy of her mind, Hermione could admit to herself that it felt good to beat such a studious person because she'd quickly learned that Amélie was highly intelligent. Probably the sharpest girl of all the Beuxbatons they now shared classes with. Despite that, they'd quickly become good friends – and that complicated things because Hermione didn't like leaving her friend in the dust. You just didn't do that, no matter how good it felt to hold a perfect grade in your hands.

„Probably not", she said with somewhat false modesty. „I was so busy helping Harry prepare for the second task, I think I actually forgot to read a couple of chapters."

„What's the world coming to?" Fay interjected, posing in a dramatic gesture at the neighboring table. „Hermione Granger didn't do all of her reading? We're doomed, everyone. Doomed!"

„Shut up." Hermione felt herself blush, but had to smile at her roommate's antics.

Amélie and the other French students were still snickering when she finally turned to her essay, eager to see how professor McGonagall's praising notes under that „O" she'd come to expect and value in equal amounts.

Only there was no „O", other than the shape of Hermione's mouth. At the end of the lengthy text – she'd written five feet on ,Platonic Ideals in Transfiguration: Why Close Enough is Actually Good' – riddled with red markings was…

… a „P".

As in, „Poor".

Hermione stared at the parchment, confused. It didn't make sense to see this word and this grade here. Intellectually, she knew that nobody was perfect and that even someone like herself could and would, eventually, fail at certain tasks.

But her whole academic life had been a string of A grades and Outstandings here at Hogwarts. She was one of the very best and was secure in the knowledge that, despite her anxieties, she'd always pull through. Hermione Granger didn't fail, and she certainly didn't write an essay only worth a „Poor".

McGonagall must've been mistaken when she graded her.

„Hermione? Are you alright?"

It took some force to shake herself out of her torpor, but she managed and looked up. Harry was leaning over from the other side, holding her arm. He seemed to be worried.

„You look like you've seen a ghost."

„I… sorry, what?"

„Hermione, you look like you've seen a ghost."

„But Peeves isn't here, is he?" She looked around.

„Err… Amélie, is this a prank or something?"

The French girl shook her head. "No, she just…"

"Ahem." Everyone stopped talking as Professor McGonagall stepped up in front of the class. "If everybody is quite finished regurgitating the results of the essays I just handed back, I have something to say."

The eyes of the Gryffindor Head of House locked onto Hermione for a second, and she felt as if her cheeks had caught fire. She was still holding the essay in her hand, still in shock about that wrongful "Poor" on the parchment.

"I know this school year is quite unusual as far as regular classes go, thanks to the excitement that the tournament has brought us. But even with all the leeway I am able to summon on your behalf, I have to say, I am quite disappointed in House Gryffindor."

Nobody said a thing, and Hermione felt Harry's hand letting go of her arm.

"I've never seen such an overall poor performance in any of my Transfiguration tests, ever. Many of you made basic mistakes that make me question if you ever attained any understanding of this vital topic during the past five years, let alone the bad writing, spelling mistakes, and digressions towards other topics I had to read." Professor McGonagall walked behind her table, looked down on her notebook, and then back to the students. "I expect better of you, Triwizard Tournament or not."

Someone in class sniffed, and some others shuffled their feet, but not a single word was spoken.

Without looking, Hermione knew that her teacher was looking at her now. She felt her confusion, fear, and shock being replaced with something else.

"Class is dismissed. I hope you use the extra time given to you wisely."

Hermione carefully folded the parchment into her bag, stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked to the door at a brisk pace.

"Hermione!" Harry's voice.

But she didn't stop.

"Hermione!"

"Hey, Harry, what's going on?"

"I don't know, Ron, something's wrong with her."

"Maybe she did get a bad grade?"

"Yeah, sure… "

She couldn't take it anymore and started running, away from the voices.


Harry opened the last broom closet on the sixth floor without hope. As he'd expected, Hermione wasn't hiding in there, only a spider that ran away from the sudden exposure to light.

"Son of a snitch."

"Language, 'arry. What will people think of you?"

He gave Louise a deadpan stare that made her and Amélie snicker. Ron, who, like Harry, was used to the crass language of a boy's dormitory, just grunted. "So what now?"

"I don't know, mate. She could be hiding anywhere, this bloody castle is just too big."

Amélie sighed. "She isn't in the library either, not even in the Restricted Section. I have a pass, I did look there."

"If you're right, and she really did get a poor grade, I think she might be running into the Forbidden Forest right now." Ron scratched his neck, unconsciously imitating Harry's nervous habit. "McGonagall's scolding must've hit her so hard."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Your sensibility regarding your friend's feelings is astounding."

"Thank you. I do notice such things, you know?"

Frustrated, the Boy-Who-Lived threw his hands in the air, ignoring the snickering French students that accompanied the trio regularly these days. "This isn't helping."

"Last year I got a ,T' and nobody started a search for me." Ron crossed his arms.

"Still not helping."

"Maybe she's with 'agrid?"

Harry looked at Louise, noticed that Ron was staring at the French girl's chest yet again, and grinned. "You're right. Would you mind taking Ron and go look for her? I'll search the upper floors in the meantime."

Louise nodded. "Of course, 'arry. Whatever you need."

Ron was opening his mouth to add something insensible to the situation, but the black-haired student grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the Grand Staircase before the Gryffindor could react properly.

Harry sighed. As fun as messing with Ron's crush on the French student was, he still needed to find Hermione.

"You're a devious one, aren't you?" Amélie was scrutinizing him. "Trying to play matchmaker? I thought that was Parvati's and Lavender's game."

"I'm not." He waved her off, but the Beauxbaton wasn't deterred so easily.

"Well, I think you're trying to... how do you say it? Clear the Quidditch pitch?"

Harry turned around. "What?"

"I've seen how you look at 'ermione." Amélie smiled, but unlike in Transfiguration class, it was without malice. "Ron looks at her two, but it's different. You and her... are very close."

"Well, that figures, doesn't it? We beat the Founder's Labyrinth and saved the Philosopher's Stone from a possessed professor, we exposed a conspiracy within the Ministry of Magic, and we found – quite by accident, I might say – a thirteenth use of dragon blood after we fought off one of those beasts during the hunt for Rowena's Diadem." Harry shrugged. "Going through stuff like that either makes you best friends with each other or the worst kind of enemies."

"Is that how you'd describe this strange thing you've got going on with Malfoy?"

"Oh come, is that rumor still going around? This school is utterly ridiculous." Harry started walking to the staircase now, trying to escape this conversation, and maybe finding Hermione in the process.

"I'm not from Hogwarts, you know. We Beauxbatons have some catching up to do when it comes to the local gossip."

"Time well spent, I assume."

She slapped him on the arm as she caught up with him on the stairs. "'arry Potter! Behave yourself, or I'll tell Fleur that you made me cry."

Thinking back to the pandemonium that'd descended upon the Great Hall the last time the French participant in the Triwizard Tournament had thought one of her younger friends had been taken advantage of, Harry shuddered. "Please don't."

"Fine. Then admit that you like Hermione."

"Huh? Ah, okay. I like Hermione."

Amélie almost stumbled upon the stairs. "Wait, you can't just say it like that!"

Harry stopped. "Err… what?"

"You're supposed to be all confused and blush when you stutter her name."

He gave her another deadpan stare. "Really? Who told you that? One of those stupid romance novels that are flying around the girl's dormitory?"

Amélie looked to the side and mumbled something that sounded like "none of your business", but she didn't bother him anymore.

They ascended to the seventh floor in comparable silence.

For like seven or eight steps.

"You do know that Louise has a crush on you, right?"

Harry groaned again. "Can we please stop talking about this topic? Like, at all?"

"No."

"Well, sucks being me, I guess."

The French girl shook her head. "Language."


Hermione looked up when the Astronomy Tower's trapdoor was opened. She quickly tried to wipe away her tears, but she knew her eyes would be red and puffy from crying.

It was Harry, though, looking at her, and that made it both better and worse.

"Hey." He jumped onto the platform and closed the trapdoor before drawing his wand. "Colloportus!"

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

He turned around, whirling his wand around his fingers before putting it into his belt. "I'm looking for you, silly."

"I… I think I want to be alone, Harry."

He nodded. "I understand. I locked the trapdoor for that exact reason. The others are still looking for you, but I reckon they can wait a minute or two."

Hermione sighed and lowered her head. "I mean… I need some time alone, Harry. That excludes you. Sorry."

"Is that so?" She heard him sit down beside her on the stone floor. He sounded unperturbed by her words.

She knew him well, better than most – or anyone else at Hogwarts, probably – but this was an unusual situation. Harry usually avoided confrontation, especially when it came to emotions and personal problems. Especially when she, or any girl, was involved.

Yet he stood his ground.

Despite still being angry at him, Hermione couldn't help but appreciate his stubbornness.

"Harry…"

"Stop." His voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation. He knew what he wanted to say.

Hermione looked up and saw him piercing her with those emerald eyes of his. His face was serious, and his hands weren't fiddling around. "I know that you don't want to see anyone right now and just be alone, I get that. And… I won't bother you for long, I promise. Just hear me out, please."

Feeling tired, she just nodded.

"I… I don't know how bad it is, but I guess you didn't get an ,O' on your essay? Probably not an ,AA', either? So for many of us, that's normal, yet for you, it's something completely new. And I guess you feel terrible." Harry sniffed once and pushed his glasses up his nose. "I do know how much you value school, Hermione. That good grades aren't just satisfactory because of the achievement, but because of what they'll lead to in the end. An education."

Hermione felt her mouth fall open for the second time this day.

Where were these insights coming from? Where was Harry, and who was this person sitting next to her?

"But Hermione, that's still very much on the table for you. A single bad grade, no matter how poor, won't end your reign as the brightest witch of our age."

"I hate that moniker, Harry, as you well know."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "She said to the Boy-Who-Lived."

They stared at each other for a second before she broke down, laughing. "Okay, I'll give you that one."

"This year it's really bad."

"I hadn't noticed between the ,Potter Stinks' badges and the pies thrown in the direction of our table." Hermione wiped the tears from her face. "Thanks, I needed that."

"Hm."

"Harry." She turned to him again and found him staring off into the sky. "I… I have to confess something to you."

"That you're madly in love with me and want me to take you away on my Firebolt?" He was looking up.

"Err… no. Who... is that what you think about me?"

"No, but Amélie is." Harry finally made eye contact again, and he had that smirk that he always put on when he was hiding something else. "She's worse than Lavender."

"That... please don't change the topic, Harry."

"Sorry."

"Where was I?"

"Confession of something or other."

She slapped his arm. "Prat."

He nodded.

"What I was trying to say to you before you spewed all that nonsense, Harry, is that I was furious with you. Still am, I believe."

He opened his mouth, but closed it again. It looked like he was playing things through in his head, things he might've said or done to anger her.

Hermione knew, though, that he'd never guess what it was – and it wasn't his fault. "When I put aside my studies to help you prep for the upcoming task, I really did that, Harry. Put aside my studies, I mean. I read less, made fewer notes, and wrote shorter homework."

Harry nodded slowly, trying to follow her train of thought.

"And I thought, hey, I managed that complete disaster of a fourth year, what with three Time-Turners going around school and us ending up chasing our own time-traveling selves when Voldemort entered the Chamber, and somehow I still managed a straight row of ,Outstandings'. So, how hard could it be to help you evade certain death and figure out this golden egg while still remaining a good student?"

"And then you didn't and wrote something that McGonagall didn't grade with an ,O'."

Hermione lowered her head into her hands, trying to fight back the bitter taste that was in her mouth. "I got a ,P'. Poor," she mumbled.

Harry didn't laugh – she knew many students would be hard-pressed to take her current issues seriously, but he wasn't – and remained quiet.

"I've never in my life failed this hard during a test."

"Essay."

"Same thing, Harry."

"Sorry."

She shook her head and laughed. "I didn't believe it when I held it in my hands. I saw the red markings and thought that Professor McGonagall must've found my reasonings very convincing to comment so much on them. How arrogant of me, right? To feel so superior that I can't even imagine the concept of failure?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

That question caught Hermione off guard, and she had to force her tumbling thoughts back into line. "I… no. Please, stay."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be, Harry, it's..."

"… my fault that you lost your perfect grade in Transfiguration. I took up too much of your valuable time; I took you for granted yet again, just like back in second year when the executioner was after me and I let you do all the hard detective work."

"Harry, no!"

"Yes, Hermione. Let's be honest, in this relationship, you do most of the hard work while I strut around receiving praise for surviving some random event that took place when I was a toddler." Harry took a deep breath. "Maybe I should go to McGonagall and ask her to let you rewrite that essay."

"You will do nothing of the sort, Harry James Potter!"

He flinched but began smiling. "Ah, full name. Now I'm in trouble."

"You're an idiot, is what you are, Harry."

"And here I thought you'd admonish me for leaving out the Professor when I mention McGonagall."

She sniffed and regarded him with what she knew was her 'serious' look. "I was getting to that, actually."

"Oh my." Harry put a hand to his chest. "Will I live through this encounter, I wonder?"

"Probably not, if you continue these shenanigans."

He still smiled at her. "Then I'll stop."

They stared into each other's eyes, and Hermione suddenly realized she wasn't feeling quite as sad or angry anymore. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"Being who you are, Harry."

He waved her off. "Come on."

"I mean it. You're a great friend, and a great wizard, too."

"All thanks to you, Hermione." His look grew more serious and for a second, she felt exposed, as if he could see her inner thoughts.

Then, with a sudden motion, he sprang up. "Okay, if you're not angry at me anymore, are you ready to face Hogwarts again?"

She regarded his outstretched hand. "Must I?"

"I could still try to intervene on your behalf with McGonagall. Well, Professor McGonagall."

"Don't you dare."

Harry lowered his hand and knelt down in front of her. "But, Hermione, it's completely unfair. All our banter aside, you got a bad grade because you helped me with this crazy tournament. You shouldn't suffer for my mistakes."

Something about the way he said it made Hermione lean forward and put both of her hands on the sides of his face.

He didn't flinch.

"Harry. You didn't enter this damn tournament voluntarily; you were, in fact, forced to participate against your will. That wasn't a mistake on your part, but one I put squarely on the shoulders of our headmaster and the organizers. So stop apologizing for something that was and remains completely out of your hands."

"But…"

She put a finger on his lips without thinking and felt herself blush immediately, so she removed it but continued to hold his face. "No buts, Harry. You are my best friend, have been since our first train ride to Hogwarts. I am sorry I was angry at you without saying anything – and I would skip homework anytime to get you out of trouble, you hear me? My anger doesn't matter, you'll always come first."

He just nodded and stared at her.

Feeling overwhelmed by the intimacy, Hermione finally let go off him. "Well, that's settled then."

When he held out his hand again, she took it and they both stood up.

"Are you really okay, Hermione?" His voice was quiet.

"Yes. I'll need to explain this to my parents, and I'll be probably be a bit testy during the next few Transfiguration classes, but… I think I'll be okay."

He smiled again. "If you don't mind, I'll keep an eye on you regardless."

"Oh, the Boy-Who-Lived is mooing over little old me?" She sighed dramatically. "All my dreams are coming true!"

"You… I… bwergh."

"That's not a word, Harry." She watched him shaking his head while he dismissed his spell from the trapdoor. "What did Amélie say, exactly?"

"Really?" He turned around, mock-furious. "All this drama about terrible grades and feelings of personal inadequacy, and all you want to hear is gossip?"

Hermione shrugged. "If it's good gossip, it'll make me forget the horror of having gotten my first P-graded essay. And if you were a good friend, Harry, you'd share said gossip to help me."

"Ron was right, you girls are all insane."

As she passed him, still holding the trap door, she couldn't help herself and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered before running down the stairs.

It took him some time to catch up with her down in the castle.