"Mermaids. It's mermaids." Harry said, plopping himself down at the breakfast bench with a sigh, his bag slipping from his hand to crash against the cold flagstone floor.

"Wha?" Ron asked, quickly swallowing his mouthful of bacon and eggs.

"The Second Task. It's mermaids. They're going to steal something and I have to get it back. From the bottom of the lake."

Ron finished swallowing and shrugged, glancing over at Hermione as if to say 'well of course it's mermaids, why wouldn't it be something incredibly dangerous at the bottom of a lake?'

"How'd you figure that, mate?"

Harry sighed.

"It's a long story."

(Later, Harry would finally admit that he'd heard Fleur take hers into the toilet with her one night, only to look smug as sin the next morning. So he'd decided that maybe the sound bounced off the tile a certain kind of way. Or something. Thus, Harry had discovered the singing by pure accident: the sound did bounce off the tile—and made it so loud that he'd dropped the egg in shock. Directly into the bath.)

"Well. We've got our work cut out for us, don't we?" Hermione sighed. One week until the second task and Harry had only just now discovered the secret of the golden egg. Everyone else had a significant leg up already, knowing much more magic than Harry did, and they'd had extra time to prepare and practice.

Suddenly, Viktor's obsession with swimming in the freezing lake made a lot more sense.

"We?" Ron asked.

"Of course," Hermione replied, with perhaps a little more venom in her voice than was warranted.

Ron rose to the challenge, already bristling for a good argument.

"What? You think Harry can't do it on his own? We can't tie our own shoe laces without your help, after all." The sarcasm in his voice practically dripped onto his plate, thick and viscous.

Harry's eyes looked wide, glancing between his two best mates and wondering which one was going to escalate this yet again.

Hermione pursed her lips and huffed sharply through her nose.

It didn't help that Ron was—in a certain light—right. She didn't think that Harry could survive this on his own. He wasn't particularly motivated at the best of times, and the sheer terror and overwhelming feeling of inevitability had tanked whatever energy he might have had to study up a way to get through this challenge.

But Ron didn't need to know that.

And Harry certainly didn't. Not right now, at least. The last thing he needed was to feel totally hopeless.

"Regardless, Harry's only got a week to figure this out. The other champions have had much more time. Us helping is just leveling the playing field."

With a squint of his eyes and a sarcastic little smile at the corner of his mouth, Ron seemed to take her words for surrender. On a different day, she'd take her white flag and beat him over the head with it.

But Harry needed her. And he somehow needed Ron, too.

With one final huff, she reached into her bag and pulled out a roll of parchment and her quill and ink. She hated writing in the Great Hall—quills really needed a slanted surface to write on or your letters came out splotchy and uneven. But, needs must.

Neither Harry nor Ron appreciated spending the next fifteen minutes cataloging everything Harry needed to figure out how to do, but they'd come up with a solid list:

Breath underwater

SWIM, because apparently Harry didn't know how, and wasn't that bloody inconvenient

See in the dark, because it was probably very dark at the bottom of the Black Lake

Find something in the lake and get to it quickly

Get out of the lake once he'd found it

Speak Mermish—neither Ron nor Harry thought this was a particularly useful or achievable goal, but Hermione insisted that getting mermaids to hand something over would be much easier if one spoke their native tongue

All in all, by the time the owls began descending on the breakfast crowd carrying all manner of letters and packages, Hermione felt like they'd made some real progress. It was a fine list, easily broken down into more manageable chunks, which made it feel like it was something they could accomplish. Even if, when she let herself indulge in panic for just a moment, they didn't really have time to accomplish teaching Harry how to swim, let alone survive underwater for an hour.

"Hermione? What's with all the letters?" Harry asked, pointing to the ever-growing pile next to her plate of toast.

Reaching over to grab one, Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Fan mail. Of a sorts. Apparently, you and Viktor each have some remarkably protective fans who like to tell me exactly what they think of a hussy like myself. You can blame Rita Skeeter."

Slitting the letter open with her polished bone letter opener, she briefly scanned the page. "Some of them are actually kind of funny. Like this one. Apparently my hair looks like a gorgon and my teeth like a beaver. Quite the image they paint, isn't it?"

Ron's face screwed into a grimace.

"Why do you read them if they're just full of rubbish and insults?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I don't know. It's…entertainment, I suppose."

Ron grinned. "I think you just like getting to be mad at somebody."

That was…remarkably insightful. Not that she'd give him the credit for it. She'd started receiving the letters last week and they were horrid and awful. But she also couldn't seem to stop herself from reading them. They made her insecure. And angry. And weepy. And self-righteously indignant. And a whole lot of other things that kept her coming back to them, morning after morning.

"Perhaps."

Before Ron could come up with a proper retort, Ginny plopped herself down next to Hermione and reached for the stack of letters.

"Getting bigger and more impressive every day, isn't it? How many do you think you'll be getting by the end of the week?"

Harry and Ron looked baffled. How they hadn't noticed before now, she didn't know. It was like the both of them went about life with blindfolds on.

"Hopefully it'll be fewer. Surely something else will capture their attention soon."

Ginny laughed. "Well, in the meantime, can I read one? They're so inventive and absolutely stupid. I liked the one that called you bewitchingly beautiful but also a hag. Have they ever even seen a hag?"

"Help yourself," Hermione laughed, reaching towards the stack for another one.

She'd gotten halfway through the delightful slip-and-slice motion that was opening her letters when the parchment in her hand began to ooze. Something thick and putrid belched out the opening and slipped in a slimy trail down her letter opener and onto her fingers.

It hurt.

Terribly.

Which of course meant that she wasn't thinking and gripped her other hand tighter against the pain, bursting the weak seam at the bottom of the envelope and spilling even more of it all over her other hand.

Bubotuber puss, her brain quickly supplied.

"Oi! Mione, are you alright?" Ron shouted, drawing the attention of half the Gryffindor table.

"Um…" she started. In her mind, she told Ron he was an idiot for not noticing that it was obviously undiluted bubotuber puss. Which meant that she was decidedly not all right, thank you very much. But all she seemed capable of doing was staring at her hands as they began to swell and blister.

She could feel her eyes sting and idly thought she might be crying.

Surprisingly, it was Harry who saved the day, reaching forward and snagging her by the wrists before pulling her out of her seat and dunking her hands in a nearby water jug.

It was cold and unpleasant, but the burning seemed a little better.

As if sensing that no one else was going to take charge, Ginny shook her head clear of the shock and began quietly issuing orders, her eyes nervous and uncertain but her lips set in a determined line.

"Harry, get her up to the Hospital Wing, will you?"

Harry nodded, gently pulling Hermione's hands by the wrists before collecting both their bags and rounding the table. Her list of Second Task tasks was summarily collected and shoved in her bag, where it made the sad dry rustling of crumpling parchment.

"Ron, will you go tell Krum what's happened? He'll want to know." Ginny looked almost apologetic, but whether for her brother, Hermione, or Krum, she couldn't tell.

"Can't you go? He knows you better."

Ginny sighed. "I would, but my first class is potions and if I don't leave right now I'm going to be late. You have a free period." She sighed again, louder. "Please, Ron? I really need to leave right now or Snape's going to go ballistic."

Ron's eyes went wide and he glanced around in panicked disbelief. Finally, his eyes locked with Harry's. Hoping to switch tasks, she imagined, but Harry just shrugged and nodded before draping an arm across her shoulders and leading her out of the hall.

As they started to leave, Hermione heard Ron audibly gulp, anxiously scratching the back of his neck.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said softly. "It's going to be a long day."

It was going to be a very long day indeed.

=/=/=

To Hermione's relief, she missed only her first class of the day—Ancient Runes, which she was three chapters ahead in anyways. Madame Pomfrey had slathered cream on her hands, listened impatiently to Hermione's assertions that she couldn't possibly miss yet another class, and grudgingly handed her an old dicta-quill and discharged her with a wry shake of her head.

The rest of the day had seemed quite boring by comparison, if rather tedious.

Harry and Ron had each insisted on carrying her bag between lessons.

Ginny and Neville had brought by some extra healing salve.

Viktor had even joined her briefly at the Gryffindor table at lunchtime, where his presence caused quite the stir. A stir which, used to making stirs everywhere he went, she supposed, he summarily ignored in place of ever so gently stroking her hands. He'd had to coax them out from where she'd hidden them under the bell sleeves of her robes. But when he had, he'd gently stroked his thumbs across her knobbly, yellowed, pock-marked knuckles before lifting them to place a gentle kiss upon each one.

Ginny had looked like she was going to swoon.

Ron had looked like he had gas.

Harry, meanwhile, had narrowed his eyes like he was taking notes in a masterclass.

Not that Hermione had been paying any of them much attention when Viktor was sitting so very close to her, holding her hands and telling her how this was all his fault. It wasn't, of course. It was whoever had sent that horrible letter and she'd made sure to tell him so. But he'd still squeezed her hands lightly and told her that for once, she was going to let him do something about this. She hadn't had the heart to deny him. Or the belief that telling him to do nothing would at all change his plans. He was too bullheaded by half.

And so it was, that after an incredibly eventful and yet terribly boring day, Hermione found herself trudging back up to the Hospital Wing after dinner to return the dicta-quill and have herself pronounced cured. Her hands, which had been tough as old leather that morning, had slowly become softer and more supple. The yellowing had decreased. The great fissures across her palms had slowly knitted back together. All in all, she was feeling right as rain.

But, the hospital matron had been explicit: Hermione must return after supper for a follow-up.

Hefting open one of the thick wooden doors, Hermione winced at the deep ache in her palms. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey was right to have her come back after all. With a sharp tug of the handle, she opened the door wide enough to catch the edge with her elbow, easing it the rest of the way open and guiding it closed behind her.

After all, she hated the harsh bang! that always accompanied someone entering or exiting the Hospital Wing.

Satisfied that she'd done a suitable job closing the door, Hermione glanced around the Hospital Wing.

There was no one there.

Absolutely no one.

The beds were empty. Madam Pomfrey's desk was empty.

It was so quiet she winced at the sound of her own shoes gently squeaking on the polished flagstone floor.

In fact, it was so quiet that Hermione could hear voices coming from Madam Pomfrey's office clear on the other side of the room.

Angry voices. One of which was Professor Snape's.

She knew exactly what Harry would do in this circumstance: he'd sally right up to the door and listen in. And then be incredibly surprised when he got caught. Because Harry was the truest of Gryffindors and never seemed to stop and think.

Which was why Hermione sat down on the second closest bed to the door, withdrew her wand, tapped it sharply against her ear and, with a whispered 'clarisonus,' sat back to wait.

"Really Severus, I don't know who's been stealing from your stores. And I couldn't tell you if I did."

"Oh yes, because those little cretins' privacy is worth so much more than their lives."

"Now you're just being difficult. It's just a few ingredients. In the meantime, I'll keep an eye out for potions mishaps."

"Mishaps? A few ingredients?"

Madam Pomfrey scoffed.

"Yes Severus. A few ingredients."

"Are you daft? Boomslang skin. Bicorn horn. Someone's brewing Polyjuice, and a lot of it. They've nearly wiped out my stores. Do you really think for one minute that the idiots who roam these halls aren't going to do something incredibly stupid?"

For a moment, there was only the sound of Professor Snape's harsh breathing.

"I am well aware that Polyjuice is a dangerous potion, Severus. Don't think for a moment that I condone one of our student's stealing and brewing something that could very well get them killed. But I've no idea who stole those ingredients. I'll keep a watchful eye for any sign that a student has been brewing it and give them a good talking to, but that's all I can do. Students won't seek treatment if they think it comes with strings attached. You, of all people, should understand that."

Professor Snape stopped breathing.

"Very well," he said after a long moment of silence. His tone was the iciest Hermione had ever heard it, sending a shiver up her spine and making the downy hair on her arms stand at attention. "If that's all you can do. Also be on the lookout for drowning victims. Someone has stolen all my gillyweed. Heaven forbid we try to proactively keep our precious students from harm."

With that, the door to Madam Pomfrey's office slammed open and Professor Snape came stalking out. Catching sight of Hermione, he pinned her with a searing cold stare. For the briefest of moments, all she could think of was her own mishap with Polyjuice in her second year. She imagined the way her entire body had sprouted hair, the pain of suddenly growing a tail, the long nights she'd spent in this very Hospital Wing waiting for the potions to take effect and return her to normal. The terror that they wouldn't work.

Professor Snape's face twisted into an ugly sneer, baring his crooked teeth at her before he turned sharply on his heel, his robes flaring out behind him as he stalked out of the Hospital Wing.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Granger. I hope it hasn't been long?" Madam Pomfrey screamed in her ear.

Startled, Hermione looked back at the matron, anxiety rising sharply. Did she know that she'd been snooping?

"Not long, Madam Pomfrey," she shouted back.

Only, that wasn't right at all. She wasn't shouting. She'd said that rather quietly. Or she'd meant to.

Madam Pomfrey clicked her tongue so loudly Hermione had to fight off a wince.

Oh.

Hermione held herself as still as possible and tried to smooth out her knitted brow, determined to give away nothing. Any flinches as the hospital matron examined her hands and tutted over the still yellowed skin could be contributed to soreness in her knuckles. Any wince was merely a product of her aching fingers.

When the matron finally released her with a new batch of salve and a harsh admonishment to stop trying to push through her own discomfort, Hermione nearly ran out the door.

Every step was a thunder clap.

The hospital wing door slammed behind her like a gunshot.

Rushing into the nearest alcove, Hermione brought out her wand and whispered "finite incantatum" as quietly as she could.

The relief was instantaneous, the world suddenly an agreeable volume again. She felt her whole body collapse inward in exhausted relief. Her head was pounding so hard she could barely even think.

The only thought she could seem to grasp for any period of time was that someone, here at Hogwarts, was brewing Polyjuice potion. And a lot of it.

But why?

And what was gillyweed? Snape'd seemed concerned about that one too. And that it would make someone drown, which sounded quite ridiculous, all things considered.

Oh, all she wanted to do was curl up in a big squashy armchair in front of the common room fire and collapse: just let the heat seep into her bones until she felt like herself again.

But her list of Second Task tasks wasn't going to finish itself. So she swept through the library in a whirlwind and collected every book on mermaids she could find. Certainly one of them would have something useful.

Alas, even her plans to read comfortably in front of the fire were all for naught, for when she finally trudged up to the common room, right there in the two biggest, squashiest, comfiest chairs, were Harry and Ron.

"Oi! Mione!" Ron called over when he spotted her stepping out of the portrait hole.

Resigned, and admittedly excited to share her gossip with a captive audience, Hermione joined the two boys by the fireplace, sinking into the red cushy armchair with a sigh.

"You'll never guess what I heard when I was in the hospital wing," she said quietly, leaning forward onto her elbows, her face serious and concerned. She still couldn't shake the idea that something was terribly rotten here at Hogwarts and she needed to find out what it was. Quickly.

Harry and Ron gave her their complete attention. It wasn't often that Hermione looked worried about something other than school work, after all.

"Someone's been stealing from Professor Snape's storeroom." She paused a beat, partly to make sure they weren't being listened in on and partly for dramatic effect. "They've taken all his bicorn horn. And boomslang skin."

The boys were quiet for a moment before a growing dread and comprehension spread across their faces.

"Polyjuice?" Ron whispered, his voice a bit hoarse. "But, who would be brewing so much Polyjuice that they stole all of it?"

Harry looked sick. After all, it was one thing for them to do it: they had had that youthful certainty in their righteous cause. But the idea that there was someone walking around Hogwarts with someone else's face, or multiple someone's faces, was terrifying. Why were they doing it? Was it a prank? Or something much fouler?

"What do you reckon, Mione?" Ron asked.

"I don't know."

But, suddenly, she had a thought. And it struck her dumb.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, reaching forward to touch her knee and snap her back to the present.

"I just. I just had a thought." She paused again. "It's just…this isn't the first time potion's ingredients have gone missing this year, is it?"

"How'd you figure?" Ron asked, squinting a little like that would somehow help him remember. It was the same expression he wore every exam.

"Remember, right before the First Task? There were break-ins in Hogsmeade. J. Pippin's Potions had a bunch of really expensive ingredients stolen."

Ron's eyes went wide before his face split into a grin. "Didn't you try to blame that on the twins?"

Hermione flushed bright red. It hadn't been her finest moment, accusing Fred and George of stealing. In fact, it had been a low moment of the year and had far more to do with needing to vent her frustration and rage at an appropriately safe target or two than anything else.

Harry stepped in to save her from putting her foot in it.

"Did anyone say what was missing? Maybe it had nothing to do with this."

"Maybe," Hermione conceded. "But I know what you can do to find out."

"Me?" Harry asked, flustered.

"Cedric Diggory's cousin works there. I bet if you asked, he could find out for us. He might even know already."

"Yeah, ok. I can ask him about it. But what I do say when he asks why I want to know?"

"I don't know. Surely you'll think of something."

Sensing rapidly fraying tempers—after all, every single one of them had been on edge ever since Harry had said the word 'mermaids' that morning—Ron snagged an Every Flavour Bean out of the bag in Harry's lap.

"Well. We'll find out soon, I guess. Did you hear anything else?" Popping the bean in his mouth, Ron gingerly bit down before chewing with gusto. "Sour apple. The green ones can be a bit dodgy, you know."

Harry nodded sagely.

Hermione furrowed her brow, trying to remember the name of the strange ingredient Snape thought would cause drowning.

"Gillyweed. Someone's also stolen all the gillyweed. But I have no idea what that even is. It's definitely not in 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi."

The boys sat in contemplative silence before Ron gave a sharp "Oi! Neville! Got an Herbology question for you."

And so the trio found out everything they needed to know about gillyweed. And that Neville, bless his heart, even had some.

For the first time in days, Hermione slept deeply and dreamlessly.

Maybe Harry would be alright after all.