CW: Homophobia

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again, and the Great Hall fell silent, an excited tension filling the room instead.

Dumbledore began by introducing Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman, explaining their role in planning the tournament and that they would be on the panel that would judge the champions' efforts. That took Hermione by surprise – she'd figured the challenges would all have obvious metrics and methods of comparing the champions – how many goats did you save? How fast did you get through the maze? – but apparently not.

Dumbledore instructed Filch to bring forth a casket, and Filch approached the center, carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels and looking extremely old. The wood looked worn and terrible, but the jewels gleamed as bright as ever, and Hermione wondered what spells those jewels might hold.

"—three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways," Dumbledore was saying. "Their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

The scowls on the faces of the Hogwarts faculty weren't shielded or subtle, and Hermione hid a smirk. Dumbledore went on, explaining that one champion would be chosen from each of the three schools, and would be chosen by an impartial selector—

"—The Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore tapped the top of the casket with his wand to open it, and he pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

"That's it?" Blaise hissed. "It's literally filled with fire, so they call it the Goblet of Fire?"

"So? It's accurate," Hermione whispered back. "Why, what would you have called it?"

"Something more dramatic than that – 'the Goblet of Destiny', maybe, or 'the Chalice of Champions'. Though from the sounds of this whole thing, maybe 'the Cup of Dumb' would be the most accurate—"

Hermione hastily stifled a snicker wile Dumbledore went on about aspiring champions putting their names into the goblet and how he would draw an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire to prevent anyone underage from entering.

"Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly," Dumbledore said. His tone had lowered, becoming more serious, and he looked out over his school with caution in his eyes. "Once a champion is selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet."

Hermione blinked. "Wait – a binding, magical contract?"

Blaise whistled. "Explains why they don't want underage kids participating, then, doesn't it?"

Hermione was distracted with the logistics of it, though. It was a cup. In order for the cup to enforce some sort of contract with only slips of paper—

"It's literally your name," Hermione whispered to herself. "It's literally you writing your name by quill, isn't it? Like it's the dotted line at the bottom of a legal agreement."

For a moment, the idea of competing in the tournament flashed through Hermione's head – her performing brilliantly in front of everyone, outshining the older champions of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, being cheered as she was handed the Triwizard Cup – before she shook her head, clearing it. The idea was preposterous, and she'd have to be astoundingly stupid to try.

Karkaroff came for his students, the Durmstrang students pulling their furs back on. Karkaroff stopped directly behind Viktor, asking him how he was feeling, if he'd eaten enough. Krum's face went a dull red, and Hermione suspected Viktor wasn't feeling poorly with a slight head cold at all – didn't Pepper-Up potion cure the common cold, anyway?

The Durmstrang students headed out of the hall along with some of the others, while Slytherin lingered behind. There was some commotion at the doorway with Karkaroff as he ran into Harry Potter, which made Hermione pause, touching Blaise on his arm.

"Can you get Harry and Susan?" she asked. "We need to make sure the coven all talks before we go."

Blaise looked surprised, but he nodded.

Hermione went to the Ravenclaw table, where Luna was sitting patiently as if waiting for her. Hermione looked around, but the Beauxbatons contingent was already gone, and she sat down with a sigh. Luna gave her a smile.

"It worked," she told her.

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Your circlet," Luna told her. "The Veela allure was suppressed. Fleur's still incredibly attractive, of course, but it's significantly toned down—"

Luna kept talking, but Hermione wasn't processing the words correctly – she watched Luna's face as Luna described the effect of the circlet. Not the effect of the circlet on the boys around her, but the effect – almost as if she had experienced it personally…

"Luna," Hermione said, trying to hide her incredulity. "Are you affected by the Veela allure?"

Luna went pink, and she opened her mouth to respond when Blaise, Harry, and Susan plopped down.

"So. What's the deal?" Susan asked immediately. "Other than Moody almost fighting Karkaroff in the entrance way over Harry Potter."

Harry grimaced. "That was not my fault."

"The Goblet of Fire," Hermione said, glancing up at it. It sat on the wooden casket in front of the staff table, where some of the older students lurked. "It creates a binding magical contract."

"And?" Harry asked, frowning.

"We're in a coven," Luna said. "Any binding magical contract any of us make – it affects all of us."

"We share magic," Hermione reminded them all. "It hasn't been an issue because we're all too young to make such agreements – it can stunt your magic if you're underage – but I wanted to be explicit about it. We cannot have any one of us enter the tournament or throw our name into the goblet. The risk to all of us if one of us is chosen…"

"Understood," said Susan, nodding. She frowned. "Do you think it's the act of putting in the parchment? Or that it's your name on the parchment that triggers the binding magical contract?"

"Dumbledore's drawing an Age Line," Blaise said, "so I'd venture to say it's got to be putting the parchment in. Otherwise you'd have first years just levitating their names in like they would a feather in Flitwick's class…"

"Unless the Age Line creates a barrier for non-human objects too," Luna chimed in.

Hermione bit her lip.

"I don't feel good about this," she admitted to them all. "Professor Vector had some prediction trees… be extra careful, okay? I'm worried."

"Got it," Harry said, nodding. He grinned. "Good to know, too – the Weasley Twins were trying to get a group of Gryffindors together to take an Aging Potion all together and then try and enter—"

Blaise groaned. "Did they just not pay attention to Snape's horrifying lesson with the mice?"

With the drama of the Goblet of Fire, Hermione had almost forgotten Tracey's ire from earlier. She was wondering about the best timing of getting Tom to reintegrate with the ring horcrux as she wandered back to her dorm, only to be ambushed as soon as she walked in the door.

"There you are," Tracey said dangerously, her eyes flashing. "Millie?"

Millie promptly shut and locked the door from where she was hiding right inside, and Hermione whirled around, looking at her dormmates in confusion.

"Tracey…?" Hermione asked. "What's going on?"

Tracey was glaring at her, her arms folded, and Millie's face was like stone. Daphne, for her part, looked troubled and vaguely wary, while Pansy just looked confused.

"Don't you think," Tracey said, edgily, "that you owe us an explanation?"

Hermione was confused.

"For what? Not giving you all the details of my love life?" she said, astonished. "What right do you think you have to know—?"

"For not telling us that you're into girls!" Tracey exploded, furious. "You never said a word!"

Hermione blinked. "So…?"

"So we live with you," Daphne said, her bottom lip wobbling. "And you've just been… all this time…"

Hermione looked at her dormmates incredulously, not following. Tracey was livid, Millie's face of stone, while Pansy's face held dawning understanding. Daphne was clutching her dressing gown around her, almost as if she was afraid her modesty—

"Oh. Oh, no," Hermione groaned, rolling her eyes. "Is that what this is? Some worry that I'm a predator among you?"

"Aren't you?" Millie said, her voice flat.

"No," Hermione said sharply. The accusations from her friends, spoken and unspoken, felt like thin scalpels, running shallow cuts into her heart, like the hurt from the accusations was a physical thing in her body, and Hermione felt herself getting more and more upset. "I'm exactly the same as I've always been—"

"So you've just been looking at us for forever?" Tracey said, leaping on Hermione.

"No. I'm just me – and how was I supposed to even know that this was going to be an issue? Nobody had any issue with Jade—"

"Jade was Head Girl and lived in a dorm by herself," Daphne said stiffly.

"She didn't always," Hermione snapped. "She shared a dorm with other girls the same as any of us—"

"Then I pity those poor girls too," Tracey spat. "I daresay they were glad to be rid of her, looking at them. And they would pity us, living unknowingly with you, unaware—"

"It's not like that!" Hermione burst out, angry. Her magic emanated an angry wave out from her, and the beds around her rattled and shook. She glared around at all of them, and her dormmates cowered back.

"Breathe, Hermione," Pansy said, her voice faint from across the room. "Breathe."

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to tamp down on her temper.

"I don't know where all this is coming from," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I really don't. Have one of you ever once felt like I've been perving on you? Ogling? Objectifying you?"

Millie and Daphne shared an uncertain look, but Tracey wasn't to be deterred. "Just because we haven't noticed it doesn't mean it hasn't been happening. You could have been perving on us all this time—"

"I wasn't," Hermione said flatly. "I'm not attracted to any of you like that. It's not like people want to perv on anyone of the gender they like. Would you perv on Crabbe and Goyle if they were in here nude?"

"That's hardly the same," Tracey snapped.

"Isn't it?" Hermione drawled, folding her arms.

"Crabbe and Goyle are a bad example," Tracey said furiously. "I can admit if Draco Malfoy were in here, yeah, I'd take a look—"

"Are you really so egotistical to presume I'd be attracted to you?" Hermione shot back. "You've no evidence of me acting inappropriately with any of you, but oh, I theoretically could be, so sure, fine, let's all pile on Hermione—"

"You could be," Tracey said stubbornly. "You could have been looking at us all this time, and we'd have never known—"

"My girlfriend is a Veela!" Hermione shouted. "Do you really think you're on par with a Veela, Tracey? Do any of you?" She glared around at all of them. "Not only are you deluded about your own attractiveness, you're also homophobic, horrible people. Accusing me of—" She broke off, shaking her head furiously. "I can't believe you. I honestly can't believe you. I never would have thought any of you would behave like this. This is—"

Before she realized what she was doing, Hermione was grabbing her toiletries and sleeping things from her trunk, furious.

"Hermione…?" Daphne's voice sounded worried, now. "What are you doing?"

"If you all are so worried that I'm going to be inappropriate or suddenly accost one of you like a predator," Hermione snarled, "then I'll protect you by simply leaving."

"Snape isn't going to like—"

"Do you think Snape would like to hear how you accused me of being a predator on the basis of no evidence?" Hermione whirled around on Tracey, who flinched. "And do you really think I'd be so stupid as to be caught?"

Millie was gnawing on her lip. "Trace, maybe we were—"

"No," Tracey said firmly, glaring at Hermione. "Go ahead, then. Leave."

"Fine," Hermione snarled. "I will."

It took only a moment for Hermione to dip into the ley line to escape the dormitory, coming out in the Kitchens, where several House Elves yelped in alarm.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered. "I didn't mean to—sorry—"

She hurried from the Kitchen. It wasn't curfew yet, and she took the back staircase up. At the second-floor landing, she caught her reflection in a giant ornamental mirror, stopping short to stare at herself in horror, her legs slowly folding and dropping her to the floor. To her embarrassment and humiliation, she was crying, tears streaming down her face—

"Hermione?"

Hermione looked up to see Pansy. She was holding her Shadows pendant and biting her lip.

"I didn't know what Tracey was going to talk to you about," Pansy said shakily. "I swear I didn't. And then I didn't want to speak up and make it worse—"

"'s fine," Hermione said, her voice thick with sniffled. She wiped her eyes impatiently. "Don't expect you to put yourself on the line like that for me, anyway—"

Pansy knelt down next to Hermione, taking her hands.

"Jade told me, before she left," Pansy said quietly. "She said that she'd warned you to not do this. To not be public about this unless you were willing to lose everything."

Hermione sniffed. "I was. I mean, I thought I was. I just didn't think…"

"You didn't think you'd lose your friends?" Pansy asked. "What did you think 'everything' was?"

"I don't know!" Hermione burst out. She started crying in earnest, unable to stop herself. "I just thought—I thought I'd have to change public opinion, I'd need the Daily Prophet to run pieces on human sexuality more, I'd have to make society shift to understand—" She coughed, her throat thick with tears. "I never thought my friends…"

"Well, not all your friends," Pansy said wryly. "Just Tracey and Millie and Daphne, maybe."

Hermione looked up at her, sniffing. "You think?"

"I think they're more upset that you didn't tell them and that they didn't know than they are actually upset at you existing with them," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "Drama queens, all of them. But that's only three, Hermione. You have more friends than that, don't you?"

Hermione sniffed again, upset. "But what if they decide they hate me too?"

"Susan and Luna would never betray you like that," Pansy said firmly. "I also don't think they'd be phased or particularly care about you fancying girls, really. And for the others…" She heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I think your male friends are more likely to like knowing that you fancy both boys and girls. I think it'll give them fuel for their nighttime secret under-the-covers endeavors."

Hermione choked on a giggle, though a bubble of snot came out her nose.

"D'you really think so?" she asked. "That they would—"

"Draco could scarcely take his eyes off you to begin with," Pansy said dryly. "Then he couldn't stop looking at the veela. And now – the thought of you and her together – if he ever finds out, he'll come to breakfast the next morning with a limp and his hands rubbed raw."

Hermione giggled despite herself, looking at the floor as she wiped her eyes. Pansy softened.

"I understand if you don't want to sleep in the dorm tonight, but let's not sleep here, yeah?" she said. She got to her feet, offering Hermione a hand. "We can at least use the Room of Requirement."

Hermione looked up at Pansy. "'We'?"

Pansy's eyes were soft, non-judgemental. "We."

Hermione took her hand, letting Pansy pull her to her feet. With another shaking breath, Hermione wiped her eyes again and picked her bundle of bed things back up. "Okay."

Later, the Room of Requirement had provided them with a lovely room of purple and lilac, each of them with an enormous king-size bed with draperies. Hermione was blowing her nose to try and clear it out before she went to sleep when Pansy came over to her.

"Do you…" Pansy seemed nervous. "Do you want a hug?"

Hermione blinked. "I—yeah, sure…"

Pansy sat next to Hermione and held her, letting her blow her nose. When Hermione had finished and laid down, to her surprise, Pansy laid down too.

"My mum always held me when I was upset, when I was little," she said, a bit wistful. She looked at Hermione. "Sometimes, just knowing you're not alone can help."

Hermione looked at Pansy with some alarm. "Pansy—I'm not—"

"And I'm not either," Pansy assured her, gentle. "But it can be nice to be held."

Cuddling with Pansy was somewhat awkward, and they had to fight and shriek as Pansy's cold feet touched Hermione's legs, but once they had settled down, laughing, Hermione found it was rather nice to cuddle another person, even just platonically.

"You're sure this is alright?" Hermione asked again. "I mean, my head's practically on your breast…"

"Your head is above my breast, what little of it there is," Pansy said dryly. "And what's your counter-idea? If I put my head on your chest, with your bountiful bosom, it'll just roll right off—"

Hermione snorted with laughter, and Pansy cackled.

"We'll have to figure out how to deal with them," Hermione said sleepily, her eyes closing as she drifted off. "We'll have to do something…"

"We'll figure it out," Pansy assured her, yawning. "You always come up with some plan. But it can wait till morning."