Hermione
Monday 23- November
The warm glow of the morning sun bathed Hermione's bedroom in a golden light, casting shadows that danced on the walls. She lay in bed, her eyes closed, the occasional flutter as her lashes brushed against her cheeks. The sound of her ragged breathing filled the air.
Her fingers traveled to the delicate curve of her breast, her palm cupping it gently, her thumb tracing the outline of her nipple. The memory of Viktor's intense gaze immediately came flooding back, his smoldering eyes locked on hers, his voice filled with raw desire. "I vant you," his words echoed in her mind. Those words made her feel seen and wanted.
Her other hand drifted lower, toward the hem of her worn knickers. She felt the familiar dampness between her legs. As her fingers slipped beneath the fabric, she could feel the thin layer of curls that covered her sensitive flesh.
With a deep breath, she let her imagination take over. She closed her eyes, picturing Viktor's rough, thick calloused fingers exploring her most intimate parts.
Would they feel any different? Merlin, they probably did.
The thought sent a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she let out a soft moan. Her fingers traced over her clit, imagining the sensation of Viktor's touch.
As her fingers danced over her most sensitive spot, she let out a series of soft gasps and stifled moans.
How would his lips feel against hers, on her neck, on her—
The memory of Viktor consumed her thoughts - his words, his eyes, his gentle touches on her hands, and his lips on her knuckles. She lost herself in the fantasy, her body trembling with pleasure as she approached the edge.
His eyes were galaxies, she thought, bewildered how they could be so dark, yet how she could see, and feel so much from them.
As the rippling waves of pleasure overwhelmed her, Hermione's hand shot up to cover her mouth, her fingers digging into her flesh as she tried to suppress the loud moans that threatened to escape.
In her post-orgasmic bliss, Hermione's mind drifted to a rare sight - Viktor flashing a genuine smile.
Viktor Krum.
The name reverberated in Hermione's mind, causing her pulse to beat like a drum solo. Never in a million years did she imagine the world-famous Quidditch star, the stoic Durmstrang champion, would cause such a ruckus in her chest.
But he did.
Viktor was everything she wasn't expecting: sweet, intelligent, and thoughtful. He never rolled his eyes when she disappeared into a book, and unlike others, he valued her opinions. He listened, truly listened, and then challenged her, made her think.
A giddy smile stretched across her face.
A date with Viktor Krum! A muffled giggle escaped her lips as she buried her face in the pillow.
But the joy was short-lived, replaced by the suffocating wave of reality. The Tournament still loomed large. She wasn't talking to Ron and Harry, and they weren't speaking to each other either.
The mounting pressure of the Tournament gnawed at her. She was certain Harry hadn't been training, and the thought only added to her bundle of nerves. In a desperate attempt to nudge him in the right direction, she'd been casually leaving tournament-related books around their Charms classroom, hoping he'd pick one up.
Despite the stress, there were a few bright spots. Viktor was a welcome distraction, and she'd even managed to brew a flawless Draught of Peace – a personal win and... her teeth maybe? Technically, they were smaller now, but was it really worth it? Skipping Professor Sigurd's lecture and getting caught in the middle of Harry and Malfoy's stupid duel... hardly a fair trade. Still, a begrudging smile tugged at her lips. There was something undeniably admirable about Harry's impulsive defense of her honor, when Malfoy said something among the lines of 'Your mudblood is a repugnant little whore who'd gladly take a load of cum from a troll if it meant getting your name in the Goblet, eh Potter?' Well, that wasn't among the lines, they were his exact words.
If Harry had just ignored Malfoy's jibe, she wouldn't have missed Professor Sigurd's crucial lecture on selecting the right tool – right before they began crafting runes.
But that was a problem for another time. Now, she had a more immediate concern. How, exactly, was she going to explain her magically shrunk teeth to her dentist parents?
Her father's disapproving face flashed in her mind, jolting her awake. She blinked hard, trying to clear the image, but the knot of anxiety in her stomach wouldn't budge.
The day after the fight with Ron, she'd entered the Hall feeling like she was a lonely first year again. Harry, a few tables away, was deep in conversation with Seamus, a carefree laugh escaping his lips.
The moment Harry saw her, his laughter died mid-sentence. His grin faded, replaced by a nervous smile and a hesitant wave. But Hermione wouldn't meet his eyes. Chin held high, she turned away, a sharp toss of her hair punctuating the movement. It felt defensive, even to her. Harry's hopeful face crumpled, disappointment washing over him. A pang of guilt pricked at Hermione, a tiny voice of reason whispering against the fiery blaze of anger and hurt inside her.
Across the room, Ron slumped over his porridge, alone. His siblings – the whole Gryffindor table, it seemed – were ignoring him. A pang of sympathy twisted in Hermione's gut, sharp and unwelcome. He'd been awful, but that hollow feeling of
isolation... she knew it too well.
With a sigh, she turned away. A group of first years, Macey among them, chattered brightly. A forced smile stretched across her face as she slid onto the bench next to them.
Hermione, ever the defender of the oppressed, cornered the first and second-year Muggle-borns. In the brief quiet of the Great Hall, she leaned in, hushed but passionate, and explained the bond. The younger students stared, wide-eyed – a mix of curiosity and unease on their faces. Older students caught on, shooting disapproving glances.
Undeterred, Hermione switched gears. House-elves, she thought, surely everyone could agree on the injustice of their situation! With renewed enthusiasm, she launched into a spirited explanation of their conditions. But just as she reached the climax of her argument, the first-years, who'd been perched on the edge of their seats, exchanged nervous glances and began to fidget. Before Hermione could finish, they were up and out of the Great Hall in a flurry of robes and whispers.
Disappointment tugged at Hermione's lips. Just then, a gentle voice broke the silence. "It's not that we don't care, Miss Granger," Macey offered sympathetically. "It's just...we don't want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we already do."
After that, the first
-years became cautious of her.
The truth was, she missed her best friends. Harry's easy grin and Ron's goofy jokes, as irritating as they could be, felt like a dream from another life. Yet there was a part of her that couldn't forgive them. Harry had lied to her, he kept her ignorant. And Ron's hateful words and spiteful eyes had wounded their friendship and Hermione wasn't sure it could be repaired.
Hermione plastered on a smile, feigning interest in the first-years' whispered panic about a Pygmy Puff infestation plaguing the second-floor girls' lavatory.
House integration remained agonizingly slow. The younger students showed signs of openness, occasionally venturing beyond their own house tables. But the older years, their prejudices calcified by past conflicts, clung stubbornly to segregation.
Her gaze drifted, as it often did these days, to the Slytherin table. A knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. Harry, seemed to shrink further into his chair with each passing day.
Viktor and Delacour's absences were increasingly concerning because they were preparing for the tournament. Angelina, too, had become a sporadic presence at breakfast and dinner. Which led Hermione to assume that she too was doing something.
A sigh escaped Hermione's lips. Neville might be able to sneak some of her books to Harry. But not now.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled – someone was watching her, their gaze heavy and cold. She hunched her shoulders, tucking her chin closer to her chest.
The first-years burst into excited chatter when they saw Ginny coming across the Great Hall.
"Miss Weasley!" one of them piped up, practically vibrating with excitement. "You were brilliant last game! The way you faked out the Hufflepuff Keeper with that feint – pure genius!"
Ginny mumbled a thank you, but her eyes remained on Hermione.
Three more wide-eyed first-years chimed in, their voices a whirlwind of Quidditch commentary. Each word was a buzzing bee in Hermione's ear. Hermione had to agree with the boys, though. Ginny on a broom was like a thunderstorm unleashed. Quick, fierce, with a flash of power that left you breathless.
Hermione gathered her things. Just then, a warm, bruised hand landed on her shoulder. Stifling a sigh, Hermione turned to find Ginny looking down at her, a curious glint in her brown eyes.
Hermione sighed. With a practiced flick of her wand, the brunette healed the collection of purpled spots and gashes marring Ginny's hands.
"Thanks, Hermione," Ginny mumbled. "You've gotten brilliant at that."
Hermione snorted, a sound suspiciously close to a huff. "Unfortunately," she muttered, "you lot provide ample opportunity for practice." She tucked her wand away with a flourish.
"Can we talk?" Ginny asked, her voice a low murmur.
The curly-haired witch continued to gather her things, her movements mechanical. Her gaze, however, couldn't help but drift towards the Slytherin table. "About what?" she countered, trying to sound nonchalant, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Ginny's smirk was sharp. "About that," she said.
Hermione's cheeks burned. Straightening her robes, she tried to appear composed. "I don't know what you mean."
"Ha! Right!" The redhead looped her arm playfully through Hermione's. Leaning in close, she whispered, "Finally a Quidditch fan, eh?"
"No!" Hermione blurted, her cheeks burning as a few heads swiveled in their direction. "Honestly, Ginny, I have no idea what you're talking about."
Ginny tilted her head, her straight auburn hair swaying with the movement, framing her face in a cascade of fiery strands. She grinned mischievously, a grin that stretched from ear to ear, mirroring the one Hermione had seen countless times on the faces of Fred and George.
Was that a family trait?
"Oh but you do," Ginny exclaimed confidently, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And I know why," she added.
Hermione studied Ginny's face. Aside from the now-familiar Weasley grin, her expression was completely serious.
"What do you know?" Hermione asked, her voice barely above a whisper, mirroring Ginny's.
"Not here," Ginny whipped her head around.
Sure enough, half of the Gryffindors were strategically buttering toast or pouring pumpkin juice, but their ears were perked attentively in their direction. "Walk with me to DADA."
The clatter of breakfast plates and the murmur of conversations faded as Hermione nodded in agreement. Arm in arm, the two witches strolled out of the Great Hall.
Ginny rolled her neck with a low pop that made Hermione flinch.
"Professor Moody still gives me the creeps," she muttered, her voice tight
.
As much as Hermione hated to admit it, Ginny was right, especially after Moody's recent lecture on the Unforgivable Curses. The man exuded an unsettling aura. There was a constant twitch to his magical eye, and the way he scanned the room with an unnerving intensity sent shivers down her spine.
"He is rather…odd, isn't he?" Hermione conceded.
"There's this energy around him," Ginny shuddered. "And sometimes he gets this crazy glint in his eye when we talk about dark magic that makes me think he enjoys that shite." She sighed, the sound heavy with a mix of disgust and unease. "You must think I'm mad, he's the DADA professor, plus he was an Auror, it was his job to fight against dark wizards."
"I don't think you are mad Ginny," Hermione squeezed her friend's pale, freckled hand.
"Really?"
"No, I—" Hermione bit her lip. She had this prickling feeling about the professor as well, but hadn't she told Harry not to judge people based on "feelings" just a few weeks ago? The hypocrisy stung a little. "I think it is…curious that he would show us the Unforgivables," she finally managed. "I understand that it was for demonstration purposes, but the 'The Ministry Decree Against Unlawful Spells' specifically bans such spells."
"Reckon it's a bit dodgy that Dumbledore was cool with it, yeah?"
Hermione's brows furrowed. "Yes, it is very odd." It wasn't only the use of the Unforgivables that unsettled Hermione. Those lingering looks the professor cast at Harry, his magical eye seeming to bore into him with an intensity that made Hermione's skin crawl. She always felt like she needed to wedge herself between Harry and the professor whenever his crazed gaze lingered on her friend.
They passed a group of Durmstrang students, their voices a low rumble as they conversed in a language that sounded harsh to Hermione's ears.
Their staffs, etched with strange runes that seemed to glimmer faintly in the sunlight, were carried on their shoulders with practiced ease. Leading them was their professor, a tall and lean figure who cut an imposing silhouette. His blond hair, the color of bleached wheat, was cropped short, highlighting his striking features – defined cheekbones and pale blue eyes.
As they passed, the Durmstrang professor caught sight of the witches and inclined his head in a curt nod. He was undeniably handsome in a severe way, a stark contrast to the rather wise and frail-looking Durmstrang staff.
The students and the professor carried themselves with such military precision, their movements synchronized and silent. The only sound was the rhythmic crunch of their boots against the stone floor, a sound that echoed eerily through the deserted corridor. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if these students ever cracked a smile, ever let loose, and simply enjoyed themselves. They seemed more like well-oiled machines than teenagers.
She would have to ask Viktor.
When the Durmstrang group rounded a corner and disappeared from sight, Hermione finally asked in a hushed voice, "Do you think they are dark wizards?"
Viktor had assured her that he and his friends weren't dark wizards, but that didn't apply to everyone at Durmstrang. Their headmaster, Karkaroff, with his greasy hair and sallow complexion, certainly fit the bill perfectly.
The man was bile.
The very thought of him sent a wave of unease washing over her.
Ginny smirked, but Hermione didn't register it. Her mind was snagged on a memory – the image of a skinny house-elf, dressed in a ragged tea towel its large brown eyes filled with a deep, silent misery. The memory sparked a fresh wave of anger. How could anyone treat another being, magical or not, with such blatant disregard?
"Do I think your boyfriend is a dark wizard?" Ginny asked, her rich brown eyes gleaming.
The question snapped her attention to the red-haired witch.
"Viktor is not a dark wizard!" Hermione blurted out, the words tumbling from her lips. Her cheeks burned a furious red, the warmth spreading down her neck like a tide. "And he's not my boyfriend," she finished in a much quieter voice, barely audible above the murmur of students passing by.
Ginny's smirk widened. "You sure about that?" she teased.
"Yes!" Hermione insisted, her voice a touch too high-pitched to be believable.
They stopped walking abruptly, the sudden halt throwing Hermione off balance. "Wait, really?" Ginny pressed, her eyebrows raised in a skeptical arch.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow. She wasn't sure which part Ginny was confused about. "Yes, really. Not that any of those things are particularly surprising," she huffed out.
"Well it should be," Ginny countered with a scoff. The lines on Hermione's forehead deepened.
Ginny's eyes narrowed playfully, her lips pursing into a mischievous pout. "Didn't Krum talk to you?" she asked.
"Er, yes," Hermione stammered. Wait. How did Ginny know about that?
"That makes sense. He asked for your hand, you know," Ginny said with a sly grin, her words shattering Hermione's train of thought.
What? Her hand? The question echoed in Hermione's mind, punctuated by the rhythmic thump of her own rapidly beating heart.
"He what?!" Hermione squeaked.
Ginny threw her head back and laughed, a bright, infectious sound that only amped up Hermione's flustered state.
"I said he asked for your hand," Ginny repeated, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She playfully threaded her fingers with Hermione's.
"I heard you!" Hermione exclaimed, her voice rising an octave as she yanked her hand free. Heat flooded her cheeks. "What do you mean he asked for my hand? And when did you talk to him?" she demanded.
"Saturday," Ginny replied casually, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes bore into Hermione. "He asked permission to court you," she snorted, a single, incredulous snort.
"He what?!" Hermione repeated, her voice bordering on a shriek.
Ginny snorted. "Honestly, Hermione, can you believe the cheek? A posh, pureblood like Krum asking permission from a Weasley to court a Muggle-born witch. How rich!"
"No, I can't! Because I don't know what you mean by 'courting me?'" Confusion flooded through Hermione like a cold wave.
Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "Just like I said, he wants to court you."
Hermione stared at Ginny like she'd sprouted a second head. "Court? Like courting as in something people did in the 18th century?" A surprised cackle escaped her lips, sharp and sudden, drawing startled glances from passing students. "Like something out of a Jane Austen novel?"
How utterly ridiculous.
"Who?" Ginny asked, a slight furrow etching a line between her brows.
Hermione shook her head, the movement sending her bushy hair bouncing.
"A muggle romance author," she managed to gasp out between giggles.
Ginny nodded slowly, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on Hermione, her brown eyes scanning her friend's face.
Hermione continued to laugh. Ginny couldn't possibly be serious, could she? But the unwavering seriousness in her friend's gaze sent a cold jolt of realization through Hermione. The laughter died on her lips, replaced by a gasp.
"Wait, you're serious?"
Ginny snorted, a single, humorless puff of air escaping her nostrils. "Yeah, the bloke fancies you," she said bluntly.
Heat flooded Hermione's face. "Oh," she stammered, the single word escaping her lips. Her gaze darted back to Ginny.
"Wait, why did he talk to you about it?" she blurted.
"I was the only one who would give him permission," Ginny said with a playful smirk.
"Permission?"
"Yeah, you know, to court you or whatever."
Frustration tightened Hermione's voice as she repeated, "Why would Viktor need your permission to court me?"
Ginny smirked and snorted. "He wasn't going to get Harry's, that's for sure."
"Why would he need Harry's approval?" Hermione asked, voice tight.
"Well, your parents would've been the first choice, but getting a hold of them is tricky. Krum seems to be a stickler for tradition, a proper Pureblood by the book. 'Courting customs' and all that rot."
"Why Harry though?" Why not me?
Indignation burned in Hermione's veins. Why wouldn't Viktor talk to her, the person he wanted to 'court' first? Her lips pressed into a thin line, a frown twisting her features.
"Because next in line to get permission was probably Harry, being your closest male something-or-other."
Frustration bubbled over in Hermione's voice. "That's so archaic!" she exclaimed. "What about the woman's opinion? Does she not get a say in this whole 'courting' business?"
Ginny offered a helpless shrug. "Supposedly, but who really knows," she admitted with a sigh. "But these are pureblood traditions, Hermione. You know, the whole 'delicate flowers' and 'men make the decisions' kind of rubbish."
"I can't believe Viktor would go along with such outdated ideas!"
Ginny's expression softened. "It's actually not that surprising," she said. "Think about Hogwarts. Sure, most of us don't buy into that bullshit. But," she emphasized with a pointed look at Hermione, "the rest of the wizarding world does. Krum probably just doesn't know any better. He comes from a long line of Purebloods, I'm sure it's almost in his blood to follow customs. Plus, I doubt he's spent much time with Muggle-borns or even half-bloods. Durmstrang isn't exactly known for its progressive views."
A frustrated sigh escaped Hermione's lips. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe Viktor truly didn't understand. But that didn't make the realization sting any less. A wave of self-consciousness washed over her. How much else didn't she know? The tips of her fingers turned white as she unconsciously dug her nails into her palms.
She was still an outsider.
The feeling of being left behind wouldn't go away. Every corner she turned revealed another aspect of the wizarding world she hadn't known existed. Even if she thought courting rituals were outdated, they were still clearly a part of this world.
They finally reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and Hermione mumbled a goodbye to Ginny.
The sour taste in her mouth lingered all day. It wasn't the customs themselves that bothered her most. It was the feeling of being kept in the dark again.
After a hurried dinner, Hermione practically sprinted towards the library. Surely, there had to be a book (or ten) on Pureblood courting customs. Her stomach churned with a mix of curiosity and unease as she dove headfirst into the stacks.
Her eyes scanned titles like "The Damsel's Delights: A Guide to Proper Ladylike Behavior During Courtship" and "The Pureblood Lineage: Ensuring a Worthy Heir Through Selective Courtship."
What in the bloody hell was this?
The books portrayed women as passive participants, their desires and opinions secondary to the whims of their suitors. Men, on the other hand, were expected to find the find the best wives to secure their linage.
Phrases like "guarding a witch's virtue" and "seeking a wife to manage the household" jumped out at her, each one more outdated and sexist than the last. Disgust twisted in her stomach.
A cold dread settled in Hermione. Did Viktor really buy into all this? She slammed the heavy tome shut with a resounding thud that echoed through the library.
Leaning forward, she rested her forehead on the cool wood of the table. Did he expect her to play along with these ridiculous, sexist traditions? Not that she could, anyways. More than half of these customs required her to be a Pureblood.
A frustrated groan escaped her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her palms against them.
A jolt shot through Hermione, ripping her away from the sexist nightmare she'd been reading. "You alright, Hermione?" Harry's voice, laced with concern, hovered over her.
Fury bubbled in her chest, threatening to erupt. But instead, a wave of exhaustion washed over her, leaving her feeling utterly drained. "Yes," she mumbled. Looking up, she met Harry's worried gaze. He shifted uncomfortably, rocking on the balls of his feet.
"What, uh, are you working on?" he stammered, his eyes flickering to the hefty books.
The thought of telling him about pureblood customs crossed her mind. A black coil of unease twisted in her stomach, its whispers of doubt poisoning her thoughts. If she told him, and it turned out he knew all along... the very thought made her want to scream.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she mumbled, "Nothing." She shoved the book under a pile of Charms textbooks.
Harry eyed the concealed book with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "Er, right," he mumbled, finally nodding awkwardly. "Look, I... I wanted to apologize again," he continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I know I messed up keeping things from you, Hermione. Honestly, I thought I was doing the right thing."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, keeping someone ignorant was never the right thing to do.
"Look," Harry fumbled, pushing his glasses up his nose, "I was brand new to this whole world, and everyone kept saying keeping this from you was supposed to keep you safe." He raised his hands defensively. "Obviously, I see things differently now." A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Honestly, Hermione, I just wanted to look after you. You were one of my only friends, and I really, really wanted to do what I thought was best."
Hermione bit her lip. That part, at least, was genuine. It was kind of sweet, in a way she hadn't considered before.
"I'm a git, aren't I?" Harry muttered, shoving a hand through his messy hair. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. "Being your friend, Hermione, it's been... well, it's more important than I ever realized. Especially after you left." He sighed. "The thought of losing you... well, I just can't."
The anger fizzled out, leaving behind a hollow ache. Meeting his worried green eyes, she saw a vulnerability that tugged at her heartstrings. A weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying seemed to lift, a heavy sigh escaping her lips.
Tears welled up, surprising her. But as she looked at Harry's furrowed brow, a different emotion bubbled to the surface, one she'd been trying to shove down: loneliness.
A dull ache settled in Hermione's chest as she looked at Harry. She missed him, a truth she hadn't let herself fully acknowledge until now.
Shame burned in her gut as she realized how often she'd compared herself to Ron. He was the funny one, the Quidditch fan, the one who talked about girls, complained about "stupid assignments," and fooled around. Things she just wasn't.
Yet here he was, all raw honesty and vulnerability. He missed her, valued her. The realization hit her hard, leaving her breathless and a little overwhelmed. All this time, the fear that it was a one-sided friendship had gnawed at her, a nasty little insecurity she couldn't quite shake. Now, a wave of relief washed over her, warm and welcome.
Maybe she'd been too hard on Harry.
Maybe.
It wasn't like he did it to hurt her, he'd honestly thought it was the best thing he could do, so much unlike Ron. Her heart squeezed. Both Harry and Ron had been such important people in her life, they both hurt her, but unlike Harry, Ron's words were nothing but venom.
Could she even blame Harry? They were both outsiders to the world four years ago.
Plus, she couldn't stay mad at him with the tournament around the corner. He needed her.
"Fine," she huffed out. "I accept your apology. But don't do it again."
A relieved grin, wide enough to rival a full moon, broke out on Harry's face.
"Never again. I swear."
"Good." Hermione sighed, the tension easing from her shoulders. The weight in her chest, however, lingered, a dull ache that refused to fully disappear not until this tournament was over ."Let's hear how you've been preparing for that barbaric tournament."
To Hermione's total horror, Harry turns out, hadn't been preparing at all.
Harry's smile faltered, replaced by a sheepish look that sent a cold dread slithering down her spine.
"I did look at the books you left me," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. "Thank you for those, by the way."
"I'm glad you were able to find them." He at least had looked at the books.
Harry gave a small snort. "You weren't exactly being subtle about leaving them lying around. Especially that one with the Manticore practically leaping out of the cover."
Hermione rolled her eyes and gathered stacks of books about the tournament, basic dueling, charms, and transfiguration.
They spent the rest of the evening trying to gather whatever information they could to come up with a plan. Because something was better than nothing.
On the way back to the dorms, Harry decided to stop by the owlery.
As the orange glow of sunset seeped through the mismatched windows, Hermione entered a whirlwind of feathers and calls. Great horned owls with piercing eyes watched from high perches, while a dazzling array of Hogwarts tawny owls, along with hawks and falcons in every shade of brown, grey, and white, filled the room with a symphony of squawks and screeches.
"Give me a second, just need to send this to Sirius," Harry announced, beckoning over one of the tawny Hogwarts owls.
"You aren't going to use Hedwig?"
Harry shook his head. "No, Sirius told me not to, just in case someone is tracking his mail."
The snowy owl, Hedwig, with her piercing yellow eyes, swooped down and extended her leg towards Harry.
"Sorry, Hedwig, not today," Harry apologized, but the owl persisted, blinking her large eyes and nudging closer.
Hermione smiled.
"I can't, I'm sorry," Harry insisted, but Hedwig pecked at his hand in protest. "Ow," he winced before she finally relented and flew to her resting spot.
"When did Sirius reply?" Hermione asked, her gaze shifting to Oleg's falcon perched nearby.
"After that article came out," he scoffed a hint of disbelief in his voice. "He actually asked if we were 'involved,'" they both grimaced. "Then he goes on to lecture me about treating you like a proper lady."
Hermione couldn't help but scoff herself. It was kind of funny, in a frustrating sort of way, that someone like Sirius still held onto those old Pureblood beliefs. Sure, he might be an escaped convict from Azkaban, but he still fancied himself a 'gentleman.'
She casually reached out her hand, beckoning Oleg's falcon, which had been eyeing her intently.
"What are you up to, Hermione?" Harry whispered, sounding puzzled.
"Nothing," she replied innocently.
"Why are you calling their hawk, then?"
"Falcon," Hermione corrected with a roll of her eyes. "You can't be serious Harry, now you're going after the birds?"
The sleek, black falcon blinked at her, then elegantly perched on her arm. Hermione felt the bird's weight settle on her sleeve as she gently scratched its head, enjoying the softness of its feathers beneath her fingertips. The bird seemed to enjoy the attention, leaning into her touch with a contented chirp.
Harry watched with skepticism. "Even the owls seem to think they're suspicious."
"Really, Harry?" Hermione replied disdainfully.
"Yes! Look at poor Hedwig," Harry gestured to his snowy owl, who sat with her eyes tightly shut. "She's bloody terrified of them. Look! She doesn't even want to look at them."
"That's probably because she's mad at you," Hermione snickered.
Harry glanced at the snowy owl. "Maybe," he muttered, his voice barely audible. He then gave instructions to the tawny owl waiting for him, thanking it before it flew away. "Maybe not." He gestured towards the falcon on Hermione's arm. "Look at them, they all but scream danger," he murmured under his breath, "like their owners."
Hermione sighed, feeling a sense of frustration creeping in. This conversation seemed to be going nowhere.
"Are you done?" she asked, trying to keep her patience.
"Yeah."
Hermione scratched the falcon's head before it flew off to its space. As she moved to open the door, Harry's hand reached out to grasp her elbow.
"Hey," Harry said nervously, his tone suddenly serious. "Um, Hermione, can I talk to you about something?"
She looked at him quizzically. There was something about the way his voice dropped and his intense focus on her that made her stomach tie itself in knots.
"What is it?"
"I-um-wanted to talk to you about what happened with Ron," Harry began awkwardly.
Her mouth suddenly felt dry, a lump forming in her throat as she braced herself for the conversation.
"You know?"
He scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, he came to tell me," his jaw clenched, "what he said to you."
"Oh."
Shame reared its ugly head. She clenched her hands. The shame washed away as anger took over. Why did she feel shame? She hadn't done anything or anyone for that matter.
"He wanted to apologize, but I told him that's something between the two of you. He insulted you. And I just couldn't talk to him after that, you know?" Harry's jaw tensed again. "You think you know a bloke, and then he says that shite about your sister."
"He did mess up," Hermione agreed, her voice firm and determined. "And this is just between us." She squared her shoulders, her resolve firm. "But quite frankly, I am not ready to forgive him."
Harry nodded his head and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to if you don't want to," he squeezed her flesh. "What he said to you was out of line and I'd understand if you don't want to talk to him again."
A heavy feeling settled in her stomach. Yes, Ron had been a major jerk-ward, a total arse, but breaking their friendship? He was one of her friends and if she was being honest one of her very few friends.
Was she really going to end their friendship?
Harry's other hand landed on her other shoulder. "Take your time though if you don't want to talk to him yet don't. I'll be here whenever you want to nag."
"I don't nag!"
He snorted. "Right."
They left the owlery and the crisp night air nipped at her cheeks.
"What about you?" Hermione asked, looking at the stars. There was this uncomfortable feeling in her gut. She appreciated Harry's support but she didn't want to be the reason why Ron and him stopped talking. Ron was Harry's mate. She might be like a sister to Harry, but she was no Ron.
"What about me?" He half asked as his eyes roamed a group of passing Ravenclaws, Cho Chang was in the middle.
"Don't ogle at her Harry!" Hermione slapped his shoulder.
"Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder. "I can't help it."
Hermione opened her mouth to retort but shut it. Did Harry feel the bond with Cho? She'd ask him later.
"I ask what about you? When are you going to talk to Ron?"
Harry shrugged his shoulders. He not-so-discretely peered at the black-haired witch. "I don't know. Once you forgive him I guess."
That feeling sunk itself deeper into her skin.
"You don't have to wait you know."
He smiled. "I know. But I want to."
November 25 Wednesday
By the time Wednesday rolled around, Hermione felt like she hadn't slept for about a week—which more accurately had been since Monday. The stress of the tournament was eating at her. She somehow felt like she had read everything and nothing at the same time.
She ground her teeth as she walked aimlessly through the aisles of the library. Her feet stopped in front of the Herbology section. "Common and Unsuspected Deadly Plants and Their Immediate Remedies" caught her eye. She unconsciously reached for it and added it to the five other tomes nestled in her arms.
The books were growing heavy, but Hermione couldn't bear the thought of leaving any potential source of information behind. Her mind raced, trying to recall every detail about the Tournament's history, searching for any mention of challenges involving deadly plants. Yet, the more she tried to focus, the more the facts seemed to slip through her mental grasp like fine grains of sand.
The curly-haired witch didn't register the thudding of stomping feet until a hand yanked her backward.
"Harry!"
"Sorry," he let her go, breathless, with a wild look in his eyes. "I've got news."
She adjusted the books in her arms, their worn leather creaking under the strain. "What is it?" she barked, exasperation lining her voice. "Better be about this bloody tournament."
"It is! Do you think I'd be like this otherwise?" He gestured vaguely at himself, then scoffed. "A zombie probably looks better."
Hermione reached for her hair – it felt greasy – and dragged her fingers across her face. She didn't need a mirror to know she was a mess. The scent of old parchment and dust clung to her skin.
"Out with it, then," Hermione demanded.
Harry grabbed her free hand, his grip surprisingly tight, and pulled her to the door.
"Harry!"
"Gotta hurry," he muttered, shoving her books unceremoniously onto a random table. "But – " She started to protest but closed her mouth when Harry yanked her harder.
Harry continued pulling Hermione along the corridor, his grip firm on her hand. She stumbled slightly, trying to keep up with his frantic pace.
"Harry, slow down!" she pleaded. "Where are we going? What's this all about?"
"We're going to see Hagrid," he said, his tone urgent. "In his hut."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "Hagrid? But why the rush? What's going on? Can't it wait for tomorrow?"
Harry was about to answer but stopped when a group of witches came into view. Hermione followed his gaze and felt her stomach drop. Of course, it had to be Pansy Parkinson leading the pack.
Parkinson's pug-like face twisted into a sneer as she caught sight of them. "Well, well, if it isn't the Mudblood and Scarhead themselves," she drawled, her shrill voice carrying across the corridor.
The other Slytherin girls behind her erupted into a fit of giggles, their eyes darting towards Harry and Hermione with thinly veiled disgust.
"Merlin's beard, Granger," Parkinson continued, raking her gaze over Hermione's disheveled appearance. "You look even more of a fright than usual. How that Skeeter woman ever called you 'beautiful' is beyond me."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger. She opened her mouth to retort, but another voice cut her off.
"What's this, then?" A blonde girl Hermione didn't recognize stepped forward, her perfectly arched brows raised in mock surprise. "The two lovebirds sneaking off."
Parkinson's face twisted with a grin. "Are you so desperate Potter that you really fuck a Mudblood?"
The giggles intensified, and Hermione's flush deepened. She shot Harry a mortified glance, but he simply glared at the Slytherin witches, his jaw clenched.
"That's right," the blonde continued. "Everyone knows Granger's a little whore, spreading her legs for anyone who'll have her."
Harry's face darkened, his green eyes blazing with fury as his magic whipped around them in an invisible torrent. The Slytherin witches' smug expressions faltered, their sneers replaced by flashes of fear as they sensed the raw power crackling in the air.
"You dare speak about Hermione like that again," Harry growled, his voice low and dangerous, "and you'll regret the day you ever opened your foul mouths."
His angry gaze zoned in on Parkinson, who swallowed hard, her bravado deflating. She uttered something about Malfoy under her breath, but the words were lost as Harry took a step forward, his magic searing the air like a physical force.
The witches flinched, their eyes widening as they instinctively took a step back. For a moment, the tension hung thick, the threat of Harry's wrath palpable. Then, the Slytherin girls turned and retreated.
Harry turned to Hermione. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't think..."
"Thank you, Harry," Hermione said. "For defending me, I mean."
Harry shrugged, his cheeks still flushed from the confrontation. "It was nothing. Those Slytherins are just foul gits, the lot of them."
A small smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "My knight in shining armor, defending my honor."
Harry barked out a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I suppose that makes you the fair maiden in need of rescuing?"
Hermione swatted his arm playfully. "Hardly a damsel in distress. I'm more than capable of handling a few nasty words."
"I know," Harry said, his expression softening. "But you shouldn't have to. Not from them, not from anyone."
Hermione felt a surge of affection for her best friend. "Well, I appreciate the chivalry all the same."
Harry grinned, puffing out his chest in an exaggerated display of bravado. "Fear not, my lady! I shall always defend your honor, come what may."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face. "My hero," she deadpanned, her tone laced with sarcasm.
They shared a laugh, the tension from the altercation dissipating like morning mist. As their mirth faded, Harry's expression turned serious once more.
"I mean it, though," he said, his green eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "I'll always have your back, Hermione. No matter what."
Hermione bumped his shoulder. "I know," her eyes softened and she smiled. "But honestly, Harry," Hermione scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You know better than to listen to them."
"Yeah, I know, I just don't like it when they speak about you like that."
She checked her watch and straightened her shoulders. "Come on, let's get going it's almost time for curfew."
"Wait, Hermione," Harry said, grabbing her arm gently as she made her way to the entrance of the hut. "We're not going in there."
Hermione frowned. "What do you mean? I thought you said we were coming to see Hagrid."
Harry nodded, glancing around furtively. "We are, but not inside his hut. He sent me a message earlier telling me to meet him behind the hut, in the forest."
"The forest?" Hermione's frown deepened, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Harry, what's going on? Why would Hagrid want to meet us in the Forbidden Forest?"
"I don't know," Harry admitted, his expression grave. "But he said it had something to do with the tournament."
Hermione's breath caught in her throat, her mind immediately racing with possibilities. "The tournament? But what could Hagrid know about that?"
"I'm not sure," Harry said, shaking his head. "But he sounded urgent like it was important."
Hermione hesitated, biting her lip as she considered their options. Going to the forest during the day was incredibly dangerous but going at night was a suicide sentence, or worse getting caught and being expelled.
But if Hagrid truly had information about the tournament, information that could potentially help Harry, then she knew they had to take the risk.
"Alright," she said finally, steeling her resolve. "Let's go."
Harry nodded, relief flickering across his features. He gestured for her to follow him, and together they made their way around the back of Hagrid's hut, their footsteps crunching softly on the grass.
The forest loomed before them, a vast expanse of twisted trees and inky blackness. Hermione shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as a chill wind rustled through the branches.
"Hermione! Harry!" Hagrid's gruff voice called out as the two figures approached. Two? Fang, his massive boarhound, bounded ahead, barking excitedly as he rushed to greet them.
Harry crouched down, ruffling the dog's fur as Fang licked his face enthusiastically. "Hey, boy! It's good to see you too."
Hermione eyed the second figure warily as they drew closer, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Hagrid, who...?"
Hermione's eyes widened in recognition as the second figure stepped into the pale moonlight. "Charlie? Charlie Weasley?"
The stocky, red-haired man gave them a lopsided smile. "Hermione, Harry. Glad you could make it."
Hermione noticed a faint scar peeking out from the collar of Charlie
's jacket, a reminder of the attack at the Quidditch World Cup. "Charlie, it's so good to see you!" she said, stepping forward to give him a quick hug. "How are you doing?"
"Ah, you know, the scar's not all bad," he said, chuckling lightly. "Helps me pick up the ladies if you catch my drift."
He winked at Hermione, who felt her cheeks flush slightly at the implication. Harry, on the other hand, simply rolled his eyes.
"Somehow I doubt that Charlie," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Charlie laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "What, you don't think this rugged, dragon-taming charm of mine is irresistible?"
Harry chuckled, extracting himself from Charlie's grip. "It's great to see you, Charlie. But what are you doing here?"
"Ah, well, that's a bit of a long story," Charlie said, exchanging a meaningful look with Hagrid. "But the short version is, I'm here to help with the tournament."
Hermione's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. "The tournament? You know something about the tasks?"
"Aye, that I do. At least the first one," Charlie confirmed with a solemn nod. "Which is why we wanted to meet you out here, away from prying eyes and ears."
As soon as those words left his mouth, Hermione's stomach dropped because she knew why he was here—Dragons. Oh, Merlin. Dragons. All she could feel was dread washing over her in icy waves.
Charlie finally told them, his expression grave. "The first task involves dragons."
Harry's face drained of color, his eyes widening in shock and fear. "D-Dragons?" he stammered.
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably, his massive frame seeming to shrink as he wrung his hands together. "Now, now, you two," he said, his gruff voice tinged with worry. "There's no need ter panic."
Hermione whirled on him, her eyes blazing. "No need to panic?" she repeated incredulously. "Hagrid, we're talking about dragons! Massive, fire-breathing, deadly dragons!"
Her eyes narrowed at the giant but instantly softened, it wasn't his fault.
"I know, I know," the groundskeeper said solemnly.
"Wait," Harry called out, "Hagrid why are you telling me now?"
"Dumbledore tol' all the staff not ter help the champions," Hagrid said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Said it wouldn' be fair, yeh see. We can' give any of yeh an advantage. But I though' yeh needed to know."
"An advantage?" Harry echoed, his voice rising in pitch. "Hagrid, we're going up against dragons! How is knowing about that an advantage?"
Hermione's mind raced her thoughts a whirlwind of panic and calculation. Dragons were among the most dangerous creatures in the wizarding world, their hides impervious to most spells and their flames hot enough to melt steel.
How in Merlin's name were they supposed to face something like that?
"Hagrid's righ', Harry," Charlie said, his tone soothing. "Knowin' about the dragons ahead of time is a big help."
Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes wild. "But how am I supposed to beat a dragon?" he asked, his voice cracking with fear and frustration.
Hermione's heart ached for her friend, her mind already whirring with potential strategies and spells that could help him survive the task. She would research day and night if she had to, pouring over every book and tome on dragons she could get her hands on.
She would not let Harry face this alone.
Hermione's eyes widened as a massive figure emerged from the shadows of the forest, towering over the trees. She immediately recognized the statuesque form of Madame Maxime.
"'Agrid?" Maxime's deep, melodious voice rang out, tinged with a hint of playfulness. "Are you 'ere, mon cher?"
Hagrid's face flushed crimson, and he quickly gestured for Charlie, Harry, and Hermione to hide behind the thick shrubbery nearby. "Stay outta sight," he hissed under his breath.
Hermione exchanged a bewildered glance with Harry as they crouched down, concealing themselves behind the foliage. Charlie followed suit, his expression a mixture of surprise and amusement.
"Olympe!" Hagrid called out, stepping into the clearing to greet the giantess. "I didn' expect ter see yeh tonight."
Maxime's full lips curved into a coy smile as she approached Hagrid, her movements graceful despite her immense size. "Forgive me for ze surprise, mon amour," she purred, her French accent thick and sultry. "But I found myself yearning for your company."
Hagrid's blush deepened, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly, his eyes darting around the forest as if searching for an escape. "Er, well, tha's mighty kind of yeh, Olympe," he mumbled, his gruff voice barely audible.
The giantesses closed the distance between them, her hand reaching out to caress Hagrid's whiskered cheek with surprising tenderness. "You work too 'ard, mon cher," she murmured, her dark eyes shining with affection. "Perhaps you would allow me to... relieve some of your stress?"
Hagrid swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. "Erm, well, I don' know if now's the best time, Olympe," he stammered, his gaze flickering towards the shrubbery where Harry, Hermione, and Charlie were hidden.
But the witch seemed undeterred. With a fluid motion, she leaned in and pressed her full lips against Hagrid's in a searing kiss.
Hermione's eyes widened even further, and she quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Harry and Charlie, however, seemed transfixed by the unexpected display, their mouths hanging open in shock.
After what felt like an eternity, the headmistress finally broke the kiss, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Come, mon amour," she murmured, her voice low and sultry. "Let us retire to your 'ut, I need 'ou." Her hand snaked from his face to his groin and Hagrid visibly froze before Madam Maxime whisked them away.
Charlie snorted, "Merlin's saggy nuts. Who would have guessed that Hagrid was smashing pissers with the giant? Then again only a fuckin' huge cock could handle that massive snatch, that's for sure, ain't it mate?" The redhead smacked Harry's chest and Hermione could only gasp, her already burning face burned hotter.
"Hermione?" Harry's voice was soft as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"
Hermione could only nod, her face still burning with mortification as she kept her eyes trained on the ground. The image of Hagrid and Madame Maxime's passionate embrace was seared into her mind, and she couldn't shake the feeling of having intruded on something deeply private.
"I'm sorry about that," Charlie said, his freckled cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Didn't mean to be so crude in front of you, Hermione."
Hermione waved off his apology, finally finding her voice. "It's alright, Charlie. I just... wasn't expecting that."
A muffled sound from Hagrid's hut made them all freeze, and Hermione felt her blush deepen. She couldn't bear the thought of witnessing anything more intimate between the two half-giants.
Thankfully, Charlie seemed to sense her discomfort. "Right, well, now that we've given them a bit of privacy," he said, clearing his throat. "I reckon it's time I showed you two the real reason I'm here."
Harry's eyes widened, and Hermione could see the fear and uncertainty flickering across his features. "The dragons?"
Charlie nodded grimly. "Aye, the dragons. We've got them secured in the Forest for now, but we should probably get a move on before they start getting restless."
Hermione hesitated, her mind warring with itself. On one hand, the thought of coming face-to-face with a real, live dragon terrified her beyond measure. But on the other, she knew that Harry would need all the help he could get to prepare for the first task.
"Alright," she said finally, steeling her resolve. "Lead the way, Charlie."
Harry shot her a grateful look, and together they followed Charlie deeper into the Forbidden Forest, leaving the sounds of Hagrid and Madame Maxime's liaison behind them.
The curly-haired witch instinctively checked her watch as they followed Charlie deeper into the Forest, her brow furrowing slightly. A flicker of annoyance passed through her mind at the realization that they were out well past curfew.
It was stupid, utterly stupid, to worry about something as inconsequential as curfew when her friends could very well die or suffer horrible injuries in the days to come. Hermione clenched her jaw, pushing aside her concerns about breaking the rules. Right now, the only thing that mattered was helping Harry prepare for the first task, no matter what it took.
The witch shuddered as they delved deeper into the Forest, the shadows seeming to stretch and distort around them. Her mind couldn't help but wander back through the dark history of this bloody Tournament.
She remembered reading accounts of the 1792 tournament, where a young witch from Beauxbatons had been brutally mauled by a Peruvian Vipertooth. The poor girl had been trying to adjust the saddle when the massive beast turned on her, its razor-sharp talons shredding through her protective charms like parchment.
Then there was the infamous 1637 tournament, where not one but two, two! champions had lost their lives in a single task involving a nest of newly hatched Ukrainian Ironbelly. The vicious serpentine dragons had swarmed the champions, their venomous fangs piercing flesh and bone with ease. It had been a bloodbath, one that had nearly led to the tournament's permanent cancellation.
Hermione felt a chill run down her spine as the gruesome images played out in her mind's eye. She couldn't bear the thought of Harry suffering a similar fate, of being torn apart or poisoned by those deadly creatures.
A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she instinctively reached out, her fingers finding Harry's hand and gripping it tightly. He startled at her touch but didn't pull away, instead giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
"It'll be alright, Hermione," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "I won't let some overgrown lizard get the best of me. Cuz' you know that's all they are. Overgrown lizards. That breathe fire."
Hermione managed a weak smile.
Still, she couldn't shake the nagging sense of dread that had settled in the pit of her stomach.
As they pressed on, the trees seemed to close in around them, their twisted branches reaching out like gnarled claws. Hermione found herself jumping at every sound, every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig underfoot.
"So, Charlie," Harry said, his voice wavering only slightly as they trudged deeper into the forest. "What can you tell us about these dragons?"
Charlie's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before he spoke. "Well, for starters, they're bloody massive. The smallest one we've got is a Welsh Green."
Hermione shuddered at the mental image, her grip on Harry's hand tightening instinctively.
"They're also incredibly territorial," Charlie continued. "You'll want to be careful not to startle them or make any sudden movements. Dragons don't take kindly to perceived threats."
Harry let out a nervous chuckle. "So, no waving a nice juicy steak in front of them, then? I hear they love the taste of human."
"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "That's not funny!"
Charlie's expression remained solemn. "This is no laughing matter, Harry. These creatures are deadly, and you'd do well to treat them with the utmost respect."
Hermione's heart sank, and her hopes that Charlie would deny Harry's morbid joke dashed. She swallowed hard, trying to push aside the mental images of Harry being torn apart by razor-sharp talons and scorched by searing flames.
"Charlie," Harry said after a moment, his voice tinged with confusion. "Why are you helping me with this? Pretty sure you are not supposed to be doing this."
Charlie sighed, running a hand through his shaggy red hair. "Technically, you're right. But you're like family to me, Harry. If mum ever found out I didn't do everything in my power to help you, she'd nag me for days on end."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Harry's lips. "A fate worse than dragons."
Charlie laughed, his expression softening. "Aye, that it is. But in all seriousness, Harry, I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you and I didn't at least try to prepare you."
Hermione felt a surge of gratitude towards the older Weasley brother. Despite the rules, he was willing to risk getting in trouble and possibly losing his job to help Harry.
As they pressed on, the sounds of the forest seemed to grow louder, more ominous. Hermione could have sworn she heard the distant roar of some massive beast, and her heart began to race in her chest.
Then, they emerged into a clearing, and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.
Four massive dragons, each more terrifying than the last, were chained and secured in the center of the clearing. Their scales glittered in the moonlight, and their nostrils flared as they snorted plumes of smoke and flame.
Terror clawed at her body, her knees threatening to buckle beneath her. But even as fear gripped her, a wave of fury washed over her.
How dare they? How dare the organizers of this bloody tournament force these majestic creatures into such a situation, all for the sake of entertainment?
Hermione felt her hands ball into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. The dragons didn't deserve this, didn't deserve to be chained and subjugated like this!
Harry didn't deserve this!
Her blood burned even hotter when she saw Harry's utterly terrified face. Her nails broke through her skin thinking of how Viktor had willingly chosen this!
Charlie placed a gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder, his brow furrowed with concern. "Hermione? Are you alright?"
Hermione whirled around, her eyes blazing with a fury that took Charlie aback. "Alright?" she spat, her voice trembling with emotion. "How can I be alright, Charlie? Look at this!" She gestured wildly towards the chained dragons, their massive forms shifting and growling in the moonlight.
"These poor creatures, they don't deserve this!" Hermione cried, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "How can the schools be so willing to risk their students' lives for nothing more than entertainment?"
Tears welled up in her eyes as the gravity of the situation truly sank in. "It's so barbaric, so cruel! These dragons are being hurt, chained up, and forced to participate in this tournament, all for the sake of some twisted spectacle."
Harry stepped forward and pulled Hermione into a tight hug. Hermione buried her face in his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs.
"I'm so scared, Harry," she whispered, her voice muffled. "You could die in the next few days, and so could Viktor, and the others... It's all just so real now."
Harry tightened his grip, his own heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. "I know, Hermione," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But I promise, I'm going to do everything I can to make it through this. For you, for us."
She clung to him, her tears soaking the fabric of his shirt. "I can't bear the thought of losing you, Harry," she choked out. "You're my best friend, and I... I don't know what I'd do without you."
Harry comforted Hermione, holding her tightly as she dried her tears. Hermione knew she needed to stop being so emotional and get her head in the game. She pulled back from Harry's embrace and turned to Charlie.
"What exactly is the task going to be about?" Hermione asked, her voice steadier now.
Charlie's expression grew serious. "Sorry love, I'm afraid I can't give you the specifics. The details of the tasks are being kept under tight wraps."
Harry's face fell. "But surely you can tell us something, Charlie. Anything that might help me avoid being turned into a Sunday roast?"
Hermione swatted Harry's shoulder. "No one is going to be roasted, Harry!"
Charlie chuckled, though the worry in his eyes remained. "Well, I can at least tell you a bit about the dragons you'll be facing. That much I know."
He turned his gaze to the four massive beasts, their scales glinting in the moonlight. "The smallest one is a Welsh Green. She's got a nasty temper, but her fire isn't as hot as some of the others. The real challenge will be avoiding those razor-sharp talons."
Harry nodded, his expression determined. "Alright, what else?"
"The next one is a Chinese Fireball," Charlie continued. "Brilliant red scales and a crown of horns. Her fire is intense, but she's a bit slower than the others. You'll need to watch out for those venomous spines, though. One prick and you'll be in for a world of trouble."
Hermione shuddered. "And the others?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The third one is a Hungarian Horntail," Charlie said, his brow furrowing. "Nastiest of the bunch, that one. Thick hide, wicked horns, and a flame hotter than the surface of the sun. You'll need to be quick on your feet to avoid getting roasted alive."
Harry swallowed hard. "And the last one?"
"That would be the Swedish Short-Snout," Charlie replied, his gaze shifting to the massive blue-scaled dragon. "Breathes a blast of pure blue fire that can melt steel. Her aim is deadly accurate, so you'll have to be careful not to get caught in the crossfire."
Hermione felt her heart racing, her mind whirling. These were no mere "overgrown lizards."
She glanced at Harry, her eyes shining with a mixture of fear and determination. "You can do this, Harry," she said, her voice firm. "We'll figure this out, together."
Harry chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Yeah, or you'll have to dig through dragon dung to find my charred remains."
. "Don't even joke about that! Harry. This is serious."
"I know. Which is why I think we need to tell the other champions about the dragons," Harry said, his brow furrowed.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry's right," she agreed, her voice tinged with concern. Did Viktor know? "It's too dangerous for them not to know what they're up against."
Charlie let out a heavy sigh. "I hate to break it to you two, but the other champions already know about the dragons."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a bewildered look, their mouths agape.
"What?" Hermione gasped, her voice laced with disbelief. "But how?"
"There was so much paperwork involved with transporting the dragons here," Charlie explained. "Permits, safety regulations, the whole nine yards. Someone must have sold the information to make a quick Galleon."
Hermione felt a surge of anger course through her veins, her hands clenching into tight fists at her sides. "That's not fair!" she cried, her voice trembling with fury. "Harry's the only one who doesn't know what he's up against!"
Harry placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, his touch calming her rage ever so slightly. "Angelina probably doesn't know either," he pointed out, his tone level. "She's in the same boat as me."
Harry's expression shifted a determined glint in his eyes. "Then I'll have to tell her. It's not fair for her to be kept in the dark like that."
Charlie gave Harry an approving nod. "Aye, that's the right thing to do, lad."
Hermione nodded, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her robes. "I just hope she takes the news well. I can't imagine how frightening it must be to find out you are going to face dragons."
They hurried back through the twisted paths of the Forbidden Forest, their footsteps crunching on the fallen leaves. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to keep up with Charlie and Harry's longer strides.
Suddenly, Charlie held up a hand, signaling for them to stop. Hermione froze, straining her ears to listen.
From somewhere ahead of them, she could hear the unmistakable sound of voices and footsteps approaching. Charlie cursed under his breath.
"Shite. We've got company," he muttered, his expression tense. "You two need to get back to the castle, now. I need to stay here."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Harry grabbed her arm, pulling her along the path. They moved as quickly and quietly as possible, the shadows seeming to swallow them whole.
Just as they neared the edge of the forest, Hermione heard another set of footsteps, this time coming from their left. A familiar voice drifted through the trees, sending a chill down her spine.
It was the gruff Russian voice of Headmaster Karkaroff.
Panic gripped Hermione's chest as she realized they were about to be caught. Without a moment's hesitation, she pulled Harry behind the twisted trunk of an ancient oak, her back flush against its rough bark.
They held their breath as the footsteps grew closer, the voices becoming clearer.
Then, the footsteps stopped, and Hermione's heart nearly leaped out of her chest.
Karkaroff turned, his body angled directly towards their hiding spot behind the tree before the group started to march towards them.
Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as she pressed her back against the rough bark of the ancient oak, Harry by her side. They held their breath, scarcely daring to move as the footsteps and voices grew closer.
"Zhdat'! Ty eto slyshal." Karkaroff's gruff tones barked.
Suddenly, the footsteps stopped, and Hermione felt her pulse quicken. They were mere feet away, hidden only by the twisted trunk of the ancient tree.
Harry tensed beside her, his hand slipping into the pocket of his robes and emerging with his wand clutched tightly. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she watched him, her eyes wide with fear and anticipation.
"ya poydu poverty eto," another voice called out.
A figure stepped into view, their features obscured by the shadows cast by the overhanging branches.
Harry's grip on his wand tightened. She reached out, her trembling fingers wrapping around his forearm in a silent plea for caution.
The wizard paused, his head cocking to the side as if sensing their presence. Hermione held her breath, her entire body rigid with tension.
Then, the wizard spoke, his voice a low, rasping murmur, "Do not move." He took his wand out and Harry moved protectively towards Hermione. The wizard cast a Lumos away from them, swiftly turned around, and addressed the group. "Eto prosto kakoy-to olen'."
Karkaroff responded in Russian, his words clipped and harsh. The wizard fell silent and bowed his head.
Karkaroff stepped closer, Hermione's heart hammered in her chest, her palms slick with sweat. She could feel Harry's muscles coiled beside her, ready to spring into action. Then the older wizard swung his staff, the whoosh of air slicing through the silence. There was a sickening thud as it connected with the wizard's gut, followed by a strangled gasp as he crumpled to the floor.
The
group slowly disappeared into the shadows of the forest, and the figure remained crumpled in the ground. Hermione's brow furrowed as a slim beam of moonlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the wizard's face.
It was Slovoda.
Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his appearance. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes seemed sunken and hollow. Dark circles ringed them, standing out in stark contrast against his ashen complexion.
He stood up and swayed slightly on his feet, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Then, Slovoda's expression shifted, his features contorting into a grimace of pain. He doubled over, clutching his midsection. Hermione's stomach twisted with a sense of unease as she watched him.
Hermione watched in horror as he staggered forward, his movements becoming increasingly erratic. He stumbled, his knees buckling, and crashed to the ground with a dull thud.
The witch's heart raced as she watched Slovoda crumple to the ground. Before Harry could stop her, she broke into a sprint, rushing towards the fallen Durmstrang student.
"Hermione, wait!" Harry hissed, grabbing her arm. "We don't know what's going on!"She whirled around, her eyes blazing with determination. "He just saved us, Harry! We can't leave him like this!"
Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of retreating footsteps made him pause. Once the forest fell silent again, he released his grip on Hermione's arm with a resigned sigh. "Fine."
They hurried over to where Slovoda lay motionless on the ground.
The blonde's eyelids fluttered open, and he let out a pained groan. "Potter, Miss Grain-ger. Wot a pleazant surprise." He attempted a weak grin, but it quickly twisted into a grimace. "Out for a walk?"
"Don't talk," Hermione soothed, brushing his sweat-soaked hair back from his forehead.
"You sound like Oleg," he managed to rasp out.
"He's pretty smart. You should listen to him."
He coughed out a laugh, and winced, "I am not very smart," he said, clutching his side
.
Harry crouched down beside them. "See, he's okay. Let's go!"
"Harry!"
"He's making jokes Hermione! I'm sure he'll try to hit on you any second now!"
"I vould not do that," he spoke and winked at Hermione. "I do not vish to die."
Hermione furrowed her brows and ignored the dying comment. "What happened?" She pulled out her wand and began to heal his wounds. "These are fresh."
The Russian closed his eyes and gulped. "I had, er, wot to call it, an incident?"
"An incident?" Harry
and Hermione asked at the same time.
"Yes."
"What do you mean incident?" Hermione demanded. These wounds looked like he was hit with a stick. A stick that she knew belonged to that horrid headmaster of theirs.
"I tell you other time, yes?" His eyes fluttered for a moment, but he snapped them open. "Need to get back to ship."
"We'll take you," the curly-haired witch offered.
"Cannot do that to a lady."
Hermione scoffed. "Well, you can't walk, can you?"
Slovoda chuckled. "No. But I vill be okay." To prove his point he tried to get up but only managed to put his weight on his hands before he tumbled down.
"Stay down!" Hermione all but ordered.
"So fiery," the blond commented, his eyes shutting down. A second later his head hit the ground.
"I reckon we can leave him here," Harry said as he poked the unconscious wizard with his wand.
"He saved us, Harry. We have to help him.
Who knows what would have happened if his headmaster discovered us!"
"How?" Harry countered, his gaze darting around the shadowy forest. "We can't exactly waltz back into the castle with an unconscious Durmstrang student in tow."
"We'll figure it out," Hermione said firmly. "But we're not abandoning him, not after what he did for us."
Harry let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his tousled hair. "Alright, alright. if he makes any funny moves I swear to Merlin I'll toss him in the lake."
After casting a featherlight charm on the Russian, they finally exited the forest.
"What do you reckon Karkaroff's problem is?" Harry panted, adjusting his grip on Slovoda's legs. "Bloke seems like a right piece of work, hitting his own student like that."
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't know, but it's absolutely despicable. The man is absolutely bile."
They continued in silence for a few moments, the only sounds their labored breathing and the crunch of leaves underfoot.
As the Durmstrang ship came into view, Hermione felt a surge of uncertainty wash over her. "What are we going to do now, Harry? We can't exactly knock on the front door with him like this."
Harry paused, his brow furrowing in thought. "You're right. We can't risk getting caught sneaking him back in." He glanced around, his gaze settling on the distant silhouette of the castle. "Maybe we should take him back to the champion's dorms instead?"
Hermione hesitated, biting her lower lip. "I don't know, Harry. What if we get caught? We'll be in so much trouble..."
"We won't get caught, I promise," Harry assured her, his voice confident. "Angelina changed the charms on the dorms so anyone can enter without alerting McGonagall."
"How can you be so sure?" Hermione challenged, her eyes narrowing with skepticism.
Harry flashed her a roguish grin. "Let's just say Angelina and I had a...private discussion about the benefits of loosening the security measures."
She almost lectured him on how that was incredibly wrong, yet here she was lumbering about an unconscious Russian after breaking curfew.
Sticking to the shadows, they made their way back towards the castle, Slovoda's unconscious form slung between them. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest with every step, her nerves on edge as she strained her senses for any sign of patrolling prefects or ghosts.
Finally, they reached the secluded entrance to the champion's dorms. Harry muttered a few words under his breath, and the door swung open with a soft creak.
They hurried inside, depositing Slovoda's limp body on the nearest couch. Hermione let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging with relief.
"See?" Harry grinned, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Told you we wouldn't get caught."
At the first rays of morning, Hermione slipped out of Harry's room, careful not to make a sound. She cast a furtive glance over her shoulder before hurrying back towards the Gryffindor dormitories, her heart still pounding from the night's events.
Harry had assured her that he would speak with Slovoda once the Durmstrang student regained consciousness. Hermione could only hope that Slovoda would keep their encounter in the Forbidden Forest a secret. The last thing they needed was to draw unwanted attention, especially with the first Triwizard task looming ever closer.
As the week wore on, Hermione and Harry spent every spare moment poring over books and practicing spells that might aid him in facing
the dragons.
As the week drew to a close, their practice sessions intensified. They worked tirelessly, mastering not only the Accio charm but a myriad of other spells that might aid them in their battle against the dragons.
The Impervius charm, designed to repel liquids and gases, could potentially protect Harry from the searing flames of the beasts. The Protego shield charm might offer a last line of defense should their other efforts fail.
With each successful spell cast, Hermione felt a growing sense of confidence
.
Two more days and
they would be a third of the way done.
She just needed to get through tomorrow's date.