CHAPTER THIRTEEN: THE FIRST TASK

Great Hall

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

5 November 1994

Hermione felt like she was going to vomit, and the sight of two pieces of toast and a pile of eggs on her plate wasn't helping.

"Go on, Hermione, at least have a bite of toast," Harry wheedled, "You know what you always tell me before Quidditch, you shouldn't go out on an empty stomach."

Hermione scowled sourly. It turned out it was far easier to give out her own advice than take it, and Harry was getting far too much joy out of the situation.

"You know he's right," Ron chimed in, "after all, it's what you say, and you always tell us that you're never wrong."

Hermione glared at him.

"Making faces won't make it better," Harry said helpfully, "but eating some lovely eggs and toast definitely will."

Hermione grimaced. "I will slap you."

"Violence is not the answer…" Harry began.

Ron grinned. "It's the question!"

"I might murder both of you."

"You can do that after the first task."

"You really should eat," Millie butted in from across the table. "You definitely will need energy today. Triwizard tasks usually are pretty brutal."

Hermione gritted her teeth. "Yeah. I know."

"Regretting anything?"

"No," Hermione snapped.

"Someone is stressed."

"Just stop, please?"

Lily winced. "Look, Hermione, we just want to help."

"Well, stop overwhelming me then!"

"Sorry, we're not trying to," Ron muttered.

"Well, you are!"

"Sorry."

Hermione took an aggressive bite out of her toast and chewed it. "Happy?"

"No."

"Hmmph."

Hermione finished the slice and pushed the rest of the eggs around aimlessly on her plate while her foot bounced under the table. As much as she didn't want to admit it, even to herself, she was nervous. Very nervous. There'd been plenty of comments made about her muggleborn-ness, both on behalf of Hogwarts students and from their visitors. While most of the Slytherins were supportive of her, there was a considerable number of students who'd been raised by Blood Purists. As such, they believed she was magically inferior to them, despite the fact that she'd been top in her year for the past three years. It was complete stupidness, but nothing nearly as bad as the article the Durmstrang champion had shown her.

Hermione shuddered. There was something about Georg Wiesler that made her skin crawl, and it wasn't just his disgusting political beliefs or the fact that he was from Durmstrang. She'd gotten to know both Krum brothers, and they were perfectly decent people even if they were rather Quidditch-crazed.

Georg Wiesler, on the other hand, was something else entirely. Hermione wasn't sure exactly what it was about him; whether it was the way his eyes lingered or the way the fingers of his right hand twitched. Hermione had taken to sitting as far away from him as possible. Fortunately, she hadn't had to spend much time with the other champions, and even as such, the Beauxbatons champion in her division, Talon du Feu, always made sure to sit between Hermione and Georg. Hermione had been surprised, given that she'd never mentioned her dislike of Georg to Talon, but wasn't about to complain.

With any luck, she wouldn't have to interact too much with Georg today. The first task would be stressful enough without having to see Georg.

"...Hermione?"

Hermione started, and her foot started tapping a nervous beat on the floor. "What?"

Ron shrugged. "You seemed distracted. Don't you need to head down to the task soon?"

Hermione quickly checked her watch, foot still jumping under the table. "I have ten more minutes."

"Do you want me to walk down with you?"

"Why would you do that?"

Ron shrugged. "In case you want to talk. Sometimes that helps you be less stressed. I know it helps me, at least."

"I'll - I'll be fine."

Ron looked skeptical. "Well, Harry and I will wait around just in case. We're planning to head down to the task a little early anyway so we can get good seats."

Hermione looked back down at her plate. "I don't think I can eat the rest of this."

"Then don't."

Hermione could feel the corners of her eyes pricking. "But I want to do well."

"You're going to do great, Hermione. You're not top of our year for nothing."

Harry scooted closer. "You're probably the smartest person I know. You'll do awesome."

Hermione bit her lip. "But what if I don't?"

"First off, you will do really well. And if you don't, there's the rest of the tournament to make up for it."

"But -"

Ron cut her off. "You've been preparing like mad for well over a month. You're going to be fine."

"I want to win, though, not just be fine."

Harry stood up. "Why don't we head down now?"

"I still have a couple more minutes…"

"What's the sense in waiting? All you're doing here is getting more stressed."

"I - alright."

The walk down to the edge of the Forbidden Forest seemed far too short, and Hermione could feel her heart start to race as the stadium came into view. It was huge, far bigger than the Quidditch Pitch. Hermione could already imagine the hordes of witches and wizards piling into the stadium, eager to watch the muggleborn champion fail.

She felt sick to her stomach.

Harry nudged her side. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Hermione lied.

Ron clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Well, good luck to you! We'll be cheering you on."

"Thanks." Hermione turned, and headed away to the champions' tent, completely missing the concerned look Harry and Ron shared.

Each step closer to the tent felt like a step closer to her doom. Hermione didn't think she'd felt so nervous in her entire life - nothing, not even exams, compared to the anxiety she felt standing in front of the tent door. Taking a deep breath, Hermione entered.

Almost immediately, Ludo Bagman, the Triwizard Coordinator, bustled over, a beaming smile on his face and sweat already glistening on his forehead. "Ah, Miss Granger! Excellent to have you here...if you could sit with the other champions, we're only waiting on two more…"

Hermione made her way over to where Talon was sitting with the other Beauxbatons champions, feeling rather relieved that Georg was standing on the other side of the tent.

"How are you, Hermione?" Fleur asked, French accent more pronounced than usual.

Hermione shrugged. "Nervous."

"I think we could all say that," Fleur said, sharing a significant look with the other Beauxbatons champions, "after all, we have no knowledge of what we will be facing."

Something about the phrase didn't sit right with Hermione, but before she could follow up, the Krum brothers entered the tent, and Bagman called everyone to attention.

"If I could have everyone's attention," Bagman boomed. "I would like to welcome you all to the first task, which will test your bravery and ability to think on your feet. For all of you, this challenge will involve facing one or many different magical creatures. For those in the youngest age division, your task is to get passed as many creatures as possible in order to obtain the golden letter. Similarly, for those in the middle division, your task is to get passed as many creatures as possible in order to obtain the golden chalice." Bagman winked. "You may find that some of the creatures are more helpful than others in helping you achieve your goals. Lastly, for our oldest champions, you will be facing one, rather than several creatures. Your task is to retrieve the golden egg." Bagman withdrew a velvet bag from his robes. "If Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor could step forward, and each draw from the bag…"

All the champions watched with baited breath as Fleur reached into the bag and withdrew a small dragon with a number two hanging from its neck.

Bagman grinned. "Ah, yes, the Common Welsh Green. Mr. Diggory, if you would…"

Cedric stepped forward, and withdrew another tiny dragon with a number one hanging from its neck.

"The Swedish Short-Snout. Which leaves…" Viktor drew from the bag "...the Chinese Fireball for Mr. Krum."

Viktor looked at his dragon model stoically, and Fleur didn't seem any more stressed than she'd been before. If anything, she looked slightly relieved. Cedric was the only senior champion to look slightly concerned, which Hermione thought was highly suspicious. She didn't have long to dwell on it, however, as Bagman started talking again.

"For our oldest champions, your order will be Mr. Diggory, then Miss Delacour, then Mr. Krum," Bagman explained. "For our younger champions, your order was randomly decided prior to the beginning of the task. For the youngest division, the order will be Mr. du Feu followed by Miss Granger followed by Mr. Wiesler. For the middle division, Mr. McGonagall will go first, followed by Mr. Malfoy, followed by the younger Mr. Krum. The divisions will go in order from youngest to oldest.

"Are there any questions? No? Excellent. I will notify you when it is your turn to enter the arena. Please remember that the only item you are allowed to bring in is your wand." Bagman cleared his throat. "Very well. I will be back momentarily." Bagman ducked out of the tent, leaving the champions standing around awkwardly.

Euan made his way over to her. "Do you feel ready?"

"I feel nervous. What about you?"

Euan chuckled. "Fair enough. I hope I'm ready. Not sure I actually feel ready, but I sure hope I am. Almost all of my extended family came down from the northern parts of the highlands to see it, and I hope I don't disappoint them. It's why I was so annoyed about them forcing us to use school regulation robes, you know," Euan said, voice dropping to a whisper. "The McGonagalls have clan robes that have been passed down for centuries, but we're not allowed to wear them for the Triwizard because of the new rules. Luckily, that doesn't stop me from doing this," he continued, pulling aside his robes to reveal a small square of green tartan pinned to his shirt. "They can't argue that this is against regulation, because it isn't. Also, tradition is important."

"I have heard that," Hermione said neutrally. "Look, did you think that some people seemed less -"

Bagman re-entered the tent, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "The first task will begin in less than five minutes! I'm just waiting on the final confirmation from our creature handlers, and then the first champion will go!" Bagman immediately beelined over to the Krum brothers, something Hermione could tell irritated Viktor endlessly.

Euan nudged her. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing," Hermione said distractedly, watching Bagman attempt, once again, to ingratiate himself with Viktor. "I'll tell you after the task."

"Alright."

The remaining time flew sped away far too quickly for Hermione's liking. Before she knew it, Bagman was calling Talon out into the arena. Hermione couldn't say how long it look Talon to complete the task, but the entire time was punctured with frequent cheers and gasps from the audience. Whatever it was, it was difficult, which wasn't surprising, but still was stressful.

At long last, there was a loud, bellowing cheer, and a few minutes later Talon re-entered the tent, escorted by one of the Beauxbatons professors, looking rather dazed and sporting a scrape on his left arm. He was quickly escorted over to the medical side of the tent by Madam Pomphrey, and Hermione couldn't help but feel even more concerned. What would happen if she got seriously injured?

"Miss Granger! You may enter."

Hermione shakily made her way out of the tent and into the arena. The shouts seemed to get louder with each step she took, and Hermione brandished her wand as she entered, braced for whatever challenge was thrown at her.

A pen filled with nifflers certainly wasn't what she expected. A quick identification spell confirmed that the creatures really were nifflers, and not something more nasty in disguise. Hermione's forehead creased in confusion as she studied the pen for more clues. Surely, this wasn't the entirety of the task. There was a small gate at the other end of the pen, and Hermione experimentally banished some dirt towards it. Unsurprisingly, the dirt hit an invisible wall and bounced off, leaving nothing behind except a faint scent of ozone.

It was a wardline of some sort, then. Given the nature of the pen and the presence of the nifflers, it was almost definitely tied to them. Hermione flicked her wand.

"Accio small piece of pyrite!" Moments later, a small chunk of shiny yellow mineral flew towards her. Hermione grinned. Most people thought nifflers only were attracted to true gold or leprechaun gold. The reality was that they were attracted to anything that was vaguely gold-colored and shiny, and pyrite was quite common.

Hermione pointed her wand at the pyrite. "Wingardium Leviosa." The pyrite rose smoothly into the air, and almost immediately the nifflers honed in on it. Hermione walked across the pen, pyrite carefully levitated out of the nifflers' reach. Hermione braced herself for impact as she crossed the ward line, but it didn't happen. Relieved, she levitated the pyrite slightly higher, then banished it out of the way. The nifflers eagerly ran after it, and Hermione was able to unlock the door with a simple Alohomora.

On the other side was another pen, this one containing a hippogriff, and on the far side, a silvery ladder. Well, that was simple enough after the time Hagrid had been allowed to substitute teach in their Care of Magical Creatures class.

Making sure not to break eye contact, Hermione bowed to the hippogriff, and after an achingly long pause, it bowed back. Hermione stopped for a brief moment to pat the hippogriff's beak, then climbed the ladder up into a tunnel in a cliff face. She scarcely had time to straighten her robes when Ron appeared in front of her, a condescending smirk on his face.

"Funny, you seem so pleased at getting this far," Ron said, advancing slowly on her. "I suppose it's fair that you're able to take pride in such a pitiful accomplishment given that you're just a mud-"

"RIDDIKULUS!"

Boggart-Ron's face turned bright red as he was forced into a very Muggle princess dress.

"HA! TAKE THAT!" Hermione yelled as the Boggart popped out of existence.

Feeling oddly confident, Hermione strode down the tunnel, her progress only blocked by a small three-headed dog. A poorly sung rendition of the Hogwarts School song was enough for it to fall asleep and for Hermione to sneak past into the final chamber. In it was a small, fat bird with a gold envelope in its talons. Annoyingly enough, it was flying just out of reach.

"Accio letter!" Hermione tried. "Accio Golden Snidget!" Unsurprisingly, neither worked, which meant she'd have to resort to more creative means. The chamber didn't have many resources, except for the dirt on the floor, which meant she'd have to Transfigure something, and dirt was particularly difficult to work with. It took her a long time to Transfigure a net, and longer still to levitate it in the air and ensnare the Snidget. After that, it was simple to remove the letter from the Snidget.

A gong sounded, and a door appeared on the far side of the chamber. Clutching the letter, Hermione passed through the door and into the center of the arena, which was loudly roaring its approval. There was a huge Slytherin banner floating above the stands, and Hermione could just pick out Harry, Ron, Millie, and Lily sitting underneath it, yelling wildly. Hermione grinned, and waved at the crowd. She really did have good friends.

Hermione turned her attention to the far end of the enclosure where the five judges were seated. Some of them appeared to be muttering to themselves, and Hermione couldn't help but feel nervous. Sure, she'd completed the task, but what if she'd missed something? What if she'd broken some unspoken rule? What if -

"Attention, please!" Ludo Bagman bellowed. "We will now announce scores for Miss Hermione Granger."

The first judge, Madam Maxime, shot a long silvery ribbon out of her wand, which twisted itself into a large figure eight. Hermione's breath caught. Not too bad, but not too good either. A ratty faced man from the Ministry was next, and he shot a number nine into the air. After him was Headmaster Dumbledore, who gave her a ten. Hermione could scarcely believe her luck. Maybe the Beauxbatons headmistress simply hadn't liked her because of favoritism. Next, was Ludo Bagman, who gave her a nine, then finally Igor Karkaroff, the Durmstrang Headmaster, who gave her a measly six. The crowd booed him, and Hermione couldn't help but feel a sense of self satisfaction. She'd done her best to prove herself, and the judges who weren't stupidly biased had given her good scores. Grinning, Hermione made her way out of the arena. All in all, it hadn't been too bad of a day.

Sybill Trelawney's Quarters

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

5 November 1994

The scent of sage lay heavily in the air as Sybill gently rotated a bundle of burning sage around Aurora's frame while softly chanting in Latin. Aurora shivered despite the warmth. Sybill was odd even on the best of occasions, and was substantially stranger when calling upon the Fates. Tarot card reading were a very serious matter.

After all, if done incorrectly, it could cause the reader to go mad.

Sybill set the burning sage in a shallow dish at the center of the table, and turned to retrieve the tarot cards. Clasping them in both hands, Sybill murmured several phases in Latin before passing the cards to Aurora.

"Shuffle them," Sybill said, voice slightly raspy, "shuffle them until they feel right."

Hand trembling slightly, Aurora took the cards from Sybill, desperately trying to ignore that they were disturbingly warm.

"Focus on the question you want answered," Sybill rasped, "on the story you need the cards to tell. Allow them to whisper to you and stop when they feel right."

Aurora closed her eyes and shuffled the cards, trying not to think of their strange, dry texture that wasn't quite parchment. After a moment, she handed them back.

Sybill held them briefly, then returned them.

"Divide the cards into three piles, of whichever size and orientation you feel are correct."

Aurora divided the deck, and Sybill picked up the first pile.

"Cut the deck, and place the other half in my right hand. Take the center card, and place it on the table."

On it were three skull-faced men in tattered robes clutching bloody swords, each plunged deep into a still-beating heart.

Sybill didn't react. "And again."

Aurora turned over the card, placing it gently on the table. On it were a man and woman, each in caskets rotting away.

"And again."

Aurora turned the card and felt the blood drain from her face. On the card was a hooded figure in a tattered cloak. One skeletal hand reached out to clutch a long, knobbly wand, and the other held an amulet with circle, inside a triangle, bisected by a single vertical line.

Sybill set the remaining pile down, and Aurora tried not to hyperventilate.

Sybill steepled her fingers. "An interesting spread," she finally said. "And not an unexpected one. The Three of Swords. The Lovers. Death. The Fates swirl around you, Aurora. Pulling two Major Arcana is not typical, but in your situation, not unexpected."

"I-"

"Allow me to explain. The Three of Swords is your past. Pain. Heartbreak. Something went terribly wrong, and the pain still lingers with you today. This may refer to past experiences in your own family or with a lover."

Aurora winced.

"The Lovers," Sybill continued. "The Lovers indicates that you have a great decision at hand. You must follow your heart in this decision, or otherwise suffer the consequences of your actions. Death. Once again, change. Profound change. Something in your life will be changing soon, and irreparably so. This is not a bad card, Aurora, but rather reflects a great moment of change in your life. You are at a crossroads, Aurora Sinistra, and if you fail to make the correct decision, I fear the consequences will be dire."

Sybill leaned closer, and Aurora could smell the stale scent of sherry on her breath. "You know what I speak of, Aurora. I have warned you of the consequences of ignoring the implications of Jupiter's advances, and should you continue forth blindly, your fate will be a dark one, the forged sword will cleave you in two, and the Chessmaster will rise not as a saviour to us all but as a dark and broken figure that will haunt wizardkind for generations to come." Sybill was breathing heavily now, and Aurora could smell something horrible and rotten. Sybill leaned forward.

"The cards don't lie, Aurora Sinistra, and should you fail to listen to their warning, as you have failed to listen to the omens before, all of us will be in grave danger."

Aurora stood up, backing away from Sybil as she advanced forward.

"The Gods and Fates above have spoken through these sacred cards, and you must take their word as the truth for I have seen things, great and terrible things, and should those things come to pass Britain then none of us may survive to see the light of dawn." Sybill was rambling now, and blood had begun to leak from the corners of her eyes. Aurora backed around the table, not noticing she'd bumped the stack of cards. It was all she could do to get out of the room with Sybill's panicked laughter chasing her, descend the tight, narrow staircase, hurry through the classroom down the silvery ladder, and down even more stairs until she couldn't wait any longer and was violently ill.

Far above, on the top of the North Tower, Sybill's laughter turned to choking sobs, then stopped when she noticed the upset cards. The pile had slid over, and a single card had fallen onto the floor. With trembling fingers, she turned it over and sat back on her feet.

"The Five of Swords," she murmured. "Yes, I fear the worst has yet to come."

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!