"Talking/Dialogue"
"Special Dialogue/Spells"
"Special Dialogue"
Thoughts
'Quotes'
Writing/Text
Aftermath
Arena, Hogwarts
Tuesday
November 24th, 1994
With the threat of death no longer looming over him, the adrenaline that had kept Harry going finally wore off. It drained out of his body in an instant, and all the pain and exhaustion he had forcefully suppressed crashed into him like a massive tidal wave.
Harry stumbled forward, nearly collapsing onto the ground, but remained unsteadily on his feet before slumping over to place his hands on his knees. Ragged and shallow breaths left his mouth as he tried desperately to shove the agony that had suddenly enveloped him to the back of his mind again.
It felt like every inch of his body had been assailed by a constant barrage of bludgers. His right side, in particular, felt like it had been a focal point as a stabbing sensation ripped through him with every breath he took. In an attempt to soothe the pain, he clutched at his stomach before grimacing when he felt the many gashes that coated his torso.
Despite the enchanted robes having prevented his torso from being torn completely to shreds, the Horntail had still managed to wound him rather severely with her spiked tail.
Even now, they were still bleeding a little.
Knowing that he needed to have those healed promptly, he forced himself upright, wincing at the motion before slowing inching toward the exit.
Every step forward took a monumental effort, and he nearly collapsed into a heap once he arrived at the stairs as the thought of ascending them proved almost too daunting of a task, but he somehow managed to find the strength within himself to climb them. And finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Harry returned to the Forbidden Forest, where, surprisingly, a worried-looking Madam Pomfrey was waiting.
Seems like Hagrid, McGonagall, and the fake Moody decided not to come here.
A part of him was actually relieved not to find them, as the thought of being near the Death Eater while in such a weak state didn't sit well with him.
Harry sent a weak smile toward the woman, who had gasped loudly in shock at the sight of him. However, she recovered quickly before making her way over to him and catching him just as he began to topple forward. Some of his blood managed to make its way onto her as she lowered him gently toward the ground, staining the pristine white robes she wore, which she ignored as she waved her wand to levitate him before picking up the golden egg he had slipped out of his grasp.
"Dragons! Out of all the hare-brained ideas the Ministry could have cooked up for the first task, they settled on dragons," she hissed angrily as she led him toward the tent where the champions had initially gathered before heading down a different path. The woman looked him over before shaking her head with a huff. "Out of all the times I've had to heal you, this is certainly the worst state you have ever been in."
"That's quite the achievement," Harry murmured as he floated in the air.
"And not one to be proud of. It seems with every visit you pay me at the hospital wing, you're nursing more and more heavy wounds…I dread to think of the condition I might find you in one day if that continues to be the case."
Harry simply shrugged in response, not knowing what to say and unwilling to give assurances that her fears wouldn't one day come to pass.
Or tried to, as a sharp stab of pain from around his shoulder had him wincing, which earned him a stern look from Madam Pomfrey as she waved him inside the surprisingly empty tent. She gently lowered him onto a bed before placing the golden egg under her arm on a nearby table.
"Where are the other champions?" he asked lowly as his eyes scanned the room. He had tried moving his head, but that proved too strenuous. "Were they not injured at all?"
"Oh, they absolutely were. Just not to the same extent as you," the healer told him, her wand already running along his body. The small frown she had on her face began to deepen with every inch she covered. "…Mister Diggory's and Mister Krum's injuries were relatively minor. Some small scrapes and burns. Very quick to heal."
"And Fleur? What about her?"
Madam Pomfrey glanced at him briefly, a curious glint in her eye that would have had Harry squirming in the bed were it not for the fact that he was utterly sapped of any energy.
"…Most of her injuries were much the same as the other two, though she did have a rather gash on her head. And one of her shoulders needed some extra work done on it."
"But it's fine now, right?"
"Well, of course it is. It's a fairly simple thing to heal… Quite frankly, the hardest part of it all was hearing her constantly demand me to be quick about it," she said exasperatedly, again eyeing him with an odd look before shaking her head as she finished scanning his body. "And if you have any notion of asking me the same thing, don't. Your injuries, while not life-threatening, are far more serious than—"
She was interrupted from saying more when Hermione burst into the tent, followed closely by pale-looking Professor McGonagall and Professor Moody.
Tension welled within Harry at the sight of the imposter hobbling inside, and if it weren't for how utterly exhausted his body was at the moment, he would have visibly reacted to his appearance.
As it was, he only gave the man a brief glance before his attention was drawn toward the tent's entrance just as Fleur stepped inside.
His widened at the unexpected visitor, even more so when he noticed the hint of concern on her face, which Harry would have dwelled on a bit more if he hadn't shifted his gaze back toward the bushy-haired girl hurriedly approaching him.
Hermione's bushy hair was much more disheveled than usual, hanging in wild disarray around her face. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, as though she had just raced down from the stands in a desperate attempt to see him. Her eyes were fixed intently upon him, bloodshot and swollen from crying, and streaks from where she had rubbed her tear-stained cheeks left faint marks on her pale skin.
Well aware that his current state was a rather horrible sight to see, Harry wasn't surprised when a small whimper left her mouth before she swiftly covered the small amount of space between.
Ignoring whatever Madam Pomfrey might have said to her, the girl reached down and pulled him into a fierce but gentle hug, uncaring that blood and dirt might have stained her uniform.
"That was dreadful…Absolutely dreadful," Hermione whispered harshly into his shoulder, her voice cracking a little as she tightened her arms around him in a fervent embrace.
Harry forced himself to return the gesture before rubbing her back softly, smothering a grunt that threatened to leave him as pain shot through his arm at the motion.
"I know…I know, but it's over now…I managed to get through it," he said, whispering into the crown of her head. "And whatever injuries I have will be healed by Madam Pomfrey soon enough."
Above the girl's hair, he saw the other three make their way closer, with the professors soon standing on the other side of the bed and with Fleur at the foot of it. While Moody simply looked him over coolly, McGonagall had a worried frown on her face, her complexion growing paler once she got a closer look at his wounds.
A response faintly mirrored by Fleur, whose features tightened in concern as she looked him over. He caught her eye and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, which was returned uneasily. She opened her mouth a few times as if she wanted to say something before frowning slightly when she glanced down at his chest.
I imagine it's kind of hard to be reassured when you're staring at bleeding and gaping wounds…even if a large mane of hair covers some of it. Harry thought before turning his attention to Madam Pomfrey when she coughed lightly.
"If you could please let go of him, Miss Granger," the woman told the girl. "I was just about to start tending to his injuries."
After several moments and another pointed cough from the older woman, Hermione began to unwrap her arms from around him, giving one of his hands a tender squeeze before stepping back slowly.
She started going over to stand at the foot of the bed, only to frown once she saw that the Beauxbatons champion had already occupied the spot. Her expression became more pronounced when she noticed the concerned look the French witch held in her gaze, who briefly glanced at the younger girl before sniffing dismissively.
All this went unnoticed by Harry, who had closed his eyes in slight pain as Madam Pomfrey had wasted no time in removing the top half of his robes before sterilizing the gashes on his stomach. A moment later, she cast a spell that numbed the area, making him breathe a sigh of relief.
"How extensive are his wounds, Poppy?" McGonagall asked.
"Well, for starters, he has multiple cuts across his chest and stomach, which I will be closing up first so that I can start mending the fractured ribs he has. After that, I will heal the broken collar bone he sustained and the extensive bruising he has on his right side," the healer explained, ignoring the small gasp that left Hermione and the smallest widening of the eyes from Fleur. "Then, there's the severe magical exhaustion he is suffering from."
"How bad is it?" Moody asked interestedly, which put Harry on edge.
"Bad enough that he will be spending the next couple of days in bed at the hospital wing and prohibited from performing any magic."
Whatever apprehension he felt at the moment was briefly forgotten as he stared at the healer.
"What?"
"You heard me, Mister Potter. Rest and absolutely no magic. And it will be like that until I deem that your magic has recuperated sufficiently," Madam Pomfrey said sternly, narrowing her eyes at him when he opened his mouth. "And I will not hear a single word of protest from you. Not a single one."
Harry stared at her for a bit. His lips pursed in displeasure as he tried to find a suitable way to dispute her words.
"It's best you listen to her, Harry," Fleur said, giving him a firm look. She didn't bat an eye when those around his bed sent peculiar looks in her direction. "You will only strain your magic if you were to use it before it has a chance to replenish itself."
"And straining it would take even more time to recover from, which would be far from ideal considering that you are in the midst of a tournament," McGonagall added, and he eventually nodded slowly in acceptance. She ignored the raspy sigh of annoyance from his mouth before turning her attention to the other champion. "Though, I find myself curious as to why one of his rivals would be advising him to recover…Or even here checking up on him, for that matter."
"Yeah, why is that?" Hermione wondered, crossing her arms as she stared at the French witch with a frown. "Why are you here?"
Harry winced internally at the frosty tone in his friend's voice, not surprised when the other girl bristled in response.
"And I have to explain myself to you because?" Fleur drawled just as coldly before a small smirk appeared on her face due to the glower she received in return. A sharp cough from McGonagall had her turn to face the older woman, who wore an expectant look. For a moment, it looked like she would tell her the same thing before she thought better of it. "But if you must know why I am here…it's because I wanted to see with my own eyes that he would be alright."
"Is that so? And did you have the same consideration for the other two?"
"No…Just him."
Harry grew nervous when the harsh expression on the bushy-haired girl's face darkened even further, and opened his mouth to stop any other words from being exchanged. However, before he could utter a word, Madam Pomfrey had already turned to give the pair a stern look.
"I would appreciate it if you would stop squabbling amongst yourselves," she said before focusing on the wounds on his stomach she had been mending slowly once the two girls had nodded in understanding, shaking her head when they sent one last glare at one another. "Perhaps the two of you have forgotten, but I still need to tend to Mister Potter's wounds, which are quite numerous, might I add."
"If that's the case, maybe I could help heal some of the smaller cuts…Like the one right above his right eye," Moody asked suddenly. "I'm sure the boy won't mind."
Harry's eyes widened slightly at the man's suggestion, not exactly eager to have a Death Eater's wand pointed in his direction. They widened even further when a ponderous look crossed the woman's face before she nodded.
"I actually do mind," he said quickly as the man had already retrieved his wand from its holster. "I'd very much prefer that my wounds be treated by a trained healer instead of some banged-up professor."
"Well, this 'banged up professor' is a retired Auror and more than capable of healing a couple of cuts."
"Really? It certainly doesn't look like it," Harry snarked as he glanced at the numerous scars adorning the man's face.
A bark of laughter left the imposter's mouth before he leaned over and grabbed his chin to keep him in place and stop him from speaking any further. With his back blocking everyone's view, he raised his wand toward the wound above his eye before angling it downward.
"Well, appearances can be deceiving. Take yourself for example. Who would have thought that a fourteen-year-old boy could restrain a dragon in such a fashion?" Moody whispered, a sliver of malice slipping into his voice that would have gone unnoticed by Harry if he didn't already know who the man truly was.
Before Harry could even muster up whatever ounce of energy he had left to yank his head out of the man's hands, a sharp inhale left him as he felt something brush against his mind.
In an instant, the memory of himself summoning the chains to restrain the dragon flashed through his mind before fading away, swiftly replaced by another scene. This time, he saw himself standing in the rugged and rocky terrain he had specifically asked from the Room of Requirement, tirelessly practicing and honing that same spell. The image then seamlessly transitioned into the moment when he curiously gazed upon the family crest that had suddenly appeared on the book's cover.
After rummaging through his mind for what could only have been a split second, Harry managed to use whatever meager amount of skill he had in Occlumency to clear his mind, preventing the imposter from delving any further.
As soon as he did, he felt the invading presence retreat from his head, making him sag in relief before wincing as the wound above his eye was healed rather harshly.
"My apologies, Mister Potter," Moody said as he stepped back next to Professor McGonagall, whose lips had tightened in disapproval after noticing Harry's expression of pain. Similar looks were also worn by Hermione and Fleur, which he didn't seem bothered by. "It seems I'm not as skilled with healing as I once was."
Harry didn't verbally respond. Instead, he simply glared at the man as he tried to recover from having his mind unexpectedly delved into. For a brief moment, he considered drawing his wand to curse the man to hell and back before discarding the idea almost immediately, as the reality was that he was in no condition to do so.
Best to simply feign ignorance of what he just tried to do. Harry thought, apprehension growing within him as the man eyed him with an odd look, no doubt wondering what had prevented him from delving further into his memories.
"On second thought, perhaps you should leave the healing to me," Madam Pomfrey suggested, earning an agreeing nod from the man.
"That would be for the best," Moody agreed before making his way toward the exit. "I best get going…No doubt Dumbledore has already given his closing remarks and is now waiting for me to return to help him dismantle the stands."
Harry kept his eyes on the man as he left before a confused expression made it onto his face.
"Hold on…aren't I supposed to go and see the judges to find out how many points I got?" he asked his transfiguration professor, who nodded slowly.
"You were, but after correctly coming to the conclusion that you would not be in any state to return to the arena, they decided to simply announce your tally to the crowd."
"You got thirty-five points out of a potential fifty," Hermione told him once he made to ask.
Harry nodded, a small frown crossing his face at having fewer points than last time.
"I imagine most of the points docked are because of my injuries."
"Precisely," McGonagall said. "And I'll be honest, Mister Potter, it would have been even less if you hadn't been for the impressive manner in which you restrained the Horntail."
"Well, that sucks," Harry mumbled before looking toward Fleur at the foot of the bed. "How many did you get?"
A pit began to grow in his stomach when a smug smirk began to stretch across her face before he cursed a second later once she told him.
"Thirty-six."
"…and a talentless half-blood who cheated his way into the tournament! There is absolutely no way Potter should have been able to do that! No way he should have left the arena alive!"
Lounging on the luxurious, soft grey couch in the spacious main portion of the common room, Daphne felt a sense of irritation creeping into her as Parkinson's piercing voice reverberated from the adjacent circular room.
"…should have been torn to shreds, barely recognizable to anyone, and then be burnt to a crisp!"
This time, she couldn't resist rolling her eyes, having no qualms about openly displaying her exasperation as her back faced the entryway connecting both spaces. At first, it had been mildly amusing to hear all the creative ways the girl would voice her displeasure about Potter's success, but it had quickly grown tiresome.
A frustrated sigh from Astoria sitting beside her let her know she wasn't the only one growing sick of hearing girl. Her younger sister was trying to read a book about dragons she had just checked out earlier. She was noticeably growing annoyed as the nearby commotion prevented her from fully engrossing herself in its pages.
"I don't know what's worse," Tracy Davis muttered, seated on another couch opposite her. Her childhood friend had a small, compact mirror in her hand, held just before her face as she tried to adjust her brown and curly hair. "Having to hear her shrill voice as she rants nonstop or the constant gloating she was doing the past few weeks."
"Definitely the latter," Blaise answered lazily from beside the girl, his head resting against the palm of his hand. "Because it wasn't just her that was boasting. Malfoy and his circle were as well, and they were quite annoyingly enthusiastic about it."
"You're right…ugh, remember the badges he gave everyone? I mean, really? Green and red? Whose decision was it to settle on such an atrocious color pairing?"
"Who do you think?"
"…as if my opinion of him wasn't already low enough," Tracey muttered in disgust.
"Well, we can be certain he won't try to pull a stunt like that again. Not after what happened today," Daphne said before looking curiously toward the other girl. "What's he doing right now?"
"Probably still moping," the curly-haired girl responded before muttering something under her breath as she ran a perfectly manicured finger across the bottom of the compact mirror.
A faint glow enveloped it for a split second, and after it did, the girl brought it closer to her face before feigning that she was checking her eyelashes. Unknown to everyone else in their house, the object in the girl's hands was also capable of zooming into what was in front of her. It had been a gift from her mother once she had started attending Hogwarts, and she had used it regularly ever since.
"Yup. Still moping."
"And what about everybody else?"
"Well, Parkinson is still ranting."
"Obviously," Daphne muttered just as another round of ranting drifted into the room.
Tracey blew her a raspberry, which made the blonde shake her head.
"—and the Carrow twins look like they're a second away from telling her to shut up. Or curse her. I can never tell with them, especially Flora…Crabbe and Goyle are stuffing food into their mouths. Warrington has a look on his face like he just smelled something foul."
"Probably still annoyed that he didn't get chosen as champion," Blaise commented.
"As if he ever had a chance," Tracey remarked before describing what she was seeing. "Montague and Higgs look like they want to leave but are likely worried they'll offend Malfoy if they do. Same with Bulstrode. And Nott looks furious."
"That's not surprising. Nott had been trying to get Malfoy to cut back on his insults toward Potter, as well as to stop making claims that he was a cheat and a talentless hack who would only embarrass himself in the tournament," said Blaise.
"Why? He was far from the only one making those comments. Hell, almost the entire school was."
"Yeah, but Malfoy was the most…enthusiastic about it. Even had those badges—"
"Hideous badges."
" Hideous badges made to make sure the whole castle knew for certain where he stood."
"I don't think his position was ever questioned," Daphne commented dryly.
"Yeah, but you know how excessive he can be, especially regarding Potter. It's a characteristic of his that Nott has tried to get him to tone down," Blaise stated before shaking his head. "Not because he likes Potter or has any bit of goodwill towards the guy. Far from it. But because he was worried that somehow Potter would end up making Malfoy look like an idiot…again."
"He does have a habit of doing that."
"Exactly. But what's different this time, and why Nott is so furious, is that he proved whatever Malfoy had been saying that he was untalented to be utter nonsense."
"And in a place where everyone could see that for themselves," Tracey added, getting agreeing nods from the two other fourth years. "I imagine it will be a lot harder to convince people that Potter isn't a talented wizard after what he just did. Not after he managed to restrain a dragon… a dragon…and not just any but a fully grown Hungarian Horntail. That's not something people will forget anytime soon. I know I won't."
"Nor will they forget all the stuff Malfoy had been saying about him before today," Blaise told them. "I wouldn't be surprised if a good portion of the students in the castle, especially those from our house, start having less confidence in what he says and, by extension, him."
"We already have, and I'm sure others have as well," Daphne pointed out. "And it is not something he will suddenly regain once he leaves Hogwarts."
Blaise nodded with a serious look on his face.
"And for someone like him, who is expected to inherit two of the most powerful houses and become the figurehead of an alliance, having people already start to doubt you is far from ideal."
"Something Nott has been trying to get him to understand for years," Daphne said, remembering those such occasions as the group fell quiet for a moment.
After Potter had publicly bested Malfoy during their first flying lesson, Nott had recommended against trying to provoke the boy anytime soon, lest he suffer any more public embarrassment at the hands of the boy who lived.
However, his words of caution had gone unheeded as the blonde again tried to antagonize Gryffindor and challenged him to a duel at midnight. Nott had expressed his annoyance in the common room afterward and had only been appeased when it was revealed to him that it had been a trap, which ultimately hadn't worked as desired.
That hadn't been the only instance where Malfoy had been dismissive of what was being said to him, but the next noteworthy occasion happened the following year when Malfoy had been named seeker of the Slytherin quidditch team.
Despite Nott's unsubtle attempts at stopping him, the blonde assured his teammates and housemates that he would beat his opposite number. There had been no doubt in his voice when he announced that as long as they had him on the team, they would never lose to Gryffindor again.
Daphne could still recall the venomous glare Nott had shot down at the quidditch field once Potter had grabbed the snitch. Nor could she forget the tentative whispers that began to be exchanged amongst her housemates as they started to question whether the Malfoy Heir was someone to have confidence in.
Of course, the blonde had tried to save face after the match, accusing the other seeker of cheating and griping that the raven-haired boy was nothing special, but the damage had already been done.
There was now a tiny fracture in the untouchable image he had walked into the castle with owing to his Malfoy name, which cracked even further when his claims that there was nothing remarkable about his supposed rival proved to be untrue as Potter revealed himself to be a parselmouth. And yet, instead of backtracking on his words, as Nott had suggested, Malfoy had decided to stay true to his stance that there was nothing special about Potter. That earned him some judgmental looks from those outside his circle, as the ability was still highly respected among the pureblood families.
Of course, the boy simply ignored the expressions and remained ignorant of the whispers that had begun to surround him.
Daphne couldn't exactly recall details of the second part of the school term, as her attention was focused on the grave situation concerning her sister. Still, she remembered that Malfoy's image was hit again when his claims that Dumbledore would never return to Hogwarts proved false.
Again, something Nott had repeatedly tried to advise him against doing.
His attempts at counseling the blonde proved just as fruitless the following year when he, Flint, and those two buffoons he called bodyguards tried to frighten Potter during a quidditch match by dressing up as dementors. An absolutely idiotic stunt that had cost Slytherin fifty house points, something he seemed to be entirely unapologetic about, which further damaged his reputation in the house.
Nor was he concerned that his mishaps were beginning to pile up as there had been no hesitation on his part to distribute badges mocking Potter while loudly proclaiming to anyone nearby how untalented he was and how his demise was imminent.
Only to be left looking like a fool again, Daphne thought, shaking her head lightly before grimacing when a particularly loud shriek crashed throughout the common room.
"Merlin, will she ever shut up?" Astoria griped from beside her as she closed her book with a huff.
"Ugh…" Tracey commented before a small shudder ran through her body. "Imagine if Potter had somehow gotten placed higher? Or even first? That would have been a rant for the ages."
"First place would have been no less than he deserves," Astoria huffed before crossing her arms, ignoring the curious looks the two seated on the opposite were giving her. "Nearly the entire school was rooting against him, three years younger than the other champions and facing a dragon twice the size of any before it. Yet, he still managed to grab the golden egg…despite the odds being heavily stacked against him."
Daphne gave her sister a concerned glance, the only one to catch the tiny and familiar hint of emotion that slipped into her voice at the end.
While her sister could hardly recall the months she had spent bedridden, suffering from the blood curse that had manifested itself within her, she still knew what she had been afflicted with. For the most part, she was capable of forgetting she even had it, but now and then, she would be reminded of the fact that her life as a witch would be a constant uphill battle.
Daphne wondered why Potter would elicit that emotion for a split second before it dawned upon her that her sister likely saw a small part of herself in him. She became even more certain that was the case once she remembered the way her younger sister had been so intently focused on his performance and why she had been upset by the score he had been given.
"Well, there are still two events left," Daphne said softly, a tone she only used when dealing with her sister. "And if he displays the same level of skill as he did today, then I'm sure he'll make up the places."
"And the difference between him and Diggory is only seven points. Whose own encounter with the Common Welsh was far less impressive," Tracey added before snorting in amusement. "Though, I imagine it's hard to make yourself stand out when another champion can completely restrain a Horntail."
"I still find it astonishing that he managed to do that," Blaise said as he shook his head, still a little bit in disbelief. "And that spell he used to summon those chains? I didn't think Potter could use high-level magic such as that."
His comment earned agreeing nods from Daphne and Tracey, with the latter speaking up a moment later.
"I didn't think so either, but then again, remember the word around the castle last year? That he could cast the Patronus charm?"
"But that's only a rumor," Daphne pointed out. "And when have we ever put any stock in the rumors surrounding him?"
And there had been plenty of them over the past few years, all of which she considered too outlandish to ever believe.
How could an eleven-year-old boy, who seemed to have only recently learned about the existence of magic, thwart a fully grown wizard's plan to steal an artifact from Hogwarts? How could that same boy, at the end of his second year, slay some mythical beast belonging to one of the founders and prevent the school from closing? And then, the very next year, somehow learn an advanced piece of magic? A spell that even adult wizards had difficulty with.
While I don't think he's as talentless as Malfoy believes, how can I believe he accomplished all that when he's only ever shown himself to be an above-average student? Daphne thought before her eyes narrowed as she recalled the events of the first task. "But after what we witnessed today…We should at least consider the possibility there might be a hint of truth in the rumors."
Hours after the conclusion of the first task, Albus found himself seated in his quiet office, his gaze distant as he patiently awaited the return of Alastor Moody, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, and Filius Flitwick.
The four of them stood off to the side near a glass cabinet, their heads hovering over the stone basin of his pensieve. Their expressions were blank as they submerged themselves in his memory of young Harry's perilous encounter with the Horntail during the first task. He himself had already witnessed the events, hoping to gain a better understanding of everything that had transpired, and yet, what he saw left him feeling confused.
And deeply troubled.
For the past few weeks, it had been a major point of conversation amongst those who dwelled within the castle that Harry had been struggling with his spellwork. While the boy in question had been dismissive of his inability to successfully cast any sort of spell, the rest of the school populace wasn't as indifferent. A large portion of them had already expressed doubt about the Gryffindor's capability to compete in the tournament. This new, persistent issue only made them more certain that the youngest champion would not be prepared to deal with the first task.
Albus would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn't started to share that belief as well.
The Triwizard Tournament was already dangerous enough for a talented and capable wizard who could cast spells. It would be nothing short of a death wish for someone who couldn't.
At one point, when it was only a few days before the first task, he had considered helping the boy find a way to fix the issue. However, any such thoughts were discarded once he felt the ancient magic of the Goblet of Fire warn him against doing so.
Prevented from doing anything that might help Harry, he could do nothing but sit up in the stands. He had dreaded the moment the boy would wander into the enclosure, expected to see a fourth year completely out of his depth and utterly defenseless.
And yet, the wizard Albus had seen down in the arena had not shown even a hint of the problem that had plagued him for the past few weeks. Nor did he appear to be incapable of handling the situation he found himself in. Quite the opposite, in fact.
I wonder…How is it that you've gone from a struggling student to a skillful wizard in only a few short weeks? Albus wondered in his mind, a frown making its way onto his face that deepened a moment later. And then there was the manner in which he had restrained the dragon…
However, before he could get too deep into his thoughts, his colleagues began to lift their heads away from the pensieve. One by one, they stepped back from it before making their way over to stand in front of his desk, ignoring the displeased grumblings coming from the portraits above them as their footsteps had managed to awaken them.
"Thoughts?" he asked after allowing them a moment to gather themselves.
"Potter should be dead," Alastor said, not mincing his words before anyone else could open their mouths. He glanced at Minerva, sensing the severe glare she was sending in his direction. "You saw the wounds yourself. They weren't a pretty thing to look at."
Severus, from the other side of the desk, nodded in agreement.
"I agree that the boy is fortunate to still be alive. The impacts his body sustained during his encounter with the Horntail were nothing short of devastating. Any wizard or witch that took a single blow carrying the full force of a dragon would find themselves hard-pressed to carry on," the potions master paused for a moment, a bit of respect entering his voice once he continued. "And yet, not only did the boy manage to endure, he did it on more than one occasion…How he survived those attacks, especially the one where he was driven violently into the ground by the tail, I simply do not know."
"He did conjure up a shield on that occasion," Fillius said.
"Which collapsed midway through."
Albus nodded, sharing that same puzzlement. The massive force the attack had carried had been noticeable despite the distance he had seen it from.
He did not know how the boy managed to carry on afterward.
"I believe it is because of the robes he was wearing," Minerva told them, grabbing everyone's attention before elaborating a moment later. "It is impossible to see in the memory, but there are these tiny markings on the surface of the material. I noticed them when I was escorting him down to the forest prior to the first task, and at the time, I dismissed them as nothing more than an artistic design from whoever tailored the robes. However, when he was having his wounds tended to by Poppy, I saw that they were, in fact, an array of runic symbols."
A look of understanding immediately crossed Filius before he snapped his fingers, drawing everyone's attention.
"Of course…an enchantment. That would definitely allow him to withstand such an attack. Back when I was active in the dueling circuit, I came across a few competitors who owned robes with certain properties woven into them," the half-goblin mused before a small frown crossed his face. "However, robes like these are extremely difficult and highly expensive to acquire. One must be well-connected or very wealthy to ever own a set."
"Well, the boy's family is definitely rich enough to afford it," Alastor commented.
"Something his father never failed to boast about," Snape said, his lips curling into a sneer.
"Well, I'm glad he made use of his wealth," Minerva said, glowering at the man. "I shudder to think what would have happened if he had not."
"Pushing the matter of the robes and the boy's wealth aside," Albus said, giving the transfiguration and potion professors a pointed look. "What do you think of the magic he used?"
"Satisfactory. His wand movements were sharp and precise. The incantations were uttered correctly. Not once did it appear that his spells would fail," said Filius, nodding as a pleased smile graced his face. "Which I was relieved to see as his lackluster performance in class had given me cause for concern."
"I shared the same feeling and told him as such when I was escorting him," Minerva added before pursing her lips tightly together. "He admitted to concentrating most of his efforts on preparing for the tournament and not on his classwork."
"No different than usual, then," Severus snarked.
"Seems to me like the boy knew most of the spells covered in his classes would unlikely be of any use to him and probably felt his efforts were better served to learn magic that would," Alastor said just as the transfiguration professor made to respond. "And it appears he was correct. Those chains he used…I do not believe they are part of the regular school material."
The Headmaster shook his head, an action mimicked by the rest of the professors.
"They are not. Nor do I believe such a spell can be found in the library. Even in the restricted section," Albus added, a frown appearing on his face. "And while it is true that the number of texts the castle holds is vast, I believe I would recall a piece of magic that involves three different incantations."
"This spell. Describe it for me."
Confused frowns immediately appeared on the faces of those in the room as a new voice suddenly spoke up. It wasn't until it spoke again that they noticed it had come from a portrait above them.
"Perhaps I didn't speak clearly enough," drawled an elderly wizard with shrewd, dark eyes and a greying goatee. He adjusted his silver and green robes before doing the same to the hat he wore. "The spell you just spoke of…tell me what you know about it."
"Do you have an idea of what it might be, Phineas?" Albus asked the former Headmaster, not surprised to find himself on the receiving end of a sneer. The man had always shown little respect toward him and had long grown used to that.
"If I didn't, then I wouldn't have spoken up now, would I? Now, perhaps you will start telling me what you know about this spell before I decide giving you a modicum of assistance is not worth my time."
Albus let out a small sigh before beginning to explain.
"From what I have gathered, it is a spell that requires three incantations. The first summons chains from beneath the surface that immediately try to ensnare its target. Once they have grabbed hold, a second incantation is spoken, which makes a pillar reveal itself. Finally, the third and final incantation sets it firmly into place. The target is—"
"—Vinculum Trium."
"…I beg your pardon?"
"Vinculum Trium. That is the name of the spell," Phineas said slowly as if speaking to a child.
"I've never heard of that spell before. Are you certain that's what it is?" asked Filius, stepping into view of the portrait and finding himself on the receiving end of a sneer, though this one had a twinge of disgust.
"Absolutely certain…and I'm not surprised that you haven't. Any information about it is kept only within the Black Family library, as is our right as its creators."
Questions immediately arose within Albus's mind as to how Harry would have managed to obtain access to this piece of magic, only to realize a split second later that while the young man couldn't, someone else could.
Sirius wouldn't have hesitated to help him once he found out about his entry into the tournament, he voiced within his mind before once again feeling apprehension well up inside of him as he remembered the Gryffindor's request for access to the restricted section. He had denied Harry, hesitant to allow him access to more questionable pieces of magic. It seems he has found another option, and whatever reservations I have about the type of magic he comes across are unlikely to be shared to the same extent by his godfather.
"Now that I've given you this piece of information, perhaps one of you can explain to me how this young man managed to learn this spell," Phineas announced harshly, his eyes narrowing in anger. "As I explained, it exists only within my family's library. How is it that a Potter came across it?"
"I am…uncertain," Albus said softly, glancing at the professors standing before his desk. He gave Severus a pointed look once he noticed the man start to scowl heavily, no doubt having come to the same conclusion as he had about who would be able to lend that spell to Harry.
"But you have an idea."
"I do. However, I'd much rather look into the matter a bit more before I share it with you."
"Which is your way of saying you won't tell me anything…Fine. Then I simply won't give you a shred of assistance ever again," Phineas said before leaning forward, a nasty snarl making its way onto his lips. "But remember this, you damn muggle-loving fool…I do not take kindly to information regarding my family being withheld from me."
Albus was not the least bit intimidated by the man's words. After all, he was simply a portrait. He simply watched, entirely unfazed, as the former Headmaster sneered one final time before disappearing from within the confines of the portrait.
"I can see why he was regarded as the school's least popular Headmaster," Alastor commented after a moment's silence, a grin stretching across his heavily scarred before heading toward the door. "I believe we've discussed all we could for tonight. Anything else could be left for another time."
The Headmaster nodded in understanding, watching as the rest of his colleagues began to follow him out the door, no doubt eager to rest after a very eventful day.
"I should as well," Albus muttered before a heavy frown appeared on his aged face. The knowledge that Harry had learned magic from a notorious dark family unsettled him greatly, and once again, he couldn't help but be reminded of a certain boy.
Perhaps I should start having the portraits and ghosts around the castle keep an eye on him…just to be safe.
Hermione tossed, turned in her bed, and flipped her pillow from side to side, hoping that sleep would eventually claim her. The events of the first task replayed themselves within her head over and over again, and just like the night before, anxiety gnawed at her, enveloped her, and no matter how hard she tried to squash it, the feeling never disappeared.
Every time she dared close her eyes in a desperate attempt to get some rest, the sight of Harry being driven violently into the unforgiving ground by the Horntail flashed through her mind, jolting her awake.
She would sit up instantly with her fists clenched, her eyes wide in fright as quick and uneven gasps left her mouth.
It would take her several moments to calm herself, along with many whispered affirmations that the blow had not killed her best friend, that he had made it out of the arena alive, only for her eyes to clench shut seconds later when she remembered the bloody state he had been in inside the medical tent.
In all the adventures they had undertaken over the years, she had never seen him so heavily wounded.
The closest thing she could compare it to was the end of their first year, but it seemed laughable, at least to her, to compare the small scratches he had sustained then to the gaping wounds and broken bones that had taken Madam Pomfrey a long while to heal.
Of course, Hermione had remained with him the entire time, unwilling to leave his side until the healer was finished.
An action mimicked by the French champion.
Hermione's expression darkened as she recalled the way the blonde's eyes had fixated on Harry, with her concern evident in the furrow of her brows and the slightest downturn of her lips. A strong feeling of irritation had flooded her at the familiar way she had gazed and spoken to him as if they were friends rather than rival participants in the tournament.
I don't like it…not one bit, Hermione voiced within her head, as a frustrated sigh left her lips, momentarily forgetting the intense worry that plagued her.
However, it didn't take long for it to make itself known once again, and she resigned to the fact that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep anytime soon.
She stared at the ceiling, anxiety eating at her before an idea dawned upon her.
Once again, just like the previous night, the thought of sneaking over to Harry's bedside to reassure herself that he was alive and well crossed her mind. Only this time, she was unwilling to talk herself out of following through with such a risky idea.
Little by little, Hermione removed the thick blankets covering her before rising from the bed. She daintily donned her deep burgundy nightrobe over her pajamas and fitted her feet into soft slippers. Tiptoeing across the room to the door, she grabbed her wand on top of her nightstand, taking extra care not to disturb the other girls still sound asleep in the dormitory as she left.
She continued to make her way gingerly down the stairs, not surprised to find the common room in complete disarray.
Just like the night Harry's name had come out of the goblet, his absence didn't prevent her housemates from proceeding with their celebrations. However, this time, she made her way past the mess with barely a glance, stopping briefly to move an empty butterbeer bottle about to roll off one of the tables before continuing to make her way to the round opening in the wall.
The portrait swung forward as she neared it and as it did so, a startled gasp from its occupant reached Hermione's ears, making her wince as she suddenly remembered a very important detail.
Fully aware that she didn't have any way to conceal her presence, she tried to hastily make her way past the frame, only to stop in her tracks when someone cleared their throat behind her.
"Pray tell, where do you suppose you're going, Miss Granger?" The Fat Lady said sternly once she turned around to face her.
Hermione stared silently at the portrait for a moment, a guilty expression tugging at the corners of her mouth. She anxiously bit at her lower lip, pulling her robe tighter around her body as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"I…um…need to go down to the hospital wing."
"And what reason do you have for heading there?" The Fat Lady said as she looked her over before raising a skeptical eyebrow toward her. "Because truth be told, you do not appear to be suffering from any ailments that would necessitate you heading there at such a late hour."
Hermione opened her mouth several times as she tried to figure out what to say before eventually letting out a resigned sigh.
"You're right. I'm not," Hermione admitted softly before briefly gazing toward the stone floor. "…But Harry is there."
The stern look adorned the Fat Lady's face was wiped away, replaced by one of comprehension.
"Ahh, now I understand…You want to go and see him. Or perhaps, dare I say it, need to see him," the woman replied, giving her a knowing look before smirking lightly when Hermione nodded bashfully. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you feel the need to ensure he is in good health, especially after today's events. My dear friend Violet heard what had happened from some of the students and was quite detailed in her recount of the rather severe injuries our young champion was sporting after his fight with the Horntail."
Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, a look of distress spreading across her face as the image of Harry bloodied and injured flashed vividly in her mind.
"I know Madam Pomfrey has already healed him and that he's safe and out of harm's way, but—"
"—You still need to see him with your own eyes. To ease your worries if nothing else," The Fat Lady said before gazing firmly at Hermione with a tilt of her head. "However, while I do sympathize with your feelings at the moment, it doesn't change the fact that you will be out wandering the halls of the castle well past curfew. Professor McGonagall will undoubtedly be very displeased were she to find out."
"…I-I understand," Hermione mumbled dejectedly, closing her eyes in resignation. "I'll head back inside."
"Of course you will…Whether that's right now or in an hour or two is completely up to you."
An amused smile stretched across the woman's face as the fourth-year's head snapped in her direction, wide-eyed.
"Y-you mean?"
"Yes. Just make sure nobody sees you. Now, go and see your beau before I change my mind," The woman playfully remarked, her smile increasing in size as she noticed the bushy-haired girl blushing.
Feeling thoroughly embarrassed, Hermione could only mumble a quick "thank you" before swiftly turning on the spot and making her way toward the stairs.
She cautiously descended several flights of the grand staircase, her hand lightly grazing the weathered stone railings as she carefully checked for any signs of movement below. Only once did she find herself forced to duck out of view when she heard footsteps echoing nearby before breathing a sigh of relief when they faded away. Thankfully, she reached the first floor without incident and all but scurried down the dimly lit hallway once she caught sight of the hospital wing.
Hermione eased open the wooden doors, cautiously peering through the small gap she had made. An off-handed comment Harry had made in the past let her know Madam Pomfrey only placed a tracking charm on her patients that let her know if they had left the room and nothing else. That meant she didn't have to worry about setting off any alarms and only had to be careful with the door immediately to the right of the entrance.
Nervously, she checked the door to the healer's sleeping quarters, relieved to find it closed. She entered the room with bated breath and walked between two lengthy rows of neatly made beds. The majority of them were empty, except for one at the farthest end of the room.
A tiny gasp of shock left her mouth once she noticed Harry was awake, sitting up against the metal bed frame and staring down at a piece of parchment in his hands.
Instead of being startled by her sudden appearance, he simply looked up before giving her a tired, sleepy smile.
"Hey."
"Harry…you should be resting…what are you doing awake?" Hermione whispered as she hurried over to the plush leather armchair on the bed's left.
As she pushed it closer, she examined his face, her brow furrowing in worry. She realized how utterly drained of energy he looked, barely able to keep his eyes from drifting closed. Yet, for reasons unknown to her, he was forcing himself to stay awake to stare at the parchment in his hands.
"And why are you looking at the Marauder's Map?" she asked questioningly.
Harry simply shrugged before laying the map on his lap, letting her see that it was currently focused on the corridor leading to the DADA classroom.
"I just wanted to check if anyone would be up and about at this hour, though I didn't expect much. I definitely didn't expect to see you start making your way down here," Harry said, patting his cheeks a little before shaking his head softly. Looking a bit more awake, he faced her before giving her a teasing grin. "Look at you. Sneaking out of the common room way past curfew."
Hermione huffed, and despite her concern, a corner of her lips twitched upward.
"It's far from the first time I've done so. We've done it plenty of times before."
"Keyword being 'we.' As far as I know, this is the first time you've done so by yourself and of your own volition. I'm so proud."
"Yeah, well, don't expect it to become a regular thing. I won't sneak out unless I have a good reason for doing so."
"And what reason did you have tonight?"
"To come and see you, obviously," Hermione told him firmly, her cheeks warming up in a faint rosy hue as she realized what she had just said so frankly. "I needed to make sure you were alright."
She was utterly thankful that only the gentle moonlight filtering through the windows provided the sole illumination in the infirmary as it concealed the blush that now colored her cheeks, which grew even darker when Harry raised a curious eyebrow in her direction.
"Well, Not that I'm not happy to see you or that I don't appreciate that you came to see me, but there's really no need for you to be up so late," Harry said after a few moments.
Hermione shrugged.
"I had nothing better to do."
"Getting some sleep wouldn't have been a bad option."
"I couldn't…No matter how much I tried…Haven't been able to these past two days," she said in a low tone. Despite being able to see for herself that he was alright, her earlier apprehension crashed into her again, and this time with much more ferocity.
"Why not?" he asked with a concerned expression, though based on his tone, he probably already suspected why.
"…because I was too worried for you," she admitted, averting her gaze. "I was terrified something horrible would happen to you…That you wouldn't make it out of the arena."
"But I did, Hermione. Not in one piece, but I did."
"I know that. I know that you're no longer in any danger. That all your wounds have already been healed. And in a few days, you'll be out of the infirmary as if nothing had ever happened. As if blood had been dripping from your head. As if you hadn't had spikes driven into your stomach by a dragon. As if you hadn't been a hair's breadth away from being k-killed…but you were. You were, Harry," Hermione said, the words spilling out of her mouth in a rush.
Her voice cracked a little as the image of Harry, battered, bruised, and with blood running down his face, flashed through her mind. She clenched her eyes tightly for a second before reaching over to clutch at one of his hands desperately. "And I hate that you were. I hate that you were entered into this death trap of a tournament against your will. I hate that practically the entire school was against you, saying mean and nasty things. But most of all, I hate that I barely did anything to help you."
"You helped me plenty," Harry immediately tried to counter.
She shook her head roughly, a scoff of disbelief leaving her as she did so.
"Not nearly as much as I should have. All I did was look through books for spells you might be able to use and help you research dragons. That's all I did…It's all I'm good for. Flipping through pages while you go and face the dangers of the world."
"That's not true."
"It is true, and you know it. And that's been the case for the past few years. Ever since we started attending Hogwarts," Hermione whispered with a quiver in her voice, feeling hot tears welling up in her eyes as the grip she had maintained over her fear and frustration started to crumble, the emotions exacerbated by her exhaustion. "Remember the end of our first year? I might have been the one who figured out who Flamel was, and what was being guarded was the Philosopher's Stone, but you…you were the one who confronted Quirrell and stopped him from stealing it."
"Which I couldn't have done if you hadn't solved the riddle," Harry said firmly before squeezing her hand. "And remember the Devil's Snare before that? How you were the one who conjured up flames to free us from its grasp? We would have never made it far if you hadn't done that."
"I only managed to do that because I was told what to do," Hermione muttered harshly before shaking her head and wiping her tears with her one free hand. "Then, there was our second year. I found out what Slytherin's monster was and how it was moving around the castle, but who was it that went down into the Chamber of Secrets? Who placed themselves in danger again? You."
Harry frowned at her.
"What about our third year, then? When we tracked down Sirius? You stayed by me the entire time, even when Remus turned into a werewolf and when the Dementors came. And your time-turner was why we could travel back in time to rescue Sirius and Buckbeak."
"I know…And I was so happy that I was finally able to do something. For once, I didn't have to just sit back and watch as you went to face another life-threatening situation all by yourself. For once, I was able to stand by your side. I had hoped that things would be different from that moment on. I would no longer be just a bookworm but instead be someone who could help you in those difficult moments."
Despite her best efforts at brushing them away, more and more tears streamed down her cheeks as she expressed her frustration.
"But then the tournament happened. And you had to face a dragon. And once again, I couldn't do anything. All I could do was just sit back and watch as my best friend fought for his life. And I hate it that. I hate that whenever your life is in danger, I'm never there to help you."
Harry looked at her with a pained expression, and at the sight of it, Hermione found she could no longer control her emotions. A choked cry escaped her lips as she was completely overwhelmed before she got up from her seat and leaned toward Harry. She wrapped her arms around him in a desperate embrace, seeking some form of comfort before gradually making her way onto the bed and lying down next to him. She pressed her head against his chest as sobs wracked her, releasing the weight of all of the worry, fear, and frustration that had been pent up inside her.
For a while, the air inside the infirmary was only filled with the sound of her crying, but gradually, it began to ebb away into soft whimpers as she started to regain some bit of composure.
"Sorry about that…" Hermione mumbled against his chest after a while, sniffling a little.
"Don't worry about it," Harry responded softly as he began to rub her back soothingly.
"It's just…it's been building up inside me for a while now, and I guess it all became too much to handle."
In response to his gentle ministrations, she felt a natural urge to burrow herself deeper into his embrace before turning her gaze towards him. Her eyes were fixated on his for a fleeting moment before a soft, almost imperceptible gasp left her lips as his hand moved tenderly to wipe away any remnants of the tears cascading down her face. As she stared deep into his eyes, which were full of compassion and empathy, she became acutely aware of the proximity of their faces.
Her cheeks began to flush with a faint pink color, which gradually deepened into a rosy hue. As she felt the embarrassment and self-consciousness intensify, the blush on her face grew darker and spread from her cheeks to the tips of her ears, which would have been impossible to hide if not for the room's dim lighting.
Hermione attempted to tuck her head back down but was prevented from doing so when Harry reached out and gently grasped her chin. He gazed deeply into her eyes, his expression serious as he held her gaze for a moment.
"As I said earlier, Hermione…you've helped me plenty," As soon as she began to voice her objection, he fixed her with a sharp and meaningful gaze. "And I don't just mean this year, but for every year I've known you. For all the time we've been friends and even the time before that. I know you feel you haven't done enough to help, but I do. I really do."
"Not when it counts," she couldn't help but mumble out.
"Every bit of it counts," Harry opposed firmly. "Our lives don't have to be in danger for your help to be meaningful. Whenever you help me, whether by looking through books, standing by my side when the entire school is against me, or even fixing me a plate of food, I appreciate it just the same."
Hermione desperately wanted to believe in what she had been told, but she could not shake off the lingering doubt that persisted, something Harry quickly noticed.
"Would you have followed me to confront Quirrell and stop him from getting the stone if there had been enough potion for both of us to drink?
"Yes," she answered softly and without hesitation.
"And in our second year, if you hadn't been petrified, would you have followed me down into the Chamber of Secrets? Knowing a Basilisk was down there?"
"Of course, I would have."
A gentle smile replaced the serious expression that adorned Harry's face, and she could see confidence and deep gratitude reflected in his eyes.
"And I believe you. Wholeheartedly. Because I know how unwavering your friendship is. How determined…how willing you are to go to whatever lengths to ensure my well-being. Through thick and thin, you've always stuck by my side," Harry said softly before wrapping his arms around her in a warm hug. "So, please. Don't be so hard on yourself."
Hermione took a moment to melt into his embrace, her brow furrowing as she carefully considered his words. She instinctively bit her lip, a conflicted expression crossing her face as she weighed her thoughts of inadequacy against his words of confidence until she eventually nodded slowly.
"…I'll try," she murmured into his chest before looking up toward him. "But I still want to help you more. At least, more than I have so far."
He stared at her before glancing down at the marauder's map that had remarkably stayed in place. His brows scrunched together as he began to fold the parchment and hide it under his pillow before a considering look appeared on his tired face.
"…Okay. There are some things you can help me with. Very important things. However, that'll have to wait until after I leave the infirmary," Harry murmured, giving her a firm look when she glanced up at him with a small frown before he let out a soft yawn.
Hermione nodded in understanding before soon releasing a yawn of her own, the lack of sleep she had gotten the past two days making itself known again.
Probably doesn't help that I'm snuggled up tightly against something incredibly warm and comforting, she shyly admitted, looking away from his gaze when she felt another blush spread across her cheeks. The feeling of his presence next to her was soothing, especially after her emotional outburst, and she found herself taking a deep, comforting breath as her eyes began to droop shut.
"You should head back up to your dormitory," Harry said, his voice sluggish as he began to fall asleep.
"I'm quite comfortable where I am right now," she murmured, burrowing herself deeper into his side to illustrate her point.
"And what about Madam Pomfrey?"
Not lifting her head from its position on his chest, she grabbed hold of her wand before using a simple charm to set up an alarm. A second later, she waved her wand at an unused bed, bringing the thick blanket over themselves before letting out a content sigh.
"Will never know I was here."
An amused huff left his mouth.
"I guess so…Goodnight, Hermione,"
"Goodnight, Harry," Hermione mumbled, knowing instinctively that she wouldn't have trouble falling into a deep slumber this time.
Hermione might have been asleep for several hours or a few, maybe just one. Maybe none at all. Perhaps she had only slept for a few sparse minutes when she found her eyes blearily peeling themselves open as a result of Harry suddenly tensing underneath her. She blinked slowly up at him, staring at him in confusion before her eyes narrowed when she saw the soft blue glow illuminating his alarmed face.
"Care to explain why she is in your bed at the moment, Harry?" a woman asked from behind her.
The words carried a sharp, icy edge to them, making a shiver run down Hermione's spine, and any remnants of drowsiness that still clouded her mind were instantly swept away. She sat up urgently before turning around, and her eyes widened in shock when she found herself staring at the translucent form of a very displeased-looking Grey Lady.
The Ravenclaw ghost fixed Harry with a piercing, expectant glare before turning her attention to the girl beside him. Her intense stare seemed to bore holes through the girl before quickly shifting downward, her eyes narrowing in annoyance a moment later.
Hermione followed the ghost's gaze, a gasp leaving her lips once she realized that her robe had loosened at some point while she had been asleep. A deep blush colored her cheeks as she hurriedly adjusted her robe, embarrassment flooding into her before looking back at the ghost,
The ghost stared daggers at her before shifting her gaze back toward Harry as he let out a weary sigh, her eyes flashing with unspoken disapproval.
"Well?"
A\N:
Apologies for the delay in this chapter. I planned to upload it last week, but I wasn't satisfied with how I wrote two sections since I felt they weren't properly setting up the next phase of the story.
But anyway, I got it finished, and hopefully I can finish the next chapter a bit quicker.
Take care. Peace.