Chapter 7
The chill of the early morning air filled the Gryffindor common room as Hermione and Harry once again sat cross-legged on the floor, books sprawled around them like a disorganized battlefield. The glow from the fireplace flickered shadows against the walls, highlighting their focused expressions. Hermione tapped her quill against her chin, deep in thought. She wasn't just helping Harry prepare for the Triwizard Tournament—she was training him for war. Every spell had a purpose, every strategy a long-term plan. And all the while, Hermione's thoughts were darkening. She would not let Harry Potter be put up for slaughter.

"It's not working!" Harry said, his brow furrowing as he attempted to conjure a simple flame spell. The flicker of orange danced briefly in the air before sputtering out. "I just can't seem to get it right."

"Concentration is key," Hermione replied, nudging him with her elbow. "You can't just rush through it. Visualize the fire. Feel it."

Harry nodded, determination blazing in his eyes. "Okay, let's try again." He inhaled deeply, focusing on the warmth he wanted to summon, channeling it into his wand. He muttered the incantation under his breath, and this time, a steady flame erupted, flickering confidently. "Yes! Finally!"

"Great job, Harry!" Hermione clapped, her enthusiasm infectious. "Now let's work on your shielding spells. You'll need them if you face—"

The sound of a fluttering owl interrupted them, a familiar screech echoing through the common room as the bird swooped in gracefully, dropping a letter at Harry's feet. He recognized the sleek black feathers instantly.

"It's from Sirius," Harry said, his voice tight with a mix of relief and worry.

He opened the letter, smiled and then he handed the letter to Hermione, who quickly scanned its contents.

Hermione took the letter and read it:

Harry, Hermione,

Meet me in Dumbledore's office tomorrow night. It's important, and we don't have much time. He likes Ear Wax Beans.

- Sirius

"Well that was fast," she said, her voice surprised. "I've been meaning to tell you, I've been working on something, and I think it might actually work. We're going to start the process to get Sirius a trial."

Harry blinked in surprise. "A trial? How... how are we going to do that? The Ministry didn't even care when we told them the truth, and Dumbledore…"

"The Ministry has laws," Hermione interrupted, her tone sharp with determination. "Even if they've bent them to keep Sirius locked away, there are still ways to make them act. I've been studying Ministry law—there's a clause that allows for a retrial if new evidence comes to light. That's what we're going to do. We'll gather testimonies from people who know the truth—Remus, you, anyone who can speak to what really happened. We'll expose Pettigrew's survival and force them to reopen the case."

Harry looked at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "Do you really think we can do this?"

"We will try, the Ministry can't ignore the law" Hermione said determinedly. "Now let's try the accio spell again"

Harry sighed then began practicing summoning cushions. It was going to be a long day.

The next night Hermione and Harry climbed the winding staircase to Dumbledore's office. When they reached the door, Hermione knocked gently.

"Enter," came Dumbledore's warm voice from within.

As they stepped inside, the sight of the vast, cluttered office greeted them. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his twinkling blue eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Ah, Harry, Ms. Granger. Welcome, welcome, Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable."

They settled into the plush chairs across from him, the weight of the moment settling heavily on their shoulders.

Dumbledore's gaze shifted between them,"How are preparations coming along for the tournament Harry?, I must say, I am happy to see the both of you studying so diligently."

Harry looked at him and responded, "Yes sir, Hermione has been helping me prepare, we've been practicing different spells"

"Good, best to always be prepared for whatever may come your way, and how is Mr. Weasley" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry's posture stiffened and he looked down. Hermione sensing his discomfort replied " Ron is angry, he still doesn't believe that Harry didn't enter the tournament sir."

Dumbledore's eyes subtly hardened, before quickly changing to a softer sad smile " Even the best of us falter, Harry. But it is in forgiving that we allow ourselves and our friends to rise stronger"

Before he could respond, the fireplace sparkled and turned green. Sirius's familiar form stepped through, brushing soot from his tattered cloak.

"Sirius," Harry said, rushing forward to embrace him.

"It's good to see you, Harry," Sirius said, clapping him on the back before turning to Hermione. " and hows my favorite little witch?"

"Little?..." Hermione began but was interrupted by Harry who didn't waste any time and launched into an explanation of everything that had happened since his name had been pulled from the Goblet of Fire. He told Sirius about the tasks and the constant tension between him and Ron.

Sirius's expression darkened with every word. "What right does he have to treat you this way? True friends don't treat each other like this. James would never…"

Hermione, who had been silently watching, decided now was the time. She cleared her throat, drawing Sirius's attention. "Sirius, I've been working on something that could possibly help you"

Sirius blinked, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

Hermione pulled out her notebook, which was filled with meticulous notes, lists, and legal references. "I've been studying Ministry law, and there's a clause that allows for a retrial if new evidence is presented. We have the evidence—Harry, Remus, and others who were there when Pettigrew was exposed. If we can gather enough testimonies, we can force the Wizengamot to reopen the case. Just Harry's word will probably help us more"

Sirius stared at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You think they'll actually give me a trial?"

"I know it's not going to be easy," Hermione admitted, "but they can't ignore the truth forever. We have the facts on our side. The Ministry is corrupt, but if we gather enough support, they'll have to listen. We'll force them to. It also helps that you are from a Noble Pureblood family"

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, clearly torn. "I don't know...I never wanted to have anything to do with my family, and to use this…" Sirius seemed to consider it, but there was still doubt in his eyes. "Let me think about it," he said finally. "But in the meantime, Harry, you need to stay focused on the tournament. It's dangerous. I know you didn't put your name in the Goblet, but someone did—and they want to see you dead."

They continued to discuss strategy until they said their goodbyes. Harry and Hermione made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, with hope.

Over the next few days, Hermione's mind became consumed with two things: protecting Harry and freeing Sirius. She meticulously began drafting her plan for Sirius's trial, researching old Ministry cases and studying how to build a defense. She would ensure that every piece of evidence was watertight. No one could deny Sirius's innocence.

But there was still the matter of the first task, and the anxiety that weighed heavily on Harry's shoulders. When Hagrid invited Harry to meet him in the Forbidden Forest one evening, Hermione immediately felt a sense of dread. In the original timeline, this was when Hagrid revealed the dragons to Harry, and while it had been helpful, it was dangerous with everything that happened.

"Harry, you're not going," she said firmly, standing in front of him as he prepared to leave the common room. "It's too dangerous."

"But Hagrid wouldn't put me in danger," Harry protested, confused.

"I know he wouldn't mean to," Hermione replied, her voice low but intense. "But we don't need to take any unnecessary risks."

Harry looked conflicted, but after a moment, he sighed in defeat. "Alright, fine. But what about the first task? How are we supposed to know what it is?"

Hermione's mind worked quickly. She knew what it was, of course—dragons. But getting Hagrid to tell them was better than sneaking around in the forest.

"I'll talk to Hagrid," she said, determined. "There's no need for you to go into the forest. I'll get him to tell us."

And that's exactly what she did. Later that evening, Hermione met Hagrid outside his hut, using her most persuasive arguments to convince him to reveal the secret of the first task without Harry needing to meet the dragons in person.

"I just don't want Harry getting hurt," Hermione said earnestly, her eyes wide and sincere. "Can't you tell him what's coming?"

Hagrid hesitated for a moment, but his loyalty to Harry won out. He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Alright, I'll tell yeh. But yeh didn't hear it from me, got it?"

Hermione nodded, her heart racing with relief.

"Dragons," Hagrid whispered, glancing around as if worried someone might overhear. "Harry's gonna be facin' a dragon in the first task."

Later that night, they had another encounter with Professor Moody. The grizzled Auror had been keeping a close eye on Harry ever since the tournament began, and Hermione had grown increasingly wary of him. She knew who he really was—Barty Crouch Jr., disguised under Polyjuice Potion—and she wasn't about to let him manipulate Harry the way he had in the past.

Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "A dragon? But how am I supposed to get past it?"

Hermione chimed in, her mind racing with possibilities. "You'll need to think strategically, Harry."

Just then, Hermione spotted Professor Moody approaching them, his presence imposing.

"Potter," Moody growled, his voice low. "Are you ready for the first task?"

Harry hesitated. "I... I think so."

Moody grunted. "It's dragons, boy. Nasty creatures. You'll need all the help you can get. I could give you a few tips—"

But before Harry could reply, Hermione stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. The Auror had been keeping a close eye on Harry ever since the tournament began, and Hermione had grown increasingly wary of him. She knew who he really was, Barty Crouch Jr., disguised under Polyjuice Potion, and she wasn't about to let him manipulate Harry the way he had in the past. "No thank you, Professor," she said sharply. "We'll manage just fine. Plus, I am sure it is against the rules"

Moody's magical eye fixed on her, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Is that so, Granger? Think you've got it all figured out, do you?"

Hermione's jaw clenched, anger inside her stirring. "We've had enough Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers trying to 'help' us," she said coldly. "I think we can handle it ourselves."

Moody's expression hardened, and he leaned closer, his voice low and menacing. "You should be more grateful for the lessons you're receiving. Not everyone gets a chance to learn from the best."

"Thank you, Professor, we are working on some ideas, but we can ask for advice on them if we need it." Harry said politely to Moody.

"Thinking for yourself is commendable," Moody replied, a slight smirk curling his lips. "Just make sure you don't get too cocky. The dragons won't hesitate to teach you a lesson."

As Moody walked away, Harry turned to Hermione, a frown creasing his brow. "Why did you say that?" Harry asked, his voice filled with confusion. "Moody's just trying to help."

Hermione's eyes were hard as she stared after Moody's retreating figure. "Because something doesn't feel right," she admitted, her voice hushed. "If Dumbledore isn't giving us any additional help, why is Moody suddenly so interested? We need to trust our instincts, Harry."

Harry looked troubled by her words, but he didn't argue. "I guess... but why are you acting like this? You've been more…outspoken"

Hermione's heart clenched for a moment, guilt flickering through her chest, but she pushed it aside. "I just want you to be safe, Harry. That's all."

The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet, the soft crackling of the fire the only sound to break the stillness. Hermione sat hunched over a pile of books, her eyes scanning line after line of text, her mind desperate for something—anything—that might help Harry with the first task. Her frustration was growing by the minute. Every book she had pulled seemed to say the same thing: dragons were dangerous, unpredictable, and entirely impervious to most spells.

Across from her, Harry was pacing, his nerves unraveling with each step. The first task was only days away, and the looming threat of facing a dragon had twisted a knot in his chest that wouldn't loosen.

"Have you found anything yet?" he asked, his voice tight with worry.

Hermione didn't look up from her book. "Not yet. I'm sure there's something in here, but—"

"'But' isn't going to cut it, Hermione," Harry interrupted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I'm going to be in front of a dragon in a matter of days. I need something concrete."

Before Hermione could reply, Fred and George Weasley sauntered into the room, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. He was carrying a bag of snacks, clearly unconcerned by the looming tournament. Fred spotted them and walked over.

"Well, well, well, what's all this then? Two of Hogwarts' brightest locked away like prisoners?" Fred's voice broke the tension as he plopped down onto the sofa beside them, shoving a handful of crisps into his mouth. "Honestly, you two look like someone's told you there's no more Quidditch for the rest of the year."

Harry stopped pacing, letting out a long breath. "Fred, it's not exactly fun and games. I'm about to face a dragon in the first task, and Hermione's trying to help me figure out how to not get roasted alive."

Fred paused mid-chew, his eyes widening with mock seriousness. "A dragon? Blimey, Harry. I knew you were always up for a bit of danger, but that's a bit extreme even for you, isn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes, clearly not in the mood for Fred's jokes. "I'm serious, Fred. If you've got any bright ideas, I'm all ears."

Fred leaned back, considering for a moment, then shot a glance at Hermione, who was still buried in her book, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Well, if anyone's going to figure it out, it's Hermione. She's got more brains than the rest of us combined."

Hermione's lips twitched, but she didn't look up from her research. "I'm trying. There has to be a spell or a charm that can help, but dragons are notoriously hard to control, even with the most powerful magic."

Fred leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Control, huh? Sounds like you're thinking about it all wrong."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, finally lifting her head to meet his eyes.

Fred's grin widened, his mind clearly working in ways that no one else could predict. "You lot are always thinking about magic like it's the only solution. Why don't you try something simpler?"

"Like what? I can't exactly ask the dragon to go easy on me, can I?" Harry said, his frustration growing.

Fred shrugged, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Maybe you can."

Harry and Hermione stared at him, confused. Fred leaned closer, lowering his voice as though he was about to share a secret.

"Dragons, Harry. They're not all that different from other magical creatures. Sure, they're bigger and nastier, but they're still animals. You've handled dangerous animals before, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted cautiously. "But nothing like this. I mean there was Aragog.."

"Still," Fred continued, undeterred. "You've got a bit of an edge over most people, don't you? I seem to remember a little incident in second year with a snake."

Hermione's eyes widened in realization, and Harry's face went pale. "You mean Parseltongue?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Fred nodded, his grin turning into something more serious. "Why not? Dragons are reptiles, aren't they? I don't see why it wouldn't work. If you can talk to snakes, why not give it a go with a dragon?"

Harry blinked, stunned by the suggestion. "I… I hadn't thought of that."

Hermione sat up straight, her mind racing. "It's… it's actually not a bad idea." She looked at Fred, her expression a mixture of surprise and intrigue. "Dragons aren't exactly snakes, but they share enough traits. Harry, if you could communicate with the dragon, even just enough to get it to calm down or distract it…"

Harry's mind was spinning as he processed the idea. "But I've only ever spoken to snakes. I don't know if I can just start talking to dragons."

"You don't know if you don't try," Fred said, tossing another crisp into his mouth. "Besides, it's not like you've got many other options, do you?"

Hermione reached for her bag, pulling out a notebook. She scribbled down some quick notes, her thoughts moving at lightning speed. "It's worth trying, Harry. Parseltongue is a rare gift—it could give you an advantage no one else has. If you can get the dragon to focus on you instead of attacking, you might be able to grab the egg without getting burned."

Harry sat down, his pulse quickening with excitement—and fear. "Okay, but how do I even practice something like that? It's not like there are dragons hanging around the castle."

Fred's grin returned, brighter than before. "Ah, that's where I come in, my friend. We can do a bit of role-playing."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Role-playing?"

Fred stood up, puffing out his chest and adopting a deep, growling voice. "I'll be your dragon. Go on, try and talk me down. See if you can charm me with your Parseltongue."

Harry couldn't help but chuckle, despite the situation. "You've gone mad, Fred."

Hermione smiled, the tension in her face easing for the first time in hours. "It might seem ridiculous, but it could actually help. You need to get used to the idea of talking to a creature that big."

With a resigned sigh, Harry stood up and faced Fred, who was now pretending to stomp around the room like a dragon, huffing and puffing dramatically. "Alright, dragon. I'm going to… talk to you."

Fred growled playfully, baring imaginary fangs. "I'll tear you apart, Potter!"

Harry closed his eyes, focusing, recalling the feeling of Parseltongue in his throat, the way the words seemed to slither out of him without his conscious effort. He tried to summon that same sensation, but it felt different, forced.

He opened his mouth, hesitating. "I, uh… mean you no harm…"

Fred snorted, his dragon act briefly broken by laughter. "Oh, come on, Harry, you can do better than that!"

"Don't laugh at him!" Hermione scolded, though her tone was light. She turned to Harry, her expression softening. "Try to relax, Harry. When you spoke Parseltongue before, it wasn't something you thought about. It just came naturally. You need to stop overthinking it."

Harry took a deep breath, trying again. This time, he let his thoughts drift, imagining the dragon in front of him, towering and fierce. He focused on the way snakes had responded to him in the past, how the words had seemed to flow out like water. Slowly, he let the hissing language emerge.

"Yesss… calm… I am not your enemy…"

Fred's eyes widened slightly, and Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. The room felt different now, the air thick with tension as Harry continued to speak in low, serpentine tones.

"Let me passsss… I will not hurt you…"

Fred stood frozen, his mock-growling stopping as he watched Harry, genuine awe on his face. Hermione's heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. There was something undeniably powerful about the way Harry spoke in Parseltongue, something ancient and raw. She had never quite realized just how much of a gift it was or how dangerous it could be.

"That's it," Fred whispered, breaking character. "That's bloody brilliant, Harry."

Hermione exhaled, a smile spreading across her face. "You did it."

Harry blinked, coming out of the trance-like state he'd been in. "Did that sound like…?"

"Like you were charming a dragon?" Fred said, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah. And I'll tell you what, I almost believed you."

They all laughed, the tension breaking. But as their laughter faded, Hermione caught Fred's eye, and something unspoken passed between them. It was a look of shared understanding, a moment of connection that ran deeper than the task at hand.

"Thanks, Fred," Hermione said quietly, her voice sincere. "I don't think we would've come up with that on our own."

Fred shrugged, his usual playfulness returning. "Hey, someone's got to keep you two from taking everything so seriously all the time. Plus I got 5 Galleons on Potter"

Hermione smiled, her eyes lingering on Fred for a moment longer than usual. "I mean it. You're brilliant, Fred."

Fred's grin softened, his expression shifting from teasing to something more genuine. "You're not so bad yourself, Hermione."

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, a strange warmth spreading through her chest. She hadn't expected Fred Weasley of all people to help them in such a meaningful way. But then again, Fred had always been full of surprises.

"Alright," Harry said, breaking the silence. "So, I can talk to the dragon. Now we just need to figure out how to not get eaten while I'm at it."

Fred laughed, slinging an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Don't worry, mate. You've got the Weasley charm on your side now. And if all else fails, just make sure you run really, really fast."

The tent was buzzing with nervous energy when Harry and Hermione arrived. Cedric was already there, pacing in a corner, his face set in grim determination. Viktor Krum was sitting in another corner, his expression unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture that made it clear he wasn't as calm as he appeared. Fleur was the last to arrive, her face pale but composed, her eyes flicking over the room as though assessing her competition.

Hermione took a deep breath and followed Harry inside, keeping close to his side. The champions barely exchanged words, each of them lost in their own thoughts, but Hermione noticed how their eyes occasionally drifted toward Harry. There was a mixture of curiosity and unease there, as though they weren't sure what to make of him.

After a few moments, Cedric made his way towards them.

"What do you think?" Cedric asked, glancing at Harry. "You ready?"

"About as ready as I can be," Harry replied, though his stomach twisted with nerves. "I just hope I can keep my head clear."

Hermione stood beside Harry, her heart pounding. "Remember what we practiced. Stay focused, and don't panic. You can do this."

Krum leaned against the wall, his presence quiet. "You will do well.,Focus on your goal,Hermione good strong and smart witch, she prepares well"

Hermione nodded and smiled at him "You have to think strategically, Harry. Don't just rely on your instincts. Use your training."

Harry nodded, though his hands shook slightly. "I'll try."

The minutes ticked by, and Hermione's nerves grew more frayed. Just before the task was about to begin, Rita Skeeter barged into the tent, her quick-quotes quill hovering eagerly over her shoulder.

"Ah, the champions," Rita said with a bright, false smile. "And what a lovely sight you all make. Mind if I get a few pictures?"

"Task is about to start, Ms. Skeeter" Cedric said dryly, his eyes drifting to her quill.

Her beady eyes zeroed in on Harry and Hermione, ignoring him, and she wasted no time approaching them.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Potter," Rita purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Ready to face your dragon?,And you must be Miss Granger, always at Mr. Potter's side. How does it feel, being the brains behind the Boy Who Lived?"

Hermione's jaw clenched, but she kept her tone cool. "We're just here to support each other. That's what friends do."

Rita's quill scribbled furiously as she smirked. "Of course, of course. Well, I'm sure the world will be eager to hear all about it."

As Rita swept out of the tent, Hermione's hands tightened into fists. She would deal with Rita Skeeter later.

The stadium roared with cheers and excitement as the champions emerged, one by one, into the arena. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Harry walk toward the center of the field. The dragons were waiting, chained to posts, their massive bodies radiating heat and danger.

Harry's dragon was a Hungarian Horntail—one of the most dangerous species. Its black scales glistened in the sunlight, and its yellow eyes gleamed with intelligence and malice. Even from a distance, Hermione could feel the raw power emanating from the creature.

Her stomach twisted into knots as Harry stepped forward. This was it—the moment they had been preparing for. She could only hope that Fred's idea would work.

The dragon's nostrils flared as Harry approached, and it let out a low, rumbling growl. The crowd hushed, the air thick with tension. Hermione clenched her fists, her mind racing. Come on, Harry. You can do this.

Harry took a deep breath, his face set in determination. Slowly, he raised his hand, as if trying to calm the dragon from a distance. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.

The words came out in Parseltongue, a low, hissing sound that sent a shiver down Hermione's spine. The dragon's eyes flicked toward him, its growl softening for just a moment, as though it was listening.

Harry kept speaking, his voice calm and steady. The dragon shifted, its massive head tilting slightly, as if considering his words. For a brief moment, it seemed like the plan was working—the dragon's aggression was fading, its focus entirely on Harry.

But then, something went wrong. A flicker of confusion passed through the dragon's eyes, and it let out a deafening roar, its tail lashed out violently. Harry barely had time to react as the dragon reared back, preparing to unleash a tunnel of fire.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. "Harry, move!" she screamed, her voice lost in the roar of the crowd.

Harry dove to the side just as the dragon's flames shot toward him, narrowly avoiding being incinerated. The crowd gasped, and Hermione's knees nearly buckled in relief.

Harry rolled to his feet, his wand in hand. The dragon was furious now, its chains rattling as it tried to break free. But instead of running, Harry stood his ground, his eyes locked on the golden egg nestled in the dragon's nest.

"Stop…I mean no harm….I am here to take the fake egg" Harry raised his voice once more

The dragon paused, its eyes narrowing as it regarded him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The crowd watched in hushed anticipation as Harry found his voice, his confidence surging through him.

"I am a friend, I will not harm you"

Harry summoned all his strength and sprinted toward the nest, his heart pounding in his ears. The dragon thrashed behind him, its tail smashing into the ground, but Harry didn't slow down. In one swift motion, he grabbed the egg and dove out of the dragon's reach, just as its massive tail crashed down where he had been standing.

The crowd erupted into cheers as he grasped the egg, triumph flooding his veins. The dragon roared in frustration, but Harry had done it. He had faced the beast and emerged victorious.

As he ran back to the champions tent, breathless but exhilarated, the realization hit him—he had done this. With his friends supporting him, he had risen to the challenge, finding strength within himself he hadn't known existed.

In the stands, he caught sight of Hermione, her face alight with pride, and even Ron's expression softened, if only slightly.

Walking in the champions' tent, Harry collapsed into a chair, exhausted but victorious. Cedric and Viktor congratulated him, their earlier tension replaced by a newfound respect. Fleur gave him a nod of approval, her icy demeanor thawing just a bit.

Hermione rushed to his side, her heart still racing. "Harry, that was incredible! You were brilliant!"

Harry gave her a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wasn't sure it was going to work for a second there."

But it did," Hermione said, her voice filled with pride. "You did it."

The battle was far from over, and in the shadows, darker forces were at play. But for now, they had won this round, and together, they would navigate whatever came next.

Hermione found herself in the library over the next few days, books stacked high around her, a fortress of knowledge as she built her plan to save Sirius.

The comforting scent of aged parchment and the soft whisper of turning pages grounded her, but something else lingered, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. It had been there ever since the first task.

Rita Skeeter.

That vile woman had wasted no time after her visit to the tent, her quill scratching furiously as she concocted lies from thin air. The headline had hit the Daily Prophet like a hex: Harry Potter: Dragon-Whisperer or Dark Wizard?

The article spun Harry's use of Parseltongue into something sinister, but that wasn't all. Hermione had become collateral damage.

Rita had written about her too, twisting their tense interaction in the tent to paint Hermione as a manipulative, overbearing force in Harry's life—a know-it-all who pried into things she didn't understand. The words were dripping with condescension: "Miss Granger's insatiable thirst for knowledge seems to be leading Mr. Potter into a dark path, how far will she go?"

The worst part? Hermione wasn't sure how far she'd go either.

The article had stirred tensions, especially with Ron. She thought after the first task he would apologize, like he did before, but his cold demeanor had worsened, transforming from irritated distance into open hostility. Hermione could feel it hanging in the air like an impending storm. She wasn't sure what had caused the major change, but this was something she would have to deal with.

And as the second task loomed on the horizon, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how things would play out.