It had been just over a week since the trial that had changed everything. Sirius Black was a free man, and Harry finally had the chance to breathe easier, knowing his godfather was no longer on the run. Yet the freedom Harry and Hermione had fought so hard for came with its own consequences. The press had seized the moment, and Rita Skeeter wasted no time sinking her claws into the story.
In the dim glow of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione sat rigidly on the couch, her fingers tightly gripping the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Her eyes scanned the front-page headline, frustration burning in her chest.
"Sirius Black: A Free Man, But at What Cost?"
The article detailed the events of the trial with accuracy, for once, but it was Rita's dramatic flair that twisted the narrative just enough to be infuriating. Skeeter described Sirius's emotional reaction to his newfound freedom, but it was the last few paragraphs that really set Hermione's teeth on edge.
"During the climactic trial, Sirius Black—once one of the wizarding world's most notorious prisoners—was seen kneeling before none other than Hermione Granger, a young witch still in her school robes, swearing an oath to her. The Pureblood scion of the Noble House of Black, reduced to pledging his life in gratitude to a Muggle-born. It raises the question: just how deep is the bond between Granger and Black? Sources suggest that Black has elevated Granger to a protected status within his house, a move not seen since the days when wizarding houses held court in matters of bloodline and family honor.
One has to wonder, what exactly did Granger do to earn such devotion? While the details remain unclear, it appears that, at least in Sirius Black's eyes, she has done far more than merely assist in a trial. How long before we see Granger directing the House of Black itself? It seems the young witch already has one wizard kneeling before her."
Hermione's cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and embarrassment. "How dare she?" she hissed under her breath, folding the paper tightly in her hands. Her mind flashed back to the trial, to Sirius kneeling before her, swearing her into the protection of the House of Black. It had been a moment filled with raw emotion, not the manipulative scene Rita had crafted.
Harry, sitting across from her and still fiddling with his own copy of the paper, glanced up at her reaction. "She didn't make it easy on you this time, did she?"
"No," Hermione said tightly. "And to make it worse, she twisted everything. She turned Sirius's oath into some… power play. As if it's something to gossip about."
Harry frowned. "Sirius was just grateful. You saved his life."
Hermione sighed, smoothing out the creases she had made in the paper. "I know. But she's painted it like it's something scandalous—like there's more to it than there is." She paused. "And what's worse, she's bringing in all this Pureblood nonsense. Talking about the House of Black, as if it matters in the way she's implying."
Harry looked uncomfortable, his eyes flickering to the part of the article mentioning Sirius on his knees. "Yeah, well, we both know Skeeter'll twist anything if it makes a good story."
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Harry frowned as his eyes trailed over to a second article on the next page. He had been trying to ignore it, but his stomach twisted every time he glanced at the headline.
"Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived or the Boy Who Craves Attention?"
"It seems that Harry Potter is never far from the spotlight, no matter where he goes. From his earliest years at Hogwarts, he has managed to find himself at the center of every major event—whether it be the Chamber of Secrets, his involvement in the controversial return of Sirius Black, or now, the Triwizard Tournament. But is it bravery that drives this young wizard, or a deep-seated desire for attention?
Sources tell me that Potter, who grew up under the care of Muggles, was often left wanting for affection. Perhaps this explains his need for the limelight, and his consistent entanglement in life-threatening situations. The question is, how long can Hogwarts—and the wizarding world—keep indulging his appetite for drama?"
Hermione's brow furrowed as she read the article. "I can't believe she's implying this."
Harry grimaced. "Again Hermione, It's Skeeter. She has no idea what it was like growing up with the Dursleys."
Hermione's heart ached for Harry, knowing full well how much he despised the public's fascination with his life—especially when it came with unfair accusations. But there was something about Rita Skeeter's words that gnawed at Hermione more than usual.
"She crossed a line," Hermione muttered under her breath, her eyes flicking back to the first article about Sirius's trial. "Both of these articles... It's like she's trying to stir something up."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I guess I'll just have to ignore it. It's what she does—tries to make everyone doubt me, or twist things to her narrative."
But Hermione wasn't ready to ignore it. She glanced one last time at the articles, her eyes sharpening with malice.
Harry's frown deepened as his thoughts were tangled, first the articles and also the tension with Ron gnawed at him constantly. After the trial, there had been a small flicker of hope when Ron had testified, but things hadn't improved between them.
Harry took a deep breath and made his way across the common room. He spotted Ron sitting at one of the far tables with Lavender, his face turned down as he scribbled something into his notes. His back was tense, and Lavender seemed to be talking idly without much interest from Ron. Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he approached. He had to say something, no matter how awkward it would be.
"Ron," Harry said, his voice tight with nerves.
Ron didn't look up immediately. He just kept writing as if he hadn't heard him, but Harry knew better.
"Ron," Harry repeated, more firmly this time.
Ron finally lifted his head, his expression hard, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice cold and clipped.
Harry swallowed hard, feeling the distance between them more than ever. "I just wanted to... to thank you. For what you said at the trial."
Ron blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected gratitude. He let out a scoffing breath through his nose, his lips curling into a half-smirk, but it wasn't friendly. "Right. Because I did that for you."
Harry's stomach dropped. "I know you're still mad, but it meant a lot to me," he said quietly, struggling to keep the emotion from his voice. "I appreciate that you testified."
Ron's jaw tightened as he sat back in his chair, folding his arms. "You think that changes anything? You think because I said a few words about what really happened that we're fine now?"
"No," Harry admitted, his voice small. "I just... I thought it was important to say thanks."
Ron gave a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don't thank me, Harry. I didn't do it for you. I did it because it was the truth, and because if anyone deserves to be free, it's Sirius." He glared at Harry then, his anger clear. "But don't think for a second that I've forgotten everything else. Just because I spoke up doesn't mean I'm not still pissed at you."
Harry flinched at the raw anger in Ron's voice.
"I'm not trying to start anything," Harry said, his voice growing frustrated. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm grateful."
Ron's jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them felt thick with unresolved tension.
Finally, Ron let out a heavy sigh, his anger simmering down just slightly. He didn't look at Harry as he muttered, "Whatever, mate."
With nothing left to say, Harry turned and walked back toward Hermione, who had been watching from across the room. She didn't say anything, but the look of understanding in her eyes said enough.
Hermione sat silently, her quill hovering over the parchment as her thoughts raced faster than her ability to put them down. The task loomed over them all, and every plan, every contingency she had crafted for Harry, replayed in her mind like an endless cycle. But tonight, something felt... off.
The sound of footsteps approaching drew her out of her thoughts. She looked up, startled, to see Professor McGonagall standing in front of her, her face unusually grave.
"Miss Granger," McGonagall said, her voice sharp but steady. "I need you to come with me. There's been a change in the plans for tomorrow's task."
Hermione blinked, her heart suddenly pounding. "Change? What kind of change?"
McGonagall's eyes softened for the briefest moment before she spoke. "You've been chosen as Harry's hostage for the second task."
Hermione froze, her mind struggling to process the words. Me? The one Harry would have to rescue? No. That wasn't supposed to happen. It had been Ron.
"Wait," she stammered, gripping the edge of the table. "I'm... his hostage? Not..R"
McGonagall gave a brisk nod. "Yes. The decision has been made. You will not return to the Gryffindor dormitory tonight. You are to be prepared immediately."
Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. This was wrong. This wasn't how it had gone mind raced with possibilities, trying to grasp how this would affect everything.
But she couldn't show her panic. Not to McGonagall. She had to stay calm, had to adapt. She always adapted.
"I understand," she said quietly, though her heart raced wildly in her chest.
McGonagall watched her carefully, as if searching for any sign of hesitation. "Good. Come with me now. Time is short."
Hermione quickly gathered her things, her hands shaking slightly as she placed the quill back in the inkpot. Everything felt as if the solid ground she had been standing on was suddenly unstable.
As they walked through the halls, Hermione's mind raced. She had prepared Harry as best as she could, but if this was changing, what else would? What other unexpected twists were waiting for her?
When they reached the small room prepared for her, McGonagall paused at the doorway, her expression softening for a moment.
"You'll be fine, Miss Granger. You've always been strong under pressure. Remember that."
Hermione nodded, though the knot in her stomach only tightened. "Thank you, Professor."
As the door closed behind her, Hermione sank onto the chair, her mind spinning wondering what this means for Harry and Ron's relationship.
The cold morning of the second task was thick with fog as it rolled off the Black Lake, hiding the distant shorelines and cloaking the grounds in an eerie silence. Hogwarts was buzzing with excitement—parents and friends had arrived to cheer on the champions, making this task feel like more than just a test of strength and skill. It felt personal.
Harry stood at the edge of the crowd, his breath clouding in the cold air. His eyes kept darting toward the family tent where champions could meet their loved ones for a few brief moments before the task began. Sirius had promised he would be there, and Remus Lupin had written to say he'd come along as well. But despite knowing they were coming, Harry's nerves refused to settle. He kept glancing around for Hermione, expecting to see her in the crowd.
"She wouldn't miss this," he muttered under his breath, trying to ignore the knot tightening in his stomach.
Sirius and Remus were supposed to meet him soon, but it was Hermione's absence that gnawed at him. She hadn't mentioned anything about not being there this morning. She always made a point to be there for him, especially in moments like this.
Just as he was about to head toward the family tent, a familiar bark of laughter reached his ears. Turning quickly, Harry spotted Sirius pushing his way through the crowd, Remus trailing behind him with a warm smile. Both men looked out of place among the Hogwarts families, but they exuded a sense of confidence and reassurance that Harry clung to.
"There's our champion!" Sirius called, pulling Harry into a tight embrace the moment they met. "How're you feeling? Ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied with a nervous laugh, though his voice trembled slightly.
Remus gave him a warm smile from behind Sirius, stepping forward to clasp Harry's shoulder. "You'll do fine, Harry. You've faced worse than this."
Despite the warmth of the reunion, Harry's eyes darted around the tent, searching. "Where's Hermione?" he asked, his voice edged with concern. "She's supposed to be here too."
Sirius's smile faltered for a brief moment, his eyes flicking to Remus before he turned back to Harry. "She... isn't here, Harry."
Harry's heart sank. The realization hit him like a wave of icy water. "She's the one they took, isn't she?" His voice was tight, panic rising in his chest. He had heard the riddle from the golden egg over and over again—they will take what you will miss most—but he hadn't wanted to believe it would be her.
"But what if something happens to her?" Harry stammered, trying to suppress the rising wave of panic. "What if—what if I can't—"
"You can," Sirius said firmly, his voice cutting through Harry's spiraling thoughts. "You've been through worse, Harry. You'll do this, and you'll bring her back. But you have to stay calm."
Harry stared at him, feeling the weight of the task pressing down on him more heavily than before. He felt the cold air biting at his skin, the tension of the crowd, the pressure building inside his chest. "But... why Hermione? Why her?"
Sirius offered a small, knowing smile. "Because she's what matters most to you. You've always had a close bond with her, anyone can see it, and it makes sense."
"Harry," Remus added softly, stepping closer, "she's safe. You'll get her back. But you have to stay focused."
Harry nodded, though his mind was still spinning. The thought of Hermione somewhere under the lake, trapped and waiting, gnawed at him. But there was no time for second-guessing. He had a task to complete, and Hermione's safety depended on him.
Ludo Bagman's voice echoed over the grounds, booming with enthusiasm that Harry wished he could share. "Champions, take your positions! Prepare for the second task! You will have one hour to retrieve what you will miss the most. One hour—and no more!"
The cold air bit at Harry's skin as he reached into his pocket, feeling the slimy texture of the gillyweed. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled it out, giving a quick glance at Sirius and Remus, who stood watching him from the edge of the crowd. Sirius nodded, his face full of confidence, but there was something else in his eyes—a deep, unspoken concern. Harry felt it too.
Harry turned back toward the water, his heart racing. Hermione was somewhere down there—under the cold, dark depths. She needed him, and he had no time to waste.
Ludo's voice cut through his thoughts once more. "Champions, on my mark! Three... two... ONE!"
Without hesitation, Harry shoved the gillyweed into his mouth and chewed. The slimy texture slid down his throat, and almost immediately, the strange sensation of transformation took hold. Gills sprouted from the sides of his neck, webbing stretched between his fingers and toes, and he felt his lungs expand, drawing in air as if it were water.
The cold water hit him like a wall, cutting through his skin and stealing his breath. The gillyweed worked quickly, allowing him to draw deep breaths of water, but the freezing cold numbed his limbs as he kicked downward, deeper into the lake's dark depths. The sunlight from the surface quickly faded, leaving him in a thick, oppressive darkness.
As Harry descended, the eerie glow of the merpeople's village came into view far below, but he had no time to admire it. He needed to reach Hermione. His chest tightened at the thought of her floating down there, bound and unconscious. He had to save her—he couldn't fail.
Suddenly, movement caught the corner of his eye. A dark shadow darted through the water—too quick for him to react. Before he could comprehend what was happening, a Grindylow lunged at him, its long, spindly fingers clawing at his leg.
Harry twisted sharply, kicking the creature away with all his strength. The Grindylow hissed, retreating into the shadows, but Harry knew it wouldn't be alone. More of them were coming. He could see their dark shapes moving in the water, circling him like vultures.
He flicked his wand and sent a blast of water toward the nearest Grindylow, knocking it backward. But another one lunged at him from the side, its claws scraping against his arm. Harry winced, gritting his teeth as he fought them off. They were relentless, their sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light, but he couldn't let them slow him down.
The weeks of preparation with Hermione came flooding back to him. He remembered her voice as they studied together, practicing spell after spell. "Don't just defend, Harry. Counterattack."
Harry sent a shockwave of water blasting through the Grindylows, creating enough space to swim upward, but the creatures weren't done with him yet. They snarled, closing in from all sides. His heart raced as he swung his wand again, sending jets of water in every direction. One of the Grindylows latched onto his ankle, dragging him downward, but he kicked hard, breaking free.
He couldn't afford to waste any more time.
With a final burst of energy, Harry surged upward, breaking free from the swarm of Grindylows. His body ached, his lungs burned, but he forced himself onward. Hermione was waiting.
As Harry swam deeper, the village of the merpeople loomed closer. The stone huts dotted the lakebed, illuminated by strange, flickering lights. The merpeople watched him silently from the shadows, their unblinking eyes following his every move. But they weren't his concern.
His heart nearly stopped when he saw her.
Hermione was bound to a stone pillar in the center of the village, her hair floating around her head like a dark halo. She was eerily still, her eyes closed, her skin pale. The sight of her like that sent a fresh wave of panic through Harry's chest. He needed to reach her—now.
But just as he swam toward her, the water darkened again.
Something larger moved through the shadows. The water rippled with an ominous force, and Harry's wand slipped into his hand once more. He knew that whatever was coming, it wasn't friendly.
From the corner of his eye, he saw it—a Kelpie, its long, serpentine body twisting through the water. The creature's glowing eyes fixed on Harry, and in an instant, it surged toward him, moving faster than he could react.
"Protego!" Harry shouted, sending a shield of water between himself and the creature. The Kelpie collided with the barrier, snarling as it tried to break through. Its long, jagged teeth flashed as it slammed into the shield again and again, but Harry's focus was slipping.
The shield wouldn't hold much longer.
With a desperate flick of his wand, Harry sent a stinging hex blasting toward the Kelpie's eyes, temporarily blinding it. The creature reeled back, thrashing in the water, but Harry knew it wouldn't stay disoriented for long. He needed to act fast.
He swam toward Hermione, his hands trembling as he reached for the magical ropes binding her to the pillar. His heart raced as he tugged at the ropes, but they were tougher than he expected, resisting his every effort. He pulled harder, his muscles burning with the strain, but the ropes refused to give way.
Behind him, the Kelpie regained its bearings, its glowing eyes fixed on him once again. Harry's breath caught in his throat as the creature surged toward him, moving faster than before.
With a burst of desperation, Harry twisted in the water, raising his wand and sending a torrent of water blasting toward the Kelpie. The creature hissed, but this time, it didn't retreat. It circled him, moving closer, its long body coiling around the pillar where Hermione floated.
Harry's pulse raced. He couldn't let the Kelpie get any closer to her.
He remembered the spell Hermione had taught him weeks ago, during one of their late-night study sessions. It was a difficult spell—one that required intense focus—but now, with Hermione's life on the line, he had no choice.
"Confundo!" Harry shouted, his wand aimed directly at the Kelpie's eyes.
For a brief moment, the creature stopped, its eyes glazing over as the spell took hold. The confusion spread through its body, causing it to drift aimlessly in the water, disoriented.
This was his chance.
With a final, desperate pull, the ropes binding Hermione gave way. Her body floated free, and Harry wasted no time wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close as he kicked off from the lakebed.
The Kelpie thrashed behind him, regaining its senses, but Harry didn't look back. His muscles screamed in protest, his lungs burned with the effort, but he kept swimming, forcing himself to push through the pain.
The surface of the lake seemed impossibly far away, but Harry refused to stop. Hermione's life depended on him, and he wasn't going to fail her. The light from the surface grew brighter, the roar of the crowd faintly reaching his ears as he swam upward.
His chest tightened, his vision blurred, but he kicked harder, pulling Hermione with him.
Finally, with a gasping breath, Harry broke through the surface of the lake.
The crowd erupted into cheers as Harry dragged Hermione toward the shore, his entire body trembling with exhaustion. Mediwitches rushed forward, quickly reviving Hermione from the enchanted sleep. Her eyes fluttered open, and she coughed weakly, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
"You... did it," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with relief. "I knew you would."
Harry couldn't speak. His chest still heaved with exhaustion, his mind spinning from the intensity of the task. But he smiled weakly at her, relief flooding through him. She was safe.
Harry smiled, though his chest still ached from the exertion. "I wasn't going to let anything happen to you."
As the other champions emerged with their hostages, the crowd's cheers grew louder. Viktor surfaced with Boris, Cedric with Céleste, and Fleur with Gabrielle, each of them pulling their loved ones to safety.
But for Harry, the relief of having Hermione back was the only thing that mattered.
Later that evening, after the excitement of the second task had died down and the last of the crowd had dispersed, Harry, Hermione, and Sirius gathered near a quiet corner of the castle grounds. The wind had grown colder, sweeping across the lake and causing the trees to sway gently. The chill in the air mirrored the strange, unsettled feeling inside Hermione. The events of the day had worn her down, but there was something else nagging at her—something she hadn't quite understood yet.
Sirius led them to a secluded spot under one of the tall oak trees, casting quick glances around to ensure no one else was listening. He seemed unusually serious, a slight frown etched on his face, though it wasn't out of anger. It was as if he was bracing himself for something difficult.
"You both did brilliantly today," Sirius said, his voice filled with pride but edged with something more contemplative. "I've been watching from the sidelines, and Harry—you were amazing down there. I couldn't be prouder."
Harry smiled, still feeling the high of the day's events. "Thanks, Sirius. But it wasn't just me. I... I couldn't have done it without Hermione."
Hermione smiled softly, brushing her hair back, still chilled from the lake but warmed by Harry's words. "It was all Harry's effort, he's been training. I just trusted he'd find a way."
Sirius's expression softened as he looked between the two of them. There was a strange gleam in his eyes—a combination of pride and something more somber. "Hermione, I need to talk to you about something. Something that might not have hit you fully yet."
Hermione blinked, her brows furrowing slightly. "What is it?"
Sirius took a deep breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. "It's about what happened after the trial. What I said to you—about you being under the protection of the House of Black. I assume you read the article"
At his words, Hermione's mind flashed back to that intense moment in the courtroom—Sirius kneeling before her, swearing an oath to her, offering his life and protection in a gesture that had felt so ancient, so raw.
"I remember," she said slowly. "But I thought... Well, I thought it was just you showing how grateful you were. I didn't think it had any deeper meaning."
Sirius shook his head, his expression turning serious. "No, Hermione, it meant more than that. What I did was a Pureblood custom. An old one, going back centuries, when wizarding families held more power than the Ministry does now. When I swore you into the House of Black, I wasn't just thanking you—I was formally making you part of my family, well in a way."
Hermione's eyes widened slightly. "But... I'm not a pureblood. How can I be part of the House of Black?"
Sirius chuckled softly, his smile returning for a brief moment. "That's exactly why it's such a big deal, Hermione. You see, in Pureblood circles, family ties are everything. Bloodlines are sacred to them, passed down through generations, and the idea of bringing in someone who isn't pureblood—let alone a Muggle-born—well, it's unheard of. But the oath I swore to you binds you to the House of Black, regardless of your blood status."
Harry watched the exchange with a growing sense of awe. "So, she's part of the family now?" he asked, his eyes wide with excitement.
Sirius nodded. "Extension, in a way. And that means something very important in our world. It's not just symbolic. You're under my protection, Hermione—under the protection of the entire House of Black, as small as it is now. And in the eyes of Pureblood families, that makes you... well, almost as good as blood."
Hermione stared at him, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. "But what does that mean? What does being 'as good as blood' mean?"
Sirius leaned against the tree, his face thoughtful as he explained. "In the old days, and even now in some circles, family alliances were everything. Being under the protection of a noble house like the Blacks—it changes things for you. People in the Pureblood community will treat you differently. You're no longer just Hermione Granger, the brilliant Muggle-born student at Hogwarts. You're Hermione Granger of the House of Black, whether you realize it or not."
"But I didn't do anything special," Hermione protested. "I'm not like…"
"—you're not just anything, Hermione," Sirius interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. "You've done more than most witches or wizards twice your age could hope to do. You helped free me. You saved Harry countless times. And whether you realize it or not, you've earned respect in the wizarding world. This is simply another step in that journey. The House of Black recognizes that, and I, as its head, recognize that."
Hermione stood there, processing the gravity of what Sirius was telling her. She had always worked hard to prove herself, but she had never thought she would be accepted by a family as notorious and powerful as the Blacks. It felt surreal, as if she had stumbled into a world she hadn't meant to enter.
"But why me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why would you do this for me?"
Sirius looked at her with a deep sincerity in his eyes. "Because you've earned it, Hermione. You gave me my life back. You believed in me when the world didn't. You're more family to me now than any of the so-called noble wizards who turned their backs on me years ago."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "You might not realize it now, but being part of the House of Black offers you protection. Purebloods, even those who might have looked down on you before, will hesitate to cross someone under the protection of an ancient family. It's not something they'll ignore."
Hermione swallowed, her mind racing. "So... I'm like your...what..child or?"
Sirius smiled softly. "In a way, yes. You're tied to my family now. And as far as the Pureblood community is concerned, that means you're one of us, one of mine. You'll be treated with the same respect—or at least, you should be. I can't promise all Purebloods will change their tune, but it gives you leverage. And in our world, that's important."
Harry, who had been listening intently, suddenly grinned, his excitement bubbling over. "That means we're practically siblings now, Hermione! I always knew you were like family, but now it's official!"
Hermione's heart swelled at Harry's words, though a strange, unfamiliar sensation tugged at the edges of her consciousness. She wasn't sure how to feel about all of this.
"And there's more," Sirius added, his tone growing serious again. "There's an old tradition among Pureblood families. When someone is sworn into a family like this, they're given the protection of the family's magic as well. It's subtle, and it won't change who you are, but the magic of the House of Black runs through you now. It's a bond, a link to the ancient power that runs through our bloodline."
Hermione blinked, her breath catching in her throat. "You mean... I have your family's magic?"
"In a sense," Sirius replied, nodding. "It's more symbolic than anything, but magic is tied to family. The House of Black has a long, powerful history, and by swearing you into the family, you've become a part of that legacy. It won't make you stronger or change who you are, but it's something ancient. It connects you to us."
Hermione stared at Sirius, her mind spinning with the implications. She had always prided herself on her intellect, her abilities as a witch—but this was different. This wasn't something she had earned through study or practice.
"I don't know what to say," she finally whispered, her voice unsteady.
"You don't need to say anything," Sirius said, his voice soft. "Just know that you're family now. And whatever comes, you'll always have a place with us."
Hermione nodded, though her thoughts were still racing as she listened to Sirius and Harry continue to talk.
As the evening drew on, the three of them walked back toward the castle, Sirius keeping the conversation light, but Hermione's thoughts were elsewhere. The second task had been a success, and yet it had brought far more complications than she had anticipated. Her place in the wizarding world was changing, and with it, so was she.
When they reached the entrance hall, Sirius bid them farewell, promising to visit again soon, and Harry beamed as they watched him disappear into the night.
"He's right, you know, you deserve this" Harry said, turning to Hermione with a grin. "You're family now. You always were, really, but this just makes it official."
Hermione smiled, but the weight of Sirius's words still hung heavily on her. She didn't voice her concerns to Harry—he was too elated by the day's events. But as they walked toward the Gryffindor common room, Hermione's mind drifted back to the article Rita Skeeter had written after Sirius's trial.
"Sirius Black, kneeling before a schoolgirl, swearing his allegiance to her—some might say it's a grand gesture of gratitude, but others wonder what power this girl wields that could bring the infamous Black to his knees."
Rita Skeeter. The memory of that article brought back a surge of anger. The public had no idea of the significance behind Sirius's oath, but Rita had turned it into something tawdry, something that made Hermione look like she was manipulating a powerful man. She had twisted the truth once again.
And this time, Hermione wasn't going to let it slide.
She had spent weeks preparing for this moment. She had watched Rita closely in her previous life, and now knows full well what her secret was. The journalist was an unregistered Animagus, a fact that only Hermione knew—and she planned to use it to her advantage. Rita had written her last smear piece.
The Gryffindor common room was buzzing with energy that night. After the intensity of the second task, the champions and their friends were finally able to relax. Laughter and conversation filled the air as students gathered around the fire, chatting about the day's events. Fred and George Weasley were busy entertaining the room with their usual antics, telling exaggerated stories of their latest experiments and pranks.
Harry sat on one of the plush chairs near the fire, his body still aching from the day's ordeal, but his mood had significantly lightened. Next to him, Hermione sat quietly, sipping on a cup of tea, while Fred and George continued to regale the group with their humorous stories.
"Come on, Harry," George teased, leaning against the arm of Harry's chair. "You've got to tell us how you managed to fight off the Grindylows! You're practically a hero around here."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm no hero. Trust me, I didn't feel like one down there."
"Oh, don't be so modest!" Fred chimed in, winking at Hermione. "Our Harry here saved a damsel in distress. That's what heroes do!"
Hermione rolled her eyes playfully, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Hardly a damsel," she retorted, her voice light. "Harry did all the hard work."
Fred leaned back, his grin widening. "Still, it's got a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Harry Potter, Savior of Damsels."
"I'm going to pass on that title, thanks," Harry replied, laughing.
As the banter continued, Hermione's eyes casually swept the room. She felt strangely on edge, a subtle tension that had been building since they returned from the lake. As Fred and George continued their jokes, she spotted something small and shiny hovering near harry—an all-too-familiar beetle.
Her heart skipped a beat, but she remained calm, her expression betraying nothing.
It was Rita Skeeter. She was here, in the common room, no doubt gathering information for her next article. Hermione's fingers tightened around her cup as her mind raced. She had to act quickly, but she couldn't let anyone suspect what she was doing.
A plan formed in her mind—simple, subtle. She leaned forward slightly, setting her cup down on the table. "Oh, look," she said casually, pointing toward the beetle. "There's a bug. I'll get it before it flies into someone's tea."
Without waiting for a response, Hermione stood, her hands remaining steady as she pulled out her wand, casting a silent containment spell, so quick the beetle didn't have a chance to fly. The beetle froze mid-flight, trapped in an invisible barrier.
With a slight flick of her wrist, she conjured a small glass jar from her pocket and carefully levitated the beetle inside, sealing the jar with a quiet snap.
"There," Hermione said, turning back to the group with a small smile. "All taken care of. I'll just take this outside."
Fred, oblivious to the real significance of what had just happened, waved her off with a grin. "You're too good for us, Hermione. Always looking out for the small creatures."
Hermione chuckled softly, her heart still pounding in her chest. "I'll be right back," she said, slipping out of the common room and into the corridor.
Once she was out of sight, her calm demeanor dropped, replaced by a cold determination. She stared down at the beetle in the jar, her grip tightening around the glass. "Caught you," she whispered, her voice low and firm. "You won't be slipping away this time. Thank you for making it easy"
Rita Skeeter was finally trapped, and this time, Hermione had no intention of letting her go. She would deal with her later, but for now, it was enough to know that she had won this round.
When Hermione returned to the common room, Fred was still teasing Harry about his heroics, while George demonstrated one of their new joke products to a group of younger students.
"Everything okay?" Harry asked as Hermione slipped back into her seat beside him.
"Perfectly fine," Hermione replied with a smile, the weight of the glass jar in her pocket, a reminder of the battle she had just won. "Just needed to get rid of the pest."
