September 1994
The rest of the summer passed in a blur of activity, Ginny's birthday and trying to figure out how possessions had spread across the house so thoroughly.
Illusions to something happening at Hogwarts were made several times, but unfortunately, by September 1st, they were no closer to figuring out what this mysterious event was.
Hermione really wasn't that bothered by whatever was going to happen. She was far too distracted by Jess's dream, by Malfoy's emotions, and by Narcissa's note.
At Platform Nine-And-Three-Quarters, Fred made one last-ditch effort. "Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" He called out of the window as the train began to move.
But Molly, Charlie and Bill just waved and, before the Express had rounded the corner, they had disappeared.
Fred and George disappeared with a grumble to find Lee Jordan, and Ginny wandered off with her friends.
Hermione, Ron and Bethany found an empty compartment and stowed their luggage away, trying to ignore the rain pounding on the window.
Ron grumbled something under his breath, but Hermione didn't hear what he said; she was too busy staring at the horrible maroon, lacy … thing that he'd thrown over Pig's cage in an attempt to shut the tiny owl up. "What in Merlin's name are those?"
"My dress robes," Ron answered, glaring at her as if daring her to make a comment.
Hermione nodded, her face perfectly blank. "They're interesting."
"Oh, shut up," Ron snapped.
Hermione pointedly avoided Bethany's eyes - she had seen the robes that Molly had picked up on Bethany's behalf, beautiful pale green, and no lace in sight.
But then Molly, with Bethany's permission of course, had used Bethany's trust fund to do so. And even though Bethany would happily have shared the money with the Weasleys, they both knew the family would never accept it.
The book list had arrived fairly early that summer, so Hermione already had hers before she got to the Weasleys.
Unfortunately, her father had insisted on signing off on them, so they were dark brown and very unflattering, and she had just opened her mouth to tell Ron that when …
"Ssh!" Bethany hissed suddenly.
A familiar voice was floating through the open door. "… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang, you know, rather than Hogwarts."
Now she was aware of it, Hermione could hear the mocking tone in his voice when he talked about 'Mudbloods' and quoted his father's rather scathing view of Dumbledore.
Thoroughly irritated by her inability to figure out what was going on with him, Hermione got up and slid the door closed. "So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he? I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him," she muttered, feeling uncharacteristically vindictive.
This, of course, sparked a conversation about different wizarding schools, and Hermione took it upon herself to explain the different methods of protection the schools could use, because once again Ron appeared completely oblivious to the ways of magic despite growing up in it.
Ron, of course, was not paying any attention. "Ah, think of the possibilities. It would've been so easy to push Malfoy of a glacier and make it look like an accident. Shame his mother likes him."
Hermione bit back a disapproving remark, knowing from experience that there was no point.
The further North they went, the heavier the rain became and the darker the skies grew. By mid-afternoon, the lanterns had been lit purely to allow them to see clearly.
Seamus, Dean and Neville had joined them, and they were sitting with Ron and Bethany among empty sweet wrappers, talking nothing but Quidditch.
Uninterested with the conversation (she had enjoyed the match, but really had no wish in a play-by-play), Hermione was buried in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.
She was not, however, reading it.
Instead, she was composing a letter to one of her year-mates and trying to disguise her handwriting. She'd have to be careful though - Bethany and Ron might trust her judgement, but they still wouldn't be happy about her corresponding with Draco Malfoy, of all people.
She vaguely heard Neville telling the others how lucky they were, because his grandmother hadn't let them go, and saw, out of the corner of her eye, Rom showing him the model of Viktor Krum.
"Saw him right up too," he was saying excitedly. "Show him what he gave you, Beth! Hermione translated for the Bulgarian Minister, and he introduced them."
"How'd you end up doing that?" Dean asked, when Hermione glanced up at her name.
Hermione turned slightly pink. "Fudge was giving me a headache. Seemed to subscribe to the school of 'Speak Slowly and Loudly and They'll Understand Whether They Speak English Or Not.'"
Dean sniggered. "For some reason, that doesn't surprise me."
"It just sort of happened," Hermione continued. "Minister Oblansk spoke English anyway, just thought Fudge was an idiot."
The laughter increased at that, until Bethany pulled the Snitch out of her trunk.
Immediately the laughter stopped and Dean sucked in a gasp. "That's not …"
"That is!" Seamus said, gaping at her. "He gave you the game Snitch?!"
Bethany nodded, a broad grin on his face.
Hermione buried her head back in her book, hiding a frown. It wasn't the act itself that had bugged her, but the exchange that followed, the way Ron's jealousy had bubbled up beneath a smile.
She sighed, pushing her concern about Ron out of her mind, and focused her attention back on disguising her handwriting. Now the only problem lay with actually getting the note to him.
"We were right up in the Top Box …" Ron was saying.
But that shouldn't be too hard, as long as …
"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."
Hermione glanced up and suppressed a smirk. Draco Malfoy and his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, had predictably appeared in the doorway, right on time.
"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," Bethany said coolly, putting the Snitch back in her trunk.
"Weasley, what is that?" Draco asked, pointing at Pig's cage. Ron's dress-robes were still covering it, one lacy sleeve swaying with the motion of the train.
While they were all distracted, Hermione flicked her wand and sent the disguised note into the pocket of his robes.
Fathers can be hard work. You're not alone.
Ron turned red and tried to stuff the robes out of sight, but Draco was too quick for him and grabbed them.
"Look at these!" He crowed, holding them up to show Crabbe and Goyle. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione said, before Ron could say anything. "He's going to magically alter them. Just because he has manners and isn't about to insult a great-aunt when she sends him gifts doesn't mean he's stupid."
Draco raised an eyebrow at her, but threw the robes back at Ron. "So, going to enter Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know?"
"What are you talking about?" Ron snapped.
"Are you going to enter?" Draco repeated. "I suppose you will, Potter; you never miss a chance to show off, do you?" A smile spread across his face. "You don't know, do you? Father heard about it from Cornelius Fudge himself, but then he's always associated with top people at the Ministry."
"Well, clearly some people have more respect for Ministry guidelines than others," Hermione snapped. "It's classified information until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it. But in answer to your question, Malfoy, none of us are going to enter. The rules have been changed and there's an age cut-off. I'm surprised your father didn't tell you."
Apparently, they had nothing to say about that, and Draco just gave her a sneer and stalked out, Crabbe and Goyle close behind them.
Ron stood up and slid the door shut so hard that the glass fell out and shattered.
"Ron!" Hermione said reproachfully. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the glass. "Repairo!"
The glass flew back into the door.
"Well, making it look like he knows everything and we don't …" Ron snarled.
"What was he talking about?" Seamus asked.
"No idea," Hermione admitted, taking a chocolate frog. "We know something's happening, but they wouldn't tell us because it was classified information. The only thing I do know, whatever it is, is that the rules have changed, which Mrs Weasley seemed very relieved by, so I'm guessing the rule change means we can't take part."
"Yeah, that would make sense," Bethany said. "I'm surprised he hasn't made any comment about you undermining his father in the Top Box. Aren't you?"
Hermione snorted. "Given the Bulgarian Minister turned and asked me why he was there because he was a Death Eater, very. And from the looks of it, all three Malfoys speak French."
"What did you say?" Neville asked in awe.
"Well, I wasn't sure how to say Imperius Curse or continued allegations in French," Hermione said with a smirk, "so I just said he was a good friend of Fudge."
Seamus laughed. "You should have been a Slytherin."
"I'll take that in the spirit it was intended," Hermione said, looking at Ron. "Just don't let him get to you."
"Him? Get to me? As if!" Ron picked up a Cauldron Cake and squashed it into a pulp.
September 1994
The rain never let up.
By the time they reached the Great Hall, all of the students were soaking - not helped by Peeves zooming around the Entrance Hall with water balloons.
In addition, Hermione's neck was aching because, in an effort to stop Peeves, McGonagall had skidded on the wet floor and had grabbed Hermione to stop herself from falling.
The Sorting and the feast were uneventful, except for Nearly-Headless Nick revealing that house-elves worked in the kitchen.
In hindsight, Hermione should have realised, but it had never crossed her mind how the food appeared in the Great Hall, and it certainly wasn't in Hogwarts: A History.
Her immediate reaction was to stop eating, nauseated by the thought of profiting from slave labour, in any sense, but Bethany had patted her arm.
"I get it," she'd said softly, "but if they're anything like Dobby, they'll be horrified and offended by the thought of you not eating."
She had a point, so Hermione made herself eat something, if not as much as she would normally eat.
When everyone had reached the 'toying with dessert' stage, the pudding disappeared, and Dumbledore stood up, beaming at them as he did every year and everyone stopped talking.
His welcoming speech was much the same as usual - the forbidden objects list had been expanded again, the Forbidden Forest was still out-of-bounds, students required parental permission to visit Hogsmeade.
But then, there was a change in proceedings - and not a very welcome one.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."
Hermione winced, and shut her Empathy off, preparing her eardrums for the expected outburst to erupt.
It didn't.
Everyone in the Great Hall appeared too shocked for words.
A few of the seventh years looked absolutely heartbroken, which confused Hermione, but now was not the time to ask.
"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing through the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy," Dumbledore continued, sending a stab of foreboding through Hermione. "I'm sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts …"
At that moment, the Headmaster was cut off by a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall flew opening, revealing a man shadowed in the doorway, shrouded by a black cloak and leaning on a staff.
He lowered his hood, shook out long dark-grey hair, and began to make his way up to the head table, a dull clunk sounding on every other step.
Lightning across the ceiling lit up his face and Hermione sucked in a breath. It was weathered and twisted, every inch of it covered in scars.
His nose had a huge chunk of it missing.
But it was his eyes …
One of them was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round and a vivid, bright blue.
The blue eye was moving without blinking, rolling up and down, side to side, with no care for the movements of the other eye, finally rolling right over to point through the back of his head.
Hermione shuddered, but Dumbledore merely shook the man's hand and directed him to the seat beside him.
"Allow me to introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher," Dumbledore announced to the silent hall. "Professor Moody."
Dumbledore and Hagrid clapped, but everyone else, even the other teachers, seemed to be in too much shock. Moody seemed completely oblivious to all of it, as he speared a sausage on a knife he pulled from his pocket and then pulled a hip-flask from his pocket, revealing as he did so, several inches of wooden leg.
"Moody?" Bethany repeated softly. "Not Mad-Eye Moody? The one your Dad went to help this morning, with the exploding dustbins?"
"Must be," Ron said, sounding awestruck.
"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his face"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno."
Dumbledore cleared his throat, but most eyes remained on the new teacher. "As I was saying, we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."
Hermione had been prepared for the uproar over Quidditch - she hadn't been prepared for this.
Her head seemed to explode and she groaned, letting her head fall on Bethany's shoulder.
She screwed her eyes shut, the pain in her head drowning out the cacophony of noise around her. After what felt like an hour - but was probably less than ten minutes - Bethany squeezed her arm. "Bed, Mione."
Everyone was getting to their feet around her, chattering excitedly.
"Is it your You-Know-What?" Ron whispered.
Hermione nodded, grimacing with pain.
"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall was hurrying towards them through the students, a look of concern on her face. "Miss Granger, are you alright? It looked like you passed out!"
"Oh, no, Professor, I just …" Hermione winced. "I just got a very bad migraine all of a sudden and …"
"Take her to the infirmary, Miss Potter," McGonagall said.
"Oh, no, I don't need …" Hermione began.
"Mione," Bethany said. "Maybe Madam Pomfrey can give you a potion or something, come on."
"She'll probably keep me overnight," Hermione grumbled, allowing Bethany to guide her out of the Great Hall.
"You can recover from this in the infirmary, or you can do it in our dorm with Lavender and Parvati," Bethany said flatly.
"Good point," Hermione conceded with another grimace.
When they entered the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey left her office with a look of resignation. "Miss Potter, welcome back; what have you managed now?"
"Not me this time, Madam Pomfrey," Bethany said. "Mione's got a migraine."
Madam Pomfrey frowned, bustling over to examine Hermione. "Have you had these before, Miss Granger?"
"Not this badly," Hermione said honestly. "I feel like the room's spinning. And it's really bright in here."
Madam Pomfrey nodded. "I won't check light reaction then; I'd advise staying here overnight, because I can keep the noise and light to a minimum. I doubt you'll get that in the Common Room."
The more Hermione thought, the more attractive the thought of staying the night in the infirmary became to her.
Physical noise wasn't a problem; it was the emotional noise causing the problem - and there would be far more of that in the Common Room than the infirmary.
Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Madam Pomfrey; I'll take you up on that."
Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, conjuring some pyjamas. "I'll get you a pain reliever."
Bethany helped Hermione change, Hermione's movements made clumsy by the pain, and then helped untangle her hair from her braid. When Madam Pomfrey returned, Hermione was tucked up in bed, and Bethany was folding her robes.
"I'll take these to the dorm and bring your things down tomorrow morning," she said softly. "At least there are no classes tomorrow."
"Thanks," Hermione said hoarsely.
"Before I give you this," Madam Pomfrey said, once Bethany had left, "I need to check - do you know if the headache had any external causes?"
Hermione hesitated, but Madam Pomfrey had been the nurse when Remus was at Hogwarts. She had been alright with a werewolf - she had to be okay with an Empath.
"I …"
When she faltered, Madam Pomfrey smiled at her. "It's alright, Miss Granger. I wouldn't breathe a word to anyone."
"I know." Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm an Empath."
Madam Pomfrey's expression changed to one of kind understanding. "Oh, my dear, no wonder you had trouble. Was it the announcement of the Tournament?"
Hermione nodded cautiously.
"Don't look so worried, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey chided. "I know enough to know what the Ministry has decided isn't worth the parchment it's written on."
"I prepared myself for the World Cup, and the Quidditch announcement," Hermione said. "Didn't expect the Tournament."
"Oh good," Madam Pomfrey said. "You've studied Occlumency then."
Hermione frowned. "What's that?"
"Hmm, you must have a gift for it," Madam Pomfrey said. "I'll get you a book tomorrow. Right now, I need you to drink this up and get a good night's sleep."
Hermione drank the potion, relieved when the pain subsided a little. She had been expecting to lie awake for hours, worrying about the Tournament, and the prophecy, and she was fairly sure she had dimly heard Dumbledore saying something about a death toll, so there was that as well.
But Madam Pomfrey must have added a sleep aid to the potion, or maybe she was more tired than she thought, because as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was sound asleep.