His Precious Friend

Disclaimer: All things HP belong to JKR; I am borrowing her world (and fixing her mistakes) just for fun.

Author’s Note: This is the sequel to “The Only Girl”, my AU fic of Harry and Hermione going to the Yule Ball together.

This time, it’s the 2^nd Task, the way it might have gone. (I’m sure you can all guess what the main change will be…) And because it never made sense to me that Hermione found no mention of the Bubble-head Charm or that she didn’t manage to find out about Gillyweed—because, honestly, Neville might be good at Herbology but Hermione’s the cleverest witch and best student of their year! She would have found out about them, I’m convinced. It makes no sense that she doesn’t—and is, in my opinion, JKR being silly again.

For my very dear Amethyst_J, because she started this whole AU idea with her drabble prompt that’s grown into this monster-fic. ;-)

His Precious Friend

Part 1

An hour.

He had to spend an hour under water to get back something precious that they would take from him.

He decided that he’d much rather face the Hungarian Horntail again, blind-folded.

An hour under water?! How on earth was he supposed to do that without drowning in the process? He wondered gloomily whether this task was when previous Champions had died.

An hour…

He pulled Ron and Hermione aside in the Common Room the next day. “I need your help,” he whispered urgently to both of them.

Ron and Hermione’s friendship hadn’t fully recovered yet from their fight the night of the Yule Ball and they had scrupulously avoided talking to each other, usually communicating through Harry who was beginning to feel something like a bouncing ball going back and forth between the two of them. But on hearing Harry’s explanation of the clue in the egg, they both forgot their disagreement in favor of joining with Harry in his worry.

Ron looked a bit ill. “An hour underwater?” he croaked. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You can’t go without air for that long!”

Hermione looked a little pale and tense but was more hopeful. “There must be some sort of charm or spell that will allow you to breathe underwater. There’s got to be something. They wouldn’t assign an impossible task. They can’t. They wouldn’t,” she repeated, almost as if she were trying to convince herself of that.

Harry looked at Hermione with something very like desperation. “Do you remember reading anything about a spell that will allow you to breathe underwater?”

“Erm- no…,” she admitted reluctantly but then hastened to add, “But I’m sure there’s something out there! It’s not like I’ve read every book in the library or anything.”

Ron made a disbelieving noise. “You haven’t?”

Hermione ignored Ron to continue, “And I wasn’t exactly paying attention to any sort of spell that would allow a person to breathe underwater so it may have slipped past me. It’ll be okay, Harry, we just need to do some research and I’m sure we’ll find something.”

She smiled bravely at him and Harry returned the smile automatically, feeling better. Of course, Hermione was right. They wouldn’t assign an impossible task. And just seeing Hermione’s smile made him feel as if he could do this…

She had a pretty smile, he thought, wondering (again) what she would do if he ever kissed her…

He stopped short. Not again…

He had tried to convince himself that all his new, uncomfortable thoughts about Hermione, about kissing Hermione, had just been a product of the romantic atmosphere at the Yule Ball and the way she’d looked all dressed-up and her hair smoothed out. It had just been the circumstance and the situation. Of course he would think about kissing Hermione when every other couple around them at the Yule Ball had been snogging… That was all it was. It would go away in the common light of common day, he was sure of it.

Only it was back. Had never really gone away. He couldn’t help it; it seemed like once he’d noticed that Hermione was pretty, he found himself noticing all the other little things about her he’d seen but never really thought about until now. He found himself noticing the way she bit her lower lip sometimes in class when she was concentrating very hard and how the action made her lower lip seem more full and more- more- well, kissable was the only word he could think of. He found himself noticing the way she would absently brush her quill across her lips and all he could do was think, irrationally, that he really, really envied her quill. He found himself noticing all the times she touched him, naturally, out of habit, a hand on his arm, her arm brushing his as she sat down beside him, and wondering if it was a sign that she liked him too…

He mentally shook his head to clear it of his unwanted thoughts about Hermione; he needed to concentrate now, needed to start researching ways to breathe underwater.

He could do this.

Right?

Harry shoved his hands into his hair, tugging at it a little in frustration. The three of them were surrounded by books in one corner of the library and had gotten nowhere.

“Oh, for a pair of Aqualungs,” he muttered to himself, wondering idly if he could disqualify himself from the Tournament if he bashed his head onto the table hard enough but then decided against it. He didn’t want to die—and at any rate, he would just need to show up for the Second Task and he would drown without the need to do any violence on himself, he thought with rather morbid humor.

“What are Aqualungs?” Ron asked.

“They’re a Muggle thing; people use them during the summers to allow them to swim underwater for long periods of time.”

Ron thought about this and then looked delighted. “But that’s perfect! Why not just use a Summoning Charm to Summon one from the nearest Muggle town?”

Hermione snorted. “That won’t work. It’d probably take him at least an hour just to figure out how to use the aqualungs and then he’d be out of time anyway. Besides, he’d be breaking the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy and would probably be disqualified for that.”

“Hermione’s right,” Harry added gloomily. “I think it’s too much to hope that no Muggles would spot an aqualung zooming across the countryside to Hogwarts.”

Ron looked deflated. “Well, it was worth a suggestion,” he said in a disgruntled tone.

“Of course, the ideal solution would be for you to Transfigure yourself into a submarine or something,” Hermione sighed. “If only we’d done human Transfiguration already! But I don’t think we start that until sixth year, and it can go badly wrong if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I don’t fancy walking around with a periscope sticking out of my head.” He paused and then added, in a lame attempt at humor because he didn’t like to see how pale and worried Hermione looked, “I s’pose I could always attack someone in front of Moody, he might do it for me…”

Hermione gave him a rather wan smile but answered seriously, “I don’t think he’d let you choose what you wanted to be turned into, though. No, I think your best chance is some sort of charm.”

Harry sighed. “Yeah.” He paused and then added, glumly, “I wish I could become an Animagus, a frog would be nice.”

“You know you don’t get to choose your own Animagus form,” Hermione reminded him mildly.

“I know. Besides, it took my dad and Sirius the better part of 3 years to figure out how to do it and I don’t have that kind of time.”

“Trying to become an Animagus is awfully dangerous to do without proper supervision and training; your dad and Sirius were being reckless and they lucked out,” Hermione said in a slightly disapproving tone.

“Oh, don’t be such a wet-blanket, Hermione,” Ron grumbled. “How cool is it that the Marauders managed to become unregistered Animagi on their own? That was bloody wicked!”

Harry interceded before Hermione could retort. “Yeah but that doesn’t matter at the moment. I need to find out how to breathe underwater.”

Hermione threw Ron an irritated glance before she bent back over the heavy book open in front of her, skimming through the pages so quickly Harry wondered how she didn’t get dizzy. “There’s got to be something…” she muttered.

“There had better be,” Harry sighed.

There has got to be something became something of their motto over the next few weeks as they spent every free hour in the library, frantically researching spells until Harry felt that he could happily go the rest of his life without ever opening up another book having to do with water and it would be too soon.

Hermione sat up straight in her chair. “Hey, I think I found something,” she announced.

Harry got out of his chair to bend over the page Hermione was reading, skimming it over her shoulder, resolutely ignoring how close he was to her and that he could feel the warmth from her body through his shirt.

“The Bubble-head Charm is a charm to create a bubble of air around an object, usually a person’s head or their entire body, which enables them to breathe the oxygen within the bubble for a limited time,” Hermione read quickly aloud.

“That- that sounds perfect,” Harry breathed, feeling a smile break out on his face for the first time in what felt like months. “We found it!” He grinned up at Ron and put an impulsive arm around Hermione for a quick half-hug of jubilation.

“No, wait.”

Those two words killed his excitement in a moment and he deflated. Hermione was still skimming through the fine-print explanation about the Bubble-head Charm before looking up at Harry.

“It’s a N.E.W.T. level Charm and very difficult to master even at an advanced level. I don’t think I could do it.”

She paused and Harry filled in what he knew she was thinking but would never say aloud. “And I’m not that advanced in Charms.”

Hermione didn’t respond other than to put her hand on his arm briefly before she turned back to her book, saying energetically, “Well, there’s got to be more than one way to get through the Task. They wouldn’t assign a Task that requires all the Champions to use the same Charm or it wouldn’t be a proper test of the Champions’ abilities. We’ll just find the other ones. There’s still time.”

There’s still time…

The sentence started to echo in Harry’s mind as the days passed, then weeks, and February 24^th loomed ever closer, while the lake started to look more and more forbidding by the day.

He was beginning to have nightmares about being swallowed up by the cold, grey mass of water while something precious to him (once it was his Firebolt, another time it was the book of pictures of his parents which Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year, usually it was some unidentified object that he simply knew in his dream meant a lot to him and he needed to get it back) was snatched away and he could only watch helplessly as it disappeared from sight.

For once, Valentine’s Day passed unnoticed—although that was more because he was beginning to go through the days in a bit of a daze, distracted in class and unable to tear his mind away from the thought that he had 10 days (9 days… 8 days…) left to find a way to breathe underwater or he’d lose.

In his nightmares, he would be floundering around in the cold waters of the lake while something precious to him drifted ever further away with all of Hogwarts laughing at him and when he would turn to Hermione, she would look at him with disappointment in her eyes, saying, “You failed, Harry,” before turning to Viktor Krum and walking away with Krum—and that somehow made him feel worse than even the idea of losing the Tournament or being humiliated in front of the entire school along with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

Harry’s earlier idea of getting out of the Tournament by banging his head on the table in the library was looking more attractive by the hour as he let his head fall forward with a light thump to rest his forehead on the open book he’d been staring at for the last two hours.

“There must be something,” Hermione muttered for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day, moving a candle closer to her. Her eyes were so tired she was poring over the tiny print of Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes with her nose about an inch from the page. “They’d never have set a task that was undoable.”

Harry glanced at Hermione, feeling guilt claw at his insides. If he was having nightmares and not sleeping well, he knew Hermione was doing little better. She looked as if she hadn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in two months, which was close to being the case. There were dark shadows under her eyes and she was pale, exhausted, a frown furrowing her brows as she tried to read. For a moment, he wished desperately that they were alone so he could do something, say something, to tell her how grateful he was for her help, how much it meant to him that she was working so hard to help him, that she hadn’t given up yet. But he couldn’t, not with Ron there, and he settled for resting his hand on her shoulder for a moment. She glanced at him, trying to smile encouragingly but only managed a wan twitch of her lips. He didn’t say anything, just smiled slightly, thanking her with his eyes, and knew she understood as her own eyes brightened and she gave him her first real smile in weeks.

“This is impossible,” Ron burst out in frustration, interrupting the silence. “Harry, just go down to the lake, stick your head in and yell at the merpeople to give back whatever they’ve nicked and see if they chuck it out. Best you can do, mate.”

“And then the merpeople will laugh at me to say nothing of everyone else,” Harry responded sardonically.

“There’s a way of doing it!” Hermione insisted. “There just has to be!”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed glumly. “I need to be a fish; I need gills.”

“Gills…” Hermione repeated slowly, thoughtfully.

And then she proceeded to shock both Ron and Harry by leaping up out of her seat, exclaiming, “Harry, that’s it! You’re brilliant!”, giving Harry a quick hug and then rushing out of their section of the library.

“She’s lost it. Mental, completely mental,” Ron said, shaking his head a little, as if in pity for Hermione’s lost sanity.

Harry stared after where Hermione had disappeared into the stacks, feeling a small tentative flare of hope inside him.

Hermione reappeared in a moment with a book called…

“Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and their Properties?” Ron said disbelievingly. “You have gone mental. What--”

Hermione ignored him as she quickly opened the book up to a page about a third of the way inside it. “Gillyweed,” she read aloud from the page. “Gillyweed, when eaten by a human, causes the human to develop gills and webbed feet and fingers, in short, become a human-shaped fish, for a limited time.”

She looked up from the book to smile at Harry. “I remember reading about this doing research for a Herbology paper last year, I think. It had slipped my mind entirely; I’ve been looking for a spell. I didn’t even think of a magical plant that might help, until you said you needed gills and I remembered reading something about a plant that gave a person gills.”

Harry could have kissed Hermione out of relief and very nearly did, except he glanced at Ron and knew he couldn’t. If he was ever going to kiss Hermione, he didn’t want to do it in front of Ron. Instead, he gave her a quick hug before taking the book from her and reading through the entry on Gillyweed for himself, wanting to find out everything about this plant he’d never heard of. It sounded- perfect, was just what he needed, and all he needed to do was eat it. No complicated or advanced spell-work needed. Thank God for Hermione.

“Wait,” Ron spoke up. “Where are we going to get this Gillyweed? Do they sell it?”

Harry turned automatically to Hermione, who was biting her lip now, her smile gone. “I’m not sure where we could get it. I know it’s not in Hogsmeade anywhere. They probably have it in some stores in Diagon Alley…”

“I can’t get to Diagon Alley! The perfect solution—and I can’t use it because we don’t know where we can bloody find it!” Harry burst out, his frustration exploding after his momentary relief only to run into yet another obstacle.

Hermione flinched and he saw a flicker of hurt cross her face and promptly felt like the world’s biggest prat. “I’m sorry,” he sighed, putting the book down and putting a hand on her arm. “I shouldn’t have shouted. Thanks for finding out about this. It’s the closest we’ve come to a solution.”

“It’s okay, Harry. I’ll try to find some Gillyweed in the next three days. Why don’t you and Ron keep looking through these books and see if anything else comes up, just in case?”

“Right,” Harry agreed. He glanced at his watch to see it was approaching midnight. “It’s late. We should sleep now and start looking tomorrow.”

Ron yawned, as if on cue. “Best idea I’ve heard all night, mate,” he said with a tired smile.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to get back to searching right away but Harry stopped her. “You should sleep,” he told her quietly, closing the books they had taken out of the shelves. “You look tired. We can’t get anything done this late at night anyway.”

“Hurry it up. Let’s go,” Ron urged them impatiently and they hurriedly put away the last of the books and followed Ron out of the library.

That night he dreamed that he managed to get through the Second Task and when he was wading out of the lake, clutching his Firebolt in one hand and what was left of the gillyweed (that looked like seaweed) in the other, Hermione flew at him, throwing her arms around him in a hug while everyone at Hogwarts looked on and cheered for him. “Harry, you did it!” He saw her jubilant smile and knew she was happy for him, proud of him, and he felt himself grin widely. It felt good to be a champion…

He awoke with a pleasant sense of hope, even anticipation. Surely it couldn’t be too hard to find some Gillyweed, could it?

In the next two days, that thought came back to haunt him as Hermione’s mood deteriorated into snappishness at her continuing to run into obstacles to getting Gillyweed. First it was that Gillyweed was only found in one spot in the Mediterranean so it wasn’t that common and wasn’t used for too many other purposes other than to allow people to swim underwater so it was only sold in a very limited number of stores in Diagon Alley and not always in stock either. She had asked Professor Sprout if she knew of any places to find Gillyweed but Professor Sprout had only been able to name the stores in Diagon Alley.

Harry and Ron were still spending their time in the library and coming up with a whole lot of nothing as far as other ways to survive an hour underwater that didn’t involve transfiguring himself into some sort of fish. Harry was beginning to have wild thoughts of trying to use the Summoning Charm again and going into the Lake and simply yelling underwater, “Accio whatever-the-merpeople-took!”

Hermione joined them there that evening and one look at her face told Harry that she still hadn’t found any way of getting Gillyweed. But she looked so tired and so disappointed that he didn’t say anything as she sat down at the table he was sitting at.

“I went to talk to Dobby and asked him on the off-chance that he might know and he said he would look, anything to help Harry Potter,” she said tiredly.

Hermione pulled a book called Weird Wizarding Dilemmas toward her, beginning to flip through it and then snapped it shut in irritation. “This is ridiculous! Who on earth wants to make their nose hair grow into ringlets?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” they heard Fred Weasley’s voice say. “Be a talking point, wouldn’t it?”

They all looked up to see Fred and George emerge from behind some bookshelves.

“What’re you two doing here?” Ron asked.

“Looking for Hermione. McGonagall wants to see you in her office,” George told Hermione.

“Why?” asked Hermione, a surprised expression on her face.

“Dunno… she was looking a bit grim, though,” Fred answered.

“We’re supposed to take you down to her office,” George inserted.

Hermione met Harry’s eyes for a moment, dismay in her expression, and Harry felt his stomach clench. Was Professor McGonagall going to tell Hermione off for having tried so hard to help him find out how to do the task when he was supposed to do it alone?

He shrugged a little, feigning a calm he was very far from feeling. “Go on then. Ron and I will meet you in the Common Room later.”

“Bring as many of these books as you can, OK?”

“Right,” Harry answered, trying to smile.

At eight o’clock, Madam Pince ordered both Harry and Ron out of the library and they both gathered up as many books as they could carry and staggered over to the Gryffindor Common Room, where they set up a sort of camp in one corner, surrounded by the books.

The Common Room emptied out slowly as everyone went to bed.

Ron yawned loudly and Harry glanced up at him. “You can go to sleep if you want to,” he relented.

Ron tried to look alert, blinking rapidly. “No, ‘s okay,” he said.

Harry shot him a pointed look and Ron gave in. “Alright, then. Good luck.”

“Yeah.”

Ron vanished upstairs, leaving Harry alone.

He imagined having to go down to the lake tomorrow morning and telling the judges that he couldn’t do the task, pictured Bagman’s look of surprise, Karkaroff’s satisfied smile, Dumbledore’s unspoken but no doubt visible disappointment. He could almost hear Fleur Delacour saying, “I knew it… ‘e is too young, ‘e is only a little boy,”; pictured Malfoy smirking and flashing his Potter Stinks badge. He saw Hermione’s crest-fallen face, the disappointment in her eyes, before she turned away from him…

Argh! He couldn’t keep on thinking like this! Harry stood up suddenly, forgetting that Crookshanks was on his lap. Crookshanks hissed angrily as he landed on the floor and gave Harry an annoyed look as he stalked away, tail held high but Harry had no time to apologize to Crookshanks and flew up to his dormitory, grabbing his Invisibility Cloak and hurried to the library, determined to spend the entire night there if necessary. There had to be something in some book they had missed…

To be continued…

Disclaimer: See Part 1.

Author’s Note: First of all, thank you, everyone, who read and reviewed the first part of this fic! I’m so glad you enjoyed it so much!

To answer all of your questions (although you’ll see soon enough), no, Harry and Viktor are not going to be fighting over who gets to save Hermione. The Tournament can’t possibly work that way and, besides, in this fic, Viktor still barely knows Hermione. He danced with her once at the Ball and that’s it. She is nowhere near being the person he’ll miss most—and I’ll only add that, in canon, it is so wrong that simply after going to the Yule Ball together and afterwards spending basically no time together, Hermione has suddenly become what Viktor would miss most in the world. It is simply not realistic to imagine that V/Hr became that serious so quickly when Hermione spent most of the time between the Yule Ball and the 2^nd task helping Harry research for the 2^nd task—but then again, JKR’s already proven many times over that she wouldn’t recognize a truly meaningful relationship if it came up and bit her on the arse…

And now, without further ado, the Second Task!

His Precious Friend

Part 2

Something was poking him painfully in the side and he swatted at it. “That hurts. Stop poking me!”

“Harry Potter must wake up, sir! Dobby must poke Harry Potter, sir, he must wake up!”

Harry jerked awake to find that he had dozed off in the library, blinking as he adjusted his glasses and stared at Dobby.

“Dobby- what…”

“Harry Potter needs to hurry!” squeaked Dobby. “The second task starts in 20 minutes and Harry Potter--”

“20 minutes?” Harry croaked. He looked down at his watch to see that it was ten after nine; he was supposed to be down at the lake this minute.

“Hurry, Harry Potter!” Dobby insisted, trying ineffectually to pull Harry up by his sleeve. “You is supposed to be down by the lake with the other champions, sir!”

“It’s too late, Dobby,” Harry said glumly. “I’m not doing the task, I don’t know how…”

“Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Missmynee-”

“Find my what?”

“-- and take his Missmynee back from the merpeople!”

“What’s a Missmynee?”

“Your Missmynee, sir, your Missmynee, who is bringing Harry Potter down to visit Dobby and who is so nice to Dobby and Winky, your Missmynee!”

Realization crashed down on Harry with the force of a tree trunk landing on his head, knocking all the breath from his body. “What?” Harry gasped, something very cold spreading through his stomach and feeling his throat close up from shock and dismay, “They’ve got… they’ve got Hermione?”

“The thing Harry Potter will miss most, sir!” Dobby insisted, practically dancing in place in his anxiety. “And past an hour--”

“—the prospect’s black’,” Harry recited, horror-struck. “‘Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back…’ Dobby—what can I do?” he asked desperately. Hermione… Gone… Won’t come back… The words from the rhyme rang ominously through his mind, panic beginning to flare up inside him. Not Hermione; he couldn’t lose Hermione…

Dobby reached into the pocket of his shorts and drew out a ball of what looked like slimy, grayish-green rat tails. “Gillyweed, sir! Dobby is finding out where there is Gillyweed like Missmynee asked him to, Harry Potter sir, and now Harry Potter must save his Missmynee!”

Harry snatched at the Gillyweed with one hand, stuffing it into his pocket, as he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into his bag with the other and tore out of the library at a breakneck pace, with Dobby at his heels.

“Dobby is supposed to be in the kitchens, sir!” Dobby squealed as they burst into the corridor. “Dobby will be missed—good luck, Harry Potter, sir, good luck!”

“Thanks, Dobby!” Harry shouted and sprinted down the stairs, taking them three at a time, fear and worry lending speed to his feet. He made a brief mental note to get Dobby as many pairs of socks as he could carry on the next trip to Hogsmeade.

“Dobby could not let Harry Potter lose his Missmynee!” he heard Dobby squeal from behind him and then he was down in the Entrance Hall, where people were heading through the double oak doors to watch the Second task. They stared as he flashed past, bursting out into the bright, chilly grounds and headed for the lake at a sprint, as all the while, his mind kept up a running litany. Hermione… gone… won’t come back… Need to save Hermione… Hermione… Save Hermione…

As he ran, he saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons’ enclosure in November had been set up along the opposite bank, rising in stands and reflected in the lake below. It was already quite crowded, the sound of the excited babble from the crowd echoing strangely across the water as Harry sprinted towards the judges.

A figure separated from the people milling around as Ron ran towards him. “Where the bloody hell have you been? I woke up late and when you weren’t in the room or the Common Room, I assumed you’d come down already and I was just going to go find you! D’you know what you’re going to do?” he panted, having grabbed Harry’s arm and begun half-tugging Harry forward (not that he needed to as Harry wasn’t about to stop his flat-out sprint).

“Gillyweed,” Harry answered shortly, out of breath from running. “Dobby found some.”

“Dobby!” Ron exclaimed but they had reached the judges and Harry had no time or breath to say anything more.

“I’m… here…” Harry panted, skidding to a halt.

“Where have you been?” asked a bossy voice, in a disapproving tone. “The task’s about to start; you should have been here 15 minutes ago!”

Harry looked around to see Percy Weasley—and, yet again, no sign of Mr. Crouch.

“Now, now, Percy,” Ludo Bagman chimed in genially, “let him catch his breath!”

Dumbledore smiled at Harry but Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked less than pleased.

Harry bent over, gasping for breath, feeling as if his heart might pound its way out of his throat but he had no time to recover as Ludo Bagman had already begun moving among the champions, spacing them out along the bank at intervals of ten feet. Harry found himself at the end of the line, next to Krum, who was wearing swimming trunks and holding his wand ready.

“All right, Harry?” Bagman whispered, as he moved Harry a few feet further away from Krum. “Know what you’re going to do?”

“Yeah,” Harry panted, massaging his ribs.

Bagman gave Harry’s shoulder a quick squeeze that Harry took to be supportive, and returned to the judges’ table. He pointed his wand at his throat, saying, “Sonorus!” and his voice boomed out across the dark water.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely one hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two… three!”

The whistle echoed shrilly, cutting through the cold, still air and Harry quickly pulled off his shoes and socks, pulled the handful of Gillyweed out of his pocket and stuffed it into his mouth, as he waded out into the lake.

The lake was so cold he shivered, the water touching his skin feeling like fire rather than cold water. He was rapidly losing feeling in his feet but kept on walking, ignoring the discomfort through the one urgent thought of Have to save Hermione echoing in his head.

The Gillyweed was slimy and rubbery, like octopus tentacles, and he fought to keep from gagging, his steps slowing slightly as he waited for something to happen.

He was vaguely aware of laughter and the sound of jeering coming from the stands but then all thought of the spectators vanished as he suddenly felt as if he were being suffocated, something holding his mouth and nose so he couldn’t breathe. There was a piercing pain on either side of his neck and for a panicked moment, he wondered if this was what it felt like to have his throat cut before his hands came up around his throat, to feel two slits just below his ears—and he knew. He had gills.

Just like the book Hermione had found said…

Feeling a surge of adrenaline, he flung himself forward into the water, taking a great gulp of water and feeling it pass smoothly through his gills, sending oxygen to his brain. His hands had turned green and become webbed, as had his feet, and he kicked out experimentally and marveled at how quickly his new flipper-like feet propelled him through the water. He was a fish, for all intents and purposes; Hermione had, as usual, been right that Gillyweed was just what he needed.

The thought of Hermione galvanized him, tearing his mind away from its passing distraction with the changes Gillyweed had wrought on his body, and he swam forward quickly, looking around for some sight of the mer-people or of Hermione herself.

The landscape under-water was very different; he swam past little schools of fish and some clumps of seaweed—and then, without warning, something grabbed hold of his ankle.

Harry jerked and twisted around to see a Grindylow poking out of the weeds, its long fingers clutched tightly around Harry’s leg, its fangs bared. Harry fumbled for his wand as two more Grindylows seized handfuls of Harry’s robes, tugging him down.

“Relashio!” Harry shouted—or tried to shout—and his wand shot out what looked to be a jet of boiling water that left red patches where it hit the Grindylows. He yanked his ankle out of the Grindylows’ grip and swam away as fast as he could, sending occasional jets of hot water from his wand. Occasionally he felt one of the Grindylows grab for his foot and he kicked out, hard, until he felt his foot connect with a horned skull.

Finally away from the Grindylows, Harry allowed himself to slow down a little, to listen for anything that might lead him to Hermione. He heard nothing, the silence of the water oppressive and he wondered how Hermione was, wherever she was. Where would the mer-people have taken her to? He could tell that he was deep into the lake already and there was still no sign of her. He wondered what they had done to her to allow her to stay underwater for so long, wondered if she were conscious. Was she scared, worried? His heart clenched at the thought of Hermione scared; he didn’t know how she felt about water, though he knew she didn’t like heights. He didn’t like to think of Hermione being frightened; it occurred to him that she was so brave most of the time, the idea of Hermione being timid or frightened seemed foreign to him and all the more upsetting for that reason.

“How are you getting on?”

Harry nearly had a heart attack at the question and spun around to see Moaning Myrtle floating hazily in front of him, watching him through her thick glasses.

“Myrtle!” Harry tried to shout but only managed to produce a very large bubble.

Myrtle giggled (an oddly grating sound under-water) and pointed in a direction he hadn’t gone yet. “You want to try over there!” she told him, “I won’t come with you… I don’t like them much, they always chase me when I get too close…”

Harry nodded and gave her a thumbs-up to thank her and set off swimming, keeping a careful watch for any other Grindylows that might be lurking.

He swam for what felt like a very long time, passing over vast expanses of black mud which swirled around him as he disturbed the water. Then finally, he heard the faint sound of the haunting mer-song.

“An hour long you’ll have to look,

And to recover what we took…”

Harry swam faster until he saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water with paintings of mer-people on it, carrying spears and chasing what looked like the giant squid. Harry swam past the rock, following the mer-song.

“…your time’s half-gone, so tarry not

Lest what you seek stays here to rot…”

Harry shuddered a little in spite of himself at the thought of that happening to Hermione and kicked his feet propelling himself forward faster. He was passing what must be the beginnings of the mer-people’s village, crude stone dwellings and here and there, faces.

These mer-people had grayish skins and long, wild, dark green hair, yellow eyes, broken teeth and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks.

Harry sped on past, paying little attention to the mer-people who were coming out to watch him, pointing at his webbed hands and gills and talking behind their hands to each other.

And then he saw it: a whole crowd of mer-people floating in front of houses around what looked like the mer-version of a village square. A choir of mer-people were singing in the middle and behind them rose a crude sort of statue of a giant mer-person hewn from a boulder. And he saw Hermione.

She was tied in between Cho Chang and an older man with dark hair and the same hooked nose as Krum which he guessed must be Viktor’s father. There was also a little girl, who looked no older than eight, with clouds of silvery hair that told Harry she must be Fleur Delacour’s little sister. All of them appeared to be sleeping deeply, their heads lolling onto their shoulders and fine streams of bubbles coming from their mouths.

He felt a moment’s relief that Hermione hadn’t been scared or waiting for him while he’d been swimming around looking for her.

He propelled himself toward the hostages, wondering if the mer-people were going to attack him but they did nothing. The ropes of weed tying the hostages to the statue were thick, slimy and very strong and Harry thought longingly of the knife Sirius had given him for Christmas—locked in his trunk and no use to him whatsoever.

He hurriedly looked around, seeing that many of the mer-people were carrying spears and swam towards a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs and tried to mime a request to borrow the spear. The merman laughed and shook his head.

“We do not help,” he said in a harsh voice.

“Come on!” Harry urged in frustration—or tried to urge as only bubbles came from his mouth—and tried to pull the spear away from the merman but the merman yanked it back, shaking his head and laughing.

Harry spun around, giving up and looking frantically around for something else, something sharp…

He dove and grabbed a jagged rock and returned to the statue, beginning to hack at the ropes binding Hermione, his hands slippery with his webbed fingers. But after a few minutes’ hard work, the robes broke apart and Hermione floated, unconscious, drifting a little in the water.

Harry glanced around, wondering where the other champions were and not seeing any sign of them. He glanced once at Hermione to make sure she was still unconscious before beginning to hack at the ropes around Cho when instantly, several strong grey hands seized him and pulled him away.

“You take your own hostage,” one of them instructed him. “Leave the others…”

“No way!” Harry refused—or tried to refuse.

“Your task is to retrieve your own friend… leave the others…”

“She’s my friend, too!” Harry protested, gesturing towards Cho (well, he knew her and he still rather liked her; he certainly didn’t want her to be harmed). “And I don’t want them to die, either!”

He tried to fight off the mermen but they were too strong and outnumbered him anyway. He looked around for the other champions, wondering where they were and wondering if he’d have time to take Hermione to the surface and then come back for the others…

Then the mer-people started pointing excitedly over his head and Harry looked up to see Cedric swimming towards them. There was an emormous bubble around his head, making his features look oddly wide and stretched.

“Get lost!” he mouthed. “Fleur and Krum’re coming now!”

Relieved, Harry watched as Cedric pulled out a knife from his pocket and cut Cho free, pulling her upwards and out of sight.

There was still no sign of Fleur and Krum, though, and Harry lingered.

The mer-people started screeching and Harry turned to see something- something monstrous- cutting through the water: a human body in swimming trunks with the head of a shark… And Harry realized it was Krum; he appeared to have Transfigured himself- badly.

The shark-man swam straight to the older man and began snapping and biting at his ropes but didn’t manage to achieve much of anything, thanks to the awkward position of the shark’s teeth and Harry was beginning to think Krum would only succeed in ripping his father into two. He darted forwards, hitting Krum in the shoulder and holding up the jagged stone, which Krum seized and began to cut his father free. That done, he grabbed his father around the waist and began to swim up towards the surface.

But there was still no sign of Fleur…

He glanced at the little girl and made a quick decision, snatching up the stone again but the mermen closed in around the statue, shaking their heads at him.

He pulled out his wand. “Get out of the way!”

The mermen stopped laughing at his order, staring at Harry’s wand with a touch of fear in their eyes.

“You’ve got until three!” Harry shouted, in bubbles, but he held up three fingers to make sure they understood and folding one finger down for each number as he counted. “One… two…”

The mer-people scattered and Harry sped forward, cutting at the ropes tying the little girl to the statue until she was free.

He grabbed the girl around the waist with one arm and held onto Hermione’s waist with his other and began swimming upwards.

It was hard going, without his webbed hands to propel himself forwards and Hermione and Fleur’s sister were dead-weights dragging him back down… He kicked desperately, trying to propel his way upwards.

The mer-people were rising with him and Harry wondered sickly if they would drag him back down when the hour was up.

His legs were aching, his shoulders hurting too and it was getting much harder to breathe. He became aware of the pain on his neck again and of the water in his mouth… He kicked hard with his flippers only to discover that they were only feet again, water flooding into his lungs. He was beginning to feel dizzy… but he could see the surface now—he had to reach it, needed to get there…

Harry kicked out with his legs with one last burst of desperate energy though every muscle in his legs protested—and then, finally, he felt his head break the surface of the lake. He could breathe! Wonderful, life-giving air was around him and he gulped it in, deciding he would never take oxygen for granted again, as he pulled Hermione and Fleur’s sister up with him. All around him, green-haired heads were emerging out of the water- but they were smiling at him now.

He could hear the crowd in the stands shouting and screaming and he wondered if they thought Hermione and the little girl were dead. They weren’t; both of them opened their eyes and he felt a swift surge of relief when Hermione spit out some water, blinking in the sunlight and then turned to him with a small smile. The little girl looked scared and confused.

“Harry, you did it! How did you—” Hermione began.

“Dobby found Gillyweed,” he explained briefly, panting, answering her question before she could finish it.

Hermione turned to see Fleur’s sister. “Oh Harry, why did you bring her too?”

“Fleur didn’t turn up. I couldn’t leave her,” Harry panted.

Hermione looked torn between amusement and sympathy. “Harry, you didn’t really believe that Dumbledore would let any of us drown, did you, no matter what the song said?”

“But--”

“That was only to make sure you got back inside the time limit.”

Harry suddenly felt very stupid and for a moment, wished he could dive back into the lake where he wouldn’t have to face everyone again, but then Hermione smiled at him with understanding and he felt better. So what if he had been a bit silly; Hermione wasn’t laughing at him and that was more important than what other people might say.

He managed a smile finally as he and Hermione pulled Fleur’s sister through the water, towards the bank where the judges waited.

He could see Madam Pomfrey fussing over Cedric and Cho, and Krum and Krum’s father (which was a somewhat amusing sight), all of whom were wrapped in thick blankets. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at Harry and Hermione as they swam nearer.

Ron, looking rather white, was waiting beside Dumbledore and Bagman but he didn’t wait and splashed out into the water to meet them.

“Harry, what took you so bloody long; I was beginning to worry. And Hermione, are you okay? What happened down there? How did you—where were you guys?” Ron’s questions spilled out of him, revealing the depths of his concern.

Harry was distracted by the sight of Madame Maxime trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who looked nearly hysterical, fighting to return to the water and half-crying, “Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she ‘urt?”

“She’s fine!” Harry tried to tell her but was too exhausted and his throat too sore from the amount of water he had swallowed and the shouting he had tried to do under-water that hardly a sound came out.

Hermione was the one who shouted, “She’s fine,” to reassure Fleur, who calmed down very slightly but still looked frantic.

Ron had, meanwhile, gotten in between Harry and Hermione, beginning to half-push, half-drag them to the bank with an arm around each of their shoulders (“Let go, Ron, I’m fine!” Hermione insisted, half-laughing); Dumbledore and Bagman pulled Harry upright; and Fleur managed to break free from Madame Maxime and was hugging her sister like she would never let her go again.

“It was ze Grindylows… zey attacked me… oh, Gabrielle, I thought… I thought…” she explained tearfully to her sister.

“Come here, you,” came Madam Pomfrey’s voice and she grabbed Harry and pulled him over to the others, wrapping him so tightly in a blanket he felt as though he were being half-smothered, and forced a measure of some very hot potion down his throat, causing steam to gush out his ears.

Hermione ignored Madam Pomfrey’s fussing (to say nothing of Ron’s) to fly at Harry, throwing her arms around him and then she did something she had never done before and kissed his cheek, as well. Harry suddenly felt a burst of warmth inside his chest and stomach and a blush color his cheeks (and he wondered if steam was coming out of his ears again). “Well done, Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, her grin wider than he could ever remember seeing it, as she drew back. “You did it; you really did it!”

Harry opened his mouth to say it was thanks to her and to Dobby but noticed that Krum was watching them closely with a distinctly displeased expression on his face, paying little heed to his father who was talking to him in rapid Bulgarian. He turned away, stepping slightly closer to Hermione and lowered his voice slightly. “It was thanks to you, really. You were the one that asked Dobby about Gillyweed and found out about it.”

Hermione shrugged it off, although a pleased flush colored her cheeks. “It was nothing, Harry; and you still had to find us and everything.” She paused and then asked, “How long did it take you to find us?”

And while he’d felt better about his foolishness before, now, surrounded by everyone else and out of the water, he was beginning to feel more and more stupid. Of course Dumbledore wouldn’t have allowed the death of a hostage just because their champion hadn’t turned up; he should have known better! He would have been first back… Cedric and Krum hadn’t wasted any time worrying about anyone else; they hadn’t taken the mer-song seriously… He could have been the first one back… Hermione would really have been excited and happy for him then…

He somehow found he didn’t want to admit he had been the first one to find them and had wasted so much time—but he couldn’t lie to her either. “I-erm- it took some time but I- I found you guys first,” he admitted, wondering if he looked as sheepish as he felt.

He was almost afraid of how Hermione would react but she didn’t laugh and, although she smiled, her smile was indulgent, understanding, not mocking. “Oh Harry…” she sighed.

He shrugged a little despite the weight of the blanket on his shoulders, trying to look like he didn’t mind too much and turned to watch Dumbledore, who was deep in conversation with the leader of the mer-people, both of them speaking in the screechy noises that the mer-people sounded like when they were above water. Harry blinked; apparently Dumbledore could speak Mermish—what else could Dumbledore do, he wondered idly.

Finally Dumbledore straightened up and turned to his fellow judges, saying, “A conference before we give the marks, I think.”

The judges went into a huddle as Madam Pomfrey fussed over Ron, who was, thanks to having dashed out to meet Harry and Hermione, nearly as wet as the champions and the hostages were. Harry saw Ron grimace a little as he drank the Pepper-Up potion.

Madam Pomfrey then turned to Fleur and her sister; Fleur refused to let Madam Pomfrey heal the cuts on her face and arms and insisted she fuss over Gabrielle instead.

“Look after Gabrielle,” she told Madam Pomfrey and turned away, going to Harry. “You saved ‘er,” she said breathlessly, “Even though she was not your ‘ostage.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, swallowing past the constriction of his throat at having Fleur speaking to him. And then Fleur took him completely by surprise as she bent and kissed Harry twice on each cheek, leaving him to stare, wide-eyed, his cheeks burning.

He noted that Ron’s mouth was twisted into an odd grimace while Hermione looked less-than-pleased and he moved closer to Hermione, trying to laugh a little and hoping his cheeks would cool down. “That was unexpected,” he tried to make light of it.

“I’m sure,” Hermione answered, her voice a little tight, but just then Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice boomed out, making them all jump as they turned to look at the judges.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Mer-cheiftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows…”

Harry let out a breath, hoping he didn’t look as apprehensive as he suddenly felt, and sensed Hermione shift just a little bit closer to him.

“Miss Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-head Charm, was attacked by Grindylows as she approached her goal and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”

There was applause from the stands and Harry heard Fleur say, “I deserved zero,” shaking her head.

“Mr. Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” The Hufflepuffs in the crowd erupted into enormous cheers and Cho gave Cedric a glowing smile. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

Harry felt his heart sink and his stomach clench a little. If Cedric hadn’t even made it within the time limit, then he must have been over the limit by at least half an hour…

“Mr. Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points.”

Harry noticed that Hermione smiled and was clapping politely while Karkaroff was clapping enthusiastically, looking smug. Krum’s father was beaming with pride as he clapped Viktor on the shoulder and applauded loudly.

“Mr. Harry Potter used Gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continued while Harry tried hard not to look as apprehensive and as silly as he felt. “He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Mer-chieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own.”

Ron shook his head slightly and gave Harry a half-exasperated, half-commiserating look, while Hermione sighed, “Oh, Harry…”

“Most of the judges--” Bagman paused to throw Karkaroff a glare--, “feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However… Mr. Potter’s score is forty-five points.”

Harry stared, feeling his heart leap and begin to clatter around in his chest. He was tied for first place with Cedric! Tied!

Ron laughed as he started applauding hard. “There you go, Harry!” he shouted. “You weren’t being thick after all—you were showing moral fiber!”

Hermione was beaming and clapping enthusiastically and Harry felt a grin split his face nearly in two as he returned her smile, warmth blossoming in his chest at the pride and approval in Hermione’s eyes.

Fleur was also clapping hard and smiling at Harry—her smile making her look so stunning, despite the cuts on her face and her torn robes, that for a fleeting moment, Harry was momentarily floored—but then his gaze returned to Hermione’s face and he forgot all about Fleur.

Krum had moved closer to them and pulled Hermione a little apart, ostensibly to introduce Hermione to his father, Harry noted, his grin faltering just the slightest bit as Hermione turned to Viktor and his father.

Ron took advantage of all the noise to address Harry quietly, sure of not being over-heard. “They took Hermione; she’s the ‘something precious’ to you…” he began.

Harry felt himself color, swallowing and hoping desperately that Ron wasn’t angry or upset. “I guess,” was his lame response, for lack of anything better to say.

“D’you fancy her, then?” Ron asked, with the air of one asking a disagreeable question he didn’t really want to know the answer to.

Harry’s gaze went to Hermione, who was smiling politely at Krum’s father, nodding as he spoke to her in what appeared to be rather halting English. At that moment, she glanced over at Harry and met his eyes, giving him a fleeting smile, before she turned back to Viktor and his father.

Harry turned back to Ron. “I-erm- I’m not sure,” he admitted lamely—and with something less than complete honesty. He wasn’t completely sure—but he strongly suspected he did, or was beginning to, fancy Hermione for real… Something about her just- just affected him, now—made his heart flutter, distracted him, made him think about her more… Made him think about kissing her, which he never had before about any other girl, including Cho…

Ron nodded, once, looking as if he were trying to come to terms with Harry’s less-than-decisive answer. “OK, then,” was all he said.

“Would- would you mind if- if I did?” Harry blurted out before he could think better of it and then wishing he could call the words back once they left his mouth.

Ron hesitated, glanced at Hermione and then back at Harry, before saying slowly, “I-er- I guess not. I mean, if she likes you and all…”

If…

Harry’s stomach twisted a little at Ron’s last words. “I don’t—she might not—I’m not-” he stammered incoherently.

The ghost of a smile crossed Ron’s face at Harry’s sudden inability to form a complete sentence. “OK, then,” he said again.

They were distracted by Bagman’s next announcement that cut through the continuing noise from the crowd. “The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified of what is coming, precisely one month beforehand. Thank you for all your support of the champions.”

Before Harry could do more than feel a quick surge of relief that he was free for the next four months, Hermione was back by his side, smiling at him, as Madam Pomfrey began to herd all the champions and the hostages back to the castle to change into warm, dry clothes.

Harry glanced back at Viktor Krum and his father, noting that Viktor’s expression was still rather disgruntled, with a renegade spurt of gladness which he was promptly ashamed of. He had nothing against Krum as a person, he told himself; he just didn’t like Krum’s continuing attention to Hermione. As if Viktor Krum really knew anything about Hermione…

And then he shocked himself by thinking, Hermione was his.

Wait. What? His? Where had that come from? She wasn’t…

She was his best friend, the person he trusted the most and cared about most in the world, along with Ron… She was…

He stopped, as he suddenly remembered what Dobby had said earlier, the thing Harry Potter will miss most.

Hermione was- the thing, the person, he would miss most… Someone precious…

He glanced at Hermione, walking beside him and telling Ron her very simple side of the story of what had happened after she had gone to McGonagall’s office that night.

She was… precious…

And Harry knew.

He did fancy Hermione. Cared about her. A lot.

But how did she feel about him? Did she—could she—fancy him too, care about him as more than just her best friend? He didn’t know.

And what was he going to do about it?

~The End~

(Sort of but not really…)

Note 1: In GoF when Percy is the one to splash out and meet Ron, pale with worry, I liked Percy for that and so I was willing to make allowances for him in OotP. After HBP, I'm not and Percy's joined Ginny in the list of Weasleys I dislike ('tho Ginny has the dubious honor of being #1 on the Weasleys I hate list) and so I was very glad to have this chance to negate the one thing that had made me think Percy wasn't so bad. So Percy can be the unmitigated jackass and Ron can be, well, better. :-)

Note 2: Before you all decide to hunt me down, wanting to kill me for ending this here, yes, there's a sequel to this one too, which will be posted in a few days as the next chapter of this fic.

Disclaimer: See Part 1

Author’s Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing! Now, what you’ve all been waiting for- the part where Harry and Hermione finally kiss. :-D

Rewriting one of my favorite parts of GoF to make it better. ;-) (And you should read this in conjunction with the original chapter in GoF because I absolutely refuse to spend time retyping Snape being his usual cruel bastard of a so-called teacher and skimmed over it in my version.)

Thanks to Rita Skeeter

The first days after the second task weren’t quite as nice and worry-free as Harry had been rather hoping. Ron was rather irritable because Harry’s status as champion had been, almost completely, accepted by Hogwarts (except, of course, by the Slytherins) and after the success of the second task, Harry’s fame had only been enhanced. Harry himself was conscious of being frustrated at being in the limelight again; it seemed he couldn’t go anywhere without seeing groups of students clustered together watching him and then whispering amongst themselves or more directly, asking him what it was like under the lake and asking him to tell them his story. By the fifth request to tell his story, Harry was (almost) wishing he could have stayed under-water for another week.

And, as if that weren’t enough, Hermione too wasn’t in the best of moods as she had had to endure a lot of teasing about being the thing Harry would miss most.

The only comfort and somewhat encouraging thing about the situation was the fact that, whenever anyone brought it up, Hermione always glanced at Harry and blushed scarlet, though she refused to comment. And he couldn’t help but wonder—if she didn’t fancy him a little, surely she would say more, be insisting that she and Harry were only friends—or something…

He was distracted from any thoughts of romance when the brown owl he had sent to Sirius with the dates of the Hogsmeade weekend returned at breakfast on Friday morning with half its feathers sticking up the wrong way, after having fought its way through the bitter March winds. Harry had barely taken off Sirius’ reply than the owl flew off, obviously afraid it was going to be sent outside again.

Sirius’ letter was very brief and to the point.

Be at stile at end of road out of Hogsmeade (past Dervish & Banges) at two o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Bring as much food as you can.

For one blank moment, Harry stared at the note, unwilling and unable to believe what it meant and desperately hoping he might have misread it. He hadn’t.

“He hasn’t come back to Hogsmeade?” Ron asked incredulously.

“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked, meeting Harry’s eyes with a worried look and he knew she was thinking the same thing he was.

“I can’t believe him,” Harry bit out tensely. “If he’s caught…” He trailed off with a brief shudder and Hermione put her hand on his arm for a fleeting moment, as if to tell him that Sirius would be fine.

“Made it so far, though, hasn’t he?” Ron asked, clearly not as troubled by the news of Sirius’ return as Harry and Hermione were. “And it’s not like the place is swarming with Dementors anymore.”

Ron’s valid point did little to make Harry feel any better but he had to admit that he really did want to see Sirius again. And of course, he reasoned, Sirius wasn’t stupid; he would be careful not to let anyone see him.

So it was with more cheerfulness than Harry had felt for a while that he went down towards the dungeons for double Potions later that afternoon.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were standing huddled outside the classroom door, along with Pansy Parkinson’s group of Slytherin girls, all of them sniggering and giggling maliciously over something Harry couldn’t see.

Pansy’s pug-like face spotted the three of them around Goyle’s back. “There they are, there they are!” she giggled and the knot of Slytherins broke apart, grinning with spiteful satisfaction.

Harry felt a flicker of unease and apprehension—what now?

It was a magazine, Witch Weekly, Harry saw, the moving picture on the front showing a curly-haired witch smiling broadly and pointing at a large sponge cake with her wand.

“You might find something to interest you there, Granger!” Pansy said loudly and threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking surprised.

At that moment, the door opened and Snape beckoned them inside, although his expression remained about as welcoming as a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Harry, Ron and Hermione headed for a table at the back of the dungeon as usual and once Snape had turned his back to write-up the ingredients of today’s potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily flipped through the magazine until she found what they were looking for.

A color photograph of Harry was printed alongside a short piece entitled, Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache.

Harry grimaced, the flicker of apprehension growing to become a fist squeezing his stomach, at the sight of the byline. Rita Skeeter had written the article.

A boy like no other, perhaps—yet a boy suffering all the usual pangs of adolescence. Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. Little did he know that he would shortly be suffering yet another emotional blow in a life already littered with personal loss.

Harry felt his cheeks burn with a hot blush as he read the words, “his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger.” And all he could think was, I wish…

Miss Granger, a plain but ambitious girl, seems to have a taste for famous wizards that Harry alone cannot satisfy. Since the arrival at Hogwarts of Viktor Krum, Bulgaria Seeker and hero of the last World Quidditch Cup, Miss Granger has been toying with both boys’ affections. Krum, who is quite smitten with the devious Miss Granger, [devious? Harry scowled, mentally consigning Rita Skeeter to perdition] asked Miss Granger to attend the Yule Ball with him (she decided to go with Harry Potter instead in what may have been a ploy to disguise her other interest in Krum, who was seen kissing Miss Granger’s hand at the Yule Ball after dancing with her) and has asked Miss Granger to spend the next day in Hogsmeade with him. He insists that he has “never felt this way about any other girl.”

[He- what?! Harry glanced quickly at Hermione. Krum had told her that?! When? Krum didn’t even know Hermione—how could he…]

However, it might not be Miss Granger’s doubtful natural charms which have captured these unfortunate boys’ interest.

“She’s really ugly,” says Pansy Parkinson, a pretty and vivacious fourth-year student, “but she’d be well up to making a Love Potion; she’s quite brainy. I think that’s how she’s doing it.”

[Harry choked back a disbelieving laugh. Hermione ugly?! Pansy Parkinson pretty?! Maybe from a bull-dog’s point of view, since Pansy so resembled one, he thought sardonically. Doubtful natural charms, ha! As if someone like Pansy or Rita Skeeter could ever appreciate the depth of friendship and loyalty and kindness that was Hermione’s real charm…]

Love Potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. In the meantime, Harry Potter’s well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate.

Albus Dumbledore, Harry thought, was smarter than to believe a word of Rita Skeeter’s garbage and certainly smart enough to know that Hermione was incapable of the sort of behavior Rita Skeeter described. As for a worthier candidate—Harry bit back a snort. There was no such thing, he was quite sure of it.

“I told you!” Ron hissed at Hermione, carefully avoiding looking at Harry. “I told you not to annoy Rita Skeeter! She’s made you out to be some sort of- of scarlet woman!”

Hermione, who had been looking stunned, stopped and started laughing.

“Scarlet woman?” she repeated, shaking with suppressed giggles as she looked at Ron with raised eyebrows.

“It’s what my mum calls them,” Ron muttered, his ears going red.

“If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,” Hermione said dismissively, throwing Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. “What a pile of old rubbish.”

She smiled briefly at Harry before looking over at the Slytherins, who had all been watching them avidly to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione threw them a sarcastic smile and wave and then turned back to start unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion.

“There’s something funny, though,” Hermione commented a few minutes later, stopping her pestle in mid-air over her bowl of scarab beetles. “How could Rita Skeeter have known…?”

“Known what?” Ron inserted quickly. “You haven’t been mixing up Love Potions, have you?”

An annoyed expression crossed Hermione’s face as she opened her mouth to respond but Harry beat her to it.

“Don’t be silly,” Harry spoke up. “Hermione wouldn’t.” She doesn’t have to, he added mentally. To say nothing of the fact that Hermione was the last person to brew something like a Love Potion against Hogwarts rules.

Hermione gave Harry a quick, grateful look, before continuing, “No, it’s just… how did she know Viktor asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him?”

Hermione blushed as she said this and carefully avoided Harry’s eyes that were now riveted on Hermione to the detriment of the beetles he was supposed to be crushing.

“What?” Harry asked in a whisper that tried to sound nonchalant but failed rather miserably.

“He asked me after he introduced me to his father,” Hermione muttered. “After they’d announced the scores and I’d talked a little bit with his father, he sort of pulled me away so no one else could hear and said, if I wasn’t already going with anyone, would I want to--”

“And what did you say?” Harry interrupted, unable to help himself, absently beginning to grind his pestle on the desk instead of inside the bowl like he was supposed to.

“And he did say he’d never felt the same way about anyone else,” Hermione continued quickly, blushing even redder than before and still carefully avoiding Harry’s gaze and continuing to study her crushed scarab beetles as if they were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. “But how could Rita Skeeter have heard him? She wasn’t there… or was she? Maybe she has got an Invisibility Cloak, maybe she sneaked into the grounds to watch the second task…”

“What did you say?” Ron asked this time, before Harry could, and Harry threw Ron a grateful look.

“Oh, I was too distracted making sure Harry was OK and told him I’d tell him later--”

“Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is, Miss Granger,” said an icy voice they all knew far too well, from behind them, “I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor.”

Snape proceeded to make the rest of the class as hellish as he could for the three of them, effectively taking Harry’s mind off of what Hermione had said, as he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the laughter of the Slytherins at Snape’s oily voice reading the article aloud with ample pauses to allow for sniggering and his characteristic sarcastic comments.

And as separating the three of them wasn’t nearly enough cruelty, Snape continued his torment on Harry alone for the next few minutes while Harry tried to practice selective hearing.

He suppressed a shudder at Snape’s threatening him with Veritaserum. For himself, he didn’t care much; he doubted any secret he told could make Snape hate him more, given how much Snape already hated him. But it would get Dobby in trouble for having stolen the Gillyweed, and Hermione for the boomslang skin in 2^nd year… And everyone would find out how he felt about Hermione… He felt his stomach twist oddly at the thought.

He left the dungeons with more relief than he had ever felt in his life, mentally cursing both Karkaroff and Snape—Karkaroff for coming in so suspiciously and thereby ensuring that Harry would want to linger a little and Snape for being, well, Snape.

He, Ron and Hermione spent the rest of the evening discussing Karkaroff and Snape’s little conversation which Harry had overheard, connecting it to what he and Hermione had heard the night of the Yule Ball, and speculating what was the “it” that was scaring Karkaroff so much.

It wasn’t until later when Ron was luckily distracted by one of Fred and George’s experiments that he managed to get Hermione alone.

“Can I talk to you alone for a minute?” Harry asked in a whisper, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. He felt like he might burst if he had to go another hour without talking to Hermione and finding out what she had meant earlier, whether she’d be going to Hogsmeade the next day with Krum or not.

Hermione had managed to push the Rita Skeeter article to the back of her mind while she puzzled over Karkaroff and Snape but it came rushing back at the sight of Harry’s face and the uncertainty she could see clearly in his eyes. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could avoid Harry, suddenly nervous of how to face him after such an article. Surely he hadn’t taken the Skeeter article seriously… Surely he didn’t think anything of Skeeter’s accusations that she had used him at the Yule Ball… He wouldn’t- he couldn’t…

Of course he didn’t, her rational mind asserted briskly. Harry wouldn’t think such things and he knew better than to believe a word Rita Skeeter wrote.

But what about the small grain of truth, another part of her mind asked slyly, and Hermione faltered. Because it was true that, in some small, secret part of her, unacknowledged and certainly unintentionally, she had hoped that Harry’s knowing that Krum fancied her would help him to see her in another light, as a real girl… And Harry had been so- sweet- at the Yule Ball and afterwards… And then the second task… She had really begun to hope that Harry might care about her as more than just a friend…

She managed a smile that she hoped looked normal as she answered, “Sure, Harry.”

She followed Harry out of the Common Room and out into the corridor where he turned a corner so as to be out of sight from even the Fat Lady’s portrait, before he turned to face her.

He looked- uncertain, vulnerable, Hermione saw with a pang of sympathy.

“I hope you don’t believe anything that Rita Skeeter wrote,” she blurted out. “It’s not true.”

Harry blinked. “Of course I know it’s not true!” he assured her quickly. “I know you better than that, even if I didn’t already know that Rita Skeeter writes lies.”

Hermione smiled, seeming relieved. “Oh, good, then.”

“What did you tell Krum about Hogsmeade? Are you going with him?” Harry asked quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

“What? Of course not! I want to hear what Sirius has to tell you as much as you do.”

“Oh, right,” Harry muttered, his heart dropping a little and irrationally, simultaneously wishing that Sirius hadn’t insisted on meeting them tomorrow and feeling immensely grateful that Sirius had. “Is- is it only because of Sirius?” he heard himself say and then mentally cringed at the question and at the tinge of wistfulness in his tone.

Hermione flushed a little. “No, I- I told Viktor I couldn’t go to Hogsmeade with him even before we got Sirius’ note.”

“So you- you don’t fancy Krum?” Harry asked, looking anywhere but at Hermione as he blurted out the revealing question, feeling his cheeks burn and his heart clattering in his chest.

“No, I don’t.” Her answer was so soft he could hardly hear it but it was enough to send a jolt of hope through his body.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, and finally dared to look at Hermione, the look in her eyes making his heart beat even faster. “I- you see- er- the thing is,” he began awkwardly, “though I know that Skeeter article is trash, I- er- there’s one thing she kinda- um- got right.” He paused and then continued, stammering, “I- erm- I like you and, well, I- uh- wouldn’t mind if you really were my girlfriend.” He finished in a rush, the last eight words running together until they were just barely intelligible.

There was a beat of silence during which Harry stared at his feet and tried to squash his sudden, cowardly urge to turn tail and run.

And then she spoke. “Oh, Harry,” was all she said but there was something in her tone that made him look up at her just in time to glimpse her bright smile before she threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek, again, just as she had after the second task.

And again Harry felt the same flare of warmth in his chest and stomach as he closed his arms around her automatically—but this time, the hug lingered and he allowed himself to enjoy the warmth of her against him, the feeling of her in his arms…

She drew back, blushing, but Harry, on an impulse he couldn’t control, bent his head and did what he’d wanted to do for what felt like months now: he kissed her, his lips brushing against hers in a fleeting touch.

For one moment, they both stared at each other, eyes wide, before her eyes fluttered closed and he bent his head once more, kissing her again, a little more confidently this time.

The kiss was soft, innocent—and over all too soon as they broke apart on hearing footsteps followed by Ron’s voice calling, “Harry? Hermione? Where are you guys?” A moment later, Ron turned the corner and saw them, stopping short as he paused to study their tell-tale flushed cheeks and their positions, standing so close to each other.

For a few seconds, conflicting expressions ranging from shock to dismay to resignation flickered across his face until he finally said, with an attempt at his normal tone, “Come on; you two don’t want to miss this; Fred and George have come up with a spell and a candy that makes a person’s hair change color every minute.”

“We’ll be right there,” Hermione answered, regaining her composure quicker than Harry.

Ron glanced between them one last time before turning to return to the Common Room, as Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.

“I- er- I guess we should go,” Harry finally found his voice to say.

She smiled at him, a warm smile that made her eyes shine and her expression soften with an emotion he didn’t think he’d ever seen before but which made his heart lift. “We should,” she said softly.

Neither of them said anything more as they walked back to the Common Room but at the last second, just before they stepped inside, Hermione slipped her hand into Harry’s in a brief, surreptitious caress.

They stepped inside to the sound of laughter and the sight of Fred and George, wearing mischievously triumphant grins, while Fred’s hair was a shockingly bright pink and George’s an equally shocking bright blue. Moments later, as both struck dramatic poses, Fred’s hair turned a bright yellow while George’s became silver.

Harry and Hermione laughed with the others as they sat down beside Ron, easily falling in with the calls of encouragement to Fred and George and commentary on the colors.

But every once in a while, Harry felt Hermione’s hand or arm brush against his a little too lingeringly to be accidental and their eyes would meet as they shared a quick, secret smile—and for just one fleeting second, all the noise in the Common Room and every other person in it, faded away.

And Harry thought to himself with a small, secret grin, that at least one good thing had happened because of Rita Skeeter and her mendacious quill.

To be continued with 2 Epilogues and then this fic will be done…

Disclaimer: See Part 1

Author’s Note: Another of my favorite parts of GoF that I simply had to include/change-- and also because it's necessary in order to introduce the 'Madness of Mr. Crouch' and part of my point in writing this entire fic has been to show that, for all that GoF is so tightly plotted, it would still have been possible to make GoF H/Hr and keep the plot the same with no major changes. So there's been a little revision and then I inserted a sort-of missing scene after the very eventful night.

And to answer all of you who’ve asked whether or not I will be rewriting OotP and HBP, the answer is most definitely not. I’m sorry but I have neither the time nor the inclination to rewrite the rest of canon!

His Precious Friend

Epilogue 1

Lucky

Harry looked around at what had used to be the Quidditch field and was now the maze for the Third Task, thinking about the kinds of creatures Hagrid was likely to provide and mentally grimaced. He’d be lucky if Hagrid didn’t decide to put a manticore in it since, knowing Hagrid, a manticore probably counted as a cute and friendly magical creature.

“Very well… if you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly…” Bagman finished up and then hurried to Harry’s side as they all turned to make their way out of the maze. Harry suspected that Bagman was going to start offering to help again and was mentally preparing what he could say without offending him when Krum tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“Could I haff a vord?”

“Yeah, all right,” Harry responded, slightly stiffly. He had stopped feeling jealous of Krum since he knew perfectly well now that he had nothing to be jealous of. He even felt a measure of sympathy for him; he, of all people, understood what it was like to fancy Hermione and Harry could imagine that, if things had been only a little different, it could have been Krum to be the one with Hermione now. (Harry ignored the slightly sick feeling in his stomach at that thought.)

“Vill you valk with me?”

“OK,” Harry answered, cautiously.

Bagman frowned a little. “I’ll wait for you, Harry, shall I?”

“No, it’s OK, Mr. Bagman. I think I can find the castle on my own, thanks,” Harry answered, feeling rather grateful to Krum for providing a way of avoiding Bagman’s unwanted offers of help.

Harry and Krum left the Quidditch pitch and Krum set out towards the Forest, to Harry’s surprise.

“What’re we going this way for?” Harry asked, as they passed Hagrid’s cabin and the Beauxbatons carriage.

“Don’t vant to be overheard,” Krum answered briefly.

Krum finally stopped in the shade of the trees at the edge of the Forest and turned to Harry and Harry noticed that Krum looked rather embarrassed and very definitely uncomfortable.

Krum shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at the ground, before he looked at Harry. “I did not know that you and Hermy-own-ninny vere together.”

Harry blinked in surprise. What was Krum getting at?

Krum took a breath and went on. “If I had known, I vould not haff asked Hermy-own-ninny to go to Hogsmeade or told her how I felt.” He paused while Harry tried to figure out why Krum had found it necessary to tell him this.

And then Krum finally said, gruffly, “I am sorry.”

Oddly enough, those three words which were the last words Harry had expected Krum to say broke through Harry’s confused stupor. “No, it’s alright,” he blurted out. “At the time, we were only best friends.” He paused, blushing a little as he confessed, “Nothing happened between us until days after the Second Task.”

Krum nodded, hesitated and then looked Harry squarely in the face as he said in a gruff voice, “You are very lucky. Hermy-own-ninny is very nice.”

Harry’s expression softened unconsciously as he smiled slightly, feeling the now-familiar warmth in his chest at the thought of Hermione. “Yeah, I know.”

Now, with completely friendly feelings towards Krum, Harry grinned a little and returned the compliment. “I saw you at the Quidditch World Cup. The Wronski Feint, you really were amazing.”

Krum shrugged a little, dismissively and then added, “You fly very well. I vos votching at the first task.”

Harry grinned broadly at Krum, deciding that Krum was really a very decent fellow. “Thanks. I--” he began but then something moved behind Krum in the trees and Harry automatically tensed and grabbed Krum’s arm and pulled him around.

“Vot is it?”

Harry shook his head, keeping his eyes trained on the spot where he’d seen movement, as he slipped his hand inside his robes to get his wand.

There was a brief rustle and then a man staggered out from behind a tall oak tree, looking so gray and exhausted that it took Harry a moment before he recognized the man, with a flare of shock. It was Mr. Crouch.

But Mr. Crouch looked almost nothing like what he had looked like before. His robes were ripped and bloody at the knees, his face scratched and his hair and moustache looked as if he hadn’t washed or trimmed them in weeks. More than that, though, was his behavior. He was muttering and gesticulating, while talking earnestly to someone who wasn’t there.

“Vosn’t he a judge?” Krum asked. “Isn’t he vith your Ministry?”

Harry nodded, for a moment struck dumb with surprise and confusion, before he made up his mind and approached Mr. Crouch cautiously. Mr. Crouch didn’t look at him and only walked over to a nearby tree and began speaking. “… and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the Tournament. Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve.”

“Mr. Crouch?” Harry began tentatively.

“… and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she’s bringing, now Karkaroff’s made it a round dozen…. Do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will…” Mr. Crouch’s eyes bulged out as his voice increased in intensity as Harry thought for a fleeting moment of Percy and his eagerness in carrying out Mr. Crouch’s slightest wish. Mr. Crouch stood staring at the tree, muttering to it and then he staggered sideways and fell on his knees.

“Mr. Crouch? Are you all right?” Harry asked, louder this time.

Mr. Crouch’s eyes were rolling in his head. Krum looked down at him in alarm.

“Vot is wrong with him?”

“No idea,” Harry muttered and glanced up at Krum as he said hurriedly, “Listen, you’d better go and get someone-”

“Dumbledore!” gasped Mr. Crouch. He reached out and grabbed onto the hem of Harry’s robes, tugging him closer, though his eyes were fixed on a spot above Harry’s head. “I need… see… Dumbledore…” His voice was an odd combination of intensity and sheer physical weakness.

“OK,” Harry began, addressing Mr. Crouch as if he were younger than Harry. “if you get up, Mr. Crouch, we can go up to the-”

Mr. Crouch interrupted Harry with his labored words about needing to tell Dumbledore... something…

He was quite beyond rational conversation so Harry finally gave up and took off for the castle at a run, leaving Krum with Mr. Crouch, since he knew the castle better. It was shaping up to be a very eventful evening and he couldn’t help thinking that he would have a lot to tell Hermione when he saw her later…

It was much later when Harry finally got back to the Common Room to find it nearly empty but Ron and Hermione were sitting in the corner, waiting for him.

“Harry, where have you been?” Hermione leaped up when she saw him.

He managed a slight smile for her as he fell into the couch across from the chair Ron was sitting in, and Hermione sat down beside him, slipping her hand into his, as had become her habit when she sat next to him, their joined hands covered by their robes.

Quietly, Harry told them everything that had happened from seeing Mr. Crouch, to what he’d seen in the Pensieve in Dumbledore’s office to the disappearance of Mr. Crouch and the stunning of Krum.

Hermione frowned when she heard that Krum had been stunned. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Dumbledore sent him to the hospital wing just in case but he should be fine.”

They sat debating the possibilities and the meaning of all that Harry had seen until long after everyone else had gone to bed, until finally Ron let out an enormous yawn, mid-sentence.

“All right, well, we’re getting nowhere talking about this. I’m going to go to bed,” Ron announced. “Harry, you coming?”

“Just a minute. You go up first. I-er- have to tell Hermione something.”

Ron rolled his eyes slightly. “Right, I’m sure talking is all you have in mind,” he cracked sarcastically.

“Good night, Ron,” Hermione inserted firmly, despite the heated blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Ron said with a last wink at Harry before he vanished up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

Hermione settled back on the couch, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. “You must be tired,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, a little,” Harry admitted, turning his head to look at her. “I should tell you what Krum and I were talking about before we saw Mr. Crouch.”

“You don’t have to, if it’s between you and Viktor, Harry.”

“No. It’s- we were talking about you,” Harry blurted out.

Hermione colored a little, sitting up and looking at Harry in surprise. “About me? What did Viktor say?”

Harry shrugged one shoulder. “He wanted to apologize for asking you to go to Hogsmeade even though we were already together. I told him he shouldn’t worry about it and it was all right.”

“We weren’t together when he asked me,” Hermione said softly.

“I know. That’s what I told him,” Harry smiled slightly at her. “And then he told me I was lucky.”

Hermione blushed. “Because- because of me?”

“No, because of my Firebolt,” Harry teased. “Of course because of you.” He sobered. “I said I knew that too. I am, you know.”

“Oh Harry…”

By now he knew the softness of her tone, the warmth in her voice when she said his name like that, and knew enough to expect her quick, soft kiss.

He tightened his arm around her as she nestled against him once again after the kiss, and reflected that this was the best part about being with Hermione. These brief, quiet moments when they weren’t talking or doing anything special, just sitting together. And he thought, he really was lucky, the luckiest boy ever…

To be continued with one last Epilogue.

Disclaimer: See Part 1.

Author’s Note: And now, finally, the second and last Epilogue to this fic that started out as a drabble and grew to become so much more. Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing; I only hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!

Fluff with substance—and sort of rewriting the end of HBP and inserting it into GoF the way it should have been. ;-)

(Incidentally, rereading the end of GoF, I suddenly wondered-- where on earth is Ginny in all this? She is basically not mentioned at all at the end of GoF- not that I mind and not that I ever noticed before- which, given everything that's happened to Harry and what happens in HBP, is somewhat remarkable. Isn't it funny that Ginny's crush on Harry and her caring about him so much (or so she says) doesn't extend to wanting to be with Harry when he's just had the worst night of his life to date? Yup, Harry's ideal woman, alright- she blithely disappears to God-only-knows-where when Harry's nearly been killed and only appears again having magically grown a spine in the next book-- and then, again, in HBP when Harry's really had the worst night of his life, she lets him break up with her with hardly a word in protest. Really, just when I think I couldn't possibly hate Ginny more, she keeps proving me wrong...) Well, I say, Pffftt to that and the whole idea of H/G.

For my dear Amethyst_J, without whom this fic would never have been written in the first place. *hugs*

His Precious Friend

Epilogue 2

Together

Harry had never been so exhausted in his life and he had to force his legs to function properly as he stood up and left Dumbledore’s office, accompanied by Dumbledore and Sirius in his dog form, to go down to the Hospital Wing.

His mind was blessedly numb after the draining experience of having to tell Dumbledore and Sirius everything that had happened tonight in the graveyard and he concentrated on simply putting one foot in front of the other.

Dumbledore pushed open the door to the hospital wing and Harry saw Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione standing around a harassed-looking Madam Pomfrey. Hermione was so pale she looked almost deathly white and had tears streaking her cheeks.

They all whirled around as Harry, Dumbledore and the black dog entered and Mrs. Weasley let out a little shriek. “Harry! Oh Harry!”

She started to move towards him and Dumbledore stepped forward, looking about to intervene, but before he could, Harry heard another cry, “Oh Harry!” and the next thing he knew, Hermione had thrown herself at him, burying her face in his shoulder and he could feel her trembling and hear her anxious words that were almost a whimper, muffled now by his robes. “Oh Harry, are you all right? I was so worried, so scared; I thought—I thought—oh Harry, I’m so glad to see you…”

He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo and her lotion, as he closed his eyes, finally feeling a little hard knot of tension in his chest loosen and dissipate. He was back, with Hermione—and with Ron and Sirius—and for the first time he thought he might be okay.

Dumbledore finally spoke up and Harry opened his eyes to look up at him, seeing the gentleness in the blue eyes as they rested on Harry and Hermione. Harry didn’t let go of Hermione, and neither did she, and for a fleeting moment, Harry thought he would gladly never let go Hermione again. “Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer and certainly not this evening.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded silently, her face very white. She rounded on Ron and Bill as if they had made a sound and said in an intense whisper, “Did you hear? He needs quiet!”

At any other time, Harry might have been amused at that but not then. He was beginning to wonder if he would feel amused at anything ever again.

Hermione finally released him, her face flushed pink with some embarrassment and with emotion. She looked at him and he could see all the worry and the caring in her eyes, knew that she was holding back all her questions of how she could help, what she could do.

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to do anything, just had to be there, with him, but he was too tired and his brain couldn’t formulate the words so he settled for meeting her eyes and knew she understood.

“Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey finally spoke up, staring at the large black dog that was Sirius, “May I ask what--?”

“This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while,” Dumbledore answered simply. “I assure you, he is extremely well-trained. Harry- I will wait while you get into bed.”

Harry nodded, extremely thankful that Dumbledore had asked them not to ask him any questions.

“I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry. I would like you to remain here tomorrow, until I have spoken to the school.”

Harry hadn’t had any intention of leaving the hospital wing, was dreading having to go out and face the school again, so he had no objections to that.

Dumbledore left after a last, serious look at Harry and a fleeting one at Hermione.

Madam Pomfrey led Harry to a nearby bed and Harry saw the real Moody lying motionless in a bed at the far end of the room, his wooden leg and magical eye lying on the bedside table.

“Is he OK?” Harry managed to ask, his voice a little hoarse.

“He’ll be fine,” Madam Pomfrey reassured him, giving Harry some pyjamas and pulling screens around him. Harry changed into the pyjamas and got into bed, very slowly, as every motion seemed to require extra effort.

Hermione was the first one to come around the screen, followed immediately by Padfoot, Ron, Bill and Mrs. Weasley.

Ron was looking at him almost cautiously, as if he were scared of Harry. Hermione had wiped away her tears, he saw, but was still pale, as she sat down in a chair next to the bed and reached for his hand, holding it gently.

“I’m all right,” he managed to tell them, wanting to reassure them. “Just tired.”

Mrs. Weasley’s eyes filled with tears as she smoothed his bedcovers unnecessarily.

Madam Pomfrey came bustling back, holding a goblet and a small bottle of some purple potion. “You’ll need to drink all of this, Harry. It’s a potion for dreamless sleep.”

Harry took the goblet and drank a few mouthfuls, feeling himself becoming sleepy at once.

His body felt suddenly heavy, sinking deeper into the feather mattress, as his eyelids drooped. The last thing he focused on was Hermione’s worried face, bending over him, and he tried to tighten his grip on her hand, tried to ask her not to leave, but his tongue was thick in his mouth and he couldn’t seem to force his lips to move. He was only vaguely aware of his fingers twitching a little in hers and, as if she had read his mind, he heard as if from far away, her voice saying, “I’ll stay right here, Harry.”

His mind just managed to form the vague thought, that was… good… And then he gave in to his exhaustion and the sleeping potion and fell asleep.

~~~

The days afterwards passed in a blur and, looking back, Harry found he had very few memories from them. It was as though he had been through too much, his mind too drained, to take in any more. What he did remember was mostly all painful. The meeting with the Diggorys that happened the next morning was the worst, with Mr. Diggory, who looked as if he had aged decades in one night, in tears through most of it and Mrs. Diggory speaking, haltingly, through her own tears.

The only memory from those days that wasn’t all unpleasant, the only remotely bright spot in his life then, he thought, was Hermione.

Hermione, who had hardly left his side since the moment she hugged him in the hospital wing. Hermione, who didn’t say very much but kept looking at him, watching him, with concern and worry in her eyes. Hermione, who always knew when to put an end to Ron’s somewhat cautious questions, even though he knew she was bursting with questions herself and simply refused to ask them, because she knew he didn’t want to talk about it. Hermione, who was the only person he told, in a low, halting voice, about how Voldemort had ordered, “Kill the spare” and about Cedric’s last request to take his body back to his parents.

He told both Ron and Hermione everything else, in fits and starts, from the moment he and Cedric had both touched the Cup, told them both about seeing his parents come out of Voldemort’s wand (carefully looking at the ground and speaking in a wooden voice as he did so). But he did not mention Voldemort’s order to simply “Kill the spare” as if Cedric was of no consequence, a mere flea to be swept aside; nor did he mention Cedric’s last request, too afraid that when he did, he would give in to the tears he sometimes felt building inside him.

Until, finally, when he and Hermione were alone once, he found himself telling her what he had left out of his story before, holding her hand in his so tightly that, he later saw with a stab of remorse, her hand was red from the strength of his grip. But she shrugged it off when he apologized, her eyes telling him that a sore hand mattered nothing to her compared to what he had been through and how much she wanted to know everything so she could help him.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, keeping his eyes squeezed shut against the tears, as he told her about Cedric’s last request. And he felt her arms tighten around him and heard her muffled, “Oh, Harry” and then felt the dampness on his robes from her tears—and only then did he give in to his own tears, finally letting out the tears that had been building inside him since that terrible night, the tears he had kept back before, not wanting to break down in front of Mrs. Weasley, motherly as she was, or Ron or anyone else. But then, alone, with only Hermione, he allowed himself to cry. Not much and he was swiftly embarrassed but she never commented on his tears, acted as if she hadn’t known he was crying too. She only held him and later, brushed her lips against his very lightly. And he felt comforted.

In those first days, he ignored the niggling thought of what he should do, pushing to the back of his mind his growing certainty, clinging to the only real comfort he had, until after he, Ron and Hermione had gone down to visit Hagrid on Thursday, since they didn’t have Defense Against the Dark Arts anymore.

They were walking back up to the castle in silence, each thinking their own thoughts on what Hagrid had said about how he’d known Voldemort would be back, and Harry knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.

“Ron- er- will you go on ahead for a little bit?”

Ron glanced at Harry and though at any other time, he might have commented or pretended to be offended, at that moment, Ron only nodded, still acting a little wary around Harry, as if afraid of what Harry might say or do, or more accurately, as if afraid of somehow burdening Harry.

Hermione had stopped walking when Harry had and was looking at him in surprise.

Harry waited until Ron was almost out of sight before he turned back to Hermione, not quite meeting her eyes as he finally just blurted out, rather lamely, “I just- er- you know everything’s going to change now.” He shifted uncomfortably, telling himself he had to do this, for her sake. He knew what he had to do; he just hadn’t counted on how hard it was to look at Hermione and say what he knew he needed to say. “And, well, we- we can’t do this anymore,” he blurted out in a rush.

She didn’t ask him what he meant; he knew she understood from her slight intake of breath as he forged on, keeping his gaze fixed at a point over her shoulder. “It- it isn’t safe anymore; it’s going to be too dangerous with- with Voldemort back and- and- look what happened to Cedric just because he was sort of a friend. I- I can’t let that happen to you.” He had been speaking very quickly in an oddly emotionless voice as he said the words he had practically memorized from having thought them so much in the past few days. But now, his voice cracked a little with the intensity of his emotion, emotion he couldn’t hide at the thought of her being hurt. “I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you. I just couldn’t.”

He finally met her eyes, saw the understanding in them—and something else, something he couldn’t quite recognize. Then she spoke, her voice quiet but intense for all its quietness. “Don’t be an idiot.”

He drew back a little. “I don’t think-” he began stiffly.

But she cut him off with her lips, kissing him hard and quickly, before drawing back to meet his eyes squarely. “I know all that, Harry, but I don’t care.”

He opened his mouth to protest but she continued on before he could. “I wouldn’t let you go through whatever will happen next alone, even if you were only my best friend. But now, when we’re more than that, do you really think I’ll just leave you alone? That I care more about the risk to me than I do about you? Do you really think that?”

“But--” he began.

She cut him off again with a quick shake of her head this time. “I know. But do you really think that of me?”

She pinned him with her gaze and, looking at her, he could only remember all the times over the past four years that she had shown just how loyal she was, how brave she was. He remembered suddenly that first hug she had given him at the end of their first year.

“Harry—you’re a great wizard, you know… Me! Books! And cleverness! There are more important things—friendship and bravery and—oh Harry—be careful!”

Remembered these past few months since the 2^nd task, remembered all the kisses, all the little touches, all the smiles, all the little ways she had shown him how much she cared about him…

And he met her eyes and had to answer, honestly, “No.”

Her expression softened. “See? Then don’t say things like that, as if you think I could just let you go.”

“It will be dangerous, though, more dangerous than it has been.”

“Hagrid’s right, Harry. What’s coming will come, and we’ll meet it when it does. And we’ll get through it together, just like we always have.” She paused and then finished, “And I’ll be careful if you’ll be careful too.”

“I’m always careful.”

She gave him a look and he reddened slightly at her silent skepticism.

“You know you have a tendency to--” she began.

He finished her sentence for her. “Let trouble find me.”

“It’s not that you’re reckless; you’re just brave—and so you don’t always think…” Hermione trailed off, looking a little apprehensive and apologetic.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ll try to be more careful. Honestly, I will.”

She smiled. “Okay, then. Come on, Ron will be waiting.”

“Yeah,” he said, as he started walking back up towards the castle, with her beside him.

She slipped her hand inside his as they walked and he tightened his grip ever so slightly, suddenly immensely relieved that he still had her. Part of him was still insisting that it was too risky, that he should have tried harder to convince her to end things between them—but right then, holding Hermione’s hand, he could only feel glad.

He wasn’t alone, he wouldn’t be alone. No matter what happened next, he would still have Hermione, to help him, to be there for him, to comfort him. And for the first time since that horrible night of the 3^rd task, he felt a glimmer of hope, that not everything was dark.

~*~*~

Harry had never been so reluctant to leave Hogwarts and board the Hogwarts Express. The idea of leaving the magical world now when Voldemort was back was enough to make him feel like running away. The thought of being without the comfort of Hermione’s presence was even worse and the only thing that kept him from doing something crazy was the knowledge that they would write. She would write, long letters telling him if anything particularly interesting had happened (and by interesting, he knew she understood he meant Voldemort-related), he knew that. She would write and he would write to her—and surely, surely, Dumbledore would let him leave the Dursleys before it had been too long…

Even so, it was hard to keep from feeling gloomy as he, Ron and Hermione settled into the compartment on the train which they had to themselves.

They talked about Dumbledore’s final speech at the Leaving Feast in a rather subdued fashion. Harry remembered catching a glimpse of Cho’s tear-stained face when Dumbledore had talked about Cedric and he remembered the involuntary shudder that had gone through him when Dumbledore had announced, “Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.” Hermione had sensed his shudder and slipped her hand into his and then, in a rather uncharacteristic (given they were surrounded by people; Hermione was careful to limit her touches to ones of simple friendship when they were in public) gesture of support and because she wanted to, he knew, she had moved in close to him and nestled her head on his shoulder for a moment. He had squeezed her hand lightly in silent thanks and she lifted her head to look up at him before returning her gaze to Dumbledore.

Hermione opened her schoolbag and Harry saw a copy of the Daily Prophet which she had folded up and put inside it.

He eyed it with some nervousness and Hermione, catching his look and understanding, as always, what he was thinking, assured him, “There’s nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there’s nothing at all. I’ve been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the third task, saying you won the Tournament. They didn’t even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet.”

“He’ll never keep Rita quiet. Not on a story like this,” Harry predicted rather grimly.

“Oh, Rita hasn’t written anything at all since the third task,” Hermione said and Harry glanced sharply at her. There was an odd note in her voice; she sounded a little excited, a little guilty, a little smug. “As a matter of fact,” she continued on in the same tone, “Rita Skeeter isn’t going to be writing anything at all for a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked.

“I found out how she was listening in on private conversations when she wasn’t supposed to be coming into the grounds,” Hermione confessed in a rush.

Harry stared at her. She had? When? And why hadn’t she said anything? Even as he thought the question, he knew the answer. Of course she wouldn’t have said anything in light of everything else that had happened. And she had been too preoccupied with her worry over him to spare much of a thought for Rita Skeeter.

“How was she doing it?” Harry asked immediately.

“Well, it was you, really, who gave me the idea, Harry,” she said with a quick smile at him.

“I did? How?”

“Bugging,” Hermione grinned.

“But you said they didn’t work--” he began, a slight frown forming between his brows.

“Oh, not electronic bugs. No, you see… Rita Skeeter is an unregistered Animagus. She can turn--”

Hermione paused and pulled a small sealed glass jar out of her bag. “Into a beetle,” she finished with a hint of a smirk curving her lips.

“You’re kidding!” Ron burst out. “You haven’t… she’s not…”

“Oh, yes she is,” Hermione assured him, waving the jar a little.

Inside it were a few twigs and leaves and one large, fat beetle.

“That’s never—you’re kidding—” Ron whispered, lifting the jar to his eyes and peering inside it.

“No, I’m not.” Hermione was positively beaming, Harry noticed, feeling a small flare of happiness inside his chest at seeing her look so cheerful, the first real cheerfulness he’d seen on her face in days. “I caught her on the window-sill in the hospital wing. Look very closely, and you’ll notice the markings around her antennae are exactly like those foul glasses she wears.”

Harry took the jar from Ron and looked closely—and sure enough, she was right. And then he remembered. “There was a beetle on the statue the night we heard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime about his mum!”

Hermione smiled at Harry. “Exactly. And Viktor pulled a beetle out of my hair after he pulled me aside to talk by the lake. And unless I’m very much mistaken, Rita was perched on the window-sill of the Divination class the day your scar hurt. She’s been buzzing around for stories all year.”

“When we saw Malfoy under that tree…” Ron said slowly.

“He was talking to her, in his hand. That’s how she’s been getting all those nice interviews with the Slytherins. They wouldn’t care that she was doing something illegal, as long as they were giving her horrible stuff about us and Hagrid.”

“Well, not everything she wrote was so horrible,” Harry murmured with a small, private smile for Hermione.

Hermione returned his smile with a soft look and then grinned at the beetle, which buzzed angrily against the glass.

“I’ve told her I’ll let her out when we get back to London. I’ve put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can’t transform. And I’ve told her she’s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can’t break the habit of writing lies about people.”

Harry almost laughed out-loud at the look of triumph on Hermione’s face. “You’re brilliant, Hermione,” he grinned.

She colored a little, looking pleased.

He looked back at the beetle, a sudden thought darting into his mind. He gave in to his impulse and deliberately slid his arm around Hermione’s shoulders and leaned in to brush his lips against her cheek.

Ron rolled his eyes and pretended to gag but Harry ignored him as he grinned down at the beetle. “There, that’s one story you can write that would be true as long as you don’t invent any more garbage about Hermione’s ‘deviousness’.”

And he was more than repaid for the thought when Hermione turned a soft smile at him with a quiet, “Oh Harry…”

~~~

The rest of the ride passed uneventfully enough with only the one unpleasant interruption by Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle that ended with their being knocked unconscious by the five different hexes used by Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins.

And now the train had stopped and it was really time for him to leave. Harry stifled a grimace as he deliberately moved slowly in packing his things up and following Ron and Hermione out, pausing to waylay Fred and George and force them to accept his winnings from the Tournament.

That done, he stepped through the barrier, to find Uncle Vernon waiting for him with Mrs. Weasley standing close by him. Mrs. Weasley hugged Harry tightly and whispered, “I think Dumbledore will let you come to us later in the summer. Keep in touch, Harry.”

“See you, Harry,” Ron said with a slight, serious sort of smile, as he clapped Harry on the back.

“Harry- thanks,” George muttered while Fred nodded fervently at his side, also pausing to clap Harry on the shoulder.

And then he turned to Hermione, managing a faint smile in order to disguise his intense unwillingness to say goodbye to her. “Well…”

He could see the same emotions he was feeling play across her face before she suppressed them and gave him a somewhat wavering smile. And then she hugged him quickly and did the most she would ever do while they were in public and being watched by the Weasleys to say nothing of Uncle Vernon, and kissed his cheek very quickly. “Take care, Harry,” she whispered into his ear before she pulled back and smiled again, bravely. “Bye, Harry,” she said louder, more for the benefit of everyone else, he could see, than for him.

“Yeah, bye,” he said as casually as he could, but what he meant was, I’ll miss you, and saw her expression soften and the corners of her lips twitch as if she had tried to smile but which somehow only managed to make her look wistful— and knew she knew what he’d meant.

Harry threw the twins a quick wink at the expressions of awed gratitude still lingering on their faces and gave Hermione a last, serious look, before he turned to Uncle Vernon and followed him from the station. There was no point for him to start worrying yet, he told himself bracingly, as he got silently into the back of the Dursleys’ car.

As Hermione had reminded him, Hagrid had been right to say that what would come, would come and he would have to meet it when it did… and he would get through it, together with her and with Ron, the way he always had.

A/N 2: I had to stick in the mention of Hermione leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder from that oh-so-squeeworthy picture released from GoF which wasn’t in the movie (drat it!).

~The End~

(For good.)