Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer - I own none of the characters. JKR does. If she would like to sell Hermione Granger, I have a much-abused Bulgarian phrasebook in exchange!

"I really cannot understand this school! Dragons! Last year it was Dementors, now dragons! What next? A Nundu? … Oh, sorry dear, did that hurt?"

Hermione's hiss of pain interrupted Madam Pomfrey's rant as she tended to her patient's assortment of wounds. The nurse was currently attempting to remove fragments of Hermione's life-saving Basilisk hide singlet. The Horntail's breath had not only incinerated her outer layer of Muggle clothing, but had made a pretty decent start at burning away the Basilisk skin. Despite its magical protection, some of the scales had partly melted under the extreme heat and had stuck to Hermione's flesh, causing minor burns and proving difficult and painful to remove.

"How is she, Poppy?" McGonagall was standing outside the tented cubicle, watching closely through a flap in the curtain as the school's medical authority carried out her duties.

"Well, apart from this blistering, Miss Granger has suffered third-degree burns to her hands, neck and face. Numerous bruises and abrasions as well." The nurse dodged out from behind Hermione and entered the student's slightly fuzzy vision. "Nose is broken," she continued in her detached, professional manner. "And she's lost a couple of teeth."

"You needn't talk about me as if I'm not here," Hermione butted in tartly, but the lisp caused by the gaping hole where her front teeth used to reside, as well as the slurring effect of a busted nose, made her protest sound slightly comical, not the effect she was hoping for under the circumstances.

Madam Pomfrey fixed her patient with a look that spoke of long-suffering experience with ill or injured Hogwarts' students. "No sign of internal injuries." Then she gently poked Hermione's stomach with her wand. "But could do with losing a couple of pounds - in my professional opinion, of course."

Hermione took the hint that she should keep quiet and let the nurse continue with her ministrations. Any commentary would be more than repaid in kind.

"Good, good," murmured McGonagall.

In the background Hermione was sure she could hear other voices, muffled by the canvas. One she recognized as Professor Sprout's. Cedric Diggory must still be confined, she thought, and wondered what injuries the Hufflepuff might have sustained.

"Ouch!"

Hermione flinched as a rather obstinate bit of Basilisk hide finally gave up the struggle and came away, taking some of her skin with it. That did not go unnoticed by either of the older women present.

"No point in making a fuss, young lady," Madam Pomfrey observed. "It would have been far worse if you hadn't been wearing this."

"Indeed," McGonagall said quietly. "I believe, Miss Granger, you should thank your lucky stars and whoever provided this clothing. It undoubtedly saved your life."

Hermione bit back a sarcastic comment on how lax administration of the competition made that necessary. She did not want the next piece to be yanked out even more painfully than the last.

McGonagall was, of course, correct. After all, that was the whole point, wasn't it? Still, since it had proved as effective as she had hoped, she owed Dobby an extremely large favour, perhaps of the order of a life debt. She wondered idly if there was anything more she could do to further the aims of S.P.E.W? Perhaps later she would tell McGonagall all about Dobby's role?

And, of course, Harry. There was another debt she owed that she doubted she could ever repay.

However, her wayward thoughts quickly returned to her present situation. Harry and Dobby would have to wait until this pain ended…

"What was the Headmaster thinking of, Minerva? Allowing students to go up against dragons?" The outrage was palpable in Pomfrey's words, and for her efforts she received a look from McGonagall that Hermione interpreted as: 'Not in front of the students'.

"Albus knows what he's doing, Poppy. He arranged the precautions after the Ministry dictated what the tasks would be. After all, none of the students came to any real harm." McGonagall's reply did not appear to carry her normal conviction.

"Damned stupid idea, if you ask me," the nurse observed, but did not continue to press the point. "I will be a while yet, Minerva."

"Damned stupid, if you ask me, too," Hermione chimed in, no longer fearing an overenthusiastic tug.

McGonagall blanched, then she appeared to come to a decision. "I will go back to the School then. I suspect there is much to be done." She moved closer to Hermione, who winced as another remnant of Basilisk hide was peeled from her back, and reached inside her professorial robes.

Hermione immediately recognised the familiar scroll. McGonagall placed it gently atop Hermione's book bag. "I had faith that this would not be needed," the Professor said quietly, "and am exceptionally pleased and proud to be able to return it." A wintry smile broke her normally stern visage. "Congratulations, Miss Granger. Some very impressive advanced spells out there. And applying magic to the environment instead of directly against the beast - a marvellous demonstration of the indirect approach.

"Once again you have proven that you are a worthy Gryffindor."

Turning to go, Hermione's Head of House halted for a second, but turned back. "I suspect there will be quite a celebration tonight in your honour. You deserve it, Hermione." Hermione blushed, although between the purple and black bruising and the magenta of dried blood it was difficult for anyone to notice. "I believe someone is waiting outside to escort you back when Madam Pomfrey has finished."

Hermione just knew that had to be Harry.

It was another half-hour until the nurse was satisfied with her work on Hermione's torso. With gentle touches of her wand and a series of spells, the mild pain she was suffering, similar to sunburn, was relieved. Instead a gentle fresh sensation flowed around from her back, forwards to her stomach and chest, and upwards towards her neck.

The areas directly exposed to the Horntail's fiery exhalations were a different matter.

Hermione's unprotected left ear had been magically reconstructed. Her neck, her left cheek and both her hands had suffered full thickness burns. Her hair had also caught alight, and much of it was gone. Thankfully Hagrid's immediate intervention had prevented more serious blistering. McGonagall, also arriving promptly upon the scene, had cast numbing and pain-killing spells to these badly burned areas, before Hagrid had carried an incoherent Hermione from the field and back into the Champions' tent.

Shortly afterwards, Ludo Bagman had appeared, all effusive compliments and solicitous enquiries, before taking her hard-won prize into safekeeping. Hermione had been too shattered to inquire about this, or even how the judges had rated her performance. Frankly, she did not give a tinker's cuss.

Now Pomfrey applied a thick orange paste over the third-degree burns. "This will heal the burns, although with dragon fire there will almost certainly be some scarring," she observed not unkindly. The paste had an immediate cooling effect, but Hermione still raised her hand to her cheek. She felt plain enough already and hoped the nurse would not be proved entirely correct.

"The paste must remain in place until tomorrow evening. I shall remove it after dinner," Madam Pomfrey continued. "Beyond its unfortunate appearance, it should not be much trouble. It is waterproof so you can bathe or shower, and it carries a charm, so it will not come off and spoil your clothes. Now, let's have a look at that nose."

After ten minutes of very careful and precise wand work, Madam Pomfrey was finally satisfied. Hermione's nose had been reset, which had smarted slightly, but the nurse assured her that no-one would ever be able to tell it had been busted. The ugly gash in Hermione's upper lip had also been healed, along with some of the bruising around her jaw. A turquoise potion that carried hints of Deflating Draught reduced some of the swelling around her nose, albeit with a slight side effect. The nurse told Hermione that the remaining inflammation and bruising around her nose and eyes would take a few hours to go down.

"Great," responded Hermione with yet another lisp. "So I walk around with two black eyes this evening just like a panda!"

"Hardly, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey replied without looking up. "I am not aware of any orange and turquoise pandas."

Hermione mentally cursed the matron's ability to repay criticism in full.

She thus suffered in silence as Madam Pomfrey dealt with the minor cuts, abrasions and bruises Hermione had suffered during her several hard falls on the rocky arena surface, and then finished repairing and re-growing her hair where it had been scorched or burned away. The last item on Madam Pomfrey's agenda was the matter of Hermione's missing front teeth. Fixing these was no obstacle to a practised healer but there was one unspoken question.

Would Hermione want her teeth restored to their prior rather prominent state, or would she prefer an improved version?

Hermione previously had scruples about having her teeth altered magically, especially since she doubted whether her parents could achieve the same results using normal - that was to say, Muggle - dentistry techniques. She also had her own insecurities, reinforced by years of adverse comment and even abuse from children of her own age. No, she would not revert back to braces or consider the even worse remedy of filing down to cure her malocclusion and associated bruxism. After all, her teeth had been broken by magical means; why should they not be repaired in the same manner?

Madam Pomfrey had made no comment when Hermione had asked her to stop when her re-grown front teeth matched those that remained and no longer stuck out like a beaver's. Indeed the nurse colluded in this little conspiracy, commenting how nice her smile was, then left to allow Hermione to get dressed.

Hermione slipped into her underwear, then pulled out her book bag and delved into its depths, retrieving a compact mirror. Self-critically she examined Pomfrey's handiwork.

The teeth were a definite improvement. Her nose appeared to be the same as it had that lunchtime, although the swelling and bruising across its bridge and around her eyes, now distinctly turquoise, gave her a battered appearance. The orange paste just appeared incongruous. Technicolor pandas indeed!

She was tired, emotionally and physically. For all the pain-killing potions Hermione still felt as if she had journeyed to Land's End and back by tumble-drier. Every joint ached.

Putting aside vanity as beyond rescue, Hermione had just picked up her blouse when she heard movement and a cough behind her.

"Oh! Sorry, Granger!"

Hermione squeaked in surprise, and clutching her blouse to her chest, she quickly turned on the spot to present her back to the unexpected visitor. Squinting over her right shoulder, she tried to see who it was.

Cedric Diggory stood awkwardly in the tent entrance. He was half looking away, but his eyes seemed to instinctively stray back to the half-undressed Gryffindor. He looked equally embarrassed, but, to Hermione's discontent, also appeared to sport a knowing grin.

"Shall I go out and come in again?" he asked, unable to stop smiling.

"N-no.., just t-turn around…" Hermione stammered. "If you know what's good for you."

"Fine." True to his word, Cedric presented Hermione with his back and stared up at the inside of the tent's roof, whistling tunelessly. Swiftly, Hermione pulled on her school-issue blouse and skirt, then wrapped herself in her robes and turned back to face the Hufflepuff Champion.

"Right," Hermione instructed Cedric, her voice still shaky. "You can turn around now. What do you want?"

Still grinning, Cedric slowly spun around slowly. "How are you?" he asked sincerely.

"I've been better," Hermione muttered. "After all, these aren't Gryffindor colours."

"Hmm … Looks like your dragon got a bit closer than mine," Cedric observed with a slightly detached air. "Still, I know what you mean." Now she saw that the right side of his face was also coated in that same flame-coloured salve.

"I was lucky," Hermione said quietly, knowing just how close a call it had been. "Extremely lucky."

Cedric shuffled a little uneasily on his feet, which Hermione found strange given his prefect status. "Look, Granger, I didn't have the chance to thank you properly before this afternoon. For the tip off, that is." Now he looked distinctly uncomfortable, being humbled by the younger girl in front of him. "I owe you."

"That's alright," Hermione muttered. "I'm sure you would have done the same."

Cedric held out his right arm, palm open. "My friends call me Cedric," he advised in a warm manner. "And I'd like to think I would've."

Hermione took the offered hand and shook it. "Hermione," she added in response to the unspoken but open question. "It doesn't lend itself to any nickname I'd care to use."

"I must admit I didn't think you had it in you," Cedric observed as he pumped her hand, but his ready grin robbed his words of any unintended slight. "Good one, Gra- Hermione."

"There were times when I didn't either," she replied with what, for her battered visage, passed for a smile.

Although not totally immune to Cedric Diggory's handsome looks and likeable personality, Hermione was never one for schoolgirl crushes… excepting that unfortunate episode over that old fraud Gilderoy Lockhart! She let her hand slip from his grip.

"Anyway, good luck, Hermione." Cedric seemed a little uncertain at her distant expression. He turned but, just as McGonagall had, halted as he held the tent flap open. "Perhaps you could save me dance at the Yule Ball?" he stated in an unreadable tone, but before Hermione could even think of a reply, he was gone.

She wondered if Cedric was aware of the effect he had on the female half of the student faculty. Hermione had no illusions that he would ever ask her to the Ball, given the chemistry she had observed between him and Cho Chang. That Chang was a lucky girl… but she still preferred her Harry Potter! That started Hermione thinking about why she had paid attention those Diggory-Chang interactions in the first place. 'A bloody lucky girl indeed,' she thought ruefully.

With another mirthless smile, she chastised herself for worrying about such trivial matters, when the chances she might not live to see the end of the school year were quite high.

A few minutes later, a more sullen Hermione followed Cedric's path outside, but not before packing away in her bag what little remained of her Basilisk tunic. It was a keepsake.

Darkness had fallen, and where there had been hundreds, if not thousands, of spectators an hour or so previously, the arena appeared to be abandoned. The dragons were gone, and the enclosure was as silent as a grave.

It was cold now, and Hermione pulled her robes tight around her aching body. She had taken barely a step when someone emerged from the darkness.

It was Harry.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! You were brilliant!"

The admiration that shone from his eyes as he bounced on the balls of his feet filled Hermione with a warmth that could only happen when he was around her.

"I was lucky," she replied self-deprecatingly.

"That's not true!" Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, and she was soothed by his calm voice. "The plan worked perfectly…well, almost. It's hard enough as it is, and the odd bit of luck only helps." Then his voice died away. "But I was worried at the start. You didn't move!"

"Umm …" Hermione could not explain the pure horror she felt when she first glimpsed the Horntail. She had just frozen. Harry wouldn't understand. He never suffered debilitating fear. He was …

"Here, let me take that. You look… tired." Too polite to draw attention to her beaten, burnt and colourful face, Harry reached out and took hold of Hermione's book bag before leading her up the path back towards the Castle. As they walked, in an unusual reversal of roles, Harry told her how the other Champions had fared.

Cedric Diggory had also attempted to distract his dragon by transfiguring a rock into a small dog, but the dragon had not fallen for the bait. He had to resort to a Conjunctivitis Curse, which had briefly blinded the Swedish Short-Snout, but in agony from the spell the dragon had flared its fiery breath everywhere. One random blast came too close for comfort, and Cedric had suffered minor burns in the act of grasping his own golden egg.

Next up had been Fleur Delacour, who had successfully attempted to charm the Welsh Green into a Veela-enhanced enchanted sleep. In order to complete this, she had to close in with the dragon, which had set her skirt alight. Fortunately Fleur had succeeded in her spell casting. Just as the dragon dozed off she had doused her flaming garment in conjured-up water before completing the Task bare-legged. Personally, Hermione was a tad jealous that the French girl was able to create and execute such a simple plan.

Judging by Harry's breathless recitation, Hermione gained the impression that that the men and boys, particularly Ludo Bagman, were more captivated by the latter achievement than the Beauxbatons' girl's successful capture of the golden egg. That jealousy flared just a little fiercer; the suspicion that Fleur had some Veela ancestry might just make matters easier for her all round.

Viktor Krum she already knew about, although the Chinese Fireball had almost lived up to her name. If anything, Harry was more taken with Viktor's prowess on a broom than almost anything else. At least he seemed to enjoy explaining the technical intricacies of Viktor's moves than discussing Hermione's own actions. He was doing just that when another figure emerged from the shadows.

It was Rita Skeeter, wearing robes of an extremely unattractive shade of green. Her Quick-Quotes Quill was held ready for action.

"Well done, Miss Granger," she simpered in oleaginous and false tones. "You look … relieved. What an achievement given your age and … upbringing."

Hermione stood rooted to the spot, her mouth hanging open at Rita's cheek. It was Harry who interposed himself between reporter and would-be interviewee.

"I'm sure Hermione has nothing to say to you," he stated, his voice ice-cold.

"Nonsense, dear boy." Rita simply swept him aside. "I'm sure the world wants to hear the first thoughts of a successful Champion. Although perhaps the views of 'The Boy-Who-Lived' might be of interest… later." Then she ignored him.

Hermione eyed the reporter with even less sympathy than Harry. "After what you wrote, do you really think I would give you another chance?"

Rita waved Hermione's protests away. "Damned sub-editors. Anyway, a quick word?"

Hermione just regarded Rita with a jaundiced eye. "Alright," she said slowly. She noticed Harry looking more than a little shocked at this development.

"Oh good!" Rita's eagerness would have been humorous at another time and place.

From behind the reporter, Harry shook his head vigorously. She winked at him.

"One quick word?" Hermione clarified. "Then you'll leave me alone?" Rita nodded greedily, her quill poised above the roll of parchment.

Hermione gathered herself together. "Okay," she said, regaining some confidence, then spat: "Velocity!"

With that, the youngest Champion shoved a rather confused Rita Skeeter out of her way and marched off, resolutely refusing to look behind her.

By the time Harry caught up with Hermione, he was struggling to keep from chuckling. "Velocity!" he kept repeating with a chuckle under his quite visible breath.

Hermione smiled. Her accumulated nervous frustration begged for an outlet, and Rita Skeeter had provided her with one big, juicy, irresistible target. Harry saw her expression. "You're priceless, Hermione. Absolutely priceless!"

I'm also getting rather cold," she answered, sloughing off Harry's latest praise. "Can we hurry inside?"

"Oh, sure," Harry agreed, his expression a bit uncertain. Then, he seemed to make up his mind. "Here, take this."

He took his heavy outdoor robes from around his shoulders and wrapped Hermione in them.

Too tired, achy - and cold - to complain about Harry leaving himself in shirtsleeves, Hermione accepted the additional warmth gratefully.

As they finally approached the Castle walls, Harry was informing Hermione of the judging. Krum, boosted by Karkaroff's award of maximum marks, was leading. In Harry's opinion this was quite right, as with the exception of a slightly singed broomstick, Durmstrang's Champion had completed the First Task in the fastest time and with the relative minimum of risk. Fleur Delacour was second, just ahead of Cedric Diggory.

That obviously left Hermione Granger bringing up the rear. That fact mattered not a jot to Hermione herself. After all, she was not competing to win.

The two Gryffindors had now reached one of the sheltered courtyards. There was no-one hanging around in the cold December evening air.

"I mean, Karkaroff is obviously biased against you," Harry said heatedly. "He gave you a lousy three marks. I mean, it was close at the end, and for one horrible moment I thought…" Harry swallowed back the last few words before starting again. "Oh, bloody hell! I was … so scared."

It had been close, Hermione admitted. Three times she had cheated death or terrible injury in one afternoon. And that was only the First Task…

"I wish you hadn't made me promise not to interfere," Harry was complaining. "I couldn't just sit by and watch… Hermione, what's the matter?"

Hermione was trembling from head to toe, but not from the cold. The delayed shock of one narrow escape after another now filtered through her system as the adrenalin faded away. "Oh Merlin!" she moaned. As her legs started to give way, Harry caught Hermione in his arms and pulled her to a nearby stone bench.

Shaking, despite two sets of robes and Harry's support, Hermione found it difficult to speak. How arrogant and conceited had she been to think that a mere fifteen year-old could take on a dragon and escape unscathed? The thought of how easily she could have perished under the Horntail's flames shook her physically again. How much of her good luck had she used up? Crookshanks might have the benefit of nine lives, but she did not.

Harry was visibly uncertain, inexperienced in dealing with a shivering girl "Hermione?" he tried gently, placing his arm tighter around her.

Finally she could find the words between gulps of air. "That ... that was only the F- first Task, Harry."

"And you made it through."

"But a dragon. I nearly…" She could not vocalize her fears.

"I know." Harry awkwardly squeezed her shoulder.

"It can't get any easier," Hermione moaned. "The tasks can only get harder." She stared at Harry, her eyes now round in a battered mixture of white, red, black, purple, turquoise and orange. "Look at me. I'm a mess."

"You seem to have come through better than I normally do from a Quidditch match," Harry observed with attempted humour.

With all of her fears crowding in on her again, Hermione was not really listening. "I don't think I can carry on," she said shakily.

Harry's expression grew serious. He remained silent for a moment, staring out into the night, then he turned on the bench whilst turning Hermione to face him. Putting his hands on both her shoulders, he looked her straight in the eyes. "Look, today's been a big day. You've come through it when most people here wouldn't have given you a snowball's chance in hell. You've proved you are a remarkable witch - again."

Hermione tried to shake her head, but Harry ignored her. "I want you to know this. Whatever you want to do, you know you'll have my support. Anything." Then he halted, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Hermione thought he was looking at her rather askance.

"What?" she croaked. Merlin, she felt so tired.

Harry looked curious, then slowly shook his head, as thought doubting himself. "There's… it's just … you look different somehow."

Hermione smiled despite her tears, encouraging him to spot the results of Madam Pomfrey's efforts.

Harry shook his head again, squinting. "Must be the weird colours," he muttered. "Sorry."

'Honestly!' Hermione was about to respond when there was the sound of wood scraping heavily on stone. They both jumped up to find Mad-Eye Moody regarding them closely. Hermione, inhaling sharply from being startled, was released from Harry's grip as he manoeuvred himself in front of her.

"Potter, Granger." Moody's voice was studied neutrality. "Not too shabby a response. Potter, yeh could do with a cloak, though. I can see year wand."

"Professor." Harry's reply was wary. Hermione noticed that he did indeed have a tight grip on his wand, and no robes in which to conceal it.

The electric-blue magical eye swivelled in its socket and fixed itself on Hermione. "Yeh did well today, Granger."

Even in her emotionally-heightened state, Hermione was shocked. Those were the first complimentary words Professor Moody had spoken to her since he had bettered her in that one-sided duel.

"Yeh'll have surprised a lot of people," Moody continued. "Maybe some will have their eyes opened." Then he grunted. "Still be some that are so blind they cannot see."

"Thanks, P- Professor," Hermione muttered, not without confusion.

"But yeh still let go of yehr wand! Twice!" Moody's mood had switched in an instant. Now he raged at Hermione. "Would've cost yeh yehr life if yeh hadn't been so lucky, 'specially there at the end." He shook his battle-ravaged head. "Keep a' hold of yehr wand at all times!"

As Moody shuffled around, Harry carefully kept Hermione shielded. She wondered if he really feared that the Professor would attempt another practical example of hard-won battlefield prowess. This did not go unnoticed by the gnarled ex-Auror.

"Think yeh can protect her, do yeh, lad? Takes more than a cloak… lots more …"

"Just being prepared," Harry replied with a slight quaver in his voice. "Hermione's been through enough today."

"Do yeh need a protector, lassie?" Moody demanded of Hermione. "'Cos if yeh do, yeh'll not come out of the competition alive! Yeh can only get lucky so often."

Hermione could not help but shiver as Moody touched upon her most recent thoughts.

"That goes for yeh, too, Potter," Moody added.

Harry, definitely ill at ease but with a protective arm now thrown tightly over Hermione's shoulders, turned to follow Moody as he circled around them with that ugly gait of his. "We'd better be going now," he said clearly.

As they turned away, Harry quietly withdrawing his arm, Hermione was convinced she could still feel that eye focussed on her.

The walk through the corridors was accompanied by an uncomfortable silence. Hermione's consideration of withdrawal hung heavily between her and Harry. She also mulled over her obligation to inform her parents of her progress, and of her possible future plans.

That chill tranquillity was shattered the moment the Fat Lady swung aside with a cheerful "Well done, dear!" which made Hermione's presence known to the Gryffindor common room. A cacophony of indecipherable cheers, shouts and yells combined with exploding Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous No-Heat, Wet Start Fireworks, seemed to shake the old tower to its very foundation. The Gryffindors' reaction could not have been further removed from their original response to Hermione being chosen.

As she stood gawking on the threshold, her mind overwhelmed by the multitude of celebrating Gryffindors, Hermione's arms were grabbed in a pincer movement, and she found herself hoisted on the shoulders of the Twins, nearly six feet above the floor.

"Gryffindor Pride!"

"Good on you, Hermione!"

The Twins paraded Hermione all around the room, singing her praises, as the whole of Gryffindor House cheered and clapped and yelled. She had to duck underneath a banner, probably Dean's handiwork, which proclaimed her a dragon tamer. She squirmed and tried to tell the Twins her legs ached and they should set her down, but either they could not hear her over the cheering, or more likely they just ignored her protests.

As the parade encountered one of the oaken tables in the middle of the common room, the Twins swung Hermione off their shoulders so that she stood above the admiring throng. While Fred - or George - called for silence, the other loudly demanded: "Speech!"

With surprising speed the crowd of students quietened down, until the common room was largely silent, save for the odd firework exploding or whizzing across towards the fireplace, or making the portraits dodge. Every face gazed expectantly up at Hermione, who was suddenly reminded once more of her battered, bruised and burnt face. One or two in the crowd pointed out her colourful appearance, which only reinforced her self-consciousness.

What should she say?

Part of her wanted to sound off, scream hypocrisy and rail against her audience's sudden conversion into fervent supporters, and to chastise them for their almost total indifference running into sullen antipathy that she had endured over the last five weeks. And to be honest, the way she felt, and the way she was sure she looked to them, there was no awe-inspiring speech bursting forth.

That would be satisfying on a base emotional level.

"Umm…"

Yet the rational part of her brain warned her off that choice. Some bridges needed repair, not burning. Churchill had once advised magnanimity in victory.

"Come on, Granger." One of the Twins nudged her leg.

Much as she was enticed, Hermione knew reason had to prevail; the philosopher's choice. Making her mind up, she took a deep breath.

"Thanks for your support this afternoon," she said. "It did mean a lot to me - really, it did."

At that some of the students broke out once again into more unrestrained applause and cheers. Hermione had to call for quiet, motioning with her arms the universal gesture of: 'Calm down.'

"But I really couldn't have done it without the help of some who supported me from the start."

That remark brought on a different kind of silence, a reflective quiet as most of those present considered their personal treatment of Hermione Granger since she was named a Champion. To their credit, not one of her housemates protested. To Hermione's credit, she went no further in the direction of reproach.

Hermione turned to step down from her tabletop podium, only to find the same strong pairs of arms that had raised her up now lifted her down. Instinctively she hugged George (or Fred), tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "Thanks," she whispered, before releasing him and treating the other Twin to a similarly emotional embrace.

"Don't mention it Hermione…"

"Although, if you were to endorse our own fireworks…"

Both Twins beamed and Hermione this time managed the feat of hugging them both at the same time, something she could only achieve on tip-toe.

Once released, Fred (or George) turned to face the now ruminative Gryffindors. "That's all folks!"

"Let's party!" yelled the other.

And with that, more fireworks exploded, and the voices of joyful Gryffindors joined the din. Now that the semi-official part of the evening had been dispensed with, the celebration took on a different, more joyous air. The tables groaned under mountains of food, a full barrel of pumpkin juice tapped at both ends, and a large wooden butt holding chilled Butterbeers.

Hermione moved through the jostling crowd, most of whom parted to allow her through. Lavender and Parvati enquired solicitously about her face, clucking away concernedly and commenting favourably on her new teeth; Seamus clapped her on the back; and Dean flashed her his bright smile.

Soon Hermione found herself seated on one of the sofas, watching the partygoers, still shocked at the sudden turnaround in her housemates' temperament . Every so often, groups of First Years would dare to come close to the dragon tamer, point at her battered, bruised and bizarrely coloured face with accompanying fiery orange paste, before retreating, giggling and daring each other.

Neville quietly sat down on her left, whilst Ginny unceremoniously threw herself down like a sack of spuds on her right. "You let them off lightly," Ginny observed in an off-hand manner. "I'd have told them exactly where I thought they stood." Her eyes narrowed rather unattractively as she spotted Angelina chatting with Fred.

"No," Neville countered quietly. "I think you did the right thing, Hermione. Sometimes turning the other cheek accomplishes something."

Hermione turned and thanked Neville before being the victim of a fierce embrace from Ginny. "I swear I thought you were toast," Ginny muttered into Hermione's ear. "Merlin, we all did. I thought I was going to be sick…" Ginny released her friend from the hug and her eyes glittered mischievously. "But then, you covered that too, didn't you?" She raised her eyebrow as she made that point.

Blushing at the reminder of her second-most embarrassing moment of the day - throwing up in front of hundreds of people could only be topped by her half-dressed encounter with Cedric - Hermione knew Ginny was only trying to banish her fears with humour. "It was remarkable," she observed. "I really couldn't believe my ears when I entered the arena." She hesitated. "What made them all change their minds?"

"Harry," Neville replied enigmatically.

"Harry?" repeated Hermione. Neville nodded.

"Last night," Ginny added, causing Hermione's head to swivel as though she were a spectator following a tennis match. She put down the Butterbeer she had been nursing, and her expression turned serious. "Basically he stood up in here and told the rest of us that we were all Gryffindors, and that the way they had treated you was disgraceful. Told ' em that loyalty seemed to have flown out of the window. I was so proud of him."

"Really?" That would explain the mood last night. "Harry did that?"

"That's not all," Neville replied.

"No." Her eyes switched back to Ginny. "Harry stood there and said that if this was Gryffindor House's idea of sticking together and supporting a friend, then they could find a new Seeker for next year as he'd have no part of it. Told Angelina and that lot to their faces that loyalty cuts both ways."

Hermione knew little of and cared less about Quidditch politics, but with Oliver Wood having left Hogwarts that summer, there was a vacancy for the Gryffindor captaincy. It was expected to be filled by one of the more experienced members of the team, such as Spinnet, Johnson or possibly Bell. She was quite aware how precious victory in Quidditch was for Gryffindor House, including Professor McGonagall. And even more she knew how much the game meant to Harry.

"He didn't?" Hermione breathed. And, come to that, where had Harry disappeared to?

"Certainly did," Ginny responded effervescently. "Anyway, Fred and George decided to back Harry, said they'd do the same and withdraw as well."

Hermione's eyes went wide at that revelation. The Twins taking something seriously? She had never heard of the like.

"Well, Angelina looked like she'd swallowed Skele-Gro, what with a Keeper to find for next year, suddenly to lose two Beaters and a Seeker as well. I bet they all felt about an inch tall. Then you came in, just missing all that. After you went up so quickly, they decided that Harry was right and that they'd been a bunch of prats."

That information actually hurt Hermione a little. She had rather hoped that her own bravery had finally caused her housemates to see the light, instead of Harry having put a wand to their heads. Neville appeared to catch her mood.

"Most of them were willing to back you, Hermione," he said kindly. "It's just … most of them don't really know you that well, and were swayed by the opinions of others. Some believed the press. Others… well," Neville shrugged, "jealousy, spite…"

Neville's explanation, whilst undoubtedly true, did nothing to raise Hermione's mood.

Ginny butted in, seemingly desperate to both change the mood and the direction of the conversation. "So, Granger, what's it like to face a dragon?" She broke off and tilted her head slightly, as though examining Hermione from a different angle. "Like what you've done with the teeth," Ginny observed in a much more calculating tone of voice, before continuing her original light-hearted line of questioning. "Anyway, fancy following in Charlie's footsteps?"

Grateful for the change in subject, Hermione related what she could remember, or wished to recall, about her confrontation with the Horntail. When she reached the point of her realising that she had not the time to grab the egg and escape the dragon's fiery breath, Neville interrupted her.

"Harry jumped up and tried to cast some spell when he saw the dragon close on you. We all thought the dragon would have you. But there was some kind of ward preventing those outside interfering with what was going on inside. Harry nearly got hit by his own spell!"

That made sense, thought Hermione. With a number of powerful and not necessarily impartial wizards in the audience, any one of them could have attempted to influence the result. And there had to be a powerful ward preventing the dragons from escaping or incinerating those in attendance.

"Harry was desperate," Ginny observed excitedly. "He didn't half swear when he couldn't punch through. He sounded like Ron. I'm not sure who saw him try, but within seconds the flames had gone and Hagrid had pulled you away."

Perhaps that explained the flash of light Hermione thought she had seen at the moment she felt she was doomed. She had dismissed it, attributing it to a trick of the conditions or the sheer terror of her situation. But, on second thought, something like that could also explain the dragon's misjudgement of its own attempt at grilling a Granger. Had the Horntail been distracted?

Had Harry saved her life again?

As if summoned, Harry suddenly appeared in front of her, his hands full with a couple of bottles of Butterbeer clutched in one fist, and the other gingerly balancing a large plate crammed to overflowing with sausage rolls, pork pies, jam tarts and custard creams. 'Definitely a boy's choice,' Hermione reflected. "Thought after that you'd want - uhnn!"

Speech became impossible for Harry as Hermione flung herself upwards and wrapped her arms around his neck. The plate spilled its contents, but Neville's quick spell work vanished them before they could hit the carpet. Harry managed to keep his grip on the bottles.

"Thank you," Hermione hissed tightly in his ear. "Thanks for everything, Harry!" Any prospect of her upbraiding him for breaking his promise not to intervene had dissipated as quickly as his spilled food.

She leaned back, the better to appreciate him, and saw that Harry appeared entirely confused and embarrassed. "Wha - what did I do?" he muttered innocently.

'Just like Harry, so damned selfless,' Hermione thought. 'Can't appreciate his own actions. He really hasn't a clue why I'm so grateful.' She hugged him again. "Don't ever change, Harry Potter," she declared fiercely. "Not ever!"

Shaking her head at the display, Ginny quickly made herself scarce. Neville also excused himself, stating he would fetch some more food. Harry, once released from the Granger death-grip, passed her a nice, cool, Butterbeer. It had seldom tasted sweeter than tonight as it slipped down her throat, reminding her how thirsty she was.

After a decent interval, Neville returned with a slightly more varied selection of food than Harry's heavier choices. Nerves had sharpened Hermione's hunger, and she tucked into red salmon and cucumber sandwiches, crisp celery sticks and cream cheese. Not only her hunger, but her thirst, also made up for her pre-Task deficit, and she finished off not only another bottle of Butterbeer but a couple of tankards of pumpkin juice as well. Thoroughly sated, although nibbling on cubes of Red Leicester and Double Gloucester combined with pineapple chunks on cocktail sticks, Hermione allowed herself to relax for once on the sofa with her friends, answering more questions about the dragon, her injuries, and conjecturing whether the orange paste would taste as hot as its colour suggested.

The party livened up as Lee Jordan produced a Wizard's Wireless tuned to a station playing the latest in magic-themed pop. Fred was dancing with Angelina, and George had snagged Alicia Spinnet, both Twins giving it all with their usual individual style, if not grace. Hermione took everything in, her mood remarkably detached and mellow for someone not usually described as either.

Unqualified celebration of her achievements was a new experience for Hermione. And her academic achievements were hardly the stuff of Gryffindor legend. No matter how many points she garnered, they were often offset by those habitually lost by the likes of Harry, Ron, Neville - and especially Fred and George.

Even when she, Harry and Ron had won all those House Points back in her first year at Hogwarts, clinching the House Cup, that happened in the setting of the Great Hall, and the presence of all the teachers and the other three Houses precluded wild merriment.

Now, reflecting on it all, Hermione found that perhaps adulation was not all that bad.

How could she consider giving all this up?

How could she consider undertaking the next two tasks?

She was tired. It had been a long day and she had been tested to, and past, her limits. She could think over all those matters tomorrow. Anyway, there was one face notable by its absence from the jollities.

Excusing herself, Hermione rose from the sofa and tried to make her way through the celebrating throng It was slow going as she remained the centre of much attention. First she had to fend off an offer as partner for the Yule Ball from Cormac McLaggen, who had either forgotten, or more likely ignored, their last conversation.

Next Angelina sought her out to apologise, face-to-face, for being what she termed "a right bitch." Hermione knew how much Angelina had wanted so much to participate in the competition, but the tall ebony athlete admitted that had she known about dragons would be involved, well…

Hermione reminded herself: 'Magnanimity, Granger.' Angelina's apology and congratulations appeared genuine enough, and Hermione took them at face value, nodding her head. Both young women seemed relieved to have completed that conversation.

All the while, Hermione searched the happy faces, looking for one in particular. No luck. Thus she found herself at the bottom of the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. Glancing around, trying to escape before her admirers realised she was gone, she started up the stone steps.

She hoped that the afternoon's events would open Ron's eyes to the truth of the matter. Not that it really mattered to her anymore, she tried to convince herself, but that she owed Harry the attempt to at least patch things up with Ron. After everything Harry had done for her in the last few days - before, during and after the First Task - it was the least she could do for him.

The door to the Fourth Years' dorm was closed but not locked. Hermione pushed it and despite its age the solid oak swung silently open on unresisting hinges.

One of the five beds had its curtains firmly drawn, as though to shut out the sound and even the sentiment of the revelries below. Approaching tentatively, Hermione spoke quietly, despite there being no-one around to overhear. "Ron?"

The slightest rustle came from behind the curtains of the four-poster, followed by a swift and heartfelt reply. "Piss off!"

Hermione sighed and grimaced. 'Magnanimity' her mind once again reminded her. With a quick flick of her wand and a muttered spell, the curtains flew open. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, Ron, still fully-dressed, thank Merlin, gave her a fierce glare. After making his feelings clear, he turned his head away, to emphasize that he was ignoring her.

"We need to talk, Ron." She took a step closer to the bed.

"What about?" Ron's head swung around, and she was taken aback by the vehemence of his response. "Don't you want to get back to your adoring public?"

She took a calming breath and collected her thought. Somehow Ron always managed to strike exactly the wrong notes when he argued with her, driving her away from reasoned discussion and into emotional battle. "Ron, you know that's not what this was about," she said, trying hard to keep her voice level.

"No?" Ron angrily bounded off the bed to face her, forcing Hermione back a half step. "You've just seen off a dragon before the whole frigging School! Make you feel proud, don't it?"

There was a limit to Hermione's patience, and he was testing it. "Ron, I nearly died out there!" she snapped. "Are you really that thick to continue to believe that I really wanted to take part? Are you? Seriously?"

Ron's face was turning puce. "It doesn't really matter now, does it? You've turned my best mate against me. Punched me in front of most of Hogwarts. Even my own brothers prank me on your behalf!"

"I didn't do that," Hermione thundered back, vigour returning to shake her battered body one last time. "You did that yourself, not telling me about the dragons!" she nearly shrieked.

"I bloody would have, if you'd given me a chance." She could tell Ron was on the point of exploding as he flexed his fingers, making and unmaking fists. She had no doubt if she were Seamus, Dean or even perhaps Harry they would be exchanging blows by now.

"When? Exactly when would you have told me?"

"Last Friday night, but you shot off without giving me the chance." Ron seemed a mite less aggravated. "Thanks to you I had to wear those bloody horns for two days."

Hermione had doubted Ron's intentions that evening, but that was exactly when Harry had mentioned Ron had tried to tell her.

With the argument going nowhere, she tried to take some of the heat out of the conversation. "Ron..." she started, but he refused to let her gain the initiative.

"It doesn't bloody matter now, anyway. I'm glad you're okay, even if it hasn't done much for your looks. But now you've got what you always wanted, the attention of the whole wizarding world. Hermione Granger, a Fourth Year who can take on a dragon. I bet McGonagall's already awarded you a gazillion house points."

Speechless at Ron's screed, Hermione gaped at him open-mouthed. How dare he accuse her of… Her own ire returned, exponentially increased.

Ron ploughed ahead. "You might have Confunded Harry into believing you're the greatest witch in the world, but not me. Now, piss off back to your party before they find a new hero." And with that he jumped back on his bed and firmly pulled the curtains closed once more.

That was it! The culmination of this roller-coaster of her day!

"You… you… Ooh! I never thought even Malfoy could be so spiteful and jealous, but you, Ronald Weasley…you take the biscuit!"

Furiously, she stormed out and down the stairs, almost bowling over a suddenly surprised Colin Creevey. Ignoring various confused and inquiring looks, Hermione shot across the common room, ignoring confused and inquiring looks, and ran up the staircase on the opposite side to her own dormitory.

There she stayed. As the sounds of music and fun and games drifted up, defying the closed door and drawn curtains, the subject of these celebrations laid face down on her bed, surprised to find that she could not hold back the tears.

* * * * *

Wednesday morning gave the Fourth-Year Gryffindors the chance of a lie-in, as their first class was not until after the morning break. Normally Hermione would not accept this opportunity of rising late, but not this time. After yesterday's exertions, both physical and emotional, she did not feel the burning need to face the day so early. Anyway, it gave her the chance to ponder the letter she needed to send to Oxfordshire.

Her sleep had been disturbed, dominated by dragons rearing up and exhaling an inferno, or that tore at her with razor-sharp talons before ripping her apart with serried rows of teeth. Several times she had awoken with sudden starts, jerking upright in her bed, sweat poring off her fevered brow, her heart hammering against her ribcage, racked with nausea and bile trapped in her throat. Had she been screaming too?

Only when conscious could she avoid those nightmares, so Hermione laid there, trying hard not to reflect on yesterday's close shaves.

She was in that nice, dozy period between first waking and finally gaining full measure of her senses, when the dormitory door was opened peremptorily, causing squeaks of alarm from the Brown and Patil four-poster beds.

Hermione glanced at her alarm clock, which insisted it was still only eight-thirty and not yet time for breakfast, then up at the doorway, which framed the familiar figure of Professor McGonagall.

"P-p-professor?" Hermione tried to blink the remaining sleep from her eyes.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall sounded just a little hassled. "Please dress as quickly as possible."

Hermione pushed her upper half up from the bed. "Why? What's wrong?"

"There's an official inquiry into yesterday's events," McGonagall replied. "Come, quickly now!"

Her still exhausted mind definitely did not welcome this new development.

Hermione jumped out of her nice warm bed and quickly pulled on her normal school clothes, not quite as smartly as normal, with her blouse mis-buttoned. She had no time to even attempt to tame her wild hair as McGonagall took her by the hand and literally pulled her down the stairs to the common room.

"What's… what's going on?"

McGonagall was muttering under her breath, words that Hermione could not quite catch. Some sounded like, but could not possibly have been, oaths. She thought the professor muttered "parchment pusher" once or twice, "scroll hoarder" and something about the anatomically impossible placement of a quill somewhere…

Hermione was still trying to pull on her shoes as McGonagall strode across the common room towards the portrait hole. She had to hop for a couple of steps before being able to fasten her shoelaces with one nifty domestic spell. McGonagall glared at the occupants who were treated to this unusual sight at this early hour, shook her head and stepped into the corridor beyond.

Once there, with the portrait firmly closed and the Fat Lady dismissed by the Head of Gryffindor, McGonagall paused and addressed a dishevelled and still orange-, but thankfully no longer turquoise, faced Hermione.

"There has been… I refuse to believe it… has been a complaint that you cheated in completing the First Task." McGonagall appeared outraged at the mere suggestion.

"Cheated?" Hermione was a little taken aback. "How?"

McGonagall started, marching them both down the tower steps and through the corridors towards the main staircases, talking as she went. "The Ministry has received a complaint that you received advance notice of the nature of the First Task and that Hogwarts' staff were complicit." At this McGonagall turned and give Hermione a hard look. "It was quite obvious that all four contestants somehow knew they would be facing dragons, but for a School to be involved in aiding one of its own Champions is a very serious matter… according to Barty Crouch!" The last four words were spoken with added venom.

"Now, I will ask only once, Miss Granger. Did anyone from Hogwarts tip you off about the dragons?"

"No." Hermione shook her head vigorously. "It was -" She paused, having no great desire to drag Bill Weasley's name into this sorry little affair. "You're right, I did know, but someone from outside the School told me."

"Good," McGonagall nodded her head in response, accepting Hermione's answer at once. "I was afraid that Hagrid might have let something slip."

"So, what do they want to do? Throw me out?"

"Precisely, Miss Granger. And we know the consequences if they are successful."

"Has that been their game all along?" Hermione asked her Head of House.

"I can't say, McGonagall replied. "I, too, entertained that suspicion, but I honestly cannot believe that even your detractors would go through all this trouble, instead of just subverting your O.W.L.s directly."

Hermione paused. "Maybe it doesn't matter. After yesterday, I'm not sure that I want to compete anyway," she admitted.

McGonagall paled. "Oh no, no, no - that won't do!" she exclaimed. "I will not stand aside and see your name and that of Hogwarts besmirched!"

"And what about me?" Hermione dared to challenge her formidable and favourite teacher. "Forget besmirched and the School's reputation. I nearly got myself killed facing that dragon yesterday? I was a fool to think I could get through unscathed. If it wasn't for …"

Hermione stopped. No, she would not drag Harry into this. After all, that could be delivering the very goal forces unknown were seeking.

Hesitating, McGonagall bent down slightly so that she could speak more closely to her star pupil. "Miss Granger… Hermione, you achieved something yesterday that will stand to your credit for the rest of your life. Even if Hogwarts' reputation were not an issue, I do not believe that I could allow anyone to take that away from you. I believe you faced down that dragon and successfully passed the First Task on your own merits - even if there was a modicum of outside assistance." Hermione was surprised to note a brief smile on McGonagall's face at that last phrase. "If, after timely and advised consideration, you choose to withdraw - and I do not believe that you really want to - then let it be on your terms, not theirs!"

Hermione was astonished at the feeling evident in McGonagall's statement. She was even more amazed when McGonagall straightened and looked straight past her. "Would you not agree, Alastor?"

Hermione spun. Professor Moody had appeared with unnatural silence, and she was now under the scrutiny of that strange magical eye.

Moody grunted. "Lass got herself into this mess. She's big enough and old enough to get out on her own."

"Nonsense," McGonagall brushed aside her comrade's ungracious response. "The poor bairn's being victimized."

"Maybe. Maybe not." This time Moody had kept his own natural eye fixed on Hermione. "Who raised the complaint?"

Hermione mentally stacked her Galleons on culprits with a Slytherin background, probably Malfoy Senior or Junior.

"Someone I cannot believe!" McGonagall expostulated. "Would you credit? It was one of my own Gryffindors. Percy Weasley!"

Hermione's jaw dropped at that revelation. "Percy?" she enquired for clarification, her mental Galleons lost for good. "Percy was here?"

"As an official Ministry observer," McGonagall confirmed with thinned lips.

"Hmmph! Boy was born with his wand all the way up his fundament," Moody observed, ignoring McGonagall's slightly hypocritical protest at the use of such imagery in front of an underage student.

Hermione was stunned. "But Percy? Why?"

"Boy's climbing the greasy pole," Moody responded. "Reckon it's to impress Fudge, though that don't take much nowadays."

* * * * *

There had been no time to call for Hermione's quasi-legal advisor, Cherie Booth, but McGonagall admitted that this was not a matter subject to law, magical or not. Instead it fell squarely within the rules of the Competition, and as such the relevant body to adjudge was the panel of four judges.

Hermione, who by now was less concerned with her future participation than indignant at being called a cheat, which was McGonagall's intention, relaxed a little at that. Once the truth was known she would be free to consider her options, however unpalatable they might appear to be.

The inquiry was held in the same antechamber off the Great Hall where she had been called into on Halloween. The four judges - Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Karkaroff and Barty Crouch - sat behind a large oak table. Ludo Bagman, looking as though he wished to find himself anywhere else but here, stood sweating profusely to one side. Seated to the other side at right angles to the judges' table were Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour. Viktor Krum was conspicuous by his absence.

McGonagall motioned to Hermione to sit next to Fleur, who gave her a nervous smile as she sat down. McGonagall herself sat in a row of seats behind the three competitors, between Professor Sprout and a visibly anxious Hagrid. She brushed away an insect that had been hovering around the empty chair. Moody busied himself casting a series of unfamiliar spells on the room.

"Paranoid, Moody?" Karkaroff's tones reminded Hermione of the unctuous Rita Skeeter.

"Still alive, aren't I, Igor?" Moody replied in his no nonsense tone, before standing by the fireplace, his magical eye ceaselessly switching between the other occupants.

It was Dumbledore who rose. "Ah, Miss Granger, our apologies for dragging you here at this early hour. We wondered if you could assist us with a few questions we have?"

At McGonagall's prompting, Hermione rose. "Of course, Headmaster."

"Good, Good. Mister Bagman?"

The very uncomfortable looking Ludo Bagman stepped forwards. "Yes, well," he began, before floundering. "There has been a complaint… a complaint raised regarding your efforts - magnificent as they were - yesterday. It is believed that you… well - the dragons, Miss Granger."

"I think what Mister Bagman is trying to say, Miss Granger," Dumbledore intervened smoothly, "is that you were made aware prior to the First Task that you would be facing dragons." He turned towards Bagman. "That is correct, is it not?" Bagman nodded. "Well, then, Miss Granger, perhaps you could enlighten us?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Yes, I did know in advance about the dragons - and so did everyone else."

Dumbledore appeared unsurprised at that information, although Karkaroff immediately jumped to his feet.

"You see, she admits it!" he declared feverishly.

Ignoring the Durmstrang headmaster, Dumbledore continued. "I see. Now, can you tell us from whom you obtained this information?"

Hermione stared hard at the Headmaster. "I cannot tell you who told me, but," she turned and looked at Hagrid, "I can confirm that the source was neither a member of Hogwarts faculty or its student body." She had no idea what repercussions could befall Bill or Charlie if their roles became public knowledge.

"Good," Dumbledore nodded.

Good?" Karkaroff seemed outraged, although Hermione thought his attitude was a little false, as though giving a performance. "I cannot accept the word of a self-admitted cheat! Who can believe that it was not one of you -" his finger slashed through the air from Dumbledore to McGonagall, then Hagrid and finally stopping aimed at Moody "- who did not reveal the task to her?"

McGonagall gasped behind Hermione at the imprecation.

His hand ostentatiously on his still-sheathed wand, Moody growled back, "I'd like to see what yeh've got up yehr own sleeve, yeh slimy ..."

Dumbledore raised one arm to quiet the more-or-less vocal complaints of his staff. Then he turned to face Karkaroff. "Whilst I do not believe impugning a young student's veracity is the way forward, would the word of the Supreme Mugwump suffice?"

Karkaroff, muttering, subsided. Calling Dumbledore a liar to his face was not a wise move, especially for a former Death Eater.

"She was seen though," Crouch interjected in his business-like tone, "visiting a certain Rubeus Hagrid the day before the First Task."

Hermione could hear Hagrid's gulp in nervous anticipation. "Mister Hagrid is Hogwarts' teacher in the field of Care of Magical Creatures and it was an assigned class," Dumbledore explained reasonably, then he turned his attention back to Hermione. "Did you discuss dragons with Hagrid, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded. Best to be completely truthful. "I discussed dragons twice with Hagrid..." She hoped his muttered "Oh blimey!" wasn't as loud in others' ears as it was to her own "… after I already knew that I would be facing a dragon, and not before."

Karkaroff was less dramatic this time as he changed tack. "What does it matter then who told her? She knew and she is a cheat."

Hermione's cheeks burned at the mendacious accusation. She had not cheated, or at least she did not think she had. As far as she could tell from the history books, inside information, deception and swindling all played their part in the Triwizard Tournament in the past, although these had pretty much been stamped out before the competition was abandoned. Did obtaining advance information count against her?

"Igor, if you please, one can only cheat if one seeks to gain an unfair advantage over one's competitors," Dumbledore said reasonably. "Now, Miss Granger, when you heard about the dragons, what action did you take - apart, that is, from preparing your excellently executed plan?"

This time her cheeks flushed at this high praise, Hermione's answer was simple. "I felt I had to arrange for all the others to be told."

"And did you?" Crouch's question was emotionless. Hermione nodded. Crouch turned to Cedric and Fleur. "Is this true? Were you informed of the nature of the First Task?"

Cedric stood. "Yes," he confirmed in a loud and clear voice, "I was informed by a friend of Granger's."

"Oui, c'est vrai … tré s vrai," Fleur added, a hint of a smile flickering across her face despite the seriousness of the situation. Hermione was grateful that the Beauxbatons' representative did not elucidate by revealing the identity of Hermione's messenger.

Dumbledore turned to the Durmstrang headmaster. "You see, Igor. There was no attempt to gain any advantage by Miss Granger, therefore there was no cheating." He spread his arms wide. "Just a simple misunderstanding, dealt with responsibly."

Karkaroff looked back bleakly. "There was a clear conspiracy to cheat Durmstrang though. Our Champion was not told."

"That's not true!" Hermione blurted out, causing Dumbledore to raise an eyebrow. "I told Viktor personally. Ask him if you don't believe me."

Karkaroff shot her a look of pure hatred. "Are you calling me a liar, girl?" he demanded.

Dumbledore started to intervene. "I am sure that Miss Gr-"

"Yes!" Hermione shouted, "I do believe I am," drawing another gasp of despair from McGonagall at her shoulder and a "Merlin's Beard!" from Hagrid. Then, as everyone stared at her, she tried to backtrack. "I mean.. I suppose it could all be a misunderstanding…"

Karkaroff's hand drifted dangerously close to his wand. "I have killed for less," he stated menacingly. "You are lucky to be so young."

"Yeh don't want to be doing that," came Moody's voice as he stumped forward, wand drawn but at his side. He came to a halt directly between Hermione and Karkaroff. "Strange though, that Krum ain't here to confirm the story," Moody cogitated, making a show of false bewilderment. "And come to think of it, I know exactly how many men you've killed, Karkaroff - and why."

The Durmstrang headmaster shot to his feet so fast his chair was sent tumbling. He responded with a vicious-sounding oath from Karkaroff in some unrecognisable Eastern European tongue.

"Don't start what yeh can't…"

"Enough!" Dumbledore bellowed, his voice shaking the antechamber. Everyone froze. "Alastor, put away your wand!" His command brooked no denial, and the ex-Auror holstered his wand. "Igor, please resume your seat."

"Doubly strange though, now I think of it" Moody mused once again. "Is Krum in the habit of shrinking his Nimbus and wearing it around his neck?"

With a face bearing similarity to a thundercloud, Karkaroff turned his back on Mad-Eye Moody. Hermione thought that was either extremely brave or extremely stupid, or perhaps Karkaroff had supreme confidence in Dumbledore's command. He smiled sickly. "Will the word of the Headmaster of Durmstrang suffice?" he intoned, throwing Dumbledore's previous enquiry straight back at the great wizard.

Dumbledore looked shrewdly at Karkaroff, then turned sadly to face Hermione. "In the absence of any evidence to the contrary, we cannot accept your assurance at face value, Miss Granger."

"But it's not true," she protested, her sense of injustice overriding her prior thoughts of bowing out of the Tournament. "I did tell Viktor, in the library."

"That does not matter." Barty Crouch's flat voice cut across this latest dispute. "Although the original complaint cannot be proven either way, we now have a new issue raised by the Headmaster of Durmstrang, who is the ex officio representative of their Champion in the latter's absence." He turned to face Karkaroff. "Do you wish to make your complaint official, Headmaster?"

Karkaroff's face split slowly into a wide lupine smile. "Oh yes, I most certainly do, Mister Crouch."

Ignoring renewed protests from Hermione, McGonagall, Hagrid and even Cedric, Crouch's eyes showed a flicker of life. "Then the motion to disqualify the -" He paused "- one of Hogwarts' Champions shall be put to judgement."

Dumbledore started to protest. "Mister Crouch, I think there is enough doubt -"

"That is for us to determine, Headmaster." He fixed Hermione with his tired eyes; she felt like she was facing a living corpse. "The integrity of the Triwizard Tournament has been called into question by the actions of one competitor, one whose very presence has been protested. In order to continue, I vote for expulsion."

As soon as Crouch's judgement had been delivered, there came sounds of a disturbance from behind the door leading to the Great Hall. As Crouch hesitated, waiting to discover the cause of the noise, Hermione leaned back to whisper to McGonagall.

"There are four judges. Karkaroff is obviously going to throw me out. What happens if it's a tie?"

McGonagall sounded anxious. "Then the Chair has the casting vote."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Don't tell me, it's Barty Crouch."

"I'm afraid so," McGonagall replied, but before the hushed conversation could continue any further, the door was blown open by a burst of magic, and Viktor Krum strode through the entrance. Although to most observers present he appeared unruffled, Hermione thought he seemed as incensed as she had ever seen him. He glowered at the scene before him.

Karkaroff once again leapt to his feet. "Kakvo pravish? Beshe ti naredeno da stoish v koraba!" he said loudly, sounding surprised.

Viktor betrayed no emotion, except in his narrowed eyes. "Moeto prisustvie kato edin or izbranite shampioni e neobhodimo."

Then Viktor did something unexpected. He turned and made a point of acknowledging Hermione's presence. "Dobro ootro, Hermy-own-ninny."

Karkaroff's emotions were gauged all too easily. His arm shot out, pointing at some unspecified spot beyond the walls of Hogwarts. "Tova ne e viarno; vrushtai se obratno vednaga! Shte si govorim za nepodchinenieto ti po-kusno," he shouted angrily, although whether merely from Viktor's presence or from being apparently ignored, Hermione could not hazard a guess.

Viktor turned to face his headmaster, his heavily muscled arms crossed firmly over his equally firm chest. "Ti ne mozhesh, i niama da mozhesh da me spresh da kaja tova, koeto triabva da bude kazano," he said calmly. Then he turned back to face Barty Crouch. "Vot is happening here?"

Dumbledore took a step forwards, earning a warning growl from Karkaroff, to which he replied laconically. "Mister Krum, it seems, no longer requires your representation."

Then the Hogwarts Headmaster addressed the Durmstrang champion. "Mister Krum, we merely wish to ascertain whether you were informed by Miss Granger that you would be facing dragons in the First Task?"

Viktor raised one eyebrow, but before he could respond, Karkaroff intervened. "Preduprezhdavam te, Viktor, druzh si ezika zad zubite, ili shte si imash nepriatnosti!" he snapped in what sounded suspiciously to Hermione like a warning.

Viktor's stare was cold, as was his voice. "Ako ne kazha istinata, ne zasluzhavam roliata si kato shampion."

Karkaroff then pointed straight at her. "Naistina li si mislish, che tazi nechistokruvna si struva zhertvata?"

"Dori ako Hermy-own-ninny Greindzhur ne beshe moia priatelka, pak bih potursil istinata," Viktor replied, glancing in her direction once again.

Hermione was fascinated. Her understanding of the whole conversation was confined to tone of voice and body language. Viktor compounded her difficulty, refusing to betray any emotion either vocally or through his expression. She supposed that Karkaroff had neither expected Viktor's arrival, nor was he in the least happy about his sudden appearance. Obviously she was at the centre of their disagreement.

"Pak to preduprezhdavam - tova, che is izvesten, niama da te spasi," Karkaroff's tone was more reasoned, but his anger still evident. "Imam mnogo vliatelni vruzki, koito mogat s nai-malkoto deistivie da ti vgorchat zhivota -"

Whatever he said visibly angered Viktor. "Igor Karkaroff, napulno sum naiasno ti koi si, i kakuv si bil v minaloto." For the first time Hermione heard Viktor's voice rise. The rebellios Champion's response was crisp and his right hand clenched around the edge of his robe, perhaps feeling for his wand. "Tezi zaplahi ot tvoiaia strana sa naprazni. Kakvo shte napravish? Shte me izhvurlish ot uchilishteto li? Kak mislish, che shte reagira ministurut?"

Whatever it was Viktor had said, it caused Karkaroff to explode, the veins in his neck and his forehead standing out in his heavily flushed face. He was livid. "Ti si beznadezhden. Mislish si, che sedeiki na niakava metla, shte se spasish. Preduprezhdavam te treti put, i ne samo tova, no ti i kazvam, che ne si prav. Nito nashia, nito tukashnia ministur mozhe da te predpazi, a i ne mozhesh da se oslaniash na zakrilata na Dumbuldor zavinagi. Kakvoto i da pravish, ne mozhesh da izbiagash or posledstviata. Az vdigam ruce ot tebe - s tvoite kamuni, po tvoita glava." With a gesture that could universally be interpreted as indicating he would have nothing more to do with either Viktor or this argument, Karkaroff sat heavily back into his seat and slumped, feigning a lack of interest in proceedings.

Viktor refused to back down an inch. He responded with a forceful gesture of his own, pumping his forearm at the object of his anger, his fist clenched with his thumb clearly visible between his first and second fingers.

For a moment, Hermione thought Karkaroff would go for his wand in response to Viktor's obviously insulting signal. Mad-Eye Moody certainly believed so, and had his own wand poised, looking ready, willing, and even eager to take down the Durmstrang Headmaster.

"If you please!" Dumbledore's clarion voice rang out, smothering any incipient duel.

After everyone had cooled off for a few seconds, Dumbledore turned again to Viktor. "Well, now that that is sorted out, perhaps you could -"

"Da." Viktor was not in the mood to waste time. "Hermy-own-ninny tell me about drakon. And she said others told as well … no advantage."

The audible sigh of relief from McGonagall was drowned out by Hagrid's exclamation: "Blimey! That's torn it!"

"Ah." His eyes twinkling, Dumbledore turned to face Karkaroff, who was careful to be found looking in another direction. "Just a simple misunderstanding the, would you not agree, Igor?"

Karkaroff, without turning, just waved dismissively to the room in general. "Yes, yes, carry on with this farce."

From behind her, Hermione heard Professor McGonagall grumble. "Only he could call the truth a farce."

"Good, excellent," Bagman jumped in, hopeful of some kind of happy ending. "Well, I see no need to continue -"

"No need to continue?" Barty Crouch's voice had all the warmth of an open grave. "Mister Bagman, a vote has been called. In fact, the vote has commenced." He straightened his shoulders. "It is our duty to continue."

Dumbledore moved closer to the Ministry's representative. "Barty, are you sure? It seems that everything is in order, even if a little unorthodox."

Even more emotionless that the impassive Krum, Crouch barely noted the Headmaster's presence. "A vote is in progress; it must be completed."

Hermione was trying to follow the logic. She was not a cheat, she had been proven to have informed all her fellow competitors, so she had gained an advantage over precisely no-one, unless you counted the Hungarian Horntail that was denied a late afternoon snack. As it stood, she could still be disqualified, then expelled from Hogwarts and the magical world. "No," she muttered. "This isn't happening."

She missed Cedric rise to his feet. "Mister Crouch, headmasters and headmistress," he began nervously, his face pale. "Let me make my position perfectly clear. The information I received from Hermione Granger allowed me to plan for and complete the First Task." He turned and flashed her a grateful smile. "It may even have saved my life.

"If you remove Miss Granger from the competition, then I will have no alternative but to withdraw myself."

That simple statement caused brief uproar. Sprout was talking urgently to Cedric, and Hermione caught snatches of conversation: "You know the consequ - … parents when you could be expelled … honourable but foolish…"

Dumbledore joined in. "Mister Diggory, much as I respect …" The rest was lost in the background noise.

Madame Maxime had also moved and was carrying on an equally rushed conversation in their natural tongue with a perplexed Fleur.

The din was brought to a halt when there was a magically enhanced retort of hand striking wood. All eyes turned to Barty Crouch.

"Very well." He turned his lifeless eyes on Dumbledore. "Your vote is required, Headmaster."

Before Dumbledore replied, Viktor spoke up. "I too will not take part."

Karkaroff betrayed a flicker of interest at that news. "Krum, za suzhalenie ti vinagi si si bil, i zavinagi shte si ostanesh prosto edin glupak," he said resignedly. Viktor appeared unmoved by Karkaroff's observation. Hermione wondered what had passed between the Bulgar and his star student.

"Moi, aussi." Fleur's feminine voice was a pleasing counterpoint to the all male dominated conversation so far. At least Hermione could translate that statement with some ease. She glanced at Madame Maxime, and instead of the expected disappointment or shock, she noted the Beauxbatons' Headmistress was beaming at her protégé. Fleur just grinned nervously at Hermione.

Then it struck Hermione. She was safe! None of the heads would vote to disqualify her now! Their own competitors would suffer the same penalties as she had faced.

"So be it." Barty Crouch was unmoved. "Dumbledore?"

The great wizard took his seat. "Continuation, Barty," he replied simply.

"Madame Maxime?"

The tall Frenchwoman appeared affronted. "Zis is seemply ree-deeculous. I vote with Dumbly-Dorr."

Two votes against disqualification! Hermione now looked at Karkaroff, and as she did a cold river of fear ran down her spine.

Karkaroff was staring appraisingly at Krum. Slowly, an evil-looking smile broke out over his face. Very deliberately, he turned to Crouch. "Disqualification."

There was a heart-beat of silence, then everyone was shouting again. Fleur was nearly Dulux emulsion white in shade, whilst Madame Maxime, her visage a vivid shade of fuchsia, was cursing in Gallic. Karkaroff, looking extremely satisfied, leaned back in his chair, shutting out everyone else. Viktor seemed unmoved, as though anticipating Karkaroff's betrayal, but on closer inspection even he appeared paler than normal. Cedric had slumped back in his seat, his head in his hands. Ludo Bagman had fainted.

Barty Crouch, ignoring every enquiry and insult, rose to his feet, his cadaverous face completely expressionless. "Very well. Under the Rules of Competition, the casting vote in the event of a tie is cast by the Chair of the Judges' Panel."

Hermione knew what was coming next. He had already voted for her expulsion. He would not change his mind now, even though the Triwizard Tournament would be destroyed, along with the magical lives of four students.

"I cast the deciding vote for di-"

He cut off suddenly, appeared lost for a moment, then appeared to collect his thoughts. "Continuation."

"What!" roared Karkaroff, but his complaints were soon drowned out by a fresh outbreak of relieved shouting and arguments.

"Gulpin' Gargoyles!" Hagrid was mopping himself with a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth.

Crouch was struggling to make himself clear. "Mister Diggory. It is unwise to point your wand against the Ministry. We have long memories and an even longer reach. Your father may remind you of that fact."

Hermione was utterly drained. She pressed all of her fingers into her forehead. This must be what it felt like after the close avoidance of a major accident. Hearing the clatter of an overturned chair or two, she glanced up just in time to see Karkaroff storm out of the antechamber in high dudgeon.

Cedric also appeared to have suffered a near-death experience. When she thanked him, he could only reply with a nod of his head and two muttered words. "Debt paid."

'With interest,' thought Hermione.

Madame Maxime was alternately showering Fleur with praise and Karkaroff with more imprecations in her native French. The cacophony all seemed to wash straight over Crouch, who sat motionless.

Looking around, Hermione noted that McGonagall was reviving Bagman.

Dumbledore was strangely motionless. Only, when Hermione looked a little closer, she saw that was not quite true. He was staring in Barty Crouch's direction with slightly narrowed eyes, as though pondering a problem. Hermione looked back to where Mad-Eye Moody was helping Crouch from his seat.

'Something happened to Crouch,' she thought. 'Someone or something made him change his mind at the last second.

But how? With Moody standing guard? Was even Dumbledore that good?

Viktor's arrival by her chair interrupted her ponderings. She stood up to thank him. "I'm grateful, but you shouldn't have -" she started.

"Neh, I must speak truth." He frowned. "It vill be.. trooden, how you say, hard…?" Hermione nodded. "It vill be hard for me now."

Hermione shivered. If he was indeed a former Death Eater, then Karkaroff made a dangerous foe. Viktor seemed to read her mind. "I know of Karkaroff. But the Ministry vill back me." He looked thoughtful. "It is not sudden. Ve haff disagreed before, but never…"

"What did he say to you," Hermione wanted to know.

Viktor shook his head. "Is bad things." He looked around. "Not here. Later. I see you in biblioteca?"

"Yes," Hermione then lowered her voice. "If it gets too … hard, Dumbledore will help. I'm sure of it."

* * * * *

* * * * *

The bruising had gone down as Madam Pomfrey had promised it would, and there was only a little scarring remaining on Hermione's left cheek and the backs of both hands. Or it seemed little to most other people; Hermione was only too aware of it.

Apart from that, the rest of the week passed uneventfully, with one exception. Now the toast of Gryffindor, Hermione also received praise from Ravenclaws, and even some Hufflepuffs, although they made it clear they still wanted Cedric Diggory to win. That worried Hermione not a jot.

The Slytherins were a different matter. Their attitude remained one of ridiculing condescendence. If any of them had admired her performance, they either had the sense or had not the courage to say so.

The only incident of note occurred on Friday lunchtime as Hermione made her way from Flitwick's class towards the Great Hall. Harry and the others had gone on ahead. She had asked the Charms Professor some questions relating to extra reading she would carry out over the Christmas holidays. Afterwards, while walking quickly along the corridor, Hermione had the misfortune to run into Draco Malfoy and his cronies.

"Oh look!" Malfoy feigned delight at this meeting. "Our vomiting Champion!"

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled as Hermione tried to push past them.

"Not so fast. I'm sure you want to see our new badges?" Malfoy's glee was unmistakeable. "You see, I reckon the taste of Mudblood would make even a dragon sick!" He touched the small enamel badge on his robe, and four words flashed in fluorescent pink.

"MUDBLOODS MAKE ME PUKE"

Unable to make her way past the sheer bulk of Crabbe and Goyle, Hermione quickly glanced over their shoulders, then just as fast looked Malfoy straight in the face, schooling herself to show no emotion. "Wit without measure, Malfoy," as she remembered the phrase quoted at her by Luna Lovegood.

"Good, aren't they?" Malfoy was inordinately pleased with himself.

"Yes," a clipped Scottish brogue replied from behind the Slytherin trio. "A remarkable feat of transfiguration, Mister Malfoy. A shame it has been wasted upon the expression of such disgusting sentiments."

The colour draining straight out of his face, Malfoy turned and faced a tight-lipped Professor McGonagall, her arms crossed. The glacial look she was giving Malfoy almost made Hermione laugh. Putting one hand forward while still maintaining that severe expression, she demanded: "Please hand it over so I can determine exactly how clever they are."

Audibly swallowing, his fingers trembling, Malfoy did as asked. McGonagall turned the badge over between her fingers. Without looking up she spoke. "You two, stay just where you are." Crabbe and Goyle had started to edge away, but they froze at her words.

After a few long seconds of running the badge through her bony fingers, McGonagall looked up and fixed Malfoy with her icy stare. "That will be nineteen points from Slytherin, and nineteen days detention with Mister Filch. One for each letter of your repulsive slogan."

Malfoy managed the incredible feat of turning even paler.

"And I will be having a word with your Head of House about your appalling choice of language."

Having pronounced sentence, for the first time, McGonagall looked at Hermione. "Miss Granger, should you not be at lunch?"

"Yes Professor." Hermione took the hint and left with a huge satisfied smile on her face.

"To think that one so educated would stoop…" McGonagall's dressing-down drifted away behind her.

The Gryffindor table had rocked with laughter when Hermione regaled them with that tale. Harry laughed so much he nearly choked on his ham and chips, Ginny declared she would have paid a good many Galleons to see the look on Malfoy's face, and Fred and George competed with each other in declaring their undying devotion to their Head of House.

Ron excluded himself from the general hilarity, sitting by his lonesome further down the table, shunned by most of his peers now that Hermione was little Miss Popular. Hermione noticed Harry casting the odd worried glance down the length of the table. She had not the heart to inform him of her most recent discussion with Ron.

The downside was the fifty points that Snape took from Gryffindor that Friday afternoon, thirty of which were deductions against Hermione for heinous crimes such as "moving one's lips and making sound." Nevertheless, Draco Malfoy's smirk was a pale imitation of normal. Hermione was just grateful to make it through without incurring any detentions to further even the score. Even then, the story of McGonagall and Draco Malfoy's badges kept the Gryffindor common room entertained that evening.

Hermione, heart lightened by having faced her dragon, felt happy for the first time in weeks. Even though she still pondered over her future, she looked forward to Christmas.

That fair mood lasted precisely seventeen hours, when Saturday's Daily Prophet arrived. Hermione paid off the post owl only to be greeted by the latest Rita Skeeter "scoop."

GRAINGER CITED AS CHEAT IN TRIWIZARD DRAMA

Saved By Pleas From Her Competitors

Hermione Grainger, the controversial fourth entrant in the Triwizard Tournament, faced expulsion from the competition and Hogwarts earlier this week, in the wake of an official Ministry complaint into her approach to Tuesday's First Task. Accusations were laid that Miss Grainger, a Muggleborn, had come into possession of the details of the task by nefarious means. Despite her cheating, she barely scraped through when faced by a dragon, and many onlookers believed she was lucky to survive. One, the fragrant Miss Pansy Parkinson, commented that she felt sorry for the dragon, having to put up with such base company.

The panel of judges, headed by Barty Crouch Senior, was on the brink of disqualifying Grainger from the Tournament. It was only the pleas for clemency from her true wizarding competitors, Mister Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts, Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang's own internationally-renowned World Cup hero Viktor Krum, that swayed the vote in favour of leniency, thus proving that courtesy and good breeding is not something one can obtain overnight, but qualities one is born with.

When pressed for a statement, a Ministry official replied: "This investigation goes to show that the Ministry is totally unbiased in the running of the Tournament and ensuring fair play, to the extent that we were prepared to exclude one of Hogwarts' own competitors, even if she is not a true Champion." Professor Dumbledore, the ageing Headmaster at Hogwarts, refused to comment. Perhaps the strain of having one of his own students investigated for underhand actions on top of inveigling her way into the contest is too much for an old wizard.

Miss Grainger, when approached, refused an interview.

That story simultaneously deflated the Gryffindor balloon and put fresh heart into the Slytherins. Cedric Diggory tried to help by informing anyone who enquired, and quite a few who did not, of the true nature of events. But with another question mark against the legitimacy of her participation hanging over her, Hermione was once again aware of grumbles and whispers.

That did not necessarily worry Hermione, although she had much preferred the atmosphere of the previous few days.

Still, there was the option that Luna Lovegood had floated, that of an interview for The Quibbler to set the record straight. Hermione made a mental note to speak with the unorthodox Ravenclaw next time their paths crossed.

One issue did worry her, however. The article carried just enough information to lead to the conclusion that someone present in the antechamber had provided details of Wednesday's hearing. The actions of the other three champions had not been made widely known, given that stress it put on everyone's relations with the Ministry, and the closeness of the vote had not been publicly disclosed.

Someone had talked.

Hermione narrowed it down to three suspects: Barty Crouch; Igor Karkaroff; and Ludo Bagman. However none appeared to have both motive and opportunity. Crouch was so ingrained with establishment ideology that she found it unbelievable he would leak information to the press. Karkaroff would appear to gain nothing except a little petty revenge on her, which made no real sense. And Bagman had appeared so bewildered when he was finally Ennervated that Hermione doubted he could recall exactly what had occurred.

That nagged away at her all weekend, so it was with some consternation that when she was walking down the hill towards Hagrid's hut on Monday, ready for Care of Magical Creatures, that she spotted Rita Skeeter loitering.

Marching straight up to the reporter, barely able to keep steam from blowing out of her ears, Hermione spat out a question. "What in the name of Athena are you doing here?"

Rita smiled that sickly, faux smile. "Charming as ever, Miss Granger. Did you enjoy Saturday's story?"

That needled Hermione. "How did you get that information?" she demanded.

The smile grew wider. "That's for me to know and for you to find out, dear." She turned her back on the patronised Hermione. "I'm here to speak to Mister Hagrid."

"Why would you want to talk to Hagrid?" Harry's question came from over Hermione's right shoulder. He sounded only marginally less hostile than his friend. Rita ignored him just as said half-giant emerged from behind his hut.

"Who're yeh?" He was holding a length of grimy rope, the other end of which was looped around the neck of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Rita beamed at him. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter." her voice lavished Hagrid with attention.

Hagrid's eyes narrowed. "Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside Hogwarts?" The Skrewt, forgotten about for the moment, edged towards Rita, who jumped back. She landed in a puddle, splashing her bright maroon cloak with mud.

"Aren't you the one who wrote that story about Hermione?" Neville sounded cautious. Rita effected not to hear his question. Hagrid, however, had.

"That pack o'lies, yeh mean!" He reined in the Skrewt.

"Nonsense. All true, every word. Must have been the editing." Rita eyed the Skrewt warily. "Those dangerous creatures are allowed near children?"

"I think yeh'd better leave." Hagrid's low bass rumble sounded more threatening than his reputation allowed.

"Oh, but I was so looking forward to interviewing you. You see, the Prophet runs a zoological column -"

"I thought Hagrid said leave." Harry's words were cold as iron. His wand was drawn but resting uneasily against his right thigh.

"I got nuthin' ter say ter the likes of yeh," Hagrid grumbled. "Yeh'd better go afore I call for Dumbledore. I got a lesson ter ' old, see." He allowed the Skrewt a little more slack and it edged towards the brightly-clad reporter, who took two more clumsy steps backwards before slipping and falling on her rear in the mud.

Not a Gryffindor failed to laugh. Beaten, but not defeated, an embarrassed Rita beat a slow, slimy, trail of retreat up the hill.

"Well done Hagrid!" exclaimed Hermione. Hagrid beamed awkwardly in his own turn. The others just gingerly eyed the Skrewt.

* * * * *

Catching up on her course work, in which was barely six months ahead of the syllabus, Hermione found the next few days fly by. She was a little concerned for Harry over his missing Ron's company, and told him more than once that she would not mind if he spoke to her former friend. Just as long as he did not expect her to follow suit. Harry simply shook his head. He did not even ask her for the gory details of her last failed attempt to patch things up.

They were finishing up in Transfigurations class on the Thursday morning when McGonagall asked Hermione to stay behind for a moment. Harry, who had maintained his seat alongside a sullen Ron, decided to wait at the door for his friend.

The professor primly finished marking the class' stopping point in her lesson planner, and then looked up. "Miss Granger, I am arranging lessons in dance for those who are attending the Yule Ball," McGonagall stated. "As you will be leading the dancing, I would suggest that you and your partner would benefit from participating. We would not want you tripping over one another leading things off, after all." She looked shrewdly at her favourite student. "You do have a partner by now, do you not?"

It was her way of broaching a personal subject.

Finding her shoes quite interesting of a sudden, an embarrassed Hermione could only shake her head. Apart from McLaggen, no-one else had approached her, not even after she had proven her mettle in the First Task. She was damned if she would be found on the arm of a charmless oaf who acted as if he was granting her a favour!

Too late, she had thought of approaching a Ravenclaw contemporary, but Terry Boot and Michael Corner were taking the Patil twins, and that strange Lovegood Third-Year had somehow induced a baffled Anthony Goldstein into partnering her. Closer to home, Seamus and Dean had almost come to blows over Lavender, which pleased said girl no end. For her part, Hermione did not want to end up with one of Miss Brown's cast-offs, and in any event the loser had not thought to ask.

"No? I am surprised, a good-looking girl such as yourself, especially after that display against the dragon." McGonagall shook her head in mild disbelief.

'You've obviously forgotten the way I looked after that date with the dragon,' thought Hermione.

"Any ideas, no?" Hermione forlornly shook her head again. There had been a reason for her tardiness in considering the Ravenclaw option, but in present company, she was not about to give it voice.

McGonagall peered at her over her wire-rimmed spectacles. "Well, that just will not do. A Champion must have a partner. Even though you persist in not so viewing yourself, I will not have you embarrass yourself or the school." She lifted her gaze a fraction and peered at the classroom entrance, trying to make out who was loitering there. "Mister Potter," she called out, summoning Harry to her. "Come here."

Harry, blissfully ignorant of the conversation, walked up to Hermione' side. McGonagall had no time for fripperies. "Mister Potter, do you have a date for the Yule Ball?"

Realising her Head of House's intent a fraction before McGonagall pounced, Hermione thought: 'Well, this is pointless, as he's certain to have asked Cho Ch-'

"Umm … no." Hermione turned and stared open-mouthed at Harry.

"Well, Miss Granger needs a partner." McGonagall left it at that, expecting her Gryffindors to act accordingly. Harry just stood there, looking bemused, as if he could not believe what was happening.

McGonagall sighed, and then spelled matters out for the suddenly dumbstruck boy. "You are meant to ask her if she would like to accompany you to the Ball … as your date," she added, throwing her hands up in despair at the general level of cluelessness on display.

"Oh!" Harry twitched. "Sorry, of course ... Umm, er … Would you, Hermione?"

"Of course she would," McGonagall answered on her behalf, before the other half could muck things up even further. "Now with that settled, away with the both of you. Stop wasting my time."

Shell-shocked, Hermione and Harry departed, only to stand looking back in bewilderment at McGonagall from the sanctuary of the corridor.

"I thought you were going to ask Cho Chang?" Hermione put to him quietly.

Harry looked discomfited. "I did," he replied tersely. "She said no. She's already agreed to go with someone else."

"Oh." Cedric, she bet. Hermione was a little disappointed for Harry, but his confession caused another little stab of pain. Not only had Harry wanted to go with another girl, but even when turned down he had not thought to ask her. "You know, Harry, you don't have to be my partner if you don't want to," she said honestly.

"No, sounds like a good idea, although I can't dance." Harry stopped and looked strangely at Hermione. "I still can't figure it out, but you do look different somehow," he remarked. "Come on, we're missing break."

Hermione remained where she was for a moment. 'Why, if I am going to the Ball with Harry, don't I feel as happy as I was when I thought he was going to ask me before?' she asked herself.

Shrugging the question off for later consideration, she caught up with Harry and they went on their way of the Great Hall.

* * * * *

Thanks to beta readers Bexis and George. They continue with their never-ending ruthless work!

McGonagall's comment on Hermione's policy of directing her magic towards changing the environment around the dragon, instead of directly against the beast itself, was inspired by a review from Newyn, who commented that the latter required several handlers to restrain the dragon.

The full quote from Sir Winston Churchill is: "In war: resolution. In defeat: defiance. In victory: magnanimity. In peace: goodwill" from the preface to his history of the Second World War. I had debated and, in some cases, been urged to allow Hermione to give the rest of Gryffindor House both barrels as suggested by Ginny. I am not sure that would be Hermione's way, although she does consider it.

The idea for Harry threatening to withdraw from the Quidditch team if the Gryffindors did not support Hermione originally came from Quillian.

My thanks to the members of the Yahoo Group Caer Azkaban, especially Indigo Cat and Chris Hill, for their suggestions for McGonagall's insults for Percy.

Dulux is Britain's leading paint company.

Are the three other Champions too noble to risk sacrificing themselves for Hermione? My take is that the Goblet of Fire selects based not only on magical ability but also moral courage. Of course, if the Goblet had been suborned to select Harry, it is possible that the other choices have been interfered with, but as no-one in canon is surprised when Cedric, Viktor & Fleur are selected, it seems unlikely.

For those of you [yes, I mean YOU] who require a translation of the "conversation" between Viktor Krum and Igor Karkaroff, here it is, courtesy of my beta reader George (assuming you don't want the Cyrillic version, which he gave me originally, but I cannot use without reconfiguring my keyboard…)

Karkaroff: "You were ordered to stay in the ship!"

Viktor: "My presence as a Champion is required."

Karkaroff: "Your presence is not required. Go back; you and I will discuss your disobedience when I return."

Viktor: "No. I will speak, I will not be silenced."

Karkaroff: "I warn you Viktor, remain silent or face the consequences."

Viktor: "If I do not speak the truth then I will condemn myself as unworthy of my role."

Karkaroff: "Do you really think this little Mudblood is worth the sacrifice?"

Viktor: "Even if Hermy-own-ninny Granger was not my friend, I would see the truth out."

Karkaroff: "I warn you Viktor, celebrity will not protect you. I have many friends in high places who will -"

Viktor: "I know exactly who you are, Igor Karkaroff, and what you used to be. Your threats are worthless here. What would you do? Expel me? How would the Minister in Sofia react to that?"

Karkaroff: "You ignorant brat. You believe sitting astride a broom will save you. I warn you… no, I tell you, it will not. Ministers cannot save you, nor can you hide under Dumbledore's skirts for ever. You cannot escape the consequences. I wash my hands of you. On your own head be it."

And, finally, "Krum, za suzhalenie ti vinagi si si bil, i zavinagi shte si ostanesh prosto edin glupak" = You always were a fool, Krum."

Oh, and dobro ootro = good morning; trooden = difficult, and biblioteca = library according to my cheap & cheerful phrasebook!