Unofficial Portkey Archive

Apologies for the long wait for a new chapter. Real life intruded upon both my time and that of my beta readers - and once again, a great deal of this chapter was the result of Bexis' and George's efforts, for which they have my thanks.

Christmas Day brings an unlooked for but vital discussion between two former friends.

Once again, I am not profiting from the use of JKR's playthings.

Hermione woke early the morning after the Yule Ball, and for a few delicious minutes lay in her warm bed, scratching a mewling Crookshanks, as she relived the thrill of dancing with Harry Potter last night.

Heady excitement all too quickly devolved into pangs of regret as she rewound and replayed her decision not to kiss Harry; that she had chickened out of finding out exactly where she stood for fear of a negative response bit deeply into her stomach. The last dregs of euphoria from her somnial fantasy dribbled away. She turned and pressed the side of her face deep into the pillow, cursing her lack of courage. Yes, she believed her decision made sense, but it was painful nonetheless.

As Crookshanks attempted to insinuate himself between Hermione's shoulder and her headboard, it dawned on her that this was Christmas morning. That induced more bitter-sweet feelings, as this was the first Christmas where she was suffering an enforced separation from her parents. The previous year she had chosen to stay at Hogwarts, and although she had not mentioned anything to either Harry or Ron, even then she had endured an undertow of guilt at not spending precious time with Mum and Dad. This year her choice had been seized by Triwizard bureaucrats. For a moment she burned with renewed anger.

Determined not to allow her troubles to ruin what should be the best day of the year, and preferring to accentuate the positive sentiments of last night, Hermione decisively threw back her duvet, surprising the frowsy Crookshanks unpleasantly in the process, and headed for the bathroom to make herself presentable. The tidy pile of presents at the foot of her bed could wait.

Freshly showered, Hermione finally permitted herself the indulgence of examining her presents. The bulky package marked from Mum and Dad contained the usual assortment of books and clothes: Primo Levi and Miss Selfridge; Shakespeare and plain old reliable Marks & Spencer.

There was also another present from home neither unexpected nor welcome: a letter. Hermione had been dreading its arrival, ever since she had first told her parents about the dragons. That moment of truth had come, and now she could not bear to unfold the paper and read. The likely herald of her withdrawal from the world of magic was a matter to be delayed. Her irresolution reigning, Hermione placed it in the drawer of her bedside cabinet, and turned back to other, more pleasant gifts.

To her considerable surprise, there was even a small one for her from Ron. Even more of a surprise, she realised it was not Ron's handwriting on the label. She had corrected enough of his homework to be familiar with his flat, scratchy style. Perplexed, she turned the wrapped package around in her fingers. Then she quickly put it down and hurried to her trunk where she had stored the presents she had brought.

They were all gone. Every one. Hermione was not surprised, as she supposed the house elves who played Father Christmas had carried out their duties to the letter, delivering each and every present to its intended recipient.

As usual, Hermione had shopped early for her presents, and had purchased some of Honeyduke's finest selections for Ron during their first visit to Hogsmeade that autumn, to beat the rush and the price hikes later in the year; and, being ever so organised, she had carefully wrapped and labelled it.

She was not sure if she should be happy or sad. The simmering anger at Ron's betrayal threatened to rear its ugly head again.

Suppressing those wrathful feelings, Hermione carefully unwrapped her unexpected present. The contents were equally breathtaking.

It was a small pendant fashioned in polished silver, inlaid in places with a blue stone she thought was lapis lazuli. Shaped like a key, or a cross topped with a loop, it irresistibly reminded Hermione of a cartoon figure of a ghost. Hanging from her fingers, it spun on its axis from a fine silver chain.

This was no joke-shop gift; it also looked significantly more expensive and thoughtful than anything Ron had ever given anyone as a present; even Harry had not been so generous.

Hermione recognized its provenance. It was a charm styled in the shape of an Ankh, the Ancient Egyptian symbol for eternal life. She had seen similar hieroglyphic designs in the Egyptology section of the British Museum. She examined it more closely.

It appeared to have runic inscriptions; Hermione promised herself she would check those references in the Library as soon as possible. Certainly this was a very different present compared to anything Ron had previously given her., She wondered if someone else, someone older and more worldly, had a hand in the choice. The prime suspect was Bill. That might also explain the handwriting.

Then she frowned. Now she would have to talk to Ron, even if it was just the formality of a 'thank you.'

Placing the pendant on her bedside cabinet, Hermione turned her attention to her other presents. Harry, bless him, had brought her Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, a required O.W.L. textbook on Ancient Runes. For once, Harry was thinking ahead. She hoped he would enjoy the Quidditch book he had received in return.

Hermione chose to wear one of her parents' presents, a lovely cream and brown woollen jumper, as she dressed ready for breakfast. As she descended the staircase into the common room, she was not surprised to find it apparently unoccupied. She supposed every Gryffindor was either sleeping off last night's jollities or busy tearing into wrapping paper and ribbons. She made her way across the floor when the sound of movement caught her attention.

A dishevelled mop of red hair shot up from behind a sofa. Hermione mentally cursed that it had to be the one Weasley she did not want to meet at this time of the morning. Not until she had time to devise a strategy and plot what she wanted to say.

Hermione had seen Ron looking better. Judging by his crumpled clothing, pale face and blood-shot eyes, she could easily imagine he had not seen his bed during the night.

"Oh, cripes!" he muttered in a small voice.

"Ron." The reply was purely an acknowledgement of his presence, devoid of any warmth.

Standing up, Ron brushed himself down. Hermione thought he was trying hard to avoid looking directly at her.

"What are you doing down here?" she demanded bossily.

"Um… Happy Christmas, 'Mione," Ron stumbled over his response.

"And to you. Thank you for the present." At least that was out of the way, but it did not make the exchange any less tense.

"Oh…" Ron was visibly abashed. "That… you're… um, welcome."

They both stood in an awkward silence. Hermione knew they had to have a discussion sometime, but neither seemed ready to initiate it. Finally she came to a decision. "Well, I'm off to breakfast," before adding in a grumble: "And don't call me ''Mione'!"

As she turned, Ron called out. "Hermione!"

Hermione turned, arms crossed tightly over her chest in a gesture of impatience. Sighing dramatically, she asked: "What, Ron?"

He shambled out from behind the sofa but was careful not to approach too closely. "I wanted to… well, I waited up all night because …" He appeared to have run out of both words and thoughts.

Hermione glared at him, but she recognised that if they were going to have another conversation-cum-argument, then they might as well have it here and now. The empty common room was far preferable to supplying entertainment for the masses once again.

Ron looked straight at her for once, and steeled himself. "I wanted to apologise for being a right git."

"Why are you apologising, Ron?" Hermione snapped back. "Is it for my sake, or for yours?"

Her unexpected tack took Ron a little taken aback. "Does it matter?" he asked plaintively.

"Of course it does. Do you think a simple 'sorry' is enough to pardon the way you've behaved for over a month?"

Ron sat down heavily in one of the stuffed armchairs. "Bloody hell, who ever thought saying sorry could be so much hard work!" he muttered more to himself than Hermione, but she heard him nonetheless.

"That depends upon what 'saying sorry' has to overcome. Did Bill put you up to this?" Hermione demanded.

"Yes… No… Well, sort of." Ron stammered.

Hermione raised a quizzical eyebrow.

Running his hands over his face and then into his hair, as though it could wipe away the obvious tiredness, Ron looked absolutely shot. "I wanted to… last night. But you were …" He broke off at Hermione's accusing stare. "Okay, I bollixed it all up, didn't I? Nothing new, that," he said, Hermione sure this was for his own benefit.

"I've been trying to apologize for a week or so, but never could find the right time, or if I did you made yourself scarce."

"Don't try and pin the blame on me, Ronald!" Hermione found herself wagging her finger at the errant boy.

Ron stared glumly at the fireplace. "Yeah, I know there's only myself to blame," he admitted. "Bill told me that weeks ago." Then he looked up at Hermione. "I'm not lying though… I tried to talk to you last night, but things got out of hand again, as they always do.

"I like you Hermione." She gave him a look of frank disbelief. "Honestly. It's just that, well, we seem to set each other off."

In the pregnant silence, Ron's words echoed blandly through the otherwise deserted room. Hermione, torn between biting back and hearing him out, wondered how exactly they had allowed such awkwardness to come between them. Once, not that long ago, they had been best of friends. Now why did they find it so intimidating even to talk to each other? Why was it difficult to find the words, to tiptoe around the subject, just to avert another fight? Of course, in her opinion, the fundamental reason was Ron's crippling inferiority complex.

"Bill told me last night to speak to you as soon as I could, not to allow things to fester anymore between us, so I waited down here." Ron shrugged. "You're always the first one up, and I thought it would be the best time to talk to you, with no-one else around."

Her hands now came to rest impatiently on her hips.

"When your name came out of that Goblet, I was so sure it was something you'd done." He glanced up almost shyly at her. "You're clever like that."

"But you never listened to me," Hermione shot back, ignoring the compliment. "I told you I didn't enter, yet you carried on accusing me of cheating."

Blushing madly, Ron looked even more downtrodden. "I guess I was too dense to think of any other explanation. And there you were, top of the class, now a Champion. And there was Harry - youngest House Seeker in a century, along with all that 'Boy-Who-Lived' rubbish." His bottom lip drooped a little. "And then there's me - useless boring Ron Weasley."

'Ah,' she thought: 'I was spot on!'

"Jealousy is no expiation, Ron," she rifled back. He gave her a lop-sided befuddled look, requiring clarification. "It's no excuse!" Hermione added.

He nodded his head absent-mindedly, understanding now. "Not looking to be excused, just to explain… It's just… I saw you two, and I thought that'd be it. Game over. You guys didn't need me."

"Ron, I know what it's like to be lonely." Hermione recalled her first few weeks at Hogwarts, when she feared that once again she would be the friendless know-it-all. And the episode over the Firebolt sprang to the fore, firing her indignation. "But you had plenty of opportunities to come to your senses. I gave you… I don't know how many chances. When I really needed your friendship, your support, your sympathy even, you weren't there!" Her voice had risen to an anguished cry by the end.

"Don't you - " Ron started to snarl, then quickly reined in his own instinctive emotional response. "I tried - really I did. Then there was all that fuss about the dragons - "

"That I can't forget," Hermione interrupted. "Or forgive. You know what hung in the balance."

Ron rested his head in his hands. "Harry knows. If you can't believe me, believe him! I tried to tell you, but somehow never found the chance."

Recalling that Harry had already intimated that, Hermione conceded that Ron might have a case on that point, and that point only.

"After that, well, what with Fred and George ganging up on me again, and with Harry and even Ginny taking against me, I just ... well, sort of lost it, gave up really." Ron looked up at her. "Honestly, I never wanted you to be hurt. I was so relieved that you made it through the First Task. But then I saw how everybody else changed their tune, and how…" His voice trailed away until he croaked hoarsely. "First Harry, then you. It was everything I'd always wanted to be. How can I compete with that?"

"Don't be a jealous prat! That's how you deal with it, Ronald!" Hermione's irritation came through clearly. "Why do you feel you have to compete against your friends?"

"Because I don't want to be left behind," he replied forlornly.

Hermione began pacing up and down in front of him. "How dare you insinuate that Harry or I ever left you out of anything?" she hectored him, wagging her index finger once again.

Ron threw up his hands defensively. "I never meant it like that!" he protested weakly.

"Then how did you mean it?" Hermione shot back.

"That… well, Harry's got onto the Quidditch team," Ron stumbled over the words. "And he saved the Stone, all in his First Year. And rescuing Ginny and killing that big snake …"

Hermione could not believe her ears. "Harry risked his life… that bloody Basilisk bit him! How can you be jealous of that?"

Ron looked scared; Hermione guessed this conversation was not going to plan as far as he was concerned.

"I dunno," he muttered. "It's not that I'm jealous …" He quailed under Hermione's frankly incredulous stare. "I don't mean to be," he complained. "Just that, well, things happen to Harry. They don't happen to me."

"Hogwash!" Hermione was in no mood for Ron's self-pity. "You were there with us when we went after the Philosopher's Stone. And you went down to the Chamber of Secrets with Harry." That, she knew, took real bravery on Ron's part, something she had admired.

"Yeah, but what use was I, huh? One game of chess and I was out cold. Then I couldn't even rescue my own kid sister. I was stuck on the other side of those rocks with that prize pillock. Harry had to do it all on his own."

Hermione paused before she replied. Perhaps she was viewing this from the wrong perspective. Maybe Ron's issues were not with Harry's achievements, but his own lack of them. Did his own sense of self-worth suffer because others compared him to Harry? Did his own failure to rescue Ginny weigh heavily on his conscience?

"But you know how much you mean to Harry as his friend?" she pointed out.

Ron's rejoinder was swift. "I like to think Harry means as much to me," he said. "But then almost everybody wants to be Harry's mate because of who he is." He grimaced. "Even that ponce Malfoy tried it on the train."

Hermione knew what he meant. Harry's fame was a two-edged sword. Sometimes it seemed that only Ron and she did not see him purely through the filter of the Boy-Who-Lived's celebrity. "And what about me?" she asked in what was a dangerously quiet tone.

Hermione swore a flicker of a smile ghosted across Ron's face as he considered this question. "Well," he started slowly. "You're the cleverest witch I know. You know lots of stuff and -"

"No," Hermione butted in. "I meant why are you jeal-"

"Last year!" Ron cried, interrupting her. Hermione halted. She stared enquiringly at him.

Ron's shoulders slumped. That disclosure was plainly unplanned. "All right! End of last year. When you and Harry went off without me and saved Sirius, and saved Buckbeak, and…"

"We didn't deliberately leave you behind," Hermione objected vociferously. "You were in no condition to come with us."

"Maybe, but I didn't see it that way," Ron countered. "I saw Harry looking to save Sirius, facing up to danger and those Dementors an' all. And then there was you." He gave a surprising half-smile at that, almost out of admiration. "You showed him how to do it, and then you went with him, despite knowing how bad things could be.

"It was then I realised I was being left behind - not just for that night …"

Hermione had ceased her pacing. She could tell Ron was baring his soul on this point, something she had never seen him do, or even thought him capable of, if she was honest.

"I laid there, useless, and thought I might not see either of you alive again. Then it hit me: you and Harry didn't need me. You had each other." He stared straight at her, which brought goose pimples to her flesh. "You'd never really needed me, and I thought once you knew this - and you're so clever there's no way you wouldn't - then that's how it would be from then on. You and Harry, with me left behind. Alone."

For the first time in weeks Hermione felt a glimmer of sympathy for Ron. "I never thought … I never knew," she said more to herself than to him.

Shrugging his shoulders, Ron carried on. "You know everything, Hermione. When we all met up again at the Burrow in the summer, things seemed okay. Perhaps I'd just been wrong - no surprise, that. Everything was how it used to be - us three together. Then your name came out of that bloody Goblet and I knew everything would come a cropper again. What could Harry Potter and a Hogwarts' Champion want with me?"

Hermione's fleeting sympathy vanished. "You should have known I didn't enter my name for this ridiculous competition," she said more calmly than she felt she should.

"To be honest, I thought you were just being clever again and foxing Dumbledore," Ron admitted, his pale face blushing slightly. "I was being stupid, not thinking straight." He looked Hermione straight in the eye. "I know, that's no excuse. But I was just …"

"Binning three years of friendship is what it was," Hermione observed tartly. Ron shot her a sharp glare. "Well, it's true, isn't it? Sometimes, Ron, I wonder why we ever thought we could be friends. It took a bloody big Troll to push us together -" Her eyes flashed. "- and don't think I've forgotten whose fault that was!"

There followed a few moments of uneasy silence.

"If - if I tell you the truth," Ron started, his words hanging in the morning air, "promise you won't hex me?"

Hermione eyed his doubtfully. "Depends," she replied, her fingers already drifting wand-wards. As intended, Ron noticed this and who blanched visibly.

"Well… you were a right bossy little know-it-all when you first arrived," Ron gabbled quickly. Hermione's eyes narrowed. "You thought - no, you knew - you were so much cleverer than us. At least, that's how I saw it then."

"Really?" Hermione ground out between gritted teeth.

"Now I reckon you really wanted to help us - me, Harry , Neville, anyone. You were just … really lousy at doing that. You were so … intense; if you'd been a rubber band you'd've snapped. That night I made you cry. I knew what you were trying to do, bit it came across as showing me up. I snapped instead and shot my big mouth off not knowing how lonely you really were.

"I reckon all three of us were lonely. I know it sounds silly, what with six brothers and Ginny and all."

"No," Hermione replied quietly. "It doesn't." She remembered Bill's words of wisdom from last night. Ron had much to live up to as a Weasley. Even as socially gauche and inept as she was three years ago, Hermione could see that Ron missed the warm familiarity of home.

This time Hermione was on the end of a quizzical look. Ron frowned, rubbed his chin, then carried on. "You're nearly not that bad now - actually," he hastened when she bristled. "You're pretty good these days. That's why I think the three of us stuck together. Then with what's gone on since, it just made sense; we were the Trio. But when your name was called it looked like the old you all over again, trying to show how much clever you are than the rest of us." He looked down at his feet. "Bloody stupid, I know now, but I saw something else setting you and Harry apart from me. We weren't a Trio any more. There was Harry and Hermione, and then me bringing up the rear, if anyone remembered me at all."

It was a lot to take in. "I never thought of you as anything other than a friend," Hermione said finally. "I also knew you were as brave as Harry, braver than me."

Ron shook his head. "I just follow Harry. He doesn't think about things like we do." Again he looked her in the eye. "You're the brave one, since you can see it coming. You know it'll be dangerous. Yet that doesn't stop you." Hermione could have sworn that a tinge of admiration underpinned his words.

"Anyway, I reckon you've proved that to all this year," he added.

"And what about the dragons?" Ron appeared a little confused at the question., so Hermione made it perfectly clear. "Charlie told you about the dragons. Why'd you keep that from me?"

"Ah" Ron gulped, his face growing even pastier. "I was going to, really I was." A thin film of perspiration appeared on his brow. "Not my finest hour. I was a prat, a real prick …"

"Ron!"

"Sorry." The admonishment and apology were automatic. "Well, I thought for once I knew something you didn't. I tried planning it all out: I'd tell you when we were alone; you'd be so relieved just to know that you'd forgive me for everything; and I'd prove that even clever Hermione Granger needed thick old Ron Weasley."

Hermione's expression hardened as he talked. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "But you didn't tell me, did you?"

"No," Ron sighed. "I so enjoyed having an edge on you that I kind of lost my head up my arse. The right moment never came, and when I tried to tell you anyway, you didn't want to talk to me at all. And there was Krum," he added sourly.

"What do you mean about Viktor?" Hermione demanded hotly. "He's been nothing but a perfect gentleman, something I can't say about others." She glared at Ron. "He was even your flavour of the month when he first arrived here."

Pulling a resentful face, Ron's reply was self-deprecatory. "He was my replacement… How can I compete with a World Cup Quidditch legend?" Contemplating what he had done, Ron shook his head. " And it was another excuse to feel angry with you." He rubbed his tired eyes with the balls of his hands.

Near infuriation, Hermione was also shaking her head. "Not everything is about you, Ron. But, truth be told, I did need a replacement, a replacement friend, since you'd vacated the position." She hoped that barb bit home.

It did. Ron slumped bonelessly into one of the red squashy armchairs.

"I deserved that," Ron said quietly. "Not telling you… I can't forgive myself." His eyes drifted down to where his fingers now played nervously with each other. "I so wanted the timing to be perfect that I missed my mark, and Bill had to tell you about the dragons." He paused. "Not my finest hour."

"You played with my life," Hermione said coldly, pausing to enunciate each word.

Ron's head jerked up. He looked as pained as with his broken his leg the previous year. "I would've told you - honest!" He sounded suddenly desperate. He pulled his wand. "Look - I'll take a Wizard's Oath, anything!"

"You don't know how to, Ron," Hermione commented. "You'd probably blow the roof off Gryffindor Tower." Ron looked offended at that catty retort.

They lapsed into that uneasy silence again.

"Well, what do we do now?" Once again it was Ron who sought resolution.

Hermione sat down heavily in a chair opposite him. "I really don't know," she admitted. "What do you want to happen?"

"Really?"

"Really."

"I… I saw how you looked at him last night -"

Hermione frowned and firmly cut him off. "No, Ron." Pointing her index finger at him like a wand, she ordered: "Don't. Dare. Go. There."

Ron frantically waved his hands, desperate to dispel the impression he might have given. "No, no!" he replied in almost blind panic. "I didn't mean… well…" he shakily pointed at Hermione. "You… and…" Pointing at himself. "…me - that'd just be plain stupid, wouldn't it?"

Quietly fulminating, Hermione just stared back at him. She was not sure what annoyed her most: the thought that Ron might have once entertained the same stirrings of interest she had experienced over the summer; or that Ron, of all people, had divined her supposedly hidden feelings for Harry.

"I mean, you looked pretty and all last night, but what do we have in common, huh? You can't stand Quidditch and spend all your free time in the Library." Ron shook his head. "And then there's Harry."

"There is nothing going on between me and Harry," Hermione replied coldly.

'Not that I would mind if there were,' she admitted to herself.

Ron snorted once and shook his carrot-topped head, a bemused look on his face. "Okay - I can't blame you, to be honest." Then he shifted uneasily. "Things go back to what they were?" he replied hopefully.

That drew yet another negative response. "No, too many things have been said and done. I don't think I can ever fully trust in you again," she replied with brutal honesty.

To her own surprise, she felt another twinge of pain as Ron's face collapsed along with his final hopes.

"I… I … understand," he said sadly. "I'll just… go, then." He stood and pointed himself towards the stairs and the boys' dormitory.

Suddenly, Hermione thought she had gone too far.

She recalled Bill mentioning that she and Harry were Ron's only real friends. She also knew how badly Harry missed Ron's company, even though he tried hard not to show it. Harry was good at ploys like that; Hermione Granger was even better at seeing through his little subterfuges.

"Ron," she said quietly, "there's no reason why you can't stay friends with Harry. I've no veto on his life."

Ron turned and looked at her, utter defeat in his eyes. "Doesn't work that way," he said sadly. "Harry's made it quite clear that if I can't make my peace with you, we're through too. He intends to stand right with you." He leaned on a windowsill and started out at the snow-blown skies. "Reckon not long ago that would have sent me into another jealous fit." Then he looked back at Hermione. "Now, I reckon that makes sense. You need him more than I do. And he needs you more than anyone, Hermione." He shambled towards the stairs, evidently finished.

So, apparently irretrievably, was their friendship.

What had she promised Bill? She had given Ron time, but there had to be more than that …

Harry? What about Harry? He had tried to bridge the gap between his two erstwhile friends, yet now the yawning chasm would force his choice, to abandon one of them. From what Ron had just told her, Harry had already made up his mind.

"Ron! Wait!" Hermione called out. Already on the stairs, he turned irresolutely, his tiredness obvious now.

"What?" he asked flatly.

Last night, she had sworn not to make Harry choose between the certainty of remaining friends or taking the next step towards a more meaningful relationship, for the simple reason that Hermione did not want to risk that very security.

Would she now be justified in forcing Harry to make an equally clear choice between Ron and herself?

No - she could not be unfair on Harry. Even Ron thought that Harry needed her more than anyone - he had just said as much. For all his long list of alleged faults Hermione was sure that, in his own way, Ron was just as important to Harry as she was.

Once again, she cursed this damned Tournament.

Standing, she took a couple of steps towards the stairs to the boys' dormitories, but stopped a safe distance from Ron, quite enough to convey that there would be no a great reunion. This was one prodigal son who would not be welcomed home with a fatted calf.

"I - I don't know if we can be friends again," she started.

Ron nodded. "I know. I don't deserve better," he said sadly. "You're right, as usual. I did risk your life."

"But perhaps we can start afresh. I don't think I can ever forgive what's happened, and I certainly won't forget, but, for Harry's sake …" she emphasized this, "… I'm ready to call a truce. We can stop being at each other's throats."

"Right…" Ron was not sure what to say.

"Three conditions, though." Hermione added, as she thought this through. Ron nodded warily. "If I find you've lied to me, before or in the future, or you hide anything else important from me, we are finished. There won't be a second chance."

"Okay" Ron's rasped reply betrayed a dry throat. "I can't think of anything else I've done."

"Secondly, if I ever find out that you've hurt Harry, I'll kill you myself." There was no humour behind those cold words.

Once again there was a glimmer of a rueful smile on Ron's face. "That's not a condition, that's a given."

"Finally, you are not to talk to anyone about what you think is or isn't 'going on' -" Hermione mimed quotation marks with her fingers "- between Harry and I. Especially not to Harry."

Ron frowned and paused. "Understood," he said finally, his bemusement clear.

Taking that as acceptance of terms offered, Hermione nodded. "Right, that's agreed then." She turned away and stared towards the portrait hole and her much-delayed appointment with breakfast.

"Hermione?" She stopped and turned back to face a tired but visibly relieved Ron. "Did… did you like your present?"

She had demanded the truth from him, now she had to reciprocate. "It was very nice, thank you, Ron."

His nervous smile was a little broader. "I hadn't bought you anything," he admitted. "We were on the outs and … well, I didn't think you wanted anything more to do with me."

"I hadn't." She appreciated his candour. In the run of normal events she would have raged at him, but she understood his reasoning. She nodded so that he would continue.

"After Bill reamed me out last night, I told him I didn't have anything for you. He said he had something back at his flat. Something called an anchor or summat like that. Thought it might come in handy, what with the competition and all."

'Yes,' thought Hermione, 'I'll have to translate those runes.'

" I'm just glad his owl got here in time. I'll have to pay him back later."

That was gauche, but that was Ron.

"Err… It's more expensive than anything you've ever bought for me before," Hermione replied. She winced at how that sounded - not much better than Ron's declaration.

Ron was not offended. "Not as expensive as a lost friend," he observed quietly. "I'm gonna grab a few hours kip." He looked out the window again, before returning his attention to her. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Hermione nodded, surprised at how grown-up an observation could come from Ron Weasley, then relaxed as Ron disappeared up the stairs.

She still had some dissatisfaction at the prospect of rebuilding her relationship with Ron, but Hermione supposed that was better than a state of open warfare.

And, it was Christmas.

If Ron had just received a second present, then so had Harry.

* * * * *

* * * * *

Hermione placed the letter fall back on her bed, its weight making her shoulders slump even more.

She felt physically sick. Despite the buttered crumpets she had enjoyed for breakfast only quarter of an hour ago, her stomach was suddenly empty and plummeting deeper than before. Her nose and eyes felt congested yet her throat was dry. She glanced at her hands; they were trembling.

Her Muggle heritage was on collision course with her magical existence. Her parents believed she could not and should not continue living as a witch. If she were an uninterested party, she would have to concede that all of their points had merit.

Why was she considering extending her participation in that damned Triwizard? Her parents questions, asked without any knowledge at all of how close she had come to …

Hermione gulped. To being maimed? She pretty much had been. No, to being killed…

Her parents were right. She was out-matched. Only a good plan, a generous slice of luck, and a tip from an outside party, had seen her through the First Task.

She had already vocalized her fears to Harry. The letter just reawakened them and poured fresh fuel onto the embers of that internal debate.

So, why was she even thinking about carrying on? Not for pride or the prospect of glory, that was sure. She had no intention of competing to win, nor any illusion that she could.

'No, it was for Harry.'

And, after last night, she was certain she could not bear living in a world without Harry Potter.

Yet soon she may not have a place in Harry's world.

'Was Harry worth betraying a pledge to her parents?

'Was Harry worth dying for?

'If he were; how would he feel if she did? He already had a huge guilt complex.'

The loo beckoned; those crumpets would not be denied any longer

In a downcast, contemplative mood Hermione made her way from her quarters to the common room. As she trod the stairs on their downward spiral she could hear sounds of joy and surprise. She an outsider, a likely soon-to-be Muggle, looking in on everyone else enjoying a Hogwarts' Christmas.

The common room was hardly full, with almost all third years and below back home, and the comforts of bed or breakfast thinning the ranks of those older students who remained. But there was no mistaking the corner of the room annexed by the Weasley family.

Unnoticed, she made her way across the floor, aided by new, dark blue slippers bearing the three gold crowns of Oxford. Hermione noted that the Twins were up and, judging by the noise, more boisterous than ever. Ginny sat quietly on a sofa, with Neville hovering in close attendance.

Harry was there too. He faced away, crouched in an armchair as though ready to spring at something. As Ginny said something to him - Hermione could not make out the words - Harry turned his head. At once she saw how alive his face was, glowing with anticipation.

It was, she noted with a bittersweet tinge, the a kid's expression. She had worn ones just like it on her Christmas Days when a lot younger. This was probably only his fourth proper Christmas he could remember, and he so enjoyed it.

Harry bounced to his feet. "Thanks awfully for the book, Hermione," she said breathlessly. "It's brilliant!" His child-like enthusiasm dispelled some of her clouds of melancholy.

"I'm glad you liked it," she replied honestly. "And thank you for yours. It really will come in useful!"

He leaned in closer to exchange a little secret. "I asked Moony and Padfoot what the best book would be." As he leaned back, Hermione watched his eyes shining with unbridled joy. She could not help but to hug him.

"Whoa, Hermione!" One of the Twins joshed. "Something left over from last night?"

"Yeah, don't we rate a cuddle as well?" The other jumped in.

Eyeing them, Hermione smiled. "Aren't you a bit tall for me?"

Fred - his identity from his huge woollen jumper with a bright yellow 'F' woven onto the front - flopped forward from the sofa onto his knees. "Will this do, oh giant dragon tamer?"

"Always knew you two were really dwarves," Ginny observed. "No way am I related to you." She rose from her seat and swapped kisses with Hermione. "Thanks for the perfume, Hermione."

The whole area was strewn with scrunched-up wrapping paper, boxes of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans, crackers and other presents. Taking the seat next to Harry, Hermione joined in with the comparison of presents.

Neville had presented Ginny with a beautiful antique charms bracelet. Ginny's eyes lit up, whilst Hermione swore the Twins' narrowed. Her fears for Neville's safety were hardly allayed when he later suffered the fate of ingesting a Canary Cream.

Whilst Neville moulted, Hermione asked Harry about two presents that intrigued her. There was a pair of mismatched socks, which Harry explained were from Dobby, and a single sheet of tissue paper. Even before Harry informed her of its source, she had guessed, and once again swore to herself that some day she would have words, perhaps more than mere words, with Harry's so-called family.

Ginny spotted the chain around her neck. Hermione had wavered back and forth about wearing it, wary that Ron might overestimate the favour in which she held him. Finally she decided it would have been insulting not to wear it.

Still, she felt no need to broadcast anything, and she just put her finger to her lips when Ginny started to ask who it was from. Ginny jumped to a logical, but incorrect conclusion, mouthing silently: "Ah! Viktor…" Hermione just gave a little shake of the head, which further intrigued the younger girl.

Harry's eyes glittered uncertainly when he, too, noticed the burnished silver thread. Hermione's coyness left him looking unsettled. Instead of putting his mind at rest, Hermione decided to let him enjoy a second gift later on. Perhaps he thought she had a secret admirer, or shared Ginny's mistaken belief. Instilling a little jealousy in him might not be a bad thing. So she smiled a Mona Lisa smile and ducked her head away.

There was a sudden interruption in the proceedings when all eyes turned to the sound of approaching footsteps from the direction of the boys' stairwell; it was Ron, still tired, but visibly nervous.

Ginny jumped to her feet and embraced her brother. She was the only one. Hermione noted that the Twins had fallen silent, while Harry's and Neville's eyes were darting from Ron to her, awaiting her reaction.

Even if she had not had that conversion with Ron earlier, she would not have spoiled Christmas for a family. Coolly, she nodded to Ron. "Happy Christmas."

Ron had been subconsciously holding his breath, judging by his exhalation of relief. "Yeah, Happy Christmas, Hermione. Thanks for the, um, book." Wisely, he chose not to push his luck and sat as far away from Hermione as he could without appearing rude.

Everyone else was looking between the two erstwhile friends, awaiting some form of explanation. Usually Hermione would be the one to supply that, but she could not think how to phrase one without appearing condescending.

Instead, it was Ron who spoke.

"I… um, well, I … sorta apologized - to Hermione … for being, well…" he stumbled. "Well, a right prat really."

"About bloody time," George growled, earning a nod of approval from Neville.

"I know your idea of an apology," Ginny said sharply. "The question is, did Hermione accept?" She stared shrewdly at Hermione.

Her response was simple. "Yes." Ginny obviously hoped for greater detail, but Hermione was in no mood to go through her tentative agreement with Ron. Everyone would have to live with that.

Well, almost everyone. Harry's face now sported a beaming smile. Yes, that extra present was really appreciated.

Ron's discomfort gradually receded as he fell into being readmitted as a full member of the Hogwarts branch of the Weasley family. He brightened visibly when Ginny pointed out the silver chain that peeked above Hermione's collar. Harry betrayed some bewilderment when he finally learnt who had been the giver. Hermione just smiled once again, mentioned it was a good luck charm, and suggested he discuss it with Ron.

She did enjoy watching Harry and Ron start to mend their own fences. If she had to leave Hogwarts then at least Harry would have one real friend.

Biting back sudden unbidden tears, Hermione was glad that it was soon time to make their way to the Great Hall for Christmas dinner.

The sight that met them was amazing, even by Hogwarts' standards.

The house-elves had outdone themselves. There was the usual fare that Hermione had experienced last year. A row of roast turkeys with all the trimmings: roast and mashed potatoes; Brussels sprouts; mashed carrot and Swede; roasted parsnips; lemon, thyme and sage stuffing; and chipolatas. And for those who did not fancy poultry, there were huge hunks of gammon.

Hermione had never met a vegetarian wizard; she wondered how they would cope in this world.

Side tables groaned under loads of Christmas puddings and mince pies, with cheese and biscuits to follow: great whole wheels of Cheddar, Stilton and other famous British cheeses.

Yet the elves had to cope with their foreign visitors. Beauxbatons' requirements were fairly simple to meet, as the vast majority of students hailed from France, with the odd Belgian or Swiss. Foie gras on sliced brioche competed with the seafood terrine, smoked salmon and fresh oysters with lemon juice or shallot vinegar for starters, followed by coquilles St. Jacques, grilled or baked, in some creamy sauce. Then there was choice of main course between those who favoured game and those who chose poultry. Haunches of venison, wild boar, pheasant and pigeon on one side; roast duck, goose and capon on the other.

For the French, there was of course a wide selection of cheeses for dessert that outweighed even the British choice, along with some form of Swiss roll covered in rich-looking butter icing.

The greatest feat had been meeting the culinary tastes of the Durmstrang students and staff, whose range of nationalities encompassed Scandinavia, Central Europe, the Commonwealth of Independent States and most of the Balkans.

Many chose roast goose or duck, although there was, to British eyes, an odd selection of pork chops and sausages. Joints of roast pork glowed with crackling. Fish was popular, from the Scandinavian herring, braised carp and pike, to Caspian sturgeon. The vegetable choice was equally unusual to the hosts, with plenty of red cabbage and sauerkraut, wild mushrooms, delicious-looking dumplings, and unusual brown potatoes which, when tried, turned out to have been fried in melted sugar.

Seated at the Ravenclaw table, Viktor Krum, she learned later when she thanked him for his gift of a beautiful hand-crafted wooden flute, had stuck to a traditional Bulgarian delicacy: a round loaf with boiled wheat, and stuffed cabbage and vine leaves. He wished Hermione Vesela Koleda and thanked her for the latest Bulgar translation of Hogwarts: A History.

She also learned that he had been invited to spend the afternoon in the Ravenclaw common room, a courtesy extended by an attentive Penelope Clearwater. That prospect inspired a little pang of envy in the bibliophile Gryffindor. Still, she was happy for Viktor. He would not after all be spending Christmas Day on his own, or in the troubled Durmstrang ship.

Hermione was uncertain about where to sit, certainly in relation to Ron. She had no wish to resume their former closeness, not in response to his eating habits, but to signal that despite their truce not all had been forgiven. Yet deliberately sitting as far away as possible could be taken as an escalating slight. They were supposed to be in a state of détente.

Instead Ron made her choice for her. Showing unusual care for others' feelings, he sat next to Ginny. Neville took the seat facing Ginny, allowing Harry to sit opposite his now readmitted friend. Hermione was free to sit next to Harry, so diagonally opposite Ron. That was close enough for now.

Hermione did wonder at the sheer amount of food provided. The other Houses, as well, looked to be devoid of at least half their members. From what she had learned about wizards and food, conjured items did not last, so that could explain the rumours of turkey shortages that circulated in Muggle England each December.

She also pondered how the Weasleys would react if presented with the meagre Muggle portions. Ron would certainly either explode, or collapse through hunger, and the Twins would not be far behind. Hermione herself admitted that she ate two or three times the amount that her parents did. The sheer amount of energy that magic required burned off most of the calories, so there were not many horizontally-challenged wizards. Come to think of it, the lack of magical skill might explain anomalies such as Crabbe and Goyle.

Such casual musings passed through Hermione's mind, while Harry dug in gamely. He was not in Ron's league as a trencherman, but held his own with those brought up in the wizarding world. Hermione wondered how much food he was allowed back in Surrey, now and in the past. He was starting to fill out, Hermione noted, but was not tall. Malnutrition? Under-nourished? Another topic of contention to raise with the Dursleys when she met them.

As Ron demolished his third helping of turkey along with a mountain of vegetables, eschewing any continental surprises, Hermione contented herself with a little turkey and some small cuts of less common meats from the Beauxbatons table. A slice of carp baked with almonds was nice as well.

Hermione was glad the Yule Ball was not held on Christmas Day evening. Most of the participants would have been too weighed down by their dinners to walk, let alone dance.

Never one for heavy Christmas pudding, even with thick steaming custard in place of brandy butter, Hermione eyed the vast range of desserts until the pudding being spooned by one of the few Durmstrang female students caught her eye. The girl, shy when asked by one of the Champions, admitted it was a Danish favourite called Rice Allemande.

It was a delicious rice pudding, she explained to the curious Gryffindor, boiled with vanilla and milk, then allowed to cool, before being served with grated almonds, whipped cream and hot black cherry sauce. When she returned to her seat with a helping, Ron glanced once at the strange dessert, polished off his fifth mince pie, then went off to eliminate a fair part of the European cheese mountain.

She turned to joke about that with Harry, currently consuming his own slab of Christmas pudding, deep and dark and studded with sultanas and the odd silver coin, floating in its own custard lake. As he leaned in, she put her lips to his right ear so that her comment could both remain confidential yet audible above the hubbub. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that, up on the staff table, Moody was scrutinising them again, this time with both his organic and magical eyes.

Forgetting what she was about to say, Hermione whispered: "He's doing it again."

"Who? What?" Harry was caught unawares, his attention fixed on his plate before him. He automatically glowered in Ron's direction, trying to elicit his latest transgression.

"Professor Moody." She leaned back a bit to allow Harry to turn and follow her gaze.

"What's his problem?" Harry muttered.

"When do we ever know?" Hermione responded, then shivered as Moody's attention seemed to tighten and refocus on them, before his magical eye diverted to another target.

"Gives me the willies," Harry admitted.

Hermione was still certain that Mad-Eye's human eye remained fixed on her, and her alone. "Me too."

Shrugging, Harry returned to finish his meal just as Ron returned, plate laden with Double Gloucester and Red Leicester. Hermione followed suit, selecting Gruyere from the Beauxbatons' table, but every so often her eyes drifted back to the head of the Great Hall. The Defence master appeared to meet her gaze every time.

Now her once appetising pudding had unexpectedly lost its allure.

When even the Twins' appetites were sated, washed down with lashings of pumpkin juice, the benches groaned under the strain.

With the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang parties traipsing back to their quarters through the thick snow that had fallen overnight, many of the Hogwarts students chose to retreat back to their common rooms, to either sleep off the meal or continue showing off their presents. Not so the Weasleys, with plenty of energy to burn. The Twins were in favour of a snowball fight, a prospect that almost had Harry bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Hermione was just glad to be out of range of that unforgiving stare.

Outside it was a beautiful crisp winter's day. The overnight snow clouds had broken up over the morning, and the sky was a pallid light blue. To no-one's surprise the snow covering Hogwarts' grounds was laying deep and crisp and even in the weak sunlight.

It was expected that Hermione would choose Harry's side. No-one ever expected the Twins to be parted. It was Ron who faced a difficult choice: Hermione knew he would want to join Harry; yet he had kept his distance from Hermione.

Harry made the decision for them both. "Ron!" The red-head's eyes lit up as he was invited to rejoin his friend, but carefully stood on Harry's disengaged side, away from Hermione.

Ginny joined her two elder brothers, wisely commenting that no-one in their right minds went up against the Twins. She glanced meaningfully at Harry, but he was not paying attention. Neville, as hesitant in joining in as Hermione had been, was quick to follow Ginny.

"Four on three, Gred," George commented.

"Easy meat, Forge," Fred replied, already fashioning a weapon of mass destruction.

Hermione, wrapped up in coat, scarf and woolly bobble hat, realised that the odds were certainly stacked against them. She looked around for victims willing to share their fate. There was someone, small and as covered up against the cold as she was, watching on the margins. She could not make out who it was, but Ginny certainly did.

"Come on, Luna, and join the massacre!"

Hermione kicked herself mentally. She should have recognised the smaller Ravenclaw, who was now skipping down the slight slope to the battlefield.

Arriving just a bit out of puff, Luna Lovegood's breath coiled in wreathes around her head. "Are you sure?" she asked hopefully. "None of the Ravenclaws want to play with me."

Both Hermione and Ginny relied in the affirmative at the same time. Luna smiled that slightly other-worldly smile. "Oh goodie! I've never had a snowball fight before."

Ginny's smile bore a hint of wolf. "Well, she's on your side, Harry!"

With an event brighter smile, Luna bounced enthusiastically over the snow.

The contest was violent and brutal. Supposedly it was no magic allowed, but the Twins were unreformed cheats in their observance of that rule, as with all others, and the restriction was honoured more in the breach. Everyone finished covered in snow that found its way down necks and inside sleeves, soaking the competitors inside and out.

Hermione found her sides aching from so much laughter. She had little snowball fight experience either, being an only child. Nor had those few been much fun, usually involving her as an unwilling target of the winter equivalent of a firing squad, as a friendless bookworm on her own against the rest, when all she wanted to do was read.

She could never have imagined that being soaked and frozen stiff could be so much fun!

Ron had taken a beating, often emerging from snow drifts where his brothers dumped him in blatant disregard of the no magic rule.

Ginny was a positive Valkyrie, delighting in seeking out targets, especially Hermione for some reason.

Harry was just enjoying himself, preferring quantity of ammunition expended to accuracy of delivery.

The shock was that Luna proved to be such an accurate thrower that even the Twins became wary of dealing with her.

Neville, just like Hermione, was content to stay on the defensive, although always watching Ginny's back, sometimes literally.

As she watched Harry take another snowball smack on the right ear, only to emerge grinning and returning rapid fire, Hermione could not help but grin, despite her sodden hat and droplets of melted snow in her hair.

Only the early disappearance of Scottish daylight called a halt to proceedings.

Hermione moved towards the thoroughly soaked Harry, who had ice forming in his messy mop of black hair. She smiled as she brushed remnants of frozen shrapnel away from his locks with her own thoroughly saturated mittens. In the cold still air his eyes burned like gemstones. Seeing Harry happy made her day.

"Cold?" he asked, ignoring the evidence of his own shivers.

"Umm…" Hermione's nose was a point of red in the band of white that sat between her scarf and hat as she nodded in the affirmative.

"It's great, isn't it?" Harry spun around and looked out over the expanse of Hogwarts' grounds, covered by a white blanket in the deepening gloom.

Hermione nodded and then caught her breath.

'How could she leave Hogwarts and Harry behind?

'How could she square that desire with her own pledge to her parents?'

"When you're that quiet," Harry's words broke in, "you're nearly always thinking about something."

She nodded again.

"Want to talk about it?" he enquired solicitously.

Hermione shivered, pulling her arms tight about her body. Ron was retreating to the Castle but Ginny was still nearby, eyeing them with a curious air. "Not sure," she admitted. Harry raised a frozen eyebrow. "Well, not here, anyway. Let's get into the warm."

Turning to go, Hermione thought she saw a dark shape unblock one of the brightly-lit windows on the second floor. She shivered again before Harry put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back towards the welcome warmth indoors.

The Christmas morning excitement of the common room was already a memory. Still, whilst drying and warming charms had their place, there was nothing better than curling up in front of a roaring fire with a mug of steaming cocoa or hot chocolate, with chunks of Honeydukes' finest melting away to enrich the taste.

Harry found himself in his favourite position, between his two best friends. Hermione was determined to be civil towards Ron, but no more, so said little. Ron appeared equally determined to avoid upsetting Hermione, the safest means of which was likewise to say very little. If Harry noticed the coolness between them, he did not say anything, but simply rejoiced in having the three of them back together again.

Ginny seemed a little put out at not having a chance to nab a seat next to Harry. Recognising the futility of trying to infiltrate the Trio, she sat as close as she could to her idol on the other side of the fireplace. In turn a determined yet still nervous Neville sat at her side. The Twins were off somewhere, no doubt wreaking havoc armed with their Christmas haul.

Silence ruled. Everyone was tired out by the heavy meal followed by the afternoon's exertions, and lulled into a dozy mood by the cosiness in the common room. Supper was available in the form of cold meats and cheese that had survived dinner, made up into sandwiches, along with plenty of sausage rolls and mince pies. For once, nobody, except Ron, seemed much interested in more food.

Viktor had charmed his present to play haunting melodies of its own accord. Harry and Neville in particular were fascinated with it, the latter was determined to speak with Viktor about where the Gryffindor could find one for himself. Hermione thought she saw just the merest glimmer of envy flitter in Ron's eyes, but was content, for once, to let it pass.

Ron was the first to succumb, his lack of sleep the previous night catching up with him after a valiant attempt to scoff a half-dozen turkey sandwiches proved unavailing. He had dozed off once or twice, only to be woken by a gently shove from Harry or a giggle from Ginny. Admitting defeat, he trailed off up the stairs seeking his bed.

Harry seemed happy enough just to sit there and gaze at the fire. Hermione imagined he was reliving the day, storing away some pleasant memories. That was certainly her mood, as, nursing her still warm mug, she worried that this might be the last Christmas she enjoyed at Hogwarts.

With her two friends in introspective mood, Ginny soon gave up on them and disappeared. It came as no surprise when Neville followed suit a few minutes later. The common room was not quite deserted, as one or two couples sat in dimly-lit corners, seeking another form of comfort.

"What's up, Hermione?" Harry's quiet question snapped her out of her cosy little world.

Hermione carefully placed her now empty mug down on a side table, but she could not face Harry, and this simply stared at her hands.

"I received a letter from my parents." She glanced up carefully at Harry, but his expression was studiedly neutral, awaiting more information. "When I told them about the dragon, they … well, they want me to withdraw."

"From the Tournament?"

"From Hogwarts," Hermione replied. "It's effectively the same thing."

"Can they do that?" The concern was evident in his voice.

"They can, as I'm not of age." Hermione was watching for Harry's reaction, and she detected a wince when he heard that. "But they've left the decision up to me."

"Phew!" Harry's relief was obvious. "Well, that's okay then, isn't it?"

Hermione did not reply immediately. Harry stared hard at her. "Isn't it, Hermione?"

It was too painful to hold his gaze, so she again dropped her eyes, watching her fingers nervously twitching in her lap. "Well, you see," she started slowly, "I… kind of promised them…" She looked up again and saw Harry's jaw set in a hard line.

"It was when I met them after I was first named in the Tournament, it was all so soon and I was desperate that they didn't pull me out right there and then, so you see I had to make them let me stay, as they didn't like the idea, and were so set against the whole thing, and I thought they might take me home that very afternoon," Hermione added at a rush, her voice rising. "Of course, I didn't know what the First Task was then, I mean, if we'd known about the dragons then, things might have been different, but I didn't and so -"

At Harry's "Whoa!" she broke off, breath ragged and chest heaving. "Hang on, Hermione, you're not making sense. Slow down," Harry urged.

Trying hard to remain calm, Hermione saw her hands were shaking now.

"You see, I made them a promise," she said quietly, in case any of the other occupants had overheard them and were eavesdropping. Again, she glanced up, and saw Harry was waiting for her to expound. "I had to," she almost appealed for his understanding, "otherwise they would have withdrawn me from Hogwarts."

Harry nodded his head slightly. "What did you promise?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush red, not even slightly from the heat thrown out by the fire. "I said that, if they left the final decision on competing to me, then if I felt that I was out of my depth, I would withdraw." She was aware of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "From The Triwizard, Hogwarts, from the world of magic itself. That would mean that… you too."

More than a few moments of uneasy silence passed before Harry bestirred himself.

"Well, that's okay then, isn't it?" When Hermione didn't respond, he continued in more urgent tones. "I mean, you got past the dragon, didn't you?"

"Harry, you know it was only through luck and some help from you and Bill that I didn't end up dead!" Hermione's voice betrayed the tension she still felt from the entire ordeal.

Harry was momentarily nonplussed. "But I thought … that was just nerves, you know?"

Hermione shook her head. "I meant what I said. I'm not sure I can carry on in the Tournament. You know how close a call it was."

Harry shifted in his comfortable seat so that he could face her more comfortably. Their denim-clad legs touched but neither paid any attention to that. "What could be worse than a dragon?" he wondered. "You're past the hard part for sure."

"You don't believe that any more than I do, Harry." Hermione's anxieties were crowding in again. "I mean, that was just the First Task! I'd expect the Second to be even harder, and as for the Third …" She gulped audibly. "Merlin, that could be anything …"

"Hermione …"

She turned to face Harry, but she did not see him. "There could be Manticores, or a Chimaera." Her eyes flickered as her imagination started to run away with her fears. "Who knows, I could have to duel Moody. They could bring back the Dementors!"

"Better not be a Basilisk," Harry muttered in a too transparent attempt at levity. "That'd spoil my thunder!"

"Harry!" Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "I'm trying to be serious here. I nearly died; I've a scar that reminds every time I look in the mirror."

"Join the club," Harry replied without a trace of residual humour.

His words felt almost physical. "Oh. Harry…!" She gave up trying and broke down altogether. Before he knew it, she threw her arms around her neck, and started bawling. That earned odd looks from the last other couple in the common room, who trundled off to bed. She felt him gingerly put his arms around her, acting as he had at times during the ball. He patted her on the back as she cried herself out.

"Harry…." Hermione's voice started to rise. "It's true… isn't it? I'm like you, now…"

"Look, Hermione," Harry sounded defensive. "It's not as bad as all that? You've still got your parents, and they obviously love you."

Still dazed from her outburst, Hermione tried to pull herself together as Harry spoke. She was the fifteen-year-old girl now, not the champion. He had just said something about her parents… "I - I don't know, Harry, and that's the problem. My promise. I really should have pulled out when I learned about the dragons."

"But you didn't, and that took some bottle," Harry observed admiringly.

"But it was stupid," Hermione replied, sounding downcast but no longer weepy. "The risk was… too great," she finally admitted.

Harry shook his head in vehement disagreement. "No way. You outfoxed that dragon, you were brilliant!"

That helped her bounce back. Even Hermione could not stifle a grin at Harry's obvious admiration. But she remained realistic. "I'll say it again: I was lucky."

"No, look." Harry leaned in closer in his determination to impress his point on her. An unusual frisson, reminiscent of the night before, ran down Hermione's spine. Completely by accident, they were tip-toeing towards that zone again. "You had a great plan and it worked. How can they top a dragon, huh?"

She took a calming breath before pointing out, quite reasonably: "Even if it's not another creature, then it would be reasonable to expect something of the same order in the next two tasks."

"But you can handle it, I know you can!" There was a hard edge of desperation in Harry's voice. She reached out and grabbed his hands.

"That's not really the point anymore, is it?" Hermione said as calmly as she could. She found it surprisingly satisfying the way his hands held her arms just below the wrists, just as she held his. Both had effectively pinned the other down to make their argument. "I pretty much broke the promise to my parents by carrying on in the First Task," she admitted. "I don't know if I can do that again without smashing it to pieces."

Harry sat there, just staring at her. She stared back, watching his eyes.

"What are you going to do?" He sounded depressed, as if fearing her answer.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "Honestly… I don't know. I don't want to leave, but if I carry on… well, then I think I'll break my promise."

Harry let go of her arms, much to Hermione's regret, and sat back. He went silent for as long as a minute, thinking. Finally, he said something most unexpected. "Hermione, what did you tell your parents about the Troll?"

"Umm," Hermione's cheeks flared red with embarrassment once more. "I never actually told them the details," she volunteered.

"What about the Basilisk, or the Dementors?" he persisted.

What was Harry doing? "I didn't," she retorted. "Do you honestly think I'd still be here if I had?"

Ignoring her question, Harry leaned forward to punch home his sudden interrogation. "Did you tell them about saving Sirius? Or Buckbeak?"

Although perplexed, Hermione could not refrain from snorting derisively. "I wouldn't dare tell them any of that," she defended herself. "They would certainly never have allowed me to return to Hogwarts."

Harry smiled for the first time in a while, as he ran a hand through his dark locks. For a brief second Hermione was captivated by the flicker of firelight on his hair as it moved under his fingers. "So what's the difference now?" he asked. The intent of his little interrogation was now clear.

"It's not whether they know what's happening or not, it's about the promise I made," she almost cried, then glanced around to make sure no-one had heard her anguish. The room was now otherwise deserted.

What she could not permit herself to add was that Harry Potter was the primary reason she had not already withdrawn from the Tournament. She would not add that baggage to Harry's burden.

"I can't see that you'd be breaking any promise," he quietly pressed his advantage. "How can you be out of your depth if you completed the First task?"

She could see the point he was driving at. But his logic was off. He did not understand her position.

"Harry, if you had …" Hermione broke off awkwardly, shockingly aware she had almost repeated her error, only much worse. Harry was no fool. She could tell he knew what she had almost bitten back. His head jerked back in astonishment, and she could almost see him retreating back inside himself.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, suddenly disgusted with herself. How could she do that?

Harry's hand returned to touch her elbow, this time more tightly. "No, you're right," he said all too calmly. "I wouldn't know what it's like to make any sort of promise to my parents."

Again Hermione felt as though slapped. Only he could do that, it seemed. For a second time in a few minutes she flung herself across the few feet dividing them and again wrapped her arms around a stunned Harry's neck. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she whispered between the tears now flowing freely. "I never meant to be mean... I'm so sorry!"

She could feel Harry freeze as she hugged him before, to her great relief, this time she felt his arms encircle her waist. "It's alright, it's okay," he murmured into her right ear. "I said you're the lucky one, and I meant it." Then he released his hold and leaned back just a bit, loosening her own grip, so they could look each other in the eyes, even if their noses were almost touching. Hermione was about to apologise again when Harry just put a finger to his lips, silencing her latest attempt to apologise.

"Hermione, just tell me. What do you think you are going to do? I'll support you, no matter what."

Wiping her nose, Hermione struggled to form her thoughts into a coherent sentence. "I really don't know. Maybe when I find out what the Second Task is, then I'll decide."

Harry appeared to be gazing deep into her eyes, seeking something. When he spoke his voice was a little thick with emotion.

"For what it's worth, Hermione, I'd hate to see you leave. You're a -"

His opinion was cut off as Hermione engulfed him in yet another hug. She was too choked with emotion to say anything.

"Is there anything you two have to tell us?"

Hermione froze as she recognised the voice.

Harry's head whipped around, fortunately colliding with his own elbow rather than smacking the side of Hermione's face. He responded, not without difficulty as he had a witch clinging onto him. "Fred, George," was about all he managed.

Disentangling herself from the clinch on the sofa, Hermione turned around, cheeks burning. The Twins stood there, both sporting amused grins. George seemed to be wrapping something about his right arm.

Hermione was busy dabbing away the remnants of the tears she had shed.

"You know, Fred," George observed in good humour, "rather than hexing him, we ought to thank Cormac for complaining so loudly about these two."

"Agreed," Fred cheerily responded. "Without his waking us, we wouldn't have had this grand opportunity to field test your idea to try an Undetectable Extension Charm on your ear. Could be a big seller."

"I believe you're right, Fred," George vamped as Harry and Hermione composed themselves. "Speaking of big sellers, it's just a shame that Colin isn't here with his camera. The Daily Prophet would pay a tidy few Galleons for that picture."

"Too true George, too true. One could almost imagine the headlines. 'Underaged Triwizard Champion in torrid tryst with the Chosen One shock!'"

"Knock it off," Harry replied in good humour, but there was steel in his voice. "Aren't there are first years to terrorise?"

"Harry!" Hermione's outrage was only partially mock.

"None here at Hogwarts, sad to say," George observed. "Good thing too, would hate to think how scarred the poor dears would be if they saw this clinch. Evidently it was too steamy even for Cormac."

"Move along then, there's nothing to see," Harry replied, as he stood and tried to position himself between the Twins and Hermione.

"I think we've struck a nerve there, George." Fred peered around Harry a little more closely at Hermione's face. "Mind you, Harry, leaving the girl in tears is ordinarily bad form."

'I wish there were something to tattle about,' Hermione thought. But she followed Harry in rising to her feet. "I was just hugging Harry," she complained, attempting to explain herself.

"Didn't want to cuddle us earlier," Fred replied with mock outrage.

"From the sound of it, that wasn't the first time," George commented.

"I'd suggest you don't tick off the dragon tamer," Harry muttered with bite in his voice. "Or she might ask what you two were up to with Ludo Bagman last night."

Both Twins took a simultaneous and outlandish step backwards. "Good point, Harry."

"Yes," George added. "Don't worry - your secret is safe with us." They mimed zipping their lips shut, then clapped each other on the shoulder, and ambled towards the boys' staircase, ignoring Hermione's muffled complaint.

"There is no secret."

"Just don't run away, either of you," one or the other of them said as a Parthian shot.

She turned to face a visibly amused Harry. "Well?" she demanded.

He held his hands up defensively. "Nothing to do with me! You were the one with all the hugging, throwing yourself at me times three!"

"Those two had better not say anything," Hermione said with asperity.

"What about?" Harry was still amused. "Two friends having a hug; there's nothing to tell."

"I suppose there isn't," Hermione replied, trying not to sound too upset about that. "Best be off, I suppose."

"Wait." He stepped up closer to her. "And I forgot to say 'thank you' today."

"What for?"

"For making it up with Ron. I don't need to know the details, but… well, it's nice to have the both of you to talk to again." He looked pointedly at her. "I'd hate to lose a friend, Hermione. But I don't want to come between you and your parents. And if you don't want to compete - well, I'd rather know you were safe even if you weren't here."

Hermione swore his voice cracked a bit at the end. He always had been a terrible liar.

* * * * *

Boxing Day was quiet. Hermione was still fighting her own battle between keeping her word to her parents, the dangers of continuing in the competition, the possibility of leaving the magical world, and - last but hardly least - her developing feelings for Harry.

That he wanted her to stay was a heady brew.

Typically he was subjugating his own wishes to defer to hers.

If only Hermione knew what she really wanted.

To stay with Harry entailed completing the competition, save a miraculous change of heart from either Barty Crouch or the Ministry.

Having faced a dragon, she might have thought that she could deal with anything thrown at her. Yet in the Muggle world that was just a hors d'ouevre; the worst would be yet to come.

In that case, continuing placed her squarely in defiance of her own promise, and there was still no certainty she could survive in any case.

Tossing and turning in her bed, disturbing a thoroughly disgruntled Crookshanks, Hermione wrestled with her own Gordian Knot.

Breakfast was quiet after yesterday's excesses. Despite her fears, the Twins just grinned good-naturedly at her. That would have been enough to have her fearing for her future in any event.

They certainly had not said anything to Ron. He was a little less distant, although Hermione was nothing more than briskly cool towards him. As far as she was concerned, Ron had a lot to make up for in the distance department.

Harry gifted her that little half-smile when he appeared, the one that made her stomach flip-flop. He had a quiet word with the Twins before sitting down beside Hermione. "Have a good night?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, too much thinking."

His grin grew a little wider. "Not something I'd know anything about." Then he turned more serious. "I meant what I said last night."

"I know." Hermione found her right hand covering his left. "That means a lot to me."

"If you have to leave, could you give me your forwarding address?" Harry asked. This time Hermione could not tell if he were serious or not.

"Harry, you know…"

"Hi!" Ginny sat down next to Ron, who grunted a welcome through a mouthful of egg and bacon, and Hermione's and Harry's hands snapped apart. Ginny stared dubiously at the pair, as though she knew she had missed something.

The meal broke up into its usual myriad of discussions, mostly more inconsequential than usual, in the absence of lessons that week.

Hermione was paying more attention to the staff table. It appeared every time she glanced in that direction, she found Professor Moody staring resolutely back at her.

It came as no surprise that, as she was finishing off her meal, that she heard the now familiar sound of wood scraping on wood. With one hand slipping around her wand, Hermione started to turn to face Moody.

"Potter, if yeh've got the time, I'll 'ave a word with yeh."

Although Moody's one surviving original eye was fixed on the occupant of the seat next door, that electric blue orb was unremitting in its scrutiny of Hermione.

Harry nodded, and Moody spun on his false leg, stumping away towards his own office.

"What's that all about?" Ron mumbled, his half-eaten slice of toast poised mid-point between plate and lips.

"Dunno," Harry muttered. He shared a significant look with Hermione. "He's been acting weirdly the last few days."

"He's been acting weird ever since my Dad first met him, before I was born" Ron commented. "Don't call him 'Mad-Eye' for nothing."

Just as Harry started to rise, Hermione caught his hand. "Be careful, Harry," she warned. "There's something about Professor Moody that worries me."

Harry grinned. "Don't worry - 'Constant vigilance' as someone keeps trying to drum into us."

However Hermione did worry, especially as Harry did not return from his sojourns for the rest of the morning. She sat in the common room, attacking the stack of homework she had to catch up on over the holidays, but for once her heart was not in it.

Harry had still not returned when she gave up, put her schoolwork away, and headed off to the Great Hall for lunch.

Halfway through a meal that she was not really interested in, Harry appeared, and Hermione felt a wave of relief engulf her. That lasted until she came close enough for her to note all the signs that he was agitated about something.

"What is it, Harry?"

He waved off her question. "Nothing, Hermione, nothing." But as he sat down opposite her, Hermione could tell he was trying to avoid her attention.

"Harry? I know it's something."

He drummed his fingers on the table, then gave it a soft thump, making Neville jump a couple of feet away.

"Let's talk about it after lunch."

Hermione wondered what she had done, or, more to the point, what Moody had done to irritate the young wizard.

When they had both finished, Harry positively bustled Hermione out of the Great Hall.

"Where are we going," Hermione demanded.

Harry looked around furtively. "Outside is best," he said.

"Then for Merlin's sake let's get our cloaks," she replied. "It's blowing a gale out there."

"Oh." Harry, in his hurry, had not noticed. "Okay, I guess."

Her interest now positively piqued, Hermione could hardly wait until they had repaired to their respective dorms, then returned and exited the shelter of the Castle. Hermione had only exaggerated a little when she mentioned a gale. The wind was howling around the walls, enough to drive loose snow across the lawns in eddies and currents.

"So," feeling the need to raise her voice just to be heard, "what did Moody want with you?" Hermione asked as she huddled up against the biting cold.

"Moody? Oh, nothing really."

Hermione favoured him with a disbelieving stare. "You were gone hours," she pointed out reasonably. "And you're a terrible liar."

"I was thinking," Harry retorted. "Look, why don't we find somewhere out of this wind."

The southern side of the Castle walls offered some refuge, and Hermione conjured up one of her bluebell flames in a jar to keep them warm. In this weather, there was very little chance they could be overheard. Even the Twins' new Extendable Ear would be practically useless in these conditions.

Harry seemed ill at ease. Hermione surmised that either something had upset him, or he was worried about what he was about to say.

"Look, about the Second Task, Hermione, assuming it's not another animal…"

"That's a big assumption," Hermione pointed out.

Harry shook his head. "It won't be," he said decisively. "They don't normally have two tasks the same."

Hermione thought for a moment. "Okay, that's reasonable," she observed. "But why so sure?"

"Trust me, Hermione."

Normally she would take him at his word, but there was something… shifty, evasive about his body language. "Harry, did you obtain this information from Professor Moody."

He avoided her eyes. "I was just thinking, okay," he blurted out defensively. "Look, you're strongest with your brain. What needs improving is…" His voice trailed off. "Well, we - I mean, I - think you could be a little …" He struggled for the right word, as though afraid of saying something offensive.

"Fitter?" he finally offered limply.

"Fitter?" Hermione was perplexed. "What do you mean?"

Harry was blushing now, despite the biting cold wind. "Well, it's like - well, I've never seen you do any sports or stuff, you know?"

Hermione reflexively clutched at her tummy through her heavy robes. "You don't think I'm … a little overweight, do you?" After all, Madam Pomfrey had intimated as much.

"No, no!" Harry hastened to correct her. "It's just that … I reckon the remaining tasks might need you to be fit - physically fat … I mean fit."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and stared at him.

Unnerved, Harry tried to repair some of the damage. "Not that you're not fit … I mean… oh bloody hell!" He bravely took a step towards her and lightly rested the palms of his hands on her shoulders.

"Not that I've ever seen you have to do anything really physical, and as far as I know you could be, but -"

"Harry!" she said, loud enough to prevent his foot ending up further into his mouth. "I get the picture." She did. After all, she had at times wished she was fitter during the First Task. Although not slow on her feet, she was no greyhound either. Dancing at the Ball, too, had made her wish she were a little more lithe in her movements. "What do you suggest?"

"Endurance, I reckon," Harry replied, wiping his brow in relief. "Second and Third Tasks; you'll need to keep going, that's what I've heard."

She cocked her head and gave him her most piercing inquiring look. "What exactly have you heard about the last two tasks, Harry?"

"Nothing specific," he replied. "But running, I reckon." Then he turned and looked out over the lake. "And swimming," he added, pointedly staring back at her.

* * * * *

Miss Selfridge is a respected brand of women's clothing; Marks & Spencer are perhaps Britain's best-known clothing store.

Prestwick is the airport serving Glasgow; Dyce is the equivalent for Aberdeen.

GCSE is the standard examination for fifteen / sixteen year-olds (Fifth Year).

I don't know about you, but I'm bloody hungry after writing the Christmas Dinner description. My take on wizarding physiognomy is personal; how do wizards consume the amount of food that the Weasleys manage alone, yet remain tall and lanky like Ron and the Twins? They must burn off that energy somehow. The food mentioned is traditional Christmas fare in several different countries.

The Ankh was suggested as Ron's gift to Hermione by beta reader Bexis.

Viktor's gift was a Kaval, which was suggested by beta reader George. He describes the soul of its music as Bulgaria's history. Check up some posts on You Tube - it really has a haunting melody.