Unofficial Portkey Archive

Not a new chapter, but a re-post of the last. As you may have noted, Portkey has suffered some problems recently, and the last chapter posted "no longer exists" along with 40-50 reviews, as well as my replies. So, if you have already reviewed up to chapter #13 and have not had a reply from me, my apologies, particularly to Rick, who had some constructive criticism but our dialogue has now been lost…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or any of the characters, plots, places, spells or - most importantly - the bank account passwords of JK Rowling.

Once again, my sincere thanks to beta readers George and Bexis. Any mistakes are my responsibility alone.

Lungs burning, Hermione doubled over, gulping in great draughts of oxygen. She felt so shaky that if her hands were not resting on her knees, she was sure she would topple over.

"Alright?"

Harry had never asked a more brainless question, but she could barely spare the energy to glare at him. Her ribs ached, her hamstrings so taut they might snap at any second, and for the first time in her life she was painfully aware of her Achilles' tendons.

"I.. I'm -" Gulp "- fine -" Gulp - "- really."

Her breath coiled in clouds of vapour thanks to the sharp nip of a Scots New Year. She yanked her sweat band off and let her soaked hair fall free in straggly tendrils.

"And you call me a horrible liar," Harry muttered. He bent down and peered at her face through her newly drawn brown curtain. "I don't like to say this, Hermione, but… well, you don't look too good."

With a supreme effort Hermione raised a hand to forestall Harry's concern. "I'll be… fine in a…. minute." God, why were her lungs incapable of drawing in oxygen? "I'm… just a little… out of breath."

With that speech, standing became too much. She folded her legs and sat down more heavily and inelegantly than she intended. Harry dropped to the grass, still crisp with frost, next to her. "Perhaps a mile was too ambitious first go," he offered tentatively.

Oblivious to the cold, Hermione flopped onto her back, staring at the grey clouds overhead. 'God, I never knew how out of shape I was!' The stitch in her side throbbed painfully.

"You didn't do too badly." Harry encouraged, but did not sound convinced by his own words.

"I'll be… alright," Hermione replied. It was a real effort to speak and inhale at the same time. "Just give me a minute… or two."

'Or thirty. Or, better still, sixty,' she thought glumly. Why had she agreed to this madness? Running around the freezing Scottish countryside just as dawn was breaking was not her finest moment.

She had never been the athletic type. Even in primary school, she had been quite content to be the last one picked for games in P.E., never caring if fatter but more popular girls were chosen before her. Hermione would much rather exercise the muscles in her brain. Throwing a ball through a hoop far above her head, or worse in trying to avoid one thrown straight at her, always seemed a ridiculous pastime anyway.

'I can run when I have to,' she told herself, 'when it really mattered.' Last year she had shown she could keep up quite well with Harry in the Forbidden Forest. Yet, she admitted, only over short distances.

Ron, with his long legs, was a different matter. Not that Hermione could imagine any circumstances where she would ever be chasing after him. Harry said he had asked Ron to join them, but that he had instead rolled over and pulled his duvet over his head. For once in his life, Hermione thought Ron had the right idea.

Harry had been quite insistent with her, however, which was out of character for him. His very earnestness had finally persuaded Hermione. She gathered that he knew more than he was letting on, or was allowed to tell her, perhaps.

Who was keeping Harry quiet was one of several unasked questions, but Professor Moody was her prime suspect.

Timing was one reason. Harry's interest in her physical conditioning was quite sudden. Transfigured trainers and tracksuit bottoms had to serve. To wait for a request home for running gear was out of the question, aside from what her parents might think and even if such gear had been available in Hogsmeade, there was no opportunity to visit the village.

If she were honest with herself, Hermione knew that while she was not unfit, neither was she particularly in decent shape. Her figure, in which Harry appeared to show little interest - damn him! - remained fairly trim, if not lithe like Angelina or Ginny. There was a little excess fat, which Madam Pomfrey had drawn attention to, but nothing Bullstrodish to worry about. Her shoulders easily carried her over-stressed book-bag. Her diet was better than most of the other students, and in her opinion her zeal for practising magic burned off all of the excess calories.

Stamina. That, and endurance. Those were the question marks against her.

Built for relative comfort, not speed, Hermione was not prepared for a lengthy period of physical exercise. Even the mile run at what Harry quite evidently - damn him again! - regarded as a leisurely pace had drained her.

She was growing uncomfortable. All this lying on the cold, uneven ground was finally taking its toll.

Harry rose to his feet and stood over her, offering his hand. Reluctantly Hermione grasped it and then, instead of just allowing him to pull her to her feet, decided on the spur of the moment for a little revenge. To prove that she was not the weakling that she appeared at the moment, Hermione pulled on him stoutly.

"Wha..? Hermione!"

Maybe the slippery frost beneath Harry's feet helped, but in any event he toppled right over.

"Oof." And he rolled right on top of her, knocking out of her the wind that she had spent the last few minutes painstakingly retrieving. For his part, Harry seemed too surprised to move.

"What was that for?" he whispered from only a couple inches from her ear.

Hermione was also too surprised to move; surprised how good it suddenly felt having him this close to her.

She had to say something. "To show I'm not a pathetic as I sometimes look." The words came out almost automatically.

"I don't think you look pathetic," Harry answered, "never that…" His answer, delivered from his position, made her feel warm all over. "…but if we keep meeting like this, Fred and George are going to get suspicious."

"Oh, sod them, they already are," Hermione said humorously, before stopping short, wondering if she had just said too much.

Apparently not. "Well, let's not give them any more cause," Harry remarked gormlessly as he removed himself and sat up on his haunches. He helped her up, too, paying more attention to his positioning than before. "What now? Breakfast?"

"Shower first," Hermione rasped. Although a Refreshing Charm was enough to eat in the Great Hall without stinking the place out, Hermione wanted a more physical way of removing the evidence of her exertions. She hoped her legs would allow her to stand under the water for a few minutes.

Hermione also preferred to appear composed instead of knackered in the Great Hall for another reason. This morning the New Year's edition of The Quibbler was being distributed. Luna Lovegood had granted her an advance preview of the finished article. Hermione, having been bitten once by Rita Skeeter, made it a condition when agreeing the interview.

Luna's style was… well, unconventional. All the right words were there, albeit not necessarily in the right order. Still, the whole piece somehow hung together quite well.

Hermione's case for being the sinned against, not the sinner, came across loud and clear in The Quibbler's own unique style. Her unavailing struggle to clear her name and avoid competing in the Triwizard Tournament at all; her arguments with the Ministry; her thoughts on requiring students to face off against dragons; her views on house elves, this time presented in a sympathetic light. The only real incongruities were Luna's interspersed ruminations on the whereabouts of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

So, expecting she was likely to attract attention this morning, Hermione considered that appearing cool and composed instead of glowing in perspiration would definitely be a bright idea.

In the corridors, after an invigorating shower, Hermione noticed the first sharp looks cast in her direction. Not unexpected, but she had hoped for a slightly less hostile reaction.

As she entered the Great Hall the first tart comment caught her ears.

"I never knew Granger was such a slut."

Her head whipped round as she tried to identify the source of this calumny. She was met by a wall of stares, some hostile, some amused, a few showing other indecipherable emotions.

What in the name of Merlin was going on?

The girls were the worst. Most either showed open antagonism or looked down their noses at her as if she had just crawled out of the sewer.

The boys' stances were far more difficult to pin down. Like the girls there was enmity and more than a fair share of superior looks, but at least a few regarded her with a degree of interest that she found frankly unsettling.

"Er… Hermione."

She turned quickly back to the Gryffindor table. An awful lot of pale faces met her stare.

"What is it? What's happened now?" Hermione bustled to claim her usual seat next to Harry. "Is it The Quibbler? I thought it went quite well, considering…" She broke off as she saw Ron, opposite, so white-faced his freckles shone like beacons. He almost shrank away in fear.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

No-one criticized her uncharacteristic language.

"It's… it's not The Quibbler, Hermione," Neville stammered. He looked like he wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him.

"Then what - ?"

"Here." More composed than most, Ginny handed over a publication that most certainly did not carry Luna's by-line. "It's this morning's Prophet."

Seizing the paper, Hermione took in the sixteen-point headline.

FALSE "CHAMPION" CHASES BOYS FOR FUN

"What the..?"

The talk of society this festive week has been the remarkable display of wizard-chasing by the shock fourth competitor in the Triwizard Tournament.

[Turn to Page 6 for the Full, Unvarnished Story!!!]

The pages flicked so quickly under Hermione's impatient fingers that they sounded like drumbeats. It came as no surprise to find the continuation under that damned Skeeter woman's by-line.

GRAINGER IN UNHEARD-OF DISPLAY AT SCHOOL BALL

Hermione Grainger, belying her fifteen years, displayed predatory instincts that would put older, brassier - some may well say, scarlet - women in a green fug of envy. Her performance besmirched the top social event in the Hogwarts' calendar, the Yule Ball at Hogwarts.

Miss Grainger is plain but relentlessly ambitious. Regular readers will recall she is not of magical blood. Hypocritical to the core, nothing prevented her seeking out the cream of Pureblooded male society, the more famous the better.

Abandoning her own nominated partner, the tragically forlorn Harry Potter (conqueror of You-Know-Who), Miss Grainger first set her sights on the youngest son of one of our oldest families, of late fallen on hard times. Ronald Weasley, son of minor Ministry functionary Arthur Weasley, was evidently not interested; reportedly believing her to be a cheat and a know-it-all. A blazing row ensued - not, if one believes one's ears, the first - over Miss Grainger's antics. That finally pulled in Ronald's eldest brother, William.

Hermione's eyes flickered from the paper and onto Ron, who cringed as he frantically shook his head in desperate denial.

Her attention returned to the page.

William Weasley, aged 23 and considered one of society's most eligible young wizards, ostensibly attended the Ball to partner the Beauxbaton's Champion, Miss Fleur Delacour of France, in a tradition-shattering move sanctioned by the aged Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. One can no longer be surprised at what this old man will stoop to. Miss Delacour's evening was ruined, according to onlookers, when Miss Grainger next claimed the elder Weasley as her own, sparking an argument between the two brothers. Miss Delacour, radiating a natural beauty, found consolation in the equally spurned arms of Harry Potter.

Not content with inciting sibling rivalry and underhandedly attempting to demoralise one of her honest competitors, Miss Grainger shifted her attentions yet again, onto two of high society's scions, Neville Longbottom and Cedric Diggory. Longbottom, whose sad story rivals that of the Potters, is the heir to one of the most famous lines in England, but even he was thrown over for the charms of Diggory, aged 17. Most regard Cedric as a poster-boy for Hogwarts, a marvellous Quidditch seeker with a magnanimous nature, and son of Amos Diggory, who carries out such sterling work in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Observers reported that their respective partners, Miss Ginevra Weasley and Miss Cho Chang, were both upset at the turn of events. [Cont. on page 14.]

Hermione angrily yanked the paper open, unneeded pages fluttering to the floor.

Still, Grainger's taste for famous wizards was not sated. Her sixth of the evening was Viktor Krum, Bulgaria's World Cup hero. Krum, reportedly, has been openly smitten with Miss Grainger since arriving at Hogwarts, dismaying his long-time mentor the Durmstrang Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff.

There are whispers of the possibility of love potions, banned of course, but Dumbledore's rules and regulations do not seem to apply to this student. One wonders if her wanton display was part of a master psychological plan to put her fellow but true competitors off their game. One need not be a genius to note that the names of Diggory, Delacour and Krum feature heavily in all reports.

The fragrant Miss Pansy Parkinson, one of the belles of the Ball, and one of the few to keep her date, the distinguished Draco Malfoy, voiced the concerns of many. "I know for a fact that Grainger used Glamours to improve her appearance - Merlin knows, she needed to! - and everyone knows that she had her teeth fixed especially for tonight." The pretty and vivacious fourth year contemporary of Miss Grainger continued: "She's clever enough to brew a potion; she certainly fooled everyone when she wangled her way into the Goblet."

The impact of all this on poor Harry Potter, deprived of love since the tragic death of his parents at the hands of You-Know-Who, can be imagined. Attempting, as a gentleman should, to keep his word as an official partner, he was reported deeply upset that the quantum of solace he gained from Miss Grainger's company was dashed upon the altar of her vaulting personal ambitions. One can only wonder what impact yet another emotional blow will have on a life already littered with personal tragedy.

A question requires answering: Is this is yet another sign of Muggle values seeping into our once ordered lives? This journal has often raised the banner of resistance to such malign influences and those who falsely claim that we have nothing to fear. Those of us who have journeyed into that Muggle world have returned shocked at the loose morals and lewd displays that set new depths every time.

Yet the supposed upholder of our values is the very person who seeks to increase this flow of dangerous ideas: Albus Dumbledore. He stands aside as his rules are flaunted. He makes no move to censure his false champion or rein in her excesses. Indeed one wonders if he tacitly supports her campaign. Surely it is time the Minister himself thoroughly investigated the state of affairs at what is supposed to be our leading seat of education.

"Hermione?"

Harry's hand rested gently on her arm. Hermione noticed she was clenching the newsprint so tightly it was in danger of tearing. She looked up again.

"It wasn't me," Ron whimpered. "I swear, Hermione. I never spoke to her."

"Relax, Ron." The tautness in Hermione's voice hardly reinforced her instructions. "I know it wasn't you."

"You do? Phew!" Tension flowed out of Ron's body and he nearly slumped back on the bench.

"I'm sorry you had to read that tripe, Hermione." Neville, still pale, at least sounded as though he meant it. "You know not a word of it is true."

"We do too," Harry agreed readily. "Don't worry about my broken heart."

Hermione's eyes darted up to meet Harry's but that wonky little grin he wore told her he was teasing. For a second she wished he was not, then guiltily flung that aside as more pressing matters called.

"How did she do it?" Hermione wondered half-aloud. She glanced at Harry, then Ron. She needed to speak to them alone.

"You had to do it, though, didn't you, Hermione?"

Hermione glared back at Ginny. "I may have danced with them, but that doesn't mean -"

"Of course not." Ginny shook her head. "I didn't mean that. Merlin knows, the idea of you playing the field should tip off anyone with half a brain that this -" Ginny pointed at the now discarded newspaper "- is complete tosh." Hermione was not sure if that was a compliment or an unintentional insult.

"No, you had to go and take on Rita Skeeter, didn't you?" Ginny continued. "Yes, I heard all about that argument at Hagrid's hut. Ron doesn't always keep his mouth shut."

Ron looked hurt at that comment but, having successfully avoided blame so far, kept uncharacteristically quiet.

Hermione glanced at Harry, remembering their earlier confrontation with Rita. Evidently he was of the same mind. He gave just the slightest shake of his head. No, Harry had not talked either.

Unfortunately Ginny observed that little non-verbal exchange. "What?" she demanded. "What else?"

"Nothing, Ginny," Harry started, then broke off as Hermione waved him quiet.

"I had another run-in with Rita, on the evening of the First Task, on the way back to the common room," she confessed.

Ginny dramatically slapped one hand over her forehead. "Hermione, for someone so clever you can be really thick at times!"

Bridling, Hermione was in no mood to be lectured by her junior. "What's it to you?" she shot back.

"Two of my brothers just got dragged into that cow's muck for one thing. You reckon you can take on Rita Skeeter?" Ginny leaned forwards. "For Merlin's sake, she's had years in this game. She's got contacts at the Ministry and support you can't believe, or so Dad says. Knows where the bodies are buried, he reckons. Get on her bad side, and become a target - like you."

Hermione glared hard at her friend, then broke the sudden tension in the most unexpected manner.

She laughed, out loud.

When she had stopped, she was amused everyone was regarding her in various stages of confusion.

"Look, this is sheer unadulterated rubbish," she observed. "As you say Ginny - little old me, a scarlet woman? Brewer of love potions? Rita Skeeter is nothing more than a glorified, intolerable gossip." Then, more soberly: "It does mean, however, that I will have to apologize to some people for having their names dragged into this tawdry little affair."

"No you don't," Neville replied. "You don't owe me anything, Hermione."

"Nor me," Ron piped up.

Hermione looked to Harry. He just shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing to apologize for."

"Regardless, I really should speak to Cedric, Fleur and Viktor the next time I see them." Hermione was already scanning the Great Hall for those named, but so far none of the other Champions were present. A thought struck her. "I wonder if they would be interested in supporting a libel action?"

Neville shook his head. "Not against the Prophet." At Hermione's raised eyebrows, he carried on nervously. "L-lawyers would t-tie you up for ages, and they're not cheap. Who knows what favours the judges or jurors might owe Rita or the paper? And if you lose, they'll come after you for expenses."

"I think Neville's right." Hermione turned to an earnest-looking Harry. "To Hell with her. You need to concentrate on what's important right now."

Reluctantly, Hermione agreed. At least her parents would not read the half-truths and insinuations of misbehaviour. In addition, she doubted the chances of a fair trial.

Still, perhaps there was a way to ensure Rita Skeeter did not escape scot-free. After all, she had depicted Hermione as nothing more than a hormonally-driven teenager.

Ginny still appeared a little disgruntled. "You know what this means, don't you?" At Hermione's blank look, she leaned forward to make her point. "You're going to have all your mail vetted from now on, just like last time. And," she jabbed a finger in the direction of an approaching Professor McGonagall, "I reckon she's coming to tell you exactly that!"

Ginny was right. McGonagall had no time for Rita's story, but the possibility of more hate mail or worse had evidently occurred to her or other members of the faculty. The result was that Hermione now had an early morning appointment with the Headmaster.

With no classes scheduled on the last Friday of the Christmas Holiday, nobody rushed away from the breakfast table. Ron certainly took his time enjoying a hearty meal. Harry seemed happy enough to keep Hermione company as the other Gryffindors gradually drifted away.

When Ron finally finished, he looked up to find Hermione watching him. "What?" he mumbled a little nervously.

"Ron, only you, me and Bill would know for sure what we were arguing about on Christmas Eve."

Ron's eyes shot wide. "But… but… but it wasn't me!" he repeated nervously. "I told you! And you… you said it wasn't me!"

Hermione shook her head. "I believe you, Ron. You didn't have the chance that night, and Rita's not been around since we… made up."

Ron visibly relaxed, then jumped in his seat. "You don't mean Bill? Bloody hell, Hermione! There's no way Bill would have any part in that," his voice brimmed with a note of rousing anger.

Again Hermione shook her head. "I don't believe it was Bill any more than you. What would he gain?"

"I saw you," Harry said quietly.

"Don't be silly, Harry," Hermione said a little snippily. "The thought never crossed my mind." She worried at her bottom lip. "What really concerns me is how Rita found out."

"Fleur?" Harry shrugged as Hermione favoured him with an enquiring look. "She was there. She asked me if I knew what was going on with you two -" his hand waved in Hermione's and Ron's general directions "- but I didn't tell her anything."

Hermione leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Why would Fleur talk to Skeeter? The article isn't really tilted in her favour, and the same question applies as for Bill: What would she gain? I'm hardly threatening her in the Triwizard."

Ron spoke authoritatively. "Jealousy, got to be!" At two frankly disbelieving looks, he justified himself. "Stands to reason, doesn't it? Sees you as a threat to her and Bill."

Hermione could not quite stifle the giggles. "Really Ron, that's priceless - something Skeeter might write. That I, Hermione Granger, prove more attractive to wizards than Veela allure?"

"Well, that's women for you," Ron muttered, showing signs of an imminent sulk. "Us blokes can't understand them."

Hermione thought about lecturing him on that point, but settled for wearily shaking her head. "And I don't think you ever will, Ron Weasley. Anyway, did either of you spot Rita at the Ball?"

Both boys replied in the negative.

"Me neither," admitted Hermione. "And I'm pretty sure she wasn't on the official guest list, especially after Dumbledore warned her off. So she's unlikely to try snooping around again."

"It could have been anyone," Harry muttered.

"True," Hermione nodded. "Anyone could have told her who I danced with that night; it was no secret. But as far as we knew no-one else saw us arguing, Ron." She frowned. "No, there must be another way she did it."

Ron pushed away his thoroughly emptied plate. "I'm off." He looked at Harry. "Coming, mate?"

"In a minute." Harry waited until Ron had walked off, then leaned forward. "Ginny's right, you know this means trouble?"

"Nothing I can't deal with," Hermione replied a little airily. "I couldn't care less what's written in that rag."

"Hmm." Harry sounded unconvinced.

"You weren't… hurt by what she said?" she asked, unsure at his uncertain response. "You know, about me dumping you for other men?" She tried to make this sound like a joke, but an anxious flutter broke through.

"I think my heart will heal, given time," Harry replied, trying but failing to keep a straight face. At that they both broke into laughter, although Hermione's was of the nervous kind.

Finally, Hermione spoke. "Must be off. Places to go, headmasters to see."

Harry nodded. "It feels strange," he quipped.

"What?"

"Well, usually it's me on my way to Dumbledore's office. This year, you've been going to see him and I'm stuck on the outside."

"Would you like to swap places?"

Harry smiled. "Honestly," he said, "at one time I fancied being a Triwizard Champion, but having seen what's gone on…" He halted for a few seconds. "If there was any way I could, I'd take your place. Not for money or fame. But then I'd know you're safe, that you could carry on as a witch." His shoulders slumped. "I hate watching you without being able to help."

"You do help," Hermione said quietly. "More than you know."

"The running?" he asked impishly.

Hermione's answer died on her lips as another, louder comment cut clean through her thoughts.

"Phwoar!"

A small group of older Slytherins stood a few yards away. One had his arm raised in a pumping motion, his other hand gripping the forearm just above the elbow. Both Harry and Hermione had no trouble in interpreting the sexual nature of the gesture.

"If you put it out for Purebloods, Granger, we might look to provide some entertainment," called out one Hermione thought was called Pucey.

"I wouldn't touch a Mudblood with your wand, Potter, let alone mine," another added derisively.

Sensing Harry tense up beside her, Hermione placed a firm restraining hand on his shoulder. "Don't, Harry!" she whispered. "Not on my account."

"Never mind, Potter, she'll soon move onto another poor sod," someone she recognised as Warrington supplied a Parthian shot.

Hermione had seen Harry grip his wand, his fingers white against the holly grain. Her grip on him was just as tight until the laughing Slytherins had exited the Hall.

"Bastards!" Harry was seething, and Hermione was not minded to object to his language. He turned in his seat and fixed her with those clean green eyes. "You know what I said earlier about concentrating on other things?" She nodded. "Well, forget that," Harry snarled. "If there's anything I can do to help fit that… that… bitch - just let me know!"

Mildly perturbed by the fire in Harry's eyes, Hermione just nodded.

Harry got to his feet and stood glaring at the rest of the nearly empty Great Hall. Hermione had a feeling that if anyone else flung an insult her way within earshot of Harry, they would not get off so lightly.

Still, there must be something she could do about Rita Skeeter…

* * * * *

"Lemon drop, Miss Granger?"

"No thank you, sir."

Dumbledore settled back in his comfortable office chair. McGonagall flanked Hermione to the left, while Fawkes chirped away from behind the Headmaster.

"I must say," Dumbledore started conversationally, "that standards of journalism do not appear to be improving at the Daily Prophet."

McGonagall grunted something that sounded distinctly less than complimentary about Rita Skeeter.

"I can assure you that we consider your behaviour at the Yule Ball to be beyond reproach," Dumbledore added, his eyes twinkling over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Indeed, I believe that you acted exactly as one would expect of a Hogwarts' Champion."

Hermione hesitated to comment. "Umm… Headmaster?" He looked enquiringly at her. "Is there… anything we - I mean I - can do about this… article?"

The two teachers shared a look; Hermione thought it apparent they had already discussed this matter.

"I understand that you in particular would feel disappointed at the article -"

"Foul calumnies," McGonagall interjected.

"Yes, as you say, Minerva," Dumbledore carried on. "But, as one experienced at being on the receiving end of the Prophet's barbs, I always believe it is best not to engage the popular press in battle unless one has infinite patience, deep pockets, and the appropriate connections. The lethargy the Ministry displays in such cases is legendary."

Hermione understood that the Headmaster had arguably been almost as libelled by the article as she had been, yet his years and his achievements gave his old hide a fair protection against such slurs. She guessed that, were the boot on the other foot, she would have been in the dock faster than she could Floo to the Ministry.

"One could say it was an unfortunate but not unforeseeable event," Dumbledore added. "The antipathy between yourself and Miss Skeeter is apparent, and although the final decision must be yours, I would recommend doing nothing that might pour more fuel on that particular fire."

Neville had been right, Hermione thought with some asperity. If she sought a private prosecution, that would draw her parents further into the complicated web that had been woven, and might provide the final straw that would see her withdrawn from Hogwarts.

"Alright, I won't seek any legal recourse against either 'That Woman' or the comic she writes for," Hermione offered, not willing to dignify the author by name. Of course, she did not mention the possibility of others doing so on her behalf.

Professor McGonagall appeared less keen on that advice.

"But," Hermione added, "I will not fulfil anything other than the absolute minimum required as a competitor."

"That might be difficult," Dumbledore ruminated. "Still, am I to take it that you intend continuing in the Tournament? I thought your effort in the First Task was nerve-wracking but deserving of the highest praise - as Professor McGonagall has continually reminded me."

Again Hermione demurred. "I don't really know," she confessed, drawing a gasp of dismay from her Head of House. "I would prefer to make a judgement when I find out about the nature of the Second Task." She shrugged. "It can't be worse than the First, after all."

Her heart fell when she saw the twinkle disappear from Dumbledore's eyes at that statement. Surely it could not be worse than facing dragons, could it?

"I am afraid I cannot offer any assurance on that point," the Headmaster replied with what Hermione thought was a note of sadness. "Obviously, were you to chose withdrawal - and I would emphasize that no-one would hold you in any the less regard if you made that decision - then the School would strive to prevent your suffering the full consequences. But I do feel all avenues have been exhausted on that score."

"I understand," Hermione agreed glumly.

McGonagall leaned in. "Any mail addressed to you from any unknown sources will be vetted by house-elves, and any packages deemed suspicious will be examined by Professor Flitwick or myself." She hesitated for a moment. "I find it sad that such precautions are necessary in today's society."

"Indeed," Dumbledore intoned sombrely. "I feel that our work here is never done."

"How are your parents taking the news of events?" McGonagall asked.

"Much as expected," Hermione replied, leaving it at that. She had no desire to stoke the fires on the home front.

* * * * *

Feeling more downcast leaving the Headmaster's office than upon entering, Hermione made for the Gryffindor common room. After asking a few questions, she left for the Library, where she found two of her targets. The rest of that Friday she spent seeking out others who might help her.

Saturday morning brought a rude awakening.

Her early morning run, although no longer a complete shock to the system, was still hard work, as Harry extended the distance by a couple of hundred metres. At least she was not blowing as hard when she finished.

There was no mail for Hermione, or at least none which could be delivered. McGonagall advised her that a few of the Howlers had arrived but so far nothing physically harmful.

There had been a strange occurrence in Slytherin House over the last twenty-four hours. Several sixth and seventh year boys were suffering from either severe constipation or the complete reverse, unstoppable flatulence and loose bowels. Adrian Pucey was reputed to have locked himself in one of the boys' toilets.

Harry swore his innocence. The Twins were nowhere to be seen.

Hermione's wry smile grew a little wider.

Among the owls circling, awaiting landing space on the tables, Ginny spotted the erratic weavings of one particular bird. "Oh, Errol," she sighed as the aged and exhausted owl crash-landed amongst the bread rolls. It took no effort at all to release him from his burden, a large envelope.

Shaking the contents out onto the table, Ginny picked out her own message from home, then hesitated. "Oh dear."

"What?" Ron asked through a mouthful of egg and bacon.

Ginny gingerly held up a scarlet envelope by one corner.

Ron coughed out most of his last bite of food. "Oh sod it! I bet that's for me," he added morosely.

Ginny shook her head sadly. "It's not." She looked up at the interested Hermione. "I'm afraid it's addressed to you, Hermione."

Hermione stared in disbelief at the Howler as it started to smoke. "I don't suppose your mother subscribes to the Daily Prophet, does she?" she asked Ginny dully.

"Uh-huh," Ginny replied, nodding her head.

Professor McGonagall appeared over Ginny's shoulder as if by magic. "I must apologize, Miss Granger. We appear to have missed this one -"

"No." On Hermione's answer McGonagall's wand faltered. She looked to her student. "Let's hear what Mrs. Weasley has to say."

"Are you sure?" Based on her expression, McGonagall thought this course most unwise.

Hermione, suddenly aware of how interested everyone else appeared to be in her post, and that both Ron and Ginny were burning red with potential embarrassment, nodded.

As soon as the envelope unfolded, Molly Weasley's tones echoed throughout the Great Hall.

"Hermione Granger, how dare you toy with the affections of young boys like a scarlet woman!"

Hermione blinked in disbelief: Had Mrs. Weasley really quoted Rita Skeeter's own words at her?

"I have already told off Ronald about his past behaviour towards you, then I learn he's one of a string of boys that you shower your affections on."

'This is unreal,' thought Hermione.

"Now I can see why he might have been so upset with you this year, what with you leading him on."

Ron tried to sink as low in his seat as possible, as though that would render him invisible.

"Bill is far too grown-up and brilliant a wizard to be interested in someone as immature as you."

Over the top of the heads around them, Hermione could sense the whole of the Great Hall trying to edge inconspicuously closer to enjoy this unexpected early morning entertainment.

"And, to top it all, you play with poor Harry's affections, then drop him for some foreign Quidditch player!"

Harry visibly tensed. Hermione saw McGonagall's eyes narrow but she did not rebuke her student.

"You obviously need some guidance on how witches behave in proper society, young lady!"

With that crescendo, Molly's voice abated and the Howler shredded itself.

An uneasy silence fell over the Gryffindor table.

Finally it was Ginny who spoke. "We'll write and tell her the truth," she said apologetically to Hermione. "Won't we, Ron? Ron!"

Ron jumped as Ginny's shoe bit into his shin. "Bloody hell, Gin, what… Oh!" He looked guiltily at Hermione. "Yeah, course we will."

"Don't worry," Hermione said wearily. "It's not your fault." She felt empty at the accusations from a woman who had treated her like a member of her family only that summer.

"Hermione," Harry's voice came from her other side. "Have you a quill and some parchment on you?"

Sighing, as Harry knew only too well she was rarely without either inside the School, Hermione met his request. As he took them from her, realisation hit home.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm writing her, too." The parchment was already unfurled and spread out before him. "Neville?" he said, jerking the quill in his friend's direction. "Hold onto Errol will you?"

His request was superfluous. Errol looked like he needed artificial resuscitation more than restraint. Harry started scratching away furiously.

"What are you doing, Harry?" Hermione repeated gently.

"I'm telling Molly," Harry spat out the name, "that until she apologises for putting the slightest credence in the lying tripe that that cow Skeeter writes," he was writing exactly what he was reciting to Hermione, "I'm not going to set foot in the Burrow for as long as I live."

That caused both the Weasleys present to twitch nervously. Harry, attention fixed on his epistle, carried on blithely.

"Not one scrap of that article is true. I know because I was there, and anyone who bothered to ask any of the people involved could have easily discovered that as well." With that, Harry fiercely signed his name to the parchment, nearly breaking the point of the quill.

"Harry, don't." Hermione said sharply.

"Sorry," he replied just as firmly as he folded up the parchment. "I can't stop the Slytherins because they don't give a damn what I think. Maybe this will do some good…"

"What if it doesn't, mate?" Ron asked anxiously, although whether from concerns for his friends' concerns or his mother's reaction was not clear.

"Then, frankly, I'd rather stay with the Dursleys. At least they don't know any better," Harry growled.

"You don't mean that?" Hermione was anxious lest her affairs force him back into the unloving bosom of that family.

"Harry, I really wish you wouldn't." Ginny pleaded.

"I really wish she hadn't," Harry responded acerbically as he shoved his missive into the large envelope Errol had delivered. He grabbed Errol, who hooted in surprise, and looped the envelope's strings around the owl's still dangling legs.

"Please, Harry," Ginny persisted. "Let us handle this; she's our Mum."

"No!" Harry yelled as he tossed Errol and his new burden into the air. "I'm sick and tired of sitting around doing nothing while Hermione has to take all this shite!"

With that, Harry stormed away from the table. After a moment's thought, Hermione followed him, with Ron rising reluctantly and hurrying after the pair.

Glancing up just before leaving the hall, Hermione saw Neville looking thoughtfully at her. He nodded once in unspoken agreement, then stood up and walked towards the exit.

* * * * *

The start of the Spring Term was quiet. Hermione was fairly certain that all of the Gryffindors were behind her. At least she had not heard any comments supporting the Daily Prophet's line from her own common room, although Cormac McLaggen had 'favoured' her with salacious leers and the odd suggestive comment when Harry and the Twins were not around.

The first lesson, Herbology, soon showed that the Hufflepuffs were pretty much as dismissive of Rita Skeeter's accusations as her own housemates. Hermione attributed that to Cedric Diggory's influence.

The Ravenclaws, she learned that afternoon in Arithmancy, regarded the whole affair as quite beneath their lofty attentions.

Of course, Monday morning also proved that the Slytherins would use the story as more grist for their mill. They made several comments during Care of Magical Creatures, although the perpetrators made sure none were in earshot of Hagrid. Malfoy and Parkinson in particular were enjoying themselves immensely, and in the end Hagrid had to separate two warring parties before spells were cast, as the Gryffindor boys were more than prepared to take up the cudgels on her behalf.

Hermione made sure she identified the perpetrators. She felt sure the Twins, who had professed their own disgust at their mum's actions, would be interested to know.

At least the class dispelled one foul slander. Hagrid had obtained a beautiful unicorn for study this term, and all of the girls were allowed to pet the magnificent creature. Hermione, whose ability to approach the unicorn had been questioned sotto-voce by the usual Slytherin suspects, was even handed a sugar cube by Hagrid to feed to the unicorn. She wondered what Rita Skeeter would have made of that, and if that had been Hagrid's intent.

Tuesday was more wearing. In Potions, Professor Snape pointedly observed that at least Hermione had a seat next to one of her besotted partners. He went on to declare that Love Potions were for "petty, inadequate individuals" and were not on this year's syllabus. The Slytherins all but fell out of their seats in laughter, before a knowing and triumphant Snape called for quiet.

Neville, the unwitting catalyst for Snape's sarcasm, turned white, whether on his own behalf or hers, Hermione could not guess. A few seats in front she noted the back of Harry's neck flush crimson. The rest of the Gryffindors seethed with discontent, but no-one was bold enough to confront the teacher.

The week continued in much the same vein. The Slytherins had a little fresh ammunition, but soon Hermione became as outwardly inured to their new jibes as she had to the old. Indeed she spent most of her time having to restrain Harry, or Ron, or even Neville, from striking back.

The strange digestive complaint afflicting Slytherin ran its course amongst the older boys, but it appeared contagious: the Fourth Year contingent was now suffering.

The Weasley Twins did wear triumphant grins for the rest of the week.

With nothing to do apart from her continuing efforts to cram in as much advanced subject work as she could, worrying about the unknown Second Task, and gradually becoming accustomed to early morning runs with Harry, Hermione found life a little easier with her and Ron finally not being in a state of armed conflict. It was a lot easier on her nerves each evening just to worry about he and Harry and their homework.

Thursday afternoon's double Defence Against the Dark Arts was not something Hermione was looking forward to. Moody's behaviour still had her spooked, and she could not for the life of her reason what she had done.

No desks were in evidence when she followed Harry and Ron into the classroom. Moody was a believer in the practical as opposed to the theoretical, and Hermione could have left her overburdened book bag in her dorm.

As usual they heard Moody approach from down the corridor, his wooden peg clunking against the parquet floor. He stood, filling the doorway, his magical eye zooming around his students, before alighting on Hermione.

"Right - now yeh're all fat and filled from Christmas, let's shake loose a few cobwebs. A little round of harmless duelling. Now… let's see." Mad-Eye lived up to his name as the electric blue orb spun in its socket. "Ah! Our resident Champion."

A shiver went down Hermione's spine, while the rest of the class groaned. 'Not again?'

Suddenly Harry was there, standing in front of her, his hand already on his wand. His intentions were clear.

Moody grunted. "Need a protector, do yeh, Granger?" He half-turned, the rictus of a grin on his face. "Yeh don't need ta worry on her behalf, sonny." Harry bristled a little at that. "I'm a little old for these games. Yeh can take on Granger yerself."

"Pardon?"

"What?"

Hermione's response coincided precisely with Harry's. Did he expect her to -

"Are yeh both deaf?" Moody rumbled. "Up front and wands out. Now!" he barked.

Reluctantly Hermione slunk into the centre of the room.

"Potter, when yeh've the time, would yeh mind moving yer arse?" Moody thundered.

Muttering under his breath, Harry cast off his robe. Leaving it in a heap on the floor, he strode equally unwillingly into the middle of the circle of students standing about ten yards away.

"That's better," Moody observed. "Now that yeh're both ready… let's set the rules." He ambled between the two visibly unenthusiastic participants. "No Unforgiveables… not that I reckon yeh could…." He glanced up at Hermione. "No blasting hexes. Otherwise, anything goes."

Hermione looked at her teacher in alarm.

"If I reckon there's anything dodgy or dangerous, then I'll step in," Moody added. "An', believe me, yeh'll know when that 'appens!" He stared at Hermione. "Gonna duel in those robes, girl?"

Shamefacedly, Hermione undid her robes and carefully placed them over one of the unused chairs on the perimeter, taking her sweet time over it.

When she turned, Moody had vacated the centre, and Harry stood there, half-heatedly holding his wand.

"Right - when yeh're ready. Winner is the first one ta 'old both wands or render their opponent incapable of response." Moody had his own wand drawn, ready to intervene.

Hermione assumed a duelling position, that competitive edge grating against the fact it was Harry she was facing. Harry just stood there.

'Come on Harry, please defend yourself,' wished Hermione.

"Potter!" Moody growled.

Harry just nodded.

"Okay," Moody commented. "yer funeral, Potter. On my command… now!"

"Duplicus," she incanted, pointing her wand at herself. Creating multiple images of herself had been essential during the First Task. She had continued studying this type of magic ever since. "Duplicus," she repeated, her image mirroring her actions exactly. Now there were four.

Judging four identical images of herself to be enough, with a flash of her wand Hermione sent them to various parts of the large room. Another spell animated them. Suddenly, Hermione started running around the perimeter of the large room, her three doppelgangers following suit. On the spur of the moment, she had decided to put her newfound conditioning to work.

For his part, Harry just stood there gawking, making no effort to interfere with Hermione's casting. "Fer chrissakes, Potter, do something!" Moody rasped from the sideline, but to no avail.

Hermione no longer needed a mirror to create multiple images of herself, and while those images remained incapable of independent action - far too advanced magic - they now mimicked her actions exactly, making it impossible for Harry, and their audience, to know which was the real Hermione.

And now the four Hermiones were all pointing their wands.

"Tarantallegra!" She started with something mild. 'Please, defend,' she silently beseeched him.

He was facing entirely the other way, and the spell hit him squarely in the back. Harry's legs started dancing uncontrollably, mimicking an Irish dancer on the craic.

"Ah-ah-ah, Finite!" Harry managed to counter by ending the spell.

"Dammit, Granger," they both heard Moody shout impotently. "Yeh could have ended it right there!"

That was just the point. She would never humiliate Harry in front of the entire class. Or anywhere, for that matter.

"Protego!" Harry finally countered, coming out of what looked like a stupor. That pleased Hermione to no end.

"Expelliarmus!" she shouted, knowing she would not hit him.

Hermione's disarming spell bounced off of Harry's defensive casting, exactly as forecast.

Harry's head whipped around, but Hermione only ran faster. She cast several more minor hexes, including a Jelly-Legs Jinx. She even attempted to summon his glasses; but his shield deflected all her efforts.

Harry never returned fire, but he noticed that, although all of the images made exactly the same motions, only the real Hermione cast any visible spells. He soon figured out which one was real.

Like a Snitch, he tracked her until she ran by the back wall of the room where Moody had stored the furniture. "Accio desks!" he called out, and a stream of incoming desks blocked Hermione's forward progress.

She came to a screeching halt

"Finite!" "Rictusempra!" Harry dropped his shield so he could send a Tickling Hex at Hermione.

"Loxus," Hermione returned fire with a Hair-thickening Charm.

Both spells hit home, and both Harry and Hermione stopped in order to end each other's spells.

Then they both stood there, unsure what to do next.

"Fer Merlin's sake, get on wi'it!" Moody was not happy at all.

Hermione dove to her left. "Expelliarmus!" she tried to disarm him for a second time, only to see Harry clumsily fend it off like a batsman playing a bouncer off his back foot.

She edged around, Harry echoing her movements on the other side of an invisible circle. Hermione used a mild Twitchy Ears Hex, then attempted turn the floor under Harry's feet to ice. Both were unsuccessful as Harry deflected the first and jumped aside to avoid the second.

The students, originally fearfully quiet, realised nothing evil was afoot, and started to urge on their two friends. Unsurprisingly the girls tended to back Hermione, whilst the boys, fearing for the superiority of their sex, hooted at Harry, demanding a little more aggression.

This audience participation was a little irritating to Hermione, but she ignored it in favour of the task in hand. She would never cast anything that would hurt Harry, but neither would she lay down and let him win, even in this meaningless contest.

She was also a little aggrieved that Harry refused to cast anything more offensive than Second Year jinxes. He was going easy on her! What nerve! "Somnius!" She cast a Sleeping Charm at Harry that missed once again.

Hermione was not the only one dissatisfied with the level of play. Moody was growing increasingly impatient. "Get yer arse in gear, boy," he called out. "Show some guts." Then he turned to Hermione. "And yeh, Granger, try summat that could 'urt a Pygmy Puff!"

Smarting a bit at that, Hermione tried a Tripping Hex aimed at Harry's ankles, and nearly sneaked through as he realised late her aim was lower than usual. It was deflected into the crowd and Lavender toppled over. Harry grinned at that. "Nice try," he said ingenuously.

This was strictly Fourth Division fare, as Dean muttered in a stage whisper to Seamus.

Harry continued to duel defensively, fending off whatever Hermione tried. Obviously, Harry was quite good at this, and, just as obviously, she was holding back. That added more to Hermione's frustrations than Moody's caustic comments on her abilities. She prided herself in being good at anything she tried, or at least trying her utmost, flying being a dishonourable exception.

There was a sudden crack and fizz as a spell sizzled between the two pacifist duellists.

"That'll do!" Moody yelled. "Ain't gonna let yeh waste any more of my time. I've seen more action from jealous Puffskeins than from yeh two!" He jerked his wand in Harry's direction. "Stand aside an' let someone who'll give Granger a contest step up."

Hesitating, Harry's expression mixed emotions: glad not to be put in the situation of hurting his friend; worried at being replaced by someone who may not have such scruples.

"Now… lemme see…" Moody ran his electric-blue magical eye over the remaining Gryffindors, before fixing on a lanky, pale-faced redhead. "How's about yeh, young Weasley? I ' ear she's smacked yeh a good un. ' Ere's yer chance at even the score."

Ron blinked in surprise. "Me?" he asked nervously, even pointing his finger at his own chest. "You can't mean me?"

"Time waits fer no man, Weasley," Moody rumbled threateningly. "Don't fancy losing ta a girl now, do yeh? Especially one…" His eye flickered back to the waiting Hermione. "One yeh used to fancy, eh?"

"I… what… never… fancied her!" Ron spluttered.

"Not what the papers say, is it sonny?" Moody seemed to be enjoying himself. "Or was it ' er that fancied yeh? I really can't recall."

"That's absolute rubbish!" Hermione commented icily.

Moody stroked his misshapen nose. "Maybe, maybe not." Then his one good natural eye fixed on Hermione. "Or do yeh fancy someone else, lass?"

"Ooh!" Hermione exhaled her irritation. She glared at Moody, who seemed none the worse for that, then at poor hapless Ron. "Come on, Ronald. Get out here."

Ron moved at a snail's pace. "Blimey," he muttered.

Satisfied that the new pair of duellists were now ready, Moody clumped back to the sidelines. "Okay, yeh remember the rules, doncha?"

Hermione nodded stiffly. Ron just shrugged his shoulders.

"On my mark… now!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

To Hermione's slight surprise, Ron had fired his spell first. She had only just avoided losing her own wand. Almost before she had recovered, she was fending off a Jelly-Legs jinx.

"Sigmurthus!" Hermione began retaking the offensive with something appropriate - a Slug-belching Hex. "Densaugeo!" She quickly followed with another hex of her personal acquaintance.

Ron parried, and returned fire with a Slapping Jinx.

'Appropriate,' Hermione had to admit.

"Confringo!" More as a form of intimidation than anything else, she fired a very noisy Blasting Curse into the ceiling. Ron ducked as he was showered with bits of wood, stone, and plaster.

"I said no blasting, Granger!" Moody yelled.

"You said no blasting hexes," she corrected him, her adrenalin now racing. "That was a curse, not a hex, and I didn't aim…"

"Expelliarmus!" Ron roared, almost catching Hermione off guard. At the last moment she deflected it into the floor, scorching the parquet. Hermione shut her mouth and concentrated on Ron.

Carefully, the two protagonists circled. The audience gained some enthusiasm as they realised this was no Phoney War.

Knowing that jinxes could be cast without incantation, Hermione wondered whether Ron had any ability to cast other spells wordlessly. 'Let's find out…' She lunged forward with her wand.

"Silencio!"

"Protego!" This time Ron only just evaded defeat.

The small battle continued, with all manner of jinxes, minor hexes and minor spells being cast, with no effect. Neither, it seemed, could overpower the other.

Within a minute, Hermione was frustrated. It would be oh so fulfilling to thrash Ron, to excise some of her frustration from recent months.

'Okay,' Hermione's mind ticked over. 'Intimidation didn't work. I can't beat Ron head-on. How about a surprise attack?'

She slightly relaxed her stance. Ron, giving her a sideways look, dropped his guard for a second.

Seeing that, she lunged forwards. "Accio footstool!"

Ron, seeing Hermione's wand aimed just to his left, brought up his wand, aimed for danger in front of him, but half turned at the sound of wood scrapping the floor.

She had been aiming at the back of his knees, but now the stool cracked straight into Ron's rabbit hutch.

With an agonised and sudden intake of breath, which was matched sympathetically by the other boys in the room, Ron tumbled forwards. As both hands shot to the injured area, his wand clattered away as he hit the floor with a heavy thump.

All that made a suddenly guilt-ridden Hermione realise what she had done. She jumped forward, narrowing the gap between her and her fallen opponent.

"Oh Ron, I'm sorry."

Ron, flat on his back, just blinked at her. He did not appear capable of speech at first, but finally managed to wheeze: "Blimey! Why'd you do that, Hermione." Finding a remnant of strength he raised a free arm. "I concede."

There were mutterings of relief from some of their strangely previously bloodthirsty classmates, the boys in particular wincing in sympathy with their fallen comrade, but none from Hermione. She bent forward a little, grabbed Ron's hand and helped pull him to his feet.

"What the bloody Hell was that, eh?" An enraged Moody loomed over the two Gryffindors. "What are yeh playing at, Granger?"

"I - I don't understand," Hermione replied, confused. "He'd dropped his wand."

Moody's fury was unabated. "Rubbish! ' E knows Accio as well as yeh do! The duel only ends when yer opponent is incapacitated or disarmed." His wand pointed at Ron. "Until yeh've got Weasley's wand safely in yer hand, ' e's neither."

"But I conceded, Professor," Ron butted in weakly, still cupping his groin gingerly. Moody's rage was directed at Hermione alone.

"Do yeh believe ' im?" Flecks of spittle emerged at the edges of Moody's misshapen lips.

"Of course!" The words came to her automatically. "He's my friend." She struggled for a moment to realise how she had described Ron.

"Yer friend?" Moody grimaced like he had bitten into something rancid. He turned, his wooden leg squeaking in protest. "Yer bloody friend! That's a pitiful excuse!" He stumped around in a tight circle, glaring at his students. "Never, ever, trust a wizard who concedes, unless yeh've got ' is wand, and even then make darned sure ' e's not 'iding a second. Stun 'em again to make sure they're down for the count!"

Once again he turned on Hermione, towering over her, so close that not even Harry could intervene. Or Prongs.

"Tell me, missy, ' ow d'yeh know Weasley or even Potter's not under the old Imperius? Lost many a good Auror to that, we did."

Hermione's anger was starting to override her natural deference. "Of course Harry's not under that curse," she snapped back. "Anyone can see that! Look at his eyes; they're clear, not glassy!"

"A bleedin' expert on the Unforgiveables now, are we? And ' ow about Glamours, huh? Ever ' ear tell of Polyjuice?"

"Yes, I've heard of that," Hermione replied heatedly if not completely truthfully.

"The point, Granger, is that yeh never know who yer opponent really is, even if it's yer best friend… Or the lad yeh fancy."

That comment and the unsuccessfully stifled sniggers from her onlooking classmates struck down the last of her inhibitions towards authority, and this authority in particular. Mad-Eye was just that - mad. His attitude towards her finally exposed a flash of her fury. "Ron was down; he conceded," she repeated herself hotly.

"He let yeh think yeh'd won," Moody observed cynically.

"What would you have me do?" Hermione exploded. "Kick him when he's down? I won't! He's my friend!"

"Who's teaching this lesson?" Moody snarled back. "Yeh just don't get the point, do yeh, Granger." He started to turn away, then seemed to think better of it, and turned back. "Detention tonight, Granger, fer failing ta follow a teacher's instructions." He imposed his sentence with a sudden eerie composure and a visible sense of satisfaction.

"What?" Hermione's jaw dropped open. She had only ever served one detention, in her first year, and in her opinion it had been totally undeserved.

"Yeh heard," Moody replied, leaning back against a desk. "Shall I make it a month's worth fer showing disrespect ta a professor?"

"You… you can't do that," Hermione protested weakly.

"That's not fair!" Harry yelled. "You can't blame Hermione." Other grumbles could be heard in the background, although the other boys did not sound as sympathetic as him

"Can't I now?" Moody looked ready to draw his wand at the revolting class. "Yeh seem remarkably well informed as to the limits of my authority. Nearly as much of a know-it-all as this one." He gestured at Hermione.

"I'm just as much to blame," Harry countered. "You should issue me a detention as well. None of this would have happened if I'd fought as you wanted. I refused your order to fight."

"P'haps I will, sonny." Moody looked coolly at Harry even as Hermione tried to urge her friend to stay out of trouble, much as she appreciated his intentions.

"Yeh've protected 'er once already, lad, and might do again."

That elliptical comment meant nothing to Hermione. Sure, Harry's Patronus had interceded in that very one-sided duel a couple of months ago, yet no-one aside from the two of them knew of a similar incident on the night that Sirius Black and Buckbeak had escaped from their sentences of death.

Yet those words had an effect on Harry. A mixture of wariness replaced his evident anger. After a few seconds silence Harry spoke. "I might. I'm not sure I trust you."

Moody looked unconcerned. "Then yeh've learnt a valuable lesson, lad. Never trust anyone else. Constant vigilance!" Then he turned back to Hermione.

"Granger, yeh might be able ta 'andle dragons, but yeh've a lot ta learn about wizards. Dragon's don't lie or cheat; yeh know what they're about." He raised his voice. "Yeh've all got'ta know that. Granger decided ta play by ' er rules, not by mine. And mine are the only ones that count." Mad-Eye's wand was drawn and he pointed it at the floor. "'Ere." Then his wand described a circle. "And out there."

* * * * *

At dinner, news of Hermione's detention spread like Fiendfyre. Ron's vanquishing was small beer in comparison. No Gryffindor outside the fourth year could quite believe it, and those who knew her well sought confirmation from the fourth years that the rumour, unlike the rubbish in the Prophet, was actually true.

Professor McGonagall's demeanour was frosty when she visited her House's table; she could barely conceive that her star student had answered a teacher in circumstances other than those that earn house points. Her deep disappointment was palpable to all, and she brushed aside her students' attempts to defend Hermione.

For once Hermione dreaded a visit to a classroom. She honestly believed that her behaviour was nowhere near deserving of reprimand, let alone punishment. Given Professor Moody's past attitude and almost schizoid behavioural tendencies, almost anything could happen to her. Surely Professor Dumbledore would not allow that, would he?

After the events of the past few months, Hermione was perturbed to find her previous all-encompassing faith in the Headmaster was waning.

"You okay?"

Hermione glanced up from a dinner plate she had scarcely touched but been staring hard at for some time. Harry peered quizzically at her from behind his glasses.

She gave her head just the tiniest of shakes, trying to dispel her doubts and fears. "I'm fine," she replied quietly. "Just thinking things over."

Harry grinned. "That's normal, isn't it?" Then his smile disappeared. "About tonight?"

Hermione nodded. "I just… don't know what to expect."

Harry remained silent for a few moments, then obviously came to a decision. "I'll come with you."

"There's no need, Harry." Her protests were half-hearted. "I'm the one assigned detention."

"If it was anyone's fault, it was mine. Merlin knows why he didn't give it to me."

This time Hermione stayed quiet for a couple of seconds. Harry had just effectively admitted he had gone easy on her in their so-called 'duel'.

"Why did you try to let me win?"

Harry avoided meeting her stare. "I didn't," he mumbled.

That had been the wrong question. "Alright Harry. Then why didn't you try and win yourself?"

She saw that Harry's face was a little flushed. "To be honest, Hermione," he finally replied, "I couldn't think of a way to end it without somehow hurting you. I'm not that clever."

"Nonsense, Harry!" Hermione blurted out in asperity. "There are plenty of jinxes you could have used, like the Jelly-Legs or Trip. Ron tried those. I used them too."

She could tell that Harry knew this, and that he knew that Hermione knew he knew, as the tips of his ears glowed scarlet. "I didn't want to… just let it drop, okay, Hermione?"

Hermione huffed. "You don't need to go easy on me, Harry. If you hadn't, then perhaps -"

"See!" Harry blurted out. "I told you it was my fault."

Covering her mouth with her hand, Hermione regretted the whole line of questioning. "Sorry Harry! I didn't mean it that way."

Harry was now the one staring resolutely downwards. Hermione hoped she had not hurt his feelings. With his guilt complex, she was stupid even to hint that Harry bore responsibility.

Finally Harry stirred. "Come on," he said wearily. "I'll walk you to Mad-Eye's room."

Their journey was concluded in uncomfortable silence. Harry was obviously mulling matters over, and for once Hermione decided that an inquisition would not be the wisest course of action.

They stopped outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts' closed classroom door. Hermione hesitated on the threshold, genuinely worried at what may await her within.

Sensing her increased unease, Harry spoke. "I'll wait out here… just in case, you know?"

"You don't have to."

Shrugging, Harry leaned up against the wall opposite. "I'd rather be sure," he said whilst casually removing his wand from his robes and staring hard at the grain in the wood.

Strangely, Harry's protective act just heightened Hermione's sense of impending dread. She knocked on the door, heard a muffled response, pulled it open and entered.

Moody stood awkwardly by his desk, his uneven stance throwing the rest of the room at a strange angle.

"Right on time, Granger," he muttered approvingly. "Sit down." As Moody indicated a chair in the front row, his electric blue magical orb spun on its axis and fixed on the now closed door.

"Potter!" The yell was unexpected and Hermione gave an involuntary jump. "No need ta tarry. Nothing'll ' appen ta the lass. Yeh ' ave my word."

If Harry replied, his answer was inaudible to Hermione.

"Go on now, son," Moody shouted. "If yeh want ta collect ' er when she's finished, I'll let yeh know." Finally satisfied, the grizzled ex-Auror returned his attention to his offending pupil. As both organic and magical eyes fastened on her, Hermione shivered.

"Nice ta see yeh're leaning summat in my classes, anyway."

Hermione glanced down and found that she had half-drawn her own wand. Somewhat embarrassed at this transparent lack of trust in her teacher, Hermione carefully replaced it.

Moody stumped around from his position in front of Hermione's chair to behind his desk. "I've ' eard yeh called many things, Granger," he said conversationally. "Some complimentary, some not." He stopped and once again fixed her with both eyes. "The one thing I've never expected to ' ear," he added, his voice rising, "was that yeh're a quitter!" The last noun was spat out as though it was an obscenity.

"What?" Hermione's mind was spinning. What did Moody mean? What was this to do with her detention?

"A quitter!" Moody repeated, thumping his desk with a heavy fist, the retort making Hermione wince involuntarily once again. "Though yeh' ad more guts than that."

Collecting her wits, Hermione sought to answer. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."

"Like ' Ell yeh don't…" Moody rambled unevenly across to one of the small windows set in a casement. "One thing I never did, ever, was abandon a colleague… a friend."

He turned and Hermione saw the expression on his face was a mixture of disappointment and deep displeasure.

"Word ' as it," Moody continued in a more restrained manner, "that yeh're thinking of dropping out."

Dropping out? Of what? Hermione had no intention of dropping the Defence option from her timetable. Did he mean..?

"Outta the Tournament, which means yeh'll be leaving the School. Don't fool yerself that I don't know these things."

Feeling the sudden need to defend herself, Hermione straightened a little in her seat. "After all, it's me who will suffer, and my reputation can't get any lower after that article in the Prophet -"

"Bugger yer reputation!"

"What?" Hermione could hardly believe her ears.

Moody's words were delivered with chilling clarity and weight. "I could care less about what the world, especially that rag, think about yeh, Granger."

Unthinkingly Hermione jumped to her feet. "You can't be serious?" she replied heatedly, her own voice rising. "After what you said about Ron and me this afternoon? You can hardly think that the good name of Hogwarts rates as -"

"Sit down and shut up fer once."

The words were stated with a hint of violence to back them up.

Her face blazing, Hermione glanced up at Moody, then slowly sat back down.

Emblazoned across his battered face was a sense of determination and insensitivity that belied Moody's nickname. It forcibly reminded Hermione that this was a man who had survived physical punishment and wounds that would have destroyed lesser wizards; an Auror who had taken down the most dangerous of dark wizards; one who had stood tallest against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the War.

Now she was the only possible target, and Hermione for a second believed that Moody would have no compunction in eliminating her where she sat. Was Harry still out there?

"Now, listen to me and listen good, Granger," Moody rumbled. "I don't give a cuss for yer good name, or that of ' Ogwarts, or Dumbledore's, or even mine fer that matter." Hermione stared uncomprehendingly at him. "I'm talking about loyalty, about doin' what's right. That claptrap today was ta get a rise outta yeh. Do yeh get me, girl?"

"No - I'm afraid I don't."

Moody shook his head. "An' yeh're supposed to be one o' the clever ones," he said with dripping disdain. "May Merlin ' ave mercy on us all!" He threw his arms out in mocking appeal.

Turning back to his errant pupil, Moody stumped out from behind his desk to rest in front of Hermione once again.

"That was just to get yeh ta fight" he clarified. "This is serious. Yeh're thinking about ditchin' yer mate."

Hermione still stared in confusion. She could not grasp the central concept in Moody's diatribe.

"Potter." Moody said slowly. "I said, don't think I don't know these things. Yeh're gonna cut and run and leave Potter ta face the music."

Even more confusion. 'Harry? What did Harry have to do with all of this?'

"Merlin's balls!" Moody swore. "I'm gonna ' ave ta spell this out for yeh, ain't I?" He rested his bulk back against his desk, taking the weight off of his peg leg.

"Yeh remember there was talk that yer little spell this summer might'a interfered with some dark magic aimed at Potter?"

Hermione nodded slowly. They had been over this ground before.

"An' that's why yer name came outta the Goblet? Well, I've been checking around, using my contacts, both legal and not so. Seems that wasn't so wrong after all. Someone did ' ave plans for Potter that weren't well-intentioned."

"But… but …" Hermione started to protest. "You said - no, you told the Headmaster - that this idea was ridiculous! Dumbledore… he told me you said that -"

"I was bloody wrong!" Moody roared, suddenly enraged. "It ' appens, yeh know! Me wrong; yeh right. Much as I ' ate ta admit it. Just I keep an open mind." He glared at her, sensing her uncertainty. "What? Do yeh want an engraved apology?" Turning suddenly, his wand whipped out and the contents of his desk top violently dislodged and went crashing to the floor. Shocked, Hermione tried to put some distance between her and the now well-named Mad-Eye. She only succeeded in sending her chair tumbling backwards, and she tipped over along with it.

"' The great and clever ' Ermione Granger was right all along!'" Moody crowed mockingly as he limped back and took to the chair behind his desk. "' Old Moody bollixed it up again, to be put out to grass!' Would that do fer yeh?" He turned his attention back to Hermione, and stared at the figure scrambling to rise from her inelegant seat on the wooden floor.

"Aw… get up, girl," he said with evident disgust.

Embarrassed and smarting a bit from a bruised posterior, Hermione continued her ungainly ascent, also trying unsuccessfully to right the overturned chair.

"How in the name of Merlin yeh ended up a Gryffindor, I'll never know," Moody continued in a more restrained manner. Gesturing, he added: "Sit back down lass, an' try not ta break the furniture this time."

Face burning with embarrassment, Hermione gave up and chose the chair next to the upturned one.

"Yeh were on the right track. Sources whispered in my ear that it were Potter's name that was supposed ta come outta the Goblet Halloween. Reckon yer little spell ruined somebody's not-so-well-laid plan good an' proper like." Leaning back in his chair, he actually favoured Hermione with an approving facsimile of a smile in his ruined face.

"' Ad ta be powerful wizards even to try summat like that. Now, whoever's got evil plans fer Potter is tryin' ta make best of the mess yeh've left them in. But if yeh were to quit…" Moody deliberately left the sentence hanging.

"Then we'd miss our chance to find out who they are!" Hermione finished with a little sense of anxious glee at being proven correct in her earlier assumptions.

"That's right, Granger," Moody added approvingly. "They'd disappear down whatever ' ole they'd come outta. We'd lose ' em. And yeh know what that means?"

"They would be free to have another attempt against Harry." This time there was no satisfaction in being right. Hermione could feel all the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

"An' a free shot, too. Next time we wouldn't have any idea how they meant ta do it," Moody added. If Hermione was pensive, his mood was decisive. "Potter'd be marked, and yeh'd be in no position to do anythin' about it. Safe ' n' sound back in yer Muggle ' ome," he added provocatively.

"It's not as clear cut as you believe," Hermione shot back, before adding: "Professor."

"Seems crystal from ' ere," Moody responded. "Yer own ' ide means more ta yeh than that of yer friend. Can't blame -"

That drew Hermione to her feet, this time her face burning with indignation. "I'll have you know that's not true," she disagreed heatedly. "I would never have cast that spell in the first place… One reason, the main one, I decided not to withdraw was for just this purpose. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall thought it a likely possibility - unlike you," she added gratuitously.

"Maybe so," Moody concurred. "But yer singing a different tune now."

Hermione shook her head, feeling defeated. "It's not that." She sat back down, surprised to find herself shaking slightly. "You said… powerful wizards. It's just that… well, after the dragon… I realised I was out of my league."

"Maybe yeh are, maybe yeh ain't," Moody replied. "Yeh showed guts aplenty when yeh faced that darned Horntail. Now yeh're talkin' of cutting' and runnin'."

"I know. But a bit less luck and my guts would have been spread all over the pitch." Hermione was frustrated at not being able to get her message across to Moody. "If the other tasks are as bad as the First, then there's no way I'll be able to continue, even if I want to or not. I can't help anybody if I'm dead. " She stared to pace up and down under stress. "What'll happen when I fail the next Task, and am disqualified, or worse?" she asked rhetorically. "Harry will be ruined by guilt. Whatever plan someone's set for Harry goes down the tubes. You'll be back where you started, chasing shadows. And at best I'll have lost the chance of being a witch forever."

Moody looked at her appraisingly. "All true. So ' ow do we avoid that ' appening, Granger?"

Hermione ceased her pacing and turned to face her teacher, her eyes wide.

"You mean..?"

Moody nodded affirmatively, not a lot, but enough. "Best leave that at that. The question's ' ow at deal with our Triwizard problem."

This was more up her street, working through a problem and coming up with possible solutions. Putting aside her astonishment at finding a most unexpected and unorthodox ally, she started to theorise.

"Well, there would be simpler methods of someone striking at Harry if they meant him harm. If whoever they are wanted him dead…" she shivered "… then why set up such a complicated plan just to feed him to a dragon?"

Moody watched her carefully. "Go on," he encouraged.

"So the competition itself must play apart," Hermione carried on, speaking aloud more for her own benefit than Moody's. "Something to do with the Triwizard Tournament… but what?" She glanced up at Moody but he just motioned for her to continue.

"And now I'm competing in Harry's place, how do they adapt their plans?" She shook her head. "I don't know enough; there are too many variables to come to a firm conclusion. Except that… since competing in the Tournament can't be enough, then what happens to the winner?"

Moody shrugged. "Sure are simpler ways of grabbin' a thousand Galleons. Then there's the fame, the glory…" Moody almost spat in disgust. "Transient, fading, but it's there, nonetheless."

"That means nothing to Harry," she snapped. "They'd know that."

"Possibly," Moody ruminated. "Maybe they don't know Potter. Think ' e's just like them, after hard cash and bein' a big star an' all."

Hermione was thinking hard. "The Ministry was desperate for the Tournament to continue. If they'd had a choice they'd have chucked me out right at the start. They couldn't, even though I'd have willingly gone along, if it hadn't meant being stripped of my magic. The Minister invested a lot of political reputation in holding it here."

"Fudge is an idiot," Moody observed. "Anything that wins ' im votes or money grabs his attention."

"Perhaps harming Harry isn't the main objective?" Hermione thought aloud. "Perhaps whatever happens to Harry is designed to discredit the Ministry."

"Or Dumbledore," Moody added. "Enough people in authority' ve been gunnin' fer Albus for years." He rose and stumped around to the side of his desk, idly swishing his wand and restoring his desk to its prior state. "'Cept that's not what I'm a hearing. Someone's got it in fer Potter."

Hermione slumped back down in a chair. "Then we're back where we started. Harry's not in the competition, so how am I involved now?"

"Dunno, but I do hear that you stayin' in the Triwizard is important for ' em."

Hermione sighed. "Maybe I should just get out, then. If it's something about the Tournament itself… well, my being in it only gets Harry involved. He wouldn't be inclined to do anything stupid if…"

"That's yer original load of tripe," Moody growled angrily again, looming over her. "We've been over all that. Yeh know and I know that Potter'd be wrecked and easy pickings fer ' em the next time around. And make no mistake, if they tried this ' ard this time, they'll try ' arder next."

"But who are they?"

"Disaffected wizards, some who believe old What's-is-Name's brand of bollocks, who knows? Potter's seen as Dumbledore's tool; enemies of one, enemies of the other, p'haps. Knockturn Alley has some whispers but not enough ta be sure. But the moment yeh pull out, or fail ta proceed in any way, they'll melt away inta the shadows, and we'll lose any chance of catchin' ' em with their pants down. That much I know from bein' in this business longer than yer parents 'ave been alive."

"Does Professor Dumbledore have any ideas?"

Moody shook his head. "Ain't told 'im." Hermione drew in a breath but before she could argue the point Moody held up a gnarled finger to forestall the complaint. "There's enough on Albus's plate already, an' besides, the fewer people who know, the better." He smiled knowingly at Hermione. "Keep yer cards close to yer chest. Yeh're not ta tell anyone."

"What? Not even Harry?"

"Specially not Potter. Boy's got a guilt problem in that he reckons he can protect all ' is friends. Yeh know that better'n me." Hermione nodded in mute agreement on that score. "'Sides, Potter'll tell Weasley, who's incapable of keepin' ' is big mouth shut, and afore we know it it'll be on the front page of the Prophet."

Hermione remained quiet for a moment, before speaking her mind. "I don't think we should keep this information to ourselves."

Moody glared at her. "'Appens I've a bit more experience in these matters than yeh," he replied tartly. "Came through the last War intact… well, pretty much so, anyway. Fewer folks who know, the less chance there is someone'll leak. ' Cos if that ' appens we're back to square one."

Hermione knew Moody's reputation for paranoia, but he still made sense. She was unhappy at keeping news from Harry, especially as she had promised not to keep secrets from him. But that promise was already broken, she had been doing so ever since Halloween. The situation would be unchanged there. And Moody's opinion of Harry's reactions agreed not only with her own , but also those of Dumbledore and McGonagall.

Dumbledore, and McGonagall, though; that was a different matter. Still, with Moody, Hermione recognised that all the possibilities would be covered.

"That still leaves us with a problem, Professor."

Moody looked knowingly at her.

"This all assumes that I can successfully complete the Second Task and carry on." The implicit message was that Hermione Granger was going to carry on in the Tournament. "I think the chances of that are negligible."

"Yeh underrate yerself, Granger. Yeh might' ve ' ad some luck against the dragon, but yeh had a plan, and yeh stuck to it."

Hermione shook her head. "I was damned lucky and I know it."

"Yeh know that none of the Hogwarts' staff can help yeh?" Moody asked.

Hermione's eyes went wide again. "But…"

There was a hint of a grin from Moody. "Officially, that is," he added. "Still think this is a detention?"

Hermione cocked her head and relaxed just a bit.

"There are some things I can teach yeh that'll help keep you in the game, and may be even more useful when we find those plotters." He ambled forwards, covering the few yards that separated teacher and pupil. "As far as everyone else is concerned, yer lip just earned you a weekly detention."

"Weekly?" Hermione protested.

"Do yeh want to stay around and ' elp Potter?" Moody responded. "Or would yeh rather leave ' Ogwarts in disgrace? Or maybe in a box?"

Hermione swallowed as she digested that. Once again her options were narrowing. Mad-Eye was offering her surreptitious training from one of the best practitioners of the subject on the planet, and undoubtedly a greater chance of coming through the whole ridiculous affair relatively unscathed.

Moody's help also gave her a basis for continuing in good faith, without overtly lying to her parents. After all, with the expert tuition now on offer she could claim with a straight face she was not out of her depth. And if she repeated it often enough, she may even believe it herself.

Above all, there was a chance that she could help net the fiends who were threatening her Harry!

"No, Professor, I would rather stay right here and take you up on your offer." Moody looked satisfied at that outcome.

"But I would ask one favour."

"Hmm?"

"You couldn't… well, tell Professor McGonagall that this isn't a proper detention after all, could you? Off the record?" She saw his expression hardening, and provided her own answer. "Of course not. Silly idea, Hermione."

"Right. Stand up, then." Moody flicked his wand and the chairs dispersed to the classroom's perimeter. "Tonight's lesson is duelling."

'Duelling? Oh no, not again!'

"Now, yeh'll almost certainly have to take on one of yer opponents before the end of the competition, even if duelling's not a formal part anymore," Moody advised. "And it'll come in ' andy if yeh want ta - or ' ave ta - protect Potter." He saw the foreboding expression on Hermione's face. "After today's farce, it'll be tough but I can guarantee yeh won't be flying into anymore cabinets, courtesy of me or anybody else. Understand?"

Hermione nodded grimly, and thought about what might happen should she ever encounter Malfoy again in a deserted corridor.

* * * * *

"Well, how did it go? I didn't like the noises I heard near the end."

Hermione leaned a little tiredly against the corridor wall as the classroom door closed behind her.

"Not as bad as I'd thought, actually," she replied, and watched as a little of Harry's evident tension leached away. Although she ached and was sore and bruised in the odd place where she'd taken a tumble, her lesson with Moody had been nothing as catastrophic as their first duel.

"That's a relief. I was worried old Mad-Eye might live up to his name." Harry was waiting until she was ready to leave for the Gryffindor common room, so Hermione straightened up and started to move.

"Still, won't have to do that again," Harry added.

"Ah." Hermione stopped; it took Harry a couple of steps before he realised his companion was no longer marching alongside.

"I… well… I've got another detention," Hermione apparently confessed. Harry raised his eyebrows. "For talking back to a teacher, again," she mumbled in some form of extra information.

Harry's eyes narrowed for a moment. "The old…"

Hermione shook her head. "No, Professor Moody was right. I need to be more… disciplined, especially in Defence."

Harry eyed her disbelievingly. "That's utter tosh," he responded. "There's no-one more disciplined than…" He broke off.

"What, Harry?"

He shook his head. "No, it's nothing."

Hermione wondered what was occurring. It seemed they were both keeping something from each other.

* * * * *

Unicorns are supposedly only approachable by maidens pure.

A bouncer is a short-pitched delivery in cricket. The best defensive shot is played off the back foot with the bat high in front of one's face whilst keeping your eye on the incoming missile. Unless you are me, a compulsive hooker (not what it sounds like), in which case get a top edge and go to hospital for seven stitches above the right eye…

The old Fourth Division of the Football League was often used as a comparison for poor quality of performance. It is slightly better now - especially now Accrington Stanley are back in it!

The Phoney War was that period of the Second World War between the fall of Poland in September 1939 and the German attack on Scandinavia in April 1940, when the German and Allied forces faced each other on the Rhine without either side making any attempt to attack.

Rabbit Hutch is Cockney rhyming slang for the groin (crotch). Ron takes one in the gonads!