Unofficial Portkey Archive

Once again I have to deny that I am JKR, do not own the characters or one of the largest bank accounts in Britain.

Thanks as ever to beta readers Bexis and George.

Chapter 14 - Swimming and Other Lessons

Late January in the Highlands turned bitter. Thick frosts formed every night, and the skies bore a milky shade that always threatened, but seldom delivered, snow.

The Castle hummed with anticipation that Saturday morning as students prepared for a Hogsmeade weekend, despite the glowering weather, with nothing to worry about except paying for the latest confectionary from Honeydukes, or stealing the odd kiss outside Madame Puddifoots.

More than a few curious looks came the way of two figures standing at the edge of the ice-rimmed lake. Who could possibly prefer Mother Nature's bracing embrace instead of some nice warm butterbeers?

"It's cold," Hermione forced past chattering teeth. Even her thick cable-knit roll-necked sweater, which would have given proud service on a North Sea trawler, failed to keep out the insidious chill.

Harry glanced back from the edge of the lake. He had just shifted from a combination of spells to a large stick to try and break up the thin ice that kept appearing stubbornly on the waterline. "You want to go back inside then?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, there's no time to wait for the weather to improve," she observed in resignation. A distant movement on the deck of the Durmstrang ship caught her attention.

She saw Viktor Krum shrug off a dark robe, revealing a pale body with only a small pair of swimming trunks to protect both modesty and, questionably, body temperature. Krum strode to the starboard side, pulled back a gunwale gate, half-raised one arm to greet his distant watchers, and then dived straight into the freezing water.

Harry shook his head. "He's mad," he muttered.

"It's a lot colder where Viktor comes from," Hermione replied, as she watched the Bulgarian's head break the surface. "And what does that make us?" she added in a smaller voice.

Smirking, Harry turned back to face her. "Well, Ron always said you were mental."

"You!" Hermione tossed a chunk of melting ice at him, with enough force to make him dodge. "Since when did Ron know anything, anyway/"

Harry simply shrugged his shoulders. "Are you ready?"

Hermione's attention was distracted. Viktor was swimming in their direction, cutting through the frigid water with long, deliberate strokes. "Not really," she replied. "But I'd better get on with it."

Last night she had Transfigured a double sheet from the Daily Prophet into a windbreak. Now she shoved it into the barren mix of sand and shingle that passed for a beach. Ducking behind the cover provided, Hermione yanked the bulky jumper over her head, then shimmied out of her tracksuit top, revealing a long-sleeved rugby jersey in hoops of dark blue and bottle green and the other half of the ankle-length tracksuit. Underneath everything she had Transfigured a spare set of underwear into a one-piece swimming costume.

Pulling on a rubber swimming cap over her tied-back tresses, Hermione emerged from shelter to find Harry standing at the waterline, engaged in a halting conversation with a dripping wet Viktor. The Bulgarian was shaking his head dolefully.

"Ne!"

"What's the matter?"

Harry turned at her question. "He won't let me cast a Warming Charm," he replied with a hint of bitterness.

"No good on vater," Viktor responded.

Hermione thought she understood. "Harry, you weren't planning a Heating Charm on the entire lake, were you?"

He nodded warily, obviously catching the merest hint of disbelief in her voice.

"It's far too large, Harry."

"Well, you're not swimming all the way across, are you?" Harry replied defensively.

Sighing, Hermione took Harry by the arm. "That's true, but water circulates, even in a lake like this. The amount of magic it would take to heat even a small part of it would be tremendous, even assuming I didn't swim out of it. It's far more efficient to cast the charm on yourself." She noted Viktor nodding slowly in agreement a few yards away as she cast the charm herself.

Harry looked a little downcast. He had, after all, only been trying to help.

Hermione turned to Viktor. "How are you?" she asked, as she had not seen much of the Bulgar since Christmas.

"Dobre… I am vell, blagodariya."

"You haven't been in the Library much."

Viktor was visibly discomfited. "I - how you say - spend time with Pay-nay-low-pee. I am sorry if this pleases you not."

Hermione smiled ruefully and started to shake her head, before remembering who she was conversing with and changing it into a nod, . She felt strange missing his quiet company so much; not many shared her interest in spending time in the Library just for the pleasure of reading. "No, I'm glad that you're happy. Do you like Penelope?"

"Da - she is good girl, not fan." Viktor's expression lightened momentarily, then darkened again. "Is shame I spend time with her and not you."

Hermione nodded, but with Harry monitoring the exchange, felt it preferable to change the subject. "Do you swim often? It's very cold."

"It is part of training. For arms and legs." Viktor gazed over the lake. "Is cold like Durmstrang." Then he turned back to Hermione. "I haff not seen you here before."

For a second, Hermione was at a loss, as this had been Harry's idea, not hers. Fortunately Harry had been paying attention.

"It was my idea, Viktor," he interjected. "For improving physical endurance."

Viktor looked a shade perplexed. "En-dur-ans?" he repeated, trying to twist his tongue around the foreign word.

"Like you," Harry expounded, "for strong arms and legs."

Viktor looked Hermione up and down, then shrugged.

Disguising her puzzlement at Viktor's reaction, Hermione went about kicking off her trainers. She approached the water's edge with trepidation, hoping against hope that her charm would keep out the iciness of the water.

Wading into the shallows, Hermione was gratified when she hardly noticed a change in temperature. When she was about chest deep, she stripped off her jersey and Banished it to the shore, then leaned forward to try the odd stroke.

Her last swim had been several years ago, wearing rubber armbands and flanked by a doting parent at each side. Hermione's first few attempts combined ineffectual flapping and splashing, with desperate attempts not to swallow the cold water. She was not at all comfortable.

Engrossed in her own efforts, Hermione did not notice Viktor's soundless approach. Embarrassed at her ineptitude, she retreated to the sanctuary of the sand.

"Be calm," Viktor said evenly. "Do not panic. You will float, like this." He leaned back until he was lying on his back, floating quietly.

Following his advice, Hermione found to her surprise that she could float easily, just as well as she had with her childhood swimming aids.

Slowly, methodically, Viktor encouraged her to relax. As she grew more comfortable, he demonstrated some simple strokes. Finding her tracksuit bottoms worse than superfluous with the warming charm, since their drag retarded her progress, Hermione stripped them off and sent them shoreward to join her jersey. She spotted Harry, looking rather miserable trying to ward off the cold. He sat on his haunches, knees drawn up under his chin, arms wrapped around his legs, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes Apparently he had neglected to cast his own Warming Charm.

Her own Warming Charm was fading, and she felt the cold gradually seeping into her bones. With her wand back with her clothes, she practised the few strokes Viktor had showed her. From her first attempt, Hermione managed some small progress before the cold set her teeth chattering. As usual, success brought a happy mood, and she turned to thank Viktor, only to find that he was no longer next to her.

Bobbing in the shoulder-deep water, Hermione turned to give Harry a cheery wave, but then saw Viktor standing next to her best friend, engrossed in a halting discussion with him. Deciding that she had achieved enough today, she pushed off and swam a short distance inshore until she could easily stand with the water lapping around her bare thighs.

Her approach had not gone unnoticed. Harry's eyes were on her, a look in them she had not noticed before. As she waded ashore he reddened, turning his head away. Viktor, as far as one could divine from his usual inscrutable expression, might have been amused.

"What?" she cried out.

"Umm… nothing - absolutely nothing, Hermione," Harry stuttered, still avoiding her gaze. He busied himself retrieving a large fluffy towel.

"You didn't get too cold, did you Harry?" Hermione asked with concern.

Oddly her solicitude only deepened Harry's unease. He muttered something non-comittally under his breath that she could not catch.

Failing at that source, Hermione turned to Viktor, who had been watching the byplay with the barest hint of a smile. He said nothing, merely raising one of his thick eyebrows, then bade both of them goodbye, took a running dive into the lake and set off for the Durmstrang ship with steady, strong strokes, never once looking back.

"Boys!" Hermione murmured, doffing her cap and shaking her hair free. They were just so difficult to understand.

With a combination of Warming and Drying Charms, and that fluffy towel, Hermione quickly dressed and ready to return to the Castle. If they hurried they could still join their friends in Hogsmeade for an hour or two.

Turning to discuss those prospects with Harry, Hermione found him more than ready to march back up the hill, both uneasy in her presence, and reticent about discussing whatever the matter was.

She found herself shaking her head once again.

* * * * *

The rest of January passed as a blur.

Hermione's weekday runs had slowly gained in length. Her aches and pains progressively lessened and eventually disappeared. She now felt… well, fit, really. She had not believed herself unfit, but she certainly noticed the significant difference. Okay, she may not be the next Liz McColgan, but at least she no longer gasped for breath like a beached whale.

Swimming only fit into her busy timetable at weekends, but for all his weird behaviour, Harry insisted on it. So they tried to spend as much time as possible on a skill that, to the amazement of their friends, especially Ron, consumed a large chunk of their Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, in the grey waters under gun-metal skies. Under Viktor's careful tutelage, she no longer started sinking after her first three strokes.

Hermione slowly realised that, while Viktor often accompanied her, Harry never did. Instead he sat by himself on the shore, watching.

On that first Sunday, as she took on the seemingly unending task of drying her hair behind the windbreak, she asked Harry why he did not join her in the icy waters.

"I… um… never quite learned to swim, y'know."

Hermione stopped, the towel still held to the back of her head. "What?" She could not believe her ears.

Harry shrugged. "Dudley was never interested in learning, so we never went to the local pool. I was always locked away when they went on holiday."

Her indignation at Harry never being taught to swim bubbled up within her growing ire as more of Harry's 'family' life was revealed. His expression showed he mentally chastised himself for revealing that particular detail.

"What do you mean? They locked you away?"

Harry picked up a pebble and lazily spun it into the lake with a plop. "Look, Hermione, it's no big deal -"

"No big deal?" Hermione replied shrilly. "I knew they were bad, but that's just evil -"

"Hermione," Harry stared coolly back at her. "Just drop it, okay?"

Huffing and burning with fury, Hermione dragged the towel through her hair with slightly more force than was necessary..

"Anyway, it's done," Harry added glumly. "It's in the past." He gazed into the middle distance. "Dumbledore's seen to that," he added, his tone less certain than his words.

With that, the matter was dropped as far as Harry was concerned, although his words burned in Hermione's mind. The Dursleys' long list of crimes committed against her Harry continued to grow.

Another of her pet hates, Rita Skeeter, continued sniping away at Hermione's tarnished reputation in the Daily Prophet. The pages were packed with innuendo; Hermione understood that the reporter had visited Hogsmeade and spoken with some of the students, although she had departed by the time Hermione and Harry arrived. Ron in particular had taken great efforts to avoid Rita and her Quick-Quotes Quill.

However, the intrepid reporter had cornered Ludo Bagman, who had been hanging around Hogsmeade for an unspecified reason She badgered him over an inexperienced witch making fools of the Ministry in general, and Crouch and Bagman in particular. The interview was transparently intended to re-ignite the ructions over Hermione's participation in the Triwizard Tournament.

Rita was relatively unsuccessful, as Bagman did not rise to her bait. Strangely, Bagman was reportedly less concerned about the press and more worried by the unusual presence of two goblins in Hogsmeade, according to Fred and George.

Hermione affected unconcern over the Prophet's daily potage of lurid rumour, insinuation and sheer fantasy. The denouement to that story was due to be played out over the last weekend in January.

First, that month's Quibbler arrived on Hogwarts' breakfast tables bright and early Saturday morning. Luna's article included interviews with all three of the official champions. Their consensus provided an effective rebuff to Rita's "Scarlet Woman" stories by setting straight the truth of an enjoyable evening.

Even more pointed was the editorial, penned by Luna's father, Xenophilius. Discerning readers worked through stories of rampant Quidditch League corruption and mutterings from Gringotts about the trustworthiness or otherwise of unnamed Ministry officials, and were rewarded with an interesting little piece headlined: 'Daily Prophet in the Dock?'

Barnabus Cuffe, the Prophet's editor, had evidently received a series of recorded delivery letters, including from 'head of old pure-blooded families,' threatening legal action unless retractions were printed relating to articles mentioning family members in connection with the Hogwarts' Yule Ball.

With the Quibbler's limited circulation within Hogwarts, it took some time for news of the first story to spread, but Hermione was unconcerned. She figured that most of the students had already made up their minds about her, even if some just trod a party line.

She knew that the Quibbler story was true. In part at her behest, Arthur Weasley had written a formal demand letter to Cuffe complaining in the strongest terms of the false portrayal of sibling rivalry between his eldest and youngest sons. Neville reported that his aunt had also taken quill to parchment with a similar issue, as had Amos Diggory, according to Cedric.

Viktor had assured her that, ignoring his headmaster, he requested the magical attaché at the Bulgarian embassy to demand a retraction through diplomatic channels. To that he had added his own note: The world's most bankable Quidditch star explicitly threatened to withdraw any future co-operation from the newspaper. Fleur had let her know that Madame Maxime, not bothering with diplomacy, had also issued an excoriating missive of her own to the hapless editor's desk; her charges were perfectly happy with the turn of events, and to man and woman pledged to have nothing further to do with the Prophet.

That none of these complaints sought to defend the fourth Champion directly did not worry Hermione. By clearing their names, her dance partners and their dates effectively ruined Rita's story. And if the result was that particular newshound was kept on a tighter leash, then so much the better!

Sunday's Prophet carried a very pale impression of a sincere apology, claiming that some quotes were obviously "out of context" or "lost in translation." Hermione noted with satisfaction that Rita's by-line did not appear at all, that day or during the following week.

There: one problem sorted! But, only one.

On other fronts, Hermione was starting to feel the heat. With morning runs, weekend swimming and her "detentions" with Mad-Eye every Thursday evening, maintaining her customary academic standards was becoming more challenging. Fatigue, both physical and mental, set in with a vengeance. Professor McGonagall had warned her pf this prospect, but Hermione had treated those cautionary words with some disdain. She reflected on herself now, how much she regretted ignoring that wise advice.

So, submitting to the tyranny of her lesson planner, determined to prove that she did not need an automatic 'pass' in this year's exams, Hermione studied late into the nights. On more than one occasion Harry had to escort a drowsy friend from the Library before she fell asleep over her books. He never quite managed to stop her endless homework sessions in the Common Room, and on several mornings found her asleep there.

The odd mistake started to crop up in lessons. Snape was delighted dock house points when Hermione stirring her cauldron of Fire Protection Potion anti-clockwise. McGonagall favoured her with a freezing yet knowing stare when Hermione's conjured teapot melted because it was made of chocolate.

The last Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the month found Hermione hexed and jinxed by such doughty fighters as Neville and Parvati. Moody brooded long and hard, which did not brook well for that evening.

"What the bloody ' Ell are yeh doin' Granger," he raged hours later in the otherwise deserted classroom. "Yeh can't tell yehr arse from yehr elbow!"

"It's nothing," Hermione shot back half-heartedly. "I just had a bad day."

Moody thumped his desk. "A bad day? In my old job that'd be my last day."

"I… I'm just a little tired, that's all," Hermione replied defensively, rubbing her eyes involuntarily as she did so.

Moody shook his misshapen head. "Yeh just don't understand, do yeh lass?" He stumped around behind his desk, drew out his chair with his wand, and plopped down with a heavy thud before taking a long swig from his hipflask.

"I knew many a young lass - lads too - like yeh," he said ruminatively. "Back a while though. Thought they were ruddy indestructible."

"Well, there's a difference. I know I'm not," Hermione snapped, but then shrunk under Moody's baleful, vivid blue glare.

"No-one is," her grizzled mentor replied. "See this?" Moody gestured at his nose, missing a great chunk. "Or this?" He rapped his wand against his wooden leg hard enough to shoot multi-coloured sparks into the floor.

"Tiredness costs yeh, I can vouch fer that. One mistake can cost yeh, or yehr mates. Don't ' ave to be in ruddy combat, like. A loose word can be just as deadly."

For a few moments Hermione could have sworn that Moody was no longer there in spirit, that his mind was back in his heyday as the Ministry's most feared Auror, recalling fallen comrades and lost friends.

Finally, with another long quaff from his hipflask. Moody returned to the present day and his errant student.

"Yeh've gotta be at the top of yehr game, Granger. Maybe there's no dark wizard waitin' fer yeh down the corridor, but there maybe one down the road, watchin', waitin'. And I'm not forgettin' this damned tournament; biggest balls-up since the Somme, if yeh ask me."

The aged ex-Auror pushed himself out of his chair and stumped towards the tiny windows that overlooked the courtyard. Hermione thought he had lapsed back into melancholy as he stared through the glass.

"You doin' summat Saturday, Granger?"

The question came out of the blue. Hermione hesitated for a second. "Umm… no, except for some swimming in the morning. Why, Professor?"

Moody's wand tapped gently on the window. "Get yehr arse in gear an' be ' ere at midday." He turned, his expression inscrutable. "Think of it as… some special trainin' ." His wand rapped against the stonework this time, and a couple of sparks guttered. "An' not a word to anyone, mind, missie. Gotta keep this quiet, see."

* * * * *

Despite Heating Charms, Hermione still felt cold after her now familiar early Saturday morning dip in the lake. Dank grey clouds had occasionally deposited a scudding shower that had ripped the water's surface like grapeshot. She felt lucky it was only rain, not hail.

Still, an hour or so of extraordinary training in the Defence classroom should warm her up, she thought.

She kept her part of the bargain, not uttering a word to anyone, even Harry. He was back in the Common Room, happily losing to Ron at wizard's chess. Managing to slip away from her dorm without being noticed, Hermione believed if her absence was noted at all, everyone would assume she was in her natural Library habitat. Very few would sacrifice a free Saturday to confirm she was not there.

The classroom door was closed but, as Hermione discovered when she laid her hand on the doorknob, not locked.

'That's odd… very odd.'

The room appeared deserted. Stepping over the threshold, Hermione was surprised to find it in a very different configuration than usual. She briefly stepped back into the corridor to convince herself that she had actually entered the right room.

The usual classroom had been expanded, both in width and in length. Instead of a tidy space that could encompass desks for twenty or so students, it was now a good fifty yards long and half as much across.

The desks were still present, scattered at random across the area. The floor was also littered with other obstacles, some resembling Muggle office partitions, others looking as though they had been dragged in from the Forbidden Forest.

"Professor?"

There was no reply.

The foreboding silence, while not totally surprising, still managed to unnerve her. From her elevated position, she took a longer look at her surroundings.

Gone were the glass jars and ornate metal cages that held the likes of Grindylows and impertinent Cornish pixies. Instead small walkways ran along both lengthwise walls at about head height, joined perpendicularly by a slightly more elevated gantry that she judged to cross about half-way down the room.

A very thin corridor with an unobstructed line of sight traversed the centre of the room. At the far end she could just make out the iron spiral staircase that led to Moody's private quarters. Perhaps he intended to meet her there.

Wand drawn, she moved cautiously, the first, brutal lesson under Mad-Eye's wand seared into her memories. Hermione descended the short flight of steps into what she wondered might be an arena.

'Special training,' Moody had mentioned. Perhaps he was planning to test her mettle again.

"Professor Moody?" She called out again, just in case Moody was tucked away, busy in some far corner of the restyled layout.

Her voice echoed back eerily at her.

'Right,' she urged herself. 'I won't show myself up this time! I'll make it difficult.'

Slowly Hermione edged towards the first partition that blocked the view towards the far end. Taking a deep breath, she spun around its end, crouching with her wand ready to strike or defend.

Nothing.

Releasing that breath with one long exhalation, Hermione felt her heart thumping in her chest. Her adrenalin was definitely flowing now.

Professor Moody was obviously engaged a waiting game. Perhaps, she suspected, he was testing her in psychological warfare, ratcheting up the tension to see how she would handle it.

Well, if Mad-Eye wanted to play that way, Hermione Granger would show him she would not run out of patience. She thought about toppling the barrier to keep a clear view of the door as an escape route, but thought better of it. Moody would not want her to run. Best to keep even a semblance of a wall at her back.

Slowly, methodically, she progressed down the room, tackling each obstacle the same way. She was not sure to be relieved or anxious not yet to have come across the battle-hardened teacher.

The seconds drew out into minutes. She was three-quarters of the way down, resting behind what appeared to be a privet hedge happily growing out of the flagstones. Her efforts drew sweat in earnest, when she heard the hard resound of a door smashing open against a wall behind her. Whirling around, Hermione darted towards the centre of the obstacles, her attention focussed on the sounds of footfalls on stone steps.

Mad-Eye Moody had not entered the classroom.

Instead, to her horror, Hermione saw Malfoy junior descending the steps, followed by the hulking forms of his acolytes and perennial 'bodyguards' Crabbe and Goyle. Following that gruesome trio were that simpering cow Pansy Parkinson, the sour-faced Nott, with Daphne Greengrass bringing up the rear. The last-named closed the door behind that lovely little group.

Hermione was now trapped in the room with six Slytherins! Was this Moody's idea of 'special training'? Her heartbeat certainly agreed with the panicking thoughts.

"Well, we're here, Professor," Malfoy called out, managing to sound at once both resentful and bored, as he reached the foot of the stairs.

Hermione risked a look around the greenery. All six of the Slytherins had halted, taking in their unexpected surroundings, although Crabbe and Goyle appeared just as lost as ever.

"If that obsolete idiot has brought me down here just to waste my time, I'll be having words with my father," Malfoy complained loudly. "After all it's - what are you doing, Nott?" He ceased mid-grievance when the latter had the temerity to pull on his sleeve.

Nott gestured in Hermione's direction. "The Mudblood!" he hissed.

'Damn,' Hermione thought. She had foolishly given up her best ally - the element of surprise.

"What? Granger's here?" Malfoy turned and stared where Nott had pointed. Not wanting to be thought a coward, Hermione stood and stepped out into the clear.

"Malfoy."

He appeared almost mortally offended by her presence. "You're right, Nott. How I could have missed her unmistakeable stench, I can't say." His eyes narrowed. "All alone, Granger?"

Hermione kept quiet. She suddenly appreciated how alone she was.

"No sign of Potty or the Weasel, or even the gallant Krum" Malfoy drawled as an evil glint blossomed in his eyes. Slowly he drew his wand. Following their putative leader, five other wands appeared. For the present Malfoy kept his pointed at the floor.

"Professor Moody's around," Hermione temporised, hoping the ex-Auror's name would provide the Slytherins with reason to cease their threatening behaviour.

"Oh, really?" Malfoy seemed to be savouring the situation more with each passing second. Hermione hoped against hope that he had not realised what a perfect opportunity was presenting itself to settle old scores. "Well, let's see…

"Professor!" He yelled loudly. The echoes died away as no one took the trouble to reply.

Grinning broadly now, Malfoy almost appeared to physically grow in confidence. "He appears to be 'out', doesn't he, Mudblood," he sneered.

Hermione took a couple of steps backwards, retreating towards the hedge.

"Get her!" Malfoy yelled, his wand shooting up. "Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!" Hermione barely raised her own wand in time to ward off the Slytherin's spell. With two more rapidly coming her way, she threw herself behind the hedge, out of the line of sight.

She heard feet pounding on the floor. In seconds they would be upon her. She had no idea what they, or more accurately Draco Malfoy, intended to do to her but…

She did not intend to find out.

They had numbers. She would be surrounded. Time for one spell, so it had better be a good one.

"Provisio Caligo!"

A thick fog-like substance roiled out of her wand, almost instantly blanketing the immediate area around her. Taking advantage of the smokescreen. Hermione shifted position quickly to the other half of the hall, across what used to be an unobstructed corridor. She hurled herself under one of the desks nearby. The fog started to rapidly fill the room.

"What the..!"

"Where is she?"

A unseen but audible muffled bump.

"Who's that?"

"Sorry, Malfoy," she heard Crabbe mutter.

She had been without a moment to spare, as she heard them barely yards away. She had neutralised one great advantage of theirs; they still had numbers, but no good way to coordinate.

"Finite Incantem!" That was Greengrass, the most intelligent of their little group. Hermione smirked. That would make no difference; in fact, Moody had said in one of her 'detentions' that anyone trying to end that spell would only make the smog a little bit thicker.

"It's not working, Draco!" Pansy sounded as though she was starting to panic.

"Quiet!" Malfoy snarled. "Let me think." She could just make out the dark shapes in the artificial gloom. Still way too close for comfort.

"Can't see a bloody thing."

"I said 'be quiet,' Nott." Malfoy's notoriously short temper was fraying already. "Every moment we spend here, she could be getting away."

'I wish,' Hermione thought.

"Right… spread out," Malfoy ordered. "She must be around here, somewhere."

"Oof!" Hermione heard Crabbe and Goyle collide as they sought to follow orders. Malfoy's "Idiots!" caught her ears.

One shadow loomed larger as one of her opponents blindly groped towards her position. Her wand tracked the featureless blob, but at the last moment it stepped away. She caught Nott's low grumble. "How can we bloody look for her if we can't see our hands in front of our faces?"

"By smell, you tosser!"

A few seconds later an unseen commotion erupted some ten yards or so off to her left. A couple of spells lit up the gloom followed by some shouts. Indignant voices melded into a row until Malfoy's faux-imperious voice cut across. "Idiots… You're shooting at each other!"

Hermione realised she had a second plus point. To her, everyone here was an opponent. If she encountered someone, she should have a split-second advantage as they had to determine whether she was friend or foe.

As silently as possible, she slid out of her hidey-hole and crawled towards the nearest wall. The desire to get out was beginning to threaten to become overwhelming, to the point where she was not particularly concerned with impressing the mad Mad-Eye.

Then Hermione froze as footsteps echoed just the other side of one of the next partition. She ducked down behind another desk close by.

A pair of legs emerged through the fog, barely two feet away.

Hermione swiftly cast a shoelace-tying spell, and as the feet tripped up their owner, she squeezed from under the desk and disabled the toppling figure with a few rapid, select spells.

"Expelliarmus!

"Petrificus Totalus!

"Silencio!"

Hermione rattled off three incantations as quickly but as quietly as possible.

Petrified before he hit the ground, Goyle's face landed hard a foot away from her with a resounding thump, a look of surprise etched on it that gave her a jolt even if she was expecting it.

"What was that?"

A call away from her left, sounding like Greengrass.

"Don't know." Another voice came from a distance behind her. That was Nott, since Crabbe slurred his speech.

"Shut up, you idiots!" Definitely Malfoy. He sounded distinctly unhappy. "Crabbe? Goyle? Pansy?"

Parkinson's nervous-sounding yip and Crabbe's grunt answered.

"Goyle? Goyle?"

Hermione stayed still, not wishing to give away her position.

"Where was he?" demanded Malfoy.

"He was off to my left," Nott responded uncertainly.

"Right," Malfoy sounded more sure of himself. "Then she's over there. Move!"

Thumps and bumps and footsteps indicated they were closing in on her. Not wishing to lower her odds back to their starting point, Hermione claimed her immobile victim's wand, then started to move away before she was cornered.

The fog now impeded her movement as much as the others, and she stumbled against a chair, sending it tumbling.

"What was that?"

"Over there!"

That last voice sounded ominously close.

"There she is!"

"Densaugeo!" Malfoy's spell sizzled over Hermione's head as she ducked at the last second. She flung herself over a nearby desk, crashing into a pot plant with a resounding crash.

Scrambling around, Hermione aimed back towards the source of that spell. "Stupefy!"

She thought she missed as there was no sound of a body striking the floor. Three more spells shot back towards her position from a narrow arc in front.

Hermione knew if they pinned her down, she lost all her slim advantages, and would be at their doubtful mercies. She had to move away, but from the sounds all around her, the avenues of escape were being closed down.

She had to find some way of distracting them…

'Of course!' Hermione nearly cursed herself. But she had to work fast.

"Duplicus! Duplicus! Duplicus!"

Three doppelgangers crouched down alongside her. With a wave of her wand they stood up and dispersed, running in different directions. As they left, she smiled with the realisation that these images would not give her away by colliding with anything. Like ghosts, they passed right through desks and partitions.

"There she goes! Stupefy!"

The air was rent with different coloured spells zooming out.

"No! Over here!"

"Got her!" Those two shouts came from opposite tangents.

"Wait!" The nearby scream of frustration from Malfoy crushed all other voices. "It's the Mudblood's Gemini trick." He was almost directly in front of the desk she was hiding beneath facing the other way.

"Well, how the Hell do we know what we're aiming at?" Nott replied heatedly, causing Hermione to jump. He was only the other side of one of the tall partitions.

"Stay where you are. Let me think."

That gave Hermione just the break she needed. She poked her wand from under the desk and set fire to Malfoy's robes; this time was even more satisfying than when she first did it to Snape back in First Year.

She backed off. After a few seconds…

"Eeeeyaaah!" Malfoy, realising he was alight and panicking, took off running. "I'm on fire! Help!" Almost immediately he crashed headlong into another partition and toppled it over, along with himself.

More bumping and jostling ensued as the others made their way towards Malfoy. Unfortunately, the smouldering Slytherin had careened towards where Hermione thought the entrance to the classroom was located.

"Aguamenti!"

"Aguamenti!" Hermione heard the distinct splash of water as the others gave Malfoy a thorough dousing.

The noise and the chaos amongst the Slytherin ranks provided an opportunity for Hermione to slip away towards the other side of the room, away from where she had almost been cornered.

Maybe, with the element of surprise somewhat restored, she could even the odds a bit more. Creeping slowly so as not to bump into anything, Hermione circled around the sound and fury of a spluttering, and evidently quite drenched, Malfoy cursing at the remaining Slytherins.

"Dessicato, damn it," he growled ungraciously. "Don't any of you know a simple Drying Charm? Now spread out. The Mudblood's still in here. I think we're still between her and the door."

More bumping. One of them was coming closer. It was Nott, evidently unhappy quite unhappy at continuing the so-far fruitless chase. That was apparent from his muttering, which, with his halting approach, was just loud enough for Hermione to catch.

Who was now stalking whom?

Casting a Silencio on herself, Hermione thought hard. She needed to see exactly where Nott was, and what he was doing.

Pointing her wand into the air above the partition that separated them, Hermione concentrated fiercely, and a shimmering haze gradually coalesced, solidifying into a flat mirror.

Moody would have been proud of her! He had said she could cast spells, or at least conjuring, silently.

The easy part achieved, Hermione angled the mirror until she could make out the top of Nott's head reflected through the fog. He appeared to be concerned about his ears.

It took a lot of effort to maintain the shiny surface at just the right height and angle. Now she sought to invest the mirror with the ability to act as a rebound. Moody had demonstrated this, but Hermione had not a clue whether a conjured mirror would work…

"Stupefy!"

Hermione's spell shot towards the hovering mirror, impacting with an audible 'thunk.' It flashed off the reflective surface, lighting it up, before the mirror blinked out of existence. A moment later she heard a far more satisfying 'thud' from the other side of the partition.

Another one down. Only Malfoy, Crabbe and the two girls - one a cow - left standing.

"Over there!"

Unfortunately her very success had drawn the attention back upon her.

"No! Wait!" Malfoy waited a moment, then called out. "Greengrass, you still with us?"

Daphne Greengrass could not keep the disillusionment out of her voice. "Don't worry about me, Malfoy."

"Pansy?"

"O-o-over here." She was worryingly closer than Hermione had thought. Fortunately Parkinson sounded even unhappier with the situation.

"Nott? Are you awake, Nott?" Hearing no reply, Malfoy swore viciously.

Hermione turned the corner and confiscated Nott's wand. Conjuring a blanket the same drab colour as the floor, she dragged her second victim under a desk, just in case someone was clumsy enough to trip over him. Not that she would have minded; Nott had been one of those who most enjoyed taunting her about being a wanton woman.

"Right. Pansy, Greengrass, Crabbe… Move towards me."

Hermione wondered what they were planning. Whatever it was, they remained between her and the exit. Malfoy was still dangerous, maybe just clever enough to figure out how to make the Slytherins' still superior numbers count. He was certainly peeved enough to overstep the mark for students. He had shown that in the Library months ago, and that was without her singeing his robes.

It was quiet. Hermione doubted that, even if Parkinson and Greengrass had lost the stomach for a fight, Malfoy would give up so easily. From what she understood about the Slytherin group dynamics, they would not - or could not - stand up to him.

"Granger!" Even when shouting, Malfoy managed to sound condescending. "You've had your fun. Now it's our turn."

Down by the exit the air erupted with Blasting Curses, their sound penetrating further than their light in the murk. The flashes flickered like gunfire on a distant horizon.

For a millisecond Hermione was gripped by fear, but then her rational thought took over once again. By the time the four remaining Slytherins could blast their way to the back of the room, they would almost certainly have exhausted their magical reserves. She could retreat to the stairway by Moody's office and lay in wait there. The iron stairs offered protection, even from Blasting Curses, and if they were stupid enough to destroy all the obstacles, she would have clear lines of fire.

Still, if she had been in the path of those spells…

The spell fire was gradually working its way up the classroom, Hermione retreating before them. With the formation in which Malfoy now appeared to have them stationed, it would be highly unlikely that she could take the remaining four of them out of the equation.

Hermione made her way carefully in a direction at a right angle to the ever-intensifying, slowly advancing light show. She did not wish to turn an ankle tripping on a chair leg in the gloom.

As soon as she made contact with the side wall, Hermione edged along until she bumped into one of the steel ladders she had seen earlier. It led up to the walkway that extended along the room's length.

That gave her another idea. Maybe she could get around them after all. She hauled herself up the six feet or so until she stood on metal grating. Her induced fog still hung about at this height, barely less thick here than down below.

Recasting the Silencing Charm on her feet, to deaden the sound as she moved along the walkway, Hermione started to make her way back towards the other end, and her only escape route.

There was something missing…

The pea-souper conditions remained, but flashes of spell fire no longer lit up the murk.

Hermione paused. They were up to something…

She started off again, quicker this time, running down the walkway, until she reached a short flight of metal stairs at a gap in the railings on the left. They must lead to the raised gantry she had spotted earlier.

Leaping up the stairs, Hermione emerged from the fog. Moving cautiously over to the middle, Hermione looked down over a grey-yellow sea of roiling magical smoke. It was starting to thin out now, and she had no idea how long it would continue providing her with cover. She had never used the spell in simulated combat conditions.

She heard no sound, no indication that anyone was below her. She briefly considered completely dispersing the fog, but decided that the advantages of elevation would be more than matched by the disadvantages of exposure; she doubted she could remove four Slytherins from the fray before one of them could hit their mark on the virtually unguarded gantry.

Before Hermione could come to a decision, action was forced upon her.

The rattle of shoes on metal rang from her right. One of them had come up here with her!

Hermione crouched and aimed her wand at the gantry's end.

The sound changed subtly, from a flat impact to…

Daphne Greengrass's head showed above the top of the ladder. As she hauled herself up the last few feet, the Slytherin froze, realising Hermione had her wand trained straight on her. Her own wand was gripped in her right hand, which also held the ladder's supporting rail. Greengrass had effectively disarmed herself.

As Daphne swore briefly under her breath, Hermione raised an index finger to her lips, then gestured with her wand. Greengrass grasped the meaning and very slowly lowered her wand and left it on the floor plates. Then Hermione gestured with short, downwards jabs. Equally cautiously, Greengrass slid herself onto the gantry until she was lying six feet away from the crouching Gryffindor.

"Stupid idea…" Greengrass muttered.

At almost exactly the same time, there was a loud explosion off to the two girls' right. Both of them swivelled at the sharp sound, seemingly emanating from the door leading back into the corridors of Hogwarts, then swung back as their eyes met.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Greengrass lunged for her wand, but had just too far to go.

"Accio wand! Incarcerous!" Magical ropes whipped out of the tip of her wand, binding the Slytherin even as Hermione grabbed the wand that shot up from the floor. Greengrass, lacking the means to balance, toppled and fell backwards; a loud 'thump' marked her landing on the walkway a few feet below.

Hermione briefly panicked. What if Greengrass had landed awkwardly and injured herself? What if -

"Confringo!"

Too late, Hermione heard Malfoy's Blasting Curse from her left rear. Even as her brain realised he must have missed her, the world turned upside down.

With a tremendous bang the gantry snapped in two a few short feet behind her. Hermione was thrown backwards and downwards, her arm flailing unavailingly in an attempt to grab a stanchion.

Her left shoulder thumped into a partition, breaking her fall. She literally bounced into one of the magical hedgerows, before tumbling onto the hard stone floor.

As Hermione shook her head to clear it, she could catch Malfoy's triumphant cry, "The Mudblood's down!" from above her. Of course! The lightshow must have been a subterfuge, to keep her occupied as two of them moved along the upper level. Damn! She had fallen for it.

More shouting. Malfoy was urging his remaining comrades back down to find her. As the fog started to disperse, she would be easy to track down.

Hermione heard some sort of muffled explosion moments before her ears filled with heavy urgent footsteps advancing on her position. She had barely seconds to defend herself.

Yet, just as when thrown into a cabinet by Moody, Hermione maintained a death grip on her wand.

A dark shape loomed through the thinning fog, approaching her on the run. Reacting automatically, Hermione threw a Conjunctivitis Curse at her attacker, who fell away with a brief cry of surprise. That had to be Crabbe, given Malfoy's last known position.

She had to move away from here. The V-shaped broken-backed gantry was as good as an arrow pointing straight at her position. Malfoy and one other were still out there; Parkinson presumably, although the last opponent dispatched hardly resembled Crabbe.

Hermione realised what the explosion must have been. More Slytherins must have entered the fray, breaking into the classroom, heading her way.

She had to move fast!

Painfully climbing to her feet, Hermione turned - and bumped straight into -

"Hello, Mudblood!"

Malfoy's left hand clenched Hermione's right wrist. Squeezing hard, he rammed her arm down hard onto the edge of a desk. Hermione felt something snap in her wrist and cried out as her wand dropped helplessly away from her fingers. Malfoy released her and took a step back.

"Now, let's -"

His next words of wisdom died as Hermione threw a furious, uncoordinated roundhouse punch that caught him by surprise and flush on the jaw. Draco staggered backwards before stumbling to the floor. Sharp pain lanced up Hermione's arm. Whatever had snapped before was shattered now. Anguished tears streamed from her eyes as she cradled her right hand with her left, doubled over and sank to the floor.

She had nothing left.

"You hit me? You hit me!" Malfoy, singed robes still lightly smoking, squealed like a girl, his disbelief mixed with outrage. "That hurt!" He scrambled on the ground for his wand. "I'll teach you -"

"I don't think so."

Malfoy's fingers, inches from grasping his wand, disappeared beneath a large boot, producing a different kind of Slytherin squeal.

Hermione's eyes, which had been tightly closed in agony, shot open and trailed up the denim-clad leg attached to said boot. A grinning Fred - or George - had his attention fully fixed on his captive.

"Now, it's not polite to threaten young ladies." He turned and winked at Hermione.

"There you are!" She caught Ron's voice and staggered to her feet to face him as the lanky redhead advanced through the now rapidly dwindling fog. "That has to be the best thing you've ever done!" he exclaimed.

Hermione could barely choke out a quavering "What?" through the sheet of pain spreading from her wrist.

A smile lit up Ron's face. "That punch!"

"Looks like poor Malfoy's jaw's busted," the Twin added admiringly, before turning sarcastically to the unfortunate Slytherin. "Smile, Malfoy!"

As she realised that she was safe for now, Hermione started to feel a little giddy, and swayed on her feet. Her mind's eye was white with the screaming pain in her arm, worse than anything the Horntail had inflicted. "Not the cleverest thing I've ever done," she moaned tiredly. "Think I've broken something."

"Worth it, though," Ron replied airily. He looked a little hurt as Hermione shot him a glare that could have engraved pewter.

Standing was proving more difficult than usual, so she ended up leaning against one of the now splintered desks. Ron moved over and gave her arm a solicitous look.

Carefully tracing her right arm with her fingers of her left, Hermione gave out a short, sharp gasp as she brushed the purpling and badly swollen spot on her wrist. Compared to that, the reddened and now slightly swollen flesh covering her index finger knuckle looked like a flesh wound. Awkwardly, she pulled her robe as tightly as she could around her forearm, and was about to cast a weak Freezing Charm to deaden the pain.

"Here, allow me," the Twin offered, pointing his wand at her wrist.

She looked askance.

"Had enough things blow up in my face," he explained. "It's either learn a spot of first aid or tell Mum."

She nodded. "Anæsthis." Fred incanted. Almost instantly, her pain all but disappeared. "That'll do until you get to Pomfrey," he added.

Glancing around at the now visible scene of her outmatched battle, Hermione was surprised to hear the sharp yapping of a small dog. She glanced querulously at Ron.

"That cow Parkinson," he explained. "Ginny hexed her so she'll bark instead of talk for a while."

"Inventive, that's our little sis," the Twin observed as he coolly watched Malfoy squirm. "Do you think anyone'll object if I try some creative work on this one? George and I have been dieing to experiment a little."

Hermione was not sure if Fred was joking or not. Malfoy certainly did not find any humour in the situation. "Get off me, you bloody weasel," he spat, rather stupidly in Hermione's opinion, given who was on the end of whose wand. "Wait until my fathaaaaa-" Fred accidentally on purpose leaned and put a little more weight on Malfoy's trapped hand.

"Oops."

Hermione pushed herself off of her perch and walked a little unsteadily towards her would-be tormentor. The adrenalin still coursed through her veins and she badly wanted to let off steam. "Your father?" she laughed derisively. "It's always the same story from you, you inbred cretin!" That drew a similar laugh from Fred. "Always hiding behind daddy's robes, aren't you. Not even wizard enough to face a mere Muggleborn on even terms, were you?"

"I think it's time we left, don't you, Ron?" Fred looked highly amused at the exchange he had just witnessed. Then he raised his voice. "George, you okay?"

"No problems," came the reply. Hermione followed the sound of the voice and saw Crabbe spinning upside down, suspended from the broken-off remains of the snapped gantry. She turned back to Ron.

"How… how did you find me?"

Ron was about to reply when a scream from Ginny echoed around the room. "Harry? Harry! What have they done to you?"

Ron and Hermione shared a fear-laden split-second glance, then turned and ran, Ron much faster than the stumbling Hermione, towards the youngest Weasley.

Ginny was standing over Harry, who was slumped up against a smashed desk. "I can't bloody see," he mumbled. Hermione bent down woozily, and then gasped in surprise.

Harry's glasses were conspicuous by their absence, but what horrified Hermione was the state of his eyes. They were puffy, and the eyelids were inflamed and bright red. Encrusted mucus practically bound them together, blown up so his eyeballs had virtually disappeared.

"What happened?" Ginny demanded.

"Got hit with a bloody spell!" he moaned.

Hermione knelt down and inspected the damage. "Oh Harry! I'm so sorry, really I am," she cried guiltily. "I didn't know it was you, you just came out of the -"

"Hey!" Ginny sounded outraged. "Are you saying you hit Harry with that spell?"

"Bloody Hell, Hermione! What for?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, Ron," Hermione replied acerbically. "I thought he was… was one of them!" Harry's groans recaptured her attention. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean it. It was an accident -"

"I think," George observed, "that we had better get these two to the Hospital Wing, and - I can't believe I'm saying this, but - find a teacher to sort this mess out." He turned to look at his twin, who continued toying with Malfoy as though a cat would play with a mouse. "I think we've got it covered here."

* * * * *

"…So then Harry dug out the Marauders' Map, and we saw you on your own with Malfoy and his goons," Ron was explaining. "Harry was out the door before I could blink. Only caught up with him about halfway there, Neville must have been following me."

They sat around a bed in the Hospital Wing, the bed Ron jokingly insisted should be engraved with the current occupant's name, so often had he occupied it. Harry was sitting propped up on a mound of pillows, his eyes red and bloodshot but at least visible.

"I'd gone to fetch the Twins," Ginny added. "Then we came as fast as we could."

"We found the door locked, but Alohomora wouldn't open it, so Harry just yelled 'Reducto!' and blew the door away!" Ron said admiringly.

Hermione had shattered her wrist in five places, as well as the minor inconvenience of a broken knuckle. The carpal bones had taken Madam Pomfrey a good half hour to fix, and she ordered Hermione to keep her right arm in a magical sling overnight, as well as enduring several doses of foul-tasting Skele-Gro. As for the knuckle, a little anti-swelling potion and Pomfrey's magical manipulation repaired that damage in a trice. The bruising from both injuries would take time to go down.

Speaking of bruising, Hermione had accumulated a fair collection from her fall when the gantry collapsed. That was minimal compared to the beating she had taken from the dragon. She ached a bit but some pain-relieving potion would soon deal with that.

"We couldn't see what was happening, then there was this terrific crash from the middle of all that smoke stuff,. Harry just rushed straight in, as bloody usual."

None of the Slytherins had been badly hurt, with the notable exception of Malfoy, who had suffered a hairline fracture of the jaw. Whether it was the pain, or just the indignity of being torched, slugged and defeated by Hermione Granger, he had whined and threatened and tried to bully all the while that Madam Pomfrey worked on repairing the damage.

In fact Malfoy had not shut up threatening all and sundry with his father's name until a coldly incandescent Professor Snape had arrived, and cast a privacy spell over Malfoy Junior's bed.

Daphne Greengrass was, like Hermione, just bruised and discomfited with the considerable loss of dignity. Nott and Goyle were quickly dealt with, although Snape had to make considerable efforts to remove the effects of Weasley magic on Crabbe and Parkinson, whose yipping he mercifully ended.

Harry sported a large grin. "I can't believe it though," he said quietly with a chuckle. "Hermione decks Malfoy in the rematch, and I don't get to see it!"

Hermione blushed guiltily.

"It was, truly," Ron said slowly and in a tone of utter admiration, "a thing of beauty." He sighed and stared off into the distance, his mind's eye undoubtedly replaying every glorious moment. "Even better than the thump she gave the twitchy little ferret last year…"

"Ron!" Hermione half-admonished. "It's not like I make a habit of hitting Draco Malfoy."

""Oh, I don't know, Hermione," Neville observed. "Maybe you should start; you've definitely got potential." He half-smiled.

"Yes, but don't forget who it was who put poor Harry out of the fight," Ginny muttered a little waspishly.

Hermione's guilt was assuaged when Harry chuckled again. "Hermione's already said sorry, and it was my own sweet fault. No -" Harry raised a hand when both girls started to protest "- I dashed in without thinking. Old Mad-Eye'd have a field day with me."

"I feel bad about that," Hermione said quietly.

"Still, not too shabby, Hermione," Harry replied with a little forced cheer. "Malfoy and Potter taken down in a couple of minutes, not to mention three of the others. Right up there with that other dragon, although the Horntail wasn't half as ugly!"

Ron and Neville joined the merriment, although Ginny remained a little aggrieved. "So not the point," she grumbled half-heartedly.

"Mind you, some great work on Parkinson, Sis," Ron said. "Made her more like her natural self, I reckon." That salved a little of whatever ailed Ginny. "Not sure I'd like to get on your bad side."

"You're my brother; you're always on my bad side," Ginny growled menacingly.

Ron just smiled back at her. "Bite me, Ginny…" He trailed off as Ginny ostentatiously drummed her fingers on her wand. "Blimey, between her and the Twins, what chance have I got?"

"No more than you deserve, Ron," Ginny warned.

The laughter this time was more genuine.

"Speaking of Professor Moody, though, where was he and what were you doing there, Hermione?" Neville asked.

"And what was with that crazy obstacle course?" Ron added.

Hermione hesitated. She intended having very strong words with her Defence Professor when she next saw the ancient fighter. Nevertheless, part of her brain nagged away that this actually had been a training session, part of the help she had signed up for. It had rapidly got out of hand, though; unless, or because, that was Moody's plan…

"I… don't know," she replied slowly.

Her obfuscation drew disbelieving glances, but no more, from Harry, Ginny and Neville. "Still, never mind about that," Ron said worriedly, although. "I reckon we're all in for the high jump now!"

He pointed towards the double doors where a thin-lipped and visibly angry McGonagall just trailed in behind the Headmaster, who appeared his usual unconcerned self. Dumbledore headed towards Snape and the Slytherin casualties. His deputy clearly had her own errant Gryffindors squarely in her sights.

Ron summed it up for everyone. "Oh bollocks," he swore under his breath.

McGonagall stood at the head of Harry's bed and favoured each of her brood with an icy and calculating stare. After a long and painful silence, she drew breath, squared her shoulders and, Hermione believed, prepared to ream them out.

"Right," she barked shortly. "I will be speaking with the other two -" Hermione knew that meant the Twins "- shortly, but I am ashamed, deeply ashamed, that Gryffindors should be found brawling inside the School!

"I would have expected it from you, Mister Weasley, and you Mister Potter -"

"Hey!" Ron's protestation ended abruptly as McGonagall fixed him with her cold, grey stare.

"As I was saying, I am highly surprised that you two -" she gestured towards a nervous Neville and a frankly unapologetic Ginny "- became involved. But that was nothing against my shock when I found out that you, Miss Granger -" Hermione tried hard not to cringe "- found it worthwhile becoming entangled in what can only be described as an inter-house affray!

"Normally, I find that it is you who is the voice of reason when dealing with Masters Potter and Weasley, but from what I understand, it is claimed that you attacked Malfoy and his friends without reason."

"But… but - that's not true!" Hermione protested, rising to her feet.

"Possibly not," the iron in McGonagall's tone sat Hermione back down. "But I am certain that is what will be the story from that side of the ward." She gestured with her head towards the Slytherin coterie.

"Indiscipline certainly could cost you any chance of a Prefect's badge next year." Hermione and her friends gasped at that. Everybody in Gryffindor regarded her as an obvious choice. Hermione herself coveted the responsibility and authority accompanying such an honour.

"Those Weasleys are a damned disgrace to the School," Snape's protesting voice carried across; obviously the Privacy Charm had been dispelled. "Granger's wand should be snapped! And as for Potter..!"

"But that prat Malfoy was casting Blasting Curses around!" Harry protested.

"That's as maybe," McGonagall replied. "Now, I want to hear your stories, from start to finish, beginning with you, Miss Granger."

Hermione was in a quandary. Professor Moody had effectively sworn her to secrecy regarding her 'detentions', and she was in the Defence classroom at his direction.

She was, in effect, saved from that dilemma by that very person.

"Albus, Minerva." Moody stood in the entrance, a very self-satisfied look on his face.

A horrific thought struck Hermione. What if this was some crazy plan by the old Auror to remove her from Hogwarts? What if he had been spinning her a yarn?

McGonagall glanced at her colleague, then turned her ire back on her students. "Wait here," she instructed, then moved to join the Headmaster and her two colleagues, who had left the still complaining Malfoy's bedside. As she arrived, Moody cast a Privacy Bubble, so that no-one could overhear their conversation.

"Blimey…" Ron broke the silence. "Expelled? I reckon I'd run away from home. Mum'd kill me."

Neville fidgeted nervously. "Gran's going to send me another Howler."

Only Ginny still had some fire in her. "No way. Those snakes attacked Hermione. Anyone who believes she'd attack six Slytherins needs their heads examining."

Hermione started tuning out her friends' conversation. She tried to follow the silent exchange amongst the faculty members.

Moody was speaking. He did not appear repentant or angry; just… satisfied.

That description did not extend to the Transfiguration and Potions teachers. The blood drained rapidly from even Snape's sallow complexion, a sign he was even more furious than when he first stormed into the Hospital Wing. McGonagall's expression drew even colder; the virtual disappearance of her lips in a thin line, and the drumming of her fingers on her wand, betraying her anger.

When Moody finished, Dumbledore appeared to ask him a few questions. Beyond that, he seemed to be trying to calm his two other teachers. Occasionally he allowed them to make an observation or put a question.

They must have finished. Dumbledore cancelled the Privacy Bubble and, while Snape walked stiffly back to his Slytherins, a plainly unhappy McGonagall approached five anxious Gryffindors.

"The Headmaster is persuaded that…" she pursed her lips again "… no further action will be taken against anyone regarding today's disgraceful events." Her distaste was clear.

"But, Professor, Malfoy cast -"

"Anyone, Mister Potter! I will brook no arguments on this score." Hermione could tell that her Head of House was seething.

"What?" Malfoy's anguished cry of betrayal broke into McGonagall's laying down of the law. "But, Professor Snape… wait until my father hears of this!"

McGonagall raised her eyes; her patience obviously ebbing away. "However, should there be any repetition by any party… well, the repercussions will be terrific and terrible to behold. Take this as a final warning."

The silence of the grave fell as the message sunk in.

"I am reassured by Madam Pomfrey that neither of the injuries to you -" McGonagall indicated Hermione and Harry "- are serious or anything other than short-term. Think both of you extremely fortunate."

She turned on her heels, ignoring the odd word of protest, and stalked out of the ward.

"Bloody Hell, " Ron noted quietly. "That's a result. Still, Snape's royally pissed off."

Hermione turned and saw the Potions Professor glaring at the five Gryffindors, before imitating McGonagall with a theatrical swirl of his robe. His grand exit, however, was blocked by Moody. There was obviously no love lost between the two. To Hermione's satisfaction Moody appeared to be laying down some law of his own to Snape, who blanched even more than Hermione believed possible.

"Malfoy's not a happy little snake," Ron commented.

Turning to look at her defeated opponent, Hermione was struck by the poisonous stare he directed straight back at her. She returned it, glare for glare.

Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "Well, Mister Potter, I think you're fit enough to leave us now," the nurse advised. "Just be sure that if you have any unusual eye problems, if they feel dry or at all out of sorts, you report straight back here." She cast a look at Hermione. "I am sure Miss Granger here will make sure you do."

Harry smiled. "I'm sure she will."

"As for you, Miss Granger, a quiet night and you should be able to dispense with the sling in the morning. And don't forget your Skele-Gro!" Hermione could not help but pull a face.

"Right, well if the rest of you will make yourselves scarce, so that Mister Potter can dress…"

As the other three started to depart, Hermione tarried for a few seconds.

"I'm truly sorry, Harry. I should have known it was you, just by the way you run. I just… panicked."

"No great shakes, Hermione," he said evenly. "As I said, it was my own fault. Good thing I ran across you, and not Malfoy."

A fleeting moment of fear swept Hermione's mind. Malfoy had proven willing to throw the Blasting Curse around. Given how hostile he was towards Harry, who knew what spell he might have cast?

"I still feel bad about it."

Harry hesitated, then cocked his head. "Okay then," he said slowly. "How about you… do my Transfiguration essay for me?"

"Harry!"

"Or the next two," he added impishly.

Hermione crossed her arms. "Perhaps I'll help you plan it," she countered. "I can hardly write tonight, can I," she added, pointing at her incapacitated right arm.

Harry grinned. "Almost worth the trip. Now, unless you want to help me dress..?"

Hermione blushed. But a little bit of her would not have minded hanging around.

As she left Harry's bed, the magical curtains closed behind her. She started to leave when she caught the hissed comment from the other row of beds.

"You'll pay for today, Mudblood!"

"You and whose army, Malfoy?" she hissed right back.

* * * * *

A far more cautious Hermione knocked on the restored and blemish-free Defence classroom door the following Thursday evening.

She was hardly reassured when Moody's voice called on her to enter. She did so with a drawn wand.

The classroom had, of course, been restored back to normal even before the first class on Monday morning. Moody sat at his desk, swigging from his hipflask, which he placed in the desk drawer as Hermione approached warily.

"Good to see yeh've learnt summat," Moody observed.

"Could hardly fail," Hermione responded sourly. "It was your doing, wasn't it Professor? Saturday, I mean."

Moody nodded. "It was," he conceded.

Hermione tried hard to bite down on her rising tide of indignation. "Why?"

Moody raised an eyebrow. "Not 'Why, Professor?' Seems yeh didn't agree with my methods."

"I could have been killed," Hermione shot back, before adding "Professor" in a tone that completely lacked sincerity.

"No, yeh wouldn't've. Not whilst I was there."

Her effort at controlling her ire slipped. "Oh, really? Malfoy and his mob were throwing Blasting Curses around, and you were nowhere to be seen?" Not, she allowed, that anyone would have seen what occurred in the fog. Yehr silent conjurin's gettin' up to snuff as well."

Moody tapped his artificial all-seeing eye with his wand. "This saw everythin', missie. Nice Caligo spell by the way."

"What?" Obviously he had watched everything.

"Sat up there all the time." Moody gestured to the doorway to his quarters that sat atop the short spiral staircase. "Disillusioned, but this sees everythin'. Yeh did well, Granger."

Hermione was so angry that she started pacing in front of the teacher's desk like a caged animal. "You set it all up," she concluded. "You had six Slytherins turn up just to… what? Test me?"

"Aye. And it was only gonna be four of the buggers, the best they have at D.A.D.A, but didna count on Malfoy draggin' those two gorillas along."

"You're crazy," Hermione said quietly.

"Not officially, Granger." With effort, Moody rose from his desk. "Just a little mad. D'yeh really think I'd let those Death Eater spawn finish yeh off?"

"I didn't know that you were there. I was terrified."

"Were yeh?" Moody moved in front of her and mockingly peered at her face. "Well, good. Yeh're gotta learn to push past it. Nearly cost yeh dear against that dragon…"

He lapsed into his thousand-yard stare for a moment, before continuing. "Nothin' wrong with bein' afraid. Merlin knows, I've been bowel-loosening frightened many times. Moment I'm not nervous about a fight is the moment I'm ready for the farm."

"I could have hurt Harry," Hermione complained.

"Ah, yes… Harry bleedin' Potter. That would've buggered things up, wouldn't it, eh? I confess I weren't expectin' that… well, that's not strictly true." Moody tapped the side of his nose with his finger, indicating Hermione should share his secret. "Told yeh, Potter's got a noble streak a mile wide. If he don't watch it, it'll finish him some day. Dashin' in without assessin' the situation. If some young idiot ran up to me like that, I'd have cast something a darn sight stronger than the old blinding hex."

"And what about Malfoy's curses?"

Moody shrugged. "Ferret's got a anger management problem. Could be the end of him as well."

"If one of those had hit me -"

"He wasn't aiming fer yeh."

"Doesn't matter. They were firing blind in the fog. If one of those had caught me it could have… injured me or worse," Hermione clamped down hard on the anger. "Perhaps I'd be in a similar state to you."

Moody shrugged. "P'haps, p'haps not. Can never tell what'll 'appen once wands are drawn. Still, yeh took it coolly, taking down three of 'em, and torchin' Malfoy. I'll confess, I didna think yeh had that in yeh."

"You've still not told me why… Professor?"

Moody at least had the grace to look a little abashed. "Needed to know if yeh had the spunk to fight against the odds, had the guts to cast at a fellow wizard… or witch. Yeh proved yeh did" He stumped back to his desk and sat down heavily. "Who knows what'll 'appen when this whole damned thing unravels? I can offer yeh many things, Granger: my knowledge - which, contrary to some of my contemporaries' opinions, may be worth a Knut or two; a little actual training; and a few tricks here and there. But I'm not in any real shape to stretch yeh in a duel."

"That's…" Hermione, wrong footed by his admission, tried to find the right words, but failed. Moody ended the momentary silence.

"Taught yeh a lesson early on, but yeh've learned that one well. No-one in yehr class is good enough to take yeh on…" He hesitated for a second or two. "Save Potter, and he won't; too bleedin' noble, yeh see."

A little puffed up at that, Hermione sat down. "So why Malfoy and five - sorry, three - others?"

"Blondie's so much up 'is own arse, he'd be too concerned about humiliatin' yeh instead of just winnin'. No, yeh needed more competition than just him."

"But," Hermione thought aloud, "I didn't beat him. In the end, he had the draw on me. Only the rescue party stopped him from throwing Merlin knows what curse at me."

"Think that, do yeh, Granger. 'Appens I think different. Like I said, this…" He tapped his magic eye again "… sees all. If yeh'd not been distracted by Potter, yeh'd have had the draw on Malfoy and taken ' im out pretty as yeh please. The rest woulda given up after that, sure as my peg leg. Even so, yeh took out three opponents with some nifty spell work and a little clear thinkin'."

Hermione shook her head. "Panic, more like."

"Bah! Yeh kept a cool head as far as I could see." Moody stretched out his one remaining natural leg. "Still, took some fixin' with Albus…"

Intrigued, Hermione could not stop herself asking the question. "What did the Headmaster say?"

Moody shrugged. "Said he was disappointed in me, and that if summat similar 'appened again, he'd be duty bound to report it to the Board."

"But Lucius Malfoy's going to find out anyway," Hermione pointed out. "All Draco kept bleating was how he'd tell his father, and what his dad would do."

Moody snorted derisively. "The Malfoys got no backbone. Reckon Lucius'll make this official? When ' is little boy's throwing around Blasting Curses? Even worse, baby Malfoy got bested by a Muggleborn with a right hook… good punch, by the way, lass. Anyway, a Pensieve memory and one word from me and ' is lad'll be out on ' is ear. Trust old Mad-Eye; worst that could happen is that I'll get disciplined, and that'll take time. Far as we're all concerned, it was in a supervised, structured environment. Lucius'll fume but he won't do anything official." He stopped for a moment. "Official..?"

There was that stare again.

"Professor?"

Moody snapped out of his ruminations. "Never mind, Granger. Wasn't the Headmaster who needed placatin' . When they'd ' eard that it was all my doin' - a Defence exercise, the first of a few I had planned, I told 'em - Snape was fit to curse me, and Minerva wanted my balls."

Hermione reddened a little at the salty language and revelations that Moody had taken on board all the blame. Not, of course, that she was to blame for anything at all…

"Told McGonagall I'd started with the best. Told Snape to keep his Death Eater minions in line, otherwise I'd ' old another 'exercise' for his House alone. He was demanding yehr head on a platter, along with Potter and those bleedin' Weasleys." Moody glanced up at his student. "He's not come down hard on yeh, has he?"

Hermione shook her head. She had expected at the least a detention from Tuesday's Potions' class, but Snape had contented himself with taking a shed-load of points from Gryffindor.

"Well, if he does, yeh're to come tell me. Told him any detentions would be visited five-fold on his own, see. How many points did he take?"

"From everyone…" Hermione thought back. "Around about a hundred."

"I know Snape," Moody growled. "How many more than normal was that?"

"I'd say about fifty," she estimated.

"Well then, fifty points to Gryffindor for yehr performance in the first 'exercise', an' I'll deal with the rest later. Now, yeh're not to take this as carte-blanche… when've yeh got Potions again?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

Moody nodded. "Fine. If yeh get a detention, come and serve it with me. I'll square it with old Severus if necessary."

Hermione imagined Moody would be deliriously happy to have words with Professor Snape.

"Anyway, yeh've more problems coming up."

Hermione's head jerked up. "What?"

Moody shook his head tiredly. "Second Task, Granger. Tomorrow night Dumbledore'll announce it'll take place on the twenty-fourth, just over a fortnight away. I see yeh've been doin' some training." This time he nodded approvingly.

"Do you… you wouldn't happen to know…"

"No clues, Granger." Moody tapped his nose again. "We're not about cheatin' . I'll train yeh up but no more. Wouldna be fair, would it. What I can say is yeh'll get the egg given back to yeh a week before."

Hermione was confused. She thought the egg was just a glorified token, the key to qualifying for the Second Task. Although Ludo Bagman had, immediately after she'd survived her encounter with the dragon, taken it into safekeeping, she assumed that was because it was a valuable prize. She doubted they would let students keep golden eggs. "Why?"

"The clue to the Task, lass, is in the egg. That's all I can tell yeh."

Hermione sat quietly, digesting that nugget of information. That allowed her something to work with.

"C'mon Granger." Moody once again hauled himself out of his creaking chair. "Time for summat a little more… entertaining than Blasting Curses."

Hermione wondered just what Moody regarded as 'exciting' and whether she really wanted to find out.

"Righto, if yeh know yehr history, and I knows yeh do -" His one remaining original eye winked at her "- then this has been used in some of the competitions way back. Always a great idea to manipulate one of yehr opponents.

"Yeh recall yehr first class with me, Granger? Seems a long ways back, don't it? Well, they won't let yeh cast the Imperius Curse -" Hermione shuddered at mention of one of the Unforgivable "- but let's see how good yeh can be at throwin' it off. Yeh didn't manage it afore, but I'm sure yeh don't want to lag behind Potter, do yeh?"

Hermione's initial revulsion at once again being put under that pernicious influence was negated by her sharp sense of academic competition.

"Now," Moody continued, "who knows what they teach at that Frenchie school, but I wouldn't put it past old Karkaroff and his lads to have an extended repertoire. Krum's just dangerous enough to use it." Both eyes now fixed on Hermione. "No matter how good a friend yeh think he is, boy's an utter professional with balls of steel. Think he'd hesitate to use it on yeh?"

"Viktor would never do a thing like that," Hermione replied a little hotly, upset on her friend's behalf.

Sadly shaking his gnarled head, Moody gave her an uncomprehending look. "Woolly thinkin' like that could cost yeh dear, girl. Don't yeh want to win?"

"No," Hermione's vehement denial just seemed to increase the old Auror's disbelief.

"Okay, missie, we'll do it yehr way. Now, if yeh can't avoid getting' hit with it, yeh're gonna 'ave to try to fight it off. Are yeh ready?" His wand came up, ready to cast.

Hermione tensed herself, ready to -

"Imperius!"

…

"Granger! Granger?"

Someone a long way away was trying to attract her attention. She was so tired. All she wanted was just to have a lie in.

"C'mon lass, wakey wakey!"

Hermione opened her eyes and found a blazingly blue orb staring back at her. That unexpected sight swiftly woke her up with a fright.

"What? Where am I..?"

"Yeh did it, Granger!" Moody appeared as pleased as punch.

"Did what?" Hermione was still trying to regain her bearings. 'Where am I..? Ah, the Defence classroom. Wasn't I..?'

"I knew yeh'd manage it," Moody moved like a drunken sailor on a heaving deck, all rolls.

"Sorry, I… what did I do?"

Moody turned and closed on her again. "Hmm…"

Hermione hated being confused. "What happened, Professor?"

"Yeh threw off the Imperius, lass."

"Imperius?" Hermione's disbelief was clear. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"No joke. I'm proud of yeh." Moody examined her afresh. "Can't remember?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Well, with some folk, there's short-term memory loss," Moody explained. "Sorta defence mechanism." He tapped the side of his nose. "That's not in the books, lass. Found it out in the field years back."

Hermione so wished she could recall her achievement. As it was, she felt the precursor of a headache starting to brew. "Harry didn't," she recalled a little sulkily.

Moody grinned, an appalling and scary sight. "Potter's Potter. Like I says, some wizards ' ave different ways."

Putting a hand to her brow, Hermione rose from the chair she found herself in. "Can we… could I try again?" she asked hesitantly, hoping she could repeat her accomplishment but this time commit the feat to memory.

Moody shook his head. "No, two inna row's too dangerous. It's obviously taken summat outta yeh." He noticed Hermione's obvious disappointment. "Quite an achievement, Granger. Now, let's keep it our little secret."

"Why?" Hermione pouted. She wanted to share her achievement.

"Because, if some Dark wizard casts it on yeh, yeh can get the drop on ' im if he don't know yeh can shake it off," Moody spoke slowly, as if addressing a difficult child. "If he knows, he might cast summat a lot worse. Think on that."

Hermione looked down at her feet. What was the point managing things like beating an Unforgivable Curse if not being able to obtain the credit? She cringed as the headache started to grow. Something irritating fluttered around her face, and she tried to brush whatever it was, an insect presumably, away.

Moody's vivid azure eye swivelled and fixed upon the insect, which had settled on a nearby cabinet. "Granger," he said quietly, gesturing for her to move in closer. She complied, and he cast a Muffliato to keep their discussion private. Who from, Hermione had no idea, but Moody had not survived this long without some paranoia.

Turning his face away from the cabinet, but with his magic eye somehow maintaining observation through his skull, Moody spoke softly but with a sense of hidden urgency.

"Now, there's this beetle over there - no, don't look around! Over on the cabinet, next to the Cornish Pixies."

Hermione wondered where this was going.

"Now, as a test of your reactions and accuracy, I want yeh to try to immobilise it." He took in Hermione's frank look of disbelief. "Yeh can do it, Granger. Just choose the right spell. When I say the word 'Snape', I want yeh to try."

Hermione nodded. Only question was, what spell to use..?

Moody cancelled the Muffliato and returned to teaching mode. "Right, that last one was a bit weak. Let me try with a little extra power…"

'Not Petrificus Totalus - the full body bind spell would have to be more accurate than she could reliably muster to immobilise a target that size… Cornish Pixies… What spell did that fraud Lockheart use..? Wasn't a real one - "Pesky" something or other… But the idea was sound… A Freezing Charm! No need to be so accurate; works over a wider area.' She had mastered that.

"Ready, Granger? Just imagine I'm Professor Snape -"

Hermione spun and levelled her wand at the cabinet, barely making out the beetle a few yards away. "Frigido!"

The spell struck the wooden part of the cabinet door and a fair part of the wall behind. Immediately a large patch of ice, with an outer penumbra of frost, formed over the surface.

"Yes!" Hermione, ignoring the slight pounding inside her skull, gave a little jump of delight when she saw a frozen lump sticking out proud from the surface. "I did it!"

"Good accuracy, lass," Moody said reflectively. "Now, let's take a closer look at this bug. Accio beetle!"

The frozen lump of ice broke free and shot across the room into Moody's hand. He placed it carefully on a desk and trained his wand on the frozen beetle.

"Professor?" Hermione was perplexed. "What are you doing with that beetle?"

"T'ain't no insect," Moody replied. "This…" his magic eye whirred around - "sees everythin' ."

Hermione shook her head. Her professor was making no sense. "What is it then?"

"Not a 'what'; more of a 'who'." He stepped forward and addressed the insect directly.

"Now, if yeh're an insect, this is gonna hurt, but there again being squashed flat should." He raised his hand, ready to flatten his target. "But if yeh're not, then yeh've run outta time."

The ice shook from the beetle, and within a second it Transfigured into a very cold, frost-flecked, shivering but very recognisable human.

"Rita Skeeter!" gasped Hermione.

"Aye," Moody commented. "Can't fool old Mad-Eye, can yeh, Rita?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Rita replied huffily, trying to retain some dignity.

"So that's how you've gathered all your shameful stories," Hermione realised. "You've been listening in on all our conversations."

Rita shot her a condescending glare. "And you have no idea how boring most of your immature prattling is."

"You're in big trouble, you know that. Professor Dumbledore banned you from the School," Hermione added.

"Well, nothing that can't be smoothed over," Rita replied defensively. "A little misunderstanding, that's all. I'm sure Cornelius will see that I'm just after a good scoop."

Hermione remembered Ginny's comments about Rita and her connections.

"P'haps he will," Moody added conversationally. Then his voice turned a shade ominous. "Assumin' Fudge knows yeh're ' ere… I'd wager nobody does, so yeh'd not be missed."

"Not only that," Hermione cut in, her words much lighter. "You're an illegal Animagus!" She was sure that a flicker of concern cracked Rita's outward confidence, before the reporter lowered herself from the desk she had been seated upon.

"Absolute rubbish. I'm fully registered with the Ministry. You don't know what you're talking about, little girl."

Hermione shook her head. "Oh no you're not! I checked with the Improper Use of Magic Office last year. You weren't a registered Animagus then, and given your stories, I bet you've been practicing well before that."

Moody was fingering his wand. "Well, Rita, say I drop a note to Mafalda? Would that sort everythin' out?"

"You're a fine one to talk, aren't you Professor?" Her last word dripped with acid sarcasm. "Casting an Unforgivable on a student, and then -"

"Hogwarts' business," Moody's growl cut the shrill reporter off. "Ministry knows and Dumbledore approves." He waved his wand menacingly. "Not something that can be said about yehr presence 'ere, Skeeter."

There was, Hermione considered, a distinctly cold menace in those words that could not be ascribed to her Freezing Charm.

Rita hesitated. "Well, I don't see why we need bother Ms. Hopkirk at this late hour. It seems rather… over-dramatic." She pulled out her Quick-Quotes Quill from her robes. "How about a nice interview; put your side of the story, hmm? 'Hermione Granger: the Misunderstood Muggleborn.'"

"After your last effort?" Hermione was both confident and fuming, a dangerous combination. "I wouldn't give you the time of day if you wanted a quote."

"I'm sure we could come to some understanding, my dear," Rita simpered.

"After those letters to your editor, I doubt the Prophet would waste newsprint."

"Yes," Rita's eyes narrowed. "I thought you were behind that. Caused me no end of trouble." She turned her attentions away from Hermione. "Well, Professor Moody, are you going to allow a student to harass a respected member of the Press?"

Moody raised his own remaining eyebrow. "Respected? I seem to recall a whole slew of stories suggestin' old Mad-Eye be put out to grass. Don't think askin' a madman is the best idea tonight. Madman's wand might slip."

"Well, honestly," Rita huffed. "Try to help people out, and what thanks do I get?" She returned her quill to her robes. "Well, I'll be off then. I'm sure we can smooth this whole thing over. I'll just have a word with dear Ludo."

She took two steps towards the door when Moody's wand arm came up. "Yeh'll be ' avin words with me first."

He turned to Hermione. "Granger," he said coldly. "I suggest you leave now. Rita and I have some business to discuss."

"I'm sure we can talk tomorrow, when we've all slept on it," Rita butted in.

"Granger, git!"

Hermione, wary from the start of being in the same room as that slandering cow, dutifully picked up her robes. As she looked at the mis-matched pair, concern pricked at her conscience. "Professor?"

Moody lowered his wand. "Miss Skeeter and I will come to an arrangement. One yeh'd be best not knowin' anything about."

Rita paled a little, but retained her composure. "Well, I knew you'd see the light… Alastor."

"No point yeh bein' sickened by the dirty side of dealin' with the papers, Granger. Lie down with kneazles, yeh get fleas. Now git."

As Hermione closed the door behind her, she caught Rita's opening gambit.

"Now, Alastor, I thought perhaps a piece on -"

The door closed and locked behind her.

'Well, at least that explains all those stories,' Hermione thought. 'Wait until I tell Viktor and the boys!' Then her enthusiasm paled as her headache reasserted itself.

* * * * *

As Professor Moody predicted, Dumbledore made the very popularly-received announcement at dinner on the following evening that all lessons on Wednesday the twenty-fourth would be cancelled so the entire school would be free to watch the Second Task.

Despite her foreknowledge, that very public announcement only aggravated Hermione's state of anxiety. She still had no idea what the task would entail. The mild headaches that plagued her she put down to overwork and stress.

A week later Dumbledore made another announcement: The four champions should retire to his office after dinner. There, in the presence of the three head teachers and a cadaverous Barty Crouch, Ludo Bagman handed back their prizes from the First Task.

In her brief moment of glory, before being nearly barbecued, Hermione never had the opportunity to study her golden egg. Apart from its gaudy colouring, the egg appeared rather mundane. It had a groove running the entire diameter, so obviously it was designed to be opened.

"Now," Dumbledore advised, his eyes twinkling, "I would rather you refrain from opening them here. Inside you will find a clue to the nature of the second part of the Second Task. Deciphering this clue is the opening phase."

Hermione returned straightway to the Gryffindor common room, where most of her house awaited her return. Everyone, from first- to seventh-years, wanted a glimpse of what a dragon had been appointed to guard.

After checking for, and failing to find, any magical charms, Hermione took the easy path. She dug her fingernails into the groove, gave the egg a single twist, and was surprised to find how readily it popped open.

Her millisecond of triumph was lost in the terrible sound that echoed throughout the common room, driving all the onlookers away. An unearthly banshee-like wail assailed everyone's ears, which were swiftly covered in retreat. Human demands to shut off the noise only added to the bedlam.

Slamming the gilded container shut, Hermione stared wide-eyed at her friends, her expression nauseous.

"What the bloody hell was that?" an equally pasty-faced Ron demanded.

Hermione was at a loss, but had never expected any part of the Tournament to be easy. Somewhere in that cacophony was the clue she needed to solve. Gripping the egg, she picked up her roll of parchment and quill. "Come on," she said to Harry.

"Library?"

"Library."

* * * * *

"Erm… Hermione? Don't you reckon you've got enough books already/"

Hermione was trying to manoeuvre whilst carrying a stack of books that towered over her head. She barely caught the unseen Harry's hesitant enquiry.

With a sigh of relief she let her burden onto the nearest desk. The thud resounded throughout the Library.

"One can never have enough books, Harry," she clipped, giving the desk an appraising glance. Between all of the stacks there must have been a hundred-odd volumes. "Now, I think I've got everything about magical languages and sounds."

"You sure it's not human?" Harry asked.

"No wizard's gonna make that horrid a noise," Ron replied surlily, "although, the Twins get close when trying to sing."

"Quite right, Ron," Hermione observed. "This is a magical competition, so the answer must lie somewhere in here Well then: Neville, you take that pile; Harry, that one; Ron, you can check through those books - they're mostly pictures…" She smiled as Ron stuck his tongue out at her. "And I'll take these."

With that, Hermione sat down and delved into Bable Delatour's Magical Tongues of the World.

By the time Madam Pince threw them out, muttering that they all had beds and should use them, the sum of their progress was exactly zero. No-one had found any description in any books that matched the unworldly shrill screeching that emanated from the egg.

Hermione managed to annoy both Parvati and Lavender by unscrewing the egg again for further analysis. Finally she retreated behind the curtains of her four-poster and a Silencing Charm. The wails haunted her dreams that night, and she put the early morning headache down to them as well.

A second Library session proved just as frustrating as the first. Ron's bright idea to have another listen to the egg cut it short. Madam Pince appeared as if by Apparition and, much to Hermione's shame and embarrassment, summarily banished them from her little empire.

The unhappy Gryffindors slouched in the corridor.

"Thanks a lot, Ron!" Hermione said bitterly. "We've only five days to uncover the secret."

"Well, it's just a waste of time, isn't it?" Ron shot back moodily. "I've never heard anything like it. How can that noise be called a clue, huh?"

"Well, it is," Hermione insisted hotly. "Profes-." Then she quickly shut up before revealing her source. Glancing around, only Harry had seemed to notice, judging by the odd look he favoured her with.

Ron's irritation was obvious as colour started to flood his cheeks. "Well, it's bleedin' ridiculous, isn't it.. I mean - oh, bloody hell, Neville!"

"Sorry." Neville had obviously decided to listen once again to that vile sound. In a confined corridor it sounded that much worse .

Hermione came to a decision. "Right, you go on then," she addressed the others. "I'll go back to the Library and carry on - if Madam Pince'll let me, that is."

She had just turned her back on her housemates when Luna Lovegood waltzed down the corridor.

"Oh, was that Mermish song I heard?" the quirky Ravenclaw asked.

"What?"

Luna cocked her head. "The song of the Merpeople." She looked at Hermione. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Beautiful?" Ron shook his head, then added in what passed for his lower voice. "Loony, that one."

Hermione thought she saw a flash of sadness in Luna's wide eyes. "Ron!" she snapped, then addressed the younger girl. "Luna, that was mermaids singing, was it?"

"Well, both sexes, actually" Luna said confidently. "At least, I thought it sounded like them."

"You call that singing?" Ron continued unkindly.

"Oh, it's wonderful," Luna replied, clapping her hands joyously. "Can I hear it again?"

Neville still had the egg, and he cast a nervous glance towards Hermione, who nodded her head. It then took all of her self-control not to clap her hands over her ears as the racket assaulted them once again.

The incomprehensible wails continued long after Neville silenced the egg, the echoes leading to shouts of complaint from deeper within the school. At this rate, Hermione thought, it would not be long before she was barred permanently from the Library.

Luna was lost in thought, enraptured by the experience. "Such amazing melodies, don't you think?" she asked brightly. Fortunately, unobserved by the Ravenclaw, Ron stood behind her with his finger circling his temple.

"Luna, can you understand the words they're… singing?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Oh no," Luna responded. "Lyrics are unnecessary when the music is so lovely." With that, she turned on her heel and skipped happily back down the corridor to the beat of her very different drummer.

Making a snap decision, Hermione turned to go back to the Library, ready to beg re-admittance.

"You're not… I mean, surely?" Ron protested. "She's just a loony!"

Spinning around, Hermione glared at him. "Don't call her loony, Ronald. Her name's Luna." She set off again down the corridor, muttering to herself. "And she was a bigger help than all of you put together… I hope!"

Yet, even when allowed back into the forest of books, Hermione made no further headway despite her stroke of good fortune. The wizarding world seemed utterly disinterested in what Merpeople had to say, as with Goblins and other "inferior" species. English-Mermish phrase books or dictionaries were non-existent. No Translating Charms had been created for Mermish, nor any compendia of songs sung by mermaids. Just warnings about avoiding the Sirens.

Ironically, her most-read volume finally provided Hermione with an intimation of what she might face.

Hogwarts: A History came to her rescue one more time. Hermione dimly recalled the fact, passed over as inconsequential at the time There were Merpeople in the Black Lake.

That made perfect sense. The whole school, along with their overseas guests, were invited to watch the Second Task. Of course, the venue had to be local to Hogwarts!

Knowing where answered one piece of the puzzle. The 'What' and 'How' elements of the equation still eluded her.

The days passed rapidly. On Friday night Hermione attended her usual "detention" with Moody, and reluctantly admitted that, although she had concluded it involved the lake, she had no idea what the Second Task would be. The grizzled old professor just shook his head sadly, muttering about the sad lack of knowledge among students these days. He told her nothing, not that she had asked.

With time running out, Hermione's anxieties mushroomed. Unless another Bill Weasley turned up, she would be re-entering the Tournament blind. She knew she should not snap at Harry or Ron when they tried unavailingly to help, but she could not stop herself. And those worries aggravated her by-now ever-present headaches.

Sunday arrived, and the egg still mocked her. The task loomed only three days away. For all her poring over books, Hermione was no closer to resolving the riddle than when she first opened the damned thing.

The Library was, as usual that time of the week, sparsely populated. Viktor was absent, presumably enjoying a last few hours of Penelope Clearwater's company before rejoining battle. So, with considerable surprise, Hermione found her unavailing search interrupted by another of the champions.

"Errm… Granger - Hermione, I mean."

If Cedric Diggory's appearance was unexpected, his apparent nervousness was even more startling. Normally he was as cool as a cucumber. Now he was almost tongue-tied.

"Hello, Cedric. What can I do for you?"

Glancing shiftily around, as though checking for eavesdroppers, the Hufflepuff poster-boy leaned down. "Umm.. Don't take this the wrong way, Hermione." Sweat beaded on his brow. "And don't tell anyone else, but meet me at eight, outside the prefects' bathroom. Oh, and bring your golden egg."

With that bizarre and unexpected message delivered, Cedric hastened to leave. Hermione remained, her jaw dropping as she turned his apparent chat-up line over and over in her head; a line delivered by the home student whom the girlish cognoscenti considered the most fanciable at Hogwarts.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, Hermione arrived at the appointed time and place. She found Cedric pacing back and forth in front of the bathroom door.

"Ah, good, there you are! You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

Hermione regarded Cedric carefully. She doubted he intended a romantic assignation. Cedric had appeared smitten by Cho Chang, although that could explain his obvious state of nerves. Were he almost any other male in the school, save her all-too-frustrating best friend, her hand would be on her wand right now, or she would not have come at all.

"No, I didn't," she confirmed. "Cedric, what is all this about?"

"Have you figured the egg out yet?"

Hermione nodded her head. "I believe it's Mermish," she revealed, and was gratified to see Cedric nod his head in agreement.

"Right in one. Now, where's the only place you find Mermish spoken… or sung?"

"Well, the lake, I suppose," Hermione commented thoughtfully. This time Cedric shook his head.

"Too literal, Granger."

Hermione considered this remark, before the truth struck her. "Underwater…" she breathed.

Cedric smiled. "Knew you'd get it." He twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. "No time like the present."

Hermione hesitated, and favoured Cedric with a cool, assessing glare.

"Don't worry," he said cheerfully. "I'm not coming in with you. I'll push off know before people wonder where I am. I doubt you'll be disturbed on a Sunday evening."

Hermione stepped into the bathroom, waiting to hear Cedric's receding footsteps before she closing the door behind her.

The prefect's bathroom was very different from any other Hermione had ever seen, especially the one where she brewed Polyjuice Potion two short years ago. This alone would make becoming a Prefect worthwhile. It was splendid and would not have looked out of place in an oil state's sheikh's palace. The shining white marble and glistening gold fittings put to shame the now dull lustre of the egg in her hands.

The bath itself was easily the size of a family swimming pool, fed by dozens and dozens of taps and faucets. Hermione stood gawking for a few seconds before remembering that she was not here to inspect the fixtures and fittings. Tentatively operating a handful of the taps, she let the bath fill slowly. After placing a Locking Charm on the door, she stripped down to her underwear, only removing that when ready to slip into the scented water.

The bath itself was one of the most luxurious experiences Hermione had ever enjoyed. Immersed in masses of bubble-bath it was so tempting just to lie back and let the worries soak away. Even that damned headache eased away towards nothingness.

"Oh, it's you!"

Foam flew everywhere. A flailing Hermione almost jumped out of the bath. Her heart-rate returned to near normal when she recognised the opaque form of Moaning Myrtle floating half-in and half-out of the bubbles.

"Myrtle! You nearly gave me a seizure!"

The glum-faced ghost floated a few inches higher. "You're not a Prefect," she said snootily. "You're not allowed in here."

"Neither are you," Hermione responded. "You aren't… I mean, weren't a Prefect either."

Myrtle crossed her arms. "Rules don't apply to ghosts," she said sadly, then perked up as she noticed the golden egg sitting on the side of the bath. "Ooh! You brought me a present!"

"That's mine," Hermione replied possessively.

"It looks just like the one that nice Prefect had," Myrtle commented, ignoring Hermione. A dreamy look came over the phantom's face. "He was so perfect, all muscles and legs and -"

"Myrtle!" Hermione's scandalized screech drowned out the rest of Myrtle's tale. However, the ghost had reminded her of the reason for her nocturnal visit.

"It took Dishy Diggory some time before he figured it out," Hermione heard Myrtle drone on. "He kept ducking his head under until nearly all the bubbles were gone. I could see everything. Ooooh!" With that dreamy look on her face again. Myrtle drifted upwards and through the ceiling.

Shaking her head at the realisations that Myrtle would forever remain a simpering schoolgirl, Hermione took a firm grip on the egg, submerged it completely underwater, and opened it once again. All she heard was a muffled, gurgling version of the same unrecognisable sound.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione ducked her head through the bubbles and under the water.

* * * * *

Champions of heart and skill

Visit our realm if dare you will

Hear yee the cadence of our song

But time passes, tarry not long

Trusted with a treasure are we

Whose loss to you would painful be

Lament you would, and cry and pine

For what was yours is now all mine

Sunset is the appointed hour

To return to the castle tower

For what we have we always hold

Ends now this does our story told

"That's it?" Ron was incredulous.

"I committed it to memory," Hermione replied tartly. "I listened to it several times until I could repeat it off pat." She had constantly recited the liturgy all the way back to her bed on Sunday night. Monday evening was the only chance she had to assemble her friends for a briefing session.

Harry looked equally uncertain. "You're sure, Hermione? That it's the Merpeople in the lake?"

"It's the only answer that fits the evidence, and not just Luna's."

Harry leaned back, nodding slowly in dawning agreement. "Yeah, that makes sense," he said quietly, but his mind appeared to be elsewhere. Hermione narrowed her eyes as an unworthy thought sparked into existence. As Harry's senses returned, she quickly looked away.

"It doesn't really rhyme," Ron complained. "I mean, 'hour' and 'tower'! Pretty weak if you ask me."

"I suppose it sounds better in Mermish," Neville observed. Suddenly aware of four disbelieving pairs of eyes upon him, he blushed slightly. "I mean, to a Merperson," he explained.

"How deep is the lake?" Harry asked quietly.

"No idea," Hermione replied. "Hogwarts: A History doesn't say. It must be deep in places though, as I didn't know there were Merpeople living in there. Just looking at the mountains around here, the valleys would be deep."

"Does it matter?" Ginny chipped in. "Whatever it is, you're going to have to swim underwater for quite some time. Any ideas on that score?"

"Could you transfigure something into what those divers wear?" Everyone except Hermione looked blankly at Harry. "You know, with those air cylinders?"

"An aqualung? Like a scuba diver?" Hermione's reply did not enlighten Ron, Neville or Ginny. "I'm not sure. They're far more complicated than you think. It's not just air, and I might have to go deep enough to need enhanced amounts of oxygen." She doubted her own abilities. "It's under pressure too. I wouldn't like to Transfigure a… say an aerosol can, and miss out on a valve or filter somewhere."

Harry was scrutinizing her reactions. "Any idea how long you'll have to finish?"

"Sunset Tuesday is about twenty to six," Hermione commented. "As the school's out for the whole day, I suppose the Task will start sometime before lunch, so… six hours or so."

"Six hours!" Rom emitted a low whistle. "That's some time to be underwater."

An uneasy silence descended across the common room table. Hermione's mind drifted to Bubble-Head Charms, something she had not practiced before, but with the couple of days notice she had, she had delved into her books and was as confident as she could be, without practicing underwater, that the subject had been mastered.

Another treasure… Crouch or Bagman must have been supplied the Merpeople with another trinket, just like the golden eggs. Another entry pass, this time to the Third and final Task. Hermione's fingers tapped a tattoo on the table top as she thought things through.

"Hang on," Neville suddenly said characteristically quietly. "I'm sure there's something in that book Moody gave me…" He jumped to his feet and set off for the boys' dorm, returning a few minutes later, leafing through Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties. Finally his frantic search ceased. Neville jabbed his finger at the illustration of a plant that resembled nothing more than a huge writhing ball of greyish-green worms. "There! Gillyweed!" he said triumphantly.

"Brilliant, Neville," Harry spoke, making a show of clapping the tall lad on the back. "What's Gillyweed then?"

Hermione was studying the descriptive text underneath the picture. "Ingesting allows an hour or so of breathing underwater by… growing gills?" She looked at a now blushing Neville. "Harry's right, this is brilliant." Returning her attention to the page, she continued to read aloud. "And users of the plant are partially Transfigured, receiving webbed hands and feet."

"Only an hour, though." Ginny pointed out. "It might be dangerous to consume more for a longer time underwater."

"Hmm…" Hermione continued to read. "You're right, Ginny. It says continued exposure could cause problems when back on land and breathing in air. Overdoses have forced users to stay underwater for some weeks."

"Still," Harry said, "an hour is better than nothing, right?"

Hermione slowly nodded her head. At least Gillyweed gave her an hour. Perhaps she could struggle by with Bubble-Head Charms and switch, or vice-versa. After all, three other air breathers would have to complete the task. There must be a way!

"I hate to spoil the mood," Ron observed sourly. "But we don't have any Gillyweed."

The mood was indeed spoiled.

"Neville, do you know if there's any in the Herbology greenhouses? Perhaps Professor Sprout has some?" Hermione asked. She could not recall seeing anything like this.

Neville's happy expression had been replaced by something darker. "I don't think so," he said quietly. "And if she did, it would go to Diggory. Sorry, Hermione."

"If anyone in Hogwarts has any, then it'd be that great greasy git," Ron added darkly. Everyone knew to whom he was referring.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think Professor Snape will willingly hand over any potions ingredients to me."

"Not now," Neville said, "not when I've heard him complaining that someone's been breaking into his private store cupboard and pilfering from his supplies."

"Really?" Hermione was surprised, but reminded of a certain escapade in their second year. Neville nodded.

"How about using the… you-know," Ron said. "The… thingy."

Hermione knew Ron was referring to Harry's cloak, and that Ginny and Neville were unaware of its existence. "No, Ron, we couldn't."

"I know someone who could get some," Harry said quietly before Ron started an argument. He stared intently at Hermione. "You know who I mean."

Hermione racked her brains for a few seconds, then realised. 'Dobby!' "Would you… could you ask?"

Harry nodded. He started moving away to communicate with the weird house-elf in private, but Hermione followed him, waving off the remaining three. She wanted a word with Harry in private, so she climbed out of the portrait hole after him.

"Harry! Wait!"

In the dim lighting of the corridor, she saw him turn.

"You knew about the lake, didn't you, Harry?" The swift accusation was less of a question than a statement of fact. "That's why you've had me train so hard, why you were insistent about my learning to swim."

He nodded, a grim set to his jaw.

Hermione plunged on. "What else do you know, Harry?"

He took a deep breath before replying. "Nothing."

"Nothing? You must know more," Hermione's anxiety was overriding her common sense.

"There's nothing else I can tell you, Hermione. If I would, I could."

"Harry, I need to know what I'll be facing in that lake," Hermione insisted.

"I don't know," Harry replied, growing upset. "I just knew… you had to be fitter and it involved swimming." He turned to leave, but Hermione grabbed hold of his shoulder and dragged him back to face her.

"Who told you, Harry? You told you?"

He shook his head. "I can't tell you, Hermione," he said, his expression pained.

She dropped her hand. Before she could think matters through, the accusatory words dropped from her lips. "I thought we agreed we could tell each other everything," she said sulkily.

Dim light glinted on his glasses. "Yes, we did," he agreed in a voice suddenly thick with unanticipated emotion. "We agreed that we wouldn't keep secrets from each other." He fixed her with his green eyes. "We both agreed, Hermione. What is it you're keeping from me?"

With that he turned and left Hermione standing open-mouthed in the corridor, her anger moving away from Harry Potter and back onto herself, leaving her head pounding.

* * * * *

Hermione felt even worse on Tuesday morning, but considering she had spent the night either worrying about the Second Task or berating herself for opening that stupid argument with Harry, that hardly surprised her.

Even from her own point of view, she had been stupid. Whatever the reason, Harry had helped her out, and she had repaid him with rudeness. Hermione slumped back on her bed. The secret she was keeping from Harry was infinitely more important than knowing who had tipped Harry off.

On her bedside cabinet there was a moist, oozing lump of what undeniably looked like the Gillyweed illustrated in Neville's book. It's appearance meant that not only did she owe Harry a great big apology, but she was once again in debt to Dobby. She Transfigured a plastic zip-bag and placed the invaluable plant into it, before tucking the package away inside her robes. Hermione had no desire for it to go missing during the day.

The breakfast table was, as usual, lightly occupied at this hour. Hermione had to wait for some time until a sleepy-eyed Ron appeared, dragging himself reluctantly into a new school day.

He barely found a perch at the Gryffindor table when Hermione began interrogating him.

"Ron, where's Harry?"

"Dunno," Ron replied in a mixture of speech and yawn. "He'd left by the time I woke up. Surprised he's not already here." He peered at Hermione through his unruly red fringe. "Did you two have a snit last night?"

Hermione found herself reddening.

"Thought so," Ron muttered. "He returned last night in a foul mood. Couldn't get a civil word out of him." He turned his attention to his sausage and bacon.

Hermione stewed at the table, waiting fruitlessly for Harry to make an appearance. 'He must be really hacked off with me this time,' she admitted to herself, 'and no wonder. How will I make it up to him?'

As breakfast concluded, her concerns grew darker. That onerous feeling only increased when Harry was absent from their History of Magic class.

No-one in Gryffindor admitted to knowing where Harry had gone. Hermione's nerves, already frayed, started to shred rapidly. She barely paid attention to Professor Binns' lecture.

Harry did not turn up in the following free period either. By lunchtime Hermione was beside herself, almost frantic, so it was with relief, not trepidation, that as soon as she marched into the Great Hall she spied Professor McGonagall converging with her.

Before the professor could venture a word, Hermione jumped in with both feet. "It's about Harry, isn't it, Professor? What's happened to him? Is he alright? Is he -" she asked breathlessly.

McGonagall was only a little taken aback, used by now to Hermione Granger's methods. "Take a breath, child," she said swiftly, "and let me say a word!" She steered Hermione to one side, aware that most of the Gryffindor table were watching events unfold.

"Now, Mister Potter is… safe and well," McGonagall told Hermione in a not entirely convincing tone.

That did not mollify Hermione. "But something's the matter. What's happened to Harry?" she demanded.

McGonagall appeared ill at ease. "Don't concern yourself with that, Miss Granger. No, I need you to come with me after lunch."

"Why? Is it to do with Harry?" Hermione insisted almost to the point of rudeness.

McGonagall pursed her lips in careful consideration of her reply. "I really cannot say," she said slowly. Hermione was irritated to be hedged in by her own and others' secrets. "However, gather together your things after lunch and follow me to the Headmaster's office." With that, McGonagall returned to the head table.

Her Head of House's obvious dissatisfaction with whatever was occurring came through loud and clear to Hermione, but there was little more she could do at this stage.

As she sat down to lunch, despite an appetite that had receded to almost nothingness, she was not sure what caused her the most concern: Harry's absence; McGonagall's disquiet; or the almost predatory grin Draco Malfoy sported when he glared in her direction, before dragging his finger across his throat.

* * * * *

Liz McColgan (nee Lynch) is a famous Scottish long-distance & marathon runner from the 1980s & 1990s, who was World Champion at 10,000m in 1991 and a winner of both the New York and London marathons.

As useful as a chocolate teapot?

"Biggest balls-up since the Somme." A favourite saying of Moody's Muggle contemporaries. With nearly 20,000 dead and 60,000 casualties in total on one summer day, 1^st July 1916, it remained in British military argot for much of the rest of the Century.

The fight in the Defence Classroom was inspired by scenes in Arya's sadly-abandoned epic story "Harry Potter and the Acceptance of Fate." I unashamedly borrowed Hermione's 'Provisio Caligo!' spell from that story. I also owe a debt to Bexis, whose duel in Chapter #49 of "Harry Potter and the Fifth Element" is a classic in description, imagination and length, and who helped a great deal with this chapter.

A pea-souper was what the great London smogs were called. And a smog was smoke-laden fog, a mixture of natural fog and the pollution from thousand of chimneys fed by coal fires. The last great one in 1952 is estimated to have killed over 4,000 people with respiratory conditions, and led to legislation over air quality. It was compared to the yellow split-pea soup that was popular at the time.

Hermione checked the register of all known animagi in 'The Prisoner of Azkaban.'

The Imperius Curse: Don't believe everything you read!

Please do not ask me to come up with another poem! I ws useless at English Language and did consider a non-rhyming verse, excusing it with Neville's comment that it probably rhymed in mermish!

Sunset time at Inverness on 24 February 1994 was 17:37 GMT.