Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N - Apologies to all of you who had already reviewed chapter #15. For some reason, although my HTML file was complete, the chapter uploaded was missing a large chunk, specifically the dramatic end of the Second Task! So I have tried re-posting today.

I do not own any of the characters (we all know JKR does).

As ever, I am indebted to beta readers Bexis and George.

"Ah, there you are, Miss Granger."

The Headmaster's eyes carried his unique twinkle as he welcomed Professor McGonagall and herself into his office.

Without sparing time for politeness or deference, Hermione blurted out the sole issue in her mind at this instant. "It's about Harry, isn't it? Where is he?" she demanded.

Dumbledore's gaze lost its glint for the briefest of moments, but he kept his eyes on Hermione. "Mister Potter is not available for the moment, but you have my assurances that he is quite fine."

Hermione was burning to question him further, but Dumbledore's stern expression told her she was not to go past the provided explanation in no uncertain terms. It was then that she realized they were not alone in the office.

Professor Sprout was seated in one of those plush chintz armchairs the Headmaster favoured; behind her stood Cedric Diggory, fidgeting nervously.

Percy Weasley was also present, his back ramrod-stiff, as he ignored Hermione and his former professor's presence entirely. Ludo Bagman shifted on his feet as nervously as the Hufflepuff champion. Most surprising was Barty Crouch, pale as a fresh cadaver, perched inflexibly on another armchair and regarding Hermione with a look of pure disdain.

"But if it's not about Harry," Hermione's thought process was audible, "then what is it..?"

Dumbledore smiled, and gestured for her to be seated. "That must await the arrival of our remaining guests, who, if I am very much not mistaken, are about to arrive… now."

The door behind Hermione swung open, and the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons representatives marched into the office. Fleur Delacour appeared as anxious as Cedric, while Viktor paraded his usual sang-froid, although nothing could hide the froideur between the Bulgarian hero and the Durmstrang headmaster.

"Ah, excellent timing!" Dumbledore said cheerily, before turning to the Ministry's departmental head for Games and Sports. "The floor is all yours, Ludovic."

Bagman stepped forwards, paused to mop his perspiring brow with a polka dot handkerchief, and began. "Right, fine, well then…"

With a sudden sinking feeling, Hermione realised what was to be announced.

"The Second Task will start in an hour's time. Competitors -"

"But that's too soon!" Hermione interrupted. As Bagman's eyes bulged, and Percy Weasley's narrowed, she turned imploringly to Dumbledore. "You said it would be tomorrow - I mean that lessons are suspended for it tomorrow!"

"Well," Bagman intervened, "it's certainly true that the Task ends tomorrow - Wednesday - but it actually starts this afternoon."

"But… but…but…" Hermione's mind whirled in puzzlement. "I'm not - I mean, I haven't finished preparing for it yet!" she protested ineffectually.

A loud "Harrumph!" sounded from one of the armchairs, and Hermione turned to find Crouch's dull, nearly lifeless eyes regarding her scornfully.

"A true champion," he stated coldly, "must be prepared to face the unexpected." He turned his head aside and a couple of hacking coughs racked his body. Soon he returned his attention to the sad specimen of Hogwarts' students before him. "The magical world is not governed by timetables, certainly not by yours." He glanced up at Bagman and nodded his head curtly.

Ludo Bagman nervously eyed the other three champions before continuing. "Right, well, now that that's settled…"

Hermione quickly regarded the others: it was a waste of time divining Viktor's reactions, as he stared unimpressed at the former Wimbourne Wasp; Fleur's complexion was paler than usual; and Cedric was as agitated as before. She suspected the announcement was news to them as well.

"As I said, the Task itself begins in an hour. However, some preparation must be completed first, following some bitchi - I mean, feedback -" Bagman suppressed a gulp as he glanced at Karkaroff's near murderous expression "- following the First Task. Just to be sure we're all on a level playing field, eh?

"Now, you have thirty minutes to retrieve your eggs from wherever you've pugged them away, collect your warmest clothing, and return here." He halted. "Well, what are you waiting for? Off you go!" He shooed them away.

As they filed out through the doorway, Hermione found herself near Viktor. "Did you -?"

"Ne."

Any further conversation was stifled by Karkaroff, who pushed Hermione aside, ignoring McGonagall's muttered expression of disbelief at his rudeness, and interposed himself between the two friends.

"You have no time to waste, Krum." A firm hand in Viktor's back was met with a coolly appraising stare.

Hermione took Karkaroff's words to heart for once too. She dashed back to her dormitory, easily outsprinting McGonagall. Once there, she stripped off her robes and school clothes, donned thermal skivvies, thick winter jeans, a dark green sweatshirt, and the conspicuous thick chunky cable-knit sweater, all before grabbing her winter cloak. She almost forgot the egg, chastising herself out loud as she picked it up. Crookshanks was disturbed at the unusual timing of his mistress's appearance, so she paused to ruffle his fur. Finally, Hermione checked that she had both her wand and that priceless sealed packet of Gillyweed.

All the time her mind churned over the possibilities. The Task was due to end before sundown tomorrow. Had she been wrong? Surely the timing was way out for simply retrieving a trinket from the bottom of the lake? Had she woefully misjudged the clue?

Even if it involved a visit to the merpeople, the Task itself must be far more complex than she had anticipated. That did not bode well. It implied a high level of difficulty - possibly danger.

Harry had insisted that she train for endurance, not speed or strength. Was it another clue?

Thinking of Harry, Hermione found herself ashamed on two counts: first, that his absence had ceased to be her primary concern; and second that she really wished she had not picked that fight with him last night, or at the very least that she had an opportunity to apologize to him this morning.

"Come along, Miss Granger." McGonagall's called impatiently from the corridor. Turning back just to grab her woolly hat, she marched out of the dorm, attention now fully focused on the job at hand.

They rushed through the school, ignoring started looks from the odd student out of classes, towards the main staircases. There their way was blocked by Mad-Eye Moody's gnarled form. He nodded at McGonagall. "Minerva, if a might have a wee word with Granger?"

Hermione felt McGonagall's hand in the small of her back. "I'm sorry, Professor Moody," the Deputy Headmistress replied, "but we are short of time." She turned to look at her student. "Come along, Miss Granger," and all but dragged her onwards. Hermione only managed to turn her head and glance at the inscrutable veteran.

The two Gryffindors arrive back at the Headmaster's office ahead of Cedric and sat down in two of four two-seater settees that had appeared during their absence.

"Are you ready, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked quietly as the minutes ticked by. Hermione, too nervous to reply immediately, nodded her head.

"Good." Her teacher sat back a little in her seat, both of them rigid with nerves. "And do not worry about Mister Potter." Hermione's head swivelled around. "I have been assured he is in good hands," McGonagall continued. Her voice did not carry her usual conviction.

"What's happened to Harry?" Hermione whispered urgently, desperate not to be overheard by the hovering men from the Ministry.

Professor McGonagall, with a minute nod of her head, indicated that the matter was not to be pursued any further. Hermione forcefully relegated the worry in her mind and focused instead on the immediate responsibility. Moments later Madame Maxime returned with Fleur, finally followed a few minutes later by Krum and Karkaroff.

"Excellent," Ludo Bagman beamed. "Now that we're all ready, if you wouldn't mind following me."

Following Bagman, the entire group trooped out of the office, down the spiral staircase, and along the corridors until they debouched into the main courtyard.

"Right… now then…" Bagman was breathing heavily, no longer the svelte Beater of his youth. "If you all gather -"

"I want that one searched." Karkaroff's iron but business-like voice cut across Bagman's announcement. All eyes turned to the Durmstrang headmaster, whose finger was pointed straight at Hermione.

"Now, Igor," Bagman started to bluster, "I'm sure that's not -"

Karkaroff was unaffected by the irritated glares. "I am afraid I must insist, Ludovic. For the sake of English fair play."

"What's all this?" The Scot McGonagall's ire flared as she turned to her senior. "Albus, what is all this about?"

Dumbledore studied Karkaroff with a calm air. "I must admit, Igor, that I am surprised at your unusual request. Would you care to share your thoughts on the matter with us?"

"I simply wish ensure that Hogwarts gains no more home advantage than you have already, Albus." If the words were polite, Hermione thought the delivery dripped with sarcasm. "We all saw that your second champion had more than a hint of help against the dragon."

"That objection was raised and dismissed by the judging panel," Dumbledore pointed out reasonably. "I see no need to -"

"Unless my request is met," Karkaroff carried on smugly, "I shall have no alternative but to withdrawn my champion from the Tournament."

Hermione heard gasps, and then Viktor muttering something strong under his breath. Everyone knew what Karkaroff's threat meant for Viktor Krum. But with the relationship between teacher and student having broken down irretrievably, Hermione could not be sure if this latest gambit was aimed at her or at Viktor.

"I vill compete, votever you say," Viktor stared resolutely at Karkaroff, who just turned his back on the Bulgar.

"I have that right, do I not, Mister Crouch?" he asked unctuously.

Crouch's face betrayed not a flicker of emotion. "You are fully aware of the implications if any school withdraws its champion?" he asked imperiously.

Karkaroff nodded.

For only the second time ever in her acquaintance, Viktor momentarily lost his legendary cool. "Smyrtnozhadni laina!" he growled. The tone was such that Hermione thought, for an instant, Viktor would throw himself bodily at his headmaster. She stepped forward.

"I have no objection to being searched," she declared, staring staunchly at her accuser, before shifting her gaze to Viktor. Given that he had already risked losing his magic for her sake, she could do no less in return.

"Ahem!" All eyes now switched to Dumbledore. "I think, in the interests of fairness…" His eyes were fixed on Karkaroff "… that if any of the competitors are to be searched, all should be. Nevertheless, given that all have been afforded the opportunity to prepare for the Task, I must admit I am at a loss as to what precisely we would be looking for."

Karkaroff grinned. What had begun as a battle of wills between Karkaroff and Krum was now shifting to a battle of wits between the heads. "Anything that is out of order," he replied, now seemingly unconcerned. "A broom, perhaps?" Hermione realised the search was pretextual, a very public reminder to Viktor as to whom still held the reins of power in the Durmstrang party.

For once, Hermione noted, Dumbledore appeared at a momentary loss. "I see," he said, his eyes flickering from Karkaroff to Krum.

"Vot about broom?" Viktor interjected. Hermione thought she detected a hint of anxiety in his normally imperturbable voice. "I haff not been told it is against rules."

"Then you should pay attention to the rules for the second task," Karkaroff snidely chastised his own champion.

"Vot rules?" Viktor asked, now showing genuine confusion. He turned to Karkaroff, who bore the smile of the proverbial Kneazle that had swallowed the canary. "Ti ne si mi kazal za nikakvi pravila."

It was Barty Crouch who responded to Viktor's first question in strained and scratchy tones. "The rules were recorded in your egg, of course, Mister Krum."

"Only after all that infernal caterwauling," Karkaroff added. He afforded a superior smile on his nominal student. "Skupi mi, Viktore," he added in Bulgarian and what Hermione took as oily, false concern. "Ti ne slushashe li kato ti kazvah, che Quiditcha ne e vsichko? Zatova magareshkia inat shte ti struva skupo edin den." Viktor paled. Hermione's own insides clenched; if Viktor was nervous about this, then they were in trouble!

She had also slammed the golden egg shut the moment the mermish song finished. She realised she, too, had no idea what special rules might be in force. She glanced furtively at the other contestants. Fleur also looked vaguely nauseated. Cedric seemed unperturbed, suggesting that he, alone, among the contestants was unsurprised by Crouch's statement.

"Very vell, then," Her wandering eyes snapped back to Viktor at the sound of his voice. Visibly disgusted, he unclasped a chain around his neck that, she saw, linked to a charm of a miniaturized broom. Viktor started to hand it to Karkaroff, then thought better of it, and instead offered it to Dumbledore, who accepted it. He did not take his eyes off his headmaster the whole time.

The Hogwarts' headmaster turned to his Durmstrang equal. "Are you satisfied, Igor?" Dumbledore's four word question spoke volumes.

"You did suggest that all the competitors should be searched, Albus." Karkaroff spread his arms wide. "I believe you said: 'In the interests of fairness,' did you not?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied slowly. "So I did." He looked to Madame Maxime. "Are you in agreement, Olympe?"

The huge Frenchwoman seared both men with a dismissive stare. "If zeese farce is what you men want, zen I reluctantly agree, Dumbly-Dorr."

Bagman looked anxiously at Crouch, who once again gave a curt nod. "Okay then," Bagman said uneasily, before gesturing between Percy and Hermione. "Search her, Weasley."

"What!"

Hermione's alarmed cry was cut off. "Under no circumstances will you do any such thing, Percival Weasley!" McGonagall barked as she stepped protectively in front of her charge. "It is not the custom here to have males search young ladies!" To back up her words, her wand was half-drawn.

"Well, I do not think she should be allowed to search one of her own," Karkaroff observed sourly. Hermione noted McGonagall's fingers whiten as she gripped her wand, and was sure that the Durmstrang head was only a sliver away from being Transfigured into some kind of rodent.

"Mon Dieu!" Madame Maxime threw her hands up in frustration. "I will search 'er, if zat is alright with you, Madame McGonagall?"

Dumbledore deferred to his deputy, who nodded her agreement, and then looked enquiringly at Karkaroff, who shrugged. Hermione was sure he had made his point. After all, there was nothing that she was carrying that could be regarded as incriminating. Even the Gilly -

Alarm bells rung inside Hermione's head. The Gillyweed! Was there some special rule against that? Even if not, Dobby had undoubtedly purloined it from the Potions master's stores. That would beg some awkward questions.

The dark shadow of the Beauxbatons' headmistress loomed over her. Madame Maxime at least had the good grace to look sheepish and apologetic as she started rummaging through Hermione's cloak pockets.

'Don't find the Gillyweed! Don't find the Gillyweed! Don't find -'

The sealed packet was withdrawn from an inside pocket. Madame Maxime looked at it askance, and then motioned Barty Crouch over from his observation of McGonagall returning the favour by patting down Fleur.

Hermione screwed her eyes closed. If this was shown to Dumbledore or McGonagall, that packet could be trouble.

Risking opening her eyes a fraction, she saw Barty Crouch turn it over in his hands, and then he returned it to Maxime without a word. She, in turn, laid the packet into Hermione's limp palm. "J'en suis dé solé ." the Frenchwoman said quietly. She then turned to glare at Karkaroff who, after instigating this whole sorry affair, was patently and deliberately paying no attention.

"Rien, Meester Karkaroff," she said with as much apparent disrespect as she could muster. "But be warned zat, because of zees inexcusable farce, I shall formally breeng a ... reclamation at zee next meeting." She waged her finger at her insouciant counterpart. "Maybe you... être mis à la porte!" Her piercing glare confirmed that this was no idle threat.

Karkaroff certainly reacted as though the threat were real. Hermione was sure she was not the only one to see his wand arm twitch.

"Whilst your idea has excellent merit, Olympe," Dumbledore intervened before things could get entirely out of hand, "it is not something to be discussed here, or now. We are, after all, meant to be working towards closer international cooperation."

Hermione tried not altogether successfully to suppress the satisfied look on her face. As the Confederation's Chief Mugwump, Dumbledore's implied agreement with the Beauxbatons headmistress's position could spell serious trouble for Karkaroff.

Dumbledore's glare at Karkaroff was one of supreme disappointment, an expression Hermione had never seen him adopt before.

Karkaroff drew together his dignity and reined in his impatience. "You can certainly try, Madame, but you would not find it easy. Enough of this foolishness. Move your motions if you dare."

When all four champions had undergone the indignities, an even more edgy Ludo Bagman prepared to take up where he had left off. Hermione glanced at Viktor, who continued glowering at Karkaroff with almost murderous intent. She could not recall Viktor betraying so much emotion; the loathing was practically palpable.

Bagman's voice drew her attention back to more immediate matters. "Right, now I assume that all of you have your eggs, and should by now have drawn your conclusions as to where you must end up." His eyes travelled over all four. "Because I'm not allowed to tell you. If you have no idea, then speak up now."

The only sound heard was the wind whistling in the ramparts above.

"Good, good, well then, I have here…" He picked a small satchel off of the ground. "… Four Portkeys that will deliver you to separate and randomly assigned points equidistant from your target. You will have until sunset tomorrow to deliver your… umm, prizes, to the finishing point. Anyone failing to achieve this by that time fails the Task and will be eliminated from the Tournament." Bagman looked up worriedly at the four young competitors, before glancing at Barty Crouch. "Have I forgotten anything, Barty?"

Crouch looked down his nose and cracked his fingers.

"Ah... oh yes," Bagman added shamefacedly. He held up four rusty Muggle tin cans. "Keep these with you at all times. If, for any reason, you are unable to continue, tap them with your wand, incant 'Portus' and you will be delivered back here."

"I would remind you all," Crouch added emotionlessly, "that such a course of action will immediately disqualify the competitor. That is all."

Again, silence reigned as Hermione and the three real champions considered the import in those announcements.

"Ahem, if I might say a word, Barty?" Dumbledore asked brightly, but carried on before Crouch would agree or object. "It was in the rules, but I must reiterate, for those of you who can Apparate, please do not think of doing so if you wish to return to the school grounds. The wards at Hogwarts actively discourage such activities. For the sake of your continued good health, do not consider doing so." With that he took a step back.

"Right, glad you said that," Bagman half-mumbled, mopping his brow even harder despite the chill air. "Wouldn't do to have… well, best left unsaid.

"Now, step up!"

As soon as Hermione's hands clasped the dirty metal, it briefly glowed blue and trembled under her fingers. For the third time in her life, she felt that sudden yank around her stomach, and her feet flew off the ground and inexorably forward…

* * * * *

Hermione's feet struck the ground with her momentum bowling her over. She slid over the bumpy, half-frozen ground until coming to rest up against a tree trunk, somewhat the worse for wear.

When her senses had returned, Hermione took in her surroundings.

She was in a forest clearing. At first glance, the trees appeared the same as those near Hogwarts, but considerably closer knit. That certainly made her surroundings appear darker and more sinister.

By her estimates, she had a little over twenty-four hours to complete the Task. Assuming that retrieving whatever bauble from the bottom of the lake would take some time, she reckoned she probably had less than a day to make her way back to Hogwarts.

If all the territory to be traversed was like this, she had to be… no less than ten miles away, and certainly no more than fifteen at the outside. That, she calculated grimly, probably meant she was in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. The thought made her check that she had not spilled her wand upon arrival. Professor Moody stressed that point incessantly: never let go of your wand.

Her first order of business was to calculate where she was, or, rather, where Hogwarts was and thus direction in which she had to travel.

The Four-Point Spell would only be useful once she had first fixed Hogwarts' bearings. Racking her brains, Hermione could not recall ever reading of such a locational spell. That seemed ridiculous, as it should be a simple matter, and a commonly used spell.

Stymied, Hermione tried thinking laterally. Perhaps there was some other spell, one that fixed upon an object rather than a place. She recalled spells to summon lost objects, but those worked in the reverse of the direction she needed. If it were only as simple as finding something she had lost…

"Crookshanks!" Hermione remembered the simple spell she had been shown by Mrs. Weasley the previous summer when her cat had disappeared in the Burrow's garden, hunting gnomes.

Crookshanks was at Hogwarts!

"Cuspis Directam Crookshanks!"

The spell was intended for tracking familiars, or, as Hermione believed of Crookshanks, a cat/Kneazle hybrid that had adopted her. The bond between familiar and wizard, or witch in this case, had to be strong for the spell to function over this distance.

A jerk on her right hand indicated success. Her wand dowsed away to the left as she stood, and wavered briefly before settling on a defined heading. With the toe of her boot, Hermione scratched a mark in the moss-covered earth, and then placed her wand flat in the palm of her hand.

"Point Me!"

Her wand quivered and then swung around further in an anti-clockwise direction, until it fixed at an angle of about forty-five degrees from her mark.

Hoping that Crookshanks had not suddenly found the urge to go travelling from Hogwarts, Hermione's dead-reckoning placed her some ten to fifteen miles south-west of the castle. Now, as long as she kept the same angle whenever she cast the Four-Point Spell, she should stumble across the lake sometime tomorrow, even if Crookshanks went out hunting.

With a renewed sense of determination, Hermione set off towards her goal.

The deep shadows beneath the coniferous canopy would have easily dimmed the brightest sunlight, so the currently overcast conditions made little difference. The atmosphere was eerie enough as it was: dark, dank, and devoid of any birdsong.

It was also a hard slog. The trees here grew to a tremendous height and girth, and their roots often resembled high hurdles. Hermione either found herself winding her way around them, or simply clambering over their damp, often slippery, bark. She kept her wand drawn, just in case one of the forest's denizens fancied a mobile snack. On a practical side she frequently used wand light to watch where she placed her step.

Fifteen miles? At this rate please let it be more like ten, she thought, as, despite the near freezing air, her exertions and warm clothes brought up a sweat. Finally she removed her cloak and Transfigured it into a small rucksack, into which she placed the by-now thoroughly tarnished golden egg and the invaluable Gillyweed, before slipping the straps over her shoulders and continuing on her slow way.

Hermione did not need her watch to tell her that time was passing, as what little she could see of the sky inexorably changed from a dull grey to a darker hue. Soon she did not bother cancelling her Lumos with Nox.

She was starting to regret missing lunch. One aspect of the Task she had overlooked was food. Water she could conjure, and even if she could not, there would be enough moisture around during the night.

Now that the adrenalin of the start had dissipated, that darned headache was impinging upon the fringes of her consciousness. Hermione tried to ignore the light throb centred behind her forehead. There were weightier matters to address.

So far she had not come across any sight or sound of the forest's inhabitants, which was just as well. Centaurs she could reason with; trolls and werewolves, arguably present, would not be so willing to negotiate. If it came to it, she made sure that rusty old aluminium drink container could be grabbed in an emergency. Being bashed to death or eaten would do neither her, nor, Harry much good.

Progress was painfully slow, and Hermione was glad that Harry had foreseen in his own way the need for her physical training. Not that she in any way disagreed, Hermione reminded herself; it was just that Harry had been insistent.

A twig snapped underfoot.

Hermione froze, wand at the ready. It had not snapped under her feet.

Somewhere, over her right shoulder, she was sure she heard a rustle in the meagre undergrowth.

Not wishing to tip off whatever might have stalked her that she had detected it, Hermione took two steps to her left, putting a thick tree trunk between her and the thing behind her.

Breathing hard, for a second the memory of being stalked by a transformed Professor Lupin flashed into Hermione's mind. This time no grateful hippogriff would be coming to the rescue.

She was on her own.

But not alone: Something was definitely moving out there, perhaps fifteen yards away, in or behind a small clump of fronds. In the dim light it was difficult to make anything out, but Hermione took a deep breath and prepared to face her hunter.

Jumping out to her right, Hermione briefly saw something large, black and bestial heading in her direction. It was nearly on top of her! "Incend-"

Just as she started to cast, something familiar about this particular animal struck her, and instead she screamed.

"Lumos!"

The light flared brightly and the huge black dog that bounded up to her only had good intentions.

"Sirius?"

Even as she asked the question, Hermione saw the dark outline shape-shifted, becoming slimmer but taller, until a welcome face revealed itself.

"Hermione Granger, I presume?" Sirius tried hard to keep a straight face, but his lips quivered with the effort. "Fancy meeting you here!"

In a flood of relief, Hermione lowered her wand. "I could have thrown… Merlin knows, I was ready to set you alight!"

Sirius shrugged. "Had to be sure it was you. Thought so from the scent." He sniffed through his nose. "Parchment, acidic tinge that could be… ink. Oh, and a hint of vanilla!"

'That would be my body wash,' Hermione thought. Sirius Black looked in far ruder health than at their last meeting. His then unkempt hair had been cut, and his face was relatively clean, while nothing could disguise those fathomless grey eyes.

"How long have you been tracking me?"

"Long enough," he said. "Found another scent about a mile to the north, but it turned out to be male. Also got a very faint scent off to the east." He licked a finger, held it in the air, then placed it back in his mouth; kidding Hermione he could literally taste the smell. "Nice perfume… could be Dior or Chanel… sugar and spice perhaps… Haven't tasted anything like that since my last trip to the bordellos of Paris!"

"I don't want to know," Hermione muttered. "That would have to be Fleur Delacour."

"French girl? Is she pretty?"

"Far too young for you, Sirius." Hermione leaned back against that thick trunk. "And Bill Weasley is in the queue ahead of you." Sirius raised an amused eyebrow. "The other was either Viktor Krum or Cedric Diggory. Anyway, what are you doing out here?"

A deadly serious mien dropped across Sirius's expression. "It's Harry."

The temporary relief Hermione experienced evaporated instantly. "What about him? Where is he?"

"That's the problem, Hermione," Sirius revealed. "He's at the bottom of the lake."

"What!" Hermione almost jumped out of her boots. "How could… I mean, they couldn't have… could they?"

"I came up here with Moony to see how you were getting on," Sirius replied, "and to see my Godson, of course. When we couldn't find him, Remus went to Minerva. She had no choice but to spill the beans," he added bitterly.

"They… they put Harry at the bottom of the lake?" Hermione still had problems coming to terms with the news. "But, I thought… a treasure whose loss would be painful…" she breathed.

"I have no idea who's down there for the others, but Remus was told that Dumbledore had been assured that the safety of the 'hostages,'" Sirius looked forebodingly at her with that word, "had been negotiated by the Ministry."

'The Ministry?' She did not trust that misbegotten bunch in the least.

Sirius seemed to read her mind. "And we all know how much trust to place in their pronouncements," Sirius observed darkly.

Hermione slumped to the ground. "Oh Merlin, what have I done," she whined. 'I wanted to protect Harry. Have I played into their hands?' she thought. Was this the culmination of whomever-they-were's foul plans?

Sirius knelt alongside her. "Hey, c'mon, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Hermione shook her head. "It's my fault," she moaned.

"How can it be? You didn't stick Harry underwater, did you?" He reached out a hand, took a grip on her arm and pulled her up as he rose.

'I as good as,' Hermione thought to herself. "Did they tell you what the Second Task's clue is?"

"Umm... no," Sirius shook his head. "Not exactly; some 'treasure' it sounds like."

She recited the pertinent parts of the merpeople's song.

"Well... that was... interesting. Look," Sirius said urgently. "That means one thing: you, and you only, have to get Harry out of this. And, if you keep your head, you can, you know." He gave her a slight shake. "Hermione, concentrate, please. Harry's well-being and your future fates depend on it."

Sirius's words started to penetrate the fugue of panic that had shrouded Hermione's thinking. She blinked and shook her head to clear it. Jutting out her chin, she declared: "It's okay, I'm alright."

"Good. Finish the Task and Harry is back, safe and sound… if a little water-logged," Sirius added with a small smile. "I know you can do it."

Hermione felt a new bout of confidence in her own abilities, refreshed by Sirius's faith in her. The Task of itself had not changed, only her knowing the 'treasure' raised the stakes. This had been her raison d'ê tre: to protect Harry.

"Yes, of course." Piecing herself together, Hermione brushed away the moss that had stuck to her jeans and stood up.

"And I'll be here to help. I'm your advanced guard."

Hermione looked sharply at Black. "That's against…" Her words trailed off as Sirius returned a meaningful look. What did rules matter when Harry's well-being was at risk? "Doesn't matter. You're right," she added. "Sod them!"

"That's the spirit." Sirius raised his nose in the air. "I'll scout out ahead, in case there's anything out there. What way are you heading?"

Hermione repeated her Point-Me Spell, made her well-rehearsed adjustment, and pointed in the appropriate direction.

With that, Sirius's body shivered and consolidated into the more solid form of Padfoot, who bounded off into the dark.

As he disappeared, Hermione once again felt very alone.

* * * * *

Night had well and truly fallen, and with darkness the temperature dipped below zero. Even her warmest clothes could not keep the cold out, so Hermione cast Warming Charms on herself so she could keep going.

The dew was beginning to freeze, and a thin mist now rose from the forest floor. She really was hungry now, but put aside forcefully any thoughts of a nice, hot dinner in the Great Hall. Her task was to rescue Harry.

The dull thud inside her head still managed to irritate her.

The illuminated dial of Hermione's watch kept her informed of the track of time. Progress was slower now; the slippery ground treacherous underfoot. Even with her bright wand tip, the shadows on the forest floor concealed plenty of holes and roots that could turn an ankle.

Every so often a dark shape would fly through the forest in her direction, before carefully transforming back into human form at a safe distance for both of them.

The last Animagus visitation was almost an hour ago. In her tired and hungry state, Hermione struggled to maintain a high level of concentration. She did not know any spell to enhance flagging mental acuity. If such a thing existed, it was probably sequestered in the Dark Arts' section of the library.

The tree canopy resolutely blocked all but the merest sliver of moonlight. The only sounds were frosted crunches underfoot and those in her sometimes too-vivid imagination. Low branches, brambles and fronds tore at her clothing and skin, only adding to her edginess.

"Lumos!"

Hermione froze. The unknown voice casting that spell sounded some hundred yards or so off to her right. Instead of finding herself bathed in artificial light, only a faint glow came from the same area. It illuminated and captured a black silhouette making slight movements.

"You?" There was no mistaking the sense of shock in that same voice. "But you're -"

No! Had Sirius's presence been discovered? Would he go..?

Before she could finish that horrible thought, it fled before something far worse.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The sickly pale green light extinguished the silver glow. It briefly enveloped the silhouette before it fell out of sight.

A voice in the distance: "No, you are."

Hermione felt suddenly sick. She could hardly stand.

A Killing Curse!

The second voice was also unknown. Had someone recognised Sirius and… Had he just died on her behalf?

Was she next?

These thoughts were too terrible to consider rationally. They impelled her forward as the light died and plunged the forest back into darkness. Her need for urgency clashed with the natural defence of caution: Fight or flight? Bent low, Hermione circled, trying hard to move to the scene by an indirect route.

Throughout, the same thoughts repeated themselves. 'Someone had just died. Struck dead! Was it Sirius? Merlin, Harry would be devastated!'

Hermione found it extremely difficult to concentrate and keep track of her new quarry, while trying to suppress the rising sense of dread inside her.

Her foot caught on something... too large to be a tree root; not solid enough to be a log. Hermione could not avoid sprawling onto the hard earth, but made sure she kept a firm grip on her wand. Somewhere, Professor Moody would have been grimly pleased.

"Lumos Minimus!" Her voice was a whisper, her throat too tight for anything more. She thought she knew what had tripped her up, and feared learning what the identity the tiny pinprick of light would reveal.

It was everything she feared.

The corpse lay on its back, dulled eyes wide-open to eternity with a look of fear forever frozen on its face.

It was not what she feared.

The lifeless body was not Sirius Black's.

A dark moustache sat above cruel lips, drawn back from teeth in the rictus of death. Whoever the victim was, he was clothed entirely in black. While his wand remained in a death grip, he had other weapons. Various knives and other vicious blades nestled in belts that criss-crossed the torso.

Hermione had no idea who the victim was.

"Expelliarmus!"

Déjà Vu! The strong spell hit Hermione and sent her flying, crashing into a tree. Ripped from her grip, Hermione's wand spun off into the darkness.

Somewhere, Professor Moody would have cursed her failure to learn anything. The murderer had not left the scene of his crime.

'Am I next? What will that do to Harry?'

In the heat of the moment, Hermione never even wondered why Harry's reactions and fate preceded fear for her own life, or masked thoughts of her parents.

"Lumos!"

Suddenly bathed in light, Hermione felt the chill dread of impending death. Very slowly, aware that her next breath could be her last, she turned to face her probable executioner. At first she could see nothing save a burning wand tip pointed mercilessly straight between her eyes. As her sight became accustomed to the luminescence, they focussed onto the tall but slim shadow behind, featureless in the profound shade.

Hardly daring to breathe, Hermione desperately wanted to say something... to delay the green flash, to plead for her life. Nothing emerged: her throat was as dry as a sandpit. Could she risk a move for the emergency Portkey? The old tin can was in her backpack.

"You really don't know how lucky you are, do you, Mudblood?" The voice was controlled but cruel; there was no mistaking the loathing directed towards the doomed student. "Still, it won't matter…"

Hermione closed her eyes, not wanting to see the curse that would cut her life short. Perhaps her luck only extended to a merciful means to an end?

'Harry, please forgive me: I tried. I-'

Crashing through the undergrowth, something large and powerful hurtled directly towards them. The dreaded spell never came, only an unearthly howl. Hermione's eyes snapped open just in time to see the glare vanish, followed instantly by the shadow itself popping out of existence. A dark shape hurled itself into the space just vacated by Apparition.

"Lumos!" The voice, behind her now, shaky and out-of-breath, was undeniably Sirius's, transformed back into human form. His eyes switched from Hermione to the body, then back again. "What the -"

Hermione threw herself up at him, crushing her face into his chest, desperate for the consoling touch of another human being. Her breaths came in great shuddering draughts and her body trembled with shock at her narrow escape.

No Tournament was worth this. Was her continued existence in the magical world worth the lives of others?

"Hey, hey, easy now." Sirius paced a calming hand on her scalp. She could not look up at him. She could not do anything but sob. She had been a moment from death. It was too much.

Sirius's other arm wrapped itself around her.

Long minutes passed before Hermione recovered enough even to risk removing her face from the sanctuary of a friendly cloak. Still utterly drained from her close encounter with the hereafter, she looked up at Sirius's worried expression.

"What's…? What's going on..? She mumbled in terror. "Killing Curses… This… this… isn't sport… This isn't…"

"No, it isn't," Sirius agreed grimly. "I think somebody very badly didn't want you carrying on..." Sirius lapsed into thoughtful silence.

Hermione shivered, and not from the cold, as the harsh reality of the situation began to override her unreasoning dread. "He was going to kill me!" she declaimed.

A dark shadow passed behind Sirius's eyes. "Yes, I thought that's what it looked like." He released his hold on Hermione, and bent down over the corpse. "I got here just in time… but too late for this poor chap."

With Hermione still clinging to him, Sirius bent over and stared at the dead wizard's face. "Recognise him?" he asked.

"No… at least, I don't think so."

Still somewhat lost in thought, Sirius absent-mindedly rubbed his chin with his free hand. "Right... He's somehow familiar," he offered. "I feel I should know him, from way back." He reached out and his fingers brushed the edge of one of the dead man's polished blades. "Not one to be trifled with, whoever he was." Reaching for the corpse's arm, Sirius turned back the dead man's sleeve.

Whatever Sirius was looking for, he found. "Now that is interesting!" he muttered, before lapsing into silence, thinking again. Hermione saw her own emotion mirrored in his worried expression.

Glancing down to see what piqued Sirius's interest, Hermione saw a faint mark, something like a tattoo that had faded over time, several inches long. She twisted her neck to gain a better perspective.

"Seen that before?" Sirius asked, his voice on edge.

Hermione shook her head. If she looked at it carefully, from certain angles it was skull-like, but not exactly. If it were a skull, then what stuck out of the gaping jaws? Not a tongue, surely? Too long for that…

"That, Hermione, is what's left of a Dark Mark."

"A what?"

Sirius recoiled from the corpse's arm, as if disgusted by the company he was keeping. "Death Eater... That's what Voldemort bestowed on his closest followers, that mark - his brand, if you like." Now he prodded the body with his boot. "Whatever he was now, he used to be a Death Eater, so he was up to no good. I can't say I'm sorry."

Then Sirius turned and fixed Hermione with a hard glare. "I take it, it wasn't you who finished him off?"

"No!" Hermione denied heatedly. "I couldn't... I don't know..." How could he even think she was capable of such a despicable act?

"Just checking: I'd have offed him myself if I'd known." He stood up. "Tell me what happened."

Hermione explained what she had seen and heard. Telling her tale helped, as her nerves gradually reduced to mere high anxiety. When she finished, Sirius's expression had turned even grimmer.

"So, wizard one, Mister Death Eater, was killed by wizard two, or, at least, we have to surmise," he ventured. "And then number two was ready to kill you."

Hermione thought back over the events. "He... The one who got away, he knew me, or who I was. He called me 'Mudblood'."

"Sent here to kill you… perhaps ensure you couldn't complete the Task?" Sirius appeared deeply concerned. "Death is a pretty permanent way to stop you."

Hermione found some coherence returning to her thoughts as she nodded in agreement and focussed on a new puzzle to solve. "Perhaps that was their plan. Remove me from the field, then with Harry being stranded at the bottom of the lake… Could they have Polyjuiced into me..?" Her voice trailed off as she considered what might have been. But something jarring nagged away from the recesses of her mind. "But it doesn't make sense... So… what were two wizards doing out here? And why did that one kill this one?"

Sirius shrugged. "Beats me," he admitted. "You think he might have wanted to Polyjuice himself into you? I'll look." He started methodically rifling the corpse's robes, but found nothing to explain the situation.

Hermione shook her head at the futile search. "There's too much here that doesn't make sense. He - the other one - called me a 'Mudblood;' said I was 'lucky'; what did he mean by that? And why would two wizards with the same bigoted views fall out so badly over killing me?"

Some pieces of the puzzle seemed to fall into place, but others just did not fit the picture at all. At least now she knew that Professor Moody had been right; Death Eaters were involved. But was she the ultimate target, or merely a tool to strike at Harry Potter? And even that did not resolve the new enigma; why were two factions involved?

Sirius did not have the answers. "Dunno," he straightened, having made up his mind about something. "Whatever, it's useless to speculate. No matter what, I'd better get back to Dumbledore. This changes everything. It's too big and involved for just the two of us."

"You're right," Hermione declared quickly, making up her mind as well. "To Hell with this Tournament. With Death Eaters involved, you're right: this is just too big. Can you take me back with you..?"

"Hermione, think about what you're asking," Sirius cut her off, the same dark shadow behind his eyes as before. "If you withdraw, you… lose everything… I know what that's like."

"No, just magic," she retorted. "And after what I just saw… And forget me; think of Harry, he's…"

"…At the bottom of the lake waiting for you to rescue him." Sirius cut her short again. "Believe me, I am thinking of Harry. Hermione, I'm begging you, you have to continue. If not for your sake, for his…"

Hermione was stunned. Sirius had saved her from certain death. After that, why would he want her to continue? Death Eater involvement changed everything, or no..?

Harry; Harry changed everything.

"…Harry needs you, Hermione," Sirius continued pleading. "He's at the bottom of a lake, held hostage by merpeople. They're not to be trifled with, and I can't reach him. Only you can, unless the Death Eaters..."

That clinched it. Her entire rationale for staying in competition had been to protect Harry from this plot. She had gone over and over this with Professor Moody. Now that the plotters had shown themselves Sirius was right: she could not quit now, no matter what dangers may lay ahead.

Once again Sirius fixed Hermione with that serious look. "I'd feel a Hell of a lot better if you Apparated back with me to Hogsmeade, Hermione, but…" He shrugged helplessly.

Hermione gulped. "No, I'll continue." She too would rather be back safe and sound in Hogwarts. But Harry was at the bottom of a lake. "You're right. I don't have a choice, do I Sirius? I have to carry on."

A relieved expression crossed Sirius's ravaged face. Still, he was concerned. "Do you want me to stay? You know… help you through, protect you as best I can. Harry would never -"

"No." Hermione was burdened with her own guilt; she did not want his. To stick this out, she had to do it her own way. And Harry's safety was paramount. "As you said, the sooner Dumbledore knows what's happened, the better." She added wryly. "Perhaps he now has grounds to cancel the Tournament." Then she shook her head. "Although I doubt it."

"I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone."

"I'm not madly keen on it either." Hermione gave the corpse a sidelong glance, shuddered once again and wished she had not. It was the first dead person she had ever seen, and she had no wild desire to see another.

At least she had an idea forming. "Make sure you ask Dumbledore to inform Professor Moody. He's been... mentoring me. Maybe he'll come."

"You're sure? There might be more Death Eaters out here," Sirius reminded her.

"All the more reason for Professor Moody to turn up. Look, quite frankly, I'm out of my depth…" For a second she pondered the eerie echo of her father's words, and then stoutly put the thought aside. "But this goes beyond the Triwizard. It seems obvious proof that someone, possibly Death Eaters, interfered with the Goblet of Fire with evil intent." With a resolution she did not truly feel, Hermione straightened up. "You go… tell Dumbledore... I'll be fine… at least, I hope I will."

"I'll return straight away," Sirius promised.

"No," Hermione said, her resolution wavering for a second. "Just be sure you ask Dumbledore to speak with Professor Moody. The headmaster will be duty-bound to report any infractions of the Tournament rules. We might get away with your intervention here as being unrelated to the competition, but I wouldn't want to risk pushing our luck."

She saw Sirius ready to argue the point, so pushed on. "And if I'm disqualified, do you trust Barty Crouch to retrieve Harry from the merpeople?"

Sirius shook his head sadly. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Hermione responded with feeling. "Believe me." For a second she wondered if Sirius could approach Professor Moody directly, then ruled it out. Everyone bar Harry, Dumbledore and Remus Lupin thought Sirius Black was an escaped mass-murderer. She could not trust his continued freedom on an assumption that the former Head Auror was also in on the secret of Sirius's innocence. This year had starkly proven to her Dumbledore's abilities to compartmentalise.

"Okay," Sirius replied, his hesitance evident at leaving her by herself after convincing her to continue on his godson's behalf. He pointed his wand at the dead body and, to Hermione's disgust, transfigured it into a small bone, leaving it lying in the mud. Seeing Hermione's expression, he shrugged. "Sorry. No time or inclination for a decent burial. And I'm not risking being caught with a dead body on me. That'd make my guilt cast-iron."

"Then you could have left it behind."

Sirius shook his head. "You going to bury him?" he asked sarcastically.

"No..." Hermione responded slowly. "Someone, Professor Moody perhaps, could retrieve it later."

"By which time something's had a pretty good meal," Sirius pointed out. "There are creatures in here that smell death. By now their caution over the strange lights will be lost in hunger. Believe me, this is far kinder. Kinder than his sort deserve."

Sighing, Hermione hoped she could never be this bitter, but now was not the time for this argument.

"Just don't try to Apparate into Hogwarts. The wards -"

"I know." Sirius gave her a shadow of a smile. "Used to be a Marauder, remember - learned no end of interesting facts about the old place. I'll Apparate to a safe spot I know outside Hogsmeade and then Padfoot will find his way from there."

Hermione stood there, dreading his departure and even more dreading being awfully and truly alone in the dark forest. At least, she hoped she would be alone. There were far worse things to be than alone. "Before you go… could you retrieve my wand?" She gestured to the cluttered undergrowth and leaf-covered ground. "It went flying off when I was disarmed."

"Okay. Accio Hermione Granger's wand!" The object whistled through the cold night air and Sirius caught it nonchalantly, before offering it to its owner, who took it and stared worriedly at the instrument. "Hang onto it," he added unnecessarily.

Hermione took an audibly deep breath and started to turn away in the direction of Hogwarts. Obviously sensing her unease, Sirius reached out and patted her arm tentatively. "Good luck, kid," he said, smiling at her pout at the term of endearment. Then with a 'pop' he vanished before her eyes.

Suddenly, to Hermione, everything seemed much colder and darker.

* * * * *

By Hermione's estimations, it had been five hours since Sirius had Apparated back to Hogwarts' environs. As far as she knew, the Tournament continued on its not so merry way.

On the plus side, she had not met anybody, or anything, else.

The first purplish streaks of dawn were just visible through the trees to the east. That, at least, would make her way through the forest a bit easier. Gradually, the sky overhead turned from deep indigo to a dirty grey as cloud cover rolled in. At least it raised the temperature a little, but the ground mist stuck stubbornly to the forest floor.

"Aaaaieee!"

Instantly, Hermione gripped her drawn wand tightly. That scream was distinctly feminine, sounding from some distance off to Hermione's right. There was also no disguising the alarm. Her urgency again overriding caution, Hermione pelted off running through the wintry undergrowth.

Closing in, she heard distinct bangs and saw brief flashes of light. Someone was using magic, just over a small ridge that ran across her avenue of advance.

Hermione, more cautious now, slowed as she reached the crest. Uncertain, she halted, peeked over the ridge and took in the scene below.

The setting was a natural bowl in the ground, where the mist lay heavier. The trees were less thickly set and deciduous. Little undergrowth save a carpet of brown, rotting leaves, obstructed either view or entrance.

"Merde!"

The oath, like the scream, came from a quite dishevelled Fleur Delacour. The Beauxbatons' champion had a strange, unnatural stance, almost like a marionette whose owner had abandoned the strings, all unnatural angles. How she still stood seemed impossible, given the juxtaposition of feet, legs and torso. Her wand moved, but not her right arm. Instead, Fleur's wrist swivelled, desperately trying to train on something.

Hermione's eyes travelled to the French girl's proposed target, and took in a deep breath. An Acromantula, about the size of a Mini Cooper roamed the slope, dodging behind tree trunks to avoid Fleur's hexes.

The husk of an even larger spider lay only a few yards from Fleur, seemingly lifeless. Then Hermione spotted movement behind Fleur. Another Acromantula scuttled up behind the Beauxbatons' girl. Fleur was either unaware or unable to do anything about it.

"Inflammare!" A jet of flame shot from Fleur's wand, narrowly missing the attacker to her front, forcing it back. Desperately, she tried tracking its progress between tree trunks. It seemed she could not twist enough to get another decent shot at it.

The spiders chattered loudly, undoubtedly calling for reinforcements. If these two did not finish off Fleur, which seemed increasingly likely, then a horde would overwhelm her. Fleur's expression turned to one of pure horror as she sensed the other advancing from the rear, but she could barely move her head.

Hermione, undetected by any of the combatants, aimed her wand at the more dangerous threat, the spider trying to take Fleur from the rear.

"Bombarda!"

A thick tree shattered under Hermione's spell. Its trunk rose straight up before falling back, almost bouncing on the jagged stump, before crashing onto the Acromantula. The spider's abdomen cracked like a coconut under a hammer blow, its innards oozing onto the clod ground. Eight legs flailed in one final spasm.

Running along the ridge towards the remaining arachnid, Hermione aimed at the ground. "Incendio!" The rotting leaf mulch and innumerable twigs burst into flame around her target. Spooked, the Acromantula reared up and charged. Unfortunately for it, that moved it from fire into frying pan, straight into the sights of a most peeved and fired-up Frenchwoman.

Her first shot blew one of its legs clean off at the joint. A second blast exploded its thorax in a shower of meat, fur and exoskeleton.

"Mon Dieu! Zat was too close," Fleur said loudly. "Zose zings, zey 'ad me cornered!" Her accent was definitely heavier than Hermione had heard before.

Racing down the sharp but short slope, Hermione saw a Fleur who was anything but her usual composed self. The source of her strange immobility became clear. Fleur was caught in a giant spider's web; its sticky filaments almost completely restrained her movements.

"I deed not see zees dans la brume," an affronted Fleur gestured at the imprisoning mesh of silky threads, while still sweating profusely. As Hermione began cutting away at the natural net, Fleur gradually regained her Gallic cool. "Je suis une idiote!"

The Acromantulas must have set upon Fleur almost as soon as she encountered the web; otherwise freeing herself should have been only a matter of a moment's spell work. She must also have been unable to activate her last-resort Portkey. As it was, as soon as Hermione completed her task and restored Fleur's freedom of movement, the French girl was examining her ankle closely. It was angry and swollen. She must have twisted it when first caught, or in trying unavailingly to free herself.

"Zank you, 'Ermione. I don't zink zat I could 'andled zee two of zem."

'Two' was an understatement. Even now, Hermione could make out sounds in the distance, of trees and undergrowth being thrust aside. It did not take much imagination to figure out that the rest of the arachnid horde was on its way to join in the meal.

"We have to leave," she stated clearly. "There's more coming!"

Fleur looked up, shocked, but caught the same sounds. "Oui, c'est vrai," she agreed. Trying to stand, she winced when she tried placing some weight on her ankle. "Zut alors!"

"Here, let me." Hermione bent down and examined Fleur's purple bruised ankle. It did not appear to be broken, although Hermione was no expert. Given the situation, they would have to find out the hard way. She cast quick Freezing and Pain-killing charms. "Now try again."

Gingerly Fleur shifted her weight. Her stance was awkward, but at least the joint took its share of the strain. "Eez good," she said with a nod, and then glanced in the direction of the rapidly approaching sounds. "'Adn't we bettair..?"

Hermione returned the nod. She aimed her wand towards a line of seemingly dark bushes that, in an optical illusion, were advancing on the two young women. "Incendio!"

"Inflammare!"

Two jets of fire dripped over the tree line and barren vegetation burst into flame. Both witches played the fire across the forest, setting up a burning barrier between the uninvited brunch guests and their feast.

"Now, let's get out of here," Hermione urged, turning to leave.

Fleur, still wincing, but able to walk briskly, if not run, followed, limping only slightly. Perhaps, intimidated by the fires still visible through the trees, the Acromantulas would be discouraged.

No such luck.

Hearing a loud crash not far behind them, they turned and saw a great grey wave of Acromantulas rearing over the sea of flame, crushing that forlorn hope. The sight spurred them on faster.

Spiders poured through, although several were still burning and did not make it far beyond the depression. Others skirted around the side and came on from a tangent.

"Come on! Run!" Hermione yelled at an equally terrified Fleur. Both left Parthian shots of liquid flame as fiery rearguards. As they ran they blasted the trees as they passed, speeding under the great trunks as they fell, providing more obstacles to impede their pursuers.

Brambles ripped at their legs as they sped through increasingly dense undergrowth. Low, thin branches whipped their faces. Heedless of further injury, they bounded over uneven ground, logs, bushes and animal runs that crisscrossed their paths. Hermione felt her lungs protest with the effort, and her heart pounded against her ribs, but she dare not rest for even a second.

Thank Merlin - and Harry - for conditioning!

They were running up a gradient now, but every time Hermione glanced over her shoulder, her terror-stricken gaze registered that the gap between hunted and hunters was narrowing. They were running out of time. Hermione had run out of ideas.

"Merde!" Hermione turned her head forwards again, but not quickly enough to avoid running headlong into the back of a rapidly braking Fleur, nearly sending them both over the edge of a bluff. Teetering on the precipice, they somehow reclaimed their balance, and stared at what must be a good hundred-foot drop into a river.

Vertiginous, Hermione experienced the first signs of light-headedness, and took a precautionary step back before she toppled over the edge.

They looked at each other, then, as the chittering and scurrying behind them escalated, both glanced backwards.

The Acromantulas were not innumerable, but might have well as been. There were plenty enough to strip their bodies of flesh and still leave some hungry. And they were seemingly intent on completing their feast.

Hermione made up her mind. Retreat was impossible, and as much as she hated heights…

She grabbed Fleur's hand, and the two swapped a look that spoke volumes, before, in near perfect unison, they ran the few yards to the edge.

'I hope that the water is deep eno-'

The ground disappeared beneath Hermione's feet as they leaped.

"Ooooooooooohhhhh sugaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-"

Impact was bone-jarring. Before she knew it Hermione plunged into ice-cold water that rushed into her open mouth and forced its way up her nostrils. It did slow her descent just enough that when she hit the rocky riverbed it did not break her back. Striking bottom did, however, cause her to cough and expel some life-preserving oxygen that dribbled out in a trail of bubbles.

Self-preservation overrode the initial shock, and made Hermione kick out, towards the surface, ignoring her latest set of new bruises.

Once Hermione's head broke the surface she coughed and spluttered to force out the cold water and gulp the moist cold air.

Fleur's equally drenched blonde head popped up some ten yards away. Both surveyed the top of the bluff.

An unruly mob of exasperated and frustrated Acromantulas lined the cliff edge, jostling one another. As the two witches watched, one was pushed just enough to start tipping over the edge, its legs scrabbling to gain purchase, before it plummeted down towards two floating heads.

"Look out!"

Scrambling, Hermione struck out for the opposite riverbank. Moments later the oversized spider, flailing its numerically superior jumble of legs, struck the water with an unearthly screech and a monstrous splat.

Hermione's panic-driven strokes were nothing like her attempts on the Black Lake. Instead uncoordinated and desperate flails propelled Hermione away from the bubbling mass of white water that marked the Acromantula's fight for survival. She dared not look back lest a hairy black limb drag her to either a watery grave or a grisly end at its owner's mandibles.

"Eez okay," Fleur urged her. "You can stand up here."

Through her sodden hair, Hermione looked over to find Fleur standing waist deep, her eyes and wand trained on the arachnid's final moments. Hermione found the will to trust her legs and located the riverbed's irregular bottom beneath her feet. She stumbled as the smooth and slippery rounded rocks rolled and the frigid water poured off her. Standing shakily, Hermione turned to watch one final unavailing effort from the spider die away as it sank finally beneath the surface, which in a few seconds was unsettlingly still.

Suddenly Hermione had no great desire to stand in the river, perhaps from fear the submerged spider somehow still stalked them, or that one of its still visible cohorts atop the cliff opposite might muster a better effort. With frantic steps she floundered through the shallows and dropped gratefully to her hands and knees on comparatively dry land. Exhausted, she rolled over and lay on her back, a light drizzle hardly worrying her soaked face now.

"Alors." Fleur looked back at their thwarted pursuers. "I do not zink zey can cross water, but do not wish to find me wrong." She hesitated, and then carried on with a little vehemence. "Mon Dieu! Quelle creatures do you 'ave at 'Ogwarts?"

Hermione deemed Fleur's question rhetorical, but she had made a good point. A couple of years ago these overgrown arachnids had nearly killed Harry and Ron for food. The Department for Control of Magical Creatures, the Headmaster, and unfortunately her friend Hagrid, had all entertained their inhabitation near to Britain's primary magical school. She shook her head at another example of wizarding idiocy.

Some Drying, Warming and minor Healing Charms later, the two witches started on their way along the bank, following the river in the general direct of Hogwarts. The Acromantulas trailed them for a while on the opposite bank, eventually gave up and disappeared back into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

By unspoken agreement, the two competitors felt no need to separate. Both had suffered near-death experiences, and this unlikely alliance brought some comfort, even if only for the duration.

After about an hour's travel, Fleur indicated that she needed to rest. Her ankle may have been numbed, but the damage was not healed, and she told Hermione she wanted to take a closer look, now that nothing seemed to be pursuing them.

After some prodding and poking with her wand, Fleur appeared satisfied. She delved into her own robes and drew out a freshly-baked croissant. Hermione's stomach rumbled rebelliously, reminding her of her own hunger, and, in a reflex motion that did not escape Fleur's attention, she licked her lips. The French witch held out her hand in the universal gesture of offering. Hermione, not wishing to take the food from Fleur's mouth, shook her head.

"Eez okay, I 'ave anuzzer." Fleur produced a second croissant, and held it out. The delicious smell wafted under Hermione's nose, breaking her resolve. Before she knew it, Hermione had taken the pastry, almost forgetting to thank her newfound companion. Whatever spell had kept the bounty fresh and dry, even underwater, had worked a treat, as the delicacy almost melted in Hermione's mouth.

When she had finished, licking her lips this time in fulfilment, Hermione noted Fleur observing her with an amused smile.

"Vous oublié z… Pardon … forget zee food?"

Embarrassed, Hermione nodded.

Fleur gave a Gallic shrug. "C'est rien de particular. Une petite dette… rembourserai… 'ow you say, a small beet?"

Hermione thought she understood what Fleur meant. "Thanks."

Fleur nodded an acknowledgement, and then stretched. Somehow this act appeared to restore the impression of French Chiq, even sweat-stained and covered in forest detritus. Hermione felt just a pang of envy at how assured Fleur could appear.

"So, 'ow about a small… Entente Cordiale, mon amie?"

"What do you mean?"

Another Gallic shrug. "We work togezzer to reach zee prize. Do you agree?"

Hermione pondered on the proposal. She was not in opposition to Fleur; her only concern was to finish this Task and ensure that Harry came through safe and sound. She had to consider the possibility that the forces seeking to harm Harry or her might have a second bite. Fleur seemed a capable witch. There was only one decision to make.

"Okay, I agree." She held out her hand and the Beauxbatons' girl grasped and shook it to seal their deal. A thought then struck Hermione. "Do you know what your prize is?"

"Non. Anuzzer trinket, peut-ê tre? Does it mattair?"

Hermione shook her head. "I know my 'prize' is Harry." Fleur gave her a doubting look. "It doesn't matter how I know, but if Harry is my prize, then -"

"Merde!" Fleur jumped to her feet and inelegantly kicked at the ground. Losing her cool, she balled her fists and stared at the sky. "Les ordures! Les fils de pute!"

Hermione's knowledge of the French language was not vast, limited to her holidays abroad, but she had no problem in interpreting Fleur's imprecations.

"C'est rien que de la merde! Vous me fais chier!" Fleur's rage was impressive to behold and Hermione was suddenly relieved to have but a rudimentary French vocabulary.

Fleur suddenly spun on her heel and glared at Hermione. "Eez eet Gabrielle?"

The unspoken part of the question was clear enough. "I… don't know," she admitted weakly. "Who is Gabrielle?"

Fleur answered in her own way. "If zey 'ave taken ma petite soeur, alors ils vont enfer!" She aimed a vicious kick at a clod of earth, and then glanced once more at Hermione. "Parlez-vous franç ais?"

"Un peu," Hermione admitted.

"Een Eenglish zen," Fleur said, her face darkened in an impressive demonstration of how Veela beauty could be overwhelmed by fury. "If zey 'ave taken my little sistair, Gabrielle, zen I will…." She broke off and threw her hands up in the air. Then she sat down on a nearby fallen tree and put her head in her hands, before looking up. Hermione was surprised to find how tired Fleur suddenly appeared. "I don't know what I would do," she admitted.

That feeling was all too familiar to Hermione. She moved to comfort the older girl. "It might not be…" She tried to remember the name… "Gabrielle."

Fleur laughed, a short, bitter and unlovely sound. "Eef eet eez your 'Arry Pottair at zee bottom of zee lake, zen it weell be Gabrielle." She shook her head again. "Les salauds! If Madame Maxime 'eard of zees…" She looked searchingly at Hermione. "Does she know?"

"I… I don't know - for sure," Hermione offered falteringly.

Fleur jumped back to her feet, her injured ankle now either no longer bothering her or simply ignored. "Zen we 'ave no time to lose. Allons-y!"

Hermione had to scurry after the long-striding Frenchwoman.

Fleur's face bore a look of fortitude. She was heading in the right direction, Hermione thought, ignoring the light drizzle that was starting to fall from the leaden skies.

As they trekked through the gloomy and dripping forest, Hermione tried to converse in French with Fleur. Despite her determination, Fleur was willing to exchange pleasantries, and in return tried to sharpen up her own language skills.

There was one question though that had nagged away at Hermione, ever since Fleur's conclusion that Gabrielle was her 'hostage'.

It seemed easier to ask in French. "Fleur, pourquoi avez-vous dites Harry est le mien?"

Fleur pulled up short. She shot a sceptical look at her temporary ally. "Eez 'e not zen?"

Hermione felt her face start to burn, despite the damp and cold surroundings. "Not like that," she replied a little hotly. "He's… Harry's my friend."

Fleur just stared at her, disbelief exuding from every pore.

"My best friend," Hermione added.

Fleur just stood there, then shrugged. "Eef you say so, 'Ermione." Her body language declared exactly the opposite.

Irked, Hermione shot back: "Is that Veela intuition?" She felt small as soon as the words left her mouth.

To her surprise, Fleur did not appear to be offended. Instead, she laughed. "Eez eet because je suis franç aise, and carry Veela blood, zat everyone zinks I am an expert on love?"

Hermione started: Who had mentioned love?

Fleur should give herself more credit.

"J'ai dix-sept ans. Why should I be une spé cialiste?" Fleur continued self-disparagingly. "Non. I just keep my eyes open. You 'ave feelings for 'Arry, n'est-ce pas?"

Hermione did not reply.

That Gallic shrug again. "I am mistaken, peut-ê tre? Well, why is 'Arry your prize, huh? Come, allons-y."

With that, Fleur turned and marched off once again, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts, or at least until she realised she was being left behind all alone.

Running quickly to catch up, Hermione noticed for the first time one of the distinctive mountains that ringed the Black Lake poking above the tree tops. They were closer to their goal.

"What about Bill?"

Fleur shook her head. "Non! It weell be Gabrielle zey 'ave taken."

"No, that's not what I meant," Hermione said. "Do you love Bill?"

"Guillaume?" Fleur stopped for a moment, and then frowned. "Zees I do not know… yet. Il est un homme séduisant, pays zee propair attention to me, but as to love… later, peut-ê tre. Why do you ask?"

Hermione shrugged. "I thought… if you were, then you might be able to tell me… what it - you know - feels like."

Favouring her with an appraising look, Fleur's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You want to know eef you are een love with 'Arry?" she said perceptively.

Fleur should give herself a lot more credit. Hermione could feel her cheeks redden even in the chilled conditions; she had not realised she was that transparent. She nodded.

Fleur exhaled audibly and favoured Hermione with a woman-to-woman look. "Je ne sais pas," she added sagely. "Zey tell me, ma mè re - apologies, my muzzer - she says that when love 'appens, I weell know. With Beel, who can tell? Pour vous, only you can say. But zat you ask, eet suggests an answer."

After a few moments of unbroken silence, before Fleur looked at the mountains, closer now, greyish-purple topped with white in the dull light. "Are zose what I zink zey are?"

Hermione nodded again.

"Alors. We are wasting time."

* * * * *

Hermione's watch, a redoubtable old clockwork timepiece her father gave her when her own digital one succumbed to Hogwarts' magic, showed it was nearly eleven in the morning. She had shaken it a few times to make sure her charm making it impervious had not failed in her death-defying leap, but it appeared to keep good time. With no visible sun, she had no other way to estimate the time.

Fleur now set the pace, her assumption that her kid sister was anchored somewhere at the bottom of a foreign lake drove her forward, Hermione assumed, and overrode any pain from her ankle.

Only Harry's persistence over her need for endurance training permitted her to do the same for him.

The river curved off in the direction Hermione estimated was east, and they had another tree-lined ridge to surmount. Both kept casting Warming and Water-repelling Charms on each other, to keep out the insidious Highlands' bone-chilling drizzle. They also kept their wands drawn, just in case they met anything else, magical or natural, that might presume to prey upon them.

Hermione had decided not to tell Fleur about the chance there might be another type of predator out there, bearing a Dark Mark. She had no idea what would happen if the situation became truly public knowledge. Professor Moody had warned her to keep it close to her chest. Now at least another two wizards would know. If Beauxbatons decided this altered their perception of the Tournament, who knew what decisions could be made?

As the two witches scrambled up the final few rocky stretches of the crest, Hermione estimated they now had about three hours to reach their destination and complete the Task. Time was becoming a critical factor.

The ground fell away gently before them, in a long, rolling slope. The trees gradually thinned out. Hermione just knew that at the base lay the Black Lake. She peered ahead, expecting to spy the grey reflective water at any moment. Instead her eyes landed on a thick black line obscuring the foot of the slope.

Fleur saw it too. "What eez zat?" she complained.

"No idea," Hermione responded breathlessly. Endurance training had brought her so far, but her muscles were beginning to ache from the accumulated exertion.

As they closed, the barrier's nature made itself known. Hermione's thoughts drifted off to the classic fairytales her parents once read to her at bedtimes, well before she could devour the books herself. 'Snow White? Sleeping Beauty?'

Fleur literally stopped dead in her tracks, staggered by the obstacle's nature. She stood arms akimbo. Hermione could see her lips moving, but no sound escaped them.

At least twenty feet high, a barrier of stout branches bristling with wicked-looking thorns barred their way. Hermione was not sure whether it was composed of magical versions of Hawthorn or Blackthorn, or some other foreign plant.

Regardless, they would have to make their way over, under, through or around the enhanced zariba, as it stretched out to left and right as far as she could see.

Fleur approached it tentatively. "We could climb it, non?"

Hermione eyed the branches warily. The limbs, thick and strong, were covered with thorns the size of daggers. Everything intertwined so densely. Barely any space remained through the latticework of branches to espy the grey water that lay beyond. Worse, the tips glistened with an opaque liquid. After first mistaking it for rainwater, Hermione's careful closer look saw that the liquid oozed from the thorns.

"I wouldn't," she cautioned. "I'm almost certain that's some sort of magically poisonous plant."

Fleur leaned over and examined it herself. "Hmmm," she intoned quietly. "I zink you are right." Then she took a couple of steps back.

"Reducto!"

Her powerful Reductor Curse smashed into the thicket, punching a narrow hole. Ignoring the smell of damp, acrid smoke, both witches moved to review the progress.

There was but a tiny hole, perhaps two inches wide. It made no appreciable difference to the overgrown hedgerow.

Thwarted, Fleur snorted, took another couple of steps back, and settled herself with legs braced apart, arms extended and both hands clenched about her drawn wand. Her pose recalled other characters from Hermione's childhood, of Westerns and Cowboys and Indians, or maybe something more modern...

"Confringo!" Fleur visibly put everything into her Blasting Curse. When the echoing report subsided, she raised her wand like a Gallic female Clint Eastwood, her wand tip smouldering with a thin trail of whitish mist.

The results did not make her day.

A thin smoke haze drifted away from the obstacle, revealing a somewhat larger hole, but as they watched the branches grew, thickened, extended and entwined to block the small gap.

"Merde," Fleur spat. She steadied herself for another go, giving Hermione a meaningful look. The Gryffindor moved almost to Fleur's side, her own wand now trained on the black mass of vegetation.

"Confringo!"

"Bombarda!"

The recoil of her own casting staggered Hermione. She shared another look with Fleur and they both strode forward to examine the results of their handiwork.

The gap was larger, but still too small to allow either of them to slip through. Even that soon disappeared as almost immediately the plant's self-renewal began, filling in the gap with nature's equivalent of razor wire.

"Remember the myth of the Hydra?" Hermione asked her cohort. Fleur nodded. They walked back, turned, and tried something else.

"Inflammare!"

"Incendio!"

The same flames that had proved so useful against the Acromantulas laid waste to the thorn bushes. Perhaps they could incinerate the plant, and if not destroy it, render it either more frail and open to the Blasting Curse, or at least exhaust its capacity for rejuvenation.

The pungent wood smoke was far stronger. As it thinned they saw that the branches burned, but remained fixed in position. Fleur cast yet another Reductor Curse, and although it again smashed a small hole in the barrier, the plant was not noticeably weakened. Before they had even come within three feet, their way was sealed once again.

"Through," Hermione said grittily, "is definitely out."

Having apparently reached a similar conclusion, Fleur stared at the top of the barrier, measuring its height and apparent depth. "I suppose you have not a broom, by luck?" she asked.

"Umm... no," Hermione replied. "That's Viktor's forte."

"Eef 'e 'as 'idden anuzzer one zen 'e probably wins zee Task, aussi," Fleur admitted with a sly smile. "I suppose zees is why ze brooms are forbidden," she concluded.

"Sounds right, but that doesn't change what either of us has to do," Hermione maintained.

"C'est vrai. Alors! Do you know zee Lifting Charm?" Fleur asked without taking her eyes off of the top of the massive hedge.

"The Levitation Charm?" Hermione thought back how useful 'Wingardium Leviosa' had proven three years ago, and then looked doubtfully at the thorns. "I do but…" She held out her hands in a gesture of defeat. "I'm not sure I could lift you up and over that distance safely."

Fleur looked at her dubiously, and then nodded her head slowly. "Ees too dangerous," she admitted.

Hermione looked back at the trees, far taller here than at the lower elevation, the nearest being some twenty yards away. An idea forming in her mind, she ran over to it and looked up at the trunk. The lowest branches were about thirty feet above her head. She could not climb that far, but…

"Could you cast it on me?" she called over to Fleur. "Help me up the tree?"

Appearing intrigued, Fleur walked over. "Okay." She pointed her wand at Hermione. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

A feeling of weightlessness settled upon Hermione as her feet left the ground and dangled in mid-air. She knew that it took some effort to lift even her slight weight to the desired height. Steadying herself on rough hunks of tree bark, she prayed that Fleur's magical strength matched her status as a Triwizard Champion.

She risked a glance down at Fleur, whose face showed the strain. Turning away with a gulp, Hermione tried to help by pulling herself upward along the trunk. She hoped this would not lead to a pair of broken ankles.

Finally, she floated high enough to grab the first substantial branch. At least this tree was at the edge of the Forest, so its canopy started relatively low. That also meant, however, that she was not nearly high enough to fulfil her plan. For the first time wishing she were less of a bookworm and more of a tomboy, Hermione edged higher, her hands grabbing hold of thicker branches, her feet seeking safe footholds. The bark nicked and grazed her fingers and palms, stinging in the cold.

Perhaps she should have worn her mittens...and brought a broom... and remembered food. For all her supposed planning, Hermione had to admit her execution was rather poor.

The next time Hermione looked down, she realised she was at least thirty feet above the top of the zariba, certainly high enough to experience that telltale nausea born out of vertigo. From her perch she could see that the thorny barrier did indeed stretch out in both directions to the limit of her visibility, and was at least ten feet thick. The lake lay no more than a hundred yards away. And, far away in the murk, Hermione could barely make out what had to be the Astronomy Tower. 'Must be… what, three or four miles away?'

She scanned the foreshore for anything that would allow her to attempt her plan. Nothing… no, there! A boulder, surely a glacial erratic, that appeared placed by a giant's hand instead of being exposed natural rock.

Hermione steadied herself, one hand gripping the trunk so tightly it hurt; in her free hand, her wand trained on the boulder. "Incarcerous!"

Strands of conjured rope, as strong as steel, whipped out from her wand tip, flew well over the thorns and snapped around the rough-hewn irregular boulder, wrapping themselves tight.

Hermione hauled on the line, making sure it was taut and in no immediate danger of dislodging from its rocky anchor. Then she secured her end around the thick tree trunk with a Fastening Charm. Cautiously she leaned on the line to see if anything gave way under her weight.

It seemed secure. She risked pressing down on it with her entire if slight mass; the ropes barely gave more than an inch or two.

"Qu'est-ce que vous faites?" Fleur called up. Hermione, in her concentration, had almost forgotten about the Frenchwoman.

"It's a… zip line," Hermione called back, almost calling it by its better-known name: a death slide.

"Comment?"

Of course, a French-born part-Veela would hardly recognise a Muggle recreational activity. "We slide down it."

"Slide?" Fleur's disbelief was audible.

"Yes, slide." Hermione made a slow gliding gesture with her free left hand.

"Ah, mais oui." Fleur grasped the idea. She cast something soundlessly on herself, and as Hermione watched the Frenchwoman started to lift in the air, until she was finally hovering level with her. "Aprè s vous."

Nervously, Hermione conjured up a smooth metal handle, U-shaped and with handgrips at both ends, which she looped over the line. She licked her lips, hoping that she had not over-estimated her abilities, grabbed a firm hold of the handle, and kicked off from her perch.

The first few feet were slow, but gradually momentum built, and Hermione approached the prickly barrier at an angle within seconds. Although she had allowed plenty of clearance, and the line did not sag noticeably, Hermione still swung her legs up, her forearms and thighs protesting the effort. Before she knew it, she was clear and sliding down towards the ground at a safe, comfortable pace. Not that her legs were steady when she touched down, nor that her heart was calm. In fact, exactly the opposite.

It was a rush.

'Boy!' she thought. 'That was… kind of fun! Not as much fun as Flying with Harry on Buckbeak, but… wow!'

Emboldened by the success of her plan, she turned and waved at Fleur, who had taken her place on the now vacated branch. Fleur seemed to be applying a spell to the soles of her shoes, but in this light and distance Hermione could not be sure. Either way, Fleur did not seem to be preparing to follow her example.

Instead, with almost balletic poise, Fleur stepped out onto the line. Hermione found it difficult to believe, but the French witch was going to use Hermione's conjured rope as an angled tightrope!

Perfectly balanced, Fleur funambled her unhurried way down the line, although she did move faster on the stretch immediately above the thorn barrier. At the end she leapt off and landed on both feet with almost unnatural grace. "Voila!"

The sprained ankle was obviously better, Hermione thought, before, to her surprise, Fleur wrapped her in a hug. "C'est magnifique!" she exclaimed, before releasing the Gryffindor.

"You… you're… welcome," Hermione stammered.

Fleur's attention switched to the dark grey stretch of water that lay before them. "Five, maybe six kilometres," she said quietly. "C'est bon." She turned back to Hermione.

"'Ere our ways part, 'Ermione Grangair. I must go to Gabrielle." Her expression darkened. "Then I shall, 'ow you say, take words with zem!"

Hermione nodded. "Good luck, Fleur," she replied.

"Merci et bon chance!" Fleur hailed before stripping off her outer layers of clothing, revealing a slip over her underwear. This she swiftly Transfigured into a one-piece silver swimsuit, in which Fleur looked impossibly at home. She cast a Warming Charm on herself, and then she ran into the shallow water before diving and moving away in a front crawl with deep, deliberate strokes.

Hermione stood for a few seconds watching the receding witch, before reminding herself that time was now definitely an issue. Except, she realised, swimming three miles or so was utterly beyond her capacity. All her original planning assumed she would start the Task from the Hogwarts shore, not face a long-distance swim.

She doubted she had time to circumnavigate the Black Lake on foot, and still reach Harry's underwater location before sundown.

She needed options. She needed ideas. What she needed was a boat…

Her eyes blinked wide open in surprise. 'Boat… or boot?' She bent down and unlaced her left boot, slipping it off, then picking it up and carrying it to the edge of the lake before resting it in a few inches of clear water.

With her wand trained on the discarded boot, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Hermione focussed her entire concentration…

When she opened her eyes, her first thought was: 'Well, what did you expect? The QE2?'

She had conjured a strange canvas and plastic construct that had some semblance of a rugged South Pacific islander's canoe; that is if one could imagine such a canoe lacking smooth lines, with no raking bows and with an oddly curved stern.

Still, it floated, or did so until Hermione stepped very carefully into it. Despite her exercising extreme attention, or as much as possible for a landlubber like her, the moment she put any significant weight on the boat (or boot) it promptly capsized. She ended up on her backside in about a foot of cold water.

She identified at least one distinct similarity between her concoction and a South Pacific canoe: no keel.

But South Pacific canoes were not a pure single-hulled vessel...

'Wait! That's it!'

Quickly, Hermione reversed her Transfiguration, by then lying soddenly on its side. After a quick Drying Charm, she scanned the foreshore for any driftwood. Spying a promising piece, she summoned it. Then she removed the laces from her empty boot.

Soon she found herself looking at the same canvas and plastic hulls, linked together fore and aft by thick straps to two stout pieces of bamboo.

Hermione tried boarding again. The contraption was rather shaky, and she found if she leaned to one side the other almost lifted the other out of the water, but at least it did not seem prone to tipping over. Her first effort at maritime construction had mercifully been so poor that it never left shore. Of course, if she capsized mid-lake, that would have been a different question.

Hermione had no idea how to row a boat, or how physically hard that might be. Instead, she had a magical solution.

"Mobilinavis!"

Grabbing an uneasy hold of the sides, Hermione steadied herself as her strange and ungainly floating transport started to move at a stately pace away from the safety of land and towards far-distant Hogwarts.

Despite the absence of tide, wind and waves, Hermione's boat still swayed, worse when she leaned some ways than others. She was reminded that she had often felt sea-sick on the safe bulk of cross-Channel ferries, and did not have sea legs. She also hoped no-one had prevailed upon Hagrid to provide any marine predators for this Task, although the presence of the Lake's own inhabitants would almost certainly have ruled out the magical equivalent of a crocodile or Great White.

Glancing at her watch, she realised she only had just over an hour and a half to complete her Task. She did not reflect on the change in her perceptions that she no longer trusted the abilities or influences of Professor Dumbledore to keep Harry safe should she fail.

As the boat puttered along, Hermione allowed herself a little rest. She was not only physically tired, but the effort of continually casting low-power spells such as Warming Charms, along with secondary burst of more vigorous efforts such as Reductor Charms, had started to take their toll on her magical reserves. That realisation only added to a sense of frustration, and perversely she put a little more speed on her boat, running the risk of ploughing and drawing off even more of her own reserves.

She experienced one brief moment of terror when a huge sucker-covered tentacle broke the water's surface and curved into the air, looming above her flimsy craft. Was this another of the Task's defenders? Surely they had not brought a Kraken along?

Instead the football-sized eyes of the Giant Squid hove into view just feet below in the clear water of the lake… or, as Hermione's rational mind calculated, what should really be called a loch. She knew that there were sea-water as well as fresh-water lochs in Scotland, whereas there were no saline water lakes in England, but from her training sessions in the Black Lake… sorry, Loch… she knew that the water was salt-free. Which should be a problem for a normal huge cephalopod, but at Hogwarts anything seemed possible!

Her idle thoughts returned to the present as the boat rounded a headland, Hogwarts loomed directly into view, about a mile and a half distant. In front of the Castle, at the foot of the lawns that sloped down to the Black Lake, now visible as the mist started to lift, were some unusual constructions. Tall and wide and filled with people, it seemed the Quidditch stands had been relocated for the day.

Obviously, thought Hermione, these were temporary stands for the spectators. And, if they were placed so, it was a reasonable assumption that she was close to the finishing point, so the crowd could view at least a small part of the Task.

Digging into her rucksack, Hermione withdrew the sealed plastic package of priceless Gillyweed. She took the plant out, slimy over her fingers, and quickly stuffed it into her mouth.

It was cold and rubbery, but there the similarity to undercooked calamari ended; it tasted foul and Hermione fought to chew and swallow it before she succumbed to temptation and spat it out.

As she swallowed, and overcame the urge to vomit, Hermione congratulated herself. 'That wasn't so bad, was it?'

With sudden and shocking swiftness she realised she could not breathe. Something was suffocating her! She felt dizzy, when someone also decided to attempt to slit her throat. Unbearable pain lanced from both sides of her neck. Hermione reeled, too hard and fast for the faux-boat to stand. One of the supports holding it together snapped, the hull lurched swiftly to one side. She stumbled heavily and the other support fractured. The entire boat capsized, tipping Hermione backwards into the freezing cold water.

Merlin, she was going to drown! Her mouth filled with water, suddenly no longer as ice cold as she feared, and as she fought to clear her mouth she…

...Realised she was not suffocating anymore.

Looking around in shock, the first thing she noticed was that her hands were now webbed, slender skin joining her fingers together.

A dull pain emanated from her left foot, the only one that still bore a boot. On her right foot her boot had turned into a large flipper, just like a diver's, her thick woollen hiking sock already split and torn from the pressure within… except she was not wearing her right boot, she remembered... With a swift lace-loosening spell she cast off her left boot and eased another flipper into view, a little bloodied where it had tried to force its way out from the constricting boot.

Hermione raised her hands to her neck, where the sharp pain had receded as soon as she was submerged. Not at all unexpectedly, she found two large slits protected by flaps. Well, this was a new experience; she was now equipped with a fully-functioning pair of gills.

The water no longer felt at all cold, and Hermione quickly tore off most of her now unnatural and restraining clothing. She transfigured her bra and knickers into a black swimsuit, feeling far more comfortable, if not as suited to it as Fleur. Even the pressure inside her head had disappeared as if washed away.

Visibility was poor, only extending to about ten feet all round, so she swam with her wand held ahead of her, its lighted tip providing a little more vision. She was surprised to find that swimming underwater with her "modifications" was a lot easier and instinctive than it had been on the surface. She could really take to this!

She shook off such frivolous thoughts and reminded herself that she was not down here to enjoy herself. Somewhere in these depths Harry Potter was secreted away. She had less than an hour to find him, before the effects of the Gillyweed ended.

Which way to go?

Down, past the rocky outcrops and huge thickets of black weed that loomed out of the murk.

She assumed that the Merpeople would most likely be found on the loch bed.

A huge shadow passed over her, plunging the pellucid water into darkness. For a second her heart froze, until she realised that it was the Giant Squid, seemingly ignorant or benevolent towards her presence in its element. It hesitated, as though deciding what to make of this new denizen of the depths. Gracefully, it changed direction and glided down to Hermione's right.

As she watched, the Squid brushed a large clump of weed. In its wake the water seemed to boil, as a school of Grindylows debouched from the weed's cover. Had they been waiting in ambush? Or had the faint trail of blood attracted them?

Whatever their original intentions, their present ill will could not now be doubted. The small water-demons advanced towards her. Whilst individually stronger than their size indicated, even a teenaged wizard could cope with one Grindylow. But Hermione was facing twenty or more, a far different matter. If they grabbed hold of her, Hermione could find herself dragged down to a grisly fate in the weed beds.

"Lumos Maximus!" The Grindylows, unaccustomed to bright lights in their natural habitat, shied away from the source, inhibiting their advance.

"Sonorus!" Hermione steadied herself before letting loose a roar that she did not know she possessed. The sonic pressure waves she generated crashed into the Grindylows, and they slammed their long fingers over what passed for ears, reeling away as though inebriated.

With swiftness that she was equally shocked to find she had, Hermione shot through the midst of the water-demon pack before they could react. With her upgraded body parts they would never catch her up.

Her fundamental problem remained, however. Harry could be anywhere. Even assuming that the Grindylows were hiding somewhere near the Champions' expected route, that could lie in any direction. She was lost.

The Giant Squid floated nearby; although she could not see it, its shadow betrayed its presence. It appeared almost to be waiting for her. Had it deliberately disturbed the Grindylows? Without it, Hermione would have walked - no, swum - straight into their trap. Could it be..?

The shadow seemed to turn then moved ahead of her. She caught glimpses of the cephalopod breaking the murk as it moved deeper. Perhaps if she followed it?

With no better ideas, except that the merpeople probably lived in the deepest part of the loch, as far away from the landlubbers as possible, Hermione decided to follow.

She had been swimming for a good half hour according to her well-nigh indestructible watch, casting Warming Charms on herself as she tired, before the Giant Squid halted its progress and floated in the dark green curtain ahead of her. Obviously, her guide was going no further. Hermione swam forward cautiously, then a glint of something ahead caught her eye. She headed determinedly in that direction.

The glint had been silver, and Hermione quickly came across the Delacour sisters: Fleur, with the aid of a Bubblehead Charm, was moving upwards; one hand firmly grasping the smaller form that was, Hermione presumed, Gabrielle, seemingly unconscious. Fleur's deductions had been correct.

As Hermione approached, the Frenchwoman twirled and aimed her wand before recognizing who it was. With barely a glance at Hermione's transformed hands and feet, and unable to exchange any words, Fleur aimed her glowing wand downwards. A bright golden trail blazed through the murk.

The message was unmistakeable. Hermione gave Fleur the thumbs-up and dived deeper.

Soon she could catch snatches of melodic and haunting song.

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

Increasing her pace, Hermione steamed past a series of algae-covered cliffs and down to the loch floor, before entering what could only be the home of the merpeople.

A strange cloud of plankton emitted a sickly yellow luminescence. In the eerie half-light Hermione could make out crude stone dwellings, with dark doorways and what might be windows, all stained by the ravages of weed. Although not ruins, they seemed abandoned.

The sounds came from further on, and Hermione swam deeper towards the village centre.

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

Now she spotted the first of what she assumed were mermen and mermaids, with powerful fishtails covered with silver scales. They all watched her with interest as she passed, and some followed in her wake. Hermione ignored them. What mattered lay ahead.

The singing reached a crescendo, and then died away suddenly as Hermione came across an area clear of dwellings, a courtyard of sorts. Directly ahead stood rickety wooden structure, maybe the remains of a ship, or the age-blackened skeleton of some great marine creature, where a host of merpeople awaited her. Others were perched on small, weed-covered rocks or huge shells.

Hermione would normally have enthused over an opportunity to meet an unknown, to her, magical species, perhaps even take the time to try to converse with them.

Not now.

Her attention was fixed on a series of large iron cages that lay before her and her marine audience.

Three had opened gates and were empty.

One was still sealed and occupied.

Hermione raced up to the last one and grabbed hold of the rusty bars with both hands.

She saw Harry. If not for the continuous thin stream of bubbles that meandered upwards, Hermione could have sworn he was dead. A quick glance at her watch gave her about ten minutes' grace.

"Harry!" she yelled, her voice sounding alien in the surroundings.

He did not stir. Like poor Gabrielle Delacour, he seemed to be in a deep sleep, his head lolling on his shoulders in the slight current.

Hermione shook the locked and barred gate cut into the ironwork. It would not budge. She floated back a few feet, and aimed her wand. No time for ingenuity.

"Bombarda!" With a flash and burst of bubbles the lock exploded and the gate swung open. Hermione shot into the cage and grasped Harry.

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

No response.

Hermione manhandled Harry along behind her, out of the cage, and into a crowd of celebrating merpeople.

"Out of the way! Please get out of my way!"

She fought her way through the admiring throng, her mind fixed on one objective: to reach the surface as soon as possible. She had no idea if the Bends might affect either Harry or her. She was running out of time, and had no choice but to ignore that risk.

Breaking free of the well-intended embraces of Harry's hosts, Hermione swam determinedly upwards. She was starting to feel exhausted. Maybe another Warming Charm would help send fresh blood into her tired muscles.

The water, still a dark green, lightened imperceptibly. From nowhere a sudden and savage pain shot through her right hand. She lost grip of her wand.

Somewhere Professor Moody would be cursing her inattention.

Hermione's heart froze as she realised that a Grindylow had attacked from a blind angle. It sunk its teeth deep into her wrist, her blood seeping out in a dark cloud. The creature dug its inhumanely strong talons deep into her flesh, twisting hard.

Hermione may have heard, or perhaps just felt, a snap as her bones fractured.

Damn it, the same wrist Malfoy had broken!

In agony, and with her free hand keeping a tight grip on Harry, Hermione barely noticed her wand gently sinking out of sight.

What she did see was another group of Grindylows closing in on them.

Twisting with a litheness that she did not normally possess, Hermione savagely drove her left knee into the Grindylow's face. Its grip weakened a shade. Again Hermione desperately smashed her knee into the demon's skull. It fought back, trying to slash her face. Its claws only nicked her chest, but its arm presented a target. Almost weeping tears of frustration, Hermione returned the favour.

She bit the Grindylow's forearm with all her might, ignoring the unimaginable taste.

That gained its attention. Its mouth loosened its grip on her wrist, blood flowing freely from the wound it had inflicted. Hermione did the same, with the same result. Quickly, she contorted her body so that she could force its remaining grip with both feet.

Just in time the injured and half-stunned Grindylow lost its hold. Before its fellows could close in, Hermione pushed herself upwards, Harry in her slipstream, kicking furiously towards freedom.

Hermione could not spare her injured wrist any attention. Her arms and legs were starting to cramp up. She started to incant another Warming Charm, when the loss of her wand struck home.

Crying fiercely, in part from her rising pain, but more from sheer frustration at the unfairness of the whole situation, she swam harder, pushing herself as the light became a bit brighter and the verdant shades started to pale.

'Not far now; not far now,' she urged herself onwards.

'Nor far now, not - aargh!'

Pain flared behind her knee as a cramp cut in hard in her left calf muscle.

'Not now! Please, Merlin, not now!'

Her progress rapidly slowed to a halt. With her left leg suddenly all but useless, she could barely keep herself from sinking. With her damaged right hand she reached awkwardly down and tried to massage a little feeling back into her muscles. That hurt her arm more than it helped her leg.

But the pain in her left leg paled into insignificance, replaced by a growing pain in her chest. Hermione instinctively took a deep breath and then nearly choked as, for the first time in an hour, breathing in water became a problem.

One glance at her near normal hand told her the fatal story. The Gillyweed effects were wearing off and fast. Throbbing from her rapidly closing gills reinforced the message.

Hermione needed oxygen, and fast. A Bubblehead Charm was no use. Even if she had her wand; she had no air to trap within it.

She had to move up towards the dim light.

Sobbing, her lungs starting to protest at the lack of oxygen, she kicked off with her right leg.

How close to the surface was she? She had to make it; had to!

The pressure within her chest increased.

'Damn it, Granger! Kick!'

Harry's weight suddenly disappeared. Fearing she had lost her grip, Hermione twisted and turned to see what had happened. She saw a pair of legs and a dark cloak floating a few feet above her. She tried to reach out towards what must he Harry, but found him just out of her reach.

"Ha-"

The pressure in her chest was unbearable. She could feel blood pounding in her head. She had to exhale, but the water filled her mouth, forcing its way down her throat, choking her cry of despair.

Choking for a few seconds, Hermione's vision started to close down, the translucent water turning darker as she slipped further away from the safety of the surface, now tantalisingly but forever out of her reach. Her movements slowed despite her increasingly panic-stricken state. The pressure behind her eyes was nigh unbearable, as her vision started to first turn red, then start to close down as the edges turned black.

Hermione could no longer raise her arms. Instead of obeying orders and striking out vainly for safety, they floated out until she was in the cruciform position. Her head tilted back and her last air bubbled away in front of her tortured eyes.

Harry was moving away from her, she thought. Or was she moving away from him? It was so difficult to tell…

'It's cold… and I'm tired, so tired…'

She had escaped a Death Eater's curse, only to drown a few hours later.

Something or someone roughly took hold of her left arm. Hermione wished they would just leave her alone. She had lost sight of Harry. She had failed; no, worse - she had failed Harry.

'I'm sorry, Harry...'

Light! Perfect light!

Hermione was being hauled out of the water, urgent shouts ringing in her ears. She opened her mouth to breathe but found she could not.

'How? Why? I can't drown on dry land can I? That doesn't make sense.'

Her body landed painfully on its side with a loud thud on a solid, wooden surface. Normally she would complain, but now just lacked the energy or the drive. Instead Hermione lay on one side, trying desperately to retch.

"Anapneo!"

She succeeded in retching and breathed in sweet, chilled, damp Scottish air, coughing out water and exchanging it for oxygen, before flopping back onto the decking.

"Let me see that wrist." A hurried yet professional tone. Her right arm was lifted unresistingly off the deck. Hermione was not concerned. What little strength she had left was directed towards lifting her head, searching for what she knew she had lost.

"Episkey!" The pain in her wrist disappeared, but Hermione had no time to waste.

"No," she groaned despairingly. "Not me… Harry… find Harry."

In her mind, she was trying to jump back into the water, after Harry. Yet her movements were those of a fish on a dock, flopping around uncontrollably.

Somebody cast Warming and Drying Charms. Somebody else, Hermione was not sure who, was trying to wrap her in a huge soft, fluffy towel. She fought against this too. "No! You must find Harry!" She struggled to free herself, her eyes darting across the now grey water. "He's still there. I - I let go of his hand." Her eyes pricked with tears.

"Miss Granger, you must remain -"

"No!" Hermione nearly screamed; at least she thought she did. Why did these people not understand? What did it matter if she were safe when Harry was not? "You must find Harry!"

Uncomprehending faces stared back at her. Were they all mad?

"He's probably drowning by now." Her exhausted mind raced with panic-stricken possibilities. Where was her wand?

A strong pair of hands grabbed her not unkindly by the temples, and she found herself staring straight at the pasty-faced but serious visage of Neville Longbottom.

"Hermione," he said urgently. "Harry's okay. Look."

Neville turned her head in the indicated direction. Hermione's heart almost stopped when she saw a familiar messy mop of black hair swaddled in more huge towels.

"You did it. You got him back," Neville added, although his admiring words meant nothing. Hermione's mind was already refocusing on the reality of the situation.

She wanted to sprint over to Harry, to hug him, to check that he was not some mirage driven by oxygen starvation. But her tired muscles simply would not respond, and she found herself again sprawled on the deck when she tried to break free of her own pile of bath linen and blankets.

The commotion drew Harry's attention to her, and his pale, tired face broke into that familiar grin, followed by a wink of one eye.

Finally, convinced Harry was not about to expire on the spot, and was actually in good hands, with Ron and Ginny making sure he was being looked after, and Madam Pomfrey fussing between the two Gryffindors, Hermione allowed herself to relax for the first time since… well, probably sometime yesterday.

She did wonder why Ron was sopping wet when every other spectator was dry.

To her surprise, when Hermione took in closer surroundings, she found Viktor Krum kneeling at her side alongside Neville. She was about to ask what her supposed opponent was doing when a raised voice stilled the hubbub.

"… Broke the rules, Albus. She must be disqualified!"

Karkaroff's anger, synthetic or not, was evident in the edge in his voice.

"Come now, Igor," Dumbledore's calm reply drifted across the water. "The Task was to return the prize to the surface, which was easily…"

The rest was lost as two stern-faced witches, Pomfrey and McGonagall, loomed over Hermione.

"I don't care what the Headmasters have to say on the matter," the nurse said waspishly as she leaned over to carry out a closer examination. "I want all four - well, I'm not sure what they were, but all four contestants and their companions - in the Hospital wing as soon as possible. We could be talking about nosocial pneumonia, all sorts of things. And Miss Granger's wrist needs proper attention."

"If you say so, Poppy." McGonagall regarded Hermione with a critical eye. "Well, do you think you can make the Hospital Wing under your own steam, Miss Granger?"

Hermione tried hard to rise, but her tired muscles refused to cooperate. She staggered and sank back to the swaying wooden deck of what she now grasped was a large pontoon moored to the lakeside. "I'm sure I can," she said with little respect for the truth, refusing to admit defeat.

She would crawl if she had to.

"No, you stay there," McGonagall said firmly. She stood back, and immediately Madam Pomfrey filled the gap, handing a steaming mug to Hermione.

"Here, drink this."

Following instructions, Hermione did so, and felt warmth flood through her body as the potion did its work. She thought steam might have exited her ears, but that was probably a trick of her exhausted state. In the background she could hear McGonagall ordering somebody around.

"Is not necessary," she heard Viktor say. "I vill carry Herm-own-ninny."

"You will not, Mister Krum!" Madam Pomfrey's command was issued in an iron tone that brooked no argument, world-renowned Quidditch star or not. "I shall not have the competitors put under any further strain. You will accompany Miss Granger in order that I can check up on you as well, but that is all."

Viktor's expression moved from surly to… well, Hermione assumed it was a state of aggravated surliness.

"Attention, attention… Sonorus!" Ludo Bagman's magically amplified voice drowned all other conversations. Hermione looked beyond the small knot of people on the pontoon and saw the Headmaster and the other judges now in a box atop the largest of the freshly-erected stands. "That's better

"Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have reached their decision, which will be final." Hermione swore that as Bagman spoke, Dumbledore spared a glance at a still obviously seething Karkaroff.

"The Task was concluded when each Champion's prize was brought safely to the surface. In reverse order of finishing, in fourth place, was Miss Granger of Gryffindor and Hogwarts."

To Hermione's surprise there was quite a cheer from the crowd.

Bagman waited for the applause to die away. "In third place, only minutes behind our second-placed competitor, was the Champion of Beauxbatons, Miss Delacour."

As once again polite applause rippled through the crowd, Hermione glanced around but did not spy her new friend or her sister.

"In second place, representing Hufflepuff and Hogwarts, was Mister Diggory." The cheers for Cedric were slightly louder than those Hermione received, but not by the margin she expected.

"And, in first place, and the clear leader in the Triwizard Tournament, is Master Krum from Durmstrang!" The cheers resounded around the valley, although Hermione noticed only a desultory clap of the hands from Karkaroff

"The third and final Task, and the award of the Triwizard Trophy, will take place on the evening of June the twenty-fourth. The nature of this Task will be revealed to our four Champions one month before that date. I want to thank all of…"

Hermione allowed Bagman's voice to drift away. She noticed someone standing still on the shore, staring motionlessly at her.

It was Draco Malfoy, and his look could only be described as one of deep surprise.

Her view of the Slytherin was almost immediately blocked by McGonagall, who was dragooning the Weasley Twins onto the pontoon, with an ancient-looking stretcher levitated behind them. "Now, you two can help Miss Granger up to the Hospital Wing. And no dropping the stretcher!"

Hermione's mind discarded thoughts of Malfoy and finally fixed on the absence of her wand. "Professor? Professor McGonagall?" The older woman turned back, a quizzical eyebrow raised. "My wand… I lost my wand," she admitted feebly.

"Indeed?" McGonagall looked a little disappointed. "I assume that this was at the tail end of the Task?" Hermione nodded. "I will see what can be done, Miss Granger. I shall have a word with the Headmaster immediately."

As McGonagall set off on her task, and Ron moved over to check that she would be safe in, or maybe from, the tender mercies of his older brothers, Hermione reflected: 'Two down, one to go.'

* * * * *

The "Men from the Ministry" was a popular radio situation comedy that was broadcast in the 1960s & 1970s, so I remember it from my childhood. The civil servants there were bumbling and incompetent, as opposed to their magical counterparts who are bigoted and… incompetent.

Thanks to beta reader George for the following Bulgarian translations:-

Smyrtnozhadni laina = Death Eater shit.

Ti ne si mi kazal za nikakvi pravila = You didn't tell me about any rules.

Skupi mi, Viktore, ti ne slushashe li kato ti kazvah, che Quiditcha ne e vsichko? Zatova magareshkia inat shte ti struva skupo edin den = Dear me, Victor, you did not listen when I was telling you that Quidditch is not everything? That's why your donkey stubbornness will cost you dearly one day.

Madame Maxime suggests Karkaroff might face the sack. This was a suggestion of beta reader Bexis, who made a very good comparison of the International Confederation of Wizards to the old Holy Roman Empire: no real power but enough weight to meddle.

The Entente Cordiale was an informal arrangement made by Great Britain and France in 1904 that resolved outstanding colonial disputes, primarily over North and Central Africa. Brought about in part by both countries concerns re: the rising power of Kaiser Wilhelm's Germany, it was a major factor in the collapse of diplomacy that led to the Great War. Hermione and Fleur come to a similar informal arrangement to overcome their immediate mutual difficulties.

JKR has provided contrary information regarding the positioning of the Forbidden Forest. In the books it is placed to the west of Hogwarts, but the map she drew placed it to the east. I am following the books.

Mini Cooper is the world-famous British small car from the 1960s, probably best known for winning the Monte Carlo Rally (before the organisers changed the rules) and featuring in both the original and the (lousy) re-make of 'The Italian Job.' The model continued in production until 2000.

Hermione's and Fleur's escape from the Acromantulas is stolen straight from 'Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.' And Fleur is a Gallic Dirty Harry.

We know from canon that Hermione hates flying. Is it because she was put off by her first flying lesson, when she could not raise her broomstick? Reading ahead does not help her on that score. Or, as she declares in the film version of Prisoner of Azkaban, is it that she hates heights. I have favoured the latter option, as I prefer my heroes / heroines to have flaws, so this Hermione suffers from vertigo. So do I, although strangely I don't mind flying once I'm in the air; of course, it's the method of coming back to earth that is the problem!

Walt Disney's version of Sleeping Beauty, which features the barrier of thorns, was based more upon Charles Perrault's version of the story as opposed to that of the Brothers Grimm. I do not believe that the Perrault story, which was longer and darker, would be one told to young children. Hermione is confusing the film and the book versions.

Zariba is a protective thorn hedge placed around villages or camps in the Sudan.

Bexis suggested a boat some months ago, as it was a safer and quicker option for our bookworm, and was not an idea we could recall from another story. Ironically, the very next day after writing that scene, I read a story where Harry conjured a raft!

The QE2, as the Cunard liner Queen Elizabeth 2 was colloquially known, was the most famous British liner of the time, and was undergoing an extensive and much-publicized refit at the time this story is set.

Apparently, drowning people are psychologically and physically unable to cry out for help. Apparently, in the case of the latter, the body's respiratory system takes over, and the need for breath takes precedence over the need for speech. Neither can they wave for help when on the surface, as the natural reaction is to press down on the water and leverage the body out of the water.

If you can't speak French… well, I am sure you don't need me to translate Fleur's insults for you!