Unofficial Portkey Archive

For all those of you who read chapter #15 and left it with Hermione still underwater, please go back and read it again, otherwise this chapter will not make sense. The original upload of the last chapter cut off the end, and although this was fixed as soon as I became aware, some of you may have only read the incomplete version.

As ever, I owe a great deal to my beta readers, Bexis and George. And to JKR, who allows us to play in this world without owning anything of it. It is all hers.

"Why do I always end each Task retching?"

Gentle laughter greeted Hermione's mock-plaintive question as she sat up in the bed she currently occupied in the Hospital Wing.

To her delight, the quiet, appreciative chuckle from the next bed over proved that Harry Potter had somehow, though not entirely through her own efforts, been safely retrieved from the bottom of the Black Lake, while suffering no apparent ill effects. It was only Madam Pomfrey's preoccupation with seven other patients that kept Harry here, biding his time until he was released.

Hermione was in that strange mood that accompanied accomplishment: a kind of boneless, nerveless, totally exhausted satisfaction. She eased back, propped up by plump pillows emblazoned with the Hogwarts' coat of arms. She had already disclosed most of what had happened over the previous twenty-four hours to her friends, but kept one crucial chapter secret.

A handful of Gryffindors surrounded the two beds: four Weasleys and Neville Longbottom. Surprisingly a lone Ravenclaw, the quiet but fascinated Luna Lovegood, had somehow tagged along.

"You know what I really can't understand," Ron opened with a less-than-serious air.

"Most things," Ginny shot back. In was a measure of how relaxed the air was that Ron did not explode, instead smiling resignedly as his brothers cracked up.

"Cheers, Ginny. No, I mean, I would never have thought that Harry would be regarded as your treasure…"

Ron Weasley was not Fleur Delacour. Hermione felt herself tense, in case Ron was his usual self and made some unthinking comment that started an argument. She barely noticed three other Weasleys check their breath.

"Now, that damned ugly cat, I could understand," Ron continued, "but I would have laid a Galleon or two on Hogwarts: A History being dumped in the lake for you to find," he finished anxiously, by then realising that he had stepped onto uncertain ground.

It seemed that the other Gryffindors were awaiting some serious response from Hermione, but she surprised them by lightly smacking Ron on the arm in mock admonishment. "Ron!" she said with just a hint of humour, which was altogether lost in the nervous laughter than then surrounded her bed. "So, how did I end up a drowned rat on the deck?"

"It was Harry," Ginny pointed out. "Your 'treasure' turned the tables."

"With a little help from Viktor Krum," Neville added. Ron's low grumble did not go unnoticed by Hermione, but she let it pass. Ron's petty jealousy towards Viktor could be ignored for now.

"Yes," Ginny bit back, "but Harry was first." She beamed at the other bed's occupant, who looked embarrassed at the attention.

"Nothing much to say. I sort of woke up and found myself splashing about in the lake," he shrugged, visibly straining his memory a little. "Then I saw a hand poking out of the water before disappearing. That made me regain my senses pretty damned quick. I realised where I'd been and it was you who was dro- struggling, rather," he added sheepishly.

"Then Harry dived under and dragged you back to the surface," Ginny finished the story. "Krum dived back in and helped Harry, but Harry already had you back up. He was the one who saved you."

Hermione's eyes locked with Harry's. Suddenly nobody else in the room mattered. "Harry," she said quietly. "You can't swim."

"Umm… I might have splashed around a bit," Harry admitted uncomfortably. "I don't know what I did or how, but I could hardly leave you there and do nothing. Besides, it was Viktor who dragged you to dry land. Ron had to pull me out."

Hermione knew that, regardless of any service she had completed on Harry's behalf in the last day, she now owed him a debt. Her heart lurched a little more as the implications of his unselfish action sunk in, especially as Harry could not swim. She became a little guarded as she realised that the two of them still had an audience.

Breaking eye contact with Harry, Hermione swiftly changed the subject. "So, that explains you being sopping wet, Ron."

Ron shrugged. "Didn't do much. My best mate didn't look too clever," he said with rather unusual modesty.

"Well, I was bloody glad you were there," Harry replied. "Cheers." That brought a smile from Ron.

Hermione took another sip of vile tasting Skele-Gro. She had suffered a distal radius fracture to her right wrist, along with severe and deep lacerations thanks to the talons and teeth of that Grindylow. Her right forearm was magically splinted and bandaged whilst the potion worked its magic. Her left foot had been badly bruised as a result of being constricted by her boot during its Gillyweed mediated transformation, but an anti-swelling potion had quickly worked its magic.

Neville completed the short story. "Krum hit the water as soon as he saw you two in trouble, and while Ron landed Harry, he swam back to the pontoon with you. That's when Karkaroff blew his top, started shouting that you should be disqualified."

Hermione was not worried about that. The judges had already ruled that the Task had been completed when Harry broke the surface, although the irony that her situation could have been ruled: 'Task successfully concluded; the competitor drowned' was not lost on her.

"Malfoy didn't take it well," Ron said with an air of satisfaction. "Your reappearance, that is. He'd been boasting all day that we'd seen the last of you."

"He seemed pretty damned convinced," Neville added.

"Yeah, but he was absolutely stunned when your head bobbed out of the water. Strange that," Ron mulled. "Normally he looks pig-sick whenever you show him up, Hermione. This time he just seemed… well, Neville got it: shocked."

"Positively ashen," George added.

"How could you tell?" Ginny replied. "He's so bloody pale he's more ghost than ferret!"

"Positively anaemic," Fred commented.

George sported an evil grin. "Probably can't get it up," he added.

"George!" Hermione squeaked in admonishment as the boys guffawed.

As the Weasleys swapped stories and joking insults between each other and with Harry, Hermione sank back into her pillows and took in the other occupants of the infirmary.

Interestingly, although Viktor Krum had barely detained Madam Pomfrey, he remained in the infirmary, ensconced behind privacy screens at the bedside of Penelope Clearwater, who had been his 'prize.' Hermione hoped that this boded well for the two of them.

A privacy bubble surrounded the beds of the two Delacours. Madame Maxime had not been quick enough to raise it before Hermione caught the gist of an argument indicated by an incandescent Fleur. As far as her linguistic skills could make out, there would be hell to pay when the two Mademoiselles Delacour informed Monsieur Delacour and Madame Delacour of what had transpired. Judging by the severe expression worn by the towering Beauxbatons' headmistress, Hermione gained the distinct impression that she was already regretting her compliance with Tournament rules.

Finally, Cedric Diggory sat in quiet and tender conversation with Cho Chang, whom he had rescued from the depths. Hermione found she envied the ease of the couple's conversation. If only her relationship with Harry could be on so sound a footing!

A slight but insistent tugging on her hospital gown sleeve broke Hermione's idle wishing. "Did you meet the merpeople?" Luna wanted to know. Hermione nodded. "I thought I could hear their singing," the Ravenclaw added, her smile wide and genuine.

"They were," Hermione confirmed. "It was beautiful."

A dreamier than usual look alighted on Luna's face. "We must go back and visit them again one day, to be sure."

"I'd like that," Hermione replied automatically, before realising that she actually meant it. "From what I saw of their village, it looked like a place that I'd love to take time to study."

"Good. And maybe we can look for Blibbering Humdingers while we're there." Hermione blinked at another of Luna's fantasies. The Ravenclaw cocked her head, as though the world was out of kilter, and regarded her new 'friend.' "I think I'll see if there's any pudding left." With that she skipped off.

Ron shook his head, but Hermione's knowing look kept his silence. However, Hermione's unsatisfied appetite was reawakened by Luna's mention of pudding. As if by magic, Madam Pomfrey appeared, levitating a tray that settled floating a few inches above Hermione's lap. It contained a huge steaming bowl of Scotch broth and a mountain of sandwiches.

"You must be famished," the nurse said, "so tuck in."

Hermione, seeing Ron hungrily eyeing up the food, picked up a beef and horseradish sandwich. As she munched on it, she had to smack away Ron's hand as he reached for the cheese and pickle. "Ow!"

"If you're hungry, Mister Weasley, you could leave now and still catch dinner," Madam Pomfrey observed. "In fact, Mister Potter is free to leave, so if you don't mind waiting outside whilst he gets dressed, he'll be able to join you in the Great Hall for dinner. I'm sure you're just as hungry as Miss Granger."

Harry beamed at that news.

"Come on, Ron," Ginny urged, almost having to drag Ron away from the food in front of him. "Dinnertime!"

The Gryffindors drifted away, and Madam Pomfrey drew some privacy screens around Harry's bed, so that he could dress whilst she fussed over her remaining patient. The nurse clucked as she drew her wand over Hermione's right wrist, and then cast a few wider directed spells, umm-ing and aah-ing, before drawing back.

"I'm afraid, my dear, that I want to keep you in overnight." As Hermione started to voice her disquiet, the nurse hushed her. "Nothing to alarm you, just your magical energy has been drained, and I'd rather make sure you were well rested."

Hermione's protests were half-hearted, as she knew the nurse was correct. That was one reason she nearly drowned. A whole day's effort on almost no food had exhausted her physically as well as magically. Not that, she worried, she had her wand to use magic. Fretting about what would happen if her wand was lost forever, Hermione stared thinking about possible replacements, none of which could ever work as well as her trusty vine wood and dragon heartstring. Obviously that could mean her grades would start slipping…

"I'll leave you to get on with your meal, dear." Hermione hardly heard the nurse as she started to work herself up towards a panic attack. Luckily that train of thought was derailed when the privacy screen moved aside, and Harry stepped out, dressed in his school robes.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded. "I'm stuck here. Keeping me in overnight," she said tersely.

"Why?" His brow furrowed in concern.

"Magical exhaustion, Madam Pomfrey thinks." Hermione's shoulders slumped a little. "Not that it matters now." She grimaced. "I lost my wand."

Harry's expression brightened a little. "You can replace a wand, Hermione," he said quietly. "A friend's a lot harder to replace."

Hermione experienced that little flutter in her heart again.

He moved to sit on her bed's edge. "Looks like I owe you again," he said lightly.

"No, you saved me," Hermione pointed out. "I would have drowned."

"Only after you'd dragged me up from the bottom of the lake," Harry parried.

"You were stable there. I almost didn't make it. If it hadn't been for you…"

Harry shrugged off the praise. "I only did what came naturally. Viktor dragged you out of the water."

"But it was you who brought me to the surface… where I could breathe."

"After you'd saved me." Harry reached out and swiped a sandwich. Hermione was not minded to bat his hand away.

"What happened to you?" Hermione asked as Harry bit into and savoured the snack. He struggled for a moment to swallow, then relaxed and finished chewing.

"Dunno. I remember being called out from Potions, which annoyed Snape -"

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"- no end. He complained about both of us being unworthy celebrities, as per bloody usual. Anyway, I was called to see Dumbledore, and the next thing I know I'm swimming in the bloody lake!" He shook his head, and then took another mouthful of red salmon and cucumber. "Mmm! Good these," he muttered through a full mouth. "Could do with just a splash more vinegar.

"Anyway, it was like a long sleep. No dreams or anything, just a feeling that I was floating. Nice and peaceful."

Hermione thought through Harry's short story. "They must have turned you over to the merpeople as soon as we'd been sent out to start the Task." She shared a look with Harry. "You were trapped in an iron cage in their village. I don't think they would have hurt you, but I wasn't going to leave you down there."

"Thanks," Harry replied honestly. "Would have put a damper on The-Boy-Who-Lived's reputation!" He smiled.

"Yes, well, I suppose it was my fault you were down there." Hermione reawakened thoughts she had when talking with Sirius. "If I hadn't interfered with that spell…"

"Don't be silly, Hermione." Harry ignored her little glare. Then his expression turned inscrutable. "Is it true," he said slowly, "that I'm something you treasure?"

Hermione caught her breath. What could she say? 'Of course you are, Harry. I think I'm in love with you'? She was suddenly and acutely aware of his searching look. "You're my best friend, Harry," she temporized. "Of course I treasure you - your friendship," she caught herself. "I haven't got many friends, and I'd like to keep those I have."

Harry stared into her eyes, sighed and looked down, where Hermione's left hand had unconsciously taken hold of his. Before Hermione could pull back, he ran his thumb over the back of her undamaged hand, and Hermione felt a little thrill.

"You know," Harry began, his voice oddly thick, "I think that -"

"Ah!" The remaining privacy screens parted of their own accord as Professor McGonagall moved towards the bed. Guiltily, both teens snatched back their hands, although the teacher seemed not to notice their sudden flushes. "There you are, Potter. Be off with you - the Weasleys are blocking the corridor awaiting your appearance. And Miss Granger needs to eat."

"Oh, right." Harry rose rather unwillingly from his perch and stood. "See you tomorrow then, Hermione."

"Yes, of course." Hermione tried keeping disgruntlement from her voice. Her normally favourite teacher had shown awful timing.

"Och, you've let a fine broth go cold!" McGonagall scolded her student, and cast a warming charm on the bowl, which started to steam lazily again in seconds. "Now, I have some good news for you. The Headmaster retrieved your wand from the lake, and it is in fine working order."

"Oh good! Thank you." Hermione stretched out her good arm but found McGonagall shaking her head.

"Oh no, child. Poppy informs me that your magical reserves are severely depleted. I shall keep this with me, and return it to you at breakfast. Now, you get that fare down you, and get some sleep. You've deserved it."

Hermione hid a scowl and started to sup on the admittedly excellent soup.

As she did, McGonagall cast Muffliato around the bed.

"The Headmaster will be in to see you later tonight, after the corridors clear. He says he had a visit from a four-footed friend" - McGonagall invested those words with a heavy emphasis "- and wished to discuss events with you." Stepping back, she dispersed the spell.

"Nevertheless, you did extremely well, Miss Granger. You have acquitted yourself well in competition with older and more experienced students and achieved your goals so far. We are all very proud of you."

Sensing McGonagall on the verge of sounding emotional, Hermione had one subject she wished to raise.

"Professor, you knew, didn't you, that Harry was going to be my 'prize'?"

McGonagall stiffened slightly. "That is true." Her expression changed. "A most lamentable state of affairs, one from which I promise you I dissented. However, I can assure you that Mister Potter was never in any real danger, or so I was informed."

Hermione thought for a moment, then pressed on. "Did you really believe that?"

McGonagall hesitated over her reply. "Not really, no," she admitted. "I was concerned for all of our students' safety. I was aware of the dangers you might face, but as to what would happen should any of you failed, I feared the consequences." For a second that stern mask slipped a little. "If only this damned Tournament had never been resurrected."

Hermione stayed silent. She had planned to ask how the 'treasures' were selected, but decided that perhaps she was better off not knowing.

McGonagall seemed to recover her equilibrium. "Still, at least the Second Task is complete, and you emerged with nary a scratch, comparatively speaking. You have qualified for the Final Task, and then this whole matter will be laid to rest.

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Professor."

"Good, then I shall see you at breakfast, rested and raring to go. I will leave you to finish your broth and such. Goodnight, Miss Granger.

* * * * *

Tired though she was, Hermione found rest elusive.

She expected the Headmaster to arrive before the long hours, so she tried to stay alert until then.

She could not help replaying the events of the last two days: the murder committed before her eyes; her own narrow escape from the same grisly fate; and her despair she had felt when she thought she had lost Harry in the Black Lake.

Those moments were the darkest she could ever recall. Strangely, her own seemingly imminent demise played little part in her calculations. When Harry slipped from her grasp and she could not find him, desolation had weighed her down as much as the water.

It was dark now. The lights had been extinguished, save the night light burning at the far end in Madam Pomfrey's office. Hermione wondered idly if the nurse ever slept. She wished she had asked for something for that annoying headache that, fuelled by stress and worries, stealthily made a return.

She was the only occupant of the ward. All other champions and their 'hostages' had been given a clean bill of health.

Fleur and Gabrielle had both stopped by to express their thanks for her help, and to wish her a quick recovery. From the younger sister Hermione received the Gallic triple kiss on the cheeks. Gabrielle was young enough not to be as embarrassed as Hermione was.

Cedric Diggory had also come to wish her well before leaving, although Cho Chang hung back from Hermione's bedside. He had been able to maintain a Bubble Head Charm for hours, and had rescued his girlfriend with time to spare.

Finally Viktor turned up at her bedside, more taciturn than ever. Hermione noted that Penelope Clearwater had already left - alone - reinforcing her own observations of the couple's tense discussions on the other side of the ward.

As tactfully as she could, Hermione inquired about Penelope's well- being. Viktor looked rather downcast and resigned.

"Pay-nay-low-pee vos not enjoying," he muttered. "She says I am to blame for her being cold and vet."

Hermione had expressed sympathy for Viktor's predicament, but recalled how the older Ravenclaw had been amongst the many who initially believed Hermione cheated her way into the Tournament. Perhaps Ravenclaw's reputation for intelligence was not as cracked up as it should be.

Viktor left after enquiring about her well-being, and indulged in protocol with small talk about the Tournament. The lights were lowered, and once again Hermione was once again left alone with her thoughts. She had already mentally composed her latest letter home, but her restless mind continued its analysis of events.

Hermione could not get Fleur's words out of her mind. She repetitively sifted through her emotions and more particularly her feelings for one Harry Potter. Was she in love with him? Fleur disclaimed expertise, but the Beauxbatons' girl obviously saw something strong between the two of them.

All Hermione knew was the ache she felt in her heart when she thought she had lost Harry. Was that love? Hermione could not say. She had never experienced anything similar before. This was all new - and preferable to the grimmer memories of the last twenty-four hours.

Suddenly, a noise, unidentifiable and almost inaudible; so faint that Hermione might have imagined it, but the night was so still and silent.

She knew she was someone's target, and reflexively reached for her wand… Damn it! McGonagall still had it!

She stilled her breathing, concentrating hard, suppressing every sense save hearing. She strained to catch any sound, but all she heard was the abnormally loud thump of her heartbeat.

Her skin prickled, hairs standing up and goose bumps forming.

She was sure she was not alone.

A glance towards the faint illumination of Madam Pomfrey's lamp did not suggest the nurse's presence.

As quietly as she could, Hermione reached for the only potential means of defence at hand. Her fingers closed around the ice-cold metal bedpan that had been provided in lieu of magic.

She slipped from between the blankets and winced as her bare feet touched cold stone. Oblivious to the ridiculousness of her predicament, Hermione slunk to the privacy screen that divided her bed from what had been Harry's, and raised her unusual weapon, ready to strike.

Yes… someone was there! A marginally blacker shade moved against the black background.

Hermione drew back the bedpan, ready for a swing against whoever stepped out…

She blinked furiously as the entire ward was bathed in light.

"Alastor." Dumbledore's quiet but authoritative tones carried no hint of surprise.

Moody's reply was terse. "Albus."

Hermione peered around the screen. Dumbledore stood in the entrance, his arms folded gently across his chest.

Moody, to no-one's surprise, had his wand at the ready and was perhaps five yards away from her bed.

"I assume you are here to protect Miss Granger?"

"Aye, that's it. Lassie's made some enemies. Don't like it she's up 'ere on 'er tod."

"In which case, I believe we should not endeavour to alarm her any further." Dumbledore switched his eyes to Hermione. "An interesting choice of weapon, Miss Granger. I do hope that it is empty." His eyes shone with humour.

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding and lowered the bedpan.

Moody looked her up and down. "No wand, Granger? What do I teach you all, then? Constant Vigilance!" He roared the last two words.

"I do believe that Minerva is holding Miss Granger's wand for safe-keeping," Dumbledore interjected. "She is, after all, supposed to be resting." He moved towards her bed. "My apologies for the lateness of the hour. Unfortunately acting as host carries time consuming responsibilities."

Hermione relaxed and sat back down on the bed.

"Still don't like it, Albus," Moody grumbled. "A bad job… witch without a wand?" He tut-tutted and shook his head. "Still, yeh'd heard me, made the best of what yeh had. Can't fault yeh on that." He, too, seemed to relax just a fraction, although he did not holster his wand.

"Why did you creep up on me in the dark?" Hermione complained of her Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Thought yeh might be a'kip. Didn'a want ta advertise my presence." Moody defended his action. "Catch 'em by surprise."

"Them?" Dumbledore's question was light in tone but heavy in content. "Is there something I should know, Alastor?"

Magical eye spinning in its socket, Moody appeared disgruntled to Hermione's eyes. "Not in front o'the lassie, surely. Need t'know basis." He tapped his incomplete nose.

"As this matter concerns her," Dumbledore replied equitably, "I am sure we can count on Miss Granger's discretion."

Moody glared unhappily at the Headmaster. "I think we both know summat that we haven't told," he replied gruffly. "Received an owl from one of my contacts earlier tonight. Seems one of our old friends had a contract put out on Granger here."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore raised an inquiring eyebrow. "I am intrigued. Do tell."

Moody stumped around to the bed, his false leg striking the flagstones. "Seems some of our brood 'ere 'ad 'ad a skin full of Granger."

Hermione thought the temperature had dropped a couple of degrees, and shivered.

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "I assume your contacts mentioned some names?"

Moody nodded. "Yep! Seems that Lucius Malfoy decided our girl had run out of time."

Hermione felt warm… hot… sick. Someone had actually decided she had to die, a former Hogwarts' governor no less, and was willing to pay for the privilege.

Dumbledore obviously noted her distress. He promptly conjured a glass, filled it with cold water in a stream from his wand, and offered it to his shocked student.

"'Cos our girl turned up, twas obvious they'd failed," Moody continued. "Thought somebody might try agin, p'haps from one o'those cowards they've in Slytherin."

"Draco," Hermione said quietly, drawing attention from both teachers. She looked up at them and elaborated. "Ron and Neville said he'd been sure I wasn't going to make it. He had to know about it." She shivered. "Apparently he was badly surprised I made it back in one piece."

"Knew 'bout it?" Moody shouted. "I'll bet my peg leg the little bastard asked Daddy to do summat! Since yeh rubbed his nose in dragon dung, I bet he's been whingin' asking for the uppity Mudblood to be put in 'er place."

"Alastor," Dumbledore admonished his old colleague. "Language, please." He then peered over his half-moon glasses at the grizzled ex-Auror. "I did warn you that your little 'exercise' could have repercussions."

"Aye," Moody acknowledged, "that yeh did. I didn't think the little bugger was that vindictive, but he's his old man's boy, that's for sure."

"I take it there is proof to back up these accusations?"

Moody shook his head in the negative. "Knockturn Alley scuttlebutt, no more." Then he looked shrewdly at Dumbledore. "But I'm betting yeh know more 'bout this than yeh're lettin' on, Albus."

Dumbledore ignored the point. "Who was the contractor?"

"An old Death Eater pal o'Malfoy's: Walden Macnair."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore appeared unsurprised. Then he turned to Hermione. "You have already made his acquaintance."

Hermione was lost. "I don't recall anyone of that name."

"Macnair was the Ministry's executioner for dangerous creatures," Dumbledore explained. "It was he who was due to put down Buckbeak last spring, before you thwarted him."

"Oh!" Hermione felt more nauseous, recalling a brawny moustachioed man with a large and exceptionally sharp axe.

Moody fixed both his original and artificial eyes on the Headmaster, and then switched to Hermione, alternating between the two of them. "So, tell me what happened then, Albus, 'cos I'm told Macnair ain't been seen since last weekend."

"The story is really Miss Granger's," Dumbledore replied. "But, before she tells us her tale, I need to reintroduce you to someone." His eyes flickered to Moody's right hand. "And I would beg you to keep your wand away."

Moody looked suspiciously at Dumbledore, and unwillingly holstered his wand. He sat ostentatiously heavily on the spare bed next to Hermione's.

The double door leading to the corridors opened, and Remus Lupin entered, followed by a large black dog which padded into the infirmary. Moody sent dubious glances at all three of the other human occupants, and then looked quizzically at the dog.

The canine outline seemed to blur and stretch, growing taller, before coalescing into the familiar shape and features of Sirius Black.

"Merlin's balls!" Despite his seconds-old promise, Moody already had his wand re-drawn and aimed at the Ministry's most wanted fugitive from justice. "Black!" Sirius just raised his hands to show he was unarmed.

"Alastor! Lower your guard, please." Dumbledore spoke slowly and clearly, brooking no disobedience.

"He's a convicted murderer, Albus," Moody spat through gritted teeth. "He betrayed James and Lily Potter."

"I didn't."

"He's innocent, Moody!"

"He didn't!"

Sirius, Remus and Hermione spoke simultaneously, but with no noticeable effect on Moody's outlook, or his wand.

"Dammit, Albus, what gives?" Moody was both angry and confused.

Dumbledore alone had a calm head. "Alastor, it is a long story, which we will discuss later, but I can assure you that Sirius Black is neither traitor nor murderer. Now, please, put away your wand."

"I can vouch for him as well," Remus added.

Begrudgingly, Moody conceded to lowering his wand, but did not holster it, instead keeping it gripped tightly in his hand, resting on his wooden leg. "If'n I didn't know yeh better, Albus Dumbledore, I'd question yer sanity or ask 'ose been casting spells around yeh." His electric blue eye remained in a fixed orbit, guarding against any move Sirius might dare to make.

Dumbledore tried to calm frayed nerves. "Sirius, join us and take a seat." He conjured up four comfortable armchairs arrayed around the foot of Hermione's bed. Then he turned to Hermione. "Might I suggest, Miss Granger, that on a cold evening, you would prefer your warm bed?"

Slipping back between the blankets, Hermione had no intention of missing out on this discussion. She was grateful when Dumbledore Accioed a warm dressing gown from a far cupboard, and she wrapped it around herself.

Sirius sat near to her right side. "You did it then, kid," he said with no little trace of admiration.

"Hello again, Hermione." Remus appeared tired, and his clothes remained worn and a touch shabby, but his weak smile was genuine enough.

"Hello, Professor Lupin."

His smile grew a little wider. "Just Remus, Hermione. I haven't been your teacher for some months now."

"Harrumph!" All heads turned to Moody, who loudly and dramatically cleared his throat. "Now that all the reintroductions 'ave bin made, p'haps we can turn to business?"

Remus grinned. "Sorry Mad-Eye. I see you haven't changed a bit."

Moody, who would not relax enough to take a seat, stood where he could keep watch simultaneously on both the entrance and Sirius Black with his magical eye. His natural one glared at Hermione.

"You bin keepin' secrets from me, Granger?" he growled menacingly. "We'll be 'avin' words later, missie."

The prospect of that conversation made Hermione shudder.

"If I tell you," Dumbledore began, "that Sirius was not James and Lily's Secret Keeper, and that Peter Pettigrew is still alive, would that make a difference, Alastor?"

"It might," Moody responded gruffly. "Be one 'ell of a tale."

"Well, as I am under strict orders from Poppy and Minerva that Miss Granger needs some rest, we will continue that story later. For now, I ask you to take my word that Sirius poses no danger to you, Miss Granger, or any other student."

"Except for Draco Malfoy," Sirius muttered.

"That is not helping here, Sirius," Dumbledore said with a long-suffering expression. Sirius held up his hands in a compliant gesture.

"Anyway, as I said, the real reason we are here is to obtain Miss Granger's version of events. The sooner we allow the young lady to start, the sooner we shall leave her to her well-deserved sleep and repair to my study for a nightcap." Dumbledore turned to Hermione. "If you would be so kind…"

For the next twenty minutes, Hermione recalled the events of the previous night, answering searching questions from both Dumbledore and Moody. When she had finished, she leant back on her plumped-up pillows, nervous exhaustion starting to kick in.

"Hmm." Moody scratched his chin. "Damn lucky escape." He turned to Dumbledore, who was idly stroking his beard. "Any gen on who the other fella was?"

"None at all," Dumbledore confessed freely. "I believe we will need to avail ourselves of a little extra help from Miss Granger."

"I've told you all I can remember," Hermione protested weakly.

"Other means exist for checking memories, Miss Granger," Dumbledore observed. He drew his wand and lifted it high in the air. "Fawkes!"

At his cry, the Phoenix burst through the doors, trailing magical flames behind him. He alighted for a moment on the Headmaster's lap, then disappeared as suddenly as he had arrived.

Moody lowered his wand, drawn instantly as the doors had burst open. "Bugger it, Albus," he complained. "A word o'warning next time, please."

Dumbledore chuckled. Hermione saw a large, shallow ornate stone bowl resting in his lap. He noticed Hermione's interest. "Do you know what this is, Miss Granger?" he asked avuncularly.

Taking in the symbols and what looked like runes carved into the rim, Hermione's thirst for knowledge was not quenched by her tiredness. "It looks like… is it a - pensieve?" she asked cautiously.

"Superlative spot. Five points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger." Dumbledore beamed.

"It's used to recall memories," she continued. "But I've never seen one before, let alone know how it's used." She looked up anxiously at the Headmaster.

"Then let me guide you." Dumbledore moved his wand towards Hermione's head, gently placing the tip on her temple. "Just think about the events, and I will extract the memory from you."

Hermione closed her eyes, and was certain she felt the memory leave her mind. When she opened her eyes, Dumbledore's wand was retreating from her head, with a translucent sliver string that, like glue, joined her temple to its tip. When the string broke, Hermione found she could not recall the details of what had happened last night.

Noticing distress and confusion in her eyes, Dumbledore hastened to reassure her. "I will return the memory once we have viewed it, Miss Granger. Your head is perfectly capable of holding all your memories. I am afraid that when you reach my age, the head is overcrowded, and I find it provident to store some of my own thoughts and memories elsewhere."

He deposited the memory into the pensieve, where it formed a cloudy, silvery-white pool.

"Now, gentlemen, if you would care to join me?" He looked at Hermione. "Miss Granger, I would understand if -"

Hermione shook her head. "I've seen that man…" she swallowed hard "…murdered once. I've no great desire to relive that again."

Dumbledore nodded. "I quite agree. Well, you may find the next few minutes interesting from the outside. If you will excuse us."

"I'll stay with Hermione," Remus said.

The three others moved around the pensieve, although Hermione noted that Moody kept his wand drawn. What threats he expected to find in a memory, she could not hazard a guess. She wondered if his paranoia ever rested.

To her surprise, all three could fit their heads into the pensieve. She watched until torn away by a diplomatic cough from Remus, who was observing her with the same degree of interest.

"How are you?" he asked quietly.

"I'm… okay, I think," Hermione replied. "A few bruises, and a little magical exhaustion."

"That's good," Remus said. "But I meant your frame of mind."

"Oh." Hermione hesitated.

"It can't be easy, seeing death first hand and in such a brutal manner. I've still not got used to it."

Hermione shivered. "It was… horrible… horrible. There's no other word for it."

"I know." Remus looked incredibly careworn.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Hermione added.

Remus nodded in understanding. "You know, if you ever change your mind, there are plenty of people who'd be happy to help you: Minerva; Dumbledore even. Or, if you prefer, there's me." He halted for a moment. "Don't keep it all bottled up inside, Hermione. It's not healthy. Sometime soon you'll want to - need to - let it all out. Promise me that, when you feel like it, you will find someone… Harry, perhaps?"

Hermione, her throat dry, nodded in tentative agreement.

"Good." Remus appeared to relax a little. "Now, tell me about how you've been coping with your classes with all of the problems this year."

Hermione talked quietly about the pressures she faced due to this year's unique problems. Remus added his voice to McGonagall's request that she not overstretch her reserves, mental, physical or magical.

Their three companions remained essentially motionless for about ten minutes or so, before they simultaneously stood back up. Dumbledore was thoughtful, Sirius a little shaken, and Moody ruminative.

"Definitely Macnair," The ex-Auror commented conversationally.

"Oh yes, I am sure of that," Dumbledore replied.

"No great waste, that one." Moody appeared almost satisfied. Dumbledore frowned. He attracted the memory to his wand, and returned it to Hermione's mind.

Hermione, her reminiscence restored, now asked after the most salient unknown. "Did you see who it was who killed Macnair?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I am afraid that our views were subject to the limitations of your memories. I had hoped that perhaps some detail had been caught that you could not immediately recall, but the figure remained unclear. Alastor?" He turned to the Defence teacher, who was stood, watching Hermione with a thoughtful expression.

"Male, late twenties, possibly early thirties, slim build. No idea o'facial features or hair colour." Moody shrugged ruminatively. "Could be any one o'dozens, if not hundreds of ne'er-do-wells."

Dumbledore nodded. "But next to the question of 'who' is the matter of 'why?'" he added. "Any ideas?"

Moody glanced at Hermione. "None at the moment - or none that anyone sane would entertain. Still, events seem to bear out that someone's out ta get Granger."

Hermione started to respond, but saw one of Moody's fingers surreptitiously tapping up and down on his wand, indicating she could keep quiet.

"Malfoy and his cronies?" Sirius scoffed. "It's about time I paid that snob and his stuck-up bitch a visit."

"I would advise against that," Dumbledore cautioned. "We have no proof that he is behind this attempt on Miss Granger's life, if that is what it was." He stayed quiet for a few moments. "And even if Macnair was acting on Lucius' behalf, that does not explain the second gentleman, or his motives."

Moody swung his wand in a low arc. "Anyone who offs a Death Eater's done the world a favour in my books." He looked up as Dumbledore frowned disapprovingly. "Yeh're too soft, Albus. The girl's alive 'cos someone got rid of Macnair. I'd call that a result."

"You and I will always disagree on the necessity of killing, Alastor," Dumbledore said. "Still, I would be grateful if you could ask your contacts to keep their ears to the ground and eyes open. Malfoy may well have been behind Macnair's appearance. I believe I shall encourage Severus to pass on a coded message via Draco."

"I don't think we should be discussing this here and now," Remus observed, indicating Hermione's presence.

"I agree with Mad-Eye," Sirius butted in. "We can't leave Malfoy to strike again."

Dumbledore appeared disappointed at his companions' opinions. "If Lucius knows that he is being watched, I am sure that will suffice, assuming it was his work. I will also make sure that Draco receives the message that Miss Granger is under Hogwarts' protection." He shook his head. "I refuse to believe that one young man's immaturity is the cause of this."

Moody shook his head sadly. "Always willin' ta believe the best. One o' these days, Albus, that'll catch up on yeh."

Dumbledore looked up sharply but offered no response. Then, seeing Hermione try to stifle a yawn, he stirred himself. "Well, I believe that we have taxed Miss Granger's endurance enough tonight. Shall we retire to my office and discuss the possibilities, gentlemen?"

"A firewhisky wouldn't go amiss," Sirius observed with a thirsty look.

"I think I'll need it when yeh tell yer story, Black."

"Very well then." Dumbledore turned to face Hermione. "We will bid you goodnight, Miss Granger. I can only offer my apologies for what has befallen you over the last day or so. I will ensure that this room is fully protected tonight." He turned to go.

"Headmaster?"

He turned back. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Could you please ask Madam Pomfrey for something for headaches?" she asked plaintively, as though ashamed to complain when someone had died.

"Of course." Dumbledore did not seem to think her request out of the ordinary, but something appeared to catch his eye. "Alastor?"

Moody seemed distracted momentarily. "Eh? Oh, it's nothin' Albus." He did not seem inclined to leave.

"I take it you will be joining us?" Dumbledore was heading towards the nurse's office.

"Be with yeh in a moment, Albus," Moody called out.

Hermione saw Sirius swap a brief doubting look with Remus before glancing at Dumbledore. "I'd be happier if we all left Hermione alone," he said pointedly.

Moody's magical eye swiveled and fixed on the fugitive. "What d'yeh mean by that, Black?" he asked menacingly. "I gave up chasin' witches long ago."

"Gentlemen," Dumbledore stepped between the two, before turning to Sirius. "I cannot think of anyone more trustworthy to whom to commend Miss Granger's wellbeing."

Hermione thought Sirius was about to continue his protest. "It's alright," she volunteered. "I'll be safe with Professor Moody."

Moody continued observing as Remus placed a placating hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Dumbledore's right, Padfoot." Her former teacher then favoured her with a smile. "Good night, Hermione."

With one last meaningful glare in the ex-Auror's direction, Sirius nodded and turned away slowly, followed by the Headmaster.

Moody waited until the doors swung shut behind Dumbledore the three, and then turned on Hermione.

"Sirius Black?" His magical eye spun on its axis. "Yeh consorted with a convicted murderer? Yeh certainly know him."

"He's innocent," Hermione replied tiredly.

"So Albus tells me; I'll be interested in that story. Now, as ta secrets, there's another that we've ta keep." He tapped the side of what passed for his nose. "Malfoy's plan was exactly what I said: a one-off spur-of-the-moment effort. Whoever offed Macnair did us a favour. Lucius won't move a muscle while he's in the dark about what happened. I'll wager a Galleon to a Sickle that an owl's already landed at Malfoy Manor with dread tidings of yer resurrection."

"So you want me to keep quiet about Macnair being dead?"

"Aye, that's one thing." Moody looked reprovingly at her. "T'other's what I know about the mystery man." He shook his head at Hermione's enquiring stare. "Nah - no idea who he was. But I know one thing: he was on another mission, not to stop yeh, but to stop Macnair."

"What!" Hermione's weary mind struggled to take in that concept. "But you said -"

"I know what I said, girl!" Moody grumbled. "Yeh think I like keepin' secrets from Albus Dumbledore?" He moved inelegantly around the ward, his false leg clunking on the floor. "There's people around Albus that I don't trust." He paused. "Didn't know about Black, but that's another reason not ta say summat."

"Look," Hermione interrupted. "I don't understand. Why would someone we don't know set out to protect me in this competition - by killing someone?"

"It's not yeh they're interested in. It's the Potter lad. Tried ta tell yeh that yesterday, that he'd been taken, but Minerva wouldn't 'ave it."

"Harry? But you told the Headmaster -"

Moody turned on her again. "Yeh remember what I told yeh about this bein' a plot ta get at Potter? Do yeh, miss? Well, I was right. Someone wants yeh still in this tin-pot cup. Somehow it matters; somehow yer takin' part involves Potter. Can't figure it out yet, but give me time…"

He stumped around. "Yeh canna tell anyone 'bout this. Not the Headmaster; not McGonagall; and especially not Potter. That hot-head would jump straight into whatever fire is cookin', and now we know damn sure they're playin' fer keeps." He fixed Hermione with a wild stare. "I need time ta solve this Granger. Can yeh promise me yeh'll keep this between ourselves for now? Can yeh keep this quiet?"

Hermione was lost. "I… I'm not happy about keeping secrets from Harry," she began, but Moody cut her protest short.

"Won't be fer long, lass, and it's fer the best." He leaned forward. "Might keep both of yeh alive."

Hermione considered this for a few moments, then, slowly, reluctantly, nodded her assent.

"Good girl," Moody said patronisingly, which grated on her. "Now, all I've gotta do is persuade Dumbledore and Black ta keep what happened from Potter." He shook his head. "Albus'll do it. Lupin will too. Not sure 'bout Black though." He looked up. "I'd better catch those three up afore Black drinks all the fire whisky." Then he pointed at Hermione. "We'll talk on Friday evening. Yeh were lucky last night. Let down yer guard. Still plenty of work ta do."

With that he lumbered around and moved unevenly to the doors, extinguishing the lights as he exited.

It was not just the darkness that made it seem suddenly chillier to Hermione.

* * * * *

Hermione wished she had accepted the offer of a Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

Despite physical and magical exhaustion, her mind was restive, teeming with the paradox of maintaining separate stories for everyone bar Mad-Eye Moody, and keeping yet another secret from Harry.

That the father of a fellow student would undertake to arrange her murder also chilled her soul. Although she had been known of Lucius Malfoy's part in the events that led to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, she thought that was more of an unthinking act of spite against the Weasley family.

This was a plot to kill her in cold blood.

And what had Draco Malfoy said to or begged for from his father? Had he actually sought her death? Hermione, like the Headmaster, struggled with the concept of such a warped sense of values. Surely nothing she had done at Hogwarts deserved this sort of reaction, even from such a spoilt brat as Draco Malfoy.

And what of her mystery protector? The man's demeanour and body language proved that he was angry, and he certainly seemed ready to cast the Killing Curse on her. He had not hesitated to kill Macnair. He would have cast a spell at her when she was defenceless, she was sure of that.

And what strange set of contrivances had coincided to lead a group plotting against Harry to protect a Muggleborn? Even Hermione's formidable intellect struggled with that notion.

When her mind finally ceased its struggle, sleep was not undisturbed.

Draco Malfoy chased her through the Hogwarts' corridors, brandishing a huge axe, followed by a herd of Acromantula.

The dead, unseeing eyes of Walden Macnair bore ghoulishly at her, wordlessly accusing her of complicity in his murder.

The worst was when she watched Harry drift deeper into the water, his breath escaping as he chastised her for failing to save him. Despite her struggles, Hermione could make no headway towards Harry, who sank out of sight.

She awoke in a cold sweat after that nightmare.

Still drained in the morning, she told Madam Pomfrey a little white lie that she was perfectly fine. That secured her release from the hospital wing. Her headache, unalloyed by potions, accompanied her: stress, Hermione assumed, combined with fatigue.

After the previous evening's revelations, the last place Hermione wanted to be was the Great Hall. How many of her fellow students wished her ill? Yet she had no choice: Professor McGonagall was there; and, more importantly, she held Hermione's wand. She craved its return, especially now; she felt naked and defenceless without it.

She sidled into the Great hall with breakfast already under way. Trying to be inconspicuous, Hermione approached the Head Table, and quietly asked her Head of House for her wand. McGonagall favoured her with a frankly sceptical eye when Hermione proclaimed her good health, yet let it pass and returned the wand to its owner.

Hopes of a quiet return were spoiled when her friends spotted her approaching the space between Harry and Ron. First Harry stood up, followed a couple of second later by Ron, reluctantly abandoning his bacon and eggs. Then, like a wave, the rest of Gryffindor rose and started applauding. Fred and George added piercing wolf-whistles. Finally cheers broke out.

Blushing so furiously she thought she might burst into flames, Hermione ducked her head and sat down between her two friends. The cheering continued until Angelina hushed the Gryffindors. Making matters worse, she turned to address Hermione. In a loud and clear voice, she called: "Three cheers for Hermione Granger!"

"Hip, Hip, Hooray!"

As far as a thoroughly abashed Hermione could tell, each and every Gryffindor, from Seventh Year Prefect to lowly ickle firstie, joined in.

"Hip, Hip, Hooray!"

The Ravenclaw table and a fair number of Hufflepuffs joined in the hurrahs.

"Hip, Hip, Hooray!"

An eerie and disgusted silence emanated from the Slytherin quarter.

The Gryffindor cheers and clapping slowly ebbed, until the Headmaster's magically amplified voice cut through the buzz.

"Thank you, thank you. And may I add my own congratulations to the fourth of our champions. Now, before I strain my voice, some boringly routine announcements…"

Hermione sat stunned at her reception. "What was all that about?" she asked a beaming Harry.

"Well, you weren't here last night for dinner," he replied. "Cedric, Viktor and Fleur all received standing ovations for completing the Task. It's only fair that you should get the same."

'I must thank Angelina,' Hermione noted, as the table started to hum with the normal morning conversations. Then, still hungry, she decided on some scotch pancakes for breakfast, along with some hot, sweet tea.

Before she could take a bite, her eyes wandered onto the Slytherin benches, reluctantly searching out that greased shock of silver hair.

She found Draco Malfoy's cold, grey eyes staring back. The expression on his cruel, pouting face was totally new. He regarded her much as he would one of Lovegood's nonsensical creatures, as though no rational reason explained why she was sitting there still alive and breathing.

That alone seemed to confirm Mad-Eye's story.

Suddenly the prospect of food was completely unappetising. She gently pushed her plate away.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Harry peered at her worriedly.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she lied, avoiding his gaze. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach.

"Bollocks! I don't believe you for a moment." Her head shot up at that comment.

"Why not?"

Harry shrugged. "For one, you're the same colour Ron was when he was belching slugs."

'If only it were simply slugs,' she thought.

"I'm just a little… tired, that's all," she compounded the initial untruth.

Harry looked dubiously at her. "Umm… okay, but please, eat something." He reached for the toast rack. "Here."

Reluctantly, Hermione took the offering, and started to spread a thin layer of butter onto the slice.

"What's Malfoy up to," Ron muttered almost unintelligibly around a rasher of bacon he was stuffing into his mouth.

"Malfoy?" Harry offered. "No idea; why?"

Ron pointed at the Slytherin table with his knife. "He's staring at us again." He made a rude gesture in return.

Hermione made sure to keep her eyes fixed on the toast.

Harry was dangerously quiet. "I dunno," he finally said. "But whatever it is, I don't like it any more than Ron." He turned and leaned in, seeking confidentiality. "I need to talk with you," he said quietly but earnestly. "Privately. It's serious." Then, before anyone became too suspicious, he turned back to his breakfast.

Hermione wondered what Harry had to discuss, but as soon as she could decently retreat to her dormitory, she shot away from the Great Hall, muttering about collecting her books.

Hogwarts' corridors, once so warm and safe, now seemed cold and unfriendly. Unable to remove the idea of Draco Malfoy actually wishing her dead from her mind, she idly wished she had access to a pensieve of her own.

Hermione's fragile state persisted when she entered the Transfiguration classroom. Her participation in the class was noticeably less than stellar. She knew that Harry, Ron and Neville were worried about her, as they kept muttering and whispering, drawing disapproving glares from McGonagall. The whole equilibrium of the Gryffindor Fourth Year was upset; without Hermione's lead they were rudderless and confused.

When class ended for the morning break, McGonagall asked Hermione to remain behind. Harry and Ron hung around until McGonagall pointedly asked them to close the door behind them.

"Please be seated, Miss Granger." McGonagall waited until Hermione complied. "I believe you have a free period after break?" she asked rhetorically. Harry swore, and Hermione secretly agreed, that McGonagall had every student's schedule engraved into her brain. In the absence of a magical equivalent of a computer, the Deputy Head was the next best thing.

Hermione nodded.

"Good," McGonagall declared. She tapped her wand on her desk, and a house-elf appeared in a flash. "Blinky, tea, toast and two boiled eggs, please."

The house-elf disappeared as fast as it had appeared, and was back in a few seconds with a tray containing two medium-sized plates, a steaming teapot, a pair of cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl, a full rack of warm toast, and two egg cups holding brown eggs.

"Frankly, Miss Granger," McGonagall began a soft lecture, "you look far from well. I saw how little you ate for breakfast. Here." The professor passed over a plate, the toast, and then both boiled eggs.

Hermione shook her downcast head.

McGonagall sat opposite her pupil. "Now, Miss Granger, you need to maintain your strength. I do not want to order you to eat - to be honest, there I cannot force you to - but I am appealing to your common sense." She halted for a second, and then decided to continue. "The Headmaster and Sirius Black have provided me with the gist of what occurred the two nights previous. I am fully cognizant of the situation."

Hermione looked up. Professor McGonagall was tight-lipped with a mixture of suppressed anger and sympathy. "How can another student hate me enough to want me killed?" she asked plaintively in a small voice.

"He is his father's son," McGonagall observed. Neither woman needed to name the party concerned. "However, we have no evidence that he actually requested this of his father, if that is indeed what happened.

"There are other possibilities. The incident that Professor Moody 'arranged' was deeply embarrassing for Draco Malfoy. Had I known what Alastor had planned…" Her voice trailed off as she shook her head.

"It must be remembered that Lucius Malfoy is an intensely ambitious political animal. He has no great desire to see you compete in the Triwizard Tournament; that was clear at the meeting with the Minister. The prospect of your continuing participation undoubtedly fills him with dread. As I warned you after that daft interview with that Skeeter woman, the Tournament provides you with a platform to attack some of the worst of pure-blooded prejudices. Perhaps Draco's undoubted complaints were the straw that broke the Thestral's back."

Rational analysis was just what she needed; it allowed her brain to exercise something other than raw emotion. Before she knew it, Hermione had reached out and taken a slice of toast. McGonagall noticed with approval but said nothing.

"The child, even though a spoiled brat with the manners of a mountain troll…" That brought a glimmer of a smile from Hermione "… should not be blamed for the sins of the father, as slippery a beast as the latter undoubtedly is. And we only have Professor Moody's 'intelligence' that points the finger at Lucius Malfoy.

"And my own observations of the young man's demeanour… which without corroboration, prove nothing. Much as I hate to say it, we must give Draco Malfoy the benefit of the doubt."

Hermione nodded distastefully. Now she reached for the nearest egg cup, drawing a wintry smile from McGonagall.

"That does not mean that we at Hogwarts shall not take precautions. Professor Snape has been instructed to make it clear to Malfoy that his actions are under close scrutiny, and that he should forgo petty thoughts of 'revenge.' Now, would you like some tea?"

By the end of the break, Hermione was feeling at least a little safer and a lot less hungry.

That did not, however, win her any immediate reprieve. Harry and Ron quizzed her over what McGonagall had wanted, and she parried them with an elliptic comment about the Tournament. The fleeting expression of disbelief on Harry's face did not escape her.

Harry was obviously anxious to have his quiet word with her, but with Ron starting to look askance at his two friends, Hermione was granted momentary relief. With a free period coming up, Ron providentially dragged Harry off for a game of Exploding Snap. Hermione sought temporary sanctuary in the Library.

Harry could not achieve his aims during lunch, as the Great hall had too many pairs of eyes that would have been interested in a confidential tête-au-tête between a Triwizard Champion and her 'treasure' who also happened to be The-Boy-Who-Lived. Yet, as she placated her returning appetite with some sardines, Hermione was all too aware of Harry's occasional reproving yet beseeching look.

Thursday afternoon promised a double period of Defence Against the Dark Arts. With Mad-Eye's all-seeing gaze, Hermione yet again avoided her commitments to Harry. He had no opportunity to seize a quiet word. Yet Hermione knew that she was only postponing the inevitable.

Defence against the Dark Arts was once again an ordeal for Hermione, although for once no-one could blame Mad-Eye. The vigorous session stretched Hermione's resources, her magical reserves still not quite up to normal, and by the end she was nearly fit to drop. A reminder from Professor Moody that she still had a detention to serve after dinner did nothing to improve her equanimity.

The need for fuel caused Hermione to really tuck into her evening meal. She stocked up with Irish stew, dumplings and mashed potato, followed by spotted dick and hot custard, her appetite even drawing an admiring glance from Ron.

As she rose from the table to head towards her 'detention', Harry followed suit. Hermione tried to wave him off.

"I don't need an escort, Harry." She was now certain that Professor Moody intended her no harm, intentionally, at least.

Harry gave her a cool, appraising stare. He cast an exaggerated glance over her shoulder to the Slytherin table. "Really?"

Hermione's gaze quickly followed, her eyes searching immediately for Draco Malfoy. It was easy to spot his silvery head, and for once he appeared to be doing nothing out of the ordinary, just sitting among his acolytes. Her head whipped back to find Harry watching her with a knowing expression.

Perhaps she would feel just that little bit safer with Harry as an escort through the evening corridors. It would also finally allow them the chance for that quiet word he had been seeking all day.

Thursday evenings were usually quiet. Most students kept their heads down, completing homework in the knowledge that the next two evenings would be free of such pressure. Still, Harry was patient, waiting until there was no-one else in sight, and in a stretch of corridor that lacked portraits. He leaned tiredly against a wall, removed his glasses and rubbed the pinch-mark on his nose.

"I had a late night visit from Padfoot."

Hermione could not help but give a sharp gasp. Surely Sirius Black had sworn secrecy to Dumbledore?

"He wouldn't tell me what had happened." The irritation was clear in his voice. "Just told me that I was to look out for you. He particularly mentioned the amazing bouncing ferret." Harry lifted his head and fixed her with a stare. "Sirius said anything more I'd have to learn from you. I don't suppose you would care to enlighten me, would you?"

Hermione felt her stomach drop away. She gulped, her mouth now strangely dry.

She absolutely, positively despised deceiving Harry, actively or passively.

Harry watched for a couple of seconds, and then smacked the palm of one hand with the back of the other. "Damn it, Hermione!" he said vehemently. "Something big's going on, you're smack in the middle of it, yet no-one will tell me what the Hell it is!"

'Damn Sirius Black,' Hermione thought. 'He might have had the best of intentions, but now…'

"I'm not thick, despite appearances," Harry added. "This has everything to do with you and the Tournament, hasn't it?" He glanced up and down the corridor, hoping no-one had heard his raised voice. "Mad-Eye's involved; you can't tell me these are detentions. And what does Si-" He caught himself just in time, and took a noticeable effort to keep calm. "What does Padfoot have to do with it?"

Hermione shook her head remorsefully. "I'm sorry Harry. I can't tell anyone. I promised." The hurt in his eyes was crystal clear, and the guilt tore at Hermione. "It's safer that way…"

"Safer," scoffed Harry. "Not for you. There's more to this than just the Second Task. What in Merlin's name went on out there?"

She so wanted to tell him, to relieve herself of the crushing burden of secrecy and lies. "It's… complicated," she said lamely.

Harry moved towards her, and placed his hands on both her shoulders. "You're shaking," he said quietly. "You're scared."

She knew that if she broke down now, she would spill everything. Moody's warning of Harry's hero complex rang jarringly in her head. Her trembling worsened.

"Why Draco bloody Malfoy?" Harry persisted. "He's a bully and an obnoxious prat, but you beat him. Has he threatened you? If he has, I'll -"

"Harry." She raised her arms and almost in supplication put her hands on his elbows. "Please. Don't do this to me."

He dropped his hands to his sides in a gesture of apparent defeat. "I thought we promised not to keep secrets," he said sadly, turning aside.

This time Hermione, burning with guilt, who reached out, a gentle tug on his shoulder. "Harry, if I could, I would… Please believe me - at least about that." Looking into his bewildered eyes, a grotesque image shot into her head. She glimpsed the same lifelessness in his bright green eyes as in Macnair's only last night - no, the night before, she reminded herself.

Hermione shuddered involuntarily. "I thought I'd lost you in the Lake. I thought you'd drowned. It's best you don't become involved."

'Or more involved than you are already, whether you know it or not.'

Harry grasped her arm, not a hard gesture but one full of emotion. "And you almost did! If you're involved, Hermione, then so am I. You've stood beside me every time I've needed help - every time. I'll be damned if I stand aside now, whatever trouble you're in."

She wished she could hug him, but knew if she got that close to him her determination might well shatter. Still, his declaration filled her with an explosive mixture of giddy delight and utter dread in equal measure.

She wished she could at least tell him what see had seen, believing a trouble shared was a trouble halved. The problem was, knowing Harry, that Moody's blunt analysis of her friend's psyche was spot on. Telling him would result in a trouble doubled.

Taking a calming breath, Hermione met his inquisitive stare. "I know you would Harry. I've always known that." Another deep breath. "But this is my battle to fight. I'll tell you the moment I can, but that's not now." She found her free hand drifting towards his forehead, and gently brushed aside unruly hair that covered his scar. "It's not the right time… or so I'm told," she added with a little bitterness.

That only partially mollified Harry. Hermione could see how much he truly hated watching her current travails. It just reinforced her acute awareness of Moody's prediction. It had to be this way.

Hermione just hoped he would forgive her if - once - she came through.

"Okay," Harry finally admitted. "I know when I'm beaten. But that won't stop me watching your back. If that little snake as much as sneezes in your direction, I'll shove my wand down his throat before he can blink!"

She found her hand offer his cheek the gentlest of fleeting caresses before, aware of their location, she took half a step back, disengaging her other arm. "That shouldn't be necessary, Harry. I'm told by highest authority that he'll be behaving himself from now on."

"Humph!" Harry was unimpressed. "Since when has Malfoy been one to follow the rules?"

This did bring a little smile to her face. "Hark who's talking! How many rules have you broken, Harry Potter?" There was no admonishment, only a gentle humour.

"You've broken a few in your time, Hermione."

"And if you don't count the times you and Ron dragged me along?"

"Umm… possibly never," Harry offered, a matching smile starting to break out.

"And what happens when I'm late for Professor Moody's detention?"

Harry grinned ruefully. "I'll be there to pick up the pieces." Then he took on a serious mien again. "I'll wait to see you back after."

"I know. And I appreciate it." She would not argue the point. Harry was, after all, only doing what Sirius had asked him to. She was sure that Harry would have done so anyway. And, to be fair, after the events of the last forty-eight hours, she would welcome a little comfort blanket.

As they walked side-by-side down towards the Defence classroom, Hermione slipped her arm though Harry's, and admitted to herself that Fleur Delacour may well have been spot on herself.

* * * * *

"Krum's the lad yeh've got ta keep an eye on," Moody stated. "Lad's the class in this competition. Diggory's good, and the French lass too, but Krum's the danger."

"Viktor's no danger," Hermione replied quietly from her seat. "Not to me. I've no intention of winning the Tournament. My only concern is coming through in one piece, so I can stay here, and to uncover who's behind the whole ridiculous affair." For the second time that night she gave an involuntary shudder. "Someone's already died. I'd rather not watch that number mount."

Moody stared hard at her. "But yeh'r through ta the last event! Yeh can win the whole bleedin' thing! Malfoy'll 'ave a magic stroke!"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm in last place on merit. It's ridiculous to think I could beat Viktor, Cedric and Fleur on a level playing field. As it is, they must all hold some sort of advantage over me going into the Third Task. After all, why have scores for each event? There must either be an overall score or some sort of penalty or some such."

"I'm disappointed in yeh, Granger," Moody admitted. "I thought yeh had more spunk than this."

Hermione levelled her gaze. "I've nearly been killed twice - no, make that three times - in the last few weeks. I've seen another man murdered with my own eyes. I think I know the stakes by now." She was starting to breathe hard now. "I never wanted to take part, but I've been forced to, and then you tell me it's all some plot to get at Harry.

"I'm keeping my end of the bargain," she finished, surprising herself with her passion.

Moody regarded her with evident disdain. "Yeh'll never have a greater chance at makin' a name fer yerself, Granger." He sat down heavily in his chair, which complained under the burden. "Bein' a Triwizard winner, the first fer a couple o'centuries, that'll make yeh famous throughout Europe. Opens doors."

"I've seen what fame's cost Harry. I don't want or need that, and I could care less for the money," she replied a little more heatedly than she would normally to a teacher.

"Yeh just don't get it, do yeh? Yeh've no magical antecedents, which makes yeh a rude word in some circles."

"So? All I need to do is maintain my grades, pass my O.W.L.S. and .N.E.W.T.S. and then I shouldn't have a problem. Anyway, this is beside the point."

"Really?" If either of Moody's eyebrows had survived, Hermione suspected they would have been raised. "If yeh believe that yer not as bright as some make out." He brought out his wand and rapped it against his wooden leg. "Blood still counts fer a lot, more than yeh think. Don't take my word fer it. Ask Minerva how easy it would be fer a Mu-" He caught himself. "Yeh know what I mean. Ask her how easy it'll be fer one like yeh to walk into a half-decent job in the Ministry." He held up a hand as Hermione started to protest. "Even with a cauldron full of qualifications. The answer might open yer eyes."

That statement made Hermione pause. She had assumed that, outside the walls of Hogwarts, the magical world would turn out to be more or less a meritocracy. How could anyone ignore the evidence of passed exams and high grades? Although the bias against Muggleborns was more obvious amongst the older families, no-one in Hogwarts, in particular Professor McGonagall, had ever mentioned that it might be institutionalised. She filed away that question for a later date.

"Look, Professor, I have never entertained more than the prospect of survival. Winning is so unlikely that it's not worth worrying about."

"Have yeh ever thought that ta find out who's after Potter, yeh might have to win the blasted thing?"

Hermione thought for a few seconds. "If that's the case, then they're worse than mediocre planners. It's a pretty poor plot that relies upon a fifteen-year old student!"

She could have sworn that Moody's scowl was deeper than usual, but did not let that put her off.

"I doubt the final position will matter. Whatever they're planning, they will either come at me during the Task, or perhaps use it as a diversion and go directly for Harry." That thought worried her. "You will make sure that Harry -"

"Aye, lass," he waved her off. "I'll watch over Potter, just as broody as those dragons, eh?" Moody slumped back in his chair. "I saw he dropped yeh off this evening." This time he tapped his wand against his artificial eye. "This sees everythin'. Still playing at bodyguard, is he? I do hope yeh haven't told 'im anythin'."

Springing automatically to Harry's defence, Hermione's denial was a little intense. "Of course not!" Then, a little more reflectively: "I hate lying to him, keeping him in the dark."

"It's safer, Granger, fer both of yeh." She could have sworn there was the merest soupçon of tenderness in Moody's reply, but that didn't last long.

"Trouble is we know they're playin' fer keeps. You'll need to be at the top of yer game if'n they come fer yeh." Then Moody pushed himself slowly out of his seat. "That means more practice." He drew his wand, its tip starting to glow.

Hermione sighed and prepared herself for another exhausting evening.

* * * * *

Friday afternoon was never a favourite time for the Fourth-year Gryffindors. No-one in their right mind, even the Slytherins, looked forward to a double Potions' session with Professor Snape. As the Lions shared their class with those self-same Slytherins, their prospects were even bleaker.

Hermione, who normally shrugged off these concerns in the pursuit of knowledge, was more concerned this time. Potions would be her first face-to-face encounter with Draco Malfoy since she had learned of his role in sending Macnair to his eventual death.

Not that she particularly worried about Malfoy junior: she expected him to be his loathsome self, but no more, given the assurances she had received from both Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress.

Her greater concern was for her own reaction, and what that in turn might provoke in Harry.

She managed the feat of actually increasing her anxieties over lunch, and was well on the way to working herself into a right state. She managed successfully to transfer some of that nervousness to Harry, who reacted with an extraordinarily grim demeanour as the Gryffindor party made its unwilling way towards the dungeons.

Turning the last corner, they found the Slytherins already waiting for them. Obviously Professor Snape had not returned from lunch. Her would-be nemesis stood with the usual suspects, his back to her. As they heard the approaching Gryffindors, Malfoy turned around.

The last reaction Hermione expected from Malfoy was a nervous expression, his uncertainty shining through.

That in itself gave Hermione more heart. Whatever Malfoy père et fils had planned, it had failed, although at a grisly cost. Hermione Granger remained alive and well - more than could be said for the unlamented Macnair - and still a Triwizard competitor. She straightened, held her head high, and ignored him imperiously.

Harry, his wand gripped tight in his right hand, was not so obliging. He stood directly in Malfoy's line of sight, staring straight at his opposite number, daring him to make an aggressive move.

As Hermione turned to watch, she could have sworn that Malfoy's nerve visibly crumpled as he took two short steps back. When she looked at Harry, she understood. She, too, would have quailed under that fulminating look of anger.

Everyone else, attention consumed by this vivid tableau, stood as if petrified. Only Hermione knew the full story behind this imminent confrontation.

For once, Professor Snape's appearance came as a welcome relief to Hermione.

"What is occurring here?" he asked icily. "Potter? Malfoy?"

Hermione waited for the lies to spew from Malfoy's lips. She was shocked when he stammered nervously that nothing was happening. Snape's eyebrow lifted-off, but that was his only sign of emotion. "In which case, cease blocking the corridor and move directly into the classroom." He stared hard at Harry, who showed no immediate sign of standing down. "Potter, that includes you."

Without taking his eyes off the retreating Malfoy, Harry slowly stowed his wand, then stalked past the Potions' Master. Hermione made to follow.

"Not so fast, Granger." She was brought up short by Snape's command. "A quick word."

Why did everyone want a quick or quiet word with her these days?

Once the other students, relieved that Snape was ignoring them in favour of a juicier target, filed past, Snape slammed the door shut with a quick flick of his wand.

"No matter what may or may not have befallen you in recent days," Snape intoned, "you are still nothing but an insufferable know-it-all who can regurgitate printed matter but cannot hold an original thought in your head.

"I may have given certain undertakings -" Hermione was sure she knew what he meant "- to the Headmaster, but that does not extend to giving you the run of my office."

"Sir?" Hermione was perplexed. She could tell that Snape was quietly seething over some imagined breach.

"Gillyweed!" he said slowly. "I wonder where that came from?"

Hermione stayed quiet. She had no firm idea where Dobby had purloined the aquatic plant from, but she could make a reasonable guess.

"Stewed lacewing flies; powdered bicorn horn; boomslang skin. The primary ingredients for Polyjuice Potion." She was fixed by his dark eyes. "Someone has broken into my private supplies, Granger."

'Not me… at least, not this year.' She wondered whether he could read her thoughts.

"Should I were to find that you were in any way involved Granger, I can promise you that finishing this tin-pot competition will be the last of your concerns." Snape's cold, emotionless delivery carried just as much menace as Harry's visible burning anger. He slipped his hand inside his robe, and drew out a vial. "Do you know what this is, Granger?"

Hermione glanced at the crystal-clear potion within. Given the circumstances, it could only be…

"Veritaserum," Snape stated. "A Truth Potion so powerful that one or two drops would reveal your innermost secrets to me - or the entire class."

If he sought to intimidate her, Hermione confessed he was succeeding. "The Ministry guidelines -" she started with a wavering voice, but was soon cut off by Snape.

"…State that Veritaserum can only be used in strictly controlled situations. Yes, I know," he said, leaning over her. "But imagine, if your limited mind can comprehend such an act, that some should find its way into your evening pumpkin juice. If you were to reveal what a cheat and a thief you were, in the Great Hall, consider how long your career at Hogwarts would be likely to continue. Weeks? Days? Perhaps only -"

"We need to talk."

Hermione leaned to one side to peer at the interloper. To her surprise it was Karkaroff, and he appeared highly agitated.

Snape did not turn but straightened. "I will consider talking to you after my lesson, Karkaroff."

"We will talk now," Karkaroff insisted. "You've been avoiding me, Severus."

Hermione thought the Durmstrang Headmaster sounded desperate. How, she thought, was he on first-name terms with Professor Snape?

"After the lesson," Snape snapped.

"When you'll run off again? I think not. It's happening to you too, isn't it?"

That remark obviously touched a nerve, as Snape spun round to face Karkaroff. Before answering, he spoke to Hermione with a cold air of command. "Get out of my sight, Granger."

Hermione entertained the comment that he could not see her, but she was not that brave or stupid, so she ducked around him, pushed open the dungeon door, and then heard it slam shut behind her.

Every pair of eyes in the room was upon her.

* * * * *

"You coming to Hogsmeade with us, Ron?"

Harry, in Hermione's opinion, was delighted with the announcement of a Hogsmeade weekend. It was an unspoken agreement that he would accompany Hermione. Not, she noted sadly, with any romantic undertones, but as part of Harry's campaign to ensure she was not bothered by the likes of Malfoy.

Hermione welcomed that. She would feel more secure outside Hogwarts with Harry around; and Harry's company was never an ordeal.

"Umm… yeah." Ron appeared just a little shifty. "I'll come down to Honeydukes, but then… well, I've sorta…." His reply drifted off in senseless mumbling.

"What?"

"Gotta sort of… date…" Ron admitted sheepishly, his now flushed face clashing with his flame-red hair.

"You sly old fox, Weasley!" Seamus had been ear-wigging in the common room. "Who's the unlucky lady? Anyone we know?"

Ron mumbled something that Hermione could not catch, but Harry obviously did. "Eloise Midgen? What, the 'Puff with the… you know?" He put one finger up against the side of his nose and pushed the soft part to one side.

"Oh my! Not Madam Wonky-Konk?" Seamus cried.

Ron's reply seemed to include the words "Not that bad… straighter than it was…"

Hermione sought to lift Ron's spirit's a little. "Never mind, Ron. Her acne's cleared up a lot."

Ron shot her an annoyed glare. Help like that he could obviously do without.

"So, do you like her then, Ron?" Harry was searching for more dirt. Hermione gave him a light punch on the arm.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. Hermione knew no fifteen-year-old boy would admit to liking a girl. Among present company was another who, although a few months younger, seemed even more oblivious to that prospect. She dimly recalled that Eloise had been Ron's partner at the Yule Ball.

"So, is this that kind of date?" Dean asked.

"Oh, do leave him alone." Hermione turned to Ron. "I think it's sweet."

"Sweet?" Ron pulled a face. "Just, please, whatever you do, don't tell Fred and George! Or..." his face blanched. "… Ginny!"

"What's it worth, Ron?" Harry was not one to relinquish the upper hand in ragging his friend.

"Harry…" He turned as he recognised the command in Hermione's one word.

"Only joking, Hermione." He made a playful act of searching the common room for the Twins or Ron's sister before finally putting his friend out of his misery.

Somehow Ron escaped more joshing and actually agreed to travel down in the same carriage. Hermione was happy, and not just over Ron's romantic prospects.

If Ron was off on some kind of date with Eloise Midgen, then she would have more time alone with Harry.

Although a sliver of weak sunshine glimmered over Hogwarts' lawns, no-one trusted the Scottish spring weather enough to leave their cloaks behind.

As the three of them walked slowly down towards the drive and the waiting carriages, Hermione reflected on how the bridge building between Ron and Harry and herself had gone. Harry and Ron appeared as firm friends as before, although Harry spent more time with her than he had done in previous years. Ron did not appear jealous; perhaps he had used this extra time with Eloise?

As for herself and Ron, there was no longer any doubt who was her best friend. She viewed Ron with a degree of studied neutrality. They had shared too much in their young lives to completely break all ties, but certainly Ron no longer stood out so brightly against her other Gryffindor contemporaries. She had brought him a nice Quidditch book for his birthday last Monday, and he had solemnly thanked her for it. But her ties with Ron were now mostly through Harry's medium.

Harry was still teasing Ron unmercifully over his 'date', and Hermione was walking a step ahead of them as she approached the carriages for the short ride into the village. She glanced to see if there was a queue, and then stopped dead.

"What the -!" Harry cannoned into her back.

Hermione raised a wavering finger. "Wh-what's that?" she croaked.

"What's what?" Harry peered in the rough direction of her pointed finger.

"That!"

Ron looked at the carriage, then back at Hermione. "There's nothing there."

"Yes there is!" Hermione replied hotly. "Look! There! In the traces."

What she saw was horrific. It could well have been the mount of one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Harnessed, the creature carried the basic frame of a horse, and not much more, apart from outsized batlike wings of a thin membrane across bones. It carried little flesh, black skin hanging off the skeleton. The head was more lizard-like than equine.

Harry and Ron both regarded her warily. "There's nothing there, Hermione," Harry said in an obvious effort to calm her.

"It's just the usual horseless carriage." Ron sounded confunded.

Hermione fumed. How could they ignore the evidence of their own eyes? "No," she said slowly but with mounting frustration. "They're not horseless this time."

"Nonsense," Ron declared, striding past her. "You're seeing things, Hermione!" As he approached the demonic-looking creature, Hermione put one fist to her mouth, worried that it might attack.

As Ron stood by the carriage tongue, the creature stared balefully at him. "See! Nothing to - Ow!"

As he swung his arm back to prove the traces were empty, his arm struck something hard. As a reflex action the creature shied and smacked Ron's head with its own.

"Bloody Hell!" Ron leapt back, staring hard at thin air.

"See!" Hermione shot back, satisfied she had won the point. "I told you so."

Harry was watching carefully. "Hermione, can you tell us what you see?"

She started to describe what she could see, but even then her mind was turning over how she could see the creature whilst it remained invisible to her two friends. Before Hermione reached any conclusion, Luna Lovegood caught her eye as she approached the animal and offered it a rather reddened apple.

"Luna!" The Ravenclaw turned and smiled, holding up the partially eaten apple.

"They like the blood, see."

Hermione shook her head. "What do, Luna?"

Again, Luna brought the blood-smeared apple within reach of the creature. As it took another bite, she ruffled its rough mane with her spare hand. "The Thestrals. This one's called Tenebrus."

"You can see them?" Ron demanded.

"Oh yes," Luna replied. "And so can Hermione."

Confused, Hermione stepped forward, studying the animal. She was right: it was more reptilian. "Is this the first time that… Thestrals have pulled the carriages?"

"Oh no, they always have, at least since I've been coming here."

Hermione doubted that. "Then why have I never seen them before? And why can't Harry or Ron see them at all?"

Luna relinquished the apple to Tenebrus, and the stare she gave Hermione with her large eyes was full of compassion. "You can only see them if you have seen death." She moved towards Hermione and reached out consolingly. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"What?" Ron barked. "Since when have you seen 'death'?"

Luna assumed the question was meant for her. "My mother died when I was nine," she said matter-of-factly. "I was there."

This time Hermione reached out to console Luna, but the younger girl seemed not to need it.

"Not you," Ron said a little unkindly. "Hermione."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. What could she say?

"Drop it Ron." There was iron in Harry's command.

"Huh?"

"I said drop it." Hermione saw Harry's clinched jaw and the same hard look in his eyes that had stared down Malfoy. He certainly had made the connection. "It doesn't matter."

"Okay," Ron conceded slowly. "Invisible horses... What next?"

Harry shot another loaded glance in Hermione's direction. She knew that there would be yet another quick word.

* * * * *

Harry was not happy, Hermione considered.

He had remained tight-lipped throughout the carriage ride, quietly stewing. That mood that not been tempered by the prospect of Honeydukes or the promise of a butterbeer.

Ron sat in the carriage looking alternately at his two silent friends. He could not comprehend what had frozen the atmosphere so suddenly and completely. He had sought freedom as soon as possible, improbably now seeking out Eloise Midgen earlier than he had arranged.

Luna had remained oblivious and regaled the other three with stories about Thestrals being ill-omens. In response, Harry hunkered down even more in his self-imposed purdah, and just a little more ice crept into Hermione's heart.

As soon as Ron had scampered off, and Luna disappeared to who-knows-where, Harry took a tight hold of Hermione's arm, and steered her away from the obvious destinations such as Zonko's, Honeydukes, the Three Broomsticks or, considering his companion, Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. Instead, careful that no-one noticed them, he led her towards the Shrieking Shack.

Hermione did not protest. At least, she thought with grim humour, if spotted, it would add more spice to her reputation as a scarlet woman!

They did not try to break in; instead Harry led her round the back, away from prying eyes. He spread his cloak on the grass, and watched as Hermione, a little warm, removed and sat down cross-legged on hers.

"You saw someone die." Harry cut straight to the chase. "I'm assuming that was during the Second Task."

Hermione, unwilling to trust her voice, just nodded.

"You didn't say anything," Harry observed ominously quietly. "At least," he allowed, "not to me."

"True," Hermione conceded.

Harry stared long and coolly at her, before spinning around and thumping the rotting boards with the palm of his hand.

"Bloody Hell, Hermione! It could've…!" He gasped out between breaths, before recovering some composure and straightening up, although he did not turn back to face her. "I guess Sirius knows?"

"Yes."

Harry exhaled deeply. "Thought so. That's why he asked me to keep an eye on you, isn't it?" Now he turned.

"I guess so," Hermione said flatly.

"Who died?" Hermione saw sudden comprehension strike him. "It wasn't Lucius Mal -"

"No," Hermione confirmed. "It wasn't."

"So who was it then? And what has Draco Malfoy got to do with it?"

Now Hermione inhaled deeply. "I can't tell you."

"Can't? Or won't?" Harry spat with more bitterness than Hermione had ever observed in him.

"Both."

His eyes narrowed further. Now Hermione thought she knew how Draco Malfoy had felt down in the dungeons. Harry was struggling to keep his temper in check.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"Why won't you Hermione? That's what I don't understand. Why can't you trust me? Damn it, you've seen someone die. That's spooked Sirius badly enough that he wouldn't tell me either. I bet it's tied in with those evening sessions with Mad-Eye as well."

As always, Hermione found his instincts spot on.

"Harry, as I've said before it's sa -"

"Yeah - Safer if you don't tell me," Harry interrupted in a sing-song voice. "That record's got a scratch, Hermione." He slumped back onto his haunches. "I know it involves me," he said suddenly and heatedly.

Uncannily spot on! Hermione stared at him. How did he know?

Harry gave an involuntary flinch under her stare. "Knew it… you know… I mean, if it involves you, it automatically involves me," he added hastily.

Leaning forward, Hermione crawled the few feet towards Harry on her knees. She reached out with both her hands and grabbed hold of his.

"Harry, we - I'm - doing all I can not to involve you." She shivered, not from cold. "Please, for me, let it lie."

Harry looked down at the grass and dirt visible at the edge of his cloak, shaking his head slowly. Blowing his fringe from his face, he lapsed into a thoughtful silence.

Finally, he came to a decision. Taking a deep breath, he looked up. Hermione could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Honestly, I don't like it, not one bit. You're far too important to me."

Her heart managed to simultaneously leap and sink at that declaration.

"But," Harry continued, "if you and Sirius both insist, there's got to be a really good reason. So I'll not push, for you."

Hermione felt some of the tenseness flow away.

"That doesn't mean," Harry continued, "that I won't help you in any other way I can." He stood up and kicked at the earth. "I'm fed up with this place, and could do with a drink." He extended his arm down towards her. "Fancy a butterbeer?"

Relieved, Hermione allowed him to pull her to her feet. "I'm buying," she said, not quite able to keep a flutter out of her voice.

'You're far too important to me,' she repeated in her head, a glimmer of light in the darkness.

* * * * *

I am assured that, in France, the polite gesture of welcome or thanks is three kisses on alternating cheeks. Two is apparently a Belgian version. For family members, I am assured six is the correct number! I assume that, when kissing a pretty girl, you manage as many as you can get away with…

Gen is British military slang for intelligence.

Spotted dick is not a medical condition, but a suet pudding with sultanas.