Unofficial Portkey Archive

Finally - the Third Task. As ever, I owe a great deal of thanks to beta readers Bexis and George. I solemnly swear I am up to no good that I am making absolutely no profit from the writing of this story, and that the Harry Potter characters are in thrall to JKR.

WORLD EXCLUSIVE; FROM THE QUILL OF RITA SKEETER

SIRIUS BLACK HARBOURED AT HOGWARTS

DUMBLEDORE PROTECTS CONVICTED MURDERER

Hermione needed only a few seconds to unscramble her brain.

"Tergeo!"

Instantly, the dark orange pumpkin juice blotches that impregnated the paper disappeared, and Rita Skeeter's latest and greatest scoop to date reappeared. Hermione was transfixed.

Department of Magical Law Enforcement sources have revealed that notorious murderer and escaped convict Sirius Black is being harboured by none other than Albus Dumbledore, the senile headmaster at the once prestigious Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Black, whose escape from Azkaban has never been satisfactorily explained, had been serving a life sentence for betraying the Potters to You-Know-Who in 1981 and killing his childhood friend, Peter Pettigrew. Black was believed spotted by long-time Ministry employee Walden Macnair in the Forbidden Forest on the outskirts of Hogsmeade some weeks ago - during the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Macnair's has not been seen since and his current whereabouts are unknown, leading his colleagues to fear that he may have met his end at Black's hands, who has shown no compunction over killing wizards before; as Mr. Pettigrew's tragic case demonstrates amply.

An Auror close to the case revealed that no-one believed Black could remain at liberty so close to Hogwarts without Dumbledore's knowledge and connivance. The old man may have gone further and actually harboured the criminal, as Black has been rumoured seen inside Hogwarts' halls, both in his Animagus form of a large dog, and in person.

Hermione's grip increased, stretching the paper almost drum-tight. Her heartbeat raced and all thoughts of a romantic declaration fled before the disastrous news. Moody's "talk" with Rita had already proven ineffectual; now she wondered if it had made any difference at all. She returned her concentration to the article.

When asked why Dumbledore, so long in the limelight as the conqueror of Grindelwald, would be aiding and abetting a former Death Eater, the Auror stated: "Perhaps we need to examine the so-called 'established' facts afresh." Could it be that the role Dumbledore played in You-Know-Who's reign of terror has been subverted to hide a more sinister involvement? Surely, regardless of his motivation, this latest discovery must spell the overdue end of Dumbledore's time at Hogwarts and his pollution of our children's minds with Muggle nonsense. Even if he is innocent of protecting Black - highly unlikely according to D.M.L.E. sources -his repeated failure to prevent this known felon from entering Hogwarts in stark dereliction of his duty to protect students is the final proof required to clinch his removal and retirement, subject to criminal charges.

Hermione knew that the kernel of Rita's story was true. The reporter's assumptions were typically false, but that did not refute Dumbledore's deep involvement in first freeing Sirius and his current awareness of the man's presence, the extent of sharing a firewhisky in his office. That Sirius was innocent was of no consequence at the moment.

Breathlessly, Hermione realized that Dumbledore had not nearly been as personally implicated in Sirius's escape as two others…

This news also casts doubts on the Karkaroff investigation. Ministry sources insist that Viktor Krum remains the prime suspect for the murder of his own headmaster, but little hard evidence supports this charge. Could it have been Black? Has that killer launched a personal vendetta against those who he believes betrayed his master's cause? Let us not forget that Black has also tried on at least two occasions to murder Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, while the orphan was at Hogwarts.

Editorial: Page 2.

Sirius Black - Traitor & Killer: Pages 3-5.

Albus Dumbledore - The Man and the Façade: Pages 10-14.

Harry Potter - The Tragic Life of The-Boy-Who-Lived: Page 16.

Viktor Krum & Igor Karkaroff - Murderous Relationship: Page 16.

Hermione quickly tore through the pages. The editorial, in bold thirty-two point print, screamed back at her.

We, the magical citizens, demand that the Ministry and its lackeys crack down immediately on this nest of criminals and fools, Dumbledore must be removed as headmaster pending a complete, thorough and independent Ministry investigation into the Black Affair. This inquiry must not be restricted to recent events; it must also encompass a thorough review of teaching practices and staff at what was once a great institution.

Criminal charges must be brought against anyone found to have helped Black elude the forces of law and order. Age and reputation cannot be any barrier to justice being served.

She had no idea what might happen next, but the implications for her and Harry were crystal clear.

Glancing up, Hermione was no longer surprised that the staff table remained untenanted. Odd gasps of shock emerged from the early risers as the headlines registered. Small knots of students started to cluster around those who subscribed to the Prophet. Rolling her own copy up, Hermione knew she had to warn Harry as soon as possible.

As she headed towards the doors, Hermione encountered a phalanx of Aurors, led by a man with a magnificent mane of hair that nearly put her own to shame. Despite a limp he was obviously the one in command.

"Not here then," the man muttered, practically pushing Hermione aside as though she was of absolutely no importance. He turned to address a face that Hermione recognised all too easily. "Dawlish, keep your squad here. Shacklebolt, with me to the old coot's office." The impassive African nodded once before following his leader back out of the Great Hall.

Hermione slipped past them and ran as though her life depended upon it.

More Aurors were taking up station inside the castle's corridors. The Ministry was certainly responding with unaccustomed speed to the Prophet's clarion call.

From more than ten yards away from the portrait hole, she yelled the password at the Fat Lady, ignoring the painting's reprimand as she leapt inside and tore up the stairs towards the boys' dormitories.

The door flew open under Hermione's command and slammed against the wall with a crash that should have awakened even the dead, but that reckoned without magical charms and the innate ability of teenaged lads to sleep through anything.

"Harry!" Hermione sped over to his four-poster and tore at the curtains. To her frustration she could not find the opening.

"What the feck?" a sleepy Irish voice asked. "You again!" it added indignantly.

Ignoring Seamus's complaints Hermione drew her wand. She guessed that Harry had cast an Imperturbable Charm, more to stop his nightmares from disturbing the other occupants than ensure an undisturbed night's sleep for himself.

A shoe whizzed past her left ear. "If you're that desperate, Granger, just shag the little bugger!" Seamus called out.

"Shut it, Finnigan." She recognised Ron's early morning grumpy self. "Hermione? What's up?"

"You lot are," a very sleepy Dean replied. "Some of us are trying to sleep. It's Sunday, for God's sake!"

Alohamora did not work, and Hermione became increasingly frustrated. Without glancing behind her, Hermione thrust her copy of the Prophet in Ron's general direction. "Read this," she snarled.

The paper was taken from her hand, and after a moment's pause Ron groaned. "Oh bloody hell! The Cannons lost again!"

Hermione whirled around. "Honestly, Ron! The front page, you… Ooh!" She stamped her feet, angry at her inability to reach Harry.

The silence was slightly longer this time.

"Hermione," Neville interrupted quietly. "Only Harry can open the curtains once he's cast the spell."

"We'll see!" But, before she could cast a spell, the curtains twitched and Harry's head popped out. "What's going on?" he asked tiredly. "Who's that?"

Hermione sighed. "Accio Harry's glasses." She caught the spectacles, opened them up and placed them on Harry's nose.

"Oh! Hermione!" Harry blushed as his eyes focussed on her. "Erm… If it's about last night... umm... that kiss..."

Turning around, Hermione ripped the newspaper from Ron's grasp, ignoring his protests, and thrust it under Harry's nose. All too aware that everyone in Gryffindor bar the three of them still regarded Sirius Back as a dangerous and dark wizard, she kept her instructions terse. "You'd better read this Harry, then I'll meet you downstairs."

Harry's eyes darted from her face to the headlines. "Oh... bugger..." he said softly, "I see. Give me a few minutes." As his head withdrew behind the drapes, Hermione retreated from the male bastion.

"Knock next time, won't you?" Seamus yelled before ducking his head under the covers.

Hermione was restless on her return to the common room. She could not settle and paced up and down, ignoring the glares from those just risen. Finally Harry and Ron came down the stairs and headed for her.

"Not here," she said simply, shutting down any discussion. Harry nodded. Wordlessly the trio exited through the portrait hole.

The morning was beautiful but nothing could melt the shards of ice in Hermione's brain. They were in deep trouble - especially her and Harry.

They eyed the Aurors warily while making their way into one of the open courtyards. Surprisingly, it was Ron who spoke first; even more surprising to Hermione was that he had bided his time for more than a minute or two.

"Sirius is here?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. I saw him about a month ago." He gave Hermione a knowing look. "He helped Hermione out during the Second Task."

Ron looked up sharply. "You never said anything. Either of you."

Harry shrugged. "The fewer people who know, the safer Sirius is."

Ron started to protest, but Hermione placed a hand on his arm. "Ron, that's not the problem." Ron looked like he was going to object to that statement as well, but made a visible effort and held his peace.

Hermione turned back to Harry. "Most of the article, if you ignore Rita's florid prose and her absurd assumptions, is true."

Harry nodded. "Sirius is in danger and Dumbledore's in trouble."

"Not just them. We are also implicated," Hermione pointed out. "If the truth about Sirius ever comes out, who helped him escape?" Her words dropped heavily. "We did. Do you know the punishment for aiding an escaped prisoner, Harry?"

Harry's face grew a little pale. "Not detention with Filch, I'm sure."

Hermione shook her head emphatically. "Azkaban," she said that one dreadful word.

"I'm guessing that this Macnair was the death you saw?" Harry asked suddenly.

Hermione nodded, seeing Ron's eyes snap wide open.

"What the... did Sirius kill Macnair?"

"No." Hermione hoped that a short, definitive answer might put Ron off further questioning.

No such luck.

"You saw someone killed?" he demanded, his voice rising with a hint of hysteria. "Why is this the first I hear about it, huh?"

"Ron..." Harry growled.

Ron turned on him. "Leave it out, Harry!" He fixed his attention on Hermione. "My friend sees someone murdered, and neither of you care to share anything with me?"

"It wasn't something I felt comfortable discussing," Hermione dissembled ineffectively.

"But Harry knew all about it," Ron snarled. "Why am I not surprised?"

"What exactly do you mean by that, Ronald Weasley?"

"I didn't actually," Harry pointed out reasonably, stepping between them. "Not the details, anyway. Today's Prophet was the first time I knew what had happened." His eyes narrowed. "Well, not all that happened."

"You and him," Ron continued, ignoring Harry's words. "Thick as thieves. I bet last night wasn't the first, either."

Harry purpled and looked ready to swing for his mate. This time Hermione, her ire stoked by Ron's unwarranted and ignorant comment, swiftly interposed herself between them. "We can't do this now," she said firmly. "We won't do this now."

All three were breathing heavily. "Okay," Ron said slowly. "But when, whatever this is, finishes I want the full story." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I deserve that at least."

Hermione was about to tell him exactly what he was and was not entitled to, but Harry was quicker. "So do I," he added in a flat tone of iron.

Hermione flung her arms up in resignation. She could fight Ron, but not both of them. "Yes, alright! I promise that once this damned Tournament is over, I'll tell both of you all about it."

What went unsaid were the lots more she wanted to discuss with Harry.

Deadly silence fell for a few seconds.

"So, what do we do?" Ron finally asked. Both boys looked automatically to Hermione.

"I don't know," she groaned. "We can't risk contacting Sirius. If Professor Dumbledore is compelled to tell the truth, then Harry and I could be arrested."

"You can go on the run," Ron suggested with a note of excitement. "Join up with Sirius."

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ron. Harry could, but I can't." She sighed. For totally different reasons, she shared Ron's excitement at the prospect of going on the lamb with Harry.

Ron looked perplexed until Harry filled him in. "If Hermione doesn't take part in the Tournament, she'll lose her magic," he reminded their friend.

"Better that," Ron shot back, "than Azkaban."

"True," Hermione admitted. "But I'd have to hide in the Muggle world." That would involve abandoning Harry, which she would never do, certainly not after last night's turn of events. "And if we run now," she added, "then we'd just give the Ministry good cause to enquire into Harry's and my involvement."

"So we do nothing?" Harry asked forlornly. "Because, while you're still in that bloody cup, I'm going nowhere."

Hermione pondered that for a moment. "They must have to postpone or abandon the Third Task," she thought aloud. "Surely they can't go on after this?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the Aurors are pursuing Professor Dumbledore. Unless he somehow convinces them quickly that the Prophet's story is a load of codswallop, then he either has to go into hiding or be taken into custody for questioning. And that's the problem: the story isn't rubbish; its basic facts are correct." Hermione paused. "With the Headmaster gone, I don't see how they can continue. He's one of the judges for a start."

"I don't see how Hogwarts itself could continue without Dumbledore," Ron snorted.

For once, Hermione agreed with him.

"Who was this Macnair anyway?" Ron continued.

"I was told he was Buckbeak's executioner, or would have been."

"Bloke with that bloody huge axe?" Ron's eyes reached saucer proportions.

Hermione nodded.

"Who did kill him then, and why?" Harry asked slowly. Hermione could tell he was making connections that she had hoped would remain hidden.

"I don't know to both," Hermione replied. She was being truthful, in strict terms, but economically so. She flinched a little under Harry's doubtful stare.

"So..." Ron drawled. "Breakfast then?"

As that might put Harry off his latest enquiry, Hermione agreed reluctantly. "Might as well be arrested on a full stomach."

Slowly they dragged themselves towards the Great Hall, only to be intercepted by McGonagall, who looked as harried as they had ever seen her. "Oh, Miss Granger. I've been looking everywhere for you. What with all that's gone on today already..." She shook her head. For a heart-stopping moment Hermione wondered if the Aurors had already cracked their case and were waiting to throw them into jail.

"After breakfast, the champions are to assemble in the antechamber off of the Great Hall. Now, I have a great many things to do -"

"Professor?" Hermione stopped McGonagall in her tracks. "Is the Triwizard cancelled?"

McGonagall's lips pursed. In a tone that betrayed exactly what the Deputy Headmistress thought of the situation, she replied succinctly. "No, Miss Granger, it is not."

Hermione fully shared her Head of House's feelings.

"The Headmaster?" Harry asked.

An even more thunderous look crossed McGonagall's face. "There will be an official announcement at breakfast."

Before McGonagall turned away, Hermione saw the professor's anger replaced by a stricken expression.

* * * * *

"As some of you have undoubtedly read," McGonagall announced to a packed Great Hall, "in an outrageous article in some rag today, a series of foul calumnies and baseless accusations..." She hesitated, and Hermione, from her viewpoint, thought McGonagall was struggling to suppress her anger. An agitated buzz of conversation arose from all four house tables.

"As I was saying," McGonagall continued in a firmer and louder voice, "the Headmaster has voluntarily agreed to attend a Ministry... interview to refute these ridiculous stories."

Hermione's heart sunk. Whatever was planned for her today, she had lost the considerable safety net of Professor Dumbledore. The Gryffindor table was full of frightened or bemused expressions. Casting her eyes over the rest of the Great Hall Hermione saw similar looks on almost every student's face, except for the odd Slytherin, such as Draco Malfoy. She had never seen his typically pale complexion so flushed with satisfaction.

"For those of you concerned about security at Hogwarts, you will be reassured by the presence of Head Auror Scrimgeour," she nodded towards the leonine man standing off to the side of the staff table, "and additional Aurors who have been posted around the castle and the grounds. I ask that you do not disturb them in their duties.

"Meanwhile, the Minister for Magic himself has decreed that the Triwizard Tournament continues. The Third and final Task will take place this afternoon as scheduled." McGonagall's tone and body language left no-one in doubt about her own opinion of that decision.

Behind her, Hermione saw the staff presenting a united front. All were in attendance, although Trelawney and Hagrid appeared on the verge of tears; even Snape lacked his normal surly countenance.

"In the interim, I expect no student to leave the grounds, for any reason. Should you spot anything at all out of the ordinary..." Hermione wondered what did count as extraordinary at Hogwarts "... I ask that you report it at once to a staff member or a prefect."

Obviously shaken, McGonagall sat down next to the headmaster's empty chair, and sought a word or two with Moody, who leaned in closer. At least, Hermione thought, with old Mad-Eye around she had a chance.

Slowly the Great Hall emptied. Sirius Black had a fearsome reputation, and with Dumbledore not around to protect them, it was almost as if the students seemed to be seeking safety in numbers.

Hermione's different fears were totally different. Sirius Black would not harm her, or anyone else she knew in Hogwarts - save the odd exception named Malfoy - but she had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time before an Auror collared her robes. She just wondered whether that would occur before or after the Third Task.

Standing up abruptly, she told Harry and Ron "See you later," She saw Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory making their own ways across the Hall towards the antechamber.

As the three of them entered the small room, they found a sullen Viktor waiting for them. "Vot is the big trouble!" he asked Hermione. "Many politsai. They come for me?"

Hermione exchanged looks with Cedric. She knew how very isolated Viktor had been from his school colleagues under the terms of his parole, and doubted that anyone had thought to keep him informed of the tumultuous events.

"No," she reassured him, "they're not." At least the dark cloud hovering over Sirius, Dumbledore, Harry and herself could contain a silver lining for Viktor.

Before she could explain anything, however, the door opened again and in trooped Percy Weasley and Ludo Bagman, followed by Madame Maxime, a swarthy gentleman whom Hermione had never seen before, and Professors Sprout and McGonagall. To Hermione's surprise, the last person entering was Barty Crouch. Her hand reflexively gripped her wand before she consciously restrained herself.

Karkaroff's murderer was sallow and more cadaver-like than ever. He did not spare Hermione a glance, nor, to her greater surprise, did he notice Viktor. Instead he stalked across the room and sat on a wooden chair, before snapping his twig-like fingers.

That jolted Ludo Bagman, another of Hermione's lengthening list of suspects, into action. "Yes, well..." He started to sweat profusely. "After this morning's... erm, unfortunate events, we... umm... well, the decision has been made to, as you heard - well, not you, Mister Krum, of course..."

"The Triwizard competition will be concluded as scheduled." Crouch's normally iron voice had acquired the properties of a death rattle, thought Hermione.

Cedric protested immediately. "How can it continue without Dumbledore?"

"We are all bound by magical contracts, Mister Diggory," Crouch replied, his eyes reminding Hermione of Macnair's lifeless stare. "Especially you and your co-competitors." He snapped his fingers again. "Weasley! Take over." With that his shoulders slumped fractionally and he appeared to lose interest.

Hermione thought Percy lived for moments like this in the limelight, so self-important he appeared. "Yes, as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation has stated, you are all bound to compete. The Ministry, although not bound..." He glared at Hermione, who tried her hardest to remain poker-faced.

"Yes, although the Ministry is not bound, it is felt that it is the interests of all concerned demand a successful and prompt conclusion of the Tournament."

"Without half of the judges?" Hermione butted in, hoping to wipe that indulgent smirk off Percy's face.

Percy drew himself up to his full height. "With Dumbledore's detention..." Hermione noted the missing honorific, as did McGonagall, who fixed her former top student with an icy glare, "... and the sad death of Headmaster Karkaroff, the remaining judges," with this Percy gestured to a grumpy Madame Maxime and the motionless cadaverous figure of Crouch, "have agreed the appointment of replacement judges, as the Third Task will not be decided upon marks awarded. The panel will only rule on any major rule infractions. Professor McGonagall and Mister Asparuhov -" Percy indicated the stranger currently talking quietly but urgently to Viktor "- will stand in as representatives of Hogwarts and Durmstrang."

Asparuhov ceased his conversation and stepped forward. "Georgi Asparuhov, Magical Attaché at the Bulgarian Consulate in Edinburgh," he introduced himself diplomatically.

"Thank you, Mister Asparuhov," Percy continued. "As the panel is now quorate, this evening's event will proceed as planned. Any questions?"

It was Fleur who stepped forward. "Zis Sirius Black, he ees dangereux, non?"

"I don't think you need worry about Black, Miss Delacour," Percy replied patronisingly. "We have several squads of Aurors deployed throughout the grounds and the school buildings itself. By the time the Final Task is completed, there will be increased numbers for security. You see, the Minister for Magic himself will announce the Triwizard Champion."

Fudge? Here? Hermione's sideways glance at McGonagall told her that this was true, as the Deputy Head did not even blink at Percy's announcement.

"The competitors will assemble by the maze at a quarter to three - that's fourteen forty-five, gentlemen - and the Third Task will commence at three o'clock precisely." He turned to his boss. "Anything else, Mister Crouch?" He received a shake of the head in reply.

As everyone filed out of the antechamber McGonagall caught Hermione's attention and called her to one side. "I am afraid, Miss Granger, that I was supposed to do a great many things for you today, but with this unexpected turn of events, well... As you can see, my hands are full." She sighed. "How did Albus keep all this up," she muttered more to herself.

"I quite understand, Professor," Hermione replied. "What has happened to the Headmaster?"

McGonagall glanced around the Great Hall. A couple of Aurors guarded the exit to the main corridors. "I am not at liberty to say, Miss Granger. We both understand what is at stake." She gave Hermione a significant stare.

Hermione understood. Moody, McGonagall and Lupin would all be implicated in the cover-up. Unless Dumbledore could magic his way out of trouble, and Hermione still entertained some hopes on that score, they would all hang together. That is, unless the knotty problem of Sirius being innocent was proven, both conclusively and soon. That had remained an outside chance for over a year, without measureable progress. But... even then they had willingly assisted a fugitive from justice.

"I must go to the headmaster's office to carry on organising the Minister's visit, as if we did not have enough on our plates already without that old fool." McGonagall caught herself before adding any further invective. "However, if you head to my office, you will find that an old friend has brought a present for you." With that elliptical comment the acting head departed.

Hermione could not help worrying herself about what could happen to her and them as she walked robotically through the corridors. With effort she pushed The Third Task and her relationship with Harry to the perimeters of her mind. It was with some surprise that she recognised a familiar figure leaning against the wall outside the Transfiguration classroom.

"Professor Lupin!"

That drew a wan smile from her former teacher. "Hermione! Good to see you. And it's Remus, remember?"

"I still think of you as my professor." Now, closer to him, she could see how drawn he was.

"Are you ready for this afternoon?"

"As I ever will be."

"Don't let this morning's news distract you."

"How can I think of anything else?" Hermione responded. "How is Padfoot?"

Remus pushed himself off the wall and performed some sort of spell, undoubtedly to deter eavesdropping. Even then, he moved next to her, reducing the risk that they might be overheard. "Last I knew he was out in the country."

So, Sirius was still hanging around Hogwarts. That was dangerous. "Does he know about... the news?"

Remus shook his head. "I doubt it. I'll try to track him down later today."

"If you can, please tell him to go home."

"Of course, but knowing Padfoot and how stubborn he can be... well, that might be difficult. Anyway, that's not why I'm here. Minerva asked me to stand in for her. She had hoped to do this herself, but given what's happened..." He pushed open the door. "Go on in."

Hermione stepped into the classroom, where she found two of the last visitors to Hogwarts she thought she would ever expect.

"Mum? Dad!"

She flung herself the few feet to hug her mother, and then her father. Hermione could feel tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "What? How?"

"Mister Lupin arrived at home early this morning to bring us up here," Mister Granger replied. Hermione turned and looked inquisitively at Remus, who shrugged.

"All the competitors' families are invited to attend the Final Task. Professor McGonagall worked hard to make special arrangements for your parents because of... well, your unique circumstances."

"Because Mug- I mean, non-magical people cannot normally enter Hogwarts without authorisation," Hermione finished for him. Remus looked a little sheepish about that.

"That's correct. Anyway, by the time she had everything cleared, this morning's news had broken. I gladly accepted her request to stand in at short notice, and brought Dan and Emma up here by Portkey."

"A most unique method of travel," Dan Granger observed dryly. "Never felt so travel sick afterwards, not even on those old North Sea ferries."

Probably because you're not magical, Hermione thought.

"Anyway," her mother added, "it's a wonderful opportunity to look around your school."

Her father fixed her with a knowing stare. "And to see exactly what sort of competition you've been caught up in, young lady."

Suddenly having her parents visit was neither as reassuring nor as pleasant as Hermione had first thought. She had hidden a lot of what happened at Hogwarts from them thanks to distance and the divide between the magical and Muggle worlds.

"Dragons, eh?" her father added.

Remus cleared his throat. "I think you'll find that Hermione passed that test, and the second, with flying colours." He smiled at Hermione. "We're really quite proud of her." That made Hermione colour slightly.

"As are we," Emma added sharply, "and we'd like to keep it that way. It's just... well, we read your letters, dear, and there are so many things that we don't understand. At least now we can make a more informed judgement."

"Judgement?" Hermione did not like the sound of that.

"About your future, poppet," her father added.

"Ahem!" Remus caught all three Grangers' attention. "I think it would be better if I stepped outside so that you can all... catch up. After that, well, if you would like a tour of the school, I would gladly act as your guide, as Hermione needs to prepare for the Third Task."

"Yes... yes, we'd like that," Emma replied.

Remus favoured Hermione with a tight little smile. "I'll see you later then." As he exited and the door closed behind him, Hermione turned to face her parental inquisition.

"Now," said her dad, "what's all this fuss about the Headmaster?"

Hermione cringed inside at that opening gambit.

* * * * *

It was with palpable relief that, after an hour or so, Hermione waved a temporary goodbye to her parents as Remus took them on the promised castle tour. At least she thought she could trust him to be a little more discreet about certain events that had occurred over the last four years. She did, however, worry a little about Remus's innate sense of honesty.

Her own discussions with her parents had started poorly and then gone rapidly downhill. Hermione's initial little deception, claiming that the accusations against Dumbledore were groundless and politically motivated, had only prompted more questions about the fractured and hidebound state of the magical hierarchy.

Then came questions about the Triwizard Tournament... Hermione knew that Mum and Dad were only being protective of their only child's welfare, but those inquiries laid bare the size of the divide that had opened up between them. She had no doubt that they recognised that gulf as well.

It was easy to hide the full facts in a letter home; not so easy when squirming in person. Hermione thought she had managed to avoid the worse aspects, particularly by omitting any mention of some evil plot. But even then, as more and more truths were extracted, she could see the concerns reflected in their eyes.

Hermione tried to cover up some of the more unpleasant happenings with happier stories about her stay at Hogwarts, especially about her friends, and she found that she spent more time talking about one in particular. Her mother smiled knowingly when Hermione told them the story of the Yule Ball, and insisted that they be introduced to this Harry fellow who spent so much time with their daughter.

Still, by the end, Hermione had developed a deeply uncomfortable feeling. If the Third Task worked out badly for her, she knew that her future at Hogwarts would once again be at issue, but this time her parents would have ample ammunition to blow her arguments out of the water.

If she survived, that is. "Badly," in the context of the Triwizard Tournaments, encompassed some very poor outcomes indeed.

She just hoped that her parents would not bump into Malfoy or any of his pure-blood supremacist cronies.

Added to everything else, Hermione's mind was spinning. That damned persistent headache had started up again. All she wanted was to curl up in a dark corner and have a good cry.

What she had to do was quite a different matter.

A special lunch had been laid on for the competitors and their families. At least that excused the Grangers from the twin perils of Malfoy's insults and Ron's eating habits.

The atmosphere was strained. The Delacours were obviously still fuming with Madame Maxime over Gabrielle's "kidnapping". Viktor's father glared at everyone, no doubt convinced that all outsiders were part of a conspiracy to rob their son of his honour and glory. Viktor was embarrassed to have placed his parents in such a position.

Amos Diggory turned out to be little better than a Malfoy. His comments to her parents about Cedric being the true Hogwarts' champion, although not disagreed with by any of the three Grangers, were put in such an insulting manner that Hermione's father turned a deep scarlet. Only by virtue of Cedric's kind words and the calming influence of his mother was an unseemly display prevented.

At these moments, all Hermione could do was hold her head in her hands. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse.

McGonagall and Remus at least tried their best to say what a prize student Hermione was, and how well she had done in the Tournament so far. Even that backfired when McGonagall was pinned by some searching questions about the dragon.

The gulf was growing wider.

By the luncheon's end, even the rigors of competition were preferable. It was with a measure of relief that Hermione left to dress for the Third Task. She selected a simple uniform of a Muggle t-shirt and jeans, with her sturdy boots, along with a sweatshirt in case the evening turned cool. Then she remembered Harry's gift and swapped the sweatshirt for his Quidditch jersey, which she slipped over the t-shirt. Surprisingly she did not feel uncomfortably warm, perhaps due to some special Quidditch-related charm cast on the jersey.

But unlike Harry in Quidditch, she was not competing to win. She focussed her thoughts on the Task. All she had to do was start and then give up.

No, that wouldn't help Harry.

Hermione was surprised at the thought. Did she have to win the damned thing?

Yes.

That ambition came with a pretty poor plan. She was clueless.

You can win this. You will win this.

Hermione shook her head, causing her headache to spike. Why was she suddenly viewing herself as a possible victor?

Because you are the best. You deserve it.

No, she was not and did not. 'Concentrate upon the matter in hand.'

Hermione exited the castle into the bright sunlight of a late June afternoon. Already people were drifting across the lawns towards the Quidditch stadium and the maze. Some temporary stands had been raised, constructions that appeared so unwieldy and fragile that only magic must keep them standing. There was no rush as, apart from waving off the four champions, the finale would not occur until late afternoon or early evening. Sunlight at the solstice was ample in northern Scotland.

Various stalls behind the stands seemed to be doing a roaring trade. The butterbeer stall was already crowded with customers, and there were other refreshments were also available, such as doughnuts that hummed when you bit into them, and ice cream sundaes that never melted. Others vendors sold various knick-knacks, souvenirs and memorabilia. Hermione supposed these distractions would keep the audience happy while she fought her way through the maze for a couple of hours.

Hermione found her parents - her father constantly looking down concernedly at the apparent jury-rigged construction - in a small group with Harry and a knot of Weasleys: Ron, Ginny, Fred and George she expected; Bill was a pleasant surprise, although she saw that his attention was elsewhere, probably with Fleur. The final family member was more of a problem.

Greeting Molly Weasley coolly, Hermione drew a couple of disapproving glances from her parents.

"We've just been telling Missus Weasley about Rita Skeeter," Harry explained. "All that rubbish she printed."

"And that she shouldn't believe a word of it," Ginny added.

"Well, yes dear," Molly mumbled. "Although, that's an interesting jumper you're wearing, Hermione."

Emma Granger raised an eyebrow as she saw the name emblazoned across Hermione's shoulder blades. Her eyes had a little twinkle as they flitted to Hermione, then to Harry before back to her daughter. Both teens blushed. Dan Granger's colouring appeared to be caused by a different emotion.

A fortunately timed commotion further down the sloping lawns spared Hermione further embarrassment. The Minister for Magic himself, resplendent in his lime-green bowler hat, had arrived. Molly stifled a tear as she saw Percy striding out self-importantly, deliberately ignoring his mother and siblings. That was probably a good thing judging by the gestures Fred and George were making out of their mother's sight.

Elsewhere, Hermione spotted Lucius Malfoy, accompanied by with his son and a tall, aristocratic-looking blonde who could only be his wife. She hoped that her parents would steer well clear of that particular trio.

At this point, though, there was nothing more she could do about that. It was nearly a quarter to three. Hermione had to go.

She received good luck hugs from the two youngest Weasleys and, somewhat to her disappointment, Harry. She had yearned for a second good luck kiss, but perhaps in front of her parents, discretion was the better part of valour. She did receive kisses from both her parents; the hug from her mother was occasion for a few tears from both Granger women.

She also whispered a message in each of her boys' ears.

A simple but important message for Ron: "Watch Barty Crouch for me."

Harry froze for a second then smiled shyly at her final message to him: "When I'm back, we'll talk, okay?" She swore there was a definite glint in his eye.

As the champions gathered, Hermione found that the maze appeared far less threatening and ominous in the bright sunshine. All four stood around awkwardly, awaiting the start. They were approached by Professors Moody, Flitwick and Snape, along with Hagrid, who were all, for some reason, sporting bright red stars on their hats or robes.

Ludo Bagman joined the small group. "These four have volunteered -" He broke off at a glowering glare from Snape "- erm, been volunteered to act as marshals, stationed on the perimeter of the maze. Should you encounter any difficulties and wish to be rescued, just send a stream of red sparks into the air, and someone will come along to get you. Red sparks, everyone? You all know how to conjure red sparks?"

Hermione nodded.

"Ve do not lose magic if ve do this?" asked Viktor.

"Oh, no, no, no - once you enter the maze and start the Task, you have all fulfilled your magical contracts," Bagman confirmed. "But, of course, you're all in it to win it, aren't you?"

Hermione shook her head.

Yes.

Why did these thoughts keep passing through her head?

She suddenly realised she was missing the rest of Bagman's briefing. "... And the first to arrive back here with the Triwizard Cup is the champion, subject of course to any appeals submitted to the judges." He indicated a small box in one of the stands where the four judges sat. "The cup itself is a Portkey which will be activated by the first person to touch it."

It will be me!

What? Had all of today's events had pushed her over the edge?

"Righto then, any questions? No? Good." Bagman turned towards another, finer box, and lifted an arm in a prearranged signal. Hermione saw Barty Crouch sitting there, propped up like a corpse, before Percy Weasley stood up and cast a Sonorus charm on himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Minister for Magic."

Fudge rose to his feet and cast the same spell on himself.

"Witches and wizards. Fellow citizens. Today is the culmination of several months work by your Ministry. We won't let a little local difficulty affect our efforts to improve relations with other nations in the wizarding world." That drew a few knowing chuckles from the cognoscenti and those who disliked Dumbledore.

"As the Minister for Magic, I formally declare the start of the Third and Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament of Nineteen Ninety-Five!"

With that, Fudge nodded to Bagman, who withdrew from the knot of competitors and marshals and cast his own Sonorus charm." "The rules are simple. Any competitor may withdraw once they have entered the maze by giving a signal of red sparks shot into the air. The Triwizard Cup has been placed in the centre of the maze, and is guarded by many things. Wards have been cast to alert us when the first competitor approaches within half a furlong - five chains, that is - of the Cup so that we all have time to return to our seats for the finale. The competitor who returns to this spot with the Triwizard Cup is the champion!"

The half-filled stands provided only a short round of applause. Most attendees were still quaffing butterbeers.

"The leader, Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang..." Applause erupted from the Durmstrang contingent. "He will lead off with an advantage of five minutes, to be followed by Mister Cedric Diggory, of Hufflepuff and Hogwarts!"

Bagman's last few words were almost drowned out by the magically-enhanced voices of Cedric's housemates. In the competitors' box Hermione saw Amos Diggory leap to his feet and clutch his hands above his head in a victory salute. She wondered what Cedric thought of this display; looking over at him, he appeared distracted and barely aware of the acclaim on his behalf.

"After a further interval five minute interval, Miss Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons' champion, will enter the maze." Once again Hermione heard the slightly shriller support for her fellow female punctuated by a piercing wolf-whistle or two.

"And finally, our gallant youngest competitor, Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor and Hogwarts!"

A surprising, to her, strong wave of applause sounded along with the thump of hands and feet on the wooden stands. "Good luck Hermione!" was emblazoned on a home-made banner, letters changing in colours from red to gold. Embarrassed, she raised one hand in acknowledgement, and then waved in the direction of her parents.

"Miss Granger will be the last to compete, twelve minutes after Miss Delacour."

So Viktor has a twenty-two minute lead... He'll be the dangerous one.

Hermione found herself staring intently at Viktor, who noticed, and a momentary flash of confusion crossed his normally imperturbable face. She shook her head and mouthed "sorry" to him. He nodded once.

What was getting into her?

Moody was having a quiet word with Cedric as Hagrid shuffled closer to her. "Good luck, 'Ermione."

"Luck? Luck's got bugger all t'do with it!" Moody exclaimed, having limped over from Cedric. "Yeh know what yeh's t'do, Granger?" She nodded abruptly. Moody leaned in closer. "Yeh've gotta watch that Krum. Diggory ain't got it in 'im and the French floozy's no match fer yeh."

Hermione found herself nodding more sincerely in agreement. Again, she shook her head as if physically to dislodge these rogue thoughts. That damned headache...

"Now, did Potter 'ave a word with yeh last night?" Moody enquired.

Hermione was perplexed for a second. "Well, yes he did, in a way -" she started to say.

Bagman interrupted their strange exchange. "Now, remember, if in trouble, red sparks, okay? Right? Let's shove off then." Moody drew away as Bagman raised his arm. "On my mark, Mister Krum." Viktor crouched, and as Bagman blew a whistle, he sprinted off into the shadows of the maze.

As Hermione waited, seconds dragged into minutes that stretched like hours. She watched Cedric and then Fleur rush into the dark. Finally, Bagman drew her to attention.

"Good luck, Miss Granger; on my mark."

Twenty-two minutes. That's quite some deficit to draw back.

At the first note of the whistle, Hermione dashed into the shadows.

It was eerie. The intense blue sky, unblemished by clouds, was bright above her head, but here amongst the deep shadows cast by the huge hedges, it was almost like night. Hermione was now quite glad she had worn Harry's jersey as the maze was unseasonably cool.

Hermione also noticed a disturbing lack of sound, apart from a strange rustling which, she assumed, must be the breeze playing on the hedges. She was completely cut-off from the outside world; not a peep from the growing crowd could be heard.

Her intention of giving up as soon as she entered buckled and yielded to both her natural competitiveness and thoughts that fate intended something more of her was required to protect Harry.

Hermione's basic strategy was to follow the one simple, imperishable way to navigate a maze. Choose one direction and always turn that way. Eventually you would find your way out; hopefully she would find the centre and the Cup first.

At the initial junction, Hermione turned left - sinister in magical terms - as she did at the next.

So far she saw no sign of any magical obstacles.

As she turned the next corner, she ran straight into a swarm of bright blue Cornish Pixies. Several of them dived upon her, grabbing her hair and gripping her arms. Hermione could not raise her wand arm high enough to immobilise the swarm, but she was able to fall to her feet and roll, forcing the pixies to let go before they were squashed. Continuing the roll Hermione sprung to her feet.

The host was far too dispersed for her to be able to deal with them all. "Avis! Oppugno!"

A flight of yellow canaries burst into existence, conjured from her wand. Immediately they set about the pixies, swooping and diving upon them, corralling the annoying and annoyed creatures into a tighter group, while Hermione picked off the odd straggler and rogue attacker with standard defensive spells.

"Immobulus!" she yelled, remembering her second-year experiences. The pixies were frozen, hanging motionlessly in the air. The spell did not affect their powers of speech as they flung what sounded suspiciously like insults at her.

"Better than Peskipiksi Pesternomi anyway," she grumbled, annoyed with herself at nearly falling to a ridiculously low-level threat. Carefully she picked her way through the angry pixies, ducking and swerving. When she was clear she did consider unfreezing the pixies, but given their current attitude, they could well follow and attack her again. She could do without the aggravation.

Meanwhile, the conjured canaries had congregated in the surrounding hedges, twittering away. Strange, that had never happened during her practice. She pushed on, turning left. The canaries followed, being joined by ravens, seagulls, and even some owls. She ignored them.

Suddenly, a screeching seagull swooped down, its beak inflicting a nasty cut on her head. "Hey!" Hermione shrieked, covering her head. The birds, suddenly seeming more ominous, squawked and hooted from the shadowed depths of the hedges all around. Another flew at her - one of her own canaries.

"Impedimenta!" Hermione spelled. The canary veered off, but a far more serious threat, a good-sized barn owl, set upon her from her right.

"Reducto!" She blasted it from the sky in a shower of feathers. But it was no use. One after another the frenzied feathered flying fowl came at her. She ducked, rolled, fired off spells, and tried to cover herself. The ground was becoming littered with their dead, but still they came at her - so many that she could barely see.

A raven tore at the sleeve of Harry's jersey. A starling tried to peck at her eyes. In desperation, Hermione took a her cue from an old movie and conjured… a royal blue police box shimmered into existence, not exactly cinematic, but close enough.

A cacophony of avian noises ringing in her ears, Hermione swiped her wand ahead of her, the wooden door opening inwards, contrary to real life, and dove into temporary sanctuary, the door slamming shut behind her. Some spellwork combined with determined swatting subdued a couple of strays that had snuck into a space that was larger on the inside than the outside. Breathing hard, she tried to clear her head while her haven rattled as it was buffeted by the winged dive-bombers.

The maze had evidently used her own magic against her. She had to be careful. What could she do that would not make matters worse? Something relatively harmless and inert?

The battering eased, but Hermione had no illusions. The flock was still out there, waiting for her to emerge. She made up her mind. She could not compete in here!

Readying her wand, she grabbed the doorknob. Wrenching the door open, she cried, "Aguamenti!" That was a sixth-year spell but reading ahead had never hurt her.

A sheet of water leading the way, Hermione burst out running. She moved her wand overhead and the water fell all around her, like a fountain forming a protective curtain.

She sprinted for several seconds, although it seemed much longer, until sensing she was no longer under attack. Soaking wet, Hermione pivoted, pointing her still gushing wand the way she had come. Gradually she dialled back on the flow. She was maybe a hundred feet along the hedgerow corridor from the familiar police box, but the birds had vanished. Not even their corpses remained on the sodden ground.

Come to think of it, was she even in the same part of the maze?

She did not remember such a long straight stretch before the birds had attacked.

She did not remember such a long straight stretch from before the bird attack. She started back towards the callbox, but stopped when she suddenly as there was a loud rustling, as though a great tree was in a heavy storm.

The sound ceased. Now on guard Hermione edged forward, ready to face the threat.

Except there was no real threat. Part of the hedge had pivoted to the right, blocking the previous opening to the right, but leaving a new opening to the left. Hermione stopped and examined the hedge; it certainly appeared deeply rooted.

She could draw only one conclusion: the huge hedges moved like Hogwarts staircases. Her simple left-only strategy was most likely useless. But even before devising a new approach, Hermione felt the urge to move.

Too slow! Krum will walk away with this.

'It doesn't matter,' Hermione told herself.

You can win! You can be the Triwizard Champion.

'Foolish notion. Winning isn't important.'

Winning is the only thing!

'Stop!'

Hermione wondered about this annoying inner monologue. Since when had she thought she was a genuine contender?

She started forward, but a rancid smell tipped her to her next challenge before she saw it. She turned but another hedge had moved, leaving her in a cul-de-sac. The only way out was blocked…

Roaring, a three metre mountain troll, brandishing a club larger than she was, stomped into view. If anything, this troll was larger, angrier, and smellier than the one that nearly killed her in that bathroom long-ago.

"Wingardium leviosa!" She tried the same spell that had prevailed during the prior episode.

No such luck. This time, the slavering creature kept better hold of its club as it started to rise under her spell before jerking it back and swinging it down hard on the police box, smashing it to splinters. With a loud crack and a brilliant flash its deep blue fragments vanished.

The gawking troll took a step back and almost slipped in the muddy turf. It staggered forward, and this time did fall, if only to one knee. If possible, this troll also seemed stupider than the one from First Year.

Howling with frustration, the troll pushed itself to its feet and came after Hermione. She fired off a Stinging Hex, but that only enraged it further.

Once again, she considered firing up the red sparks, but something held her back. You're better than that - it's only a troll.

The troll slipped again, and Hermione had her answer. She lowered her own wand. "Thixotropus!" She fired a spell into the ground beneath the beast's feet. What had been mere mud morphed into quicksand. The troll sank instantly, first up to its knees, then its waist, then its chest. Thrashing about madly it dropped its club, forgot about its prey, and concentrated on the more immediate need for survival.

"Dessicatus!" Hermione used a Drought Charm to dry out a path to the troll's left and scampered out the way the troll had entered. Lurching forward again, worried about falling further behind, Hermione was shocked when, after a few turns governed by the green walls, she found her path blocked by the very same immobilised Cornish Pixies. She was sure she had travelled in the opposite direction, but perhaps she had misjudged her path; perhaps the hedges had shifted once more. Time to retrace her steps... if she could.

When she walked straight back into the same frozen tableau, Hermione knew something was wrong. It was geometrically, or geographically, impossible as this time she knew she had just exited from the same spot she was standing in now.

To be sure, Hermione scorched an arrow in the lush green turf, pointing in the direction she was about to depart. She strode out: one ninety degree left turn, followed by a right-angle to the right, and...

The arrow pointed straight at her.

Casting another Freezing Charm, to ensure that the pixies remained duly dormant, Hermione walked in the opposite direction, and kept straight on. Coming into sight was a bluish cloud that soon grew into the same mob of Cornish Pixies. The arrow pointing straight at her was confirmation that she was right back where we started.

Hermione considered her predicament. It was a recursive occlusion, an unbreakable loop in space and time, a four-dimensional Möbius strip that would not let her escape, just like those lithographs by that Dutchman Escher.

Had the maze somehow again turned her own magic back on her? Everything had seemed normal enough before the troll. Otherwise, it made no sense. If it was a simple means of trapping her, but part of the competition, then what was the point? She had no indication that she was entering a trap, so what was the test of her abilities in avoiding an obstacle? And, if it was impossible to escape, what skills could be tested?

'Let's try the simple options first.'

"Revelare! Alohomora!"

Nothing. Hermione's fingers drummed on her wand. This would be a most inglorious end, stuck like a hamster in a cage, running but never going anywhere.

It was a good thing, she considered, that she was patient, unlike so many wizards...

Could that be the answer?

Hermione knew that wizards relied too much upon magic. Generally they lacked logic, as magic was not underpinned by the former. Used to obtaining what they wanted with a few simple spells, they often lacked patience as well.

Perhaps if she waited a while. After all, there was nothing else she could do for the time being.

She sat Indian-legged on the grass.

Long minutes ticked by. Despite reminding herself that patience is a virtue, Hermione soon found herself on her feet, pacing down that short stretch of pathway. There immediacy of magic did have its benefits.

With a grinding that made her jump, one of the hedgerows moved to one side, revealing another route away from her immobilised pixie companions. Hermione carefully marked another arrow, this time with a double head to distinguish it from its predecessor, and then strode off determinedly.

Hermione's next left turn brought her up against a strange obstacle that barred her way. That at least showed that she had escaped the recursive occlusion.

Ropes stretched from hedge to hedge, forming knots with identical strands running vertically. The result reminded her of the climbing net at her old primary school. She had never contemplated climbing it then, as she would rather read a book than participate in P.E.

Now was not the time to start.

Turning on her heel, Hermione heard that ominous rustling again. Something was following her.

Wand drawn, Hermione peeked around the last corner she had turned, only to find herself facing a solid wall of hedge. Once again the ever-changing maze had cut off her escape, its mobile hedges changing the way behind her.

Again, as with the troll, she had one way forward.

'Not necessarily, Hermione thought. She raised her wand. The centre of the maze had lain just to the south of the school.

"Point me!" The Four-Point Spell pulled her around to the left. Therefore the centre of the maze should lie to her right. Straight into the solid hedge.

'I doubt this will do much good.'

Hermione aimed her wand towards the foot of the hedge.

"Reducto!"

The spell shot straight at its aiming point, then rebounded back in Hermione's direction as if it had struck a mirror. With a squeak she ducked and flung herself to the ground. The spell screamed off into the ether.

Flustered and a little dishevelled, and with her pride just as bruised as her bum, Hermione rose shakily to her feet.

'Thought that wouldn't work any better than the last task,' Hermione grumbled. She cast a disapproving look towards the net. 'So that's the only way, then. Okay, I reckon it's not as simple as it looks.'

No obvious signs indicated whether the net was composed of nothing but ropes. Hermione tried to cut her way through, first with a loose twig Transfigured into a sharp knife, then with another Reductor Curse, but without success.

'So, the ropes are magical.'

Expecting the worst, Hermione placed one foot on the lowest rope, and grabbed a tight hold with her free hand. Nothing unexpected happened.

Her other foot left the ground and found the next horizontal rope up. She made sure to keep a firm hold with her other now free hand.

Too firm.

Hermione tried unsuccessfully to move her hand, but when she glanced left she saw that the rope had twisted itself around her wrist, and was now held her left arm in a tight grip.

Then something moved against her thigh. Glancing down she saw another rope snaking its way around her left leg. As it tightened she felt herself being stretched. Another cord wrapped itself tightly around her right ankle, ensnaring her as effectively as a fly, or Fleur Delacour, in a spider's web.

At least her wand arm remained free. As yet another stand slipped around her neck, Hermione aimed her wand shakily towards herself. Whether her spell would hit the netting or strike part of her body, she could not say for sure, but as the ligature around her neck started to tighten, she had no option.

Suddenly she fell heavily to the ground. At least the fall was only a couple of feet. She brushed the spaghetti off of her jersey. Transfiguring the rope into pasta had brought the whole web down, collapsing under her weight.

The barrier ripped apart, Hermione's way forward was open once again. She considered her handiwork with pride. Ron, at least, would have appreciated this particular Transfiguration.

Hermione spun quickly as the loud rustling started up again. Again she saw the hedge move, sliding across the path behind her. It then began to edge forward, slowly but inexorably.

'Time to go.'

She set off hastily. Being chased by a hedge was a new experience and not one that encouraged lethargy.

Enough was enough. Hermione decided she might as well give in.

No! The game is still being played.

'Get out of my head!'

I am you; your competitive streak. I am the Hermione Granger that desires appreciation, demands perfection, that knows the answer to every question, that wants to finish first in every class.

'This isn't a class.'

Isn't it? What's the difference between this and an exam?

'I won't die in an exam.'

Already she had been swarmed - twice, set upon and nearly strangled.

You won't die. You will win.

A sudden scream rent the air. A feminine scream. It could only be Fleur.

Hermione took off at a run, her wand lit to provide a little more light. She tore around another corner...

...And straight into an all-enveloping gold-coloured mist.

Hermione's world tipped on its axis. The unknown spell ripped her feet out from under her and she somersaulted in midair. Suddenly she was hanging upside down, her hair and arms forced by gravity to fall towards the ground...

...No, the sky.

Confused, Hermione looked up to her feet. Or was it down, as her feet still appeared to be firmly planted on the ground? Above her.

Blood rushed to her head as Hermione tried figuring out who had just changed the Law of Gravity. If she pulled her feet away from the ground, would she plummet down - or up - into the sky below - or above - her?

That thought was academic. Hermione could not contort herself sufficiently to bend and reach her feet. The best she could do was swing her body from the waist, and even that effort was both painful and exhausting. Finally she just let her body hang down - well, whatever way it was pointing now.

The only way out was to release her feet from the ground. Nothing held her above or below her head.

Carefully Hermione took aim at her boots.

"Evanesco!" Her bootlaces disappeared, and the weight of her body gradually overcame the now loose grip of her boots.

Hermione held out her arms, hoping to break the fall, assuming something existed to fall onto!

Slowly her feet slipped free. Suddenly she was plunging up... down... whatever.

In a split second she thumped into something hard and reassuringly ground-like. Unfortunately her arms were not up to the task and it was her much-abused nose that made first contact.

"Oww!"

Good solid earth had given her a thump. At least her nose did not feel broken this time, but it smarted, bringing tears to her eyes. Her boots lay unattended a few inches away.

Finding a long hair on her jersey, a bruised Hermione Transfigured it into two long bootlaces, and put her sturdy boots back on.

A loud crack sounded ahead of her. Hermione knew there was no point doubling back on herself. Again she cast "Lumos!" to light her way and took off running.

Again she heard a 'snap', this time followed by a small puff of orange light from ahead.

Hermione skidded to a halt at the next t-junction, nearly ricocheting off the hedge into the path of a fully-grown Blast-Ended Skrewt. This one was far larger than those exhibited in Hagrid's class and was probably a fully grown mature specimen.

"Stupefy!" The Stunner merely bounced off of its armoured thorax, irritating instead of cowing the beast. It replied in kind, with a jet of flame blasted towards its attacker.

"Protego!" Hermione's shielding spell deflected the fire straight into the hedge wall, which smoked but otherwise appeared unaffected.

The Skrewt lurched forward menacingly. Hermione had to find some a way past the creature. In this Task the only way was forward.

She had not mastered any spell that could penetrate the thick carapace, and doubted her aim was good enough to strike its fleshy unprotected underside.

For a second, she pondered turning the beast upside-down, just as her world had been inverted moments ago. Unfortunately she had no idea how to conjure the golden mist. Her deliberations were interrupted by another blast of flame from the Skrewt.

"Everte Statum!" The duelling spell had as little effect on the creature as the Stunner.

Taking a few steps back, Hermione aimed her wand just ahead of the Skrewt's path, and went to the same well as before.

"Aguamenti!" Another fountain of water flowed from her wand and thoroughly soaked the hard ground just as the Skrewt edged onto the saturated turf.

And now for something completely different.

"Glacius!" The grass turned to ice beneath the Skrewt, and its stubby legs scrabbled to gain purchase. Sprawling, it started swinging around anti-clockwise, unable to gain any traction or control its direction.

It was, Hermione considered, a shame that the ground was so flat that "Glissio" would be ineffective. On a slope she could have let the Skrewt slide straight past her. Without that option she doused the Skrewt with more water, and prepared to cast a second freezing charm.

"Frigido!"

Immediately the Skrewt disappeared beneath a foot-thick sheath of ice. Hermione eyed it cautiously as it struggled for a few seconds, and then ceased movement. As she moved forward part of the ice cracked and heaved. Another flame jet sliced through the air, barely missing her as she ducked.

Time was running out. Trusting to luck and her magic, Hermione hurtled straight at the still largely ice-encased Skrewt before it could summon up another fiery burst. Just before leaping onto its slippery back she Transfigured her boot soles into crampons. Even so she almost fell despite the inch-long metal spikes on her boots. With two rather wobbly strides she avoided the immobile tail and its stinger, and then jumped straight off the creature's back, finishing with a pretty poor forward roll that nonetheless kept her crampons from digging into the turf and stopping her movement, perhaps fatally.

.

Breathing heavily, Hermione stood and ended the spell on her boots. Exhilarated but still scared out of her wits, she stared back at the nearly crippled Skrewt. She could not leave it frozen; that could very well kill it. She cast a slow-acting Warming Charm that would gradually thaw the Skrewt out, by which time she would be long gone.

She also resolved to have a few stern words with Hagrid.

The maze was silent. Hermione had lost track of the direction of the scream. She hoped that Fleur had merely experienced some nasty shock and had not succumbed to a worse fate.

That hope was soon extinguished as Hermione turned yet another corner and nearly tripped over a low-lying obstruction. Damning both her lack of wits and alertness, she stumbled, twisting to protect herself from this latest threat.

There was no threat.

Fleur Delacour lay, seemingly unconscious, in the lee of a hedge. Hermione checked the vicinity for any immediate threats.

"Lumos Maxima!"

The area was bathed in bright blue-white light. Nothing seemed to lurk in any dark corner.

Cautiously Hermione approached the prone French girl. She checked and was relieved to find Fleur still breathing; that was good news at least. She could not detect any obvious sign of injury.

"Ennervate!" Fleur did not move a muscle. Whatever had befallen her, it was something more than a simple Stunner.

"Accio Fleur Delacour's wand!" From the undergrowth a shape whipped through the air and whirled into Hermione's outstretched left hand. She had no idea if firing the sparks from her own wand would disqualify her, but she could use Fleur's wand to summon help for the Frenchwoman. She raised it to the sky.

"P... P..."

'Damn it, what was the incantation!'

Hermione could not believe that she had forgotten one of the simplest spells in the book; something Bagman had covered minutes before the Task commenced. Never before had she let an incantation fly right out of her head like this.

Even the newest first year could summon sparks from a wand. This was ridiculous!

'Concentrate, concentrate. Think the problem through. I'm certain it begins with a P... or was it an R..? Come on, Granger, think! Think!'

In frustration she pounded the ground with her fist.

'Red... rouge... rougio?'

She shouted the last aloud, but the wand did nothing.

'Perhaps it's the wand? With my own wand it might come to me.'

"Rubicundus!"

No effect.

"Cardinalis! Carminio! Erythraeus!" Hermione racked her brain for any adjective for red.

"Sparkus Red!" Now she was desperate.

'One simple bloody spell. One simple spell. You're going to pieces, Granger. Hold yourself together.'

"Rote Rackete! Scarlet Bloody Sparks!" She was on the verge of splenetic tears. "Vermillion vers... Oh damn, damn, damn!" She rose to her feet and then stamped them in pure chagrin.

Perhaps another colour? "Argentia!" A shower of silver sparks shot high in the sky.

"Come on; come on, you stupid sods!" Hermione called in frustration.

Nothing.

"Help! Help!" Hermione yelled at the top of her voice. "A competitor's hurt." She cast Sonorus on her own throat. "Competitor hurt and unconscious! Help! Come immediately!"

Nothing stirred. She waited a few minutes and still... nothing.

Either they could not hear her, or were ignoring her. Either way, no-one was coming.

As Hermione glanced down at Fleur's prone form she noted with alarm that thick roots and vines had started creeping out of the hedge towards the Beauxbatons' champion with obvious malevolent intent. They had wrapped around one of Fleur's arms and were now inching back towards their starting point, dragging the body with them.

Hermione leapt forward. "Reducto! Reducto!" For once her spell had some effect on the greenery. They cleanly severed the growths that that had captured Fleur. However, almost as soon as the tendrils shrivelled and retreated, new outgrowths started to inch towards their putative victim.

'That sorts it. I can't leave her here.'

Of course you can. This is a competition. She is out of the game.

'I am not leaving anyone behind... and why am I arguing with myself.'

Because you know I'm right.

'Shut up!'

"Mobilcorpus!" She Levitated Fleur's body and started moving all too slowly ahead through the maze.

You will lose. She would have abandoned you.

Hermione wondered how she could have mastered Ron's vocabulary of bad words so thoroughly. She used them all in the upcoming minutes.

* * * * *

She had seemingly spent hours trudging through the sharp right-angled corners of the maze, carefully threading the insensate Fleur ahead of her with slow sweeps of her wand and intermittently arguing with herself. Still, Hermione was glad that so far nothing more had emerged to attack her.

As she turned yet another corner in the damn-near endless labyrinth, she saw another form slumped unmoving on the ground. It had to be Cedric or Viktor! With a little more haste than was safe, Fleur's body hit the earth with a light thump as Hermione bolted forward.

The casualty, male as expected, lay slumped over, face down. Hermione grabbed hold of a shoulder and pulled it onto its back.

"Oh Merlin, no!" she cried.

The lifeless eyes of Harry Potter fixed open in front of her.

"No!" Hermione screamed once more, then thrust her wand towards the heavens, but once again, to her horror, she could not recall the spell for the bloody red sparks. She was failing when it mattered most.

Frantically she scrabbled for a pulse, failing to find one on either wrist or the carotid artery in the neck. A glance down at his chest confirmed the worst. No rise and fall, and no breath whispered into her ear when she laid it on his cold, bluish lips.

With no idea what had befallen her friend and little training in the healing area of magic, Hermione frantically reverted to half-remembered Muggle techniques. Willing herself not to fall to pieces, she sealed her lips around Harry's mouth and blocking his nose with her cheek, she tried to inflate his lungs with air, then started a series of fifteen chest compressions.

"Damn it Harry, breathe," she pleaded between her exertions. More breaths and another series of compressions, pushing down hard just below his sternum. She winced when she heard one of his ribs crack, but continued just the same.

She refused to contemplate losing him while there was still the slightest chance.

"Harry, please, breathe for me," she begged tearfully. "I l-l-love you..."Her breathing became ragged with combined emotion and effort. Harry's skin was chilled and clammy. "Merlin, please..."

It had to be a Killing Curse, the rational part of her mind told her, whilst her emotional side screamed at it to shut up. Harry bore no sign of any injury or illness, just the cold, blank stare familiar from the corpse of Macnair.

"Oh Harry, please, come back to me!" She rocked back on her knees and gave up. CPR would not reincorporate a soul torn away by an Unforgiveable. Tears flowed freely as she realised that, whatever plot had been laid, Harry had walked into it.

She had as good as killed him herself.

Tears began falling. Her chest felt as though it would explode while her stomach was plummeting to uncharted depths.

A shadow passed over her. Hermione looked up and for a moment a ray of hope pierced her melancholy.

"Pro- professor McGonagall?"

Perhaps her earlier pleas had actually brought salvation? It may not be too late...

Yet her favourite teacher stared down at her with lips tightly pursed.

"Please..? If we hurry maybe we can still save Harry."

"Hush, child," McGonagall responded coldly. "The Tournament is over for you and Potter." Her cold eyes narrowed flintily. "I am most disappointed in you, Granger. We had such high hopes."

Hermione could not credit what she had heard. "But... but... Harry..."

"Oh, and one hundred points from Gryffindor for failing to save Potter."

"And," a familiar kindly voice chimed up, "you have regrettably failed in your task." A sombre Albus Dumbledore stepped into view. "I did all I could do for you, child, but the magical contract is broken."

Another tall but much less sympathetic figure moved to the Headmaster's side. "You were warned of the consequences, Miss Granger," Barty Crouch added in a tone of Arctic ice. "Professor Karkaroff's charge has been proven. You have cheated in all three Tasks. Your magic will be stripped from your flesh and soul." He glared at Hermione. "You will be expelled from Hogwarts forthwith."

"Expelled?" Hermione gasped.

Dumbledore's eyes lacked their ever-present twinkle. "I can do nothing more for you, I am afraid. You will never see Mister Potter again, alive or dead. You are no longer of our world..." His voice trailed off as he turned to his cadaverous companion. "I am afraid you were right all along, Bartemius. She should never have been allowed into Hogwarts, let alone the Tournament." He shook his head in sad wonderment. "Such a disappointment... Such potential squandered."

"Disappointment hardly begins to describe it," an even more familiar voice reached her ears. As Dumbledore moved aside, her parents hove into view.

"You lied to us, Hermione," her father continued.

"Yes," her mother added, "all these silly ideas about being a witch. Thanks to you, poppet, poor Harry is dead."

"But... Mum..? Dad..?"

"We will withdraw you from Hogwarts immediately," her father announced severely. "No more of this magic rubbish. Of course, with all the money we've wasted, you'll have to be enrolled in the local comprehensive."

Her mother stared at her with censure etched on her normally open features. "You can forget about university too, young lady. No point in throwing good money after bad."

Her father brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his immaculate suit jacket. "You've distanced yourself so much from us these past few years that we've almost forgotten what it's like to have a daughter."

Emma Granger gave a tinkling, false laugh. "Oh yes, we've pretty much agreed we haven't."

Dumbstruck, horrified, sandbagged, Hermione sunk back on her haunches. Her brain was struggling to deal with the emotive words. She wished that she, rather than Harry, were dead.

Harry...

"You let me die, Hermione." She spun around and saw Harry staring reproachfully at her. "You let me down by not trying hard enough." His distant stare was otherworldly. "You betrayed me!"

Dazed by his accusation, she could barely respond. "I... I... I didn't, Harry," she sniffled. "I promise."

"What are your promises worth to me?" Harry replied coldly. "You've killed me."

"I didn't know," Hermione grizzled, her throat choking with tears and phlegm. "I thought that it..."

"How you could ever have believed I could ever love someone as worthless as you?" Harry bit back. "Look at you; you're a mess. How could I possibly come to you when every other girl offers me more?" Hermione stared in disbelief as Parvati Patil and Romilda Vane appeared over his shoulders, their arms snaking across his chest.

"These... these are women, not know-it-alls!"

Hermione could hardly breathe, and the nightmare had yet to run its course.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Ginny Weasley slunk in front of Harry and engaged him with a kiss that was almost X-rated.

Hermione felt her broken heart crumble into dust. "But... you kissed me..." she complained plaintively.

Harry laughed as Ginny turned in his arms and gave Hermione a triumphal smirk. "That was a goodbye kiss, so you'd miss him. It wasn't tongues and everything."

"And what am I?" A strident voice came from the other flank. "Your last bloody resort?"

Hermione stared slack-jawed as Ron appeared, fuming not-so-quietly.

"You know what," he continued, "we'll be better off without you. Stupid little bossy cow."

"Only needed you to do our homework for us," Harry agreed. "You didn't really think we actually liked you, did you. The girl with no friends?" He shook his head in mock sadness. "Rightfully so... Stupid little girl."

"Yeah," Ron added, as Lavender and... Millicent Bulstrode! suddenly appeared and let their hands run riot over Ron's chest and shoulders. "Even I don't need you. I've got real women. We should have let that troll finish you off. Would have saved us three years of -"

With an unearthly scream Hermione's fragile composure shattered. She leapt to her feet. "Stupefy!" A Stunner crashed into Ron from close range.

He did not even blink.

Hermione's wand arm slumped off to her side. For the first time in a minute she looked down at Harry's corpse at her feet, then back at the smirking Boy-Who-Lived with had his hands full of squirming Gryffindor females.

Finally her brain slipped back into gear and commenced making connections.

She aimed her wand at Professor McGonagall, who stared at her as though she had forgotten her Transfiguration assignment.

"Riddikulus!"

McGonagall, or rather the Boggart, turned into a bespectacled Snoopy doll. Although raising a laugh was difficult under the circumstances, Hermione forced through a chuckle to defeat the Boggart.

"Riddikulus!" Barty Crouch's sick, superior grimace solidified into plastic as he transformed into a twelve-inch high dull metallic-finished model of an automaton, modelled on a childhood television favourite.

"Riddikulus!" Albus Dumbledore's sadly smiling face suddenly sprung up then down, initially with violent force, until the spring attaching his head to the gaudy purple moon-and-stars box settled into a more gentle swaying motion; another memory from Hermione's early years.

"Riddikulus!" This time her parents turned into plasticine balding man and dog, both with bowls of pink blancmange jammed on their heads.

"Riddikulus!" Ron and his harem turned into three meerkats clad in pink tutus.

"Riddikulus!" The second, voluble Harry and his female admirers transformed into Dougal, Ermintrude, Brian and Dylan from the Magic Roundabout.

She trained her wand at the last Boggart. Her heart ached and she prayed that this, too, was only an illusion. "Riddikulus!"

To her unimaginable relief, Harry's body snapped into the form of Dick Dastardly. She forced through a chilling impersonation of a laugh, and the Boggart quivered in its Edwardian guise. It was difficult to extract happy thoughts from her frozen mind and ignore her icy, shattered heart, but Hermione tried hard.

Feeding Buckbeak with dead ferrets as Harry struggled to steady the Hippogriff.

Malfoy running away after she punched him, and the amazed reactions of Harry and Ron.

Harry's cute embarrassment after he had kissed her last night.

"Riddikulus!" The Boggart shimmered then disappeared.

Hermione sank to her knees, the tears flowing now a mixture of unbearable agony and indescribable relief. For several minutes she struggled to recover her equilibrium. Drawing a couple of deep breaths that nearly foundered with her congested throat, Hermione found she was still shaking slightly. Before she could rise to her feet she sensed the heavy sound of someone running, growing louder every second.

Suddenly Viktor shot into sight. At first sight of her, he seemed to lose coordination; turning to aim his wand at some unseen threat, he careened sideways on straight into the hedge before half bouncing back and landing on his arse in the path.

"Goliama tupotia!" He sounded more annoyed with himself than anything else.

That drew a reaction from Hermione, a nervous giggle at the first time she had ever seen Viktor look or do anything so spectacularly ridiculous. She dropped her wand as Viktor lowered his own.

"Hermy-own-ninny?" he asked guardedly.

"Yes, it's me," she replied. If only that image were available when dismissing the Boggarts; laughter would not have been a problem. She needed a little light relief after the torment of the last few minutes.

Disentangling himself from the greenery, Viktor muttered to himself: "Ludost! This is crazy."

Hermione noted that Viktor was ruffled and dishevelled; his unremitting coolness had been well and truly stuffed.

"I agree."

Now Viktor noticed Fleur lying motionless on the cold earth. Immediately his wand sprang up again. "You?" he demanded.

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said vehemently. "I couldn't revive her, so I brought her with me."

Viktor moved over the prone form of the Frenchwoman. He cast some unfamiliar - to Hermione's ears - spells, and then straightened. "Is Dark magic. Vot happened?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied truthfully. "It was over when I found her."

He has his back to you. This is your chance!

"I can do no more," Viktor said over his shoulder, his attention fixed on Fleur.

Krum is the danger. Eliminate him! Diggory is no threat.

She found her right arm slowly rising.

Curse him now!

'No!'

Viktor stood and turned to see Hermione's wand not quite trained straight at him. "Vot?" he asked gruffly.

Hermione finally forced back her irrational compulsive thought. Sweat started to prickle on her brow. "Do... do you know the spell... for red sparks?"

His stare was unfathomable. "Cherven? Da." He cocked his head. "You do not know this? You... not remember spell?" he asked with a tone of disbelief.

"It's silly, I know." Hermione was flustered and not just from embarrassment at forgetting such a simple spell. She was still fighting that urge to curse Viktor and knock him out of the Tournament. "It's just flown straight out of my mind."

Viktor was still watching her closely. "Ve haff this for Fl-our?" he asked. Hermione nodded and he pointed his wand to the skies. "Periculum!" A strong spray of carmine sparks shot a hundred feet into the darkening sky.

'Now, why couldn't I remember that? I knew that even before I arrived at Hogwarts,' Hermione chided herself.

"They vill come soon," Viktor said, "Ve move her from the..." He could not find an English equivalent and pointed at the hedges. "They move, da?"

"Yes. Maybe fire as a perimeter..?"

A sudden burst of light flared and both of the competitors spun, wands aimed at a potential threat.

"Oh dear!" Professor Flitwick squeaked in a high-pitched tone as he realised he was at the business end of two wands. Then he spied the casualty. "Miss Delacour?" Moving over, the Charms Master moved his wand in a series of swift swishes. "Dark Magic has been use here," he said gravely, then turned with a face like thunder to face the competitors.

"Da, is correct," Viktor offered.

"Did either of you do this?" Flitwick's wand was now held in a ready-to-strike pose.

"Ne."

"Certainly not." Hermione offered some more information. "I found her like this."

"I don't give a fig what the rules of this tournament state," Flitwick said warningly, "but when I find out who did this, I will personally see that they are prosecuted to the full extent of the law."

Hermione gasped. "Is it bad?"

Flitwick only nodded grimly.

"She vill live?" asked Viktor.

"She should do. I have cast a Stasis Spell to prevent further deterioration of her condition." Flitwick drew an object out of his robes and placed it onto Fleur's collarbone. Almost immediately the casualty winked out of existence. "That was an emergency Portkey straight to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey should be able to arrest the cursed damage." The diminutive professor shook his head. "I never agreed with this crazy tournament."

Neither competitor had anything to add to those feelings.

"Miss Granger, do you wish to accompany me?" Flitwick waited expectantly.

"Umm... no, thank you professor."

Flitwick gave her a curious look, but then activated his own Portkey and disappeared.

Another uneasy silence filled the pathway. Finally Viktor broke it.

"Someone is after me," he said with no emotion. "It must be Diggory. I did not think it would be Fl-our. Now I know. Kopele!" The last word was spat out.

"What happened? How do you know it's Cedric?"

Viktor shrugged. "Who else?"

Hermione automatically defended Hogwarts' own. "I've faced plenty of crazy things in here already," she said with a little heat. "It could be one of those."

"Ne, vas not trick. Dark spell. Could only be vitch or vizard." He hesitated. "I thought it even might be you, momisha."

Hermione's indignation rose at that, but she remembered her impulse to curse Viktor while his back was turned. "I... I..." She could not admit it. "It wasn't me," she said, looking hard at the ground in case he might divine the truth from her face.

Viktor remained silent. Hermione thought she was being adjudged and found wanting. Finally he spoke. "I thought you did not vant to vin. You say this many times. But you are still here."

Hermione could not find a reply.

"Diggory is danger. If I see him, I vill..." Viktor's free hand slapped hard on his wand arm, the sound unnaturally loud in the evening silence. "He vill sleep." The Bulgarian prepared to move off alone. "Take care, Hermy-own-ninny." Then with surprising stealth for a large boy - man, I suppose, Hermione thought - he set off down another path that led away at an angle.

Hermione was alone again.

You missed your chance to take down the opposition.

Or perhaps, she thought, I'm not.

She chose a different path, making sure she was still heading in what she thought was the right direction. She had no desire to encounter Viktor again. The next time he might treat her as a true competitor. Even more troubling she could not be sure what she might do to him.

Her path unexpectedly opened up onto a larger area, almost a formal square. Its grassy lawn was neatly trimmed with a green chequer board pattern showing in the late evening sunshine.

Before Hermione actually stepped onto the immaculate turf she felt a sudden burning sensation in the middle of her chest. Hesitating, she did not plant her foot, instead drawing back. She slipped her hand inside Harry's jersey's collar and pulled out an ankh on a fine chain.

Ron's Christmas present to her, courtesy of Bill.

Why would it be warm to the touch? That had never happened before.

She took time to examine grass more carefully now.

"Lumos!" She knelt over the grass. Slowly a series of symbols could be made out, one in each square.

Ancient runic symbols, apparently from the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc. They seemed to be numeric representations. The first held the symbol of an Fwooper, representing the number four after the number of different colours in its plumage.

Hermione realised that the chequerboard lawn was a mixture of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. That fact only led to more questions: why have a grid of numbers; what was the key; and what was the penalty for stepping on the wrong rune?

The first value was four. Hermione knew that both her character number and heart number, derived from her name, were also four.

Perhaps this test was uniquely tailored to the individual? The only way to find out was to try, as backtracking was impossible thanks to the maze's ever-changing form.

Hermione took a tentative step forward.

Nothing happened.

She looked around the adjacent runes. One bore a spider-like symbol; the Acromantula, representing eight. That number corresponded to the value of the first letter of her name. Again, hoping for the best, Hermione took a tentative step diagonally ahead.

'Still here,' she thought. Next she sought the value five, for the letter 'E'; a Quintaped was on the next row, ahead to the right.

Slowly she traced the route of H E R M I O N E G R A N G E R, finally standing on an impression of a hydra for 'R'. She remained one letter shy of crossing the lawn. The obvious one was the Fwooper, ending as she had started, representing both her character and heart numbers. As she made to step towards the rune, the ankh held in her left hand again rapidly grew hot to the touch. 'Trust the tools of a curse-breaker', she thought, withdrawing while thanking Bill for his foresight.

'What number? What number would a wizard choose? She had based all her calculations on the Agrippan method of Arithmancy, as opposed to the Chaldean. Logically, the strongest number in magic was...

"Seven," she said aloud, mostly to convince herself. The symbol of the unknown; its rune looked a little like a jellyfish. As she made her move forward the ankh cooled as rapidly as it had heated. With greater certainty she planted her foot, then stepped forward unharmed onto the path where the maze continued.

Left turn, right turn, left again, straight on, left, right, right...

She came to a T-junction. Guarding it were three creatures with the bodies of great cats and human heads. Their obviously Egyptian appearance marked them out as sphinxes. Hermione knew them to be capricious beasts, fond of humiliating wizards with impenetrable riddles, but capable of sudden outbursts of violence.

In short, perfect beasts to act as guards.

One sphinx stood directly in front of her, the others similarly guarded the two alternative ways ahead.

"I don't suppose you would show me the way?" she asked hopefully. "Just moving aside would be a little help."

The first drew itself up imperiously. "I have a riddle. Would you like to hear it, witch?"

"Ummm... what happens if I say: 'No'?"

The sphinx gave Hermione an evil smile, the long, ragged, sharp-toothed smile of a lion. "Then my sisters and I will feast well tonight."

"On me, I suppose," Hermione muttered, and then spoke more loudly. "Put your riddle to me then."

One of the other sphinxes roared. Hermione was unsure if it was disappointed at missing a free meal, or excited that a witch would play their game.

The lead sphinx appeared pleased. "One of my sisters speaks nothing but the truth. One of my sisters speaks anything but the truth. One path leads towards the prize; the other returns you to your starting point. You may ask one of my sisters only one question to choose your way."

Hermione considered the logic puzzle. It was the perfect trap for a wizard, she thought, as they seldom thought logically.

But as a riddle, it was simple. The Liar's Paradox, also known as the knight and the knave, was a staple of any number of books of logic problems, and Hermione had loved such problems well before coming to Hogwarts.

Confidently she approached the sphinx on the left. "If I had asked your sister there -" she made sure to point at the other path's guard "- which path led towards the prize, what path would she have indicated?"

The sphinxes growled, and for a second Hermione thought she might have made a mistake.

The one questioned stood aside and pointed to the leftward path behind her.

"Thank you," Hermione said, and promptly chose the path to the right, edging past the third sphinx and keeping her wand trained on the unhappy creatures. She would find out soon if she had outwitted them, but judging by their sulky and deprived reaction, she was sure she had.

The path continued on normally, and thankfully for once the hedges soon blocked her retreat and the sphinxes from sight.

'There can't be much further to go,' Hermione moaned. The sky had darkened to a deep cerulean blue. Her watch, assuming it was accurate after the afternoon's events, indicated that she had been on the move for nearly four hours.

Hermione felt something intangible, a ripple in the surrounding magic membrane that brought goose bumps to her flesh. She prepared to face another challenge but none appeared. She wondered if she had tripped some kind of ward. The ankh felt warm against her flesh once again.

Then, so swiftly she thought she might have imagined it, Hermione glimpsed a flash of something. It was not the light of a spell being cast. It could have been the setting sun glinting off of a shiny object; like a cup, perhaps.

There it was again, lighthouse like, an intermittent flash of light interrupting the shadows.

A perimeter charm warding the Triwizard Cup.

Hermione started at the run, only to find her way blocked swiftly by another of those darned moving hedges. As long as she could maintain a line on that glimmer, she could navigate her way towards it.

She dashed into another slightly larger area, and halted quickly as she saw flashes of light from different tangents.

'Oh, Professor Moody would be so proud of me.'

Her wand already tracked what could be multiple threats, switching from one to another as Hermione's eyes scanned all around, Mad-Eye's mantra of 'constant vigilance' drummed into her.

It was a mirror, or - to be more accurate - mirrors.

'Of course, they are going to be enchanted,' Hermione thought.

The two mirrors blocked the only exits from the little hidden garden; her egress was by now blocked by yet another specimen of mobile herbology. Obviously she was expected to leave through one of the mirrors. 'Just like Alice,' she muttered. If she espied a Red or White Queen, she would know that she had taken the wrong direction. Ron might quite like the chess analogy.

Concentrate, girl. You're nearly there.

'I should have gone with Professor Flitwick. I'd be tucked up with a cocoa by now.'

You stayed because you want to win.

'No, I don't. I stayed because... because of Harry. He's involved in this almost as much as me.'

You can't lie to me. I know you.

'Whoever you are, you don't know me as well as you think you do.'

What? The ultra-competitive student? The compulsive, sphinx-besting learner? The girl who can't leave a book untouched and unread? The little girl out to prove her worth to her parents? Her teachers? Her peers? The world?

'Shut up! I don't care about any of that: only Harry.

'It must be the strain. Either that or I'm going mad.'

Hermione faced the first mirror. Her reflection stared back. Except, unsurprisingly, it was not her reflection.

The image was certainly Hermione Granger, but a little older than the flesh-and-blood original. The reflection wore Hogwarts' formal robes and carried a smile so bright that her parents would fall to their knees in praise. Her hair was longer than ever but had grown out of its natural bushy state, and hung around her shoulders in a cinnamon waterfall.

As Hermione watched, her reflection turned her head to the left, and called something to someone out of frame. If anything that smile just grew.

Enter stage right the second actor. It was recognisably Harry Potter and of a similar vintage to her reflection. His growth spurt had continued as he was a good head taller than his female contemporary, and his hair, although untidy, had almost grown out of its unruliness. His eyes sparkled with life behind clear lenses, and Hermione involuntarily shuddered as she recalled the last image of those green orbs she had seen.

Harry slipped one arm easily around Hermione's waist, and pulled her close for a series of chaste kisses, before they both turned and smiled at her.

Hermione was shocked at how happy Harry appeared. She had seen the odd look of wonder and delight as he had experienced so many firsts since he arrived at Hogwarts. She regretted not being present at the next real Christmas Harry had spent since his very first; Ron had told her of his utter and innocent delight. His first successful spell. His first catch of the Snitch. Most special to her was that broad smile on his face when she had, to her later intense embarrassment, run the length of the Great Hall to hug him after her petrification had been cured.

Now he looked blissfully content.

Somehow, Hermione was not.

She reached up and traced the lettering on the mirror's ornate gold frame. 'Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.'

The Mirror of Erised.

Of course, she had read all about it after Harry and Ron had revealed its existence. She knew of its dangers and the half-truths. It did not show you the future, but your heart's innermost desire.

Hermione peered closely at the young couple in the mirror. There was no trace of a ring on any hand; no young children or babes in arm; no Minister for Magic; not even a matching pair of Head Boy and Girl badges.

Was that her greatest desire? A carefree life, making Harry happy? It was not a bad start, she thought.

You can have so much more.

Hermione shook her head, not just at the thought, but at the image before her.

'If I step through the glass, I will never return,' she admitted to herself. 'I will be trapped in a fiction of my own making. Thanks, but no thanks.'

For once her inner voice was correct. She could have so much more, and she intended to.

She turned her back resolutely, refusing to spare another glance at the perfect life.

The second mirror was plainer, smaller. It bore no inscription on its thin wooden borders. Her reflection stared stolidly back at her. Hermione could not spot any differences, even down to the transfigured bootlaces.

Then the reflection stepped out of the window and onto the grass.

"That's... unusual," Hermione commented.

"Always expect the unexpected, as Mad-Eye will undoubtedly say," the reflection replied, matching her voice exactly in pitch, tone and timbre.

"You're me," Hermione commented redundantly.

"Honestly, Granger, how unoriginal," her reflection responded, wand held tight in her left hand. "And not quite right: I'm what you can be."

"What I can be?" Her reflection started to circle her. It was weird to be under scrutiny by yourself. The reflection was three dimensional and seemingly solid. Even the jersey betrayed its origins.

R E T T O P

Her duplicate completed a full circle and stood between Hermione and the mirror.

"You seem to have independent control of action and intelligence," Hermione wondered out aloud.

"Of course." The other Hermione twirled on the spot. "Did you think I was a simple copy, like those that confused the dragon? Please! This is the Third Task, not the First. You know this is the only way forward."

Hermione stared over her reflection's shoulder at the mirror. It showed an empty pathway, and at the far end stood something shining on a plinth.

"Yes, the Triwizard Cup in all its glory. All you have to do is simply walk through and claim it."

For a second Hermione was tempted, but after everything she had endured in the maze, it simply seemed far too easy. "You say you're what I can be? Does that mean I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice."

Hermione hesitated. The cold scrutiny and the rather threatening presence of her wand put her off.

"What's different, then? What have I done that turned me into you?"

The reflection gave her a sour look. "Oh, Hermione Granger, supposedly so intelligent." She tapped the side of her head. "Only you and I know what really goes on up here. Our fears, our hopes, our grudges. You can't hide anything from me."

"That's no real answer."

"Except, of course," her reflection continued, ignoring her, "that I have removed some of our... restricting principles, and refined some of our more basic instincts."

Hermione did not like the sound of that.

"Yes, I know," her reflection carried on. "You have doubts. But you stand on the cusp of greatness. Not this tin-pot trophy, but true greatness. The power to shape society to your own mould. To carry the magical world, kicking and screaming, forward to modernity. To crush our enemies -"

Hermione shook her head. "That's not my way."

"Says the founder of S.P.E.W. - I much prefer Ron's pronunciation!" Her fugitive reflection now held its wand in a far more threatening position. "I know you better than you know yourself, for I do not hide my darker side. You would kill for Harry, that I know, even if you cannot admit it to yourself. You hold us back. Do you really believe Harry would go for limp lettuce like you? You can be the woman who makes Harry Potter great, who destroys his enemies, vanquishes all who resist." She smiled salaciously. "The sex, of course, would be terrific.

"And, why stop at Harry? You have the knowledge to make any wizard, or witch, do your bidding without question. Why have the nuclear family when you could bestride the world?"

"If you have a name," Hermione breathed, "then it must be 'Avarice'."

"You would deny us that?" her reflection demanded. "For a handful of so-called principles that nobody else respects? The meek do not inherit the Earth; they are crushed underfoot by the strong - strong like us. That is the way it's always been; that's the way it will always be. You could never summon the power for the Cruciatus or worse."

"That's not my way," Hermione said quietly but more firmly.

"It is, as you can see, the only way." The reflection gestured towards the mirror behind her. "Or you can settle for an unfulfilling life of drudgery with an inferior facsimile of Harry Potter." She cocked her head and worried her lower lip, just as real Hermione was doing. "Do you really think that is real? It is what you desire, not what will be. We know what you fear: that Harry will find a more athletic, prettier, bouncier witch, one who can satisfy his appetites both subtle and gross, who can match his own greatness. They will run roughshod straight over poor Hermione Jean Granger."

"Not this marque," Hermione responded, her own wand now poised to strike at a moment's notice.

Her reflection put her hand to her cheek. "I wonder," she pondered, apparently idly, "what would happen if...Diffindo!" She lunged forward in the classic attacking style.

Hermione was taken by surprise and could not raise a shielding spell before feeling a sharp pain in her left cheek. She put her fingers to it and found blood had been drawn. She glared at her attacker, a most disconcerting proposition. There was blood on her reflection's right cheek.

"Yes... I thought so," the reflection observed. "What I inflict upon you is inflicted upon me." She shrugged. "Well, I reckon that rules out the Unforgiveables then. I wouldn't fancy a bowel-loosening hex either. Unless, of course, you want to resume your journey forward unhindered."

Hermione shook her head. "There has to be another way."

"Always the empty echo of the defeated. You're pathetic, Hermione Granger," her reflection spat.

"Stupefy!"

This time Hermione had the advantage, but the spell rocketed straight through the reflection without any apparent effect.

"Well, that was stupid, wasn't it?" her reflection lectured her. "If that had worked we'd both have been knocked out. Still, as it didn't... Stupefy!"

"Protego!" The Stunner deflected off Hermione's hastily raised shielding spell. She started to circle around to her left, away from her reflection's wand arm. Her image just tracked her, staying between Hermione and the mirror all the time.

"This is foolish, you know," her reflection continued to scold. "You can't hurt me, but I can hurt both of us. Why not admit that I'm right? You know, I always am."

"Why? You can't beat me either."

"Better to live one day as a lion. Do you really believe I'd want the life you're destined for? End up an old maid, loved by no-one, mocked by the children? Watching Harry sail off with Ginny Weasley or Cho Chang or Romilda bloody Vane?" The image shook its head. "No, it's time the real Hermione Granger entered the real world. Reducto!"

Hermione's shield spell covered her body but the Reductor Curse slammed into the ground at her feet, just Professor Moody's had months ago during that first duel. It had the same effect, hurling her backwards through the air until she landed in a heap, covered with dirt and stones gouged out of the earth. Groggy, she raised her head.

Her reflection had suffered a similar fate, but seemed to be recovering much faster. 'I'm not fighting flesh and blood here.'

"That hurt, but not as much as it hurt you," her reflection said in a chilling monotone, her eyes flashing darkly, and her hair started to whip as magic built up in her body. "You cannot stop me."

Hermione knew that to be true. This was no mere duplicate that would be crushed by a dragon's claws. They were destroyed as easily as if the mirror...

"The next one will take off one of your legs," the reflection started to advance, always keeping the mirror hidden behind it. "I'm not fussed which."

Hermione tensed.

"Reducto!"

As soon as the curse was cast Hermione flung herself off to left and Banished a larger stone at speed straight at the mirror.

"No!"

It smashed just like glass.

With an unearthly scream, Hermione's reflection flickered, cracked and folded in on itself before disappearing.

Hermione rested, panting for a moment in the dirt and grass. She observed the two mirrors, one smashed beyond repair, and one showing a false future. As she pondered the end of her competition, the hedge behind her gave a low rumble and moved aside. As Hermione turned, she saw, not fifty yards away, the Triwizard Cup.

Springing to her feet she flung aside all tiredness and emotion, and sprinted towards the prize.

She was thirty yards away when an arm shot out of a pathway, grabbed her by her own arm, dragged her aside, and clamped a hand tightly over her mouth.

Her first instinct was to scream.

"Quiet, Granger." A desperate whisper. It was Cedric. "Krum's out there, waiting to pick us off. What we - ow!"

Her second instinct was to bite.

Hermione gave Cedric's fingers a nasty nip. As he let go she twisted in his grip and stood facing him, wand jammed under his chin.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Cedric Diggory?" she demanded in as loud a whisper as she could manage.

"It's Krum," he gurgled, finding it difficult to speak with a wand jabbed into his throat. "Do you mind..?" Hermione withdrew her wand. "Thanks," he rasped. "It's Krum; he's under the Imperius Curse."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked. "I met him about an hour ago and he seemed fine, if a little more ruffled than usual." She did not mention Viktor's thoughts on Cedric.

"Damned sure," Cedric replied heatedly. "Blighter took a shot at me just a minute or so ago. No half-measures either. A Hacking Hex that could have taken my head off. Only surprised he hasn't the bottle to raise a Killing Curse. Just watch."

With that Cedric half ran, half dived across the pathway into another opposite. A slashing purple spell hurtled out of the dark, missing Cedric by less than a foot.

"Diggory! Te predatelsko kopele!"

Viktor sounded like he was between them and the Cup.

"Up yours, Krum," Cedric called back. He gestured across the gap to Hermione. "I'll try to pin him down. See if you can get behind him."

Krum is the danger. The Cup will fall into your hands.

Hermione found herself nodding. She crept off her own path, intending to cut across as soon as possible. Behind her she could hear Cedric casting a series of spells. Judging by her won shadow, the light show must have been fantastic.

She cast a Silencing Charm on her boots, but that charm made it difficult to navigate. It took Hermione some time before she found herself about twenty yards further along the path to the Cup. Someone, Cedric she believed, was moving up and making a great deal of noise about it.

Straining her ears, Hermione thought she caught a faint rustle coming from up ahead on her left. She ducked back and tried to work her way a little further up.

Then she heard Viktor's voice, very soft, casting hexes and spells towards Cedric's location.

He was ten yards away, crouching at the junction of two pathways, with a clear field of fire on anyone who tried to advance up the straight avenue that led to the Cup.

She prepared to cast on his unprotected back...

Something grabbed at her ankles and dragged them backwards at speed, throwing her forward on her face with a surprised squeal. She turned and found thick vines dragging her back into the undergrowth. She screamed again. "Help!"

"Diffindo! Reducto!" Viktor's voice was loud in her ears. One leg was free and she tried to kick the other one loose, only for another vine to wrap itself around her just freed ankle. She reached out blindly with her hands and something else grabbed her, pulling her up from the ground at an angle.

"Diffindo!" Finally her legs came free and Hermione scrambled up into a marginally surprised Viktor's arms.

"Hermy-own-ninny? Vot -"

"Stupefy!" A Stunner at a range of six inches was impossible to block. Viktor keeled over and hit the ground.

Hermione could not fathom out why she had cast that spell.

Krum is out!

Hermione bent over Viktor's unconscious body. "Oh, Viktor, why did it have to be you?" She felt like crying. What had she done?

The hedges rustled in a threatening way, if such was possible. This time Hermione remembered the spell. "Periculum!"

As scarlet shot into the dark indigo Scottish sky, Hermione dragged herself away. She had no desire to explain herself to yet another disappointed Hogwarts' professor.

"Granger?" She heard Cedric calling out.

"Over here," she replied shakily, dabbing at her eyes in case they betrayed her.

"Come on," he cried impatiently.

In no great rush Hermione walked up the avenue and into an open space. Cedric was already there, standing within arms' reach of the Triwizard Cup. One of his arms had been slashed open almost to the bone.

"Did... did he do..?" Hermione could not bring herself to say Viktor's name.

"This?" Cedric glanced down at his arm as if it was of no importance. "No, had a close encounter with an Acromantula." Then he gazed back at the Cup. "Well, here it is."

"Congratulations, Cedric," Hermione said dully. The competition was over. Even if she had the motivation to try duelling Cedric, she doubted she had the strength or the stomach for it.

Cedric shook his head. "No, it's yours." He was breathing hard. "You deserve it."

"You were here first," she replied mechanically. "All I did was..."

'Hex at point-blank range a friend who'd just saved me.' She felt sick.

"What, I'm... nearly two years older than you, aren't I," Cedric argued. "The honour must be yours." He stepped back from the Cup. "Go on."

Think of the reaction of the Malfoys, all three of those pure-blooded bigots.

Think of your future prospects, and the doors opened by being the Champion.

Think of the honour of Hogwarts and being the youngest Champion for nearly six hundred years.

Think of McGonagall and Dumbledore, and the Head Girl badge.

Think of your parents, who could not deny you belong in this world after this.

Think of Minister Fudge, handing the Cup to a Mudblood.

Think of Harry's adoration.

Everything in the Mirror of Erised could come true, after all.

"You're right," Hermione said slowly. "I do deserve this."

'For everything I have endured, every taunt, every insult, every bruise, every burn, and every broken bone. Dragons, Acromantula, Death Eaters. You can't break me.'

She could already envision the roar of the crowd acclaiming her as the Triwizard Champion, the cannonade announcing her return.

"My pleasure." Cedric stood aside a little stiffly.

Hermione stared wonderingly at the gleaming Cup. She would stick this where no Pureblood's sun ever shone, sideways if she had to.

"Mine," she whispered. "Mine."

As her hand touched the cup's handle, the sharp tug behind her navel signalled her journey to glory.

* * * * *

I would like to thank the following for their help in suggesting obstacles in the maze for the Third Task: Bexis (Cornish Pixies, the Birds from Hitchcock's film and the police box, the troll, magical ropes and the Boggarts of Dumbledore & Crouch); Ian "arkham4269" Alexander (Hermione's evil reflection); and Ben "libraryguy22" Gardner (multiple Boggarts).

Unfortunately I have located my cheap Bulgarian phrasebook!

Politsai = policeman.

Ludost = madness.

Cherven = red.

Momisha = little one.

Goliama tupotia = Bugger! (or a close equivalent)

Te predatelsko kopele = you dishonourable bastard (or a close equivalent).

Georgi Asparuhov is in part named for my beta reader George; the real Georgi Asparuhov (or Asparoukhov) was a famous Bulgarian footballer of the 1960s who scored Bulgaria's only goals in the World Cup finals of 1962 and 1966, and was killed in a car crash in 1971.

Old imperial measurements of distance: a chain is 22 yards; there are 10 chains to a furlong; and 8 furlongs to a mile. So the wards around the Triwizard Cup are set at a distance of 110 yards.

P.E. = Physical Exercise, also sometimes known as P.T. (physical training) or Gym.

"Everte Statum" is a dueling spell that will send an opponent flying backwards. It appears in the films, not the books.

The spell Hermione cannot remember is "Periculum."

"Rote Rackete" is German for "red rocket."

Hermione also uses various Latin and French terms for red or shades of red.

CPR regimen as taught by the Red Cross has changed a lot over the last 2 years, and I am aware that the latest ration is 2 breaths to 30 chest compressions at first, then 2 to 20. In the 1990s more attention was focused on getting air into the lungs.

The Boggart representing Barty Crouch is turned into a toy Cyberman; fitting for actor Roger Lloyd Pack's role in the film version of the book.

The Boggart that turned into Hermione's parents ends up as Wallace and Gromit.

A recursive occlusion was a space/ time trap encountered in the Fifth Doctor story "Castrovalva", inspired by the drawings of MC Escher of staircases that always go up in a complete circle, using tricks of perspective. A Möbius strip is the length of paper you make in children's classes which only has one side.

The blue policebox could have been the Doctor's TARDIS, which might explain poor Hermione's time-loop problems. Then again, it might not…

X-rated films were the predecessor of 18 only (US equivalent: NC-17) film classifications in the UK. It entered popular argot as anything that was too shocking for the public.

If you've never heard about the children's TV classic animated series "The Magic Roundabout" - well, just Google it! Dougal was a dog, Zebedee a jack-in-the-box without a box, Ermintrude a very dim cow, Brian was a snail and Dylan was a hippy rabbit. My mother took me to see the film version of "Dougal and the Blue Cat" when I was about 5 and swore she would never, ever, go to the cinema with me ever again! The Dumbledore Boggart is turned into Zebedee by Hermione. No prizes for guessing that Ginny turned into the cow!

Dick Dastardly was the villain in Hanna-Barbera cartoon series "Wacky Races" and "Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines." I think I am reliving my childhood here.

I suspect I have played fast and loose with the mixture of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy in reality and that taught at Hogwarts. The Anglo-Saxon Futhorc is a real alphabet and one of many used, as are the Agrippan and Chaldean methods in Arithmancy.

It may appear that I have ripped off the Liar's Paradox - the sphinxes' riddle - and Hermione's response from the famous and epic fan fic "Paradise Lost" by Angie J. I completely refute the suggestion. I ripped it off from the Doctor Who story "Pyramids of Mars" first broadcast in October 1975. I only steal from the best!

Hermione's comment on the mirrors is inspired by the classic "Alice Through the Looking Glass."

My take on the Third Task in canon. As no-one comments on the long time between Harry and Cedric activating the Portkey in the maze to Harry's return with Cedric's body, I assume that no-one actually saw what occurred inside the maze. This is reinforced by the instruction to fire red sparks into the air to summon help; if the competitors were under supervision this would appear to be unnecessary. My idea is that the crowd is similar to those that watched Olympic marathons before the television age. The stadium might see the runners depart and perhaps the last half-mile or so, but otherwise it would be almost a surprise when the leaders appeared (I can recall the fraudulent runner in the 1972 Munich Olympic marathon). As wizarding society generally lags behind the real world, this is possible. Yet something would be required to announce to the crowd that the Tournament was reaching a finale. A perimeter warding charm set around the Triwizard Cup seemed to be the best idea, allowing the crowd to assume their seats and welcome home the victor.