All characters are belong to JK Rowling. Of necessity, much of the plot will remain familiar to those who have read "Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire."
Chapter 2 - The Morning After
Hermione Granger didn't think she'd ever been so glad she was waking up on a Sunday morning. For over three years she'd borne a little resentment towards the Seventh Day, as it didn't have any scheduled lessons. It would have been a good day to finish off any homework, but Hermione - as in many other ways - differed from her contemporaries and had almost always finished that by Saturday evening.
Firstly, she did not have to rise at the crack of dawn, which, as she had not really slept, came as a bit of blessed relief. She lay in her bed, shutting out the noise of her dorm mates, collecting her thoughts. Last night hadn't been a dream; instead it had proved to be a waking nightmare.
The second benefit Hermione could take from the last day of the week was that it offered an uninterrupted spell of research in the Library. She could set everything else aside and concentrate upon her most pressing matter today: finding a way to invalidate her entrance into or participation in the Triwizard Tournament. She would have to hope that Hogwarts carried details of the current Muggle child protection legislation, as she held little hope that the wizarding laws would be of any great assistance to her. And whilst Barty Crouch might proclaim himself the world's greatest living authority on this tin-pot event, he could well have overlooked some loophole or other that had not been spotted for a century or two.
Just a little more calmer about her prospects now, partly as a result of actually planning the opportunity to do something rather than be lectured at, Hermione drew back the hangings from her four-poster. The curtains around Lavender Brown's bed remained drawn closed, and judging by the very unladylike snores emanating from that direction, its occupant was seizing the chance of a later lie-in than usual. Oppositely Lavender's, Parvati Patil's bed was empty.
The mirror in the bathroom was rather scathing in its comments this morning, and Hermione couldn't do anything but concur. All her tossing and turning had left her hair even more dishevelled than its normal waking state, and her eyes were both red-rimmed and decorated by dark rings around them. Her expression still wore vivid signs of exhaustion and sleepiness. After diligently brushing her teeth and taking a refreshing cool shower, Hermione refused to use magic on her hair, and struggled to pull her hairbrush through the tangles.
Once she felt she was relatively presentable, Hermione dressed in her casuals and made her way down the spiral staircase to the common room. As she reached the bottom step she took a deep breath; from what the Twins had said a few hours earlier, she was unsure about what sort of reception awaited her. She recalled all too well how her housemates had treated her and two of her friends in their first year, when they had been to all intents and purposes been shunned by the entire Gryffindor common room after the loss of one hundred and fifty house points. Then she, Harry and Neville had been eleven or twelve years old, unsure about Hogwarts and still finding their feet at Hogwarts, yet that had not saved them from the cold shoulder. They had not treated Harry, their new star Quidditch seeker, any better the following year. Hermione was under no illusions about her own popularity. As long as her intelligence and hard work earned a pile of enchanted rubies for Gryffindor, then she was considered acceptable to Gryffindor society. Outside that, she had the feeling that her presence was tolerated at best. Not because of her upbringing or parentage, but because she really still did not fit into life outside classes. Her friendship with Ron and Harry gave her a little more acceptance, and Ginny did perhaps look up to her a little, but apart from possibly Neville there wasn't anyone else in Gryffindor who would willingly choose to spend non-study time with Hermione Granger over someone else.
There was little conversation going on at that time on a lazy Autumn Sunday morning, but as soon as those few inhabitants became aware of Hermione as she moved out of the shadows, a sudden silence settled on the Gryffindor common room. Every head turned or eye swivelled in her direction, followed quickly by the soft breeze of snatches of whispered comments.
Acutely self-conscious, Hermione looked for some friendly faces. Expectantly, Ron and Harry were missing - it was far too early for them to stir on a Sunday. Angelina and Alicia, stony-faced, were staring hard at her, almost challenging her to make a comment and start a fight. Fortunately Hermione spotted Parvati sitting in a corner, trying to look inconspicuous, and made her way over.
"Hi, Parvati," she said.
"Go away…" The response was so quietly spoken that Hermione wasn't sure she'd heard right.
"Sorry..?"
Parvati rose to her feet. There was a look of anguish and fright in the Indian girl's eyes. "Leave me alone, Granger," she muttered, and pushed past Hermione, making towards the staircase at an increasing speed without a backwards glance.
Stunned, Hermione felt confusion and indecision cloud her judgement. She just stood there, in the middle of the common room, lost for words. Parvati Patil was most definitely not a close friend of hers, but perhaps more of an acquaintance. She resembled Lavender Brown a bit too much in her approach compared to her Ravenclaw twin Padma, but that did not stop her spending some study time with Hermione.
Looking up, Hogwarts' smartest witch was even more aware than everyone was watching, waiting to see how she would react to this public rebuff. Some glares were hostile, some dismissive, and the first years seemed downright terrified.
'I can't take this,' Hermione thought. There was one place where she could find a sanctuary until everyone came to his or her senses - she was sure that once she had had the chance to explain herself…
As she made her way towards the portrait hole, Hermione caught a stage whisper that made her doubt her last over-optimistic thought. It seemed to come from Angelina, and she was sure that it was deliberately pitched, so she could hear it.
"Know-it-all bitch!"
* * * * *
She thought perhaps she would feel safer behind her usual barricade of books, but even ensconced at her usual quiet table, Hermione was aware of the wave of antagonism towards her from the other students in the library.
She had known that last night's events would only deepen the Slytherins' hatred of her. Her Muggle blood just multiplied their anger over her annoying habit of answering every question, and often single-handedly keeping Gryffindor's stock of house points in credit. She had no illusions how they would react.
The Hufflepuffs would have a justified sense of grievance towards her, even if she was innocent of any involvement. They were the least-considered of the four houses, as their forte lay in achieving an overall level of excellence rather than shining in specific fields, like the Gryffindors and Slytherins in Quidditch, or the Ravenclaws in academic subjects. Cedric Diggory was a hero to the Hufflepuffs, having led them to a rare Quidditch win over Gryffindor, and this would have been their moment in the sun. Hermione didn't really know Cedric; his reputation was as a fairly straightforward, honest lad who was also quite good looking as she did not fail to notice, and she thought that he might well sympathise with her if he knew her side of the story. But until then, the frosty reception she'd received from Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan as she entered the library was a fair indication of how they saw events unfolding.
What did surprise her was the reaction of the Ravenclaws in their natural habitat. She'd expected cool deliberation, a studied response to events. After all, she'd spent study time with plenty of them; she thought they knew her. Instead there was a freezing indifference shown to her, with the exception of that strange blonde second year who waved to Hermione in the corridor. The others deliberately turned their backs on her as she passed. Hermione was a little surprised to find out how much that rejection hurt her.
Annoyingly, Viktor Krum was also present in the Library. That meant that various gaggles of his 'groupies' would turn up; girls of all ages, but especially those who'd made it to adolescence, who hung around the stacks, sneaking admiring looks at the Bulgarian seeker before hiding themselves away and giggling. Normally they just disturbed the natural peace that Hermione adored, the quiet that allowed her to concentrate on her studies. Now the stolen glances at Krum tended to be accompanied by haughty glares of disgust aimed at his now direct competitor. Hermione Granger realised that although she might be a Hogwarts' Champion - by whatever means - there would be a sizeable part of the female community that would be supporting the brooding Krum, along with most of Slytherin.
As usual, Hermione tried to bury her feelings away under a great block of studying and shut out the rest of the world. Her initial efforts were directed towards the rules applicable to the Triwizard Tournament. Unfortunately despite poring over dusty old volumes Hermione hadn't been able to find any loophole that she might use to wriggle out of taking part. The organisers had a wide level of discretion of movement, but essentially once a competitor's name was produced from the Goblet of Fire they were committed to take part, and there was nothing short of disqualification, severe injury or death that could break that covenant. Hermione shuddered at the thought. Despite the competition's past, she doubted that nowadays Professor Dumbledore would allow anything that would place a student - of any school - in fatal jeopardy; then she recalled the events of her last three years at Hogwarts, and swallowed hard. Exclusion from the Tournament would mean exclusion from what had become to define her life. She'd been ribbed enough by Ron and Harry about her even worse, expelled! comment from back in the days when she was still a bossy know-it-all, but there was an underlying current of truth in that. To be ripped away from the magical world would seem like a death sentence to her.
Even the Ministry of Magic was powerless to intervene once the competition itself had started. They could redraw the rules in advance - as Dumbledore had done with the age-limit this time, unavailingly as it had turned out - and had a role as official overseer, with final authority vested in Barty Crouch this time. His interpretation of the rules had been made quite clear last night. No, Hermione couldn't see anything in the Wizarding world on her side short of a complete abandonment of ministerial policy; given how slowly any slight hint of reform seemed to progress throughout magical history, she did not hold out any hope on that score.
It took her some time to locate details of the relevant Muggle child welfare legislation, especially as she had to research the laws applying to both Scotland, and England and Wales, given the two separate legal systems that existed within the United Kingdom. The primary legislation that existed was The Children Act 1989 which provided protection for anyone under the age of seventeen. There was some information on that, and the duty of care entrusted to school authorities, held in Hogwarts' library, but Hermione was vaguely aware that there had been a very recent law introduced in Scotland that could well take priority over the older regulations. She searched high and low but couldn't find anything on it. Her frustration was starting to show as she thumped books down on the table, muttering under her breath and scowling at those who came to gawp at the muggleborn interloper.
As she delved through the current wizarding journals that were supposed to carry the latest news from the Muggle world - and her heart fell at the continuing correspondence regarding what exactly this 'electricity' thing was that those ignorant Muggles had come up with lately - she became aware that someone was standing in front of the table currently laden with books.
'Another onlooker,' Hermione thought. 'If I ignore them, they'll go away." She resolutely kept her head buried in the publication, even paying no heed to a not-so-subtle clearing of the throat. 'Why don't you take the hint and push off,' Hermione thought to herself.
"Miss Granger!"
Hermione jumped in her seat, knocking a pile of magazines to the floor.
The tall, thin shadow of Madame Pince loomed over Hermione, her expression moving from one of grim disapproval to shock at seeing anything containing the printed word hitting the floor.
Hermione tried to gabble some sort of apology to the stern Librarian. "I'm sorry… so sorry, Madame Pince!"
The Librarian was too busy shifting the fallen magazines from the floor with a sweep of her wand to accept any apology. "Really!" she said under her breath. "Typical students - no thought for the possessions of others!"
A scolded Hermione tried to bluster an excuse. "Sorry - but you startled me."
Madame Pinch fixed her with a glare usually reserved for those who had defaced one of her precious books. "A proper student would pay attention when approached by one of the faculty," she replied haughtily.
Hermione could see some younger students edging around the corner of the nearest bookshelves, peering around the stacks as though observing some dangerous magical creature. This was all she wanted: an audience to a dressing down by a member of staff.
"Pay attention, girl!" The Librarian's sharp words rapidly brought Hermione's attention back from the attentions of her fellow pupils. "If you had done that in the first place…" She clucked her tongue in disapproval. "The Headmaster wants to see you."
"Me?" Hermione gasped. "Now?"
"Yes, now!" Pince was not too patient at Hermione's obfuscation. "Well, get along then. You shouldn't keep him waiting."
"But..?" Hermione indicated the heaps of books on the table, in well-ordered piles with fluorescent plastic tabs tucked away between pages, and her own colour-coded notes covering every remaining spare inch of the surface.
"Go! Now!" Madame Pince barked. "I think after all these years I know the homes for these!"
Hermione decided to go and swept up her own papers, full of notes, summoning her little coloured tabs from within the pages they marked. Fully aware of the scrutiny she was under from less charitable fellow students, she decided not to slink away but to leave with her head held high; that was she could ignore most of the eyes, as well as the barbed comments and insults muttered under breath. It did not stop her noticing that Krum, slouched round-shouldered at a nearby table, was watching her carefully.
'Moody bugger,' she thought, throwing back her head as his fans parted to let her through. Merlin, sometimes she despaired about the other female students…
* * * * *
Rather surprisingly, given the number of scrapes Hermione had been involved in - no, she reminded herself, that Harry and Ron had dragged her into - during her time at Hogwarts, this was the first time she'd had occasion to successfully visit the headmaster's office. Even though she knew she had done nothing wrong - again, she reminded herself, this time, as Dumbledore had either been unaware of or ignored her infractions of the rules over the last three school years - she was by instinct a follower of regulations and respecter of authority, and as she approached the stone gargoyles Hermione felt no little trepidation.
She stood before the two granite guardians. They returned her looks with unblinking stares. Hermione knew full well from Hogwarts: A History that she needed to speak the password to gain access to the headmaster's study. The only problem was she didn't know what it was. Finding herself speechless was a relatively new phenomenon for Hermione Granger.
The gargoyles' heads twisted slowly on their necks and they shared a look. "It's that smart kid," one rasped to the other. "Shall we let her in?"
If a statue could be said to wear an expression of disdain, his partner could. "If she's that clever, then she should be able to work it out," came the gravel-voiced reply.
"Bit harsh."
"But fair."
Hermione glared at the gargoyles. There was a hint of the Weasley twins about them. "Look, the headmaster's sent for me. Shouldn't you just let me in?" she demanded, just stopping short of stamping her foot on the floor.
Both pairs of unseeing eyes fixed on her. "That's not our job," the one that had seemed more sympathetic to her replied slowly.
"You have to tell us the password."
"Can I give her a clue?"
Hermione's temper was saved from approaching boiling point by the approach of Professor McGonagall. "Ah, there you are, Miss Granger." She stopped with a look of mild reproach on her face. "Why are you waiting down here?"
Hermione jerked her head towards Dumbledore's guards. "I don't know the password, and these two won't let me in," she complained.
McGonagall's glare switched to the gargoyles. Hermione could almost imagine they recoiled slightly before her stern visage. "Now you know the Headmaster is waiting to see Miss Granger," she stated, her tone brooking no argument, but still they remained immobile. "Oh tosh! Caramel shortbread."
The stone figures moved slowly aside, revealing a spiral staircase behind them. "That's the password?" Hermione looked a little abashed that she'd vocalised her thoughts.
McGonagall just gave her an old-fashioned look, one that said 'you don't question the wisdom of your elders.' "You shouldn't keep the Headmaster waiting," she said clearly. "Off you go."
Suitably chastened, Hermione stepped onto the staircase, and was not surprised to find it started to slowly revolve and carry her upwards; after all, this was in Hogwarts: A History.
When the staircase stopped moving, Hermione found herself facing a closed door. As she reached out to knock on it, seeking admittance, she heard clearly the remnants of an argument from the room within.
"She's just a slip of a girl, Albus. What chance does she have?" Hermione immediately recognised the words as coming from Mad-Eye Moody.
"Nevertheless Alastor, we examined all the possibilities last night." Dumbledore sounded just a little weary.
"Damn it all, just call the whole thing a four-way draw. Then reselect the competitors for a new tournament."
Hermione knew that eavesdropping wasn't honourable or fair on her part - very un-Gryffindor-like in fact - especially not on the Headmaster and her Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but there was a sudden thread of hope in Moody's argument. Unfortunately it was only momentary, as Dumbledore's reply quashed that chance.
"You know as well as I do that once a student's name is revealed by the Goblet of Fire, they are deemed to have entered an irrevocable contract to compete. It cannot be cancelled, even if the political will existed to do so. And the Goblet will not be active again until a new Tournament is properly arranged following the successful conclusion of the current event." There was a moment's silence. "And even if it did," Dumbledore continued, "where would it end, Alastor? Would we keep redrawing the names until we were happy with the Goblet's selections?"
"Then the Granger girl is committed" Moody's grim words made Hermione catch her breath.
"It would seem so," Dumbledore's reply sounded equally depressed. "However, have you given any thought to Minerva's news?"
"Granger's bright," Moody conceded grumpily, "but I think she's flooed to the wrong fireplace on that one."
Dumbledore sounded mildly surprised. "You do not think her idea has any merit?"
"Even if her little protection spell was powerful enough to interfere with the workings of the Goblet, there would be easier ways to get to Potter than trust to the Tournament to finish him off. Even for a suspicious mind like mine!"
"I am not so sure," Dumbledore replied. "Miss Granger is an intelligent young witch. " Then his mood seemed to brighten. "And, unless I am very much mistaken, she is just outside. Come in, Miss Granger!"
Guiltily, Hermione opened the door and peered inside. The Headmaster was seated behind his desk, whilst Professor Moody was standing by the fireplace, his one good eye glaring at her whilst its magical twin swivelled unceasingly around the entire room.
"Take a seat, Miss Granger. Professor Moody and I are nearly finished." He leaned forward, offering her a bowl of yellowish-white sweets. "Lemon drop?"
Being a dutiful daughter of dentists, Hermione gracefully declined, taking her seat, aware of being under Moody's close scrutiny.
Dumbledore returned his attention back to the conversation he'd been having with Moody. "Alastor, I would like you to look into the possibility that this could be an attempt to compromise Harry's safety here."
Moody looked disgruntled but nodded his head in acceptance. "Alright Albus. Best to check out all the angles." He moved off out of Hermione's sight.
"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"
The shout from right behind her made Hermione jump in her seat, her heart thumping inside her chest. Moody had doubled back and stared critically at her. "Where's your wand, missy?"
"Now, Alastor," Dumbledore gently admonished Moody, who returned his look unabashed.
"They need to learn," Moody replied grumpily. "They all do." He returned his attention to Hermione. "You more than most, Granger. You've got to up your game if you're going to survive this year!"
"That is quite enough, Alastor." This time there was just a hint of sternness underlying Dumbledore's statement. Moody muttered something under his breath and departed, leaving behind a severely shaken Hermione.
Dumbledore sought to reassure her. "He means well."
It was not Moody's demeanour that had upset her. "Professor…" she replied shakily. "You wouldn't let a student…get badly hurt." She gulped. "Or even… killed?"
Sighing deeply, Dumbledore settled back in his seat. "I will not lie to you Miss Granger. The upper age limit was introduced for a reason. The dangers that competitors face in the Triwizard Tournament are both real and serious. Its nature has not changed over the centuries and neither has its aims. Once a task commences, there cannot be any outside interference, although every effort is being made to control the risk."
"But surely, in this day and age..?" Hermione could not believe that Dumbledore - of all people - would willingly place his won students in peril.
The Headmaster looked slightly more discomfited. "You will have noticed, Miss Granger, that the wizarding world lags behind the non-magical in many aspects. The Tournament is seen as a means of bringing our world's most shining lights to prominence. Any move to interfere in its workings would be anathema to the vast majority. To become a Champion, the competitor must face challenges that will test physical, intelligence and mental limits to the utmost."
"Barbaric," Hermione muttered.
Dumbledore nodded his head in absent-minded agreement. "To a degree I must concur with you. But the playing field has been set." He looked at her sadly. "And in even your short time at Hogwarts you will have realised that there are dangers that not even the staff and I can protect all our charges from."
That shook Hermione as she recalled the troll on her first Halloween, the Voldemort-possessed Professor Quirrell, the Basilisk and the Dementors. "But you could have done more…" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "Sorry," she apologised, fidgeting uneasily.
Fixing her with an enquiring look, Dumbledore did not seem angered by her remark. "I am sure I could," he replied equably. "We must all do what we think best in the circumstances." He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on their tips. "There have been too much in the last few years."
Hermione was a little perplexed. "Then why hold the Triwizard Tournament, here and now?" she asked.
"It was a decision made by the Ministry. It was seen as a means of uniting the wizarding communities in Europe, partly under the pressure of the non-magical governments. They are moving towards greater levels of co-operation within the European Union, and both they and their magical counterparts believe we are once again trailing behind."
Hermione considered this, and then rejoined. "And, of course, there are plenty of political points to be gained by the Minister of Magic."
Dumbledore inclined his head in agreement. "Very true. It cannot be said that Cornelius Fudge is not a politician to his very wand tip. The feeling of goodwill that follows a successful Tournament could well ensure he remains safely in office."
"And what do you think, Professor?" Hermione asked quietly. "After all, you looked enthusiastic when the announcement was made."
"True, true," conceded Dumbledore, and bowed his head in affirmation. "After all, there is something about the event that enthuses everybody. But there is more." Hermione leaned forwards, interested in hearing the arch-operator's thoughts on the matter.
"Rumours abound about the rise of Voldemort." Hermione couldn't help but give a light shudder at the name. "Following the events at the World Cup, with the open appearance of the Death Eaters and the casting of the Dark Mark, there is even more importance attached into forging strong links with our fellow schools, ensuring that they remain allies when the inevitable conflict arrives…"
Hermione was a little shocked at the last revelation. "You think that… there's going to be another war..?"
Dumbledore glanced at her over the top of his spectacles, a sad expression on his face. "All the signs are present," he replied slowly but enigmatically. "Which brings me to the point you made to Professor McGonagall last night."
For a second Hermione was once again a little confused.
"About Harry…" Dumbledore prompted. "As you did not enter your name in the Goblet" - Hermione as glad that he'd accepted her word on this without demur - "and did not ask someone else to put it in on your behalf, then we are left with two options. Either someone else entered your name without your knowledge or permission…" He trailed off. "You do not think someone purposefully performed a prank on you?" he asked enquiringly.
Hermione gave this a few seconds thought. "The only students I know who could have done it - or would have tried to do it - are Fred and George. And if they were capable, then they'd have put their names in, not mine."
Dumbledore once again nodded his head, in agreeing with her assessment. "Yes, that's what I believe as well. And, I do not believe that - capable witch though you are - that you would be the target of such an attempt. I mean no disrespect when I say that you would hardly register with the Pureblood fanatics, and it would take an immensely powerful wizard to cast such a spell, as well as one with the opportunity to do so. No, I tend to agree with you, Miss Granger. Despite Professor Moody's doubts, both Professor McGonagall and I tend to lean towards the conclusion that Mister Potter would have been a more likely target of any such enterprise. Professor Flitwick has also confirmed that your spell could well have reacted with any attempt to subvert the Goblet of Fire, and it's a perfectly plausible scenario."
"Then it's Harry," Hermione muttered. "It's always Harry."
"Alastor may have his own opinions, but I know that he will prosecute any enquiry to the utmost," Dumbledore said, trying to reassure her. "I have asked him to keep a special watch on Harry, but not to say anything to him." He saw Hermione give him a quizzical look. "Harry has gone through enough these last three years. And I would rather try to draw out whoever is behind this plot, rather than drive them away where they can make further plans."
Hermione nodded, signifying her own agreement. "He does tend to blame himself for things that happen around him."
Dumbledore peered at her over his glasses, as though seeking a window into her soul. "So I believe. You may be interested to know that Professor McGonagall has brought to my attention certain matters relating to Harry's life away from Hogwarts." He gave a brief self-deprecatory smile. "If 'brought to my attention' could in any way be related to a quite severe wigging I received at her hands."
Hermione had the good grace to redden a little as her words with her Head of House had worked their way into the Headmaster's office.
"I feel that I may have been far too trusting in the Dursleys' familial relationship with Harry providing him with a stable home life," Dumbledore continued. "Rest assured, I will be making personal enquiries into the situation." Hermione squirmed a little under his gaze; she had hoped that her role in this little interference in Harry's life would have gone unnoticed, even if the ends justified the means.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and regarded his student. "But that still leaves the problem of your participation open." He leaned forwards. "If you seek to withdraw, I will do all I can to protect you from the traditional consequences you will face, but I do have to warn you that the matter will almost certainly be out of my hands."
Hermione swallowed hard. "I don't want to compete," she admitted. "To be honest, I'm terrified, when I think about how severe the history is."
"You cannot be forced to compete," the Headmaster observed.
"No, but the alternatives…" Hermione shivered. "I've worked so hard to be accepted here. It hasn't been easy."
"Assuredly not," Dumbledore echoed her sentiment quietly.
Hermione steeled herself. "If this was intended for me, then I'm not going to give them - whoever they are - the satisfaction of driving me out without a fight." She could feel the tears welling up. "I won't be driven out of the magical world."
"Spoken like a true Gryffindor." Hermione smiled briefly at that comment. "But, considering alternative avenues, have you made any progress in the Library?"
"Some," Hermione admitted. "But so far nothing decisive."
"And what of your parents?" Dumbledore gave her a searching look over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
Hermione flinched. "I'd… I'd rather they didn't know about developments at this time…" she replied slowly. The Headmaster's expression was inscrutable. For a second Hermione thought a dagger of ice had impaled her through the chest. "You haven't told them, have you..?" she asked, fearful as to the answer.
"Given past events that have befallen you, I thought it best not to alarm them at this stage," Dumbledore replied kindly. "But I would not let them rest in ignorance. It is quite possible that other parties might see an advantage in being the bearers of this news."
Hermione felt nauseous. Somehow she had managed to keep news of most of her endeavours that had happened to her over the last three years - or at least the gruesome details - away from her parents for fear that they could pull her out of Hogwarts. Petrification had been recorded as a mere school-related mishap where she'd never really been in danger. Sirius Black, the encounter with the werewolf version of Remus Lupin, and the meeting with the Dementors had never been mentioned in any letters or discussions at home either.
Yet she knew that there was an essential grain of truth in the Headmaster's advice. Better that she controlled the information flow back chez Granger. "Yes sir," she replied as penitently as she could, drawing an understanding nod from him.
Dumbledore rose and walked to one of the many windows that gave him a view of the Hogwarts' grounds. He gazed across the Quidditch pitch towards the lake. "Miss Granger, I must re-emphasize the political aspects to this affair. There are many reputations and careers tied up in Great Britain running a successful Triwizard Tournament." He glanced up at Hermione. "Not least those of the Minister himself."
"I'm aware of that," Hermione responded a bit tartly.
"I will, of course, provide you with any aid and advice that the School can legally offer." And then he gave her a wry grin. "And perhaps a little more, beside." Then he turned back towards the window, once again his expression grave. "You will be fighting an uphill battle against the full panoply of ministry regulations and established procedures. Undoubtedly there will be factions that would welcome an excuse - any excuse - to remove those that they consider beneath them from the halls of Hogwarts."
Hermione shifted uneasily in her seat. "You mean because I'm muggle-born?"
"Yes, unfortunately I do. A legal battle over your participation could well add fuel to their fire." He turned back and moved towards her. "Do not consider this to be advice to abandon your rights. But be warned. Although I doubt those interested parties have had any role to play in events so far, I am sure that if there is a chance of removing you from Hogwarts, there are people in high places who could well take advantage of your seeking to use the common law against the Ministry."
With a sweep of his wand, Dumbledore conjured a comfortable armchair opposite Hermione. He lowered himself into it, and leaned forward as though sharing a confidence. "I will do as much as I can to protect you, Miss Granger. The Ministry of Magic jealously guards its high level of independence from the rest of the country. Any attempt to enforce non-magical laws on the wizarding community will be heavily opposed. You do understand that by taking this stand you risk a large amount of disdain and anger directed towards you."
"Difficult for it to get any worse," Hermione sniffed.
Dumbledore wore a wry grin. "Your friends will come round eventually."
"Friends?" Hermione was not a little upset. "Not one of them has had a good word to say to me since last night," she expostulated.
Dumbledore's eyebrows were raised. "Not one?" he queried.
Hermione grimaced. "Well Harry did, of course." She thought for a second. "And the Twins weren't that bad," she conceded.
"They are just confused. Some of them find themselves feeling threatened by your intellect," Dumbledore advised. "But the real threat lies without. From those in high places who may well have their own agenda. And, of course, whoever did try to confound the Goblet."
"We'll see," Hermione replied warily. "For the time being if I can extricate myself from this mess, then I'll do so, whether by magic or muggle means."
"That, of course, is your right, Miss Granger." Dumbledore turned to his desk and summoned a large bound publication and a card. "Then you will find these might be of help."
Hermione took the proffered articles from the Headmaster. She gasped. The large tome was entitled The Children (Scotland) Act 1994, a copy of the brand-new legislation passed that Spring. The other was a business card, bearing the title MATRIX with a London address and contact details. She gave her headmaster a querulous look.
"One of the best Chambers in London, one that specialises in human rights' cases," Dumbledore advised. "They have a very competent wizarding contact who's a registered European lawyer, so she can practise under both English and Scottish law. We have used her before. Name of Cherie Booth."
Hermione's eyes sparkled with recognition. "The Cherie Booth? Married to Tony Blair?" she gasped.
"I believe so." Dumbledore smiled. "A muggle politician, so I hear."
"Leader of the Opposition," Hermione breathed. Perhaps with these sort of contacts there was a chance…
"Then I will allow you to continue with your research, Miss Granger." Hermione recognised a polite closure to the conversation, and she rose from the chair, ready to leave. She had taken but a few steps when she heard the Headmaster gently clear his throat.
"When exactly did you cast that spell, Miss Granger?" he asked conversationally, as though the matter was of little importance.
Hermione took a short intake of breath. She had hoped that her little breach against the laws pertaining to underage magic might have sneaked under the radar with everything else that had happened since the Summer.
"Was it at The Burrow, or the World Cup?" the Headmaster enquired.
Hermione turned to face him. "At the World Cup," she admitted truthfully, seeing no mileage in lying. She had chosen that time and place as there was far too much magic in the air that it would mask her own illegal use. Harry had not even noticed in all the pre-match excitement after they arrived at their tent.
To her surprise the Headmaster just gave her an approving wink. "I had thought as much. A very wise choice, Miss Granger." and with that he obviously considered the matter closed.
* * * * *
It was early evening by the time Hermione left the Headmaster's office so she headed straight for the Great Hall and an early supper. She did not feel quite ready to face the entire student population of Hogwarts, and mealtimes on Sunday's were generally quite elastic to fit in with the lack of a timetable on the weekends. All the signs pointed to a hostile reception of sorts, so the longer she could put that off and the fewer students she had to face tonight the better. So with the tome safely stowed away in her ubiquitous book bag she ignored the pointed looks and whispered comments as she made her was through the corridors.
As soon as she became visible to the Hall's occupants the normal good-natured buzz of conversation fell away to be replaced with an uncomfortable silence. Just as last night Hermione felt every eye, from the most naï ve Hufflepuff first year all the way up to the staff table at the top of the Hall, turn towards her.
Keeping her head high, Hermione strode purposefully past the foot of the Ravenclaw table and turned up the aisle separating it from its Gryffindor cousin. There were still plenty of empty seats where the Gryffindor fourth year students usually sat. Ron and Harry weren't there, but she guessed it would not be long before the prospect of an early dinner would summon Ron forth from wherever he was preoccupied.
Choosing a place with plenty of spare chairs around her came naturally to Hermione. Whenever she was at a meal without being in Ron and Harry's company, she usually had a book propped up so she could engage herself in some quiet reading, and her housemates knew she preferred to be left undisturbed on those occasions. It wasn't that Hermione Granger was unsociable - although no-one who knew her could truthfully claim she was the life and soul of common-room parties - just that she tended to value the knowledge gained from the written word rather than indulge in the usual schoolgirl gossip that was one of the staple diets of weekend mealtimes: who had been seen disappearing with whom and where; what had been worn down at Hogsmeade; who was hot in Quidditch robes this year.
And, as she picked at the steak and kidney pie, if she kept her eyes firmly fixed on the copy legislation provided by Professor Dumbledore, she did not have to meet the hostile stares she knew were directed her way.
There was movement behind her as some more Gryffindors made their way to the benches. Hermione glanced up and saw Fred and George, following Angelina and Alicia. Fred made to sit near her but stopped short when Alicia let out a low growl of disapproval as the girls swept haughtily past Hermione and sat down near the head of the table. With an apologetic shrug of the shoulders from Fred, and a wry grin from George, the Twins moved away from Hermione and trailed after their putative girlfriends. Hermione reddened at the slight but otherwise made no outward show of emotion; after all, she had half expected something like this would happen after her experience in the common-room that morning.
There was movement and the sound of someone sitting down opposite her. She looked up and found Neville staring back, seemingly nervous.
"You alright, Hermione?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "Only we hadn't seen you since…" His words trailed off as though he was embarrassed at bring up the subject of the feast last night.
"I'm fine," she replied off-handedly, surreptitiously keeping a quiet eye on the doors so she'd spot Ron or Harry as soon as they arrived.
"Oh… good." Neville seemed clueless about what to say next. Perhaps he recognised Hermione was in one of her more tense moods, so he decided to pick at his own dinner.
Hermione was starting to miss her friends' presence. They almost always ate dinner together, showing a public solidarity with the other members of the Trio. It often took something out of the ordinary, like petrification or the latest Quidditch-induced injury, to prevent that evening ritual, and even then the three of them would be found in the Hospital Wing, the two uninjured ones gathered around the bed of the third.
The boys often rooted Hermione back in the less academic aspects of school life, bringing the rare sound of her laughter to the Gryffindor table. Although not a tomboy, she was different to the other girls, less interested in her appearance than her achievements, and she didn't find anything wrong in the fact that her two best - probably only real - friends were boys. What had started in a girls' bathroom three years ago had deepened into strong bonds. Perhaps, Hermione sometimes considered in the moments before she fell asleep at night, there was the chance that she might be feeling it was time for something a little less platonic…
But now, when she really wanted to lose herself in their normal dinnertime banter, they weren't there, and Hermione was starting to feel their absence more and more. So it was with something approaching heartfelt relief that she finally saw them walk into the hall.
She watched as Harry searched for her at her usual spot at the Gryffindor table, then spotted where she was now sitting, tugged on the sleeve of Ron's robe and pointed her out to their friend. A smile of relief started to break out on her face.
Ron looked straight at her, then looked away. Hermione felt a tightening around her chest as the lanky red-head strode purposefully towards the benches occupied by his brothers. Her mouth hung half-open in dawning dismay as she watched Harry, his face an essay in indecisiveness, dither before catching up with Ron and launching into an urgent whispered discussion.
Ron sat down so that his brothers were between him and Hermione, and deliberately made sure he didn't look in her direction. Harry cast a look that was a plea for understanding her way, standing next to Ron as the latter started to dig into his pie and mash.
"Ron", Hermione hissed, trying hard to attract his attention without drawing notice to herself. Two or three Gryffindor heads swivelled in her direction, and judging by the way Ron concentrated even more than usual on his next mouthful, and the pink tinge that coloured the tips of his ears, she knew he'd heard her.
Hermione was frozen in disbelief. It was crystal clear where Ron's loyalties lay. Harry seemed agonisingly torn between his two friends and was fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat. Ginny had come in, looked between the two apparently competing camps at the table, given Hermione a helpless shrug of the shoulders, and sat down with the rest of her family, before leaning over the table and starting an insistent conversation with her errant sibling, full of sharp gestures and anxious looks down the table.
With a rising emotion of the betrayed, Hermione began to tense up. The overwhelming desire to confront Ron caused her to tremble with suppressed fury. She started to rise, ready to unleash a torrent of invective on her so-called friend's head.
"Hermione!" A harsh, urgent whisper from Neville. She halted for a second, then saw that nearly every pair of eyes in the hall was on her. A glance at the head table revealed a pinch-faced McGonagall and a very interested onlooker in Snape. The hall was almost silent, with several hundred interested onlookers watching the drama play itself out in front of them.
No, she would not play out this drama in front of the whole school, no matter how immediate the recompense might be. She would not give the other houses that satisfaction. No - she'd get her own back on Ron Weasley on their home ground.
So, summoning up all the suppressed anger she could in one searing glare down the table to the seemingly oblivious Ron, she started towards the exit. As she went, the hubbub of conversation started again, and she made out the distinct guffaw of laughter that could only have come from Draco Malfoy.
* * * * *
Hermione Granger had almost worn a furrow in the carpet as she paced up and down the Gryffindor common room. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since she'd stormed in past a dazed fat Lady, and with every step on the path from fireplace to one of the bay windows her temper showed no signs of abating. The younger Gryffindors had quickly disappeared, seeking the sanctuary of their dormitories, scared off as she muttered dire implications for the continued good health of Ronald Bilius Weasley under her breath.
To be truthful, she hadn't been very surprised by Ron's attitude. After all, a year ago he'd fallen out with her over his accusation that Crookshanks had killed Scabbers, and she was sure that her estrangement from Harry over the confiscated Firebolt wouldn't have lasted so long without Ron stirring it up, the latter's love of Quidditch overrode their friendship. She had hoped that he might have matured, that perhaps they might be ready to explore taking their friendship on a step. But now…
Some of her peers had started to drift back now. They recognised all the warning signs of an impending Granger storm, and whilst some of the braver ones prepared to watch the show, settling down and trying hard not to catch Hermione's eye - or, rather, her ire - the others also quickly headed for the staircases or back the way they had come.
Finally a gaggle of Weasley red-heads made their way through the portrait hole and into the common room. The twins, even though they were laughing and joshing, were always very alert, and were the first to spot Hermione as she bore down on their unsuspecting younger brother. "Uh oh," one of them muttered. "You're for it now, Ronniekins!" And they swiftly moved to one of the sofas, taking Alicia and Angelina with them.
Ginny gave Ron a look that clearly said 'you're on your own now' and headed towards the girls' dorms whilst Harry had that nervous air he always wore when his two friends were about to launch into one of their 'little' disagreements.
"A word, Ronald Weasley," Hermione breathed between gritted teeth.
Ron's face went sallow. Hermione thought one of his better traits was that although Ron rarely hid his fright, he wasn't a coward and would often show through when the chips were down. It was one of the reasons she had thought she was beginning to become attracted to him.
"What exactly is your problem?" she seethed.
A bit of colour returned to Ron's cheeks. "You should know, Granger."
The use of her surname stung Hermione.
"Um… Hermione -" Harry tried to interject and defuse the argument before it started, but Hermione coolly waved him away and stepped forward, purposefully invading Ron's personal space.
"No, Harry. I'd like to know what Ronald -" she made sure that his name dripped with sarcasm - "- here has to say for himself."
Drawing himself up to his full height - an act that only reminded Hermione of how Percy had acted as Head Boy - Ron now towered over her. If it was intended as an act to intimidate the petite Gryffindor, it crashed and burned.
"You and the Triwizard!" he spat back.
Hermione trembled with suppressed rage. "You really think I entered my name?" she asked, trying hard to keep her voice level.
"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron replied with vehemence. "You always think you're better than us, don't you. It's 'Oh, you mustn't enter, it's against the rules' when it's us." His voice mimicked her higher prissy tones, then it dropped bitterly. "But then the rules have never applied to you, have they?"
Hermione shook her head. "You're an idiot, Ronald Weasley," she muttered.
Ron barely heard her. "You always have to be the best, don't you? Top of the class; teachers' pet."
Stamping her foot in frustration, Hermione ground out her reply. "I did not enter my name."
"Come off it! The perfect way to prove how cleverer than us you are. You could have let me or the twins know how its done, but no, it's always about you, isn't it?"
"Oh, grow up, Ron!" Hermione shouted, losing all control and feeling her own cheeks burning with anger. "Why would I want to take part in such a dangerous tournament?"
"Because you can!" Ron shouted back with equal volume. Those left in the common room were riveted by the drama unfolding before them. One of the Seventh-Year prefects stated to make his way towards the arguing pair, but George intercepted him and prevented a possible dual hexing.
"Because you can show everyone how clever you were." Ron continued. "And think of the prize." He flung his arms out to encompass the whole common room. "Everyone here would have liked the chance."
"Damned right," Angelina grumbled before being shushed by Fred.
"You could have helped Harry and me. We wanted to take part. You could have shared - like a true friend would."
"Ron…" Harry was looking agitated and uncomfortable but they both ignored his hurt look.
"I thought you would have told us. Why are you lying to us?"
Hermione was almost dumbstruck in her irritation. "I did not lie!" she snarled.
"A thousand galleons! And exemption from the end of years tests - I bet that hurt, but then all you want is the fame and the glory!"
"Do you really think that?"
"We all do!" Ron cried. "Every single one of us!". He turned and saw the number of people riveted to the scene. "Ask any one of them."
Hermione's shoulders were really shaking now. She could feel tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. "You listen to me, Ronald Weasley," she almost screamed in frustration. "I did not put my name in the Goblet! I do not want to take part in this ridiculous competition!"
"Then why don't you withdraw?" Ron sneered.
"I can't, you idiot," Hermione fumed.
"And you expect us to believe that?" Ron replied full of cynicism. "Someone as brainy as you can't find a way out?"
"It's a damned Wizard's Oath!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Oh yeah?" Ron was breathing heavily now. "Well, you should have thought of that before you jumped in with both feet."
Hermione blinked away the tears.
"Now, why don't you piss off and do whatever Hogwarts' champions do?" Ron turned his back on her, and without thinking Hermione whipped out her wand, ready to cast an angry hex or jinx on his unprotected back. Harry stepped in and grabbed hold of her arm as it started to stretch out, forcing it down.
"Harry!" she cried in frustration, so full of anger she could hardly speak, barely aware of the amazed looks she was drawing from several of her housemates. But his grip was like iron, and she couldn't draw a bead on Ron. She was also oblivious of the measured and unusually sober looks on the faces of the Weasley Twins.
Finally, she let her arm drop, and Harry let go. Her face was wet with tears and she felt indescribably miserable. She looked up at Harry. "Is is true?" He looked confused. "That they all believe … what Ron said?" she clarified.
Harry gave an unknowing grimace. "I wouldn't really know, " he temporised, then sighed. "I suppose," he muttered with a pained expression. Then he looked her in the eyes. "I believe you, though," he said quietly but firmly.
Author's Notes:
Again, my thanks to beta reader George for his rigorous editing and willingness to allow ideas to be bounced off of him. The very best sort of beta!
Also my thanks to Craig ('Quillian' - the author of "Harry Potter & The Tower of Pime") for his help.
The Children (Scotland) Act does exist, but was actually passed in 1995, a year later than this fic is based. I found out about it whilst researching British child protection laws in my capacity as beta reader for Bexis ("Harry Potter & The Fifth Element"), which is set in Harry & Hermione's sixth year. I'm claiming artistic licence in brining it forward a year.