Hermione Granger & the Goblet of Fire
Chapter 20 -The Poet of Beguilement Sings Part II
Happy Halloween!
The final chapter, which could not have been brought to you without the efforts of beta readers Bexis and George. Bexis is planning to post the final chapter of his epic "Harry Potter and the Fifth Element" today, so I urge you to visit that story to find out how that turns out - you won't be disappointed!
I have paired Harry Potter with the only natural choice for a girlfriend, therefore I am not JKR, and disappointingly have not earned a knut, sickle or galleon from this story.
* * * * *
Thy dawn, O Master of the World, thy dawn;
For thee the sunlight creeps across the lawn,
For thee the ships are drawn down to the waves,
For thee the markets throng with myriad slaves,
For thee the hammer on the anvil rings,
For thee the poet of beguilement sings.
* * * * *
My friend Hermione,
I am deeply upset that I must leave and you are still unconscious. Your teacher tells me that you are out of danger and will fully recover. Still, to depart without talking with you again wounds me.
When I awoke I found myself outside the labyrinth. I did not know what happened as the last thing I remember was being with you in the maze. I assumed it was Diggory who Stunned me but he says not. If it was you then all I can say is - well played! I know that you never wanted to compete, but to beat me you have proven a most worthy Champion. Do not reproach yourself. I should think more like you.
Our attaché has worked hard to allow our return to Durmstrang as the police would not let anyone leave. No-one will tell us what happened - except for your friend Harry. He told me that the Dark wizard has returned, and that you saved his life. I believe in Harry for he has no reason to lie.
If there is to be a fight against Him then I choose to stand with you. My friends and I must work at Durmstrang and home to ensure support for your cause. My grandfather gave his life in the fight against Grindelwald. We will not allow this to happen again.
I will never forget the friendships I have made here, or the hospitality shown to me by most. I will always treasure our special friendship. I meet so few who seek to know the man and not the image. I think I share this with Harry.
You must talk with Harry. He has many important things you must know. Follow your heart, little one.
I will write again when I am back in Plovdiv. I will sorely miss you.
Viktor
* * * * *
It was dark now. The hospital wing was empty now, except for Fleur's bed, where her parents still held vigil beneath an Imperturbable Charm.
Hermione found some solace in Viktor's words. While he, at least, did not blame her for her actions, she doubted she would ever forgive herself.
Other words simply reopened fresh wounds.
Harry had still not appeared. Dumbledore, Ron, Neville... someone should have passed on her message by now.
She turned and lay on her side. The graveyard had proven one fact beyond doubt: Harry Potter was important as her. He mattered more than her own life.
Dumbledore's words: They kept running through her mind.
Was Harry's interest in her merely a malign manipulation by one of Voldemort's own?
Would her parents remove her to the Muggle world before she ever learned the answer..? Before she ever told Harry the truth?
Her fears gnawing at already frayed nerves, Hermione tossed and turned in a mostly forlorn attempt to find sleep. When she did, her dreams were of rejection and scornful laughter, the taunts of her mirror image being vindicated.
Blearily Hermione awoke. The hour must still be terribly early. The only illumination was a sliver of moonlight through a gap in the curtains, and a lamp burning low in Madam Pomfrey's office.
Her throat was dry; for a moment reminding her of the snakebite's aftermath. She rolled over to reach for the always-full carafe of iced water on her bedside table. Her hand reached out... and smacked into something that wasn't there.
Still sleep befuddled, it took Hermione a couple of seconds to sort out the contradictory evidence supplied by touch and sight. Her hand reached out again, hesitantly, until her fingers brushed something silky.
"Harry?"
Shaking with relief, she slowly drew back the Invisibility Cloak. Tiny glints of light reflecting off his glasses confirmed Harry's identity. The shadow revealed made just the slightest movement.
"Don't go," Hermione pleaded. "Please? I need you."
Harry hesitated. "I thought you'd never forgive me," he said dolefully.
"You know me better than that, Harry," Hermione chided him gently.
"It was my fault you ended up in that graveyard. Without me, you'd never have been under that bastard's wand."
Hermione's fingers let the Cloak drop to the floor, and grasped something firmer and far more valuable in Harry's shoulder. "You were prepared to sacrifice yourself for me. Actually, you did. How could I forget that?"
"That bloody snake nearly killed you."
"It didn't though."
Harry shifted uneasily in his seat.
"Harry, listen to me." Hermione's fingers dug hard into his shoulder. "I may not have wanted to compete, but everything else... well; I went into it with my eyes open..."
All the tears that had built up over the last forty-eight hours finally burst forth and rolled down her cheeks. "I... I thought... you were dead..." she sniffed. She leant over further to hug him, an awkward manoeuvre that found Hermione half draped over Harry, half out of her bed. She did not care.
Tightening her embrace, Hermione sobbed into his ear. "In that duel... when he cast the Killing Curse..."
"Hold on," Harry said quietly. He was uncomfortable bearing most of her weight so he lifted himself from his seat, slowly slipping Hermione back onto her bed. "Budge up a bit."
Hermione broke her embrace and shifted to the left side of her bed, allowing Harry room to sit on the other edge. She propped herself up on her elbow so it was easier to talk in whispers.
"Here." Harry passed over his handkerchief.
"Thanks." Hermione dried her eyes, then returned it. "When Voldemort conjured those awful shades I thought..."
"Awful shades?" For a moment Harry looked bemused. "Oh, that's how they must have looked to you." He shook his head. "They weren't his... not intentionally, although in a way I suppose they were."
"Harry Potter!" Hermione sniffed. "That makes no sense at all!"
"It didn't to me at the time either," Harry admitted. "They scared the living daylights out of me. But they were... ghosts... phantoms perhaps?" He shifted to his side, bringing them almost nose-to-nose. "Of people he had killed."
"How did you know that," a sceptical Hermione asked in a slightly louder voice.
"Ssh!" Harry looked around, but nobody was around who could be disturbed. "The first three were total strangers, although one old guy told me Voldemort had killed him." He hesitated; despite poor light Hermione thought he appeared slightly emotional. "Then came my Mum and Dad."
"Your...?" Hermione's free right hand moved to grasp his free left. "Oh Harry, I'm so sorry."
Harry shook his head. "Don't be. They weren't demons or anything, it was like... well, how they'd be if they were still here. They told me they loved me; that they'd always watch over me. They wanted me to hold on, not to break the connection with Voldemort. I was struggling with the spell, trying to keep moving it towards him, until my Mum told me that you were ready."
"Me?" Hermione could not help but squeak.
"She told me to trust in you; that you were about to cast a spell that would free me," Harry continued. "Mum told me to be brave, and Dad told me exactly when to break the spell." He looked up. "When you blew Voldemort's arm clean off, I was up and away..." His words trailed off in a thoughtful silence. Hermione did not want to intrude upon his memories.
"It was nice to talk to them, my parents, that is," Harry offered finally. "I'd seen them before."
"First year, Christmas, Mirror of Erised," Hermione could not help but complete the thought.
"Yeah," Harry said quietly. He turned and lay down on his back, his mind obviously elsewhere. "I know they're with me," he said solemnly. He brought one hand up and touched his chest. "Here, anyway."
"Oh Harry," Hermione sighed, touching the same spot. "They always have been."
The pregnant silence descended again. Hermione wondered how much more room might be in there, in Harry's heart. For her.
Eventually Harry spoke in a more chipper mood. "I heard from Ron, third hand - actually, most of the Common Room did - how you won the Cup. Wanna tell it to me straight from the witch's cauldron?"
Lying next to Harry, Hermione recalled the events of the maze, with a little selective editing. Certain details seen in the mirrors were strangely lacking, and although all the Boggarts made an appearance, Hermione claimed that some of the conversations had slipped her mind. She confessed to Stunning Viktor, at which point she sensed rather than felt Harry give a slight start. She also admitted to her shame at becoming the bait the Death Eaters used so successfully to lure Harry. That made her start to sniffle again.
"Don't blame yourself, Hermione." Harry, who had lain placidly for a good fifteen minutes or so, turned to face her again. This time it was his arm that moved, and his hand that gently brushed her bare forearm. "I knew what might happen. It all started with Moody - damn it, I mean Crouch! It's so hard not to think of him as Moody.
"After Christmas, Moody - bloody hell!"
"Language, Harry!"
"Look, if I say Moody, just assume I mean Crouch, okay? It's... complicated enough without - and I don't want to - well, upset you..."
"Don't worry about me," Hermione responded. "I can handle it."
Harry lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment. "But that's just it - I do worry, I did, a lot…" Another pause as he debated… doing… something that he evidently didn't. Then he began again.
"Anyway, he asked to see me. Told me he knew what the Second Task was, but couldn't tell you."
"There was no reason why he couldn't," Hermione snorted. "He'd already bent the rules by offering me additional teaching. Telling me by proxy couldn't have been much worse."
Harry shrugged. "That's what the old bugger told me. Well, he didn't say exactly what it was, only that it involved a deep body of water, and he didn't think you were up to it - physically, that is," he hastened to add."
Hermione was thinking. "And he was right, wasn't he?" she said, then answered her own rhetorical question. "I would never have survived the Second Task if it wasn't for those swimming lessons, or improved my all-round fitness. Crouch couldn't do either in the open."
"Once he'd told me," Harry added, "I thought how lousy a friend I had been anyway. I should have figured that out myself."
Hermione's hand reached out in the dark and gently touched his cheek. "You were - are - a great friend, Harry Potter, and never think otherwise," she said fiercely but quietly. "Did he lay out a timetable and lesson-planner for you?"
"Nope."
"There, you see? You managed the training all by yourself."
Harry went quiet again. When he spoke, the little seam of iron in his words matched Hermione's earlier. "Tell me what happened in the Second Task, with McNair. You did promise."
She did, and Hermione saw Harry clench and unclench his fists. "That little... I'm gonna get Draco bloody Malfoy for this! Now I know some..."
"Harry Potter, you will do no such thing!" Hermione's hold on his shoulder tightened again. "Lucius is well on his way to disgrace and time in Azkaban. Draco is an irritant, nothing more, without his father backing him up."
"Still, I wish I'd known," Harry retorted sharply. "Maybe I could... You know, I thought we promised not to keep secrets from each other. That turned out well, didn't it? I mean, it wasn't until the night before the Third Task that Moo - Crouch told me why you were still competing."
"What did he say?"
Harry shifted a little uneasily. "That you knew it was a trap, and you were deliberately walking into it to expose whoever was after me." He hesitated again. Finally he put his hand over hers. "You already said as much."
"Not quite the whole truth," Hermione admitted, "but close enough."
"He said some other things, private stuff, that I thought might be..." Harry shook his head. "He told me to give him my Quidditch jersey. He'd cast a Tracking Charm on it, so if you wore it I could follow you. Gave me a Portkey that he said would activate five minutes after you'd left the maze for any reason, and was keyed to my jersey. Walked straight into that one didn't I?"
Hermione missed Harry's last bit of self-deprecation. His earlier words had wounded her soul. She felt a bottomless pit open in her stomach and sharp pangs in her heart.
It had been Barty Crouch's idea to give her his jersey.
Not Harry's, but some rabid Death Eater's.
The answer to her next question could break her heart, but it had to be asked.
"Harry?" she said tremulously.
"Hmm?"
"That same night; that kiss." She took a metaphorical deep breath. "Was that Barty Crouch's idea too?"
Harry gaped a bit and appeared taken aback, but after a brief pause recovered some poise, then remembered his hand was still on hers. "No," he said slowly and evenly.
Hermione's fingers squeezed his shoulder rather harder than she intended. "Did... did you mean it?"
Harry's left hand, which taken to pulling slightly on her right one, currently assaulting his shoulder, disengaged. He slowly but carefully brushed away the many strands of hair that had fallen across her face.
"Hermione," he chose his words carefully. "You were willing to - you did - risk your very life for me. Nobody asked you to. I would certainly never ask you to do that." Hermione started to protest. "No, please, you asked. Now hear me out.
"I was a little angry when I first heard, because I lost my Mum and Dad that way, protecting me. I was so scared that I would lose you the same way.
"But anger... No. I realised you were the only person since they died who has ever put my life before theirs. You didn't have to, you could have walked away, but you didn't.
"Forget Crouch, or Moody, or whoever. Sirius told me to look after you. I didn't understand at the time, thought he was being melodramatic after the Second Task, but he told me to treasure your friendship, as its likes don't come around often."
Harry paused for a few seconds. Hermione watched him rapt with attention.
"He said you reminded him of my Mum. I thought he meant being clever and that. I know now what he meant was... different."
Hermione laid there quietly, listening to her racing heartbeat and Harry's quiet breathing. Their faces were quite close now...
"Harry... I will understand if you don't answer me, but... do you think you 'love' me?"
Harry rolled heavily onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know, Hermione," he answered honestly.
Her heart started to crack. She must have made some sign or noise as Harry hastened to add more.
"Please, Hermione, don't take it that way. I don't mean... I just... don't know anything about love. I can't remember my parents. I never felt loved by the Dursleys, so... I'm not sure what I'm feeling is love or not."
Hermione needed to know. "How do you feel then?"
"Honestly?" Harry blew out his cheeks. Hermione knew most boys, and more so with Harry - damn those relatives - found it almost impossible to open up emotionally.
"When you're not here, it's like a piece of me isn't either," Harry said quietly. "I'm so fixed on watching for you. But when you're around but talking to someone else, it feels worse, empty."
Hermione thought she knew now.
"And when you're with me I'm anxious, afraid I might drive you away. You're pretty tormenting, actually," he said with a snigger.
"I do know one thing though," he said in more serious tones. "If I lost you, I don't know what I'd do. I don't mean in class or homework and such. In that graveyard, when he said he would kill you if we didn't duel, I accepted right away because I realised I'd rather die. Life without you would just be so... pointless."
Gently, taking her courage in both hands, Hermione slowly slid over so that her head rested on Harry's unresisting chest. "Harry, I think I'm in love with you," she murmured.
To her consternation, Harry giggled. Upon perceiving Hermione's glare, he held his one free arm up in surrender. "No, no - it's not you," he protested. "But isn't it bleedin' ironic that Voldemort's most loyal Death Eater played Cupid for the Boy-Who-Lived and the Muggle-born Triwizard Champion?"
Hermione could afford to be gracious and let him off. After all, now she had won, in every sense of the word.
"Do you... do you think I'm pretty," she asked, now more out of curiosity than dire need.
Harry thought for a moment; probably searching for words that would not condemn him. "I know it sounds rude," he finally answered, "but, until the Yule Ball, I'd always thought of you as Hermione the friend, not Hermione a girl. Guess McGonagall... well, she knew what she was doing, didn't she?"
"That wasn't an answer," Hermione pointed out playfully, although fully agreeing that their Head of House was owed a debt of gratitude.
"You were the prettiest girl there," Harry responded gallantly.
"You only had eyes for Cho," Hermione reminded him.
"Yeah, well, I'm not as clever as you, I mean, not noticing what was right in front of me for four years..."
"I can't blame you. I mean, Fleur was there... poor Fleur." She wondered if the Frenchwoman would ever dance again.
"I can't compete with those girls," she muttered, remembering how unfavourably her mirror image compared her to them.
"You've got great legs, though," Harry blurted out.
"Oh! Really?" Hermione's self-esteem climbed. "On what do you base that statement, Mister Potter?"
Embarrassed at his confession, Harry replied contritely. "Those swimming lessons. I never knew your legs were that long... or pretty..."
"Oh! Was that what you and Viktor discussed that morning? My legs?"
Harry decided honesty was the best policy. "Best sight around. Even Viktor was impressed." Harry lapsed back into momentary silence. "Good chap, Viktor. Made sure to talk to me before he left."
Perhaps another debt she owed. Hermione, her need for information sated, had no more questions to ask... for now.
It was so wonderful, nice and warm and comforting laying there with Harry as her pillow, especially when his right arm came up behind her back and pulled her in tighter. A weird sort of fuzzy feeling enveloped her, a serenity she had never experienced before. For now, Hermione did not need more - no kisses, no fiery make-out sessions (whatever they were!), no declarations of undying romantic love, and certainly no dwarves reciting poems about fresh pickled toads.
It lulled her into dozing, and she could not be sure if Harry's lips ghosting over her forehead actually happened or was just a beautiful, blissful dream...
...
"Mister Potter!"
Hermione was awakened roughly as her pillow suddenly disappeared with a bang and a clatter from beneath the bed. She jerked upright into a seated position and looking up saw a stern-faced Madam Pomfrey, her wand tip glowing, staring down at the floor. Hermione edged over and looked down.
Glasses askew, clothes rumpled in sleep, Harry Potter sat dazedly among the remains of an empty bedpan and a broken carafe, blinking in the bright sunlight that now streamed through the opened drapes.
"Out, out of here," Madam Pomfrey scolded. "It's far too early for any sort of visitors."
Harry, dull-witted at the turn of events and uncertain of etiquette, looked from nurse to patient-stroke-girlfriend, and back again, opening his lips but not sure what to say to whom.
"The mouth moves but no sound is produced," Pomfrey remarked sharply. "Away with you!"
Deciding that Hermione was both more important and more likely to get him back in if he complied, Harry turned to her with measured tones. "Umm... err... see you later then, if you, you know, okay?" He slipped something invisible into his pocket as he stood and exited as quickly as possible.
"Men!" An exasperated Pomfrey exhaled.
"He's not going to be in trouble, is he?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Only if I catch him again," was the not unkind reply. "Do try not to be caught."
* * * * *
It was the penultimate day of term.
Hermione, fretting over being shut up in the hospital wing, and missing the brilliant sunshine and fresh air, had to remain in bed for the time being, on the understanding that if she did, she would be allowed out that evening to attend the last supper of the school year.
Her parents had decided to return back to their practices and patients, now that their daughter was out of medical danger. Their parting conversation, however, had been painful when they told Hermione they had strongly considered removing her to Oxford there and then. Only a prior conversation with the Headmaster, and Hermione's promise that they would review her future once she returned home allowed her to see out the year and take what could be her last ride on the Hogwarts Express.
If that foul, loathsome toad Umbridge had succeeded in dosing her with Veritaserum, then Hermione was sure she would already have been south of the border with no prospect of return.
She feared now that her time at Hogwarts was no longer measured in years and terms, but in hours and minutes. The Grangers parted with a few shed tears.
The Delacours too had left. Fleur was being transferred to Le College des Maladies Magique in Dijon. Her parents had wished to be introduced to the girl who had - so the great Viktor Krum had sworn - saved their daughter's life. Hermione believed herself unworthy of any such praise, but was glad to hear of their hope for Fleur's condition improving.
Harry had offered to have Hedwig deliver Hermione's return missive to Bulgaria. The letter had been hard to write but Hermione told the unvarnished truth, and begged for Viktor's understanding and forgiveness. She hoped that, somehow, they could meet face-to-face so she could apologise, but that did not look likely.
As promised, the Headmaster himself appeared mid-morning, and to Hermione's surprise not only was he accompanied by Amelia Bones, but by Auror Shacklebolt and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic himself, in his omnipresent lime green bowler hat. Madam Bones had agreed that Hermione's interview and statement could be taken in a more interactive way.
Despite Hermione's protests, Fudge "presented" her with the Champion's prize in the form of a large moneybag, with the barest minimum of grace. The Headmaster kindly offered to keep it for her until the end of the year; Hermione could not bear to glance at it, such was her loathing. Only her appreciation of her weak situation kept her from refusing the prize altogether. She may need options if forbidden to return to Hogwarts.
Dumbledore had again brought along his Pensieve, and took Hermione's memories of that night in the graveyard from the first appearance of Voldemort as homunculus their final desperate Portkey to Hogwarts. As the visitors might have questions, and Hermione remained bound to the hospital wing, the viewing took place in the temporarily-displaced nurse's office.
As the three officials' heads disappeared into the Pensieve, a stern-looking Shacklebolt stood guard outside.
After nearly half-an-hour the small party exited into the main part of the wing. Madam Bones was ashen-pale; Minister Fudge's complexion almost matched his headwear; Dumbledore appeared grim-faced but determined.
"You do agree then, Minister?" The Headmaster's voice was quiet its element of command unmistakable.
Fudge nodded his head sadly and reluctantly. "Yes, damn it Dumbledore. He's back. The girl's testimony confirms the others. Merlin, that was awful..."
"Since I first heard, I've been planning for this," Bones admitted. "The warrants are drawn up and ready for your signature."
"Yes, yes..." Fudge batted away the detail. He turned on Dumbledore. "I wish you hadn't pushed me into backing that damned Tournament, Dumbledore!"
"Indeed." The Headmaster's eyebrows quirked slightly, but he dismissed the untruth; far greater battles lay ahead. "I assure you that any and all resources at Hogwarts' disposal are available in the fight."
Mindful of more than just the upcoming trial of Lucius Malfoy and others, Bones enquired: "Including our eye-witnesses..?"
Dumbledore nodded once. "Whatever I can do, I shall."
Fudge looked around in sudden consternation. "Blast it, Amelia; we should have brought more bodyguards. Let's return to the Ministry as soon as possible. That damned Booth harridan has already been shrieking like a Banshee since first thing."
As the Minister prepared to bustle off, Hermione called out. "Madam Bones?"
The fierce-looking official acknowledged the student and, ignoring the impatient-to-leave Minister, strode over to Hermione's bed. "I do hope this is important, Miss Granger."
"What about Sirius Black?"
The Minister's ears pricked. "Sirius Black? Sirius Black!"
Bones cast Fudge an appraising look, and then turned to face Hermione. "I have already requested the relevant case files for evaluation at the earliest opportunity, with a view to judging whether an appeal is merited."
"He never had a trial," Hermione said clearly in a voice just shy of anger. Fudge started to bluster, muttering about priorities and safety.
Bones glanced at Dumbledore, who nodded in confirmation. "In which case," she said, "if Sirius Black presents himself at the Department, I will place him under immediate parole pending a hearing on a full pardon. There may be some other small issues..." Dumbledore coughed diplomatically "... but I believe they can be sorted out in due course."
With that, she started to leave, then thought better of it. "We will need a full written statement witness from you, Miss Granger, especially for the Malfoy case..." This time Fudge nearly choked. Ignoring her putative boss, Bones carried on. "You really are a most remarkable witch."
* * * * *
When the time came for Hermione Granger to return to the Gryffindor Common Room and polite society, it came as no surprise that Harry was waiting for her at the doors of the hospital wing. Less expected was Professor McGonagall's presence. That was a first as far as either Hermione or Harry were concerned.
The reason behind their Head of House's presence became clear the moment they stepped through the portrait hole.
All of Gryffindor House, from the tiniest first year to those celebrating completion of their N.E.W.T.s, had gathered, much as they had after the First Task. Only now no raucous celebration ensued. Events had cast a dark pall over Hermione's undoubted achievements, and rumours of the torments she and Harry had endured were already making the rounds.
Everyone knew that Mad-Eye Moody had cast down the chief Auror; that Ron Weasley had Stunned a top Ministry official and was still at liberty; and that Harry had maintained the wild story that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned from death. These weird tales received corroboration in the pages of The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler.
Hermione's fingers unconsciously sought the added security of Harry's hand. Being at the centre of everyone's silent attention was thoroughly unnerving, reminding her of Halloween when the whole horrific story had begun.
McGonagall broke the heavy silence. She turned to address Hermione.
"Miss Granger, we all wish this was under happier circumstances. The Minister himself should have presented you with the Trophy..." She trailed off for a moment, then gathered herself again. "Gryffindor House, show your appreciation for the true Triwizard Champion."
Ron stepped forward to start the round of applause, the clapping slowly swelling in volume. Hermione, feeling Harry's hand slip from her grasp, turned and was surprised, but not too much, to find him clapping away enthusiastically.
"I don't deserve this," she protested quietly. "It should be -"
"Pish and tosh, Miss Granger," McGonagall cut in sternly. "Never heard such bunkum. There is no-one more befitting this honour than you."
"Who was it tamed a dragon?" Harry added somewhat ambiguously, his eyes burning with admiration. "Who rescued me from the bottom of the Black Lake? Who won the race in the maze?"
"We all respect your actions and achievements," McGonagall added. "Facing down that... vile creature! You and Mister Potter." She raised her arm and pointed to the centre of the Common Room.
Students shuffled away from both sides and there, atop the table Hermione most frequently used for her homework, stood the Triwizard Trophy.
"Sometimes, Miss Granger," McGonagall added sadly but sympathetically, "we all have to assume roles and deal with burdens that we would much rather do without. I am afraid that both of you will only encounter more of this in the coming months." With that, she turned and left her students to their own devices.
The applause died away uncertainly. Ron again filled the vacuum, stepping forward. "It's good to have you back, Hermione."
Hermione hugged him, as she did Neville, then Fred and George - wearing identical t-shirts emblazoned with the legend "Official Triwizard Champion Appreciation Society" in gaudy lettering - then Luna Lovegood - how did she get in? And finally, with a strange coolness, Ginny.
The Twins, after much faux fawning, disappeared to wreak havoc somewhere else.
The common room gradually returned to its usual routines, which greatly relieved Hermione. She still could not shake the opinion that all this praise was undeserved. Those alien emotions she felt when Cedric conceded the Cup repulsed her.
"Your name's already engraved on it," Neville observed of the Trophy. "But I don't understand why Hogwarts is missing."
"It would be," Hermione replied elliptically. She had seen the plinth already. Dumbledore had, as usual, been right: engraved in a flowery script, no mistake; '1995 H GRANGER'.
The magic had even spelt her name correctly, a feat beyond the Daily Prophet this year.
She could scarcely stand being near that ill-fated tin cup but suppressed her desire to melt it down or reduce it to its base constituents. The Trophy may have carried her and Harry away from mortal danger, but it was the source of so much ill fortune. She stood abruptly. "I'm going up to see Crookshanks," she declared.
Crookshanks was pleased to see his mistress return, but in typical feline fashion also expressed disdain for her absence of several days. After making a fuss, he sought the middle of her bed and stretched out full length in the sun.
Hermione was also finally, after three days, reunited with her wand. She had felt disconnected, even endangered, with it missing. Now, she felt almost whole again.
But for how long would she keep it?
It was nearly time for what would probably be her last supper in the Great Hall. Downcast, Hermione left her dorm but stopped at the head of the staircase.
"Give it up, Gin."
That was Ron.
"Why? What about you? You saw them, holding hands." Ginny sounded bitter.
"So, perhaps they finally figured it out."
"Figured what out?" Ginny whispered vehemently. "I've always been Harry's biggest supporter, even before I came to Hogwarts." She huffed. "It should be me."
Ron sighed, a particularly long-suffering sigh. "Give it up, Ginny. Those two have shared so much, you couldn't slip a piece of parchment between them."
"Don't tell me you aren't jealous," Ginny demanded.
Ron was quiet for a moment. "I am, a bit," he admitted.
"I always thought it would Harry and me, and you and Hermione." Hermione could imagine Ginny's pout.
Ron gave a short laugh. "Me and Hermione? Hah! Pull the other one" Then he quietened a little. "She's a great friend, but anything more... Nah, no chance! Like air and Ashwinder eggs! You're my little sister, Hermione's more my... well, slightly older younger sister."
"Aren't you worried the Trio will become a duo?"
"Yeah," Ron answered, "I can't deny that. Maybe I'm scared they'll hog each other's time and leave none for me. That's what made me act like such a prat this year. But what's between them is down to them. Relationships change, but I hope friendships won't. Remember that, Ginny. Don't let this come between you and either of them."
Soles scuffled on stone, and then silence. Judging it safe to descend, Hermione did so and found Ron, his back to her, leaning resignedly against the doorframe. She halted abruptly, but, Ron caught the sound of movement behind him, twirled around, and his face reddened when he saw who it was.
"I don't suppose you missed all of that?" he said hopefully.
"Ron, you - of all people - should know I don't miss much," Hermione observed. "Younger sister? I'm older than you, remember," she tried a little humour.
"Bloody hell!" Ron ran his hand despairingly through his flame-coloured hair. "Listen, don't take it so hard on Ginny. She's got the whole summer to come round."
"It must be difficult for her," Hermione tried without quite succeeding to sound sympathetic.
"Yeah, well," Ron replied. "It's hard when your knight in shining armour has found another damsel in distress, or was it the other way around? Never mind. You ready for dinner?"
Ignoring his last question, Hermione looked kindly on Ron. "I hope we can stay real friends, Ron."
Ron shrugged. "I've been an idiot this year. Need to rebuild some trust, I reckon."
"Yes... yes that's so," Hermione said quietly. "As you say, we've... the summer's coming. And Harry won't abandon your friendship." She looked up. "Speak of the devil."
Harry strode over. "You ready to go down to dinner?" He stretched out his hand. Without hesitation, Hermione took it, carefully watching Ron's reaction as their fingers entwined. Ron did not bat an eyelid.
If Hermione believed entering the Great Hall holding hands with Harry would be a public declaration of a new stage in their relationship, she found that the bush telegraph had them thoroughly beat. The entrance of the Triwizard Champion glued to the Boy-Who-Lived, the partnership rumoured to have defeated You-Know-Who, was keenly awaited. Judging by the numerous astonished and / or irritated stares of other female students, a number of missives would be penned to Teen Witch and a revised list of Most Eligible Bachelor printed in the next edition of Witch Weekly.
Hermione's eyes sought out Draco Malfoy. He returned a look of pure loathing that did not go unnoticed by Harry either, judging by the sudden pressure on her fingers. "That's the look of a git with an imprisoned father and a sealed bank vault," Harry muttered. He fixed the Slytherin with a glare of such intensity that Malfoy actually took a couple of steps back.
"Harry." Hermione gently pulled on his hand. The cold anger in his eyes disconcerted her. Point made, Harry turned back to her and completely ignored Malfoy.
Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the head table. The Great Hall fell silent.
"The end of another year..."
Hermione thought the Headmaster sounded less enthusiastic than in prior years.
"An exciting year; a challenging year. A year that will change everything..."
Hermione could not help but squeeze Harry's fingers. All this applied to her in spades. She might never see Harry again after tomorrow, or be forced to adopt radical courses of action to avoid that.
"There is much that I have to say to you tonight, but I must first acknowledge that there are two young people whose full recoveries we continue praying for. I would ask you to raise your glasses..."
Most of the school stood. Hermione noted a few malcontents at the Slytherin table who joined Draco Malfoy in remaining seated.
"To Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour!"
The two names echoed through the Great Hall as most of the assembly responded.
Dumbledore waited until the last syllable had died away, then appeared to straighten up. "Many stories are circulating about what happened on the Solstice. Many half-truths, some outright lies, much confusion. I can now inform you that the Ministry of Magic has today confirmed the return of Lord Voldemort."
Most of the assembled student body quivered. Small dismayed cries echoed from the younger pupils, while older ones broke into rapid, hushed conversations.
Hermione, continuing to observe Malfoy, saw the blond smirk at the news.
The Headmaster again waited until the hubbub had subsided.
"The Triwizard Tournament was designed to celebrate the greatest qualities of the adolescent magical world. The feats of Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory and..." he paused and cast a look at the only competitor present. "...And our champion, Hermione Granger, will live long in the annals of Hogwarts.
"Their shining efforts illuminate in harsh relief the evil that has dared showed itself once again. Many of you are rightly dismayed, frightened by what the future now holds.
"I can tell you now that, although difficulties lie ahead, that I am convinced that good will ultimately triumph over evil.
"The struggle may be hard, it may be long, and it may be bloody, but as long as we -" The Headmaster threw out his arms "- the greater wizarding world, remain united, Lord Voldemort cannot win."
Harry's grip on Hermione's hand now increased.
"As proof of that, I ask you to consider two of this school's students, fourth years both, who with a rare bravery stood up to Voldemort..." Dumbledore leaned forward, to emphasize the name and his point "... foiled his plans and returned to Hogwarts." He now lifted his goblet to the blushing Gryffindor pair. "Hermione Granger and Harry Potter, I salute you."
They heard murmurs of support, mostly from their Gryffindor colleagues, but also some from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Only a handful of wizards knew exactly what happened, and some minds remained unconvinced.
"And it would be remiss of me not to mention Ronald Weasley, whose prompt action saved the life of the Minister of Magic." As it had in the same place, at the same time, in his first year, Ron's cheeks glowed as red as his hair.
As everyone sat, bar the Headmaster, Dumbledore continued. "I know dark and difficult times are ahead. Some of you, in this Hall, have already suffered at the hands of Lord Voldemort."
Hermione saw Neville's shoulders hunch for a moment, before he pulled himself together and sat, ramrod straight, proud of his parents' stand.
"What I will say to you is that evil cannot, will not, prevail. All forces at the Ministry's command are now focussed on this fight, for a fight it will be. Yet we know that Lord Voldemort can be defeated, and the proof is here with us in this very hall. Two young people, heedless of their own safety, chose to deny him, defeat him, and drive him from the field. I ask you to remember them, and if the time should come, and we need to make a choice, we should always choose what is right, not what is easy."
"I guess this means things are going to change, doesn't it," Hermione said tightly.
* * * * *
'My last Hogwarts' breakfast,' Hermione thought as twelve hours later she sat once again in the Great Hall. Given the bounty on display, she felt remarkably little appetite.
Harry - her Harry, at her side - was buttering toast as an appetiser to tackling the bacon mountain before a famished Ron totally demolished it. Harry had been remarkably high-spirited in the common room that morning, and he happily explained why. A late-night owl had delivered news from Sirius. His godfather was preparing to visit the Ministry to arrange his parole, and hoped that Harry might spend the summer with him.
She was pleased that her friend -tagging him as her 'boyfriend' still took her breath away - would not have to endure the ministrations of the Dursleys.
Professor McGonagall's arrival drove away such pleasant contemplations. "Miss Granger, Mister Potter."
"Yes, Professor?"
"The Headmaster's compliments and he asks that you both visit his office before catching the Express."
"Yes, Professor, we will." Hermione wondered if Harry minded her speaking for him, but with his mouth full of a rasher of smoky back bacon, he could not really say anything either way.
After breakfast, and making sure their trunks and familiars' cages would be taken care of, the two made their way through crowded corridors towards the Headmaster's office.
Hermione wondered when the newness of their relationship would wear off and they would tire of holding hands. For her case, she decided it might take fifty years or so.
"Ah, good morning, Miss Granger, Mister Potter." Dumbledore gestured towards a couple of comfortable chairs facing his desk. "Lemon drop?"
Declining on the basis she had just eaten, Hermione reluctantly let Harry's hand slip free, and took one of the seats. Harry and Dumbledore also sat down.
"First, Miss Granger, there is the matter of your prize." The Headmaster gestured to a sack of golden galleons that sat inelegantly on top of a nearby cabinet. "One thousand galleons."
Hermione had never previously considered the value of the winner's reward. Without conscious thought her brain immediately calculated the converted value. Five thousand pounds!
"I don't want it," she repeated. "I didn't really win it. I shouldn't even have been competing., but I can't turn it down. I might need it if my parents forbid me from coming back," she added resignedly.
Hermione was sure Harry stiffened a little at this. "You are coming back next year, aren't you?" he asked plaintively, afraid he might lose what he had just found.
"I want to." Hermione was a little irritated that she could not have initiated, and had not already held, this discussion with Harry in private.
Harry was stirred into action. "Headmaster, you cannot let that happen… I won't."
"Harry, no," Hermione tried to stop him. "This is my problem."
"Hermione, your problems are…"
"Miss Granger, if I might offer a suggestion?" Dumbledore put an end to their back-and-forth. "You have attained some celebrity status in our small world..." Hermione pulled a sour face at that description. "Indeed, to many of us you are a hero, a witch who has set a brave example for others to follow."
"That won't cut any ice with my parents," Hermione observed. "They saw how... people like me are treated by those with power, let alone how dismissive that Ministry hag was towards them." Hermione stared hard at her Headmaster. "Mum and Dad aren't used to being treated - no, ignored - like that. If it hadn't been for Missus Weasley then I'm certain I'd already have been withdrawn from Hogwarts."
Dumbledore met her flinty stare with a small smile. "Indeed, they told me much the same. They were impressed, however, with the reactions of your friends and others and their readiness to stand for what is right. I believe Dolores will already be fending off the legal advances of Ms. Booth."
"That won't help me," Hermione muttered. "That's my parents out to nail someone in the wrong. How does it stop them pulling me out of here?"
"It does not," Dumbledore admitted, "but it did show that there is a health majority willing to stand with you. In fact, more than you would realise, Miss Granger."
Hermione was perplexed for a moment.
"You see," Dumbledore continued, "you have given the Ministry a powerful symbol in the fight against the forces of darkness. Do not forget, Cornelius Fudge is a consummate career politician, and although he may be slow to realise it, your story would prove of great help in his suddenly hazardous position."
"I don't see why I should be a party political broadcast for that man."
Dumbledore leaned back lightly in his seat, and formed his fingers into the equivalent of a church and steeple. "I would assume that it is your parents who have helped provide your strong moral compass. If it were shown that your example was a rallying cry to oppose Voldemort, I am sure they would understand that to withdraw you from this world would undermine that message." He leaned forward a fraction. "I am sure that Cornelius would come to see that the removal of the Triwizard Champion would undermine all of our efforts this year.
"And you have already made quite an impression on Amelia and Kingsley, both of whom seldom confuse style and substance. I am sure that, if I were to ask them, they would be willing to make representations on your behalf to your parents."
Hermione shook her head. "I wish it would work, really I do, but I just can't see what difference it would make."
"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Aurors' Corps make for strong allies, and even stronger opponents. Amelia and Kingsley, given their lead role in countering Voldemort's forces, would explain that after what you did to him, you, - you and Harry - are undoubtedly Death Eater targets, no matter what your parents do or where they go…"
That, at least, was no surprise. She and Harry already assumed as much But still, to hear someone as authoritative as the Headmaster confirm it…
"There is also the small matter of you being one of the undoubted star witnesses in the trials to come. Your evidence would form the cornerstone of any case against the Death Eaters. Only you and Harry saw who was present in the graveyard at Little Hangleton." Dumbledore hesitated for a second. "Impressive though both of your memories may appear when viewed, there is nothing more powerful than an eye witness on the stand. If there was any danger that you would be unavailable, your parents will simply not be permitted to remove you from the Wizarding World over your objection."
"That's more likely to make them fight," Hermione replied. "You don't know them like I do."
"True," Dumbledore mused. "There are precedents… extreme perhaps… where Muggles attempted acts that, while legal, were considered too detrimental to our world to be permitted. Miss Booth would be able to explain the implications of magical writs and the consequences of ignoring a Wizengamot subpoena. They would ultimately have no legal recourse if you were determined to stay."
Hermione stiffened suddenly. "But… What if, Mum and Dad won't..? If they decided to take this outside the magical, even if I wanted to stay? What would happen to them?"
The Headmaster looked her directly in the eye. "It would be your decision, of course, as we really could only act at your behest, but in the end they would not be permitted to disclose this world's existence. If there were no choice…"
"No, I can't let them be Imperiused," Hermione cried.
"That is not an option," Dumbledore assured her. "In the worst case scenario, they would simply be Obliviated."
"Obliviated?" Hermione echoed. "Obliviated of what?"
"I suppose they would lose all their memories of you," he answered. "It would not be permanent; just until you have attained your majority in both worlds and can control your own future."
"I - I just don't know… I don't know that I could do that to Mum and Dad," Hermione moaned.
"Hermione, don't. I… know what it's like, not having parents," Harry intervened. Rising, he stepped to her side, and awkwardly tried rubbing Hermione's back. "I really hope you can persuade them… You can't give them up for me. I'm not worth it…"
His last comment backfired. "Don't be silly, Harry. I'll try to persuade them with everything I have, but I won't leave you." Hermione started pulling herself together. She took his hand. "Not now - not ever. Not after all that's happened." She turned back to Dumbledore, still holding Harry's hand. "But I won't let them lose me... or I them."
The old man smiled. "We shall, as the saying goes, burn that bridge when we come to it. The only thing you need do now is decide what to do with your Triwizard winnings." Dumbledore sat back. "It is, of course, your prerogative to do with them as you wish. But I would urge caution in refusing such a sum. One can never tell what might happen."
'What might happen?' Something in that phrase nagged away at the back of Hermione's mind.
"It would be prudent to accept the funds. I would be happy to arrange a vault for you at Gringotts and transfer the sum there," the Headmaster continued. "At the very least, it would free your family of any need to exchange Muggle currency, given the commission the goblins charge."
"Huh?" Hermione's attention switched back to the discussion.
"Yeah, Hermione," Harry added quietly. "Think of the books you could buy."
Books! Well, perhaps...
"If ultimately matters work out successfully and you decide not to retain the funds, then there are a variety of good causes you could consider being worthy of a donation."
Perhaps a fully-funded S.P.E.W?
"Shall I arrange that for you, Miss Granger..? Miss Granger!"
"What?" Hermione was mortified to find she had dropped out of the conversation. "Yes... yes, of course," she hastened to agree to whatever the Headmaster has suggested.
With a flick of Dumbledore's wand, the moneybag disappeared. Within seconds, a bank statement, contract and vault key flickered into existence on the Headmaster's desk. With another gentle movement, the papers and key drifted over to Hermione.
"You will have to prick your finger or thumb, so that the contract is sealed in blood," the Headmaster added, before he took on a more sombre tone.
"I am afraid that we have set in motion events that have gained their own momentum. As I mentioned previously, I have no doubt that both of you are at risk as Death Eater targets."
Harry and Hermione shared looks; they had pretty much reached the same conclusion themselves.
"Miss Granger, as I promised I would, I have already discussed this with your parents, and have provided advice for whatever decision you and they arrive at," Dumbledore continued.
"For what it is worth, Miss Granger, at my behest the Ministry has already established security wards around your home. I doubt that at this time Voldemort's followers have knowledge of where you live or what your parents do, but after your success in the graveyard, that may well change. I feel that this is a prudent safeguard. I have also told them that, in my opinion, your best interests lie at Hogwarts. . As I said, if need be, I stand ready to make that point considerably more forcefully."
"Thank you, Professor." That was one relief; but would it be sufficient for her parents?
"I also believe that Hogwarts would not be the same without your presence," Dumbledore added, "and I am sure that Mister Potter agrees."
"Yup!" Harry's head pivoted up and down, like a nodding dog in a car's back window. "Definitely."
"I would suggest that when you return next September, we arrange additional training for you both. I am sure the real Alastor Moody would be eager to prove that his methods are better than his impostor's."
'The real Alastor Moody.' Hermione's mind was turning over some new disquieting thoughts.
"Harry, I am afraid that I must ask you to return to Privet Drive."
Hermione could not believe that. She felt Harry withdraw his arm, so she glanced at him, ready to support his protest.
Harry just appeared supremely disappointed. "I had hoped to spend the summer with Sirius," he admitted miserably.
"Given the circumstances," Dumbledore reminded him, "it would be far safer if you returned -"
"No!"
Hermione was shocked to find herself leaping to her feet, knocking back her chair a foot or so. Her unyielding faith in authority had finally breached a limit.
Dumbledore appeared equally nonplussed. "Sorry, Miss Granger?"
Flushed lobster-pink, Hermione almost forgot whom she was addressing. "You cannot be serious, Headmaster, returning Harry to those..." She sought for an adequate adjective or noun, but failed miserably. "... People!" she finished lamely.
"I am afraid I am serious. Deadly so, in fact."
She felt a tug on her robes. Harry looked up at her pleadingly. "Don't..." he mouthed. "I need you more."
Hermione shook her head, then glared at the Headmaster. "I cannot believe you would send Harry back to that," she declared. "After all they've done to him - and all they haven't done as well!"
"I would remind you, Miss Granger, that I visited the Dursleys and warned them that serious consequences would attend any further mistreatment." Dumbledore looked taken aback at being railed at by a student, especially one on whose behalf he had offered to intercede with the highest levels of the Ministry.
"You trust them to keep their word?" Hermione retorted, then before Dumbledore could answer, ploughed ahead. "And even if they do, Harry isn't loved there. He needs to be with people who care for him, allow him a normal summer."
By that she meant Sirius, even the Weasleys... but mainly herself.
"There are circumstances beyond your awareness, Miss Granger." Hermione had never heard such coolness from the Headmaster before.
"Blood wards," she stated boldly. Dumbledore was wrong-footed for a second time. "I bet similar wards surround the Burrow, for instance. And Sirius would certainly cast something similar wherever he ends up."
"The wards do not just protect Harry," Dumbledore retorted; Hermione again noted his use of Harry's forename.
She felt a soft tug on her hand. "Hermione," Harry said softly. "They're my family, after all. Mum wouldn't want anything to happen to Aunt Petunia or Dudley." Hermione again took note, this time that Vernon Dursley's name went unsaid.
"Okay," she said, deflated. "That doesn't mean he has to stay there all summer, does it?"
Dumbledore appeared thoughtful. Harry just looked on hopefully. "Please, Professor," he asked forlornly.
"I suppose," Dumbledore allowed," that a shorter stay would do not noticeable damage to the protection given to all."
Hermione saw the rising hope in Harry's expression.
"Let us say that Harry must only stay until the end of July?" Dumbledore offered.
"I could leave on my birthday? Stay with Sirius on the thirty-first?" asked Harry.
Dumbledore nodded. "Would that be acceptable, Miss Granger?"
Hermione knew that Dumbledore, by offering a month's amnesty from the Dursleys, had spiked her guns. "If Harry says it is; it's his decision, after all." It would save her having to pit McGonagall against the Headmaster again.
"Then we are agreed," Dumbledore regarded the matter as being closed. "Harry, I believe you would benefit from additional lessons during the summer. What do you know of Occlumency?"
Harry looked dumbfounded. "Dunno?" He turned straight to Hermione.
"The art of preventing one's mind being read?" she asked.
"Quite accurate, Miss Granger. It is a defensive counter to Legilimency. Given the unusual link between Mister Potter's mind and that of Voldemort, expert tuition in this subject seems advisable. It falls outside the Ministry's official curriculum, but we do have a staff member with great practical experience. I will arrange this with Professor Snape -"
"No!" This time Hermione's protest was almost a scream. Dumbledore appeared profoundly shocked as she again shot to her feet, but recovered quickly.
"This is not a matter than concerns you, Miss Granger," he said almost dismissively.
She refused to sit back down. "Anything that concerns Harry now concerns me!" A year's worth of pent up indignation boiled over. "You propose to entrust Harry's welfare to someone who has openly admits to despising him? From what I have read about Occlumency, trust is one of the most important aspects of the training."
Dumbledore's impatience with his seemingly ungrateful student grew. "Miss Granger, skills can be gained other than from the pages of a book. Professor Snape is -"
"Do you really believe Harry will trust anything Snape -?"
"Professor Snape," Harry said quietly in role-reversal.
"- That Snape tells him." Hermione's fists rested hard on her hips. "How many teachers have already tried to kill him?"
"I beg your pardon!" Dumbledore spluttered.
"First, we have Quirrell, who was possessed by Voldemort." Hermione hesitated. "How did he stay undiscovered all year?
"Second," Hermione started keeping an overt count on her fingers, "that old fraud Lockhart."
"Gilderoy was foisted on Hogwarts by the Ministry," Dumbledore protested, but to no avail.
"Three..." Hermione skipped Remus Lupin as Dumbledore had been trying to help "... we have Professor Moody, or Barty Crouch Junior in disguise."
"I admit there have been failings..." Dumbledore started, but Hermione, her reservoir of respect for authority totally drained, rode straight over the Headmaster.
"I won't have your next 'failing' kill Harry. Moody was one of your closest friends!" she yelled. "You'd known him for years, and still Barty Crouch fooled you, nearly costing both of us our lives. Every time you gave him the benefit of the doubt?" Hermione was in full flow. "Lessons leaving pupils half-dead? Did you never think of using Legilimency on Mad-Eye?"
Dumbledore appeared at a loss for words. Finally he said weakly: "Alastor is one of the most... cautious..." Hermione knew he meant paranoid "... wizards I know." He seemed to catch a little of his natural well of confidence. "It would have been useless; Alastor is one of the best Occlumens I know."
"Maybe better than Barty Crouch," Hermione responded. "Poor Moody spent the best part of a year in Crouch's trunk. And speaking of this year? An under-aged witch forced into a Tournament that could have killed me three times over? Forget about me. You knew all along it was quite likely a plot to get to Harry. Yet you left it to one member of staff to help us out - and he was Voldemort's most loyal follower! Two teenagers against Voldemort and a platoon of Death Eaters. Harry and I only survived through a bit of skill and a lot of luck. We both could've died!"
Panting, Hermione had finished for the moment. A realisation of what she had said and to whom finally struck home, and she started to shiver. She felt Harry slip his arm around her shoulder, and she turned in to rest her head on his chest.
"Oh Merlin! I am so going to be expelled," she whispered. And before her parents need worry about withdrawing her from Hogwarts.
She heard a diplomatic cough, then Dumbledore stood. "I have made many mistakes," he started contritely, "for which I can only beg your forgiveness. If I had the ability to tell the future, then I would certainly have made different decisions."
'Ability to tell the future.'
The synapses in Hermione's brain fired with the critical connection. She pushed her head away from Harry's protective embrace "That prophecy!" she burst out.
"What?"
"A what, Miss Granger?" Hermione duly noted the merest hint of alarm on Dumbledore's face.
"The prophecy," she repeated. "A prophecy, about Harry. Pettigrew mentioned it in the cemetery. I've just remembered it."
"A throwaway comment," Dumbledore dissembled. "It means nothing."
His dismissive attitude convinced Hermione she was right. "No, Crouch said that was why they had to have Harry. They could have used me for the ritual, but Crouch told Wormtail they needed Harry."
"They needed Harry for male blood," Dumbledore argued.
The Headmaster's resistance led Hermione to another stunning realisation. "You! You know about this prophecy," she said in a harsh whisper. This accusation did not require shouting.
Dumbledore looked up but said nothing.
"You do," Hermione repeated in a deadly monotone. "You do know." In an act of supreme disrespect to someone who held her fate in her hands, she thumped her fists down on Dumbledore's desk, the vibrations shaking the assortment of fragile-looking instruments at the far end. "In fact, I bet you know what it says."
Dumbledore eyed her shrewdly. "I thought you had given up Divination as an O.W.L., Miss Granger."
Growing in confidence, Hermione held his stare. "It doesn't matter what I think of it," she replied. "It may not matter what you or Harry make of it. But it sure matters what Voldemort thinks of it."
The office lapsed into a very uneasy silence.
Finally, Dumbledore spoke in strained tones, looking pained. "You are correct, Miss Granger. A prophecy exists, concerning Harry and Voldemort." He appeared to have aged considerably in the last few minutes, and undoubtedly resented having to volunteer such information. "It was made by Professor Trelawney -" Hermione could not help snorting derisively - "but Voldemort has only heard an incomplete version."
"Why?" Harry addressed Dumbledore for the first time in ages. "Why doesn't he know it all?"
"Good point, Harry," Hermione whispered, drawing another anguished glare from the Headmaster.
"The original recording is held in the Department of Mysteries, secure in the Ministry itself," Dumbledore stated baldly. "It can only be accessed by the two individuals about whom it was prophesied. Harry and Voldemort himself." Dumbledore paused. "Voldemort has not been in a position to seize it, until now... I daresay one of his aims in storming the Ministry was to retrieve it."
"You said 'the original recording', Headmaster," Hermione observed. "That indicates a copy was made. Since you just stated that the version Voldemort heard was incomplete, you must know the full prophecy. I assume it's in your possession."
Hermione guessed that Dumbledore might have preferred her parents' tooth extraction methods to hers for extracting information. She also knew that she was pushing her luck. Dumbledore could well conclude that she and Harry were too potent a combination.
"I have the copy here." He admitted, looking pained. "I had hoped to delay your hearing this, Harry, so you could enjoy a normal life before having another burden imposed on you."
"In case you haven't noticed, Harry's life is anything but normal, even by magical standards," Hermione countered. "He deserves to hear what is prophesied."
"Oh, I agree, Miss Granger," Dumbledore replied. "I intend to do so now, as my hand has been forced." Then he shot a little victorious look her way. "But only to Mister Potter."
Hermione was taken aback. "What?"
"I thought it was clear," Dumbledore said, faux amiably. "The prophecy involves Mister Potter. It does not involve you. I have no intention of informing anyone other than Mister Potter of its contents."
"Oh!" Hermione felt the wind leave her sails. She nudged Harry, seeking support, but he stared intently at the floor, deep in thought. "Okay... I guess I'll wait outside then?" She knew how important this would be to Harry.
"Please ensure the door is firmly closed behind you, Miss Granger," Dumbledore effectively dismissed her.
Hermione, blushing furiously now, turned and started to leave.
"No." Harry's voice was calm and controlled. "Wait."
Hermione pivoted and stayed where she was.
Harry was regarding the Headmaster calmly. "Hermione's right. What concerns me concerns her. And since she blew Voldemort's arm clean off, she's even more... involved than before. Hermione deserves to know, given what she's been through."
"Harry..." Dumbledore started to argue, but Harry acted as if he had not heard him.
"After all," he said, "we all know that the first thing I'll do on leaving this room will be to tell her everything." He shrugged, and then looked shyly at Hermione. "Better she gets it straight from the witch's cauldron; that way there's no room for misunderstandings."
"Harry, I think it most unwise..." Dumbledore tried one last forlorn appeal.
Harry's reply was shot through with iron. "Hermione stays." He smiled at her. "No more secrets, right?"
Hermione could have ravished him there and then.
"I daresay Miss Granger will also require Occulmency lessons as well." Dumbledore surrendered. Within seconds his Pensieve was on his desk. Hermione now understood what he meant by 'recording'.
Having retrieved the memory, Dumbledore touched the surface of the slivery-white liquid. Then he sat back with a look that clearly meant: 'On your own heads be it.'
From out of the cloud a figure coalesced. Hermione confirmed the identity from the huge-lensed glasses even before the familiar tones of Sybil Trelawney issued forth.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
* * * * *
Hermione was worried.
Harry had said not a dozen words since that tipsy old fraud of a Divination teacher had spewed forth that nonsense. Now he sat silently in the compartment as the Hogwarts' Express steamed southwards, staring at a spot between the floor and the opposite seat's cushion.
He had not reacted even to the Thestrals, and Hermione knew Harry could see them now.
Hermione blamed herself. She had insisted that Harry hear the prophecy. Now he had, he typically assumed the whole burden on his own wiry back.
Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna had saved them seats in their compartment, but it had not taken Ron long to suggest that the two of them needed to be left in peace.
Draco Malfoy had apparently tried to visit and offer his inimitable opinions, but had the misfortune to run into Fred and George, who had assumed responsibility for Harry and Hermione's privacy. They rather enjoyed their last chance at a serious prank of a Hogwarts' student.
Given Harry's mood and his knowledge of the Malfoys' actions, Hermione thought perhaps Draco had been lucky.
"It doesn't mean anything," Hermione said for the umpteenth time. "It's old Trelawney. The chances of any prophecy from her coming true are infinitesimal."
Harry moved, but only to aim his thousand-yard stare at the Lothian countryside. Outside, Aurors flying broom escort occasionally hove into view. The train was under the full protection of the Ministry, with Hit-Wizards riding the Express.
What she thought meant nothing, Hermione knew, or even Dumbledore. Harry could discard the whole story as preposterous rubbish, but he would still be tied to the prophecy.
Voldemort believed in what he thought it portended. Hermione had used that very argument on Dumbledore.
For that reason alone, Harry Potter had been a marked wizard his entire life.
Hermione's hands grasped his, and both lay unresistingly in his lap. She needed him to know he was not alone.
Her respect for authority, grievously wounded during the year, had the coup de grace applied in the Headmaster's office.
Hermione's rational mind had trouble grasping the concept of Dumbledore's near-mendacity. Nor was that her major grievance.
Harry had been betrayed, and even worse, by the man they had both looked up to.
Dumbledore had known all along why Harry's parents had died, and why Voldemort and his Death Eaters had targeted the orphan. It was no wonder Harry was withdrawn.
Finally, just after Berwick, Harry spoke.
"It's me, Hermione. We both know it's about me and him."
"It could be Neville," she temporised.
"'Born as the seventh month died'. My birthday, remember?"
"Still could be Neville," Hermione repeated desperately. She was grasping at straws now. "If we use the Roman calendar, it could even be me."
"Didn't see you, or him, marked as an equal by any dark lord."
"I nearly was..." Hermione sat back despairingly and stopped arguing. In her heart of hearts, she too knew that the prophecy was about Harry.
"What a future," Harry observed out of nothing. "Either killed or killer." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and ducked his head low. For a moment Hermione thought he might be sick. "It might be a good idea after all if you listened to your parents. Leave Hogwarts, don't associate with me, Hermione. You'll be a lot safer."
"Harry Potter!" Hermione was outraged. "If you think I am letting you go now, you clearly don't know me. We've already proved we're a lot harder to kill together than separately."
Harry was not responding to logic. He just leaned back, put his head against the headrest and closed his eyes.
Even when Hermione tried to cheer him up by threatening to start changing into her Muggle clothes there and then did not draw a response.
As she stepped down onto the platform at King's Cross, Hermione was near frantic. In a minute she would be with her parents, Harry would fall into the clutches of those vile Dursleys. She might still never see Harry again. And he was so depressed...
As Harry passed down their trunks, Hermione was searching heads. The Weasleys were obvious, but then Hermione felt guilty when her heart sank as she made out her parents. That was not how she should feel, but she did.
They had spotted her and homed in past the protective cordon of Aurors.
Harry passed down Hedwig's and Crookshanks' travel cages, then stepped down onto the platform. Hermione knew she and her parents would be on the Circle Line on the way back to Paddington and then Oxford within minutes.
She took a sideways glance.
Harry looked absolutely defeated as he turned to face her, Hermione moved so near to him that, when she stood on tiptoe, her nose grazed his chin. "Will you give me a kiss, Harry?"
Harry appeared shocked at the suggestion.
"Please, Harry, a kiss?" Hermione tried to sound like a lost little girl.
She saw the briefest hint of a grin, then he leaned forward an inch...
And gave her an innocent peck on her forehead.
With a disappointed huff, Hermione delivered her critique. "That was not a kiss, Harry Potter."
It was past time for everyone, Harry included, to know exactly how she felt.
She raised her arms and laced them around his neck, gaining an extra inch of height or so. At first her nose collided with his, but she tilted her head just so. Then she sealed her lips over his. Gently, her tongue sought an opening, pressing here and there along Harry's quivering lips. At last he responded. She felt his arms slip around her back, pulling her closer. His lips opened and their tongues fought a delightful battle for supremacy. Hermione's hands slipped upwards and she thoroughly entangled them in his hair. Harry lifted Hermione off the ground and, as she was doing, gave his all into the kiss.
Reluctantly, after what seemed like aeons, Harry moved to set her back down. They opened their star-filled eyes, seeing only each other.
"Wow!" Harry breathed disbelievingly.
"Wow indeed!" Hermione was breathing hard.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
"That was the Triwizard Champion claiming her real prize," Hermione replied imperiously, but immediately ruined the image by giggling, something of a first for her.
"Is that all I am, Miss Granger? A prize?"
"You're mine, and I'm not letting you go, but you're far more than just a prize."
She smiled. Harry seemed to have some life back in him after all.
It took her some seconds to reconnect with where they were, what they had just done, and in front of whom. Hermione heard the diplomatic cough behind her. "I think we'd better let each other go," she suggested quietly.
As Hermione had expected, indeed intended, her parents had seen the whole show. Emma Granger was watching them with a calculating eye. Her husband was regarding Harry with far colder intent.
Accidentally the Weasley family had also been amongst the onlookers. Arthur was beaming while Molly appeared affronted, muttering about undue and indecent displays of public affection.
Ginny stared hard at Hermione, and then spun on her heel.
Ron, arms crossed, just raised an eyebrow, shrugged and wished them both happy holidays.
Hermione's arms slid down from Harry's shoulders. Harry kept a light hold of her waist. "If you think I'm letting you go, Hermione Granger, when I've just found you, you're not the brightest witch at Hogwarts."
"You know, you won't be alone," Hermione said urgently. "No matter what, I'll be over to see you as soon as I can. Not even the Dursleys, not even Mum and Dad, can keep me away from you."
"Promise?"
"Promise." Her mother was calling her now. "I'm sixteen in September." She gestured towards her parents. "They can't stop me. I'll always be at your side."
Harry finally let go. "Until then," then he hesitated for a heartbeat. "Love you," he declared gently.
Hermione thought her heart might break when Harry gave the briefest of excuses to her parents, and then went looking for the Dursleys.
"Something to say, young lady?" her father asked archly.
They had just seen exactly how she felt about Harry. Let them try to keep her from a love like that…
Hermione shook her head. There would be plenty of talk later about her future, or lack of, at Hogwarts. But, for now, she had said everything that needed saying with her heart.
* * * * *
This chapter includes a little of the dialogue from chapter #30 of "Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire."
The prophecy is taken from chapter #37 of "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix."
Viktor's letter was written in Bulgarian and read by Hermione using a translation spell - which explains the lack of an accent and the lack of correct grammar - no spell could totally cope with the English language! In canon, Hermione was what Viktor would most "sorely miss." Plovdiv is Bulgaria's second-largest city and Viktor's home, not the location of Durmstrang.
Pish and tosh, and bunkum, are an old-fashioned equivalents of "rubbish."
Ron Weasley and I both know that Hermione is about six months older than Ron. But Ron would never admit to looking up to Hermione as an "older sister."
I just had to use Hermione's very last line from the film version of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.'
Hermione's specious argument that the prophecy could relate to her is based on the old Roman pre-Julian month after which September is named, Sextilis (according to Ovid), was the seventh month.
The Circle Line is a London Underground "tube" line. Fast main-line trains to Oxford depart from London's Paddington station... which is not named after the bear!
Hermione is wrong about being free at sixteen. In the UK you can leave school on the last Friday in June as long as you turn sixteen before the end of the summer holidays. At Hogwarts that would be 31 August; Hermione's sixteenth birthday is on 19 September. Hermione could not leave the family home, nor get married, without parental permission. There are an awful lot of seemingly contradictory regulations that apply between ages sixteen, seventeen and eighteen Hermione will probably look for a loophole!
And that, after five years is that! I would like to thank all those who have helped bring this story to a conclusion (of sorts), but especially beta readers Bexis and George, without whom this would either have remained uncompleted, or at the very least lacking in quality.
A sequel? Well, I do have another real-life project that is going to take up a lot of time over the next two years, so I had sworn myself off fiction writing for that time at least, but I am already suffering withdrawal symptoms, so you never know... At least I have a good starting point; how can I leave Hermione & Harry like this?