Unofficial Portkey Archive

I do not own the characters & settings: those belong to JK Rowling. Because if I did I would be writing this on a beach in the Caribbean. Actually, no, that's untrue. I would be sipping a long, cold, alcoholic drink on a beach …

Chapter 3 - Between The Lines

Strangely, for an unfathomable reason, Hermione wasn't feeling very cheerful on the following Monday morning. She had experienced another disturbed night, her brain ticking over with possibilities and stratagems. Even the prospect of a full school day, something that normally had her up with the lark, bright-eyed and bushy-haired, had taken on a more sombre hue. Instead of rising early Hermione had unavailingly tried to grab a few more minutes of sleep, and now found her normal early morning schedule rather more condensed than usual.

The argument with Ron had taken its toll and just added to her general sense of depression. Hermione had no illusions that the story of their heated confrontation would already have made its way along the legendary Hogwarts' gossip grapevine, although severely distorted by the very nature of its mode of operation. The Great Hall would be nearly as full that morning as it had been on Saturday evening, and there had been another thirty-six hours for the rumour mill to process the events that had passed since then.

In addition there was her growing realisation that, if any legal process were to be successful in halting her participation in the Tournament, then her parents would have to become involved. Hermione had tossed and turned in her bed, worrying about how she could break the news to them without having them pull her out of Hogwarts, something she had feared ever since her spell in the hospital wing two years ago. She had penned several letters in her mind, only to discard each successive version as too leading or inviting of further questions she would rather not have to answer. Still, she resolved to write to Matrix Chambers at Gray's Inn and see if there was any way she could launch some form of a legal restraint against the Ministry of Magic without parental participation.

Her roommates had the good sense to steer clear of Hermione as she brushed her teeth, showered, and once again vainly tried, and failed, to tame her unruly hair. When she descended the staircase to the common room, those few Gryffindor students that were tarrying and yet to take themselves down to breakfast immediately stopped all conversations that were in progress as soon as they were aware that a Hogwarts' champion had arisen. With an exasperated sigh, and without meeting any of the gazes challenging or questioning her, Hermione cruised across the common room and haughtily departed out through the portrait hole.

The scene repeated itself when Hermione arrived at the Great Hall. The early morning murmur of half-hearted conversations between students yet to wake fully, and unwilling to admit they were facing another five days of lessons, gradually subsided. Instead it was rapidly replaced by an eerie quiet, broken only by whispered comments that, although the words remained indistinguishable, the subject matter was quite easy to deduce. For the third time in less than two days Hermione could feel herself under universal scrutiny, and although she had been expecting such treatment, it still made her shudder inside.

Approaching the Gryffindor table, Hermione noted that there was still a choice of seats even at this later than normal hour for her. For once both Ron and Harry had beaten her down to breakfast, and there were some empty spaces on the benches in their vicinity. As soon as the unnatural hush had settled, Harry's head had popped up and searched out Hermione, who was moving between the tables in the direction of that occupied by the Gryffindors. She watched as he turned and spoke agitatedly to Ron, who looked up, flushed red, and then returned his attention to his plate, stabbing the eggs with more force than was needed..

Hermione could feel a hot flush building on her cheeks, and turned away from the other two parts of the trio. She had no wish to replay last night's events afresh before a wider audience. With a determined air she chose a spot towards the far end of the Gryffindor table, and settled herself down in the space between the First Years, who were rather startled at the appearance of this rather exotic and reputedly formidable visitor to their somewhat isolated dining space, and the older students.

'I don't care,' Hermione thought. 'I can do this all by myself.'

Conversations started anew all around her with the rapidity of a forest fire. She glanced up and unfortunately caught Draco Malfoy's eye. Hermione had never thought someone could laugh with such disdain, but as he pointed at her, and leaned in to whisper a no-doubt sarcastic comment to Pansy Parkinson, it was all too easy to theorise on what exactly was passing through his tiny pure-blooded head. It was far safer to turn her attention to the toast rack in front of her.

As Hermione finished buttering her first slice, and just as she reached for the raspberry jam, there was the scrape of a bench on the flagstones, and the light thump of a plate being dropped on the table opposite her. She looked up, anxious to see who was interrupting her state of glorious isolation, and found herself staring into an inquisitive pair of emerald green eyes.

She sighed, and tried to keep a tremor out of her voice. "What are you doing, Harry?"

He seemed a little confused at this, but sat down resolutely with his plate full of sausage, bacon and fried eggs. "Having breakfast," was his light response.

She looked around sheepishly, hoping her exchange with one of her best friends would proceed unnoticed by the masses. "Harry, I know you'd rather sit with Ronald," she said quietly, an ever-so slight note of forceful calamity present in her tone.

Harry winced a little at the use of Ron's full moniker, but was not about to be put off. "I'm your friend too, Hermione," he chided her gently. "And, at the moment, I think your need is greater than his."

Hermione glanced up the table. Ron was staring back at the two of them with an expression of surprised incredulity, apparently frustrated at the turn of events. She could almost feel the palpable anger, and could not help but give a little shiver as Ron attacked his plate, spearing a banger viciously with his fork.

"He'll come around, eventually," Harry tried to convince Hermione quietly, although he did not sound too confident in his own words.

Hermione glanced at him, and then back at Ron, who was staring intently at his plate, silently fuming whilst tackling his Full English in an angry silence, to the curious looks of Parvati and Lavender. "Not today, I think," she muttered, and cast an anxious look at Harry, who was equally discomfited.

"No," he assented slowly. "Perhaps not …"

Hermione was in a quandary. She knew how important Ron was to Harry: his first friend; and one who had dared partner him in facing Aragog and being prepared to face the Basilisk. They spent so much time in each other's company, having fun, sharing both good and bad times together …

Although she knew she should not make Harry choose between her and Ron, her need for someone to publicly stand by her was almost overwhelming, but she also felt she could not - should not - coerce her friends either …

"Harry, I won't mind if you sit with Ron." Her words were so hushed that he had to lean forward to capture them. He looked down at his plate, and for a few seconds she thought he was going to leave. Hermione was surprised to find that the possibility of being left alone by her peers once more almost caused her real physical pain. Slightly shaking, she held her breath.

Then Harry looked up, a strangely purposeful expression on his face. "For now, its about you Hermione. I'm not going to let them treat you the way they treated me back in Second Year."

There was a lump in her throat and a tightness in her chest, similar to the moment when they'd made up over the Firebolt last year. Her hands were trembling, so she put them in her lap to hide how relieved she was.

Before she could thank Harry, a shadow loomed over them. "Is it alright to sit here?" the somewhat squeaky voice that belong to Neville enquired cautiously.

They both nodded, Harry more authoritatively than Hermione.

"Oh good, " an obviously relieved Neville told them as he sat down next to Harry. "I wasn't sure …" He trailed off and he seemed more intimidated than usual. "Just that … last night, I didn't mean to - you know?" He gave Hermione a pleading look. She was confused, and cocked her head as she looked at him.

"Know what, Neville?" she asked curiously, in spite of herself.

Now he looked very unhappy. "I thought … after you'd stor- erm … left dinner early last night …" He looked like he wanted to be put out of his misery soon. "It wasn't me, was it?"

"Wasn't you what?" Hermione was just a tad frustrated at not being able to grab a hold of where this conversation was going, if indeed it was headed in any particular direction.

"Upset you?"

"Upset me?"

Neville nodded. "I'd thought you might need company, but perhaps I was wrong ..?"

Hermione tried hard to ensure her cautious smile appeared welcoming rather than nervous. "Of course not, Neville," she said, as graciously as she could.

"It's just you seemed so wrapped up in your thoughts," Neville continued, gabbling fretfully. Hermione thought it was quite sweet, so very much in Neville's understated kind character that he placed other' s feelings ahead of his own.

"No, I was just a little … distracted." Her smile was a little more genuine this time.

"Oh, good." Neville gestured to the seat next to Harry, who had been watching this interesting exchange with the beginnings of a smile fluttering at the corners of his lips. "May I join you?"

Hermione nodded and Harry shifted just a little so that Hermione could see both of the boys sitting opposite her without having to move her head more than a little. Neville merely looked relieved.

She had just taken a bite out of her first slice of toast when Neville spoke very quietly. "What are you going to do, Hermione?"

Hermione took her time to digest the mouthful of food, giving herself time to marshal her thoughts and gauge the views of both Neville and Harry. "I don't intend being forced into taking part in the Tournament," she said quietly but firmly.

Neville nodded. "Good," he answered in his usual, modest, manner. "I never thought you entered," he added.

Hermione was humbled by Neville's simple admission, and felt a small wave of relief and gratitude wash over her. Harry was not alone in believing her, and she appreciated how difficult it could be for anyone to openly back her stance from within the student body. "Thanks Neville," she replied quietly. "That means a lot to me."

Embarrassed, Neville turned his flushed face and attention back to his breakfast, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

"So, what are you going to do?" Harry asked uncertainly, echoing Neville's earlier question.

"Well, there are some Muggle child welfare laws that I need to read up on. There might be something in them that could help; after all, the legislation exists to protect children like us …" Hermione's voice trailed off as she realised what she had said and to whom. It was with a sudden uncomfortable sensation that she looked up at Harry, to see how he had reacted to her comment of a rather too personal a nature.

Harry was sitting rigidly in his seat, his two hands gripped tightly around his knife and fork and resting either side of his plate, upon which his gaze was firmly fixed. Hermione cursed herself mentally for her unthinking comment. Of course, from what she had gathered from Ron and the Twins, no legislation seemed to exist that forced the Dursleys to look after their nephew, and with a slight tremor of fear Hermione wondered what Harry's reaction would be if he found out that she had brought the matter to the attention of McGonagall, and indirectly Dumbledore.

Neville, who had not noticed the sudden drop in emotional temperature, then unknowingly contributed to the awkwardness of the situation. "And what about your parents, Hermione?" She watched as Harry blinked, manifestly trying to silently suppress his inner feelings of anger and injustice.

"Um … err … well, to be honest, they don't know yet." She did not want to raise the fact that they knew little of what really had happened to her over the last three years at Hogwarts. She still was not sure how she could broach the subject without risking an immediate parental demand for her withdrawal from what she had come to regard as her second home.

"You'll be writing to them, then?" Harry asked woodenly, raising his gaze to meet her eyes.

Hermione nodded. The hurt in his expression did not escape her attention, nor did it help her current depressed mood.

"You can use Hedwig then, if you like," Harry added, a bit more kindly.

Hermione felt relief wash over her, for the second consecutive time that morning. She really should have known that, regardless of his own circumstances, Harry would proffer her unconditional support. He would have known that she could use a school owl, but the offer of his own Familiar emphasized that he would stand with her. It meant so much to her at this time that, without thinking, she stretched out her right hand and for a second rested it on top of his left, still grasping the fork. Harry blushed slightly and she felt his grip on the cutlery relax.

This private moment seemed almost to last an eternity. Hermione stared deep into Harry's emerald green eyes, seeking - and finding - reassurance, along with an element of something, something, but it disappeared before she could contemplate what it was.

The mood was rendered asunder as someone else dropped down on the seat alongside Hermione's with a thump and an exaggerated sigh from the said visitor captured her attention. Hermione jerked her hand back as though she had contracted an electric shock, her face suddenly flushed, whilst Harry fixed his eyes on the rapidly congealing fried breakfast before him.

"My brother is an unthinking, ill-mannered oaf!" Ginny exclaimed as she finally settled in on Hermione's left. To emphasize the point, she glared back up the table towards Ron and scowled at her sibling. Then she took in Hermione and Harry's strangely guilty-looking demeanours. "What's up with you two," she enquired quietly.

"Nothing!" Harry replied quickly.

"Oh, just … you know?" Hermione chipped in quickly, not adding much to Ginny's understanding and drawing a rather surprised look from Neville, who had not really been paying attention.

Ginny nodded as though she understood. "Hey, that's hardly news, you know. He's been an idiot all my life - and probably all of his," she added as an afterthought, as though spilling a Weasley family secret.

Harry grinned a little, but then his mood sobered. "Ron has taken this really quite badly," he observed, venturing forth to test the waters of the sensitive subject that was his best friend.

Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "It's probably the fact that they've cancelled Quidditch for the year that's made him so grumpy." Again she looked towards her brother, and when she caught his eye she mouthed something rather obscene in his direction.

"No, it's more than that," Hermione said sadly.

Ginny looked sympathetically at the older Gryffindor. "Look, Hermione, he's always been an argumentative sod. He's just jealous. It's normal for him - you two will be friends again before you know it," she said confidently, before taking a familial hungry bite out of her pork sausage - Neville's attention had, for reasons unknown, also been captured by the youngest Weasley's actions.

Hermione shook her head. "No, he really doesn't believe me." And that's what's hurting me, she added in her own mind.

"In time he'll come round," Harry tried a second attempt at reassurance, but it ended up sounding as bland as the first.

Hermione watched as Ginny tucked into her own breakfast plate, seemingly without a care in the world. "Ginny, I'm grateful that you feel it's okay to sit with me."

"Humph!" Ginny swallowed her food quickly - was this a Weasley trait, Hermione's mind idly wondered - and followed it with a mouthful of pumpkin juice. "I wasn't going to sit down there with him moaning and groaning and bad-mouthing you all the time."

That last part of Ginny's response particularly stood out to Hermione. "What's he been saying about me?" she asked fearfully, feeling the need to know but afraid of the answer.

"Oh, nothing you haven't heard already," Ginny replied, waving her hand dismissively, but Hermione noted that the younger girl did not look her in the eyes. "All this 'she think's she's so clever' rubbish." She stopped to take another sip from her goblet. "He really believes that you entered your name in the competition." She shook her head sadly in disbelief. "He thinks you're something called a 'hippo-light', whatever that is."

Hermione felt her blood go cold, and for once it was not over Ron' s mangling of the Muggle language. She had hoped she had been wrong about Ron, that it was just a moment of the jealously which she had noted before in his behaviour. "And what about the others?" she asked in a slightly quivering tone. "What do they think?" Hermione knew that if anyone had her finger on the pulse of the Gryffindor common room opinion, it was the youngest Weasley.

Ginny looked a little uncomfortable. "Well, from what I've heard and what the Twins tell me, most of them think you did find a way to enter." She looked up at Hermione as though pained to pass on such news. "I'm not really sure about Fred and George - or, rather, I don't think they've made their minds up. I reckon at first they did think you'd found a way past the age line."

She halted uncertainly for a second, before continuing. "Which, they think, was a great piece of magic, if you did do it. But after last night they're not so sure. The girls -" Hermione thought Ginny was referring to Alicia and Angelina "- well, they're just jealous because they weren't chosen, but from what George said last night I think the two of them are a little fed up with the bitching." Ginny took another drink. "They're probably veering a bit more towards you."

"And you, Ginny," Hermione asked gently. "What do you believe?"

Now looking very uncomfortable and nervous, Ginny cleared her throat, and looked hard at Hermione. "Honestly?"

Hermione nodded, fixing Ginny with a hard gaze, and silently communicating her need for honesty, although she knew Ginny's frankness could be painful to hear at times.

"Well, at first I thought you must have got your name in the Goblet somehow." Ginny faltered as Hermione looked a little stricken at that news. "But after yesterday, well, it's bloody obvious you didn't." She leaned forward almost conspiratorially. "To be frank, Hermione, you're not a very good actress. Any one but an idiot -" she purposefully raised her voice as Ron had just risen from the breakfast table and was making his way out of the Great Hall "- could see that."

Hermione relaxed a little. At least there were a handful of people who believed in her. In the face of overwhelming public opprobrium that would sustain her.

"I always believed you," Harry put in quietly, just as Ginny's attention was diverted elsewhere for a moment by her brother's retirement. Hermione couldn't help but smile gratefully at her best friend. And, for the second time that morning, the rest of the Great Hall might not have existed, as the world seemed to narrow down to just Granger and Potter.

"Umm … I think, well, you're right, as well," Neville stammered.

Her reply was heartfelt. "Thank you," she said almost inaudibly. And if they hadn't been in the Great Hall, she would have hugged all three of her friends.

* * * * *

Her potential estrangement from the vast majority of the other three Houses was quickly emphasized immediately after breakfast, as the first subject for the week was Herbology, typically shared with the Hufflepuffs, and under the tutelage of their Head of House, Professor Sprout. She was not that surprised that the Hufflepuff students were squarely behind their own champion in Cedric Diggory - after all, they were renowned for their sense of loyalty. That their cold attitude, however, extended to the remainder of the Gryffindors did catch her by surprise to an extent, and made her no more popular with the likes of Seamus and Lavender. Professor Sprout, who Hermione had hoped would have been tipped the wink by McGonagall, somehow managed to ignore her up-stretched arm every time a question was asked, and for the first time in Herbology, Hermione failed to garner a healthy haul of house points.

Her own immediate situation was exceptionally uncomfortable. Her partners were Ron and Harry, and in a diplomatic move that surprised Hermione with his insight, Harry seated himself between the two warring parties. Ron had adopted a resolute policy that Hermione did not exist that Monday morning, and whilst she tried hard to control her tongue when Ron made the odd error when re-potting Bouncing Bulbs, once or twice she lapsed back into what Ron had termed her 'bossy know-it-all' persona, and received a glare of such freezing hostility that she cursed her inability to hold her tongue.

The break came as a blessed relief for all three of them. Hermione could tell that Harry was under the strain of trying to keep a foot in both camps, and maintain good relations with both Ron and her.

Her red-haired supposed equal best friend sloped off to join Seamus and Dean, muttering something about being glad that was over. Neville had lingered behind to discuss some plant-related matters with Professor Sprout, and Harry cast soulful looks towards the three boys; Hermione felt a little guilty at his predicament.

Unfortunately there was no immediate improvement in affairs, as although Hermione believed there would be no such indifference shown to her by the next teacher, the Gryffindors did share Care of magical Creatures with the Slytherins. Naturally loathing Gryffindors, and implacably hostile to Muggleborns, their attitude towards her had only been reinforced by her selection. The catalyst that was Draco Malfoy could only lead to an angry confrontation sooner rather than later. Hermione just hoped that if it occurred here, it would be something Hagrid could handle.

She and Harry lagged along at the back of the small trail of students heading away from the Castle, seeking to postpone the moment of confrontation, but there was no avoiding the Slytherins. Malfoy and his two ever-present goons, Crabbe and Goyle, were waiting for them as the hillside flattened out a little, and were backed up by Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Nott.

"This would never have happened in the old days," Malfoy sneered. "As my father said, Dumbledore has really let this place go to the dogs."

"Ignore them, Harry," Hermione said quietly to her companion, feeling him determined to stamp on any argument before it could get going.

"A Mudblood as Champion?" Pansy simpered. Hermione tightened her grip on Harry's arm.

"Not for long," laughed Malfoy. "Granger thinks she's so clever, but from what my father says, she's in over her birds-nest head this time!"

"Do you have your own opinion, Malfoy?" Harry seethed. "Or are you just a parrot repeating your father's words?"

The insincere smile was wiped from Malfoy's face, and he stepped forward, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "At least my father's words mean something, Pott-Head," he snarled.

"At least you have a father," Pansy added slyly.

Hermione thought it lucky that Pansy Parkinson was a girl and Harry had some idea of chivalry, as she had to hang on hard to prevent an immediate escalation. "Harry, don't!" she whispered in his ear, seeing the fierceness in his expression and bright crimson spots appear on his cheeks. She was ever so glad when Neville finally arrived to at least reduce the odds.

"Problem, Harry?" Neville muttered in his soft Lancashire accent.

"Look, another failure," Zabini observed coolly.

Hermione's patience snapped. "Harry and Neville are worth more than all of Slytherin put together!"

There was a fumbling for wands as Nott started towards Hermione, and she found herself protectively placed between the two boys, both with wands drawn. It was with some surprise that she found her own wand in her hand, ready to cast a protective spell.

Malfoy, looking at the business end of three drawn wands, backed off only a little. "Granger, a Triwizard champion?" he mocked. "You can't even fight your own battles!"

"Really?" Harry replied. "Hardly ever see you without your two gorillas as bodyguards."

Hermione pushed her way between Harry and Neville to face Malfoy. "I'm perfectly capable of fighting for myself," she said. "As you should remember from last year."

Draco's pale expression took on a slight tinge of red, and his jaw hardened, as he obviously recalled the punch Hermione had thrown last year, at virtually the same spot. He started to take a step forward, and for a millisecond Hermione believed the fight would start here and now.

Luckily for all involved, a giant shadow was cast over them. "Summat I should know about?" he enquired.

Malfoy derided Hagrid's intervention, merely turning his ominous step forwards into a casual straightening of his robes. As the Slytherin wands began to lower, Hermione and Neville sheathed theirs' although Harry took a second longer, until certain the immediate danger was over. "Just a little disagreement, Hagrid," he muttered.

"Right." Hagrid didn't seem convinced but as all the wands were now safely put away, he did not overly concern himself. He returned his attention to the teetering tower of crates that he had just brought out from behind his hut, before abandoning them as it seemed half his class were about to start throwing spells and hexes. All of the class seemed horrified when the contents were revealed to be a succession of bad-tempered Blast-Ended Skrewts.

As Hagrid began to explain the reason why they were in a foul temper and had begun to turn on each other, even killing their own kind, Hermione noticed that Malfoy still had his attention fixed on her. As she caught his eyes, he returned a sickly smile, and then drew his finger across his throat in an unmistakeable gesture.

Unnerved, looking away, Hermione tried to find Ron. Usually he would have been in the forefront of any confrontation with the Slytherins, but had been conspicuous by his absence. She finally found him on the far side of the student group, his attention fixed on Draco Malfoy, his expression fierce and full of loathing. Hermione pondered this for a moment, until her train of thought was derailed when a giant hand landed rather heavily on her shoulder. Caught out, not paying attention to the one teacher who was also her friend, she looked up with a hint of remorse.

"You alrigh' , Hermione?" Hagrid asked gently. She nodded as she heard Malfoy start to complain about putting a leash on the Skrewts and accomplishing their task of taking the dangerous creatures for a walk - or whatever the Skrewt equivalent of this exercise could be called.

"Roun' the middle," Hagrid called back, not bothering to turn back, his eyes sizing Hermione up. "But don' ferget yer dragon-hide gloves."

Hermione was just a little put out. "Honestly, Hagrid, I'm fine."

Hagrid just gave her a small, sad smile. His next words were deliberately loud so that most of the class would catch them. "Why don' yeh come an' help me with this big one, Hermione."

Hermione glanced back at her friends. Harry was watching her closely, and then gave her a brief nod before flicking a glance towards Ron. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about that - there was a little piece of her that screamed 'abandonment', but she understood Harry's quandary. "Okay, Hagrid."

Carefully positioning the large Skrewt so that the two of them were out of earshot of the rest of the class, but Hagrid was still able to keep an eye on how they were handling what he would undoubtedly consider something of a housetrained pet, Hermione waited for him to start.

"Blimey, Hermione!" Hagrid shook his head impressively. "It always happens to yeh three, don' it."

Hermione started to open her mouth to protest her innocence, but soon found that was unnecessary. "No idea how yeh name in came outta it, then?" Hagrid asked patiently.

Hermione expelled a sigh of pure relief. "At least you believe me."

Hagrid looked just a little affronted. "Course I do. I believe yeh when yeh says you didna put yer name in fer it." He leaned down - quite a long way as Hermione was half-kneeling over the Skrewt - and in a surprisingly soft whisper confided in her. "Dumbledore and Minerva believe yeh as well."

His attention was caught as, with an alarming bang, the Skrewt being exercised by Harry and Ron released an explosion from its rear, and shot forwards, dragging Harry along with it on his backside. Hagrid shook his head.

"I wish some of my other friends -" Hermione put a fair bit of meaning and emphasis into that word "- thought the same."

Hagrid looked alarmed. "What do yeh mean, 'Mione?"

Hermione was staring at Ron through narrowed eyes. "Ronald Weasley," she said, in the expectation that this would be explanation enough.

"Ah, Ron," Hagrid nodded his head wisely as though Hermione had just stated a universal truth. "I be guessin' that he don' believe yeh?"

Almost stamping her foot in frustration, Hermione let off a little steam. "I'm caught in the middle, looking at taking part in some damned tournament that could result in maiming or worse, or possible fights with the Ministry that could see me expelled, and just when I need the support of my friends, he goes and does just what he did last year."

"Boys'll be boys," Hagrid observed sagely. "They can be real mean at times."

"I would have thought he'd have learned that lesson last year, when he accused Crookshanks of killing Scabbers."

Hagrid ran his fingers through his unkempt beard. "Ah jus' don' know, Hermione. It seems everythin' happens ter you three."

Even the sight of Malfoy finding his robes with a muddy coating following an incident with a particularly obstreperous Skrewt did not cheer Hermione up. "To be honest, Hagrid, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Yeh writt'n ter yer Mum and Dad?" Hermione shook her head guiltily. "Yeh outta, yeh know. They deserve to know what's goin' on." She nodded in agreement; she still had to tackle that particular task. "But yeh know," Hagrid continued, "that if yeh ever have anythin' yeh want to talk about, yer more than welcome to come down here."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Hermione replied with heartfelt appreciation. The tiny band that believed her was growing, and who knew what dangerous creatures she might have to face if she could not get out of competing.

* * * * *

Lunch had been another rather draining experience. Ginny chose to sit with her brothers, although Hermione guessed that was more to gauge the Twins' current mindset and to put a bit more pressure - or abuse - in Ron's direction. Harry and Neville joined Hermione but barely a word was exchanged, as Hermione tried hard to read some more about the existing Scottish laws; the two boys knew well enough to leave her undisturbed, and Hermione actually left the table early. She was finding it a constant pressure to be present in the Great Hall when the students were there in numbers, always aware of the odd taunt from the Slytherins, and worrying in case she reacted badly and caused a scene. Better to absent herself and seek sanctuary in the Library, where she could concentrate on her researches.

Monday afternoon also meant that she would be on her own in the classroom, as whilst the rest of the Fourth Year Gryffindors suffered Divination with Sybil Trelawny, Hermione was taking Double Arithmancy. The rest of Professor Vector's class was mostly made up of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, with the exception of Blaise Zabini, the sole representative of Slytherin. For the first time in her academic career at Hogwarts, Hermione really missed Harry's company.

The Ravenclaw group attitude seemed to be that Hermione Granger had cheated the system, and whilst they appreciated the cleverness of her means, they disapproved of the end to which she had corrupted the system. Her disavowing of her actions were not understood either, so they had lapsed into a sullen dissatisfaction with her. So, although Professor Vector had no obvious House sympathies and treated Hermione's participation in the class as normal, Hermione was aware that instead of earning the intellectual admiration of her peers, there was an air of censure about each house point she gathered in.

Normally the intricacies of Arithmancy kept her mind busy, but today she had to admit that for the first time, other matters were impinging upon her studies. In previous years she had managed to cope with the search for Nicholas Flamel, investigations that had determined a Basilisk was loose in the School's plumbing, and her seemingly unavailing effort to draw up a legal defence for Buckbeak, as well as maintaining her academic record. But now there were other issues filling her head: the research for a legal loophole that would invalidate her participation in the Triwizard Tournament; what would happen if she did have to take part; how she could break the news to her parents and obtain their support without running the risk of being summarily withdrawn from Hogwarts and possibly the magical world; and the tensions that had rendered asunder the Gryffindor Golden Trio.

As a rule Hermione was so accomplished at compartmentalising her life. For the first time she felt this aspect was starting to come apart, and that just multiplied the deterioration, as she was unused to not being in total control of her brain. It took a great deal of effort to keep her mind on the properties of numerology.

Dinner was equally difficult. Hermione ate but a little of the chicken casserole, equally determined to get on with her research and get away from prying eyes. Harry looked worried when she rose from her seat and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin, but did not try to interfere.

At first the Library was a blessed relief. With almost all of the students at their evening meal, Hermione was able to retrace her steps from the previous afternoon, and ignore the scornful looks she incurred from Madame Pince. Viktor Krum was quietly sitting in his normal seat, within view of the table Hermione had commandeered. Every so often Hermione would turn her attention away from The Children (Scotland) Act 1994 and glanced towards the Bulgarian. She was sure he was trying to watch her unobtrusively, and she found that a little unsettling.

After about an hour, Hermione was convinced she was on the right track. There was no doubt that Scottish Law took precedence as she was habitually resident at Hogwarts, and that she could appeal to the Scottish Court of Session as she was under the age of responsibility which was set at sixteen. She had started to mentally compose her letter to the lawyers when events took a turn for the worse.

Viktor's groupies had finished their evening repast and had come in search of their quarry. The giggling and whispering of girls who Hermione thought should have known better - 'I mean, there are Seventh Years amongst them, as well as one prefect!' - caused a disturbance far in proportion to the actual noise. It often broke her concentration, and pointed stares and annoyed intakes of breath earned her nothing but withering looks from girls who should have been acting in a more mature fashion.

Every so often Hermione would take a peek in Krum's direction. To her surprise, and a little thrill of schadenfreude, he looked uncomfortable at being the object of such attention. She thought that a little surprising, given he was reputedly the world's best Quidditch player, and his apparent aloof persona encouraged her belief that he did not really care about anyone else.

None of the gathering seemed in any hurry to approach the star Seeker, whether too embarrassed at a potential rebuff in front of the others or just lacking the courage to hunt singly instead of part of a pack, so they just stood around the book stacks, moving around to try to gain a better viewpoint of their pin-up or try to catch his eye, actions which just added to Hermione's irritation.

Finally someone other than her had had their patience stretched beyond breaking point. "That's enough!" Madame Pince loomed above the gaggle of giggling young ladies. "This is a Library, not an exhibition hall. Now, unless you have any intention of reading a book at one of the tables, you will leave now!"

Hermione put her head down and smiled inwardly to herself. She knew full well that the Library was Pince's temple to the art of reading, with books present to be venerated, and not a host for social gatherings. As she heard the girls drift away, muttering unfair accusations about the Librarian, Hermione glanced up to see if Krum was disappointed at the loss of his admiring audience.

To her horror, she found he was already looking in her direction! She drew in a sharp breath of surprise, ducked her head back down, astonished to find herself blushing, then looked back over her arm.

Viktor Krum seemed quite happy sitting there without an adoring crowd, To Hermione's amazement, he was still gazing at her. As soon as he noticed she was looking at him again, there was the briefest appearance of a small smile - the first time she had ever seen any emotion on his face - and she could have sworn there was the briefest shake of his head towards her.

A little flustered, Hermione, cheeks burning for some unfathomed reason, buried her head back into her books, all the time trying to figure out what that momentary exchange had portended. Perhaps this was the normal courtesies extended to a fellow competitor. But Hermione had gained the belief that Viktor had not only agreed with his headmaster, Karkaroff, who had opposed - quite rightly - her late entry into the competition, but also that she was responsible for suborning the Goblet of Fire through nefarious means.

In her opinion, this was not the action of someone who believed she was a cheat and a liar.

To test her theory, she decided it was time to fetch another reference tome from the bookshelves. As she rose from the table, she occasionally flickered her gaze in Krum's direction, She was just a tad disappointed to see that he wasn't taking any obvious interest in her actions.

'Oh well, perhaps it was just a trick of the light,' thought Hermione as she made her way through the stacks, unencumbered by Quidditch fans.

The reference work in question was not easy to find, and it took a few minutes to locate. As she started to leaf through it, seeking confirmation the contents would be of use, she heard a slight noise behind her. 'Perhaps Krum was watching me,' she opined to herself.

Before she could turn around, Hermione was rudely pushed face-first into the bookshelf. Somehow she grabbed her wand from its temporary hiding-place in the waistband of her skirt, but before she could utter anything her right arm was forced up and behind her, hard against her shoulder blades. The pressure on her wrist increased and she felt her wand slip out of her fingers.

"I remember what you did last year all too well, Mudblood." The voice chilled her as she recognised the silky tones of Draco Malfoy. Her arm was forced even higher up, making her eyes water from the pain.

"Did you really think I would leave such an insult unpunished?" Malfoy scornfully demanded.

Hermione did not look at him - she could hardly turn her face away from where her nose was jammed against dusty tomes - and instead tried to reason with him, all the while doing her best to ignore the pain. "Malfoy, please …"

There was a short, unpleasant, laugh. "Please what, Mudblood?"

She gasped involuntarily at the hurt inflicted. "Let me go."

There was a moment's silence. The pressure slackened just a bit and Hermione was able to squeeze her face to the right, so that her cheek was forced against the spines of ancient volumes; it helped relieve the pressure on her right shoulder just a bit.

"Goyle!" The force was reapplied and Hermione found herself stretching on tiptoes to alleviate the stress on her arm.

Malfoy sounded so cocky. "Oh no, Granger." There were three of them, she could tell, as Malfoy's voice came from safely right behind her, and another pair of hands was keeping her left shoulder flat against the shelving. Goyle, she guessed, rationalising the situation; the three of them were almost as indivisible as the Trio had been. "And just in case …" Before she could cry out - "Silencio!"

Now she was helpless.

"Now, let's see …" Malfoy was almost purring in his enjoyment. "No point doing something with your hair, as any hex could only improve its state."

There was a harsh, guttural laugh from one of his acolytes. Where was Madame Pince?

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could just see Malfoy staring at her with a calculating gleam in his eye. She tried to flinch away as he leaned in towards her, but she was held so securely that she could not budge an inch.

"You reckon you could be a Triwizard champion?" Malfoy breathed maliciously into her ear. Hermione was beginning to feel very uneasy about what Malfoy could do to her. "This will be nothing compared to what you face."

"Vot is this?" A foreign accent from somewhere away to her left. Immediately the pressure on her arm and back slackened slightly.

"Ah, Viktor," Malfoy replied haltingly.

'Thank Merlin,' Hermione thought with relief.

"Just a little inter-house disagreement," Malfoy continued, regaining some self-confidence as he spoke. "Keeping the rabble in their place, you know?"

There was a pregnant pause. "You vill let her go," Krum finally demanded in a voice that, whatever its limitations in a foreign tongue, was firm and brooked no disagreement.

The strain on her arm lessened a little more, and Hermione was able to turn her head from right to left. Viktor Krum stood there, his face emotionless but his stance determined.

"Look, Krum, this is nothing to do with you." Malfoy sounded a little disconcerted. "After all, Granger's up against you, so what's the harm, eh? In the end, she's only a dirty little Mudblood."

"Sega! Let her go now," Krum demanded in a threatening growl, taking steps towards the little group.

Hermione could tell that the Bulgarian meant business. She thought that Malfoy was underestimating his man, perhaps because he spoke so little. If so, Hermione was firmly of the opinion that the blond Slytherin was making a serious error in judgement.

"You're a guest here, Krum." Malfoy replied in a most condescending tone. "This is none of your business."

And then Malfoy reached for his wand.

Hermione had never seen anyone draw a wand so fast. In a flash Krum's wand was drawn, Malfoy disarmed in one peremptory command, and the Slytherin pinned against the opposite stack at wand-point. Crabbe and Goyle, moving faster than Hermione had ever seen them do so before, released her and abandoned their putative leader, running towards the exit. In a state of nervous exhaustion, she slumped forward against the shelving, afraid that her legs would give way.

From behind she heard only two words - " Oteeda! Go. Now!" - and the urgent patter of panicked footsteps. Then a strong hand, surprising in its gentleness, pulled her to her feet.

As she turned to face her rescuer, Hermione knew her face was a mess. Her eyes would be red and puffy; there would be the salty tracks of tears down her cheeks; and the left half would bear the imprint of books and a wooden shelf where it had been pressed against the stack.

Krum was looking carefully at her with little or no visible emotion. Hermione stated to thank him but found no words issuing forth; she had forgotten about the spell cast by Malfoy. She gestured to her throat and thankfully Krum understood the situation, intoning Finite Incantatem.

The first thing Hermione did was gasp for air. Before she could even stammer her thanks, Krum had bent down and retrieved her wand, handing it back to her gracefully. "Ve have not been introduced," he said. With a formal little click of his heels as he brought his feet together, and an odd little bow of the head, he held out his hand. "Viktor Krum."

It was in a state of some confusion that Hermione took the proffered hand. "And thanks awfully -"

"Herm… Herm-own-ninny. Herm-own-ninny Granger?" Krum looked more concerned over perceived mispronunciation than facing three Slytherin assailants. "Is that right?"

"Her - My - Oh - Nee," she enunciated.

"Hermy-own-ninny?"

'Close enough' Hermione thought.

"I remember from … we haff meeting, da?"

"Yes."

He nodded. Dimly Hermione recalled some arcane fact that Bulgarians nodded their head to indicate disapproval, and shook their heads to signify agreement. "I do not understand. Vot vere they doing? You are Champion, Yes?"

It was difficult to explain, even to someone in their own language. "It's complicated, but no, I'm not a Hogwarts champion."

Krum's thick eyebrows merged in a universal sign of confusion. "You said so dveh … two days ago." He looked at his wristwatch. "I must go now." And with that he turned on his heel and marched from the Library, leaving a very flustered and equally confused Hermione Granger in his wake.

* * * * *

Hermione wasted no time in returning to Gryffindor Tower; the Library was too deserted late evening on Sundays, and she did not feel the need to tarry just in case Draco Malfoy and his goons returned. She was confused by Viktor Krum: less so by his actions - she would have hoped anyone would have interceded when she was being threatened - than by his words, or lack of them.

When she arrived in the Common Room she walked in on what was obviously the tail-end of an argument between Harry and Ron. They were facing each other only a few inches apart, Ron's chessboard lying on the floor and the pieces spilled across the carpet, continuing their struggle off-board. Several Gryffindors lounged around, attention centred on the warring pair. It was the second night running they had been provided with this form of entertainment.

"You're a bloody idiot!" Ron yelled, the veins in his neck standing out.

"For what, Ron? Standing up for a friend?" Harry was seriously angry, something she had not seen for some time.

"She's lied to us. How can you not see that?" Ron was exasperated by Harry's failure to grasp that simple concept.

Harry's next words were not shouted but the coolness and determination in his words chilled Hermione. "She has never lied to us." Hermione hoped that he would never have to speak to her like that. It was far more impressive than simply raging at one. "Hermione has always stood by us."

"Oh yeah?" Ron was puce in pallor now. "Remember last year when she ratted about your Firebolt to McGonagall?"

Harry wiped a hand across his brow. "She never lied about that, did she?" he said wearily, taking a step back and half turning away from Ron. "She told us up front what she had done."

Ron stepped up, closing the space and standing toe-to-toe with Harry. "I reckon she's been jealous of the attention you've got the last few years."

"Well, she'd be welcome to it," Harry retorted. "Is this about me or Hermione now?"

"You should show some backbone Potter and stand up to her. Don't let her run your life."

"Has someone replaced your brain with jelly?" Harry was riled now. "Hermione has never done anything but try to push us. Do you really think she wanted to enter this bloody competition."

"Well, you did," Ron replied, truthfully enough. "Don't tell me you didn't want a shot at 'eternal glory', just like me, or Fred and George?"

"Ron, Hermione is not like you or me."

"No, she's bloody clever and too bloody proud." Ron's frustration was showing. "How can you be so blind? She's tried to prove how smart she is and she's got caught out."

Harry stood, quietly fuming. "That's enough, Ron."

Breathing heavily, Ron halted for a moment. "So that's the way it is, is it?" he observed. "You and her. Leave poor old Ron Weasley on the sidelines." He stooped to gather up his recalcitrant chess pieces, and tucked the board under his arm before turning back to Harry, who hadn't budged an inch. "Just remember, Harry, when she drags you into this, whose fault it was."

Harry's response was pithy and to the point. "Sod off, Ron."

Ron raised two fingers in response as he stormed off. "Up yours, Potter."

From her viewpoint Hermione could see Harry's shoulders slump as soon as Ron disappeared up the staircase to the Fourth Year boys' dorms. She knew how much Harry valued Ron's friendship, as he had been the first boy of Harry's own age that had been at all kind to the scrawny young wizard from Little Whinging. So she realised how much that argument must have hurt Harry. She moved silently to his side. "Harry?" she asked, nervously.

He squared his shoulders and turned to face her, emotion writ large on his face. The sight nearly moved her to tears. She gestured him to one side, away from the risk of being overheard, and ended up by the mantelpiece near the warmth of the roaring fire.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she found herself saying.

He look confused at that. "You're sorry?" he replied quietly. "Why?"

"For making you choose between me and Ron."

Harry shook his head. "No, Hermione, you didn't force anything on me. You know you have my support, no doubt about it." He sighed. "Ron often sees things in black and white. He can't understand how I can remain friends with you at this time."

Hermione hung her head. "I never really thought him that much of an idiot."

Harry gave her a wintry smile. "Oh, come on, this is Ron Weasley we're talking about."

"I struggle to understand why he's so annoyed with me - after all, it's not as if I've done anything to him," Hermione reflected. "But you - Harry, you've tried to stay friends with both of us. Why does he insist its him or me?"

"I don't know." Again that bleak smile. "Perhaps he's got a Blast-Ended Skrewt up his arse!"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Whatever." Then she was aware that Harry was scrutinising her.

"Never mind me. Are you alright?"

"What?" Hermione recalled how she must appear, hair mussed up and blatant evidence of tears on her face.

Harry stepped closer. "What happened, Hermione."

Hermione hesitated. Given Harry's mood, if she told him about Malfoy and his cronies, his innate sense of protectiveness would kick in, and he would be seeking revenge at some stage. Much as she would sympathise with that viewpoint, she believed she should fight her own battles, and Harry did not really need another run-in with the Slytherins and Snape. "It's nothing, Harry."

His eyes bore into hers, and for the first time she felt that he was able to gaze on her very soul. "You're sure? You're okay?"

She nodded once, hoping the matter was closed. She had a difficult letter to write that needed to go tonight. And much as she did not want to tell Harry about the near assault earlier, and wanted to stand on her own two feet, she did not really look forward to a lone trip through the corridors tonight. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"You remember you said I could borrow Hedwig?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, I need to finish it off, then will you come with me to the Owlery?"

Harry glanced at his wristwatch. "It's close to curfew, Hermione."

"I won't be long." Hermione turned towards the girls' staircase, before a thought struck her and she changed direction back to where Harry was staring at the fire burning in the hearth. "Harry?" He just looked up at her. "Why didn't you choose Ron?" It was an easier question than asking why did he choose her.

"It wasn't a question of choosing between you and Ron," he replied honestly. "You're in trouble and need our help at this time. If Ron is too thick to realise that, then that's his problem." He turned his attention back to the flames.

* * * * *

Sega = Now