Unofficial Portkey Archive

I have absolutely no claim of ownership on the characters; they all belong to JK Rowling, although if she is hiring out Hermione… And I denied myself the opportunity to split this chapter in two, so it is a nice long one to make up for your wait.

Chapter 4 - Lessons to be Learned

Hermione dreaded the start of Tuesday afternoon's Potions class with the Slytherins. Usually any sensible Gryffindor would shrink away from attending one of Severus Snape's lessons, but this would be the first class where the Trio's split asunder would be on full display, above all before the Potions' master. Worse still, the setting would put her in the awkward situation of her first confrontation with Malfoy and his cronies since their intimidation - or worse - in the Library. Throughout the morning's History of Magic class, Hermione, much to her dismay, found her thoughts drifting away from Professor Binn's lecture about the Seventeenth Century's Goblin rebellions. Instead she worried about her prospects for that afternoon. She paid her lesson no better attention than did Harry or, she supposed, Ron - and it showed in her notes, so ordinarily impeccable, but today just a mixture of half-hearted jottings.

But in reality the whole affair proceeded much better than she had anticipated. All day she had told herself in no uncertain terms that it was pointless to fear Malfoy. So when the platinum-blond Slytherin tried to catch her eye in the corridor outside the Potions' dungeon, she challenged his gaze resolutely, stared back at him, through him even, and kept her head held high. She knew it was important not to betray the slightest hint of fear, although her heart simultaneously beat quite madly like a jackhammer in her chest. With the whole of the Slytherin pack behind him, Malfoy was confident past the point of arrogance, but Hermione drew her own assurance from the sure and certain knowledge that Harry, at least, would support her if she needed him.

Malfoy turned and addressed his housemates almost smugly in theatrical tones. "You know, my father says that the likes of her shouldn't be allowed to enter a prestigious magical competition like the Triwizard."

For a second, Hermione pondered this information. She wondered whether Draco Malfoy was just invoking Lucius's name just to make a point, or if news of her participation had really reached those exalted circles so quickly as to allow time for a paternal response. She suspected the latter, and mentally filed that piece of information away just in case it would turn out handy one day. Outwardly she kept her cool, aware that Harry was flanking her right shoulder and would immediately be straining to throw Malfoy's intended insult back in his smug face.

"Good," Hermione replied.

At that Draco Malfoy's smug attitude all but disappeared, as suddenly as if he had taken a wallop in the gut from a troll club, to be replaced by momentary confusion. "What did you say?" he spluttered, all trace of mockery in his voice now gone.

Hermione kept her eyes tightly fixed on his grey pair. "For once, I tend to agree with Lucius Malfoy," she replied coolly, trying hard to keep a smile from breaking out as Draco looked lost for words. "I should not be allowed to compete," she declared, internally satisfied at her blond nemesis' predicament.

At this point, with the Slytherin campaign of intimidation thoroughly, if only temporarily, derailed, Professor Snape arrived to find the corridor blocked. "What precisely is going on here?" he intoned menacingly, a dark eyebrow raised. Hermione glanced behind her and was heartily surprised to find not only Harry in close support, but Neville as well. Dean and Seamus also hovered in the immediate vicinity, and she felt a little guilty thrill of relief to see that Ron had not entirely abandoned her. He was behind her too, albeit well behind, standing near the back and glaring at the Slytherin crowd.

"Sir, it seems that a blind pig just found a truffle," she answered Professor Snape. That little smile that tugged at the corners of her lips at the sound of her own joke at Malfoy's expense froze in place when she found Snape glaring down his long nose at her.

"Charming … drawing a new crowd of sycophants, are we, Granger?" he said quietly, his eyes glittering with silent menace. "A fan club for -" he almost gagged on his next words "- a supposed Triwizard Champion?" He straightened. "Ten points from Gryffindor for impeding movement in the hallways."

Hermione's smile died away altogether. She thought of protesting, as several other Gryffindors did, that it was the Slytherins who had actually blocked the corridor. There was something in Snape's mien, however, that quelled the idea. At the same time Malfoy's baffled expression also vanished, to be replaced by a smirk born of petty triumph.

As they entered the Potions' classroom Hermione took her normal seat, next to Neville, and quietly unpacked her textbooks. She could not hide her surprise when she looked up to see Ron standing uncertainly at his usual place by Harry's side. Unfortunately, Snape hovered nearby.

"Is there a problem, Weasley?" the intimidating professor inquired with a quiet coldness.

She couldn't catch Ron's indistinct reply, but she did see Snape's lips curl up in a menacing leer.

"Fallen out with Potter, have you?", Snape went on carelessly. "Well, I have no time for intramural Gryffindor squabbling in this class. Take your seat immediately." He turned away, then swung back to face the two supposed friends. "Oh, and five points from Gryffindor for delaying my class," he added, as though the thought had nearly escaped his attention.

Bile rose in Hermione's throat. She could not help but feel culpable for Ron and Harry's current fractured state of friendship. Raising her hand, she volunteered: "Sir, if it's no trouble, I could swap with Ron …"

At the sight of Snape's predatory expression, Hermione realised she should have kept her mouth tightly closed. "I don't believe I gave you permission to speak," he replied silkily. "Another ten - no, let us make it twenty points from Gryffindor, for interrupting a class unnecessarily."

Hermione became uncomfortably aware of the irate glares from her housemates, who only a few minutes ago had seemed to be ready to back one of their own against the Slytherins. Thus she kept her peace. She knew that there was no chance of retrieving any of those lost points in this class, especially as Snape for the rest of the double period consistently ignored her raised hand, instead seeking responses from those "not lucky enough to be called a 'Hogwarts' Champion'".

* * * * *

After dinner that evening, Hermione retreated once again to the Library. All the lost points had even earned her house a mild rebuke from Professor McGonagall during a brief visit to the dinner table, which had done nothing to improve her relations within Gryffindor.

Much more wary this time, she kept her wand firmly gripped under her robes and looked surreptitiously about her, just in case Malfoy sought to repeat his attempt to add physical threat to verbal abuse. To her relief, it proved unnecessary, as there was nothing but the usual quiet Tuesday night. Hermione was quietly relieved that Madame Pince had apparently banned the crowd of young, female Krum-stalkers from her book-filled sanctuary.

Hermione took her seat at what she regarded as 'her' table. She started to compose her first communication with the firm of lawyers recommended by the Headmaster. From the information made available to her, and from the results of her own research, she had been able to identify several points of law - both magic and Muggle - that offered her some hope of avoiding taking part in the competition whilst still retaining her place in the magical world.

Nearly three quarters of an hour passed before Hermione noticed Viktor Krum had also crept into the Library. Krum had an athletic build and was rather graceless on the ground, in contrast to his fluid mastery on a broom. Hermione was thus somewhat surprised that he had moved so quietly on his feet as to enter without her noticing. She supposed that he might soon disappear once he found that his adoring fans were nowhere to be seen. Still a small part of her was glad he was there, just in case any Slytherins were contemplating another series of foul play.

She resolutely ignored him. It was not difficult for her to concentrate on her parchment, absorbed as she was in wording and rewording her missive. Hermione was also barricaded behind the source works, case histories and legal precedents from both judicial systems that she consulted, and sometimes quoted in her copious notes. She hardly noticed the time pass. It was with a minor degree of surprise and subsequent irritation that she had to pause as a shadow passed between her light source and her now rather full parchment.

"Excuse me?" It was Krum's slightly halting English.

Hermione, who had reason enough to be grateful to the shambling Bulgarian, replied politely. "Can I help you?"

Krum looked uncertain, and a little abashed. "I am haffing trouble with some vords," he stated. In his giant Seeker's hand he held a large volume, but one so familiar and dear to Hermione's heart: Hogwarts: A History.

"You're reading this?" Hermione blurted out, rather impolitely, she immediately reflected.

Krum shook his head, then stopped, seeming mentally to upbraid himself. Finally, he nodded. "I like to learn about Hogvarts," he stated simply.

Hermione was a little abashed as she realised that her surprise was based on prejudicial stereotyping based on Viktor's sporting prowess and seemingly brooding personality. His long fingers pointed out a particular passage on page 967. Of course, Hermione could have recited the words off by heart - although she would never claim to do so within Ron's hearing.

"I do not understand," Viktor said simply. "Vot is this 'Royal Charter'?"

"Ah," Hermione smiled. "That means that in the year 1700 the then King of England, William the Third, gave the School royal protection. It was occasioned by the creation of our Ministry of Magic." She wondered briefly if that explanation would mean anything to the Bulgarian, but he looked hard at the page, and she could see his lips move as he silently mouthed the words to himself.

"I see," he said slowly. "My English is not very good."

Hermione blinked. "You are speaking and reading a foreign language quite well," she replied, with not a little admiration in her voice. "I'd hate to see myself having to learn Bulgarian," she added, hoping she did not sound patronising.

Krum looked glum, a not uncommon occurrence. "I come here; not you go there. My English could - no, should - be better." Almost shyly, he indicated the empty chair opposite Hermione. "Can I sit … here, please?"

Much as Hermione might crave a little privacy, she knew it would be rude to a foreign visitor - no, she reminded herself, a guest of the School - to refuse. "Please, take a seat," she replied, and prepared herself for a conversation that would divert her from the goals she had set for herself that evening. But, Viktor surprised her again. He just sat down and quietly recommenced reading from the very substantial tome. Mentally Hermione chided herself for falling once more for her inaccurate stereotype, a failing that she had often accosted Ron for.

So the two Champions, one willing and the other emphatically the opposite, sat together in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of pages being turned.

Hermione's mind wandered. She was frankly amazed that an internationally renowned sporting star would be content sitting in the peace and quiet of a school library. She had gleaned a bit from Ron's oft-stated desire to follow in the footsteps of the Chudley Cannons - or, as Seamus had suggested at considerable risk of physical retaliation, a half-decent Quidditch team. Apparently top players lived in a cosseted world of luxury and excess, broken only by short intense bursts of energy when involved in matches or, less so, training sessions and practise. Hermione had gently chided Ron at one point, without effect, that what was printed in Quidditch Monthly was not necessarily the truth. She knew how hard athletes in the Muggle world had to train to achieve the top ranks of their professions, and doubted that matters would be any different for their Wizarding counterparts.

With a start Hermione realised that she had lost her train of thought. She had not made any notes for several minutes. Mentally, she reprimanded herself for her lapse in focus, due to interest in an athlete of all things. Redoubling her research effort, she ploughed ahead. Still, a little voice at the back of her head kept piping up, she needed to find out more about the enigma that was Viktor Krum.

As evening curfew approached, Hermione started returning the bricks of her hardbound fortress to their appointed place on the shelves. Her copious notes rustled as she gathered them together. Only then did Viktor looked up from his own reading.

"You are finished, yes?"

Suppressing a smile, Hermione nodded her head. "Yes, for tonight, anyway."

Viktor rose to his feet, an old-fashioned courteous gesture. "If I may ask, vot are you learning?"

Hermione hesitated, then decided that in this instance honesty was a better policy than obfuscation. "I'm not studying schoolwork," she admitted. Viktor looked a little non-plussed. "I am searching for a way to avoid having to take part in the Tournament," she expounded a little.

Truth can be stranger than fiction - at least this truth just made Viktor's brow furrow more in confusion. "Molya, explain to me … please?"

With a little sigh, Hermione sat back down in her chair. Viktor resumed his place opposite her, only now he regarded her intently.

"You are named Hogvarts champion, da? But you say you are not. I do not understand."

Hermione guessed from his demeanour that this was an honest attempt at gaining understanding of her most unusual situation, - not some clever attempt to play a mind game with an opponent. "It is complicated," she admitted.

"To be champion is great… honour?" He simultaneously declared and questioned. There was more than a little uncertainty in his eyes as he regarded her. "Is right word, neh?" Hermione nodded. "Then those boys … they attack you." Viktor nodded his head this time; Hermione interpreted this gesture as proof of his negative reaction to the Slytherins' attempt yesterday evening . "I not understand," he repeated. "How you say, houses. It is not like this at Durmstrang," he observed quietly.

Hermione glanced at her wristwatch. That was just about the only form of Muggle technology that worked at Hogwarts, and then only because it was an old-fashioned wind-up piece of clockwork. There was not time to explain the labyrinthine ways and politics of Hogwarts to a foreign guest . Nor was she prepared to burden this stranger with her quite solid reasons for refusing a chance to take part in the Triwizard Tournament, and she was not altogether sure she really wanted to.

Thus she ended the conversation. "I'm sorry, but I must get back to the Common Room." Quickly, she gathered her papers in her arms and held them tightly against her chest.

Viktor, unsurprisingly, had risen to his feet once again. Hermione watched him watching her with a mixture of curiosity and confusion - and was that a little bit of regret?

Contributing to her urgency was a profoundly unsettling insight - that, if he felt regret, it was something they shared. Turning on her heel, she started to rush towards the exit. "Goodnight," she called over her shoulder.

She barely caught Viktor's softly spoken reply. "Leka nosht, Hermy-own-ninny Granger."

* * * * *

The following days were almost a return to normality for Hermione Granger.

Wednesday passed peacefully enough. Hermione had a free period immediately after breakfast, and used it to précis her notes and summarise the salient points into letter form. Returning from the Owlery she felt a flood of relief. There was a school owl winging its way south towards London and the recommended law firm. It bore not only a letter, but a load off her mind.

The Charms class with Professor Flitwick was fairly free of stress. Hermione was able to focus her attention on academic matters more firmly than at any point since that dreaded note had risen from the Goblet of Fire. Having regained her normal poise and composure, the healthy harvest of house points she gathered from the diminutive Flitwick finally began to make a dent in the deficit she had run up of late. Flitwick, at least, was one of the staff who remained aloof from the furore over her participation - or not - in the competition. Not incidentally, the additional house points helped restore some goodwill towards her from those Gryffindors wavering between the extremes of Ron and Harry's positions on the matter in question.

Ancient Runes in the afternoon was equally helpful in easing Hermione back into a semblance of normal routine. Again she found her concentration in this exacting subject much improved over what she had managed earlier in the week in Arithmancy. Afterwards she wondered whether this was partly due to the absence of Harry and Ron's feuding presences. Both of 'her' boys had dropped the subject as soon as they had the opportunity.

The evening ended with Astronomy, which had the additional benefit of reducing the amount of time spent in the Common Room and thus the potential for awkward confrontations with Ron. It also served as an excuse for once to avoid the Library and the disconcerting presence of Viktor Krum.

As she lay in bed later that night, Hermione idly wondered about the Bulgarian Seeker. She doubted that he was personally interested in her, which was a shame, as she would have been secretly flattered. No-one else amongst the male occupants of Hogwarts, permanent or temporary, seemed to notice her as a girl. Despite her bookish reputation, Hermione Granger would not have minded a little attention, no matter how much she might deny it to herself or any of the other girls, if they had bothered to ask her, that is.

With just a touch of wistfulness, Hermione put that idea firmly aside. It was obvious to her that Viktor Krum could have had almost any girl at Hogwarts as a companion if he so desired. Her own opinion of her fellows on the distaff side had dropped steadily as the Durmstrang champion's female following around the Castle and grounds increased. She shook her head when she noted how many supposedly mature senior girls had succumbed to his name and sporting reputation. Yet none of them seemed capable of summoning up the courage to approach the Bulgarian, instead seeking the safety and anonymity of the pack.

No, Hermione decided: Why would an international Quidditch star, one with the exalted status of Viktor Krum, be interested in a fifteen year-old bushy-haired bookworm such as herself? That simply made no sense. The only thing about her that might possibly intrigue him was her putative status as an ersatz Hogwarts' champion, and what he must see as her oddly negative reaction to that. Undoubtedly he saw her as a competitor, much as he had the other seekers in the recent World Cup. And it was said you should know your enemy.

Hermione sailed through Transfiguration on Thursday morning, so she was a little surprised when Professor McGonagall told her to remain behind at mid-morning break. She wondered if her Head of House had any further news from Dumbledore or Moody, but McGonagall's usual stern expression did not give away any clues.

"Sit down, Miss Granger." That in itself was unusual; students were not normally invited to take a seat by a teacher's desk. As Hermione did as she was bidden, McGonagall gave her a searching look over the top of her glasses.

"I understand that there has been a falling out between yourself and Mister Weasley." It was not a question, but a statement, even if carefully phrased.

Hermione did not initially know how to respond to such a personal question. The only time she had ever approached her Head of House over what went on behind the Fat Lady's portrait had been the previous year. Harry had received a gift of a Firebolt which Hermione rightly suspected had come from Sirius Black, even if there had been no harm intended. Everything else, from her early struggles to fit into this strange new world, to how miserably lonely she had been last year during the last major rupture in her changeable friendships with Harry and Ron, had remained a secret, subject to the old rule that thou shalt not grass up your classmates.

"You don't have to say anything, Miss Granger." McGonagall looked just a little disappointed; whether with her or matters more general, Hermione could not fathom. "A blind wizard could tell, given the tension that is apparent between the two of you. But you should know that I am not the only member of staff to have noticed." For a second Hermione thought she saw a brief expression of sadness cross McGonagall's face. But just as quickly it was gone, replaced by her usual businesslike approach. "Indeed, only this morning Professor Snape took great delight in informing me that Mister Weasley had fallen out with both you and Mister Potter."

Hermione just sat as still as she could. So far, she had not been asked anything that could be taken as a question requiring an answer. What was more, she wondered why her personal relationship with Ron, or any one else for that matter, could be the concern of the faculty.

"And I understand that there have been … disagreements in the Common Room." Again came that pointed look above the spectacles - the one that made Hermione want to squirm in her seat. Resisting the urge, she just met the Professor's gaze with her own quiet resolution. McGonagall gave a knowing shake of her head. "I want you to know that I am far more aware of what occurs in the Gryffindor Tower than most of your cohorts believe."

That was a point to ponder. It was unlikely that anyone, even the prefects, would report back to their Head of House for anything short of an act of physical violence. Otherwise how would the Weasley Twins have escaped censure for their habitual testing of new practical jokes on unsuspecting First and Second Years? No, it had to be something else ….

'The pictures!' Hermione's dawning realisation must have shown on her face as McGonagall gave her a brief smile. Of course! There were at least two magical portraits in the Common Room that Hermione could recall - probably more. She made a mental note that next time she visited McGonagall's office she should check if any of the portraits had matching characters on the canvases in Gryffindor Tower.

McGonagall bore the look of the proverbial cat that had just stolen the cream - highly appropriate given her Animagus form. "I can see you have made the connection, Miss Granger." She sat back, back ramrod straight. "I would be grateful if you could keep that little secret between us."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement.

"It is not a perfect arrangement," McGonagall continued. "The portraits are not expected to maintain a round-the-clock watch, but it enables me to keep a finger on the Gryffindor pulse."

Considering what had happened within the Common Room in the last three, and slightly more, years, Hermione was less confused than she was put out. "So why have you never stepped in?" she blurted out, before covering her mouth with her hand. Hermione was horrified at her impertinence with her favourite teacher - and so soon after having been taken into her confidence.

McGonagall once again returned a prim stare. "Young wizards and witches are expected to make their own way to a great degree. If the staff were to interfere every time there was an argument, the students' social development would be set back."

'So, all the coldness Harry, Neville and I faced in the First Year, and Harry again the next,' Hermione thought but did not vocalise, 'you knew what was going on. How unbearably lonely I was for the first few months at Hogwarts.' She schooled her face to remain impassive but McGonagall was quite the expert at interpreting emotions.

"Consider how matters turned out," the Professor observed. "Were your problems resolved without resorting to the teachers?"

Looking back, Hermione slowly had to agree that McGonagall's point was valid. Somehow all her problems with Ron or Harry, and also the tensions within the Gryffindor 'family', had been sorted out internally without bloodshed, or other lasting damage -except perhaps to Ginny Weasley's psyche. "So," Hermione said quietly, "you think that they'll come round to me eventually?"

McGonagall gave her a wintry smile, which surprised Hermione. "It may take some time, but haven't some of your friends already backed you? And publicly, in the Great Hall, not only hidden away from others' eyes?"

"Most of them don't believe me," Hermione responded. "They think I've cheated; Angelina thinks I robbed her of a place."

"Miss Johnson would do well to remember that Cedric Diggory was chosen fairly and squarely to represent Hogwarts. The unexpected announcement concerning you did not change that as far as we can tell."

Hermione cast her eyes downwards. She had not noticed that her hands were clenched tightly in her lap. "Ron won't …"

McGonagall sighed. "Mister Weasley will always have his own views - and his own issues." She went silent for a moment, and then continued in slightly hushed tones. "If this is truly distressing you, would you prefer me to have a quiet word with him?"

Hermione shook her head. "No thank you, Ma'am." She doubted being seen as a teacher's pet would do anything to salvage her friendship with Ron from the rocks.

"A wise choice. Remember, Miss Granger, true friendship will persevere regardless of the odds. Now, have you contacted your parents yet …?"

* * * * *

With a different viewpoint to mull over, Hermione was fairly quiet over lunch, and was still sunk in thought as the Gryffindors entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. For the second time in as many lessons they found the floor was cleared of the bulky old wooden desks. She vaguely wondered if Moody was again going to put them under - or try too hard, in Harry's case - the Imperius Curse. They certainly were facing another practical session.

Within a minute Hermione caught the distinctive clunking footsteps that betrayed Mad-Eye Moody's approach. The door flung itself open and, although she was used to his gnarled and battered appearance, there was something indefinably ominous about his demeanour. Today that something hinted at memories of violent and bloody encounters.

"Right," Moody snarled, his magic eye rolling in its socket, taking in all the students in one complete rotation. "No need for the books today." His remaining original eye appeared to be sizing up his class, measuring them against some unknown, and probably unattainable, index. "Dark times may be a'coming, and Dumbledore believes yeh need a bit more experience in facing down a wand!"

He turned and made a lurching march up the length of the classroom. Then he reversed himself, all the time regarding his charges with what Hermione could only describe as barely restrained anger. When his stare fixed on her, she felt an icy drip of fear travel slowly down her spine. She shuddered perceptibly despite the perfectly comfortable room temperature.

"Right! Any of yeh ever taken part in a duel, hmm?"

Hermione's gaze turned towards Harry, as did, she noted, everyone else's. Tentatively, he half-raised his hand in the air. "Umm … well, I did … sorta …" She easily recalled his abortive duel with Malfoy in their Second Year, under Lockhart's dubious tutelage, which had touched off all the rumours of Harry as the Heir of Slytherin.

"What do yeh mean, 'sorta', Potter?" Moody demanded. "Yeh either did or yeh din't."

The rest of the class stayed resolutely silent. Their reaction then, and now, hardly endorsed Gryffindor's reputation for unassailable bravery either.

Harry squirmed under Moody's harsh glare. "Well, it involved a snake … er, which Professor Snape got rid of," he hastened to add.

"Humph!" Moody seemed singularly unimpressed. He turned away from Harry, who was a little red in the face. "So, none of yeh have actually duelled?" He limped up to the top of the room, shaking his head in exaggerated despair. "Okay, that means no-one's got a real edge on the others , so we'll start with a clean slate." The electric blue eye zoomed in and out. "So, who wants to be first, eh?"

There was a noticeable reluctance amongst the reputedly brave Gryffindors to volunteer. Hermione stifled a giggle as she noticed Neville and Parvati shrink away from Moody's scrutiny. It was not until she turned her head back that she realised how many of the others around her had as well - making it appear as if by not moving, that she had stepped forward. The room had gone eerily silent as both Moody's organic and magical eyeballs were trained on her.

"Miss Granger, usually so quick to raise your hand," Moody observed a little roughly. "Yet yeh hesitate … why?"

Her throat suddenly dry, Hermione struggled to find an answer.

Moody took a couple of steps towards her as the rest of the class crept further away, lest they catch their teacher's attention. "Well, that's right, we do have a Hogwart's champion among us." His smile lacked any warmth and Hermione suppressed a reflex urge to shiver. "Step forward, Miss Granger, and show us what champions are made of."

Uncertainly, reluctantly, Hermione edged into the cleared floor space. She dreaded the prospect of once again being singled out in front of her fellow students for anything linked to her being a Triwizard competitor. She could almost feel a burning sensation on the back of her neck as she imagined Ron's fierce glare. Then she stood warily, her wand drawn but held loosely at her side.

Moody grunted in satisfaction. Hermione glanced at her classmates, wondering who would be her opponent. She just hoped it was not Ron; she had a horrible feeling that his participation would only further fuel his sense of betrayal and resentment. That could get nasty.

It was not until Moody pivoted to face her at a rough distance of ten yards that she realised the once Head Auror and renowned punisher of Dark Wizards intended to test her mettle personally. She felt her breath flutter with nerves.

Moody half-turned to face their audience. "There is an etiquette to be followed in a Wizards' Duel … Reducto!".

Before Hermione could react, Moody had spun startlingly quickly for a wizard in his apparent condition. His Reductor curse, thrown with some force, slammed into the parquet flooring in front of her feet. The next instant she was flying backwards through the air. That progress was halted abruptly as she crashed bodily into a cabinet, shattering its glass doors. The back of her head struck the rear panel, knocking her silly. As she slid down to end up atop splinters of wood and glass. Hermione's ears were ringing with the consequences of the blow. Above that and the sound of the cabinet falling apart about her, Hermione could just make out slightly muffled exclamations of shock and amazement from the other Gryffindors, as though they were at the other end of a long tunnel.

With an uncertain motion, Hermione lifted her left hand to the back of her head, feeling something damp and sticky in her hair. When she brought it back in front of her face, she woozily considered the blood dripping from between her fingers. It did not seem real. None of this seemed real.

"What do I always tell yeh?" she dimly heard a voice resembling her DADA professor exhort. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Dazed and confused, Hermione looked up and saw Moody standing a few yards away, both his wand and his human eye fixed on her from his relative position of elevation. The other eye was scanning his remaining students.

"That's rule number one," Moody's gruff voice brooked no disagreement. "Rule number two: Dark Wizards do not play by any rules!"

"Bloody hell." Hermione could have sworn that was Ron, tremulous and awed. As she struggled to regain her footing, she could feel small cuts and abrasions down her forearms, where her school blouse had not offered much protection, and proliferating on her hands.

"So, Missie, think yeh're fit to be a school champion, do you?" Moody taunted her. "There's more to it than books and questions."

Slowly, shakily, Hermione rose into a half crouch before trying to straighten up. Her back felt stiff and as her mind started to clear she could foresee all the bruises that would be developing. She would look black-and-blue from top to toe.

"Mind yeh, still kept a grip on her wand," Moody observed, with what Hermione thought was a slight menacing undertone. Perplexed and befuddled, she looked down; her grasp might be a little unsteady but her wand remained somewhat insecurely resting in her right hand.

"Good basic wand procedure," Moody said with a grudging hint of praise.

Once again with the agility befitting a man much younger and more whole than himself, Moody leaped forward into the classic spell-casting pose.

"Expelliarmus!" his gruff voice rang out.

Hermione's wand was ripped from her unsteady hold. The sheer magical strength of Moody's Disarming spell flung her back into the wrecked cabinet, knocking the last remaining pane of glass to the floor where it shattered in an explosion of crystal.

Moody turned his back on her, although his magical eye swivelled to keep a track on his bloodied and battered opponent. As he stomped in a small circle, Hermione could just make out the shocked faces of the rest of the class. They seemed so far away, visible only through an indistinct reddish haze.

Moody continued to berate them but they hardly seemed to notice.

"Rule number three: yeh'r enemy will never give yeh a second chance - so neither should yeh! Guard your wand as though it was yeh'r life - because, one day, it might just be."

Lavender Brown appeared on the point of throwing up. Neville looked on the verge of passing out.

"Never, ever, stay in a fight yeh cannot win!" There was real fury in Moody's declarations now. Despite the groggy feeling inside her head, Hermione could not miss the underlying emotions, but she just was not in any condition to rationalise his apparent antagonistic attitude. "Don't hang around for the Aurors or yeh'r mates; get out as fast as yeh can!" He thumped one of the desks at the side of the room hard enough that it boomed louder than his voice. "That's rule number four."

Hermione crawled forward a little, not feeling strong enough yet to attempt to stand; the splintered remains of the cabinet beneath her sliced into her hands and knees, even through her robes. There were smears of her blood all over the floor.

"Rule number five," Moody stated firmly. Once again he spun round and Hermione found herself looking at the business end of the greatest Dark Wizard catcher's wand. "Never play fair."

For a split second, Hermione stared straight into Moody's organic eye. There was something - something malevolent - in there that made her shiver …

"Stup -"

"That's enough!" The interruption was loud, but the words that followed were even more completely unexpected. "Expecto Patronum!"

Moody 's casting spell was cut-off by the anxious shout. There was a flash of light as the brilliantly white figure streaked by, or even through, Moody. The glowing stag came to a halt between the professor and his target.

Hermione could barely see anything, the Patronus was so bright. Moody had whirled around at the sound, and Hermione almost fainted with relief to have his maniacal glare - and his wand - no longer directed at her.

Everyone else joined Moody in staring at the source of the disruption.

Hermione didn't need to look. She knew who was the person responsible for a timely interruption. After all, she had been at his side when he had first summoned up 'Prongs' down by the lake.

Harry stood there in his best approximation of the duelling position, his wand drawn, the tip of it still glowing with the residue of his spell. His face was white with nervous tension and he appeared to wish he was anywhere else but here and now. "That's quite enough," he repeated, in a voice a little more restrained but higher-pitched than normal. It was a strange, almost unnatural, mixture of firm intention and anxiety, of menace and distrust. He took his breath in as though he had just run a mile.

"There … there are some things worse … than rule number four…" Then a thought seemed to strike him. "Professor," he added in a slightly more respectful tone, lowering his wand just enough to signal that he was no longer a threat - so long as Moody was not one either

Moody stared hard at Harry, as though seeing him for the first time, before casting his eyes around the class, before almost spitting scornfully.

"Yeh all think this is some sort of game, huh?" He thrust his face in Harry's, towering over the student. "That a good education and fancy wand-work will keep you alive?"

"No …" Harry drawled through gritted teeth. "But I'll try to keep her alive."

The two of them stood there, facing off, for an uncomfortably long time. Harry trod a fine line - remaining just enough of a threat that Moody wouldn't turn his back on him again to launch any more spells at Hermione - but not a sufficient threat to cause Moody to attack him. Gradually, Harry's Patronus dissipated, along with Mad-Eye Moody's almost irrational rage.

"All right, then … Professor," Harry said at last, making a show of sheathing his wand.

Moody wasted no time, whirling around to glare at Neville, who visibly recoiled from the old Auror's battered visage. "Think that the worst that could happen is the Cruciatus Curse,?" A whimper issued forth from Neville as he looked on fearfully at his teacher.

By now Hermione felt she had to try to stand, and pushed herself off the floor. The sound of the debris under her feet brought Moody's attention back on her as she stood swaying unsteadily on her own two feet.

Movement in the corner of her eye caught Hermione's attention. Harry fingered his wand, but did not pull it.

"And yeh! Miss Granger." Her attention was abruptly caught as the contempt behind Moody's words was plain. "Yeh're not going to last five minutes in the Triwizard. They'll be sweeping what's left of yeh up with a broomstick!"

Hermione reeled at those words, as though she had been slapped in the face. Parvati Patil cried out something unintelligible in horror, and was comforted by Dean Thomas, who looked as shaken as the rest of them.

"Tell me, Miss Granger." Moody snarled. "Could yeh take a life?"

This time Lavender did not manage to keep back the vomit, and deposited her lunch on the floor.

Horrified, Hermione could only stand there, mouth agape.

"If it was necessary to save yeh'r life, could yeh kill another person?" Moody continued implacably. "To save yeh'r parents, for example? Or even yehself?"

"Professor …" Harry's warning was virtually growled, but this time Moody ignored him. He was, however, careful to keep his wand stowed.

To Hermione, the whole world had closed in, and there was just her and Mad-Eye left.

"Could yeh?" he goaded her, speaking with horrid glee at the prospect of murder. "Take another's life, snuff it out? Cast it aside?"

Around the room students were sobbing audibly; Hermione's eyes prickled with hot tears too. At the edge of her hearing Hermione caught some swearing - from Ron, she thought as though it were important, or Seamus. Her vision was filled with Moody's face, a reminder of the world's violent past … and possibly violent future.

"N-no …" she stammered. "I … I don't kn - know."

"No?" Moody grunted. "Then would you give yeh'r life?"

"I … I … I -" Hermione's higher mental functions were fused. She could not grasp where this line of questioning was taking either her or Mad-Eye.

"Three 'I's in one sentence. Makes yeh sound like a very egotistical young witch," Moody commented as he scrutinised her, then turned away. Whether he was satisfied with his own performance, or simply found hers wanting, Hermione couldn't tell, and cared even less to find out. He stood with his back to the shaken class, then addressed them all the same, his voice carrying clearly.

"Yeh know my history - or yeh should. I have killed - legally, in the course of my duties. And I was prepared to die if necessary. … As yeh can see, I've come close …"

Now Hermione could see that Parvati was in a spate of tears, whilst Neville was sobbing quietly in the background, trying to hold himself together.

"I tell yeh these things because yeh need to know." Moody turned slowly to face them. Absent-mindedly, he scourgified the small pile of puke at the pale-as-moonlight Lavender's feet. "I have been brought in here with the Headmaster's explicit direction to teach yeh to defend yehselves against the Dark Arts. Yeh've seen the Unforgivable curses. Yeh need to be prepared to defend yehselves against these." He seemed to gaze at his artificial leg. "That may mean that yeh have to use - intentionally or not - spells that can have lethal outcomes.

"Potter," Mad-Eye growled, "I see yeh'r Patronus is indeed up to scratch, but yeh'll have to learn to do far worse too before yeh can expect to face Death Eaters and live to tell of it."

He turned back to Hermione. Her head was painful, with an ebbing and flowing of dull, heavy pressure. She stared unbelievingly as Moody stooped to pick up her wand, and then offered it to her as though it was a flower he had just picked. Instinctively, she accepted it. Then she wondered what she was supposed to do or face next.

"Those I have killed deserved to die," Moody said, almost conversationally. "I feel no sorrow for them, and would do it again if I had to." He looked around the class, fixing each student with a searching stare in turn, ending with Hermione. "Yeh need to know what yeh might face, and how to deal with it."

The silence in the classroom was intense and palpable. Mad-Eye seemed to have sunk into a reflective lethargy. No-one else dared to move. Hermione was visibly unsteady, almost ready to drop. Her head pounded and her body ached all over. Her exposed skin - and quite a bit that was not - was pockmarked with tiny lesions caused by various splinters of wood and glass.

"Professor …? Professor Moody?" Again it was Harry who dared to break Moody's reverie. Moody glanced up with an enquiring look.

"Hermione?" Harry both asked and pointed out.

Moody's quizzical expression betrayed his mind, which must have been far away. Then his magical eye blinked and he appeared to return back to the present. When he turned to face her, Hermione thought it was as if it was the first time that afternoon he had noticed she was there. He nodded slowly to himself. "Yes, Miss Granger, better have Poppy take a look at yeh." His voice gained some measure of command. "Miss Brown, Miss Patil? Would yeh be so kind to take Granger to the Hospital Wing?"

The two girls were grateful to be allowed to leave the class. As they prepared to help her out, Hermione saw Ron wincing as he caught site of her injuries. Harry was looking on with equal concern. His confrontation with Moody left him shaken and his face drained of almost all colour. Nevertheless he moved to her side with two strides. "Here," he said softly, pressing his handkerchief to the back of her head. Hermione moved her own hand to take hold of the cloth, her fingers brushing against Harry as he relinquished his hold. She started to say thank you but her throat was dusty dry. Harry just gave her a nervous rueful half-smile, but as he turned away, back towards the grizzled ex-Auror, she saw a cold, hard expression come across his face.

As she left, Hermione was trying to figure out exactly what lesson Professor Moody had tried to teach them that Thursday afternoon.

She was also trying to figure out what lesson Harry had learned.

* * * * *

Madame Pomfrey absolutely refused to let Hermione out of the Hospital Wing and back to her own dormitory that evening. Bumps and cuts had been swiftly dealt with, but: "What tosh, young lady," the school nurse had exclaimed when Hermione, the wooziness and muddled feeling in her head gradually clearing, expressed a desire to get away from the antiseptic environment. "You took a nasty knock to the head. I wouldn't be surprised if you've a mild concussion. These things take time to show up under a wand."

So, Hermione was separated from her homework, not that this stopped her from worrying over the six feet of parchment assigned by McGonagall in Transfigurations that morning. She was also divorced, save a five minute visit, from her friends. That was all Madame Pomfrey allowed, muttering about her patient requiring full peace and quiet, and that a good night's sleep was nature's way … Then she disappeared to deal with her other patients: a Hufflepuff who had suffered an accident in Charms, and two Ravenclaws who had disabused their House reputation by causing a cauldron explosion that was only marginally less spectacular than Snape's own reaction to it.

Harry and Ginny had popped in after dinner. Harry had tried to smuggle a book to Hermione, but was caught red-handed and threatened with dire consequences if the nurse's charge was found reading later that evening. Ginny had come along to assure Hermione that she would look after Crookshanks that night.

Truth be told, Hermione headache had not quite dissipated. The hard-edged pounding had been replaced by a low throbbing ache that ebbed and flowed like the tide. Trying hard to banish the pain from her mind, Hermione had but a few moments to quiz Harry about his views on what had occurred that afternoon: what was he thinking during her rather one-sided "duel", when he put a stop to it, and after she had left.

But Harry was unable to add much more to the hazy picture. He had no idea what had caused Moody to act as he did, although Ginny observed that he had not earned the name "Mad-Eye" for nothing. He was very tight-lipped about what happened next, tersely ascribing his interposition of his Patronus between her and Moody to "instinct." Following the vanquished Hermione's departure, there had been a pregnant silence, broken after a minute or two when Moody had dismissed the remaining students.

After her friends had finally been shooed out of the sickbay by the possessive Pomfrey, Hermione had lain back on her pillow, and tried to make some sense of the disordered thoughts that cluttered her normally disciplined mind. The dull persisting pain did not help. Harry's actions - and his blunt statement to Moody - were at once profoundly disturbing and immensely gratifying. The rest was terrifying. She did draw one conclusion from the day's events: The brutal outcome had slashed to ribbons any confidence she had in her abilities regarding the Triwizard.

Moody had been right: She would not last five minutes. If she could not find a way out of the competition, then it would take a great deal of luck and her magical abilities just to stay alive…

But … what was it Harry had said …?

Hermione was not sure if the growing feeling of nausea was due to the headache or the trail of her own conclusions. She gratefully accepted a light dose of Sleeping Draught as Madam Pomfrey fussed over her.

Waking early next morning, Hermione convinced her nurse that she was perfectly hale and hearty after a good night's rest, although the pain in her head had not disappeared. The bruising had come out, her back was stiff as a board, and for the first time Hermione imagined she could feel colours: black and blue. Stiffly, she returned to her own dormitory, anxious to clean herself up before breakfast.

Lavender and Parvati, eyes still full of sleep, had made some perfunctory comments about how good it was to see her back, and would she mind awfully turning off the light and letting them sleep for a little while longer. Crookshanks, delighted to see his mistress return, made more of a sincere fuss, rubbing around her legs and purring loudly as Hermione tried to banish the tangles in her hair. He, at least, seemed none the worse for yesterday's events.

As she came down to the common room, Hermione was a little surprised to find Harry up and dressed, sitting in a chair that faced directly the staircase up to the girls' rooms. His stony face broke into a heartfelt smile as he rose to greet her.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

Hermione mumbled something non-committal in reply.

"Me neither," Harry replied enigmatically. "Hungry?"

The denial on the tip of her tongue was quashed by her stomach, which gave a most-unladylike rumble. She had missed dinner last night and, feeling nauseous, had avoided the opportunity to be fed in her hospital bed.

Harry smirked good-naturedly, and for the first time in what seemed like hours Hermione felt encouraged to give him a brave little smile. "Come on, let's go down then."

They were among the first into the Great Hall that morning. Some seriously studious Seventh-Year Ravenclaws had beaten them down, anxious to accomplish some early N.E.W.T. revision. The Gryffindor table was empty.

Although her stomach was making it's feelings on the status quo quite clear, Hermione sill did not fancy the idea of food. Every mouthful she took appeared to encourage the dull ache in her head to pound away, so early on she decided to give the Full English a miss and tried some toast. She decided that, if her appetite improved, she might try some of the delicious looking croissants that had appeared, probably in a effort by the elves to make the Beauxbatons' students feel at home.

However, as the Great Hall began to fill up with complaining students, reluctant to begin another day, the background noise started to grate in Hermione's ears. The general hubbub seemed to cut through her head and amplify the pain. She could not shut it out and the pressure seemed to grow.

Harry noticed. He had stopped his own assault on the fried bread and scrambled egg mountain on his plate. Quietly he asked Hermione once again if she was alright; she decided to nod her head, unwilling to mention anything in front of the other Gryffindors. But the background noise was now just a blur, closing in on her.

She couldn't take it. She had to disappear. She had to -

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up. Professor McGonagall was standing over her, a concerned look on her normally strict features.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Hermione swallowed, trying hard to suppress the bile in her throat. "Just a little … my head's a bit …"

McGonagall looked hard at her. "Do you want to return to the Hospital Wing?"

Hermione hesitated. She was aware that Harry was trying hard not to appear to be trying hard to scrutinize her too closely. The other Gryffindors were torn between paying some attention to their Head of House, whispering about Harry casting a Patronus at a teacher in the middle of class, and demolishing the best that Hogwarts' house-elves could provide. Hermione did feel off-colour, but after all it was only a headache. She could not afford to miss History of Magic or Charms that morning; she could not fall further behind.

"No, I'm fine," she lied, as much to convince herself as well as the Gryffindor's Head of House.

McGonagall looked doubtful, and then gave her the benefit of the doubt. "Very well. Come and report to me after you have finished eating." She made to return to the Head Table.

Casting a glance at the unappetising sight of congealed fried eggs and smoky back bacon on the platters before her, Hermione decided to escape the cauldron of noise that assailed her senses. "If it's alright with you, Professor, I'm finished." She ignored the frankly disbelieving glare from Harry as she rose to her feet.

Once again McGonagall subjected her to a cool appraisal, then nodded, and led the way out of the Great Hall.

It was almost a delight to be back in the relative cool and quiet retreat that was McGonagall's office. She was invited to sit by the stern-faced Professor, who offered her a cup of tea from a swiftly conjured silver teapot. "With a little honey and lemon," she suggested in her Scots' burr.

Hermione sat primly on the edge of the chair and accepted McGonagall's suggestion. She awaited whatever news her teacher had, but McGonagall gently gestured that she should taste her tea, so she sipped gently and was not that surprised to find it had a soothing, calming effect.

McGonagall was watching her student closely. Finally she broached the subject. "Miss Granger, when I heard that one of my students had been hospitalised following a class, I was duty-bound to make enquiries about the circumstances." She sighed. "Professor Moody was unavailable. However your classmates made it clear that you were in no way to blame for events turning out as they did - nor do I blame Mister Potter for his courageous and timely response."

Hermione felt it incumbent on her to say something, but McGonagall forestalled any attempted interruption with an imperious open hand. "It seems that Professor Moody, for an unfathomable reason, stepped beyond the bounds of acceptable tutorial standards. I have to ask you if you wish to make an official complaint." McGonagall looked a little sick as she spoke the last few words.

Hermione hesitated. Her mind still was not turning over at optimum efficiency, but the request struck her as strange. It was not as if this was the first time that a teacher's methods had caused students to present themselves to Madame Pomfrey. Three and a bit years of Professor Snape's rather crude partiality and unique teaching methods had seen to that. Now, the first time the hierarchy at Hogwarts appeared to take an interest in the students' views, it involved a hero of the war against You-Know-Who.

"I cannot understand why Alastor acted this way," McGonagall commented off-handedly. "Miss Patil was in tears when I spoke to her yesterday evening. Miss Brown was in no better shape. And if Mister Longbottom thinks that shrinking away is the behaviour of a Gryffindor, he has much to learn. Now, Mister Potter …" Her voice trailed off.

"No." Hermione was surprised at how calm and quiet her reply was.

"No?" McGonagall stared at her student. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but did you say 'no'?"

"That's correct," Hermione said as clearly as she could.

A little baffled, McGonagall questioned her student's approach. "You do not wish to make a complaint?" Hermione shook her head, a move that reminded her how fragile she felt this morning. "Would you mind explaining why? Your friends were most upset at what happened."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I shall not make a complaint, as long as Harry is not punished for what he did. He did not attack a teacher. He used his Patronus only to protect me. Beyond that, it was as much my fault as Professor Moody's," she rationalised. "It was a duel, and I never thought to enquire about the rules of engagement." McGonagall looked a tad confused at this, so Hermione tried to explain. "I was not ready, which was, I suppose, the whole point of the exercise. I can recall that while he was … duelling, Professor Moody was stating some sort of rules. That Dark Wizards don't play by the rules, that sort of thing." Hermione gently shook her head, trying to brush away the cobwebs. "I can't recall much of what he said, but the gist was quite clear."

McGonagall looked intrigued. "And what, pray, would what Mister Weasley described as 'a hell of a beating' - " McGonagall looked uncomfortable at repeating Ron's mild epithet " - have accomplished that a more moderate approach could not have done so?"

Hermione contemplated her reply. She had given it some thought in the silent hours after Harry and Ginny had been shooed out yesterday evening, and finally falling into an assisted sleep. She had been unable to come up with any reason why Moody would single her out for personal reasons. But he had referred to her status as a 'champion' whereas if he had wanted a fight then Harry was more than ready to give him one - even, she recalled, one that Harry was certain he could not win.

"It was a lesson. A lesson that none of us will forget," she observed quietly.

'And especially not me,' Hermione added unspoken to herself. She had a fair bit to think about. Perhaps that had been the reason Moody had been so hard on her, to make her realise that she needed to raise her game, to toughen herself up. She had to heighten her skill and resilience in practical magic.

McGonagall looked highly dubious about Hermione's stated reasons. Finally she accepted the situation. "Very well, Miss Granger. But this is a school, not a military establishment. I will be having a word or two with Professor Moody about the way our charges are treated when in class." Hermione had to suppress a snort when she imagined the same law being laid down to Professor Snape.

'That what Moody's here for anyway,' Hermione thought to herself. 'To show us what we could face?' Thus she stilled her tongue. "Is that all, Professor?"

An unreadable expression crossed McGonagall's face. "Not quite, Miss Granger." She held up an envelope that had been resting on her desk. "This arrived through the Ministry's Muggle Post Liaison Office." She held it out for Hermione. The girl immediately recognised the handwritten address. Professor McGonagall's last words were superfluous. "From your parents, I believe."

* * * * *

* * * * *

Hermione sat down at the lunch table trailing a big black cloud with her.

There was no doubting her parents intentions. She had often thought they were a little lukewarm about her withdrawal from the academic path that had been mapped out for her before she had discovered the existence of magic and that she was a bona fide witch. A public school education - the Grangers were moderately wealthy middle-class professionals, and Hermione had little doubt that any financial burden would have been alleviated to a great degree by any one of many scholarships she could have - no, would have - qualified for. Then, after her A-Levels, a university education, probably specialising in one or more of the sciences, immediately setting her on a path of perpetual success. Her parents had occasionally dropped hints that they would not mind another medical professional in the family.

If Professor McGonagall's visit had opened Hermione's eyes to the possibilities of a whole new world, then her parents had seen their vision of her future fade just as quickly. And, she guiltily acknowledged, she had begun to drift apart from her parents. When she returned home for the holidays it took her weeks to shake loose the idea that she was an outsider. Straddling two worlds was often an emotional issue for a young witch.

As a result, Hermione had tended to be economical with the actualité when it came to relating events at Hogwarts to her family. She quite rightly feared that if they knew what dangers she had faced in the last three years - three-headed dogs, a basilisk, Dementors - they would have withdrawn her from school without a 'by your leave'. After all, she was their only child, and subject to the whole force of parental protectiveness.

Things were even worse now. If her parents learned of the bloody history of the Triwizard Tournament, then she had no doubt that they would seek her immediate withdrawal from Hogwarts. Then, if the Ministry followed through with its threats, she would forfeit her magical abilities. For a second she wondered if that were possible, depriving a wizard of magic, and mentally earmarked it for some library-based research that evening.

And so, Hermione had agonised over her choices that morning, to the extent that she thought she had barely taken her seat in History of Magic when Professor Binns swam back through the blackboard. Her spell work in Charms had been uncharacteristically sloppy by her exalted standards, and the sympathetic Flitwick had graciously put it down to her unfortunate experiences yesterday afternoon.

Now, as she sat in the Great Hall, barely taking a glance at the toad-in-the-hole simmering away in its batter, Hermione rationalised her alternatives. Harry and the other Gryffindors had tried to involve her in conversation, but she had tuned their voices out, in part due to the headache that had not yet disappeared. Like the diminutive Charms professor, they had charitably ascribed it to the after-effects of Moody's lesson, as Hermione had not wanted to enlighten anyone else about the existence of her letter from home.

She did not want to take part in the Tournament. Yesterday's lesson had only underscored that she would have to be both remarkably fortunate and at the peak of her magical ability just to make it through without serious injury or worse; something she did not yet want to contemplate.

Nor was she about to bow to the Ministry's warped sense of priorities, and be driven out of her world, as she now thought of it.

The only route that would avoid either possibility was a strong legal case. Of necessity, that had to include the involvement, active or merely as a matter of form, of both Doctors Granger. Otherwise she might as well give up now, pack her bags and snap her own wand. That also ruled out the possibility of bluffing her way through a discussion with her parents. Hermione knew she could be a little manipulative at times, but there were way too many questions on the table at the moment for her to brush this affair under the carpet.

Much as Hermione feared what her mother and father might discover during a visit to Hogwarts, she was even more afraid of the other alternative. If she were to gain permission to leave Hogwarts during term time, and return to Oxford, she would almost certainly not be returning. Her parents would demand that she not depart for Scotland. Nothing short of a series of memory charms, which Hermione briefly considered but ruled out on both moral and practical - she knew too little to even attempt them with any degree of safety - grounds would call off a battle royal between daughter and loving parents. They were already increasingly lukewarm about her choice to learn to be a witch. Indeed, they had repeatedly dropped hints at how well her contemporaries were doing at Roedean or Queen Ethelburga's College when she was home for the holidays.

If she were going to speak to them at all, she had to do it on ground of her own choosing … Hermione knew that her parents were always a little timid about the magical world, and had felt increasingly out of place whenever they had visited Diagon Alley with her. If she had any advantage, that was it. With some support, be it actual or moral, from either Dumbledore or McGonagall, perhaps she could manage her parents into providing her with their backing without an awful lot of awkward questions. Professor McGonagall, she thought, would go the extra mile to keep her at Hogwarts. The headmaster, as always, was a cipher

Hermione knew she was grasping at straws but felt that she was increasingly being painted into a corner. There was no perfect solution; each one had major flaws. Having made her decision, Hermione glanced up at the Head Table. Professor McGonagall was present, currently engaged in a conversation with Professor Sprout. If she could catch her before the end of lunch, perhaps wheels could be put in motion before the weekend …

Returning her attention to her meal, Hermione was grateful for the house elf magic that had kept her toad-in-the-hole warm and fresh, with fluffy batter and strong Cumberland sausages in savoury onion gravy. As she started to tackle that gastronomic delight, she also thought to strike up a conversation with Harry. She stopped in her tracks when she noted that he had a dreamy expression on his face, and was paying as little attention to either his own lunch or her, as she herself had been doing up until now.

Surreptitiously, Hermione followed his faraway stare, which appeared to focus upon the Ravenclaw table. Something had attracted his attention, but Hermione could not ascertain what. Mentally shrugging her shoulders, she was about to restart the assault upon her plate when Ginny caught her eye. The youngest Weasley was also watching Harry with what to Hermione seemed to be a rapt mixture of concern and curiosity, and then flicking her gaze towards the same target as Harry's. Becoming aware of Hermione's scrutiny, Ginny flushed pink for no reason that Hermione could fathom, and deliberately turned to her other side to make small talk with Neville.

Something was going on. Hermione wondered what else she had missed whilst trapped in her own thoughts earlier that lunchtime.

Having finally finished off her meal, Hermione waited for the right moment to grab a quiet word with her Head of House. Just then one of the Sixth Year prefects delivered a note to Harry, interrupting his reverie. Hermione's perplexity continued as Harry also gained a little colour in his own cheeks, as though embarrassed at being caught out at something. As Harry digested the missive, Hermione had a closer look at the Ravenclaw table. The rather unique Third Year - 'Now, what was her name?' - was sitting in her own little world at one end, but Harry's attention had appeared to be drawn further towards the middle.

"Dumbledore wants to see me," Harry declared in a rather flat tone of resignation, as he dropped the scrap of parchment next to his empty plate. "It would have to be right before Potions."

There were sympathetic murmurs from the little group of Gryffindors.

"Do you need me to go with you?" Hermione asked him, not caring who overheard. "It wasn't your fault."

Harry turned her down, and for once Hermione was glad he did, as she noticed that McGonagall was preparing to quit the Great Hall. Thus she rose to her feet at the same time as Harry. "I might be a little delayed as well," she informed Neville, who looked absolutely terrified at the prospect of having to explain away both Potter and Granger's absences to the predatory Professor Snape.

The two Gryffindors separated as they exited the hall, Hermione hurrying to catch McGonagall before she started her own afternoon's classes. When she explained her decision, and her suggested course of action, to her Head of House, McGonagall gave her a doubtful look, but promised to do the best she could.

As Hermione made her way through the corridors and headed towards the dungeon that held the Potions' classes, she felt an odd mixture of both relief and anxiety. At least she had made a decision, but now she would have to face the consequences. She started to hurry along, apprehensive at being late and wary of incurring Snape's wrath. He now had all the more reason to despise her so.

And her headache still showed no inclination to quit harrowing her already overwrought mind.

As she approached the last corner, Hermione heard sounds of a scuffle and the sudden shouts of students who were apparently shocked or outraged. Hastening a little more, she was herself surprised at the scene before her.

On the floor was a pitiful looking Draco Malfoy, lacking any of his normal insouciant haughtiness, one hand covering his nose but failing to stem the crimson flow that dripped down his fine robes. Pansy Parkinson was fussing over him, whilst the other Slytherins looked on with emotions that ranged from Ted Nott's obvious anger to Blaise Zabini's casual indifference.

The cause of Malfoy's distress was rather obvious, and was being restrained by Dean and Seamus in front of the shocked Lavender and Parvati. Ron stood over the grounded Malfoy, in a posture reeking of further threatened violence. His fist was clenched and reddening. His face flamed nearly as red as his hair.

Before anything could develop further, there was a peremptory command from the dungeon doorway. "Stand aside! What is going on here?" Snape's menacing form carved a way through the Slytherins and pulled up short at the tableau before his eyes. "Weasley! What in the name of Merlin ..!"

"He attacked Draco," Pansy simpered between sniffles.

Snape seemed to Hermione to grow in stature at this news. "Well?" he demanded. "Is this true?" There were murmurs of assent from the Slytherins. "Right!" he barked. "Weasley - one month's detention - with me."

Ron just continued to glare at Malfoy. Snape seemed positively to savour his next words, which were far more drawn out and silkily smooth. "And one hundred points from Gryffindor for attacking a fellow student." He leaned over Ron so it was impossible for the younger man to avoid his semi-hypnotic stare. "And I will be having a word with your Head of House. Imagine how delighted she will be to hear this news."

With that Snape spun on a sixpence, his robes billowing out. "Parkinson, take young Master Malfoy to see Madame Pomfrey. The rest of you, inside." He glared at the rest of the assembled crowd. "Now," he drawled in a low threatening growl, before disappearing back into his lair, followed by the Slytherin students.

The Gryffindors, all seemingly stunned, were more dilatory. Both the appalling turn of events and the grim punishment meted out to both Ron and their meagre total of house points left them reeling. It was then that Hermione snapped.

"Ron Weasley!" All her house comrades' heads swivelled round to stare at her. "How could you? That was so …" she was frustrated for words for a second "… so, immature and irresponsible!"

Ron, who had hardly budged from his fighting stance, flinched as though physically struck,, then also turned to face her. His face drained of it's so recently vivid colour. Although his only other movement was the twitching of a muscle in his cheek, he stared at her as though it was the first time he had laid eyes on her - such was the look of utter disbelief on his face. Then his body started to shake slightly but perceptibly. It seemed he was fighting an inner conflict with his emotions. Hermione prepared herself for a full blown Weasley-Granger pitched battle, when Ron shocked her by repeating Snape's earlier trick and turning his back on her, before striding resolutely into the Potions' classroom.

Uncertain what had passed, Hermione stared after him until she realised that the other Gryffindors were regarding her with a combination of uncertainty and scorn. "What?" she asked no-one in particular.

No-one answered, then Dean shook his head sadly, and Seamus moved past her so roughly that his shoulder unnecessarily bumped into her own on purpose. Lavender and Parvati seemed to despise her as well, while Neville just started at her open-mouthed.

"Neville, what happened?" she demanded quietly. "Why did Ron hit Malfoy?"

Neville's voice was strained, his throat parched. "Malfoy … Malfoy said he would have paid good money to see Moody wipe the floor with …" He hesitated, and Hermione knew with certainty the word that had actually been used. "…with you," Neville finished lamely. Then he quickly moved past a suddenly weak-kneed Hermione to escape any further interrogation on her part.

* * * * *

Fortunately for both the Gryffindors and Harry Potter, the latter had a note from Dumbledore explaining his tardiness, as Snape was on the warpath. Not one Gryffindor avoided losing house points for some minor infraction or lack of knowledge, but the favourite target was Ron, who had compounded his earlier offence with a lack of answers, no doubt due to his lack of preparation and studying without Hermione chivvying him on.

Harry seemed confused at the turn of events, as Ron was trying hard to avoid incurring Snape's further wrath and remained otherwise determinedly silent. None of the other Gryffindors seemed particularly keen to enlighten him. Hermione tried to pass some form of message through meaningful glances and eye contact, but gained the impression that, whilst not actively disapproving of her as the other Gryffindors apparently were, he was distinctly cool towards her for some reason.

Finally that unique method of torture known as Double Potions brought the week's lessons to an end. Hermione made to catch Harry as he left, trying hard not to drop any more points under Snape's baleful eye, but it seemed to her that Harry almost deliberately ignored her. He moved off with such speed down the corridor. Her headache had grown steadily worse during the afternoon as she regretted her words to Ron. She tried hard to justify herself, with the excuse that she was not feeling too good, or was under stress. It did no good; her self-criticism only sharpened.

So it was a rather lost and lonely Hermione Granger who dragged herself into the Great Hall for dinner. As Harry, Neville or Ginny had yet to make an appearance, she sat in splendid isolation at the Gryffindor table, studiously ignored by her other peers.

A thump as someone sat heavily on the bench opposite effectively drew her attention momentarily away from her own plight. Across from her, Harry looked as if he had his own burdens to carry. He did not look at her, and instead glared at his hands on the tabletop in front of him. "You know," he started conversationally, "it would be a change if my two best friends …" he stressed those words, implying that the relationship was rather strained "… would stop acting like complete prats towards each other!" He then drummed his fingers hard on the wood, and turned sideways on so he did not have to look at Hermione.

Hermione sighed pathetically. That Patronus seemed a million years ago, now.

Before she could excuse or defend herself, Hermione's right shoulder was grabbed and she was turned to face an incandescent Ginny.

"Is it true?" she hissed.

"Oh, it's true," Harry added as though his thoughts were elsewhere. "Ron popped Malfoy, and Snape ripped him a new bunghole for it."

Ginny bent at the knees so that her face was level with Hermione' s. "Tell me you didn't ..?"

Hermione, struck dumb with guilt, just nodded.

"Bloody Merlin, Hermione," Ginny seethed.

"I didn't know …" Hermione tried to say.

"No, but I bet you jumped straight down his throat, didn't you, like you always do?" Ginny observed acidly. Then she sat as heavily on the bench as Harry had a few seconds earlier. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be so clever, you can be remarkably dense at times."

Having nothing clever to say, Hermione just nodded her head. She glanced down the table and saw Ron, looking thoroughly miserable, pushing his fish and chips around his dinner plate. His brothers along with Seamus and Dean were trying to cheer him up. When Hermione caught Fred's eye, she was a little dismayed to see what appeared to be an expression of censure cross the prankster's face.

"Are you going to say sorry?" Ginny enquired as she doused her own chips with malt vinegar.

Hermione's head whipped round. "Why should I? Ron's been beastly to me this week."

Ginny's response was as terse as it was accusative. "I wasn't aware that you subscribed to 'two wrongs making a right', Granger." Thankfully, further discussion on that topic was halted as Neville, who had quietly found the seat next to Harry, passed the salt cellar to the aggravated redhead. Hermione turned to see what Harry's reaction was, and found herself under cool appraisal.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"Nothing," he replied sullenly.

She could tell he was not being wholly truthful. "Harry, if you want to talk -"

"No!" Harry said with a little more force than he had intended, drawing worried and confused looks from Ginny and Neville. "Drop it, Hermione."

A lot hurt and a little bemused, Hermione withdrew to her own counsel. Perhaps she had been far too hasty to have a go at Ron this afternoon, Hermione confessed to herself. Still, it was wrong to hit another student - even the deserving Malfoy. She had not thought Harry would be that upset, but perhaps it was just the strain he was under from losing, hopefully temporarily, Ron's friendship. She hoped he was not having second thoughts about choosing to support her in opposition to Ron.

Losing Ron's friendship was bad, but losing Harry's as well was unthinkable.

Yes, she would apologise to Ron.

And there was the slim possibility that, if she did, he might just recant his own sins.

* * * * *

In the Common Room, away from prying non-Gryffindor eyes, Hermione decided to approach Ron. Harry had disappeared after dinner, and Hermione missed his moral support, but she confided her intentions in Ginny and Neville.

Ron was sitting at a table, his back to the rest of the room, with his brothers and friends, playing a haphazard and loud game of Exploding Snap. Hermione summoned up her courage and approached the table, ignoring Seamus's disapproving glare. She gave a light cough to attract Ron's attention, but nothing happened. It was not until a few seconds later, when George leaned over and prodded his younger brother, pointing behind him to where Hermione was standing, shuffling her feet as though wishing she were elsewhere, that Ron turned in his seat to face her.

"Ahem, Ron …" Hermione was surprised how guilty she felt, as though confessing her sins to McGonagall. "It's about this afternoon…"

She stopped. Normally she could read Ron like a book. But now, his expression was inscrutable. His eyes narrowed slightly, indicating she should go on.

"Well, I didn't know -"

"I thought so," Ron muttered quietly.

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Thought what?"

"That it wouldn't be your fault." Ron was clenching and unclenching his fists. Fred, who could tell what was happening, tried to lay a restraining hand on Ron's shoulder, but was shrugged off.

"No, that's not wh -" Hermione stuttered, fearing she had given Ron the wrong impression.

Ron stood suddenly, his chair tipping back to land noisily on the floor, only drawing others' attentions to the two of them.

For one terrifying moment, she thought he was going to hit her.

He didn't - at least not physically. "You know what I've missed this week?" Ron enquired rather unkindly. "Your bloody voice in my ear." Hermione flinched. " 'Have you done your homework, Ron?' 'Don't eat with your mouth full, Ron.' It's been such a blessed relief."

"Ron," Fred warned quietly, but without success.

"And then, when that bloody snake Malfoy tells us all how much he would have enjoyed watching you get thrown around a classroom, you don't hesitate to jump straight down my throat!"

Aware of this being the exact same criticism that Ginny had thrown at her earlier, Hermione was stricken. "No, Ron, that's -"

"Why don't you just shut up and leave me alone? Then we'll both be happier." Ron pushed past her and stormed off to the boys' dormitories, leaving Hermione once again standing forlornly in the middle of the Common Room. Sean was still looking at her with distaste, whilst the Twins looked more contemplative than she had ever seen them.

"Well, that went well!" Ginny declared with false heartiness as she threw a consoling arm around the older girl's shoulders. "You can always rely on my brother to bugger things up."

'No,' thought Hermione. 'This was my mistake.' And she recognised that there may have been a kernel of truth in Ron's words. 'I only hope I get a chance to fix it.'

Despite Ginny and Neville's attempts to cheer up their evening, Hermione soon begged off. Ron had stormed back through the Common Room like a force of nature, en route to the first of his detentions, and no-one was willing to touch off the infamous Weasley temper for a third time today. After that, Hermione did not want to go to the Library again tonight, despite the weekend's looming homework and the prospect of more research on the history of the Triwizard and the possibilities that the Ministry could actually strip away a wizard or witch's magic, from both a practical and legal standpoint. Her head was still throbbing and there was a growing pressure behind her tired eyes.

As she walked into the Fourth Year girls' dorm, being ignored by the still offended Lavender and Parvati, Hermione found some comfort in Crookshanks's welcoming squeaks and purrs. There was a sealed envelope on her bedside cabinet. Drawing the curtains around her four-poster, she tore it open.

* * * * *

Thanks go to both my beta readers, George and Bexis, who have added real value to this chapter. Harry's Patronus was Bexis' idea which he freely offered (and I grabbed up and ran with as fast as I could).

Quillian remains an inspiration, and his idea is yet to come.

Again, the Bulgarian I use is the phonetic version from Chambers Bulgarian Phrasebook, so it is not a literal translation.

Leka nosht = Goodnight

Molya = Please.

Neh = No.

The "3 I's" quote is among the first words spoken by the Sixth Doctor Who at the end of the regeneration story "The Caves of Androzani", written by Robert Holmes.

"Economic with the actualité " was a phrase used by the former Minister, Sir Alan Clark, in the Matrix Churchill case in 1992. Meaning a version of the truth that leaves out certain vital facts, it is of course a euphemism for lying.