Unofficial Portkey Archive

Hermione awoke from her dream and remembered...nothing.

Sitting up, she grabbed her journal. Flipping to a new page, she carefully recorded several lines. She recently developed a theory, and her notations documented more and more supporting evidence. Almost every time she practised Occlumency before sleeping, her dreams were blissfully blank. Without Occlumency, Hermione frequently became involved in Harry's recurrent dreams. Sometimes, those dreams featured the screaming woman. Other times, more disturbingly, the theme was the destruction of Hogwarts.

It was increasingly undeniable that their Legilimency was somehow linked with their shared dreams. The most frustrating part was that Hermione had no idea how that could happen. Library research unearthed various books, but they only alluded to shared dreams, and a majority of them were found under the rather dubious heading of Divination. That particular branch of magic was an absolute last resort.

Although the sun had not yet risen, Hermione readied herself with a shower. Water dripped off her back, the hot steam stimulating her senses. She ran a hand through her hair, still disappointed with the length. Metamorphmagi were able to alter their appearance. Hermione cursed not being blessed with that gene. As she soaped her body, her thoughts wandered to Harry's impromptu visit last night.

Harry had always been proud and stubborn, but usually recognized when he needed help. This year, Hermione had repeatedly offered her services, but she would not beg. She would not take an axe to break down Harry's locked emotional doors. Even a casual observer could tell he was struggling with his workload. Maybe it was Fleur; maybe the tournament; or maybe the Slytherin revolt. Most likely, it was a combination of all these problems.

Still, it was a surprise that he finally came to his senses and asked for her help. Hermione had been content to let the rest of the year play out without anymore attempts to intervene in Harry's affairs. Curiosity had always been one of her trademarks, so she couldn't help but accept the olive branch Harry extended. The mystery of his secret class was finally resolving.

"Hermione!" Lavender yelled as she banged on the lavatory door. "What's taking you so long?! You can't possibly still be washing your hair!"

In response, Hermione slammed down her hand on the shower knob. The water abruptly ceased, and air began cooling her skin. The chill did nothing to abate the flare of anger rising from her chest. Lavender Brown was the epitome of vain and conceited. How she had peacefully shared a dormitory for over four years was beyond understanding. Wrapping her towel around herself, Hermione cast a quick Drying Charm on her hair and opened the door.

Hermione favored the other girl with a faux-sweet smile. "Do take your time, Lavender. I wouldn't want you to miss a spot on your face."

Hurt flashed across Lavender's face. Hermione suppressed a sneer and pushed past Lavender. Maybe that had been an overreaction, but Hermione was tired of the other girls constantly picking on her looks. She didn't have the sleekest hair or a perfect body - nor the best skin or the most perfectly shaped face. What did it matter? None of them were in the tournament. None of them were in the Board Room. None of them could last thirty seconds in a duel against Hermione.

Be strong, Hermione. Not everyone will appreciate your intelligence. Her late mother's voice drifted into her mind. To avoid Lavender, she dressed quickly and left the dormitory.

She found Cedric in the Great Hall. He was already eating breakfast, munching on a plate of eggs and hash. Hermione sat down beside him and poured herself a cup of tea. She touched him on the shoulder, and he smiled toothlessly at her. While sipping on her tea, Hermione scanned the large room. Other early risers included Draco Malfoy, sitting quietly near the end of the Slytherin table, nursing a similar cup. Some older Slytherins she didn't recognize were hunkered at the opposite end, as far from Malfoy as possible.

Marcus Belby sat with some Ravenclaws in his year. He made eye contact with Hermione and smiled. She did not return it. Further down the table and surrounded by books, Terry Boot had bags under his eyes. His breakfast was cooling untouched. Hermione smirked. That Ravenclaw was far out of his depth in the Board Room, and he had been scrambling ever since Snape selected him. Hermione had little sympathy for him because Terry had a nasty habit of underestimating and insulting others. Perhaps he had learned his lesson.

At the Hufflepuff table a few feet away, Heather Locklear ate breakfast quietly. Her dragon-inflicted burns had faded quite a while ago, and her hair had regrown to its original state. Despite Cedric's invitations, she rarely sat with the Hufflepuff Champion. Since abandoning the tournament, Heather had been very withdrawn. Hermione didn't blame her. The Gryffindor would have felt guilty for quitting too.

"Meeting before first class," Cedric announced after he finished a mouthful of eggs.

"So early?" Hermione questioned.

Cedric shrugged. "Nothing else fit everyone's schedules. You try getting ten people to agree to one time. It's not easy."

"Eleven," Hermione corrected him. "You're missing one."

"No, I counted right. Harry can't join us."

Hermione arched an eyebrow at this explanation. "Why not? If everyone else can make it, then Harry can too."

"He said he was busy. I'll take his word and fill him in later," Cedric said.

Annoyance struck Hermione. Harry was constantly receiving deferential treatment from everyone. Lupin and Trow offered him private lessons. Snape constantly tested him with varying scenarios. Now, Cedric was giving him a leave of absence. What did Harry do to inspire such reverence?

"Did he say what he was busy with?" Hermione pushed.

Cedric shrugged, shaking his head in the negative.

"And that's acceptable?"

The Hufflepuff stopped eating and cocked his head. "I thought you and Harry were friends. Why the interrogation?"

Hermione squirmed a bit, rankled by Cedric's tone. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean I can't question him. Is that what it means to be friends? I can't ask why Harry gets special treatment?"

"Part of being friends is accepting answers with an assumption that a reason exists behind an excuse." Cedric shot back.

"I don't agree with that," Hermione said, the volume rising in her voice. "You should question everything."

"That's because you have a problem with trust." Cedric leaned in, his face unnaturally serious. His voice barely above a whisper, he continued, "I'm not going to have this argument here, Hermione. I'm not one of your housemates that you can just streamroll. Harry gave me a good enough reason and that's the end of this discussion."

Cedric exited without another word, leaving Hermione flummoxed. His sudden departure drew the attention of the few people who were at the Great Hall. Hermione ignored them. Her jaw set in a tight line as she gulped the rest of her tea. The warmth spread throughout her body and she felt the tattoo pushing against her chest. Hermione tried to think, but her head was buzzing.

Break it down.

Cedric questioned her trust, but he was guilty of trusting others too much. He didn't know Harry like she did. Harry held many secrets, and she was hardly privy to all of them. It was obvious that Cedric had questioned Harry on his absence, and had received some excuse. That excuse, whatever it was, couldn't have been the truth. Yet, it sufficed for Cedric to leave it alone. If Potter was giving excuses to miss meetings, he was on the move. If he was on the move, he had to have plans and targets. If he had targets…

Hermione touched the side of her chest over her robes. As always, there was more to Harry than met the eye.

-------------------------------------------

The room had a little extra space, occupied by ten people instead of the original thirteen. One of the empty chairs was next to Hermione as she waited for the meeting to start. Although these were the supposed champions of Hogwarts, their meetings were just as bad as the others she attended - a handful of reasonable opinions bubbling through a broth of chaos and trivia. Hermione hated meetings.

Marietta and Cho were incorrigible enablers. They went out of their way to agree with each other, despite glaring logical fallacies in their arguments. Fred and George were just as bad, never publicly contradicting the other, although occasionally they had humor value. Roger, like most Ravenclaws, held his head with his chin pointed upwards, all logic but little common sense. Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson were intelligent enough, but stubbornly Gryffindor when it came to making, or not making, decisions. Hermione understood the importance, in their eyes, of house solidarity, but they took it to unreasonable extremes. Stephen Stebbins was quiet, and Hermione was grateful for his general silence.

Cedric had his issues as well.

The Hufflepuff called the meeting to order. He stood, dressed in dark robes with yellow trim, striking a dominating figure even in a room of champions. Unflinchingly, Hermione met his eyes, and he returned her steady gaze. The anger still burned in her stomach from their argument at breakfast, but she refused to play an insurrectionist role. Hermione had felt the embarrassment of her leadership being called into question. She would not do to Cedric what those detestable Slytherins had done to Harry.

"Where's Potter?" Marietta asked.

"Not able to make it," Cedric answered.

"Wonder what he's got going on? Rebellion? Romantic interlude with a troll?" Fred said.

"I'm thinking more along the lines of fighting off his many undesirable suitors," George quipped.

"Enough," Cedric said.

"I thought I heard a rumor he was going to leave school," Marietta continued despite Cedric's warning. "Maybe he finally realized no one wants him here."

"A shame he didn't go. Though he is a constant source of inspiration for us," Fred and George said at the same time.

"I said enough!" Cedric slammed an open palm on the desk. The light banter ended. The Hufflepuff puffed his chest and delivered a glare that rivaled Snape's. He let the uncomfortable silence trickle along, stretching it out for maximum effect.

"Potter killed a dragon in the First Task by himself. Saved Hermione from Tireur and took on Krum during the Second Task. He's carried his part and then some. If you want to be childish and make fun of him, I'm not going to stop you, but it won't happen here. Got it?"

Hermione was proud of him. She was still angry with him, but he reminded her why she fancied him at that very moment.

"Third Task. Any clues?" Cedric asked, his tone uncharacteristically gruff.

The urge to answer overtook any sort of anger she held towards Cedric. Hermione said, "Nothing. No eggs or other clues. Nothing that I've heard."

Roger Davies cleared his throat in a self-important manner. "That's not entirely true. After the dragons, I realized that one cannot ship dragons across international borders without proper documentation. So, I reached out to Penelope Clearwater, who is now working for the Ministry in the Department of International Affairs. After a bit of...cajoling, she disclosed that ledgers confirmed importation of dragons from several countries. Of course, I don't think they would ship dragons again, but Penny also confirmed that another ledger passed her desk. The Ministry procured another shipment classified as dangerous beasts. The destination? Hogwarts."

Hermione had to give respect when it was due. Roger had done his homework thoroughly. She also wondered if Roger knew how illegal it was to gain that type of information. This Penelope Clearwater would instantly be sacked if anyone found out.

"Did she say what it was?" Cedric asked.

"Fire-breathing lizards, I suspect," Fred piped up.

"We've already had a flying fire-breathing lizard. Give them some credit. I was thinking more along the lines of a blood-sucking unicorn," George added.

Hermione scowled. Did they really think that was funny? Surely, someone else could recognize that the twins' current comedic attempts were inappropriate in a champions' meeting.

"Enough." Cedric repeated. "Did the ledger disclose what they were transporting?"

"No," Roger answered. "It's just an import ledger. It included only the amount paid and the origin of purchase."

"Where was the country of origin?" Hermione asked, the gears in her mind starting to turn.

Roger blinked as if surprised by the question. He reached into his bag and plucked a notebook. Flipping through the book, he settled on a particular page and read, "Greece and Romania primarily."

Hermione catalogued the two countries in her head. Luckily, she still had her creatures book. It would be a stretch to pinpoint the exact beasts just from their country of origin, but it would narrow the field.

"Ideas, Granger?" Marietta asked.

"Not yet, but I'll let you know soon."

Cedric nodded, satisfied with some progress. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the sound of the door opening interrupted him. Ten heads swiveled to investigate the newcomer. At first, Hermione thought the stairway was darker than she remembered. Then, she realized the dark shadow was someone's body.

Viktor Krum lowered his head as he tried to cram himself into the tower. His broad shoulders filled the width of the doorway and he had to stoop to keep his head from scraping the ceiling. After his dark and broody eyes scanned the room, an ugly scowl marred his face.

"Potter?" Krum grunted, his voice gravelly and intimidating.

Hermione looked around, not sure how to respond. Cedric answered for them.

"He's not here," said the Hufflepuff.

The scowl on Krum's face grew even deeper. The Bulgarian's size was comical. He completely blocked the doorway and towered over everyone. Very few people's mere physical presence could make Hermione feel uncomfortable. A well placed Stupefy would neutralize the largest human. Yet, Krum's physicality was a beast of its own. Hermione discretely flexed her wrist and her wand slipped into the palm of her hand.

Krum grumbled something and stepped aside, covering the window with a body that blotted out the sun. A much smaller boy stood behind him. Hermione recognized him as Georgi Tomak. The pudgy boy was a mouse next to Krum. Georgi's brown eyes darted around nervously, but he stepped into the already crowded room nonetheless.

The two Durmstrang students exchanged words in what Hermione supposed was Bulgarian. She strained her ears, searching in vain for any recognizable words. She did not have an ear for languages.

"Viktor wants to know if Potter will be coming," Georgi translated after a few moments. He spoke clear English.

Still standing, Cedric shook his head. "Not today."

Another rapid exchange eluded Hermione's understanding. She was growing increasingly frustrated by the side conversation. Were there spells that translated languages in real time? She would have to research that topic.

Krum actually growled, the deep rumbling reverberated in Hermione's bones. What was wrong with him? What did he want with Harry? The Bulgarian huffed and drew his robes tight around him. The movement disturbed the air and flipped the pages of Hermione's journal. In a surprising show of nimbleness, Krum deftly stepped around Tomak and made to exit the tower.

"Wait!" Cedric yelled. He, too, sensed strangeness in Krum's appearance. "What do you want with Potter?"

Krum stopped, the muscles in his back visible even through his thick robes. He turned his head to the side so Hermione saw his face in profile. His nose was large and hooked, his eyes sallow and sunken in. Hermione found it hard to imagine anyone finding him handsome, but he was an international Quidditch star. Celebrity could banish ugliness. Krum grunted and then spoke - in English.

"Fly."

"Pardon?" Cedric said.

Krum scoffed though Hermione did not know why he took such offense.

"Fly," he repeated. "Third task. Fly."

------------------------------------------

Harry waited until every fourth year Slytherin was in the Common Room. He had prepared his speech the night before and woke early the next morning to make sure he was ready. Sitting on a chair that faced the stairs, Harry watched as the students came down from their dormitories. Finally, Blaise arrived.

Standing up suddenly to draw attention, Harry smoothly approached Blaise. He came to a stop in front of him and looked up at the boy. Blaise had a highly suspicious nature, and Harry's approach must have triggered his internal alarm bells. Knowing that many eyes were on him, Harry put on a performance. He bowed his head, pretending to show deference, and held his hands out to his sides. After adopting this submissive position, Harry started his apology.

"I wanted to say I'm sorry for my actions in the past. I was piggish and arrogant. It was no way for a Commander to act, and you were right for calling my leadership into question. No excuses, I should have done better for all of you. I just wanted to apologize for that.''

Harry stuck out his hand for a handshake, knowing Blaise could not deny him in public. Blaise hesitated for just a moment, but Harry, very watchful, still caught it. Blaise's eyes flicked left and right as if he knew it was a trap. His breathing hitched ever so slightly. His actions were small, but Harry knew Blaise well enough to know when the other boy was nervous.

Blaise accepted his offered handshake and nodded curtly. Harry had caught him by surprise. It was rare for Blaise to be speechless. He was much like Hermione in that regard. Harry performed a small bow and exited the Common Room. He heard the secret passage reopen behind him but did not bother to look. Footsteps trailed him, so Harry cast a cursory glance over his shoulder. It was Draco.

Harry slowed until his new Commander caught up with him.

"Need something, Commander?" Harry referred to Draco by his title. He did not know what role Draco played in the coup, but Tracey trusted him. He needed to credit what Tracey told him if he were to regain the position.

"Nice little trick you pulled back there. Do you think Blaise believed you?"

It was Harry's turn to be caught off-guard. He hadn't expected Draco to be so straight-forward. "Not particularly."

Draco nodded. "Good. Walk with me."

Harry fell into step beside him. Most of the time, he didn't interact much with the Malfoy heir. Harry had been happy to rely on the boy's versatility and effectiveness in Battle class, but anywhere else, Draco was either by himself or with Tracey. Harry didn't mind. If Tracey wanted Draco's company, she was free to consort with whoever she wanted. Still, Draco's sudden turnabout from a pompous jerk to a moody soul was off-putting.

"I wanted to tell you that I opposed the vote from the beginning. However you treated us, Slytherin was still winning. It's the results that matter, right?" Draco asked.

"Not all the time, I guess."

Draco nodded again as they turned the corner. They were both heading for Dueling class. "Public perception is important. You're usually the best around at that; scared opponents have lost before they start. But I guess you've been a little distracted lately."

Harry didn't need to respond to that statement. The Tournament of Champions was evidence enough. It was pointless to reference his other extracurricular activities.

"Regardless, I'm going to keep us winning. My methods will differ from yours, but I expect we should finish as the top House this term. I can't publicly name you as my number two. I also know something about public perception. Still, I'm not stupid; I know I need your help. I hope me being Commander won't lessen your efforts in Battle class."

"Of course it won't," Harry responded.

"I figured you wouldn't slack. It's not really in you. I also have to give you a bit of a dressing down for missing Battle the other day, but I won't ham it up too much." A ghost of a smile crossed Draco's face, but it could have been an illusion; a trick of the eye. They were close to Moody's classroom.

"One last thing," said Draco. "You should talk to Tracey. I don't know whether you've seen her, but she was awfully upset about you leaving. I've been spending some time with her, since we're both in Medical. It doesn't take a genius to realize how she feels about you. Even someone like me can figure that out."

That turn in the conversation made Harry quite uncomfortable. Since when did Draco criticize, or even comment on, his relationship with Tracey? Had the pair grown so close lately that Draco presumed to chide Harry about this subject? Was this Tracey's idea? Harry had to swallow his annoyance, however. It would do no good fighting with the new Commander.

"I'll talk to her," he said, phrasing it so that Harry appeared to be obeying a command.

Draco nodded once more. "That's all for now, Potter."

Harry did not want to do what he had just promised Malfoy. The thought of a girlfriend, be it Tracey or almost anybody else, filled him with ambivalence. Was it even safe, for the girl, for him to have such a relationship? Something was up. Sooner or later, and he intended it would be sooner, Harry would discover the great secret behind the special, extra rough attention bestowed on him by Snape and other Hogwarts staff. Maybe, once he knew what was in store, he would allow his emotions freer reign. But not now - maybe not ever, if the news was bad.

Feeling troubled, Harry took a seat near the front of Moody's classroom. Today's lesson would be with the Gryffindors. Hermione entered five minutes before class started as usual. He gave her a slight nod that she didn't return. Harry shrugged internally. She was always cold to him in public. When Tracey entered the classroom, he subtly pointed next to him. Tracey caught on and took the seat. His feelings for her were still turbulent, but he could at least try being a better friend.

"Settle down," Moody barked, emerging from the teacher's room. "Today will be Unforgivables."

They were all well-versed in what the Unforgivable Curses were. Given their constant dueling, it was hard not to think about them. Still, Moody had never offered a formal lesson on Unforgivables, so Harry, along with the rest of the class, sat up a little straighter.

"You all know them, so I'll skip the mundane asking what they are." Moody clomped around the classroom, his magical eye swiveling rapidly in its socket. "We're gonna approach them a bit differently. Why do you think that those three spells, and only those, are considered unforgivable?"

Harry was fairly certain he knew the answer, but kept his hand down. He saw Hermione predictably raise her hand, but she was hesitant. That was because the answer was not book learning, but she was always determined to be the first.

"Miss Granger. Go."

"They're spells intended to harm and only harm someone. They serve no other purpose," she answered more assuredly than Harry expected.

"Don't know how you do it, but you got it, Granger." He turned to the class as a whole. "They are intended for pain and malice aforethought. I know what you'll ask me, and you're wrong! Even the darkest spells can be used in some benign manner. Take the spell that cut off my leg." Moody smacked his wooden staff against his wooden leg.

"That's gotta be unforgivable, right? Dark magic for sure." Moody paused to hear nonexistent rebuttals. "Not necessarily. Say there's a virus or a spell that's eating up your leg. Same dark magic that cost me my leg permanently could have saved my life."

Again, Hermione's hand shot up in the air. With an air of resignation, Moody fluttered his fingers as permission to pose another question.

"I read about a Body-Explosion curse. That can only be intended to harm. Why isn't that an Unforgivable?" she asked.

"Well caught again, Granger. She's right." Moody banged his staff against the ground and a spider flew out of a jar on his desk. Somewhere behind Harry, Ron Weasley squeaked aloud.

"You know the incantation for the Body-Explosion, girl?" Moody paused and looked at Hermione expectantly. Harry would not be surprised if she did.

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Do it on that spider."

Hermione needed a deep breath to center herself, but performed the curse. After a loud blast, the class was treated to a shower of legs and other arachnid bits generated from the spider's implosion. Harry conjured a solid shield that covered him and Tracey. He wanted no spider guts in his hair.

"Good. Easy enough spell ain't it? Especially against something that can't fight back. You ask why I had Granger do that? My reasoning is simple enough. The other part of the three Unforgivables is intent. You must mean it. The Unforgivables ain't no wand waving, focusing, or incantation exercise. If you don't have the hate, you can't muster an Unforgivable." Moody pounded a fist against his chest as he strode between desks.

"Example," Moody growled. "Malfoy. Hit me with an Imperio."

Draco shook his head. "I don't think I can right now, sir."

Moody scoffed. "Your father in prison has made you soft, boy. What about you, Zabini? I know you don't like me. Hit me with the Imperius."

Blaise hesitated but eventually shook his head. Harry knew no love was lost between Blaise and Moody, but even Blaise must have realized that he didn't need his second trap of the day.

"What's wrong, Zabini? Got no balls? Pffff. Anyone else? Just an Imperius curse, folks. Ministry won't know and I doubt any of you can do it anyhow." Moody spread-eagled his arms, inviting an attack. Despite, or because of, his recent bout with Trow, Harry was in no mood to attack another professor.

"No? Weasley? Thomas? Granger? Bulstrode? Ain't any of you got a spine?" Moody growled as he shamed them one by one. "Fine. Imperio!"

Harry was ready. When Moody pivoted towards him, he conjured a solid blocking shield. Unfortunately, the spell wasn't directed at him. It hit Tracey's chest and Harry cursed himself for not protecting them both. Moody barked out a laugh as he walked to the front of the classroom.

"Constant vigilance, Potter. That's Auror-quality material right there. Too bad you didn't anticipate I was going for your little girlfriend. Let's see. Start jumping up and down, Davis," Moody commanded.

She followed his orders with a vacant expression on her face.

"Tell Potter that he smells like dung," Moody ordered.

Tracey turned, faced him and said, "You smell like shit, Harry."

The class got a good laugh out of that one, and Moody's smile grew larger. Harry did not like that. When the class stopped chuckling, Moody gave his next order.

"Walk slowly to the window and jump out."

Harry's chair scraped backwards as he stood up, wand raised. Tracey followed his command and started walking towards the window. They were on the fourth floor. Surely, Moody would not let this happen. Some of the other Slytherins were standing as well. Draco. Blaise. Pansy.

"There you go! Looks like there's bit of spine in you lot after all. Feel that anger going through you? That's necessary if you want to cast an Unforgivable. Come on. Imperio is the easiest one. Even the most yellow-bellied wizards can get it right. Most can't manage the Killing Curse, but any of you can do an Imperio if you got the right hate for it. Come on. Miss Davis is getting awfully close."

Harry knew that no harm could come to Tracey. In a feat of extraordinary restraint, he lowered his wand. The rest of the class looked at him in confusion, but surely they would catch on. Moody would not let Tracey defenestrate herself. It was preposterous.

But Moody did not release her from the spell. She crept ever closer to the window, her feet shuffling across the floor. Harry kept his wand lowered, meeting Moody's steely gaze. So far, Moody hadn't tested his will, but Harry would not back down. However much they needed him, they weren't going to start killing off students in the classroom to test his mettle.

"Do something, Potter!" Parvati hissed from behind him.

"Imperio!" Blaise cried. Nothing came from his wand, and Moody laughed again.

Harry held his ground even as Tracey undid the latch for the window. A cool gust of air blew into the classroom. Harry blinked as tears welled in his eyes. Moody's magical eye was spinning frenetically now. Tracey raised a leg to step onto the windowsill. The class gasped, and several students stood up. Blaise raced towards the window and grabbed onto Tracey's wrist, but she resisted him. Harry remained unmoved.

"Imperio!"

The same vacant expression briefly overtook Moody's face, but vanished in roughly two seconds. He threw off the Imperius Curse like it was nothing, but the curse disrupted his hold on Tracey. Tracey screamed as at last she comprehended the imminent fifty foot drop to the Hogwarts grounds. Her legs buckled, and she almost fell out of the window. Blaise yanked her back into the classroom, and she collapsed on top of him.

Moody wheeled around on his wooden leg and fixed both eyes on the person who successfully cast the spell.

"Need a little more hate, Granger, but you're on the right track."

"Would you rather have been exploded?'

-----------------------------

Harry shambled towards the Slytherin Common Room after a grueling Battle class. Slytherin had won, thanks to Draco's assured command. Hermione had been off her game and lunged into Draco's traps. Harry managed to clean up the remaining Gryffindors to secure the victory.

Before Battle class started, he had pulled Tracey aside and whispered into her ear that Moody was just testing him. Moody would have never let her fall. Harry suspected that she had only nodded for his benefit. It angered him. Tracey was continually being used by the staff to taunt and frustrate him. He had no doubt that it was being done on purpose.

Was it a warning to him? To her? To everyone?

Lost in his thoughts, he almost ran headlong into Viktor Krum.

It should have been hard to miss him, but Harry was lost in the clouds. At the last moment, he dodged the behemoth, spun out of the way, and mumbled an apology.

He did not expect Krum to reach out and grab him.

Harry instinctively reached for his wand, but the expression on Krum's face stopped him. It wasn't one of anger. The Bulgarian seemed sheepish. He released Harry and stepped back.

"Potter," he said in his gruff voice. "Danka...Thank you...for saving me."

The words were harsh and did not come easy to Krum, but Harry understood plainly. Harry nodded slowly and struggled to find the right response. The last time he was this close to Krum, Harry was pulling the Durmstrang student out from the icy water of the Great Lake.

"It's no problem. Sorry we were in that situation to begin with."

Harry did not know if Krum understood the exact meaning, but he seemed to understand the general sentiment. The large Bulgarian fidgeted on his feet and spoke again, slower and more deliberate this time.

"For Third Task, you can fly?" Krum asked.

Harry had to smile despite the day's events. "Not without a broom."

"Da. You will need broom."

Harry cocked his head and tried to simplify his words. Didn't they have translators? Someone as famous as Krum should use a translator spell constantly.

"I'll need a broom for the Third Task?" While rephrasing Krum's statement, Harry pantomimed sweeping with a broom.

"Nein." Krum shook his head. Looking around, Krum spied some left-behind parchments. He pointed his wand at them. Harry watched as Krum transfigured each parchment into a model of a wizard on a broom. Krum tore the parchment into pieces and transfigured until twelve calfskin wizards circled slowly around them. He certainly had a talent.

"Third Task. We all fly."

Harry understood this time. Nodding his head, Harry placed his wand against his chest. It was a sign of respect in a duel and he thought Krum would appreciate it. The Durmstrang student reciprocated the act.

"No more debt," Krum added after bowing.

When Harry scrunched his face in confusion, Krum paused and had a pensive look on his face. His lips moved silently before he found the words he wanted to say the second time.

"Me and you. Even. No more debt."

Harry understood. He bowed again to Krum. Harry wasn't sure he would consider that even, had the tables been turned, and he owed Krum his life. Given that his actions had put Krum in that situation in the first place, Harry considered the exchange close enough. If the Third Task was an aerial event, it was already to Krum's advantage. By advising Harry of the secret nature of the task, the Bulgarian was depriving Durmstrang of a monumental advantage.

He had to find Cedric. He had to find Hermione.

And he had to find Justin. Time was of the essence, and plots had to be made.

-----------------------------

The cave was soothing late at night. Flickering torchlight danced against the glass. Hermione sat cross legged in front of the pool. She was practicing Occlumency, keeping her head clear and blank. She was failing.

Frustrated, she ran her hand along the shallow pool of water. Back and forth she went, watching the patterns as waves rippled, reflected, merged, and separated. They interfered with one another until the pond's surface was all indescribable waves. Need a little more hate, Granger…

Moody's words echoed in her mind and prevented any semblance of clarity. She had come to the same conclusion Harry obviously had. Moody would never actually let Davis jump from the fourth floor of Hogwarts. Yet, she alone had balked. She had done what Moody had tried to provoke Harry to do.

Why had she intervened in Harry's passion play? Why had she played the hero when Harry refused to be baited? Her anger focused on whatever ridiculous lesson Moody had tried to impart, but not solely from that. There were other sources. Her parents. Snape's unfairness. Her parents. Constantly being underestimated. Her parents.

She was ashamed...then contemplative...then angry.

Hermione wondered if Harry shared her feelings. Moody had used Tracey to test Harry's resolve, and he had passed, but at what cost? She could not miss the hurt in Tracey's eyes when the spell broke. Harry would surely explain why he had not acted, but her hurt would remain. The Hogwarts staff were bloody bastards, using anything and anyone to test him. Her earlier annoyance with Cedric's nonchalance over Harry's now seemed pathetically petty.

She slapped her own cheek in disgust at her inability to concentrate on the matter at hand - Occlumency. She tried clearing her mind, but it kept wandering back to Dueling class. Hermione just couldn't believe Moody's jaw-dropping tactics. Not only were they dangerous, they were reckless and out of control. At least, that's how she viewed things. Now, more than ever, Hermione wanted to know about Harry's extra lessons with Lupin and Trow. What were they trying to teach him?

"Dobby?" Hermione called out. Her rapport with the House-Elf had improved, and he was comfortable showing himself on a more regular basis. On cue, Dobby popped into existence.

"Yes, miss?"

"Could you give me a few minutes to myself?" Hermione asked. Dobby usually bought her lie.

The House-Elf still flushed red and responded, "Yes, miss."

He walked to the entrance of the cave and vanished with another pop.

Hermione remained seated in front of the pool as her thoughts turned to her parents. She scrupulously avoided wallowing in depression or self-pity, but it was hard not to think about them when she was alone. Even a mind like Hermione's could only keep busy for so long no matter how hard she pushed. She remembered her mother's wise words and her father's calm demeanor. They were just dentists, uninvolved in this madness, and still they were caught in the line of fire.

The great unanswered question remained: who pulled the trigger?

The official explanation was former Death Eaters attacking the family of a Muggleborn whose intellectual capacity had unfortunately attracted too much attention. Snape had told her that. So had the investigating Auror. She heard the same reason from the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement herself. Yet...yet...Hermione had her suspicions. She did not believe in coincidence, and even less in grand conspiracies. That the Death Eaters would kill her parents to send some indirect message to Snape never sat well with her.

Too convenient. Too roundabout. There were too many, more direct routes to threaten Snape.

To take the most obvious example, they could have simply killed her instead.

When she considered other possible culprits, only one name returned with frequency. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. All of that hate which had been pooling within over the past two years flowed through her. The lion pulsed against her chest as her thoughts turned dark. Moody wanted more hate. She had more than enough hate.

The cave no longer served as a peaceful sanctuary. Hermione heard a roar in her ears, and the tattoo against her chest begged for relief. Power surged through her wand as she gripped it tightly. Hermione focused on a spot on the wall and saw red. The anger surged from within as tears ran down her face.

"Did you do it?" she whispered. "Did you do it?"

The wall did not answer. The pool did not answer. The lake above did not answer. Hermione wanted an answer to a question that no one save her was asking any longer. No one except for her. Did she dare? The lion scratched against her chest. She blinked and the world slowed around her. She could hear her heart beating wildly against her chest. She felt the air thrumming through her lungs. She felt the river of blood pounding through her veins.

"Did you do it - damn you!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green light shot from her wand and collided with the wall. It did not explode with a fury. Sparks did not fly. It was a simple green beam.

Hermione gasped, her wand dropping from her hand and clattering against the smooth stone floor. What had she done? What madness had overtaken her?

She scooped up her wand and raced out of the cave. Taking the stairs two or three steps at a time, Hermione returned to Gryffindor tower in record time. Though it was late, she jumped into the shower. She turned it scalding hot, painful to the touch. She scrubbed her skin until it was red and raw.

Go away. Go away. Go away! Hermione chanted in her head.

A voice responded. It was her own but not her own. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

Felt good, didn't it?

Hermione jumped in the shower, pulling back the curtain to make sure she was alone in the steamy bathroom. Mist had condensed on the mirror, layering it in a heavy fog. She turned off the shower and droplets clung to her skin. Hermione emerged naked, forgoing the towel. She wiped the fog from the mirror with her bare hands and stared. Her skin was hot to the touch and chafed bright pink where she scrubbed too hard. The tattoo drew her gaze. She touched it.

Cold.

"It didn't. It didn't feel good," she whispered.

"Excuse me, dear?" It was the mirror.

Hermione glared at her reflection. "Was it you? Did you ask me if it felt good?"

The mirror chuckled, aggravating Hermione even more. "Are you hearing things, dear?"

The voice returned.

No. You're not.

---------------------------

"He passed."

"Yes, he did, but not without damage. You made a grave error when he came to you. He assumes the situation is not real. He finds no danger in abstract matters. How can we evaluate him accurately if the boy assumes he will suffer no repercussions?"

"What would you have us do? We can not repeat the same trick. He will know if we resort again to the proxy route using other students. He will suspect subterfuge at every turn. We must be more truthful with him."

"This would have never happened if you hadn't told him that he was essential."

"That he would eventually realize his own importance was always inevitable. It is best to start letting him control the situation. That is why he came back. If we antagonize him any more, we risk that he will become precisely what we fear."

"Did you not think he would turn into him regardless?"

"A worst-case scenario we must always keep in mind. We will start bringing him into the fold."

"Perhaps you are right. I have unsettling news from the Ministry. They wish to call an immediate session to discuss the program."

"Are they starting to believe?"

"Yes. Old families have stopped returning Floo calls. Lucius Malfoy has gone missing from Azkaban. I warned the Ministry what would happen if they did not heed my warning, and here we are again. The mistakes of the First War threaten to repeat themselves. Fortunately, we are now in a much better position to combat the Dark Lord."

"And yet, still no sight of him. He is biding his time. Do we risk drawing him out? Do we tempt him? Are we ready for that?"

"I think not, but we may have no choice. I am tired of fighting blind. Will the boy be prepared by the end of the year?"

"As ready as I wish? No. Competent enough to lead the war? Perhaps."

"Push harder. If you say he is ready to be brought in the fold, then bring him in. The last task is but two weeks away, and the Ministry representatives will be present. Should he underperform, it would be disastrous. We must give the Ministry no cause to doubt us."

"Do they sense the true nature?"

"I doubt it, but it is best to play it cautious. Accelerate the program."

"Understood. There is one other topic to discuss. The girl. She performed the curse."

"The easiest of the Unforgivables. What of it?"

"Do you think she is capable of more?"

"Her? I think not. It is doubtful she would be able to perform the Killing Curse."

"Doubtful but not impossible."

"As close to impossible as possible. I would not worry."

"I agree."

---------------------------

A/N: Projected update time - 35 days

Author Notes: There are roughly 5 or 6 chapters left in Book 2. I hope to have Book 2 finished by the end of July. There will likely be a delay after Chapter 49 as I want to release the last 4 chapters in quick succession.

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