Chapter Text
Harry woke slowly, groaning as the memories of the previous evening came back to him. He’d carried around a nagging worry in the back of his mind ever since the tournament had been announced that somehow, someway, his name would come out of that goblet. No matter that he didn’t put it in, no matter that he didn’t ask anyone to do it, didn’t want anyone to do it, he’d had a feeling. It was just his luck. A deadly tournament? Of course he would somehow have to participate. He couldn’t believe the wave of relief that swept over him when the Hogwarts champion was announced as Cedric. When the other two schools had had Krum and Fleur announced as their champions, he felt that he could practically cry from the relief. But then that blasted cup had done something it was never supposed to do – it had shot out a fourth name. A fourth competitor in the Triwizard Tournament. He couldn’t believe it. It shouldn’t even be possible; it defied the very name of the thing. How had someone made it possible? How was his luck actually that bad? Because he knew, from the moment that the slip of paper shot into the air, he knew. It would be him. Dumbledore didn’t need to read it. Who else could it possibly be?
The reaction to his name coming out was about as bad as he could have imagined. Everyone, of course, believed that he’d done it. Never mind the fact that he was 14 and hadn’t the first clue how to get past Dumbledore’s age line, let alone how to trick an ancient magical artifact into believing there should be four champions rather than three. And to guarantee that his own name came out? If you’d asked him to accomplish this and given him the whole school year to do it, he was confident he couldn’t have come up with a way that would work. He wouldn’t have even known where to start.
Moody seemed to think that his name had been submitted as the only champion for a fourth school. Nobody seemed to know what school he was supposed to have been entered under, not that it seemed to matter. That fact that it would never have occurred to him that the Goblet, magically enchanted to select participants in the Triwizard Tournament, could simply be tricked into believing four schools would compete didn’t seem to lessen the suspicion of him. He could practically laugh at the complete, indescribable absurdity of people believing that he knew how to do that. But of course they did, because he’s Harry bloody Potter, and everyone just seemed to think that he’s responsible for all of his own problems and capable of doing anything he decides to do, even if it causes him mountains of trouble. They thought he wanted the attention, as if he needed more. As if he hadn’t already had enough for his entire bloody life. So, despite the fact that he wouldn’t have entered the tournament if he’d been of age, everyone was now convinced that he’d cheated in order to enter himself at 14 and had somehow tricked the Goblet into accepting him as a fourth competitor.
Even Ron believed it. Harry peered through his curtains of his four-poster towards the offending bed of his best mate. Former best mate, apparently. Because how could he? Ron had been there with him every time something happened. When he’d faced the basilisk, Ron went with him. When he’d defeated Quirrell, there was Ron. When they needed to get Norbert out of the school, when they’d gone to speak to Aragog, when they’d... he sighed. Ron had been there through everything. If anyone ought to know Harry, he’d thought it would be Ron, but somehow, Ron had convinced himself that Harry had wanted this, had gone and done it on his own and wouldn’t share it with Ron. Because he was some kind of glory hound? Because he was greedy?
“How’d you do it?” Ron’s words from last night came back to him. “It’s alright, mate, I mean I wish you’d let me put my name in too, but I just want to know how you did it.” He’d frowned then, disappointed that Ron assumed he’d entered himself, but he knew Ron would believe him if he simply explained. “Ron, I didn’t put my name in. I never wanted to compete in this bloody tournament.” Ron had frowned at him, a hurt expression on his face which puzzled Harry. “It’s okay to tell ME, Harry, I’m not going to spread it around! Come on, what’d you use? The Invisibility Cloak? You know we BOTH fit under there, Harry! And how’d you get your name to come out as a FOURTH Champion? That was wicked!” Frustration rising, Harry had tried to control his temper in responding, trying to hold back the wave of desperation and despair crashing over him when Ron didn’t accept his explanation. “No, Ron, it wasn’t wicked, I didn’t do this! I don’t want this!” Ron had scoffed, scoffed! at Harry, his face darkening. “Yeah, whatever mate. Don’t tell me then. It’s just a chance for eternal fame and a thousand galleons, not like that’s something you’d share with a best mate.” Desperate and frustrated, Harry had tried one more time to reason with the boy he’d thought was his best friend. “Did you ever think that maybe somebody ELSE entered me because they want to KILL me? People die in this tournament, Ron! I don’t want any part of it!” Ron’s face twisted into a jealous anger, apparently convinced that his best mate had abandoned him to seek fame and fortune that he already had too much of. “Oh right, I forgot, you’re Harry bloody Potter. Somebody’s always trying to do you in by giving you a chance to be the first Triwizard Champion in a century. Not to mention the youngest Champion ever. How horrible it must be, having to compete in a bloody tournament and getting let off of exams. Just piss off, mate.” He’d then angrily closed the curtains to his bed, going to sleep. Harry’d been left completely stunned.
Harry had been certain, completely certain, that the only people who would believe him about not putting his name in would be Ron and Hermione. The very first thought he’d had, as soon as he’d recovered from the stunned disbelief at how completely, abysmally horrible his luck had turned when his name came out of the Goblet, was that at least he still had them. Ron and Hermione would believe him, would defend him, would help him get through this, just like they always had when something insane and dangerous happened to him. But then he couldn’t find either of them at the impromptu (and unwelcome) party in the Common Room, and he’d felt his hope fade just a little. Surely, they’d want to talk to him? Ron would be right there, waiting to tell him that he’d get to wipe the smug grin off the face of whatever bloody idiot put him in this tournament by winning, and Hermione would want to immediately start talking about theories for the First Task, spells he might want to learn to try to compete against champions with three more years of education, and she would of course want to remind him that being excused from end of year exams was no excuse not to put in his best effort in his classes. And that thought had given him comfort as he’d returned to the Common Room, but instead he’d been surrounded by classmates of all years who simply refused to believe he didn’t want this, didn’t enter himself, and his two best friends had been nowhere. He’d tried to push through the crowd, tried to say he didn’t do it, that he was tired, that he wanted to leave, but nobody would hear it, nobody would let him go. They all wanted to celebrate his apparent genius at getting a Gryffindor into the Tournament. He lost track of the number of times he’d heard someone say that “at least we’ll be represented, better us than the Puffs!” And every moment that he couldn’t find his best friends, he’d felt his anxiety and frustration growing, until he felt ready to explode.
But then he’d broken away, finally gotten to the dormitory, and seen Ron. Seen the curious, slightly hurt expression on his face, the way he had looked back at Harry as if seeing an interesting stranger rather than a desperate best friend. And he’d said... “How’d you do it?” It was the assumption that stung the most. Ron should’ve known better. But he’d sat up in the Common Room, stewing while Harry was subjected to a party he didn’t want, didn’t ask for, didn’t deserve, and he’d convinced himself that Harry had done the one thing he should’ve known Harry would never do. He had assumed that Harry had cheated in order to win glory and done it without telling him. As if Harry had ever done a dangerous or stupid thing without Ron? But when Ron wouldn’t hear his denials, wouldn’t hear him telling him that he didn’t want any part of this, the anger and frustration and anxiety that had been ready to boil over in him after the party downstairs suddenly seemed to just vanish, and he was left feeling deflated, defeated, and totally exhausted. He crawled into bed that night and had to fight harder than he had in years not to cry. Suddenly he felt like he was back at the Dursleys, in his cupboard, desperately trying not to cry, not to let anyone see or hear how upset he was, lest they come to punish him more.
He distinctly remembered the first time, as a child, that Dudley had learned he could blame Harry for anything. They’d been five years old. Dudley had been given a new football for his birthday, and he’d been so eager to play with it, he’d set it on the ground and been about to kick it. Vernon had, with uncharacteristic sternness, warned Dudley that he was only allowed to kick his football around outside, because the house had too many valuable things that could be broken. Dudley had bellowed and screamed and cried, but for once Vernon and Petunia had been firm. Dudley was not allowed to kick the football in the house. But then, of course, they left the room. And Harry had watched from across the room as Dudley petulantly kicked the ball. It had soared across the room, colliding with a vase of flowers on the table beside the couch. He’d watched wide eyed as the vase crashed to the floor, smashing into hundreds of pieces, water splashing everywhere. And he’d been convinced he was about to see Dudley punished for the first time in his life. But when Vernon and Petunia had come running, had seen the mess, had seen the pool of water on the floor, the flowers, the football, they’d looked at Dudley and he’d simply pointed at Harry and screamed, “He did it! I swear, it was the freak!” And they had believed him. It didn’t seem to matter that Harry was standing all the way on the other side of the room, or that Dudley never allowed him to come near his things, they believed Dudley that Harry had kicked the ball. But because Harry was still young and stupid, he’d become indignant and insisted that Dudley had kicked the ball, that it had hit the vase, and that this was obviously Dudley’s fault. And that had, if anything, been even worse for him, because it seemed to double Vernon and Petunia’s anger. It was one thing to break their precious vase; it was another thing entirely to blame their precious Dudders for anything. Dudley could do no wrong. Harry had been beaten and thrown into the cupboard, given no food for three days and only a handful of glasses of water. He’d never felt weaker in his life when he emerged, and he had learned that blaming Dudley could only be bad for him, even if it happens to be true. Dudley, of course, had learned that blaming Harry, especially when calling him a freak, could get him out of anything. And so, Harry had spent the next six years, until he went to Hogwarts, taking the blame any time Dudley was caught breaking a rule. Sometimes, when he was bored, Dudley would even cry out over some imaginary injury and claim that Harry had hit him when nothing at all had happened, just to get Harry thrown into the cupboard for a few days.
That memory had filled Harry’s mind unbidden as he tried to sleep last night. He knew that he was telling the truth, but just like then, it didn’t matter. Just like then, whoever had really done this was going to get away with it while he took all the punishment. Truth was irrelevant, because nobody seemed to want to believe it. Not even Ron. And, Harry worried, maybe Hermione didn’t either. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t waited in the common room to talk to him. He didn’t think it was true, didn’t want to think that of Hermione, but he’d been so convinced that Ron would be on his side that he no longer trusted his judgement of his best friends. Maybe he’d been wrong all along. Maybe the last three years had been an elaborate prank. Maybe he’d never really had friends at all. For the first time since he had started at Hogwarts, Harry felt completely alone that morning as he woke up. It was Sunday, so he didn’t have to go anywhere, and he considered laying in his bed all day. But eventually, his stomach rumbled. And he managed to convince himself that he wasn’t back at Privet Drive, that the truth did matter, had to matter. He would go to the Great Hall, get something to eat, and convince Hermione to be on his side. He was certain he would need her help, he just hoped he wouldn’t have to work too hard to earn it. He would ignore Ron. He’d made his opinion clear, and he wouldn’t be any help anyway. But he had hope for Hermione. She was always more logical than Ron, she would hear him out, she would help.
Harry took a deep breath, pushed himself out of bed and got ready for the day. Luckily the dorm room was already empty. He was apparently the last one to go down to breakfast. That worked for him; he was in no mood for the quiet, awkward small talk that he would have to make with his roommates had they been here, much less any probing or accusatory questions. When he descended to the common room he kept his head down, willing anyone still there to ignore him. Luckily only a few particularly early risers had returned from breakfast, and they seemed to be mostly engrossed in their own conversations or studies. He slipped through the Common Room without notice, stepped through the portrait hole, and then – there was a stack of toast in his face. He blinked as he stared at the toast that had suddenly appeared in front of him, before realizing that it was being held out to him by a familiar bushy-haired friend. Her brown eyes were full of sympathy as she said simply, “I brought these for you. Want to go for a walk?”
His anxiety and stress instantly crumbled as a surge of affection for his friend burst through him. She was with him. “That sounds brilliant,” he replied, unable to keep the relief from his voice or a weak smile from forming on his lips. His smile fled as it occurred to him as they walked that she could help him while believing that he had entered himself, and for a brief moment he wondered whether he should ask her, whether he really wanted to know, whether he could handle the disappointment of her telling him that she thought he had entered himself and how disappointed she was, but she would help him anyway, but then -
“Oh Harry, it’s simply awful! Do they have any idea how your name got entered?” Hermione asked, turning towards him with her eyes wide and full of concern.
“Wait... you don’t think I entered my own name?” He stuttered out in surprise.
“Of course not, Harry!” she responded briskly, as if the very notion were ridiculous. “Quite aside from the fact that I have no idea how you would’ve even done such a thing, I know you’d never do it without telling Ron and I. And, well, I could see your face when Professor Dumbledore read your name! You looked absolutely terrified! Of course I never believed you entered your own name, Harry. I know you better than that.”
Harry released a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. His relief was like a palpable thing within him, and he relaxed muscles he didn’t even know he’d been clenching. Another, stronger surge of affection swept through him. He’d been so worried that Hermione would be like Ron, and now he felt ridiculous. Of course she wouldn’t. Hermione had always seemed to understand him, sometimes even better than he thought he understood himself. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what he would do without her, and he really didn’t want to. He was so relieved, he found himself smiling far wider than before as they reached the Entrance Hall and stepped out onto the grounds. Without so much as a word or a gesture exchanged, they both angled themselves towards the Black Lake and continued walking out into the bright, unseasonably warm sunshine of a November morning in the Highlands. After several steps in what was an oddly uncomfortable silence, Harry risked glancing back over at Hermione to find she was still looking over at him, her eyes full of concern, and he thought he detected a hint of hurt?
“And,” she said finally, apparently picking up where she’d left off despite being silent for several moments while she waited to see if he responded. “I would have thought that after three years of knowing me, that you would know better than to think I wouldn’t believe you.” She looked away as she finished speaking, but Harry had seen the hurt in her eyes. She’d noticed his doubt and was upset that he hadn’t had faith in her.
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I should’ve done. I did, last night. Until I talked to Ron. I was so sure that you and Ron would believe me that I never even questioned it, but then I talked to him, and he didn’t even ask me IF I did it, he just asked me how, and he wouldn’t accept it when I told him I didn’t.”
Hermione scowled at the mention of Ron. Her face quickly softened as she looked over at him and saw the obvious pain in his expression. “I’m sorry, Harry. I don’t know how Ron could possibly think that you would do this. It’s completely baffling.”
Harry felt his throat constrict, both in appreciation of her steadfast loyalty and in sorrow at the uncomfortable reminder of Ron’s betrayal. “Yeah… well,” he trailed off, not knowing what to say to that. How could he begin to explain how he was feeling about Ron? Did he even know himself? All he knew when he thought about him was a tangled mess of anger and hurt and sadness that he couldn’t summon the strength to unwind and analyze. So, instead, he let out a long, slow breath and simply said, “Thanks.”
Hermione nodded, walking along quietly for a few moments. Eventually, she spoke up again, apparently unable to withhold her own feelings on their friend. “I saw Ronald in the Great Hall this morning. He had the gall to ask me why I helped you enter yourself, and why neither of us told him. I tried to explain to him that you never asked me for help because you didn’t enter yourself, but he refused to listen. He’s utterly convinced that you must have cheated, and that you couldn’t figure out how on your own so I must have helped you.” Her angry expression faded as she glanced back over at him and saw how morose his expression had become at her angry explanation of their friend’s petulant theory. Harry tried to hide the sadness and hurt in his eyes, but he had never been any good at hiding his emotions from Hermione. She reached over to gently grasp his free hand with hers and squeezed once before letting go again, looking at him sadly. “I know Ron’s always been your best friend, so I understand how his reaction might have made you question everything. Even me. I’m so sorry, Harry, I should have been there for you last night! But you looked so worried, and I was so afraid for you, that I -”
“Went to the library?” Harry cut in, grinning weakly. It felt a little odd on his face, after the emotional roller coaster of the last 12 hours, but good all the same. A small smile tugged at the corners of Hermione’s lips as she nodded, and Harry chuckled. “See, I DO know you, Hermione. Even though that one didn’t take three years to learn.”
Hermione gave an exaggerated huff of pretend annoyance, desperately trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips, before she continued. “Anyway, I was in the library, looking for anything having to do with past Tournaments, and I started pulling reference books for spells we’ll be learning in the next few years, especially in Charms and Defense as I think those are most likely to be helpful. I don’t know if potions would be allowed in some of the tasks, and even if they were it could be hard to know what to brew ahead of time. So, I thought it would be best to focus on spells. Transfiguration could be helpful, but that can be such a complex form of magic, and really it feels like it could be extremely situational – I don’t want to discount it entirely, but I think it needs to be lower priority. Charms and defensive magic are more flexible in how you can use them, and faster to learn. I know some of it will be too advanced to learn in the time we have before the First Task, and we don’t even know yet what we’ll need, but we can prioritize by identifying the most generally useful spells, particularly defensive spells that might save your life, and then if you’re able to master those we can move on to other types of spells that might be more specialized.”
Harry nodded along as she talked. “So, where’s the list?”
Hermione’s eyebrows rose and her mouth opened a little. “Am I really that predictable?”
Harry smirked as he replied, “Absolutely.”
Hermione simply huffed and rolled her eyes, but she was once again fighting to prevent a smile from breaking out. “The list, if you must know, is in my bag. We can go through it when we return to the castle. I also have some of the most promising reference books in my bag, so we can try to begin learning some of the spells I thought would be most useful for defense this afternoon. We may have to ask Professor Flitwick or Professor Moody for help if they turn out to be tricky, and we’ll need to find a safe space to practice.”
Harry cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’m not allowed to get help from the Professors, Hermione, you know that.”
“Yes, Harry, you’re not allowed to get help from them for the Tournament. But unless something has changed since I last checked, there’s no rule at Hogwarts against a student asking a teacher to help them study ahead. Since all these spells are on the curriculum anyway, we can just ask them to help you learn a bit early. You’re only taking your studies seriously, Harry.” She tried to wrestle her face into a mask of utter seriousness, but he could still see the grin tugging at the edges of her lips. She was enjoying skirting the rules.
“Hermione, has anyone ever told you you’re completely brilliant?”
She blushed, and he found it made his stomach do a little flip that he wasn’t expecting. But he pushed that feeling to the side firmly, no time to examine it now. “Yes, Harry, but it never hurts for you to say it again.” She lost the fight to control her grin completely. “Now, if we can get back to my original question before you got us completely off track,”
“Oi! You participated in that getting off track too! In fact, you led us even further off track than I did!” Harry exclaimed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” she replied primly. “Anyway, my original question. Do they have any idea how your name got entered into the Goblet? Or how it came out as a fourth competitor?”
Harry sighed. He looked out across the Black Lake as they continued their leisurely stroll, the toast she’d brought him now completely gone. His stomach still rumbled slightly, not quite satisfied without something a bit heavier than a few slices of toast, but he would at least be able to wait for lunch. He knew he was stalling, because the playful banter with Hermione had been enjoyable, and he didn’t want to go back to the anger he knew would follow what he had to tell her. After several moments had passed, she spoke again. “It must be really bad, if you’re stalling this much.”
He stopped walking, turning fully towards the Black Lake and away from her. He stared out at it for another moment, watching as the giant squid’s tentacle broke the lake’s surface, careened through the air, and dived back into the inky depths. Finally, he looked down at the ground and put his hands on his hips, sighing. “Apparently,” he began, unable to keep the venom out of his voice. “All you had to do to get past the age line was ask another student to put your name in for you. There was no way to guarantee that the name a person was submitting was actually their own.” He let that statement hang in the deafening silence which followed it, waiting for the inevitable eruption from Mt. Hermione. He wasn’t disappointed.
“What?” she exclaimed in obvious outrage several moments later. “That’s... that’s... but that’s.... THEN WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THE AGE LINE?” She threw her hands in the air before folding them tightly across her chest and stalking quickly back and forth behind him. “I can’t believe this, this is completely insane. How could they be so stupid? Anyone could enter any name! Didn’t it even occur to them that somebody could enter a first year as a prank? Somebody could enter their sibling or their friend? Do they believe you? Surely Professor Dumbledore must believe you, Harry? He must be able to get you out of this if you didn’t even enter yourself!” She walked around Harry to be able to scrutinize his expression again. Startled at seeing her suddenly in front of him, Harry found his face heating slightly as he found himself without warning staring into her intense brown eyes at quite close range, closer, he felt sure, than was strictly necessary. He convinced himself that the sudden rapid beating of his heart was simply from the surprise of having somebody so quickly step into his personal space, right in front of his face. Attempting to master his reaction, he took a quick half step back and shifted his focus back over onto the lake, which was safe to look at. Certainly much safer than looking into her eyes. He often didn’t say much, but she could always read his face to see his true emotions, and he didn’t really want her to see them at the moment. He wasn’t even sure what they were at the moment.
Hermione, however, was determined, and she shifted to make sure she was directly in his line of sight again, and he could look nowhere but her eyes. They were at once blazing with anger and pleading with him to tell her something positive. He shook his head and watched as her face fell. “It’s like Dumbledore said, the Goblet is a binding magical contract. It doesn’t matter to it who put the name in, the contract is with the name on the paper. If I don’t compete, I lose my magic. There’s nothing Dumbledore can do.” She resumed her pacing, this time in front of him, too agitated to continue her interrogation as she lost herself in her own thoughts. He knew that she was sorting out questions in her head, prioritizing what was most important to ask. After a few moments he realized he hadn’t answered the other part of her question. “And yes, for the record. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall believe me that I didn’t put my name in. The other Headmasters, Maxime and Karkaroff, thought it was some sort of plot by Hogwarts. They're convinced that either I did it, or Dumbledore did it, to give Hogwarts two champions. And of course, Snape is convinced I did it.” He crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw as he was overtaken by frustration at the memory of how Snape had assured them that of course Harry did this, because Harry always has to be the center of attention. Unbidden, the thought floated through his mind that Ron had sounded a bit like that as well. He dismissed it immediately as being unfair to his friend, the unhelpful product of his own anger. However annoyed he may be at Ron, he wasn’t Snape.
“Professor Snape, Harry. And he always blames you, that’s hardly new.” she said dismissively as she continued pacing.
“Still ruddy annoying.” Harry grumbled under his breath. He thought Hermione couldn’t hear him until he saw her wave her hand dismissively at his comments. He raised an eyebrow but remained silent. Finally, she stopped pacing and rounded on him again.
“What about being a fourth champion, Harry? Did they have any theories about that?”
He shrugged. “The only one who seemed to was Moody. He thought the Goblet must have been hit with a really strong Confundus charm, making it believe that there was a fourth school, and that I was the only contestant from it. That would be the only way to guarantee that my name would come out.”
Hermione nodded slowly, frowning. “That... makes sense. I doubt it could have been a student though. Even a seventh year probably wouldn’t be able to produce a strong enough Confundus to trick a magical artifact as powerful as the Goblet of Fire. And that idea of tricking it into believing there was a fourth school with only you in it, that’s clever. Really clever. This wasn’t some last-minute plan. Somebody who knew the tournament was happening, and knew for a while, planned this.”
“Yeah, I’d worked that one out myself, thanks.” He knew his reply was a bit unfairly snippy, especially since Hermione was the only one trying to help him, but he couldn’t help it. He was frustrated and a bit scared and she was telling him something he’d already known since last night. He was eager to move beyond playing catch up.
“Don’t snipe at me, Harry, I’m only trying to help,” she said sharply before continuing. “Harry...” she said slowly, apparently still working on what she wanted to say as her eyes darted back and forth. “Do you think it’s a bit odd, how quickly Professor Moody came up with that plan?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Odd?”
“Yes, Harry. It’s not an obvious plan, considering the Tournament is only meant to have three contestants. I mean, perhaps it would be a little bit easier to figure it out once there is a fourth champion, but to come up with the whole idea, tricking the Goblet into thinking you’re from a fourth competing school? And he said this what, minutes after the Goblet spit your name out? Half an hour? Doesn’t that seem a little bit fast?”
Harry frowned now. “Hermione, what are you trying to say? Do you think Moody put my name in the Goblet?”
She chewed her bottom lip as she stood with her arms held tightly across her chest, lost in thought. “I don’t know,” she replied finally. “I don’t want to believe that one of our professors has done this, but we have had bad experiences with Defense professors in the past. Granted Lockhart was only incompetent, not evil like Quirrell. But still. We don’t really know Professor Moody, and he came up with that idea awfully quickly.”
Harry’s frown deepened. Sure, they didn’t personally know Moody very well, but... “He was an Auror, Hermione, one of the best. He’s covered in scars from fighting dark wizards, do you really think he’d turn into one? And he said last night that he was trained to think like dark wizards do, that’s how he came up with it. Understanding how dark wizards think doesn’t make you one.”
“I know, Harry, but there’s also... he performed the unforgivable curses in class, didn’t he?” her voice took on an uncertain, pleading tone, trying to get Harry to at least meet her part way.
“He thought we needed to see them to really learn why they’re unforgivable.” Harry stubbornly defended the new teacher, feeling like he was being unfairly accused simply for having figured out what had happened. The memory of Vernon and Petunia punishing him for telling them that Dudley had kicked the football flashed through his mind, and he felt his stubborn defense of Moody harden. Explaining what happened didn’t make you guilty of making it happen.
“Yes, I know he said that, but they are unforgivable for a reason. It’s illegal to cast them. The Ministry has decided that they shouldn’t ever be cast, not even to teach in a classroom.”
Harry jumped in, cutting her off unexpectedly. “He said Dumbledore agreed with him that we needed to see the curses.”
Hermione crossed her arms, not backing down. “Yes, Harry, but it was the way he did it. He cast them so casually, it felt like he’d done it before. I’m not saying he definitely did it, Harry. Just... I think we should be wary of him. I hope you’re right, and he is really just an Auror trained to think like dark wizards, and he really did just figure everything out with the Goblet, and he really did just cast the unforgivables for a demonstration. But I think we should keep an eye out for suspicious activity. Until we know we can trust him.”
Harry struggled to control his frustration, knowing that Hermione was the only one helping him and he couldn’t afford to drive her away. He didn’t agree with her about Moody, but he reasoned with himself that keeping a close eye on him wasn’t the end of the world. After all, it would only prove that there was nothing to be worried about. Still, he had to ask. “And when will we know that we can trust him?” He managed to keep his frustration out of his voice. Mostly.
She thought for a moment, chewing her bottom lip nervously, looking distant. Finally, she looked back at him and simply said, “I don’t know, Harry.” Well, at least she was willing to admit it.
“Fine. We’ll keep an eye on him.” His tone was curt and his arms were crossed. Hermione approached him, uncrossing her own arms and bringing them down to her sides.
“I know you don’t agree with me, Harry, and I hope I’m wrong. I just don’t want to take the chance. You’ve been hurt by Defense professors before, and I would just hate to see something else happen to you.” The concern in her eyes was so sincere that he felt his frustration melting away, leaving him oddly exhausted and hollow. It had been an emotional morning.
“I know, Hermione.” He looked down at his feet again, mulling over his next words. He didn’t want to sound pathetic, but then, he reasoned, Hermione was perhaps the only person who wouldn’t ever think he was. He decided to take a chance. “And... thank you. For caring what happens to me. Sometimes it feels like you’re the only person who does.”
“Oh Harry!” she exclaimed, and then before he could process it, he was wrapped tightly in the kind of hug that only Hermione Granger could give him.
~
After finishing their walk around the Black Lake, they returned to the castle. Having set a leisurely pace, it was late morning by the time they arrived. They sequestered themselves in an unused classroom on the first floor to review Hermione’s list of spells to learn. It included such defensive spells as Stupefy, Depulso, Bombarda, and Flipendo, as well as more generally useful spells such as Accio and Ascendio. The list, however, contained dozens of spells, and made Harry’s head reel as he thought about trying to learn all of them before the First Task. He groaned when he realized that they didn’t even know which of them would be useful for the task, on account of the idiotic rule about not telling the Champions anything until the moments before the task actually began. Honestly, Harry thought, if they were going to throw students into dangerous, potentially deadly situations, the least they could do is give them the time to understand and plan for the task.
Hermione, apparently, echoed his feelings exactly. “I can’t believe they expect you to prepare for a task without knowing what it is, especially if it’s supposed to be dangerous. It’s almost like they want the champions to be injured, honestly. But at least we know what happened in past Triwizard Tournaments, I don’t expect this one to have a different structure. That should at least guide us in figuring out the type of task, even if we don’t know the details.”
Harry blinked. “Are you saying the tasks follow a pattern?”
Hermione gave him a look that left him in no doubt that he’d just asked an especially stupid question. “Of course, Harry. First of all, competitions like this are always interested in establishing the credentials of the eventual champion in several different areas of magic and skill. They want a champion to demonstrate not only exceptional magical skill, but also creativity, resourcefulness, and the ability to perform under pressure. That’s why they don’t tell you what the first task is, so you have to think on your feet and deal with whatever you find. After the First Task, you’re always given a clue as to the Second Task, testing your ability to solve puzzles correctly, as well as to prepare for how to deal with whatever you think the task is. Champions are always told about the Third Task well in advance, and it is always some kind of obstacle course, often a maze, so that the eventual Champion will have to demonstrate the ability to respond to a variety of different challenges under time pressure, as they are almost always directly competing against the other contestants to see who can complete the task first.
“Then there are the tasks themselves – the First Task almost always requires the champions to retrieve something while evading some type of dangerous magical beast. Usually the beast is something that would be classified as “moderately dangerous,” enough to give an individual wizard pause, but not something like a dragon or a lethifold that couldn’t be dealt with by one wizard alone. Then the Second Task is usually a bit more of a scavenger hunt, where the champion will have to find and recover a precious item, overcoming obstacles as they do so. The final task, as I said, is an obstacle course or maze, or both. Each one will require a different strategy, but for right now, we’ll just have to focus on the First Task.”
Harry’s mouth was practically on the floor. She hadn’t known that he was a champion until last night, how on earth had she already found all of this information? His expression, apparently, was transparent.
“Honestly, Harry, did you really expect me to let you walk into this without some idea of what you’d be facing?” she asked, exasperated.
“No, of course not. I just don’t know where you found the time to learn all of this!” His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. “You did give McGonagall the time turner back at the end of last year, right?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes right back. “Yes, obviously. I said that I would. And it was completely exhausting using it all year – I was more than ready to be done with it. Not that that decision seems wise now. Think how much more we could get done if we still had it. Maybe I should ask and see if she still has it...” she reached into her bag to pull out her planner, evidently meaning to make a note to herself for the next morning. Harry held up a hand to stop her.
“I doubt she still has it, Hermione, she had to give it back to the Ministry didn’t she?”
She huffed in response. “It doesn’t hurt to ask, Harry. Besides, even if she doesn’t have it, maybe she could get one again? I may not strictly need to be in two places at once now, since I dropped the extra classes, but she does trust me and I do always have a lot to do, she may be willing to get one for me. We should at least try.” She looked back into her bag for a quill and ink.
Harry groaned. “Please, Hermione. I only used the time turner once last year and I still feel like my head is spinning when I think about it. Besides, I’m supposed to do these tasks by myself, and if you talk to McGonagall, she’ll figure out that you’re helping me.”
“Professor McGonagall, Harry, and she already knows that I’m helping you.”
“What?” he felt the tiniest hint of panic creeping up his spine at the thought that he could be disqualified if he was found to have cheated, and they would take his magic. He didn’t know if it was technically cheating, but when the consequences could be as bad as returning to the Dursleys forever, he really wasn’t sure he wanted to take chances.
“I haven’t told her that I’m going to, but she’d have to be daft not to know. I’m your best friend, Harry, and I always help you.” She rolled her eyes, looking at him again like he was an idiot. But her exasperated expression was still full of fondness, because he was her idiot.
“Oh.” Harry responded weakly. Of course, that made sense. Any of their professors would assume she was helping, like she always did. He didn’t often appreciate when Hermione looked at him like he was an idiot, because he often felt that it was unfair as nobody else was as smart as her, but this time he really felt like he deserved it.
“Anyway, even if you don’t want to use the time turner, I can use the extra time to do more research and practice the spells to be able to help teach you, which I really think could be important.” Hermione was, for once, waiting for his answer instead of simply making her note to herself. Harry didn’t need any time to consider, however.
“No, Hermione.” He responded firmly. “I appreciate that you would be willing to put yourself through that to help me, but I don’t want you to. You were completely exhausted last year, and I hated seeing you like that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not a child, Harry, I can look after myself. And if it will help keep you alive, I’d be happy to do it. It’s hardly a big sacrifice when I used the time turner all year last year. I already know how to deal with it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring her stance, refusing to back down. “No. I was there last year, Hermione. I saw how exhausted you got, and it wasn’t just the end of the year, it was regularly. By the end of the year, you practically looked like a zombie. You’re not the only one here who cares, and I don’t want you to do that to yourself for me. I’m not worth it.”
Hermione looked equal parts outraged and distraught. “How can you say that, Harry? Of course you’re worth it! I don’t care what anyone else says, you’re my best friend and you’re worth it to me.”
Harry sighed, letting his arms fall to his sides again. “If you want to ask McGonagall, I can’t stop you. But I’m asking you not to, Hermione. Please. I don’t want you to do that to yourself on my account. I’ll survive this. After all, it’s not like I’ll be facing dragons, right?” He threw in a cheeky smile to let her know that he didn’t want to fight. He was thrown off when she responded by fidgeting and chewing her lip nervously. “Hemione?” he asked, suddenly sharing in her nervousness.
She looked down at her feet, then over at the wall, avoiding his gaze. Finally she took a deep breath and said in a slightly unsteady voice, “Well, you’re probably not facing dragons. I mean, it’s rare. Most Triwizard Tournaments don’t involve that level of dangerous creatures. But it has happened. So, we can’t completely rule it out.”
His jaw dropped. “Oh,” he finally managed to squeak out.
Hermione rushed to fill the void, trying to reassure him. “Really, Harry, something that dangerous is incredibly rare. And this is the first tournament in a century, after they were canceled for becoming too dangerous; I can’t imagine they would do something like that. You’ll probably be dealing with something much less dangerous than that, maybe an acromantula or a kelpie, something challenging but manageable. The organizers won’t want anyone to be seriously hurt. And then there’s also the cost, you’d have to bring dragons in from quite far off, as well as large teams to handle them, and they could even be dangerous to the spectators, so really it wouldn’t make very much sense, I only mentioned it to be thorough. You really shouldn’t worry about it, Harry, I’m sure it’ll be something much more sensible.”
Harry didn’t want to voice his opinion that he was sure it wouldn’t be something more sensible, that the organizers would want the tournament to make headlines as it was the first one for more than a century. They’d go big, even if he wasn’t involved, but knowing his luck, of course the tournament would be one of the deadliest ever. He never got easy breaks. But Hermione didn’t need to dwell on that, he could tell the stress of the possibility was already consuming her and she was really reassuring him in order to reassure herself. He thought it best to just move on. “Well, in any case, we’ll do what we have with the time we have. It’s almost a month before the task, and we can ask Flitwick for some extra help with ‘advanced studies’” – he put air quotes up as he said this – “and I’ll be fine, one way or another. But I would appreciate if you wouldn’t ask McGonagall for a time turner. I have enough to worry about without having to keep an eye on how exhausted you’re getting trying to help me.”
She looked like she was ready to argue for a moment before she suddenly deflated. Hary had hoped that if he made it sound like she would be helping him by not getting a time turner, that that would be better at convincing her, and it looked like he was right. “Fine, Harry. But you’d better be fine. If you die in this tournament, I’ll bring you back and kill you myself for being stupid.” She tried to look stern, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a hint of a grin tugging at her lips. Harry grinned back at her and his heart beat a little too rapidly in his chest. She did look very cute when she grinned at him like that.
“Relax, Hermione! When have I ever not been fine?”
“I’d have to ask Madam Pomfrey to make sure I had a complete list,” she threw back at him, raising an eyebrow but still grinning. They both chuckled before deciding to head to the Great Hall for lunch.
~
They had intended to reach the Great Hall right when lunch began, to eat quickly and then leave so that Harry could avoid the stares and whispers that inevitably would follow him after last night’s events. Harry also keenly wanted to avoid any direct confrontations with anyone. He knew that much of the school would be angry, feeling that he was trying to take Cedric’s place as the Hogwarts Champion. Others, Gryffindors mostly, would try to congratulate him again, making him uncomfortable for an entirely different reason. But they had spent too long walking around the lake and then discussing Hermione’s study schedule for new spells and the tournament and the time turner, and they now found themselves approaching the Great Hall as lunch was halfway over. That meant that most of the school, not to mention their international guests, would crowd the hall.
Hermione grasped his arm to stop him as they approached. He turned to face her, raising his eyebrow in question. “Are you sure you want to do this, Harry? I can go in and bring us out plates like breakfast.”
He looked between her and the doors of the Great Hall and back, thinking quickly. It would be nice to avoid everything, but he’d have to face it eventually. And, he thought, he hadn’t done anything wrong. No matter what they thought, he knew the truth of the matter. If he were honest with himself, he would’ve probably avoided everyone all day if he were alone, but with Hermione standing with him, he felt he could do this. He turned back to her and nodded decisively. “I’ll be fine, Hermione. It’s hardly the first time everyone’s pointed and whispered.” She nodded once and released his arm, causing him to feel an odd sense of loss as her hand pulled away, one that he was not keen to further investigate. Surely, it had just been a stressful twelve hours and all of his newfound appreciation for Hermione was because of that. Not because he’d been thinking about how cute she’d looked ever since they’d ridden Buckbeak together to save his godfather. Shaking the thoughts from his head, they proceeded into the Great Hall side by side.
The moment the doors opened and they walked through, a wave of silence flowed through the hall. Eyes turned to look at them from every corner, and even though Harry had intended to pay it no mind, the silence was so overwhelming that he couldn’t help but stop and stare out, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Hermione was the same, but she then quickly grabbed his hand and began dragging him over to the Gryffindor table. Conversation resumed as they started moving, the light hubbub of chatter breaking out all over the hall, flowing over the clinking of cutlery on plates and glasses on the table. He felt like he could feel every eye that had stayed on him as they found seats near Neville and the twins, but far from Ron at the other end of the table. He hadn’t really wanted to sit with anyone other than Hermione, but at this point in lunch it couldn’t be helped. And of all the Gryffindors, he figured Neville and the twins would be the most tolerable.
Neville looked up from his lunch as they sat down across from him, looking as though he were about to say something, but then he quickly looked back down at his plate and continued eating. The twins grinned at Harry like a pair of cheshire cats.
“Do my eyes deceive me, George?” Fred asked as he theatrically rubbed at his eyes, staring hard at Harry as if he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.
“Usually, but not this time,” George responded with a grin.
“Our magnificent Champion has finally deigned to grace us with his presence then?” Fred asked with a smirk.
“It seems that way,” George responded solemnly. “He even brought Hermione back to us.”
“I was sure they’d get lost when we saw them walking around the lake,” Fred added, pretending to be completely overcome by worry.
“Course they couldn’t get lost, they had each other!” George threw back at him.
“Never thought I’d see the day,” Fred bantered, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “The kids are finally growing up.”
“We’ve been around the lake plenty of times, you’re being ridiculous,” Hermione responded flatly. “And for the record, Harry didn’t bring me anywhere,” Hermione added in annoyance, shooting the two a mild glare.
“Oh no, of course not,” George responded quickly. “You’ve brought him, of course.”
“We’re all just glad you’ve finally figured it out,” Fred threw in with a mischievous look.
Annoyed at the implication that Hermione was dragging him along and confused about what they implying, Harry asked, somewhat more sharply than he intended, “Figured what out, Fred?” Hermione shot him a look, as if asking do you really want to know? The question, however, was already out there. He’d done this to himself.
“That you’re perfect for each other, of course!” replied George with an enormous grin.
Harry’s face heated and he felt an uncomfortable rush of butterflies in his stomach. Next to him, Hermione scoffed, but her face turned an interesting shade of pink. “What, just because we’ve had a walk together? Since when can’t friends take a walk together? In case you hadn’t noticed, the whole castle seems to want to do nothing but judge and whisper about Harry since last night. I thought he could use a little bit of time before facing it all this morning.”
“That’s not a no, Georgie” said Fred, grinning.
“Indeed it isn’t, Fred.” replied George, grinning just as widely.
Harry was officially annoyed, and worried that if they pursued this line of conversation too long he might say something embarrassing. “Yes, it is a no. We’re not together. We always go for walks, and Hermione grabs my hand all the time. We’re still just friends.” He spoke firmly, eyes fixed on the twins, not noticing the slightly disappointed expression flicker across Hermione’s face before she mastered it.
George sighed. Then, unexpectedly, he dug into the pocket of his robes and drew out a Galleon, handing it to Fred. “You were right, brother dear. Our cute clueless couple still haven’t figure it out.”
Hermione sniffed before saying sharply, “Harry just told you we’re not a couple, so I would thank you not to refer to us as one. And what was that money for? You’re not betting on us, are you?”
It was Fred’s turn to grin widely as he admired the shiny metal in his hand, grinning madly at George’s misfortune. “Of course we are! First Task isn’t for weeks yet, and with no Quidditch we’ve got to have something to bet on in the meantime.”
“I can’t believe you’d bet on our personal lives!” Hermione exclaimed indignantly.
“What was the bet?” Harry asked at the same time. They looked at each other briefly before turning their focus back on the twins.
It was Fred who responded. “The bet was simple. People saw you walking around the lake, like you always do,”
“Looking quite a bit like a couple,” George added.
“Like you always do,” Fred continued with a grin at his twin. “And people wondered whether you’d finally figured it out and got together. They kept bugging us about the betting pool on when you’d start going out, with a few people demanding payment, but we thought we needed to know for sure first. So, Georgie and I made a little bet amongst ourselves, didn’t we George?” Fred was grinning and had brought the coin out of his pocket to wiggle it in his fingers while he looked over at his clearly morose brother.
“I can’t believe I lost. I really thought you’d finally gotten together.” George finished, looking at them as if they’d disappointed him. Which, Harry supposed, they sort of had, even if their relationship wasn’t really any of the twins’ business.
“Well we haven’t, and we’ll thank you not to bet on us anymore. Our lives are not something for you to gamble over. And an entire betting pool, honestly! I hope you know the Professors will be hearing about this.” Hermione responded hotly, looking like she was on the verge of hexing them.
George just grinned, replying “McGonagall’s got 10 Galleons on winter break this year.” Seeing Hermione’s anger increase as her eyes narrowed further, the twins held up their hands in mock surrender before rising to leave the table, having finished their lunch just as Harry and Hermione were sitting down. They’d only stayed to chat and learn the outcome of their bet. Even after they left, Harry could tell Hermione was still stewing. He’d occasionally hear her muttering under her breath as she looked down at her plate and wielded her cutlery with unnecessary aggression. Phrases like “honestly” and “so ridiculous” and “completely against school rules” occasionally made it to his ears and made Harry grin involuntarily. He did his best to hide it, knowing it likely wouldn’t help matters if she saw how adorable he found it when she was indignant. Then he suddenly caught himself, wondering again when he’d started finding it adorable. Did he find it adorable? He hadn’t before, but now he certainly found it... endearing, at the least. Adorable, maybe. He wanted to argue it with himself, but it had been the first word that had occurred to him to describe it.
He was drawn out of his musings on whether or not Hermione Granger was adorable by Neville finally finding the courage to speak. “Harry?” He began tentatively.
“Yeah, Nev?” he responded.
“I... well... Have you spoken to Ron today?” He struggled to look at Harry, eyes flitting between him and his plate.
Both Harry and Hermione tensed. He hadn’t, but he’d heard from Hermione what Ron’s new theory was, and he wasn’t eager to hash it all out again. “No, I haven’t spoken to him since last night.” He said flatly, returning his gaze to his now mostly empty plate. Neville spoke again, and Harry found himself suddenly wondering whether he shouldn’t grab more food simply to have an excuse not to answer.
“Did something happen between you two last night? Ron seemed really... off... this morning.”
Harry glanced at Neville, trying to keep his focus on his plate as he did serve himself a small extra portion of food, thinking it might help him feign nonchalance or, he hoped, complete disinterest. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to him that Neville not know how deeply hurt he was about Ron, but it did. “Oh? Off how?”
Neville looked glumly at his own plate, pushing the food around rather than eating it. “Well, I... If I tell you, can you promise not to say anything to him about it? I don’t think he’d be happy to know we’re talking about him like this.” Neville glanced worriedly down the table, where Ron was sitting with Seamus and Dean, luckily out of earshot. He appeared to be relaxed, joking about something, until he saw Neville’s glance. Noting who Neville was sitting with, his easygoing expression quickly turned into a scowl.
Harry snorted. “No worries there, Nev. I’m doubt we’ll be speaking much for a while.”
Hermione looked over at him sadly. Neville’s eyes widened. “So you did have a fight last night?”
“What’s been off about him this morning?” Harry asked, ignoring Neville’s question. He wasn’t completely sure it counted as a fight. And he’d really prefer to just not think about this right now.
“Well, he was really quiet, which is unusual. He didn’t want to wake you up or wait for you to come down for breakfast, and then when I tried to ask him what he thought about who put your name in the Goblet-”
“Wait, you don’t think I put my own name in?” Harry asked, incredulous.
Neville looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Of course not, Harry. Something tries to kill you every year, and then the deadliest tournament in school history happens for the first time in a hundred years? You’d have to be mental to volunteer even if you were of age.”
Harry suddenly found himself blinking, trying to prevent tears from growing in the corners of his eyes. He was overwhelmed at this completely unexpected show of support from Neville. Hermione reached out and grasped his hand, gently stroking her thumb across the back of his hand. He glanced over at her and she gave him a supportive smile. After a few moments, when he had control of his emotions again, he squeezed Hermione’s hand gently in thanks for her support and then released it as he reached for his pumpkin juice. “Thanks, Nev. You... don’t know what that means to me. That you believe me, I mean. Seems like you and Hermione are the only ones who do.”
Neville nodded in understanding, and Harry was extremely grateful that he made no comment on Harry nearly losing control of his emotions right in the middle of the Great Hall. “Of course, Harry. I may not be your best friend, but I know you’re not barking. So anyway, is that what you and Ron fought about last night? It would make a lot of sense, given what he said this morning.”
Harry’s eyes hardened as he fixed his gaze on Neville. “What did Ron say this morning?” From Neville’s tone, he knew that Ron hadn’t said anything good, he just hoped he hadn’t said anything too bad. Or revealed the secret of Harry’s invisibility cloak, as Harry knew that had been one of his theories for how Harry had done it. Stupid theory, Harry couldn’t help but think. Wouldn’t even make any sense. It’s not like an age line has to SEE you to know your age. Git.
Neville froze, seeming to realize all of a sudden that he hadn’t quite meant to say that. Cursing himself silently, he looked around at the food between them on the table, as if trying to find something he’d lost. “Oh, um, nothing much, really, it’s probably not even worth repeating.” Neville tried to brush past this like it was nothing, waving a hand in the air dismissively as he spoke.
“What did he say, Nev.” Harry asked flatly.
“It really isn’t worth repeating, he’s just angry right now, he’s not thinking right-”
“Neville.”
Neville hung his head, sighing deeply and putting his hands flat on the table in front of him. Finally, he looked up at Harry sheepishly, glancing over at Hermione as if he was equally afraid to say this in front of her. Which, given her track record of defending Harry, he figured might be reasonable. It didn’t help that she was rigid beside him, eyes focused on Neville with a rare intensity.
“I asked him who he thought submitted your name,” Neville began hesitantly, trying to find a gentle way into the story. Failing, he forged on with increasing speed, trying to simply get through this horribly awkward interaction. “And... Well, he seemed pretty convinced that you put your own name in. Bloody furious he was, almost thought he was going to curse me for suggesting you hadn’t done it. Went on for a bit about how Hermione probably helped you since you couldn’t have figured out how to cheat the Goblet and the age line on your own. He mentioned how you two were too secretive at the end of last year, said he reckons you got together and decided not to tell him, to make a joke of him, and this is just the next part of that. I don’t think it helped when Hermione left breakfast early to find you. Then people started talking about seeing you walk around the lake together… He started going on about how you two were working together to get Harry all the glory while he’s left looking like a stupid git. Might’ve gone on about how unfair it would be for you to win, because you don’t even need the prize money, and you just wanted to have something else to lord over him. It was... a lot.” Neville finished quietly, trailing off as he described what must’ve been a truly epic Weasley rant.
Harry had felt his blood pressure increasing with every word Neville spoke, but if he thought he was angry, it was nothing compared to Hermione. “He said what?” She hissed, seething next to him. Neville winced and Harry looked over at her curiously, unsure why she’d be so angry. It was bad, sure, but it didn’t sound like that much more than what they already knew. Though he hadn’t mentioned the payout before, or the theory that Harry and Hermione had gotten together. Or the idea that they were doing all this specifically to make a fool out of him. Harry quickly reached over and put his hand on top of hers, begging her with his eyes to control herself when she turned to look at him. He knew that she was boiling, and he wanted to make sure her tone stayed at hissing rather than yelling. Seeing his intent, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, controlling her emotions with a great deal of effort. Thankfully when Hermione looked back at Neville she spoke in a controlled tone, her volume measured and appropriate, but her eyes still blazed with barely contained fury and there was a noticeable, dangerous thrum in her tone. “He said this at breakfast? In the Great Hall?”
Neville looked glumly down at his plate again, nodding. Hermione glared down the table at Ron. If expressions could kill, Ronald Weasley wouldn’t have stood a chance against the look on Hermione’s face. Keeping her eyes fixed on him, she asked Neville, “Is that all he said?”
Neville mumbled something under his breath, causing Hermione to snap around and look at him sharply. Neville’s eyes shot open as wide as they would go when he saw her expression, and he quickly sputtered out, “That’s mostly what he said. I don’t remember the exact words, but that’s... that’s what he was saying. There may have been... another phrase or two... But they really weren’t important!”
Hermione was practically grinding her teeth when she asked, “What phrase or two?”
“He may have... called Harry... The Boy Who Cheated. And there may have been something about how it’s not fair, since he’s already the Boy Who Has Everything. And he may have said that Harry’s stories were exaggerated, that he’d never actually faced real danger.” Neville looked increasingly uncomfortable as he spoke, his voice trailing off as he forced the words out. “But he’s just jealous, Hermione, I’m sure he doesn’t mean it! He’ll cool off and apologize and this whole thing will blow over!” Neville added quickly at the end, hoping to head off the oncoming storm of Hermione’s wrath. It didn’t work.
“I know he’s jealous, Neville, but that’s no excuse! How could he say such thoughtless, hurtful things about Harry? And in public! It’s one thing to fight in private, but he knows that people will pick it up and repeat it if he spews that bile in public, especially if it’s coming from Harry’s best friend. I don’t care how hurt he may feel, he has no right to drag Harry’s name through the mud like that! And making those outlandish, ridiculous statements! He knows that it’s all rubbish.” She was shaking her head in anger, looking down at her plate and attacking the food that remained with even more vehemence than before. Suddenly she looked over at Harry, her expression apologetic. “I knew he was mad when your name came out of the Goblet, Harry; he barely even acknowledged me when I told him I was going to the library last night. But I never thought he would stoop this low. Even after this morning, I thought he’d at least keep it all between us. I’m so sorry.” She reached out to take his hand again, and Harry found he didn’t want to let it go. He’d felt oddly separate from the whole discussion as he’d listened to Neville and seen Hermione becoming irate on his behalf. It was a new feeling, seeing Hermione getting completely outraged in his defense. And at Ron as well. He was used to mediating their fights, or at least enduring them. He’d never been the subject of one before. He knew she cared, obviously, and she’d expressed indignance at how he was treated in the past, but seeing her teetering on the edge of losing her temper as she was consumed with rage, purely because of something that was said about him, was oddly comforting and had dulled he pain of what Neville had to say.
He blinked at Hermione before realizing that the conversation had turned back to him. “It’s alright Hermione.”
“No, it’s NOT alright, Harry!” she said hotly before he could continue.
He held up the hand not currently holding Hermione’s in a signal to stop her from launching another rant. Seeing her still, he continued. “No, it’s not alright, but it is what it is. I spoke to him last night, in the dorm. He didn’t say anything as bad as what he apparently said this morning, but he refused to believe that I hadn’t submitted my name, and he got pretty annoyed by my refusing to tell him how he did it. That’ll be why he’s in such a bad mood this morning, Nev. He figures I’m lying to him.”
Hermione was still seething. “I can’t believe what a stupid, childish, self-absorbed prat he’s being! UGH!”
“It’s fine, Hermione. Like Neville said, he’s just jealous.”
She looked over at him, eyes narrowed in anger, and Harry suddenly hoped he hadn’t gotten her to turn her ire on him. What an accomplishment that would be. “And like I said, Harry, I know he’s jealous. But he has no right to be! Doesn’t he even think once about all you’ve lost that he still has? “The Boy Who Has Everything?” Honestly! How could he say something so hurtful with all that you’ve lost? And that this wasn’t even something you wanted, and it’s bound to be incredibly dangerous!”
Harry simply shrugged. “He’s not thinking, Hermione, at least not about anyone else.” Hermione grumbled angrily under her breath again, apparently having decided that continuing to discuss their mutual friend with Harry was no longer productive. He wasn’t meeting her anger with his own, and Harry suddenly wondered why. He knew he should be angry, and he was definitely still hurt, but something about knowing he had Hermione on his side, seeing how enraged she’d been on his behalf, had taken some of the flame out from under his own anger.
Neville, having finished his meal and now looking uncomfortable at being party to the conversation, rose from his seat, mumbling under his breath about being sorry. Before he could leave, however, Harry spoke. “Nev. I just wanted to say, again, thanks. For believing me. And for telling us what Ron said. I could use more friends like you.”
A sheepish smile bloomed on Neville’s face as he replied, “No problem, Harry. If there’s anything I can do to help, I’m here for you.”