Whether Cassandra, who had already settled on the Canary Operation Plan in her heart, could succeed or not—we'll set that aside for now. In any case, Harry didn't think her chances were high.
After the first task ended, the school gradually returned to a calm routine.
Classes resumed as usual. Though students still talked about the Triwizard Tournament and remained optimistic about Harry's chances of winning the cup, the excitement inevitably faded with time.
Igor Karkaroff, however, became the most unpopular person at Hogwarts. To a considerable portion of the student body, he was even more detested than Snape.
Yes—even among Gryffindors and Slytherins alike.
The Gryffindors loathed Karkaroff because Harry was not only Hogwarts' champion but also one of their own.
The Slytherins despised him even more than Snape because, truth be told, Snape didn't actually pick on them indiscriminately.
November slipped by in this relative peace, and they welcomed the final month of 1994.
December brought Hogwarts howling winds, sleet, and snow. Walking through the castle meant inevitably being blasted by drafts that swept through the corridors—a bone-chilling cold that was simply unbearable.
The sting of the biting wind on one's face was no joke. Even the girls had switched to thicker woolen socks to fend off the freeze.
Just like in their first year, Hermione filled jars with bluebell flames in the dormitory and handed them out to classmates to wear and ward off the cold.
This caused quite the stir. Once others spotted the jars, they swarmed the students wearing them, eager to know where they'd come from.
Upon learning Hermione had made them, the wind-battered students rushed to the Great Hall, clamoring in a chaotic chorus for Miss Granger to take pity and grant them a jar.
"You can't expect them for free!" Hermione's dormmate, Lavender Brown, raised her hand, striking a pose as Hermione's best friend. "There's a fee—five Sickles—"
Five Sickles was hardly a fortune, and Hermione was kept busy for an entire week fulfilling orders.
The payoff was decent, though; she earned nearly seventy Galleons.
What she hadn't expected was that, on the final day, a strapping Bulgarian bloke appeared before her.
"Miss," said Krum, his voice thick with a nasal accent, "I need five of these little jars. That will be one Galleon and eight Sickles, yes?"
Hermione looked up. She never imagined the famous Bulgarian Seeker would come to her for flame jars.
"Of course, of course," she said. "But you don't need to pay. Could I have a signed photo instead? Er, I mean… um…"
Halfway through, she realized it might sound odd, but the thought of getting Ron a signed picture of his idol left her hesitating.
Krum, however, interpreted her reaction differently. With a sudden understanding, he pulled a signed photo from his robes and traded it for five flame jars.
Hermione was thrilled. She left the Great Hall at once and raced to the Gryffindor common room to find Ron.
"Ron!" she called the moment she stepped through the portrait hole.
"What's up?" Ron looked up from his wizard's chess game.
"Ta-da!" Hermione bounced over and thrust the autographed photo in front of him. "Guess what this is?"
"Bloody hell!"
Ron abandoned the game entirely. Trembling, he took the photo, stared at it wide-eyed, then looked up at Hermione in disbelief.
His reaction drew a curious crowd.
"Good grief!" Lee Jordan exclaimed. "It's—"
He clutched his throat in excitement. As a die-hard Quidditch fan, how could he not recognize the value of Viktor Krum?
"Where'd you get this?" the twins asked in unison, one on each side. "This is a personally signed Viktor Krum photo—and it looks like a rare edition. It's completely different from the ones in circulation…"
"I traded one of those little flame jars for it," Hermione explained with a grin. "He was going to pay, but I remembered how much Ron likes him, so I asked if he'd give me a signed photo instead…"
"Oho~" the twins crooned in mock singsong. "So that's how it is—you did it for little Ronniekins, didn't you?"
Hermione's face flushed crimson. Ron's did too, his freckles standing out even more.
"You ought to thank her properly, Ronniekins," the twins teased. "She was thinking of you, after all—"
Mortified by their ribbing, Hermione fled the common room in a blaze of red, leaving not a single cloud behind.
"You two are awful!" Ron clutched Krum's photo, voice shaking.
The common room responded with good-natured laughter.
Aside from the cold, the greatest torment for students was Care of Magical Creatures.
Hagrid kept supplying Madame Maxime's steeds with their favorite single-malt whiskey. The feed troughs in the temporary stables wafted waves of boozy fumes, leaving the Care of Magical Creatures students dizzy and lightheaded.
That wasn't the main issue, though. The real problem was that Newt had taken a shine to the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Even though they were an unnatural breed, Newt was genuinely invested.
"I'm not sure if they hibernate," Hagrid said in his hut to Harry and the others. "I suggest we try it—see if they feel like sleeping… We'll settle them in these crates…"
"Better not," Hermione said firmly. "You know how aggressive they are. Professor Scamander returns tomorrow. I think you should hold off, or more Skrewts might end up dead…"
This wasn't just Hermione talking; Hagrid's earlier mishandling had already killed off more than half the Skrewts.
If Newt saw that, he'd be heartbroken.
The students, naturally, were overjoyed. No one enjoyed tending to those bizarre, revolting creatures—and they were every bit as disgusting as they looked.
"Alright," Hagrid said, flinching at Newt's name.
Indeed, his previous blunder had killed a lot of innocent Skrewts…
If Newt came back to find only a handful left, he'd be furious.
"If you're really at a loose end," Ron ventured, steering the conversation elsewhere, "you could find something else to do. Like tending the Abraxans? Or… maybe another date with their owner?"
"Ah, well…" Hagrid twisted his massive fingers together, his bushy eyebrows knotting. He stammered, "I-is that alright? I mean, leaving you lot…"
"It's fine," Hermione said, patting his arm. "Your business is more important. We all want you to find true love. I think Madame Maxime is lovely—don't you?"
"Well… yes…" Hagrid was clearly tempted.
"Yeah, after that date—I mean, when you and Madame Maxime went to see the dragons—have you gone out again?" Harry asked.
"How'd you know I went to see the dragons with Madame Maxime?" Hagrid zeroed in on the key point.
"I just do," Harry said, offering no explanation.
Hagrid sighed, letting his hands drop. "I did ask her out twice after that, and she came both times. But I… well, you know, I still don't know how to take it further…"
"Did you ask Sirius?" Harry pressed.
"I did," Hagrid said, scratching his head. "Sirius isn't in Britain right now, but he told me never to mention the half-giant thing—just treat her like a tall, sturdy human. But I really want to ask…"
"Oh, not everyone's willing to admit it, Hagrid," Hermione said sympathetically, patting his shoulder. "I think listening to Sirius is the right call, don't you?"
"But what if I can't help myself?" Hagrid asked.
"Then you'll never get another date with Madame Maxime," Hermione said regretfully, spreading her hands.
Hagrid propped his chin on one hand, the other unconsciously drumming the table.
After a long pause, he made up his mind.
"Alright!" he said with renewed vigor. "It's settled then—I won't mention anything about giants…"
"That's the spirit!" Harry and the others chorused.
The next day in Transfiguration, they were still whispering about it.
"I hope you two will focus, Weasley and Granger," Professor McGonagall snapped, her sharp gaze sweeping over the trio—though she overlooked Harry. "Class is not the place for chitchat. If you have unfinished business, feel free to stand at the front and share it with everyone. Shall we?"
Hermione ducked her head, wishing she could bury it in her robes.
Being called out by a professor was mortifying.
"And you, Weasley," McGonagall continued sternly. "I hope you won't be the bad apple that spoils the bunch. Understood?"
"Yes, yes…" Ron was sweating bullets.
McGonagall fixed Ron and Hermione with another needle-like stare before speaking again.
"I have a few words for the class—" She rapped the desk to draw attention.
"The Yule Ball is approaching. It is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and a wonderful opportunity to socialize with our foreign guests. The ball is open to fourth-years and above—though you may invite a younger student if you wish—"
Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati Patil elbowed her hard, though her own face twitched as she fought not to laugh.
Both girls turned to look at Harry, their eyes gleaming with hope.
The message was clear: Ask me.
--
Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my pa-treon:
pat reon .c-om/windkaze
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Pa-treon normally.)