Chapter 11: Retrace the StepsNotes:Hi folks!
That was a bit longer than usual, wasn't it? Thanks for waiting so patiently! I just had to jiggle a few things around a bit to get some pieces into place with this plot. That probably doesn't make much sense, but...
Oh well! Guess I should add 'mystery' to the tags.
Enjoy!
Chapter Text
The week passes by, and the odd interaction with Bellatrix keeps returning to her mind.
More often than Hermione can explain, and for reasons that she certainly can't explain to Ron and Harry. Luckily they don't ask her much. Just smile at her at breakfast on Monday morning, glad to see she made it through detention unscathed, and then the conversation is back to homework and moaning about having to look after the blast-ended skrewts.
It's nice. So nice, that she's given Harry a year off. One school year where he can be free, and happy, and safe.
Or safer than he would have been. There's still probably a plan B plot to kidnap or kill him.
But that's the same as every year for Harry.
As nice as it is, however, it does mean that all of the pressure is on Hermione this time. All of the plans. All of the attention. She's not sure the others really understand everything she's dealing with right now.
Maybe that's why she feels this strange…camaraderie with Bellatrix. Both hiding. Both keeping secrets. Both making plans, and finding themselves trapped and pinned in by the school, and the rules, and this whole scenario.
It's getting quite annoying, actually. Hermione never thought she'd be fed up with lessons, but she is. She already knows all of this. Accio might have been useful to Harry, but she's going to need some training that's a lot more advanced if she's going to get through this tournament.
And to do that, she's had an idea.
Wednesday afternoon. They have Wednesday afternoons off. All of them. So it's time for some training.
She leads Harry, Ron, and Ginny up to the seventh floor. Stops opposite the tapestry of the ballet dancing trolls.
Checks the coast is clear…
And walks up and down three times. I need a place to train for the Triwizard Tournament. Somewhere secret. Somewhere safe.
And the door appears.
"Wicked…" Ron whispers.
Hermione smiles. Drags them all in. Oh.
The arena. The dragon arena.
Does the room know? Or did it see the image in her mind?
She takes off her cloak and leaves it on the floor out of the way as Harry and the others wander around, taking it in.
"This…is incredible!" Harry laughs. "So you can imagine anything you want?"
Hermione frowns. "I think so. There are probably limits. Like food. But—"
"We could have an inside quidditch pitch!" Ginny shouts. "Just for us! And firebolts for everyone!"
Harry climbs up onto an elevated mound. A dragon's nest. "We could do training drills. You're right, Oliver would— well, Wood would probably faint on the spot if we showed him a magical quidditch pitch."
Hermione groans. "Look, could you all just forget about quidditch for one second? And Harry, you need to move. That's where the dragon will be."
Harry ducks his head sheepishly and slides down. "Right. Sorry. How do you want to do this?"
Hermione takes a slow breath. "I need to test something first."
And she imagines a mannequin with her clothes on. It appears in front of her. Right. Let's try this then.
She casts a flame-freezing charm at the mannequin. A simple charm from the Grade 2 textbook to make fire feel like a soft summer breeze. It was used during the witch trials.
There. Now just to…
She steps back. And back. Beckons the others over until they're all crowded behind her, out of the way.
She raises her wand. Steps forward. Takes a steadying breath, and feels for her magic. The warm buzz. "Fiendfyre!"
And with a roar, the flames come forth. Curl from her wand with a blast of baking heat, making the others flinch back against the wall in surprise. It's not dragonfire, but it's close. Magical flames.
Hermione quickly casts the counter-charm. One second. She only had to…
The charred remains of the mannequin crumples to the floor in a pile of ash.
Well. If dragonfire is anything like that…
Then she needs to go back to the drawing board.
"You can be scary sometimes, Hermione," Ron squeaks out. Turns to look at her, eyes wide. "You know that, right? Brilliant…but bloody terrifying."
She smiles. "Sorry. Maybe I should have warned you. Let me just try one more possibility. A charm I saw your mum use…"
"Mum?" Ginny frowns. "You got battle tactics from Mum?"
Hermione barks out a laugh. "Who do you think killed Bellatrix?" she mutters more to herself as she walks forward, imagining another mannequin and vanishing the old one.
Examines it closely. Hmm. Maybe if she can at least manage the clothes…
She directs her wand at the fabric. An imperturbable charm. Molly had used it on the door at Grimmauld Place so the twins' extendable ears couldn't get through. Nothing can get through. A barrier, that things will bounce off of.
Like dungbombs. Tonks had suggested Ginny test for the spell with dungbombs.
She smiles at the memory. Mutters the charm as she directs her magic over every inch of fabric. It can't be used on the body. On skin. Skin needs to breathe. But at least it offers some protection.
There.
Now to try again with the fiendfyre.
She steps back. Raises her wand.
Glances behind her at the others, still pressed to the stone wall.
Smiles. "It's alright. I know what I'm doing. This spell is—"
"Bellatrix said anyone who uses fiendfyre is an idiot and will fry themselves to death," Harry blurts out.
Hermione tuts. "Well yes. If they're not in control of it. Don't use it correctly. What she meant is that none of you should use it. It's fine for us. Once you've reached a certain control and level of comfort with your magic, it's a lot less dangerous. Less unpredictable. So."
And she raises her arms once more. Centres herself. "Fiendfyre!"
Once again, there's a fraction of a pause, and then a burst of heat. Hermione holds it this time. Three seconds.
And then cancels it. Wipes at her brow.
Sighs as the head of the mannequin falls to sand before their eyes.
But the clothes are unharmed. So it did work.
Although she may have to put off imagining a dragon into the room to a later date. No more fire today.
Harry shudders. "Think you just gave me Quirrell flashbacks."
Ron walks forward to toe at the clothes. "Yeah, great spellwork and all that, but…maybe you should practice not being hit by the flames."
Hermione vanishes the mannequin, Ron's foot falling through it. "And that's what we'll do now," she nods. "Ideally, I'll still find a way to be flame-proof. But that doesn't seem possible at the moment, so my only other option is to dodge any flames that come my way. I'm going to transfigure a rock into a horse, hopefully distract the dragon enough to get it away from the nest, and if I can find a containment charm strong enough…contain it. If not, I'll have to run for the egg. So that's where you lot come in."
And she walks over to the 'entrance' to the arena. "Right. You all know enough spells now from Bellatrix. So try to stop me getting this egg!"
A fight. She needs to practice a fight. And a workout. Agility.
She imagines a golden egg up on the nest. "Stick together though. You're one opponent. And start over there." She points to the egg.
"We're the dragon?" Harry calls confusedly as they all climb up. "What spells can we use?"
Hermione shrugs. "Any. Nothing too dangerous, but— and definitely no fiendfyre!" she hastily adds. "Bellatrix is right. It can be fatal. It's how Crabbe died. Dies. Died last time."
They all glance at each other. Oops. She really should stop mentioning that people die. Get your head on straight, Hermione.
She readies her stance, raising her wand. "Come on, then. You could all use the practice too. Duelling is a good skill. And I haven't really been able to show you anything without the professors getting suspicious. I'll try to go easy on you," she smiles.
Harry grins back. "Go easy? Oh it's on, Hermione. Expelliarmus!"
She has a protego raised before he even says anything. Knows exactly what spell will come out of his mouth. Laughs. Oh, Harry. That's the best you can—
"Stupefy!" two voices shout at the same time, aiming at her head and her feet. She ducks and lowers her shield, crouching and moving off behind a rock.
So Ron is playing tactically.
Now this will be interesting.
Duelling is actually surprisingly fun. And surprisingly tiring. Hermione had been right, she really needs to up her fitness. She hasn't had to run around that much in a long time, and it's not long before one of them catches her out with a stupefy.
Luckily, thanks to Bellatrix, Harry and Ron have both practiced enough counter-spells to wake her up. It does take them a few tries though, and they seem very relieved when she opens her eyes.
It's…strange to think that...in this world?
Bellatrix's teaching might actually save one of their lives one day.
Why? Why is she teaching them so well? Why is she here? Why—
Why does it seem like she doesn't hate Hermione?
Hermione doesn't know. Has absolutely no idea. And it's defense class again tomorrow. The first time she'll be face to face with Bellatrix since detention. That strange detention. A detention…
Where she probably said too much. Definitely spoke too honestly. It was stupid. Why did she do that?
She's broken from her thoughts as Harry comes to sit next to her on the rocky ground.
"Ron and Ginny have left. Gone to dinner whilst you were staring into space again. You know what they're like with food," he laughs quietly.
Pushes his glasses up. Runs a hand through his hair. Clears his throat. "I said we'd catch up. I thought…well, tell me if you don't want to talk about it, but— Are you okay?"
What?
Hermione frowns. Frowns more deeply at his worried expression. "I'm fine. A bit tired after all the running around, but…what is it? Are…you okay?"
He quickly nods, looking at the ground. "Yeah! I'm great! Fantastic, even."
Well…alright. That's…good? He seems cheerful.
He runs his hand through his hair again. Hmm.
"Like, I'm doing quite good in lessons. And people aren't mad at me or whispering about me this year. I've got all of you lot. I can write to Sirius now, and it's ages until I have to go back to the Dursley's or— And with the tournament we'll have a few days off, and everything…everything's good," he finishes quietly.
Hermione rests a hand on his knee. Squeezes. "Yeah. Everything's good."
He looks up at her. Tears in his eyes. Smiles weakly. "You're— you're really good at fighting. Looks like…you've had a lot of practice."
Hermione feels a lump form in her throat. Leans sideways against him. Breathes him in. Harry. He's always so perceptive. Surprises her with how perceptive he is. "I…I have had a bit of practice," she says softly.
"As much as me?" Harry whispers.
Hermione closes her eyes. Can't face it. Not yet. Not when his hair is still so long it's tickling her face. "No," Hermione eventually says. "Not quite as much as you. You've…had to be braver than all of us. But I was there. I never leave you, Harry. We're always there. I did— we all did everything we could. And now that I know more…I'm teaching you more. Helping you more."
Harry's arm goes around her shoulder. "So you are doing this for me. Fighting instead of me."
No. No, that—
She sits up. Wipes at her face. Dries her hands on her trousers and then takes his hands in her own. "I'm not fighting. Not really. This tournament isn't— We already fought, Harry. We did it. And we won. And it's over. And now I'm making sure we never have to fight again. Not a real fight."
She squeezes firmly. Looks at him firmly.
Stands up and dusts off her trousers. "This tournament is just a competition. The professors have safety measures in place. People to step in. This is supposed to be a safe, inter school competition. That's all that's happening."
Harry stands too. Walks along with her towards the door. "And Bellatrix? Voldemort?"
At that, Hermione stops. Sighs. "I don't want to fight them either. And right now, Voldemort is very weak. That's why he needs the ritual. So just…don't go anywhere with Bellatrix alone. And if she tells you to touch anything…don't."
Harry nods. "Avoid the Death Eater. Got it. Don't drop in for tea and biscuits."
Hermione opens the door and checks it's safe to leave with a quiet laugh. The coast is clear. "She never even offered me biscuits," she whispers. "Just half an apple."
Harry gives her a weird look. "Half an apple? Were you practicing diffindos or something?"
She shakes her head. "No, just marking essays. Mostly in silence. Although, she did say…"
And she drifts off as they head down the stairs to the sixth floor. There are portraits lining the staircase, and all along the next corridor between the busts and cabinets. She really should be more careful about talking about—
Harry drags her behind a display cabinet holding a mooncalf skeleton and then straight through the doorway to the East Wing, holding a finger to his lips.
And peeking back through towards…
Draco? Coming out of a boys' bathroom? Why are they hiding from—
Harry leans to whisper in her ear. "No-one uses that bathroom. The toilets don't work. It used to be Fred and George's shop, but—"
And Draco turns around, looking back into the bathroom. "I don't care! Leave me alone!"
And he whirls around. Comings towards them. Shit.
Hermione backs further into the East Wing, pulling Harry with her. But it's so open. There's nowhere to hide. Only a few suits of armour and—
Harry pulls them through a solid wall, both of them almost tripping over a chest in a small alcove, steadying themselves wobbily.
"Muffiliato!" Hermione whispers as Harry reaches around in his bag. "How did you—"
Harry grins, pulling out his invisibility cloak. "I hid here from Snape last year. C'mon. Get under the cloak. Malfoy's definitely up to something!"
And he throws it over them before sticking his head through the wall, making Hermione lean with him.
Empty. Just the central fireplace and portraits—
Draco backs into the room, wand drawn. "Stay away from me! Or I'll tell my father what you did! Who you are! I know it's you!"
Oh no.
Then that means—
A bark of laughter from the doorway. "You don't know anything. If you did, you'd know how stupid you're being," comes Moody's voice. "So just lower your wand, go down to dinner with the other kids, and—"
Draco raises his wand. "I'm not a child! I know more than you think!"
Moody comes into view. Bellatrix. "I'm sure you do. So keep it to yourself. Never know who's listening in…"
And she looks around the room. Gaze pausing on Hermione and Harry. Shit. She can see through the cloak.
But Bellatrix doesn't say anything. Her gaze carries on drifting over the portraits.
And she walks straight past Draco, marching off towards a door and pushing his wand down as she goes. "Fine. Don't go to dinner, if you're going to be stubborn about it. I'll see you in class, lad."
Draco stamps his foot. "Don't walk away from me! Don't ignore me! Mother isn't here. It's just you and me. Don't you have anything to say?"
Bellatrix continues towards the door. "Sorry, kid. I gave you a chance. I don't feel like talking now. Think I'll—"
"Flipendo!"
A jet of white light bursts from Draco's wand.
Hits Bellatrix in the back.
Hermione holds her breath as the room falls deathly silent. Meets Harry's wide, disbelieving eyes.
Bellatrix turns around. The knockback jinx had been too weak. Shoving her, but not pushing her over.
And now Draco seems to be regretting his actions. Backing towards them fearfully.
Bellatrix's jaw clenches. Her hand tightens around her staff. "Stupid," she spits. "Anger? I get that. You want revenge? You want to have a try? See if you can get me? That's bold. That's brave. Hitting me in the back? Alright. Fair enough. Take all the advantage you can get."
She limps closer. Eyes fixed on Draco. "But hit me with something weak? That doesn't even help you? Stupid. That's just stupid. Think. Plan ahead. Otherwise you'll find yourself trapped in a situation you don't want to be in."
"Says you!" Draco calls out shakily. Bravely. Stupidly.
Bellatrix laughs darkly. "True. Still. Going to have to teach you a lesson."
A lesson? Don't—
Bellatrix's wand curves and slashes before Hermione can even think to move.
"Petrificus totalus!"
And then Bellatrix has turned her back and limped away again. Before Draco's frozen form has even touched the floor, a dull thud echoing through the room and punctuating her exit.
Harry pulls Hermione back behind the wall. "What do we do?"
Umm…
Hermione nods firmly. "We leave, take the cloak off, and then come back in and find him."
And they head out, edging past Draco and making sure their legs aren't visible as they move towards the door.
Not the way Bellatrix went. Back towards the boys' bathroom, behind the cabinet, where Harry pulls the cloak off them.
Then pauses. "Do you think…only you should go? He might be embarrassed if I find him," he whispers.
Hmm. That's true. But…
Hermione sighs. "He won't want help from me either. Let's just not make a big deal of it. And—"
"Malfoy?"
Wait. Ron?
Was that Ron's voice?
Harry goes to walk in. Hermione stops him. He was right before. Draco won't want to be humiliated in front of all of them. It feels like a bit of an ambush. And suspicious if anyone else turns up.
She throws the cloak back over them instead, and then goes back through the doorway to the East Wing.
It is Ron, looking around uncomfortably and then bending down next to Draco. "A body bind curse? Is that what it is?" Ron mutters.
Draco doesn't reply. Obviously.
Ron sighs. "Right. Uh, give me a sec to think. I know this one. It was…"
He points his wand at Draco's wide eyes. "Totus corpus rennerva!"
And Draco sits up with a gasp. "That's not the counter-curse! What do you think you're doing to me, Weasley?"
Ron huffs. "It worked, didn't it? Next time I'll just leave you on the floor. What happened, anyway?"
Draco quickly gets to his feet, brushing down his robes and glaring at Ron. "Nothing. Not until you came along and hit me with some kind of made-up spell. I'd better go to the Hospital Wing. Check you haven't—"
"I didn't make it up!" Ron shouts, turning red. "I learnt it in DADA! Bel—Moody used it on me!"
He catches the slip too late. Freezes.
As does Draco.
Draco looks around the room.
Then nods towards Harry and Hermione. "Come with me, Weasley. We need to talk."
Oh. Not nodding at Hermione. At the doorway.
Ron folds his arms. "Why should I? I just helped you and you didn't even say thank you. Why'd you think I want to talk to you?"
Draco smirks, already walking towards the door, leaving Hermione and Harry to scramble out of the way. "Because you do want to talk to me, Weasley. Or should I say Viktor Krum."
Now Ron comes after him. "You know I sent the note? That's why you didn't show up last night?"
Last night? That's when the meet-up was? Whilst she was in detention? Why—
Harry pulls her after them, into the boys' toilets. There's water all over the floor. Ugh, it's worse than Myrtle. And smells—
Draco walks right to the back of the room. "Of course I knew it was you. Do you think I can't tell your handwriting from a Durmstrang student's? From someone who's had tutors, rather than whatever garden gnome you had teaching you?"
Ron whirls around, almost bumping into Harry as he storms back towards the door. "Piss off, Malfoy. You're such a—"
"Wait! Get back here! Tell me— tell me how you knew!" Draco demands.
Ron laughs. "You're not very good at asking for things, mate."
"I'll pay you!" Draco calls again, coming closer. "How much do you want? Five galleons?"
Ron stops. His back still to Draco. Expression hard. "I don't want your money. I'm leaving. I never should have written to you to start with."
"Fine then," Draco shouts. "Guess I won't tell you what I know."
Now Ron does turn around. "And I won't tell you what I know. Sounds like a stalemate."
For a moment there's just a tensely awkward silence. Draco's eyes dart over Ron. Searching. Frowning.
"You play chess?" Draco asks cautiously.
"Yeah…"
Draco nods. Steps forwards on the tile floor. "I was petrified. You unfroze me. You…helped me," he mutters out reluctantly.
Now Ron is the one frowning. Analysing.
Steps forward. "You were hit with a curse. You…knew the person that hit you with the curse."
Draco nods. "We both know the person that hit me with the curse."
"Someone who…likes using curses? Uses them a lot?" Ron asks.
Draco folds his arms. Looks away. "Yes."
There's another long pause.
Draco break it. "…So? Will you answer my question now?"
And whatever this strange game is suddenly ends as Ron walks over to Draco. "Her? That's why— Did you try to fight her?" he whispers. "What were you thinking? She's bloody insane!"
"She's not insane!" Draco hisses back, looking around. "Why does everyone always say that? All the— How did you know it was her? And Potter? And I bet Granger knows too. Is this— and how did you know about my mother? It— get off me. What are you doing?"
Hermione can't really see what Ron's doing. Her and Harry are stuck by the door, the ground too wet not to make a splash or a ripple if they move closer.
"I'm just checking you're alright! She knows about a billion curses. Can't believe she hurt you. Thought family might be safe at least. Who does that?"
Draco shoves him away. "She didn't hurt me. I'm fine. Now hurry up and answer my questions!"
"Fine, fine. We— we knew from the World Cup. We…saw what she did to your mum."
Ron! Why is he— Don't tell him the truth! He—
"So it was her…" Draco whispers. Folds his arms and turns his back. Turns again when he realises there are mirrors everywhere. That he can't hide his expression.
Ron looks at the floor. Kicks at the water and puts his hands in his pockets. "Uhh…yeah. An obliviate spell. That's what Hermione said."
Draco's chin wobbles. He grits his teeth. "I should have been there. I should have done something. And now…"
Ron clears his throat. "How…how bad is it? In the paper they said she was being treated. That there was money going towards it. So…that seems good. Right?"
Draco doesn't answer. Then adjusts his bag on his shoulder and turns around. Walks straight past Ron, head lowered. Straight for the door.
Hermione steps back out of the way. Both her and Harry watching warily as…
Draco pauses in the doorway. "Guess you're right. Money doesn't always make a difference. And now…she's forgotten. The last ten years. My mother thinks I'm four years old. She's taken my mother from me."
Four years old? Oh no…
Draco slams his hand against the doorframe. It makes Hermione jump. Hold in a gasp.
"And now she's going to pay," he mutters to himself. "Soon, everyone will know who she is. Soon, she'll be back in Azkaban where she belongs."
"So…you've known about her for a while, then?" Ron calls hesitantly, coming up behind him. "You think she deserves it? Azkaban?"
And strangely, the anger disappears from Draco's face. A flash of unease. Conflict.
He shakes his head jerkily. "None of that matters now. She's in the tournament. She has to compete. And when she does… everyone will see her for who she is. I was going to tell them. Tell my Father. Or the Minister. Or even Dumbledore. But I don't think I will. I think I'll just leave her to get herself caught on her own. There's nowhere to hide now."
Ron comes even closer, looking at Draco curiously. "Is that where she was? Was she hiding at your place? With you? How—"
Draco whirls around. "It doesn't matter!" he shouts. "Look, Weasley, just stay out of it, alright? You, and Potter, and Granger. Just steer clear of her. You always think you can help. Can be the heroes. Can figure it all out and save the day. As if it's that simple. As if a bunch of filthy bloodtraitors and mudbloods winning the House Cup every year will matter once we get out into the real world."
Ron's fists clench. His face reddens. His right hand twitches, as if reaching for his wand.
Hermione sticks her arm outside of the cloak behind Draco's back. Makes a calming motion. Stop. Think.
Ron's eyes go wide in surprise. His anger disappears.
And then he sighs to himself. "Your mum will be alright, you know. They'll figure it out. You've got all this money, and mediwizards, and I bet Snape and the other professors know potions or spells and stuff. There's always a counter-curse. That's what…well that's what she always says, right? That you just have to know what to do? How to stop it? Maybe Hermione knows a book, or—"
Draco spins around again. Leaves the bathroom and walks away down the corridor, wiping at his face. "Go— go away, Weasley. Go— go stuff your face at dinner like you always do and leave me in peace."
"I already have!" Ron shouts after him. "But you haven't! You should eat dinner! It's good for—"
Draco turns a corner. Gone.
"Well, be that way, then," Ron huffs to himself. "That's what I get for trying to be nice. Prat. What a tosser."
Hermione pulls the cloak off her and Harry, making Ron jump. "Shi— so it is you. Thought I recognised your arm. That's lucky. Did you hear him though? What a dick."
Hermione sighs. "He's just upset. And I can see why. Ten years? Ten years of memories? That's…"
"…the amount of time Bellatrix has been 'dead'," Harry finishes thoughtfully. "Right? That's what Dumbledore said. She died a decade ago."
Right. So she faked her death a decade ago. A few years after being imprisoned. Somehow got out. Somehow hid for ten years.
Probably with Narcissa.
And then obliviated the whole thing from Narcissa's mind, right before the aurors showed up.
Took ten years of Narcissa's life. And if Narcissa had been hiding her sister…ten years of memories of Bellatrix.
To keep herself safe? Is that why? To destroy all traces of information on herself and what she's up to?
Ron wanders over to them. "Told you their family was nuts. I'm genuinely starting to feel sorry for the bloke. Poor sod. Pretty ruthless. Worst I ever get from Ginny is a bat-bogey hex."
The boys walk into the bathroom again, Harry looking around. "Where is Ginny, by the way? What were you even doing here?"
Ron walks up to an empty wall. Looks at it critically. "She was talking to her friends. You two were taking ages, and then I noticed she wasn't at dinner either. Thought she might be coming after one of you, so I came back. Found Malfoy instead. Can you remember what the password is, Harry? We might as well take the shortcut to the Common Room."
Password?
Harry frowns. "Uhh…dunno. Last time I used it, it was…flibbertigibbet."
And the wall shifts. Shimmers.
Ron grins. "Nice. I'm off, then. You two coming? It's probably faster to go this way to the Great Hall, too. If you hurry you won't miss dinner."
Hermione smiles and follows after him through the wall. Dinner. Always the top priority in the Weasley household.
And Ron's way of caring.
Even if you're Malfoy, apparently.
An owl arrives Sunday morning at breakfast. Reminding her to come to detention. Seven o'clock.
So here she goes again. Back with the paradoxical professor. Alone.
And this time, Hermione doesn't even care what she's wearing. Doesn't care about arriving on time. Just focuses on keeping her face neutral and her mouth shut. She'd been very close to hexing Bellatrix in class on Thursday. She's so cocky. It's rubbing Hermione the wrong way. Her persona. Acting all knowledgeable when— when her solution to a problem is just to obliviate someone?! Is that being vigilant? Planning ahead? Because it just seems…thoughtless! Selfish!
Not that she should have expected anything different from Bellatrix, but for a moment Hermione had almost…
She raps on the door, wand held firmly in her other hand.
It swings open instantly. Magically. "You're late, Granger," Bellatrix calls from the other side of the room, sat at her desk.
Hermione holds back a huff. Granger. Why does she always say her name? Why does she say it like that?Granger. Like there's a smirk behind it. An inside joke.
Instead, Hermione just heads for the back room. "More essays this week?" she calls behind her. Hears the wooden leg as Bellatrix gets up from the desk.
"No, I only have final year essays. Too difficult for fourth years…"
Was that another hint? A jab at her age?
Hermione doesn't care.
She stops next to the rat cage. Counts the toes again. Definitely not Wormtail. "Then what would you like me to do, Professor?"
No reply.
Hermione walks over to the owl. It hoots at her grumpily.
"Malfoy needed to learn a lesson," Bellatrix says slowly. "I know you think students shouldn't be punished with magic, but—"
"Did he?" Hermione snaps. Turns to look at her. "Did he really need one of your oh so wise lessons?"
The magical eye scans over Hermione. The real one narrows. "Careful, girl. Don't push it too far."
And Bellatrix takes a step closer. And another.
Hermione reaches for her wand—
A crate on the far side of the room bangs open. A swarm of billywigs fly out.
Bellatrix turns and walks off towards her office. "Clean their crate and then get them back in. Try not to get stung, because if you end up floating around on the ceiling, I'm not coming up to get you."
Great. Perfect. Get them back in? Well that is going to be a pain in the—
The door to Bellatrix's office slams shut, as does the door to classroom. The billywigs fan out, spreading through the whole room.
The owl darts forward and eats one. Hermione cringes.
So…that wasn't her fault. Right? Can't blame that on her. Bellatrix should have thought of that.
The owl snaps at another one. Misses.
Hermione hurries over to the crate. She'd better get this done quickly before— no!
"Immobulus!" she yells, freezing all of the billywigs in the room. That was close. One nearly stung the rat. She does not need a floating rat. Or a dead rat. Those stingers are powerful.
Now. Time to cast a lot of scourgifies.
She's gone through five crates and tanks now. One after the other. Bellatrix seems to know when she's finished with each one. Comes out. Inspects it. Sends her on to another one with nothing more than a grunt or two.
Maybe she's watching Hermione through the wall the whole time. A…creepy thought.
It's now ten o'clock. Curfew. And Hermione is still going.
And a lot of the creatures are nocturnal, so that's a fun challenge.
But she's finally finished with the hinkypunks, all back in the tank and ready for the third years.
She transfigures a stray jar into a goblet. Fills it with water at a sink and takes a few gulps. This is tiring. How does Bellatrix look after all these creatures every day?
She looks at the office door. Waits for the uneven footsteps.
None come.
Hmm.
She transfigures the goblet back. Washes her hands in the sink.
Still no Bellatrix. Weird.
Hermione heads over to the door. Knocks. "Professor?"
No answer.
"Professor, can I go now? I finished the hinkypunks!"
"Do the next one," Bellatrix calls gruffly.
Alive, then. What's she up to in there?
Hermione moves over to the next trunk. Casts an alohomora and opens the latch—
The office door bangs open. "No! Not that— shit!"
Bellatrix comes rushing out of the room, surprisingly fast for someone with a wooden leg. Sends a spell to shut the trunk. Too late. Something comes out and—
Bellatrix shoves her towards the door. "Get out of here! Detention's over, get—"
What is it? What—
Oh no. The boggart.
Hermione backs towards the door. It's forming. Whirling. And she's looking at it. What if—
"Do you know how to make yours ridiculous?" Bellatrix hisses out, backing away next to her.
"I— I don't know—"
She doesn't know what it will be. It might be Bellatrix. How will she explain that? What if it's something from the future? What— "I can't fight it!" Hermione shouts. "Please, I don't know—"
And Bellatrix pulls Hermione behind her, right as they reach the door. "Go. Get out. Go back to your—"
The boggart stills. It's found a form. Found a fear.
Oh…
Harry?
Harry is stood opposite them. Smiling gently. Hands resting casually in his pockets.
That…well that isn't Hermione's fear. So it has to be…
Harry? Seriously?
She tries to see Bellatrix's expression—
Harry steps closer. Chuckles. Runs a hand through his hair, scar visible for a second. "So that was you trying your best, was it?" he asks softly. Then sighs. "But not good enough. Failed again. And I wasn't even trying to—"
"Riddikulus," Bellatrix growls.
And Harry is hit by a green light. Drops down dead.
Silence falls.
The lid to the trunk bangs open once more. Bellatrix blasts the boggart back inside.
It locks shut.
Well.
So…
Well Bellatrix can't really deny that…Mad-Eye Moody?
Probably not terrified of Harry Potter.
Although the fact that Bellatrix's worst fear is Harry just seems completely mind-boggling. What the hell?
Bellatrix clears her throat. "Goodnight. I'll…see you around tomorrow."
Hermione just nods confusedly. Doesn't…have any idea where to go from here. Oh.
"Can I get a note?" she whispers. "In case I run into Filch? It's…after curfew."
Bellatrix turns and frowns at her. Looks a bit out of it herself. "Right. Yeah. Sure."
She reaches into her pocket. Pulls out—
Is that the Marauders' Map? Please say she forgets. Please give her—
No. Puts it back and limps over to a random table. Tears a page from a book. Hermione holds in a shudder.
"Here. Tell Filch that if he bothers me about this then I'm telling Peeves where he keeps the ink pots," Bellatrix grins. The smug grin is back.
But looks a bit off. Forced.
Hermione takes the note with a smile of her own. "I won't do that. But thank you for the note, and…uhh…"
She breaks off under Bellatrix's gaze.
Swiftly heads for the door. "Goodnight!"
She opens the door. Steps into the classroom—
"Fears are private, you know, Granger," Bellatrix calls. "That's why I won't be bringing out the boggart in front of the class. Won't be giving you all a refresher lesson."
Hermione stops.
Refresher lesson? Bring the boggart to class? Have…everyone see Hermione's fear?
She swallows uncomfortably at the thought. "I know," Hermione says quietly. "I'd…never share someone else's fear. It's…personal."
Silence from behind her.
She continues on out the door. Shuts it behind her.
Leaves the boggart behind her.
Chapter 12: Reassess the PlayersChapter Text
Hermione doesn't tell anyone about Bellatrix's boggart. For one thing, because it's so unexpected that she'd rather figure out what it means first, and for another…
She kind of promised. Not in words, not directly, but Bellatrix had made it very clear. Fears are private. Don't share mine, and I won't share yours.
And in a way, it had been Hermione's fault. Bellatrix didn't have to stand in front of her. Didn't even have to come out of the office. She could have left her to face it. Watched gleefully through the door. Learnt Hermione's secrets. Her weaknesses.
But instead, Hermione is the one who got a look into Bellatrix's head. Her deepest fear.
Harry.
What's…so scary about Harry? Is it because he's the Boy Who Lived? Because he stopped Voldemort, and Bellatrix wasn't there to protect her master? Failed?
Does she think Harry has a secret power? A power the Dark Lord knows not?
No. She wouldn't know that yet.
Unless she found out the other half of the prophecy.
Has Bellatrix been trying and failing to kill Harry this whole time? Ten years. In this world, she's been faking her death for a decade. And it sounded like at least for some of that time she was with the Malfoys. In this world, did she…do anything to find Harry? Or to help Voldemort? Did she know about Tom Riddle's diary?
Surely she'd just be angry at Harry. Frustrated. Hate him. Not fear him.
Hermione glances across the room at Harry as he practices the knockback jinx with Neville. It's what they're all practicing. Flipendo. Bellatrix wants them to strengthen their jinxes.
She wonders if the Slytherins are getting taught the same thing in their lessons. If this is a hint to Draco.
Or helping Draco. Why—
And she's suddenly flying back and hitting into the blackboard. Ow. She must have lost focus on her shield charm.
"Sorry!" Ron shouts. "You alright?"
"Don't apologise, Weasley," Bellatrix barks, leaning against her desk and sipping from her flask. "Five points to Gryffindor for catching your opponent unawares. Granger should have been paying attention instead of staring at Potter. Something on your mind, Granger?"
Hermione brushes chalk off herself as everyone looks between her and Harry curiously. There's a scary glint to Lavender's eyes. Great. She'd thought this time around she'd get out of the rumours about her and Harry. But no. Thanks a lot, Bellatrix.
"I wasn't staring," Hermione says. "I was just checking my stance. I'm fine with the wand movement, but Harry always seems a bit faster than me. You said he had good reflexes. I was watching to see how he does it."
Half-true. She's always been amazed at how fast Harry's reflexes are. His instincts. There's a reason he had so much to teach them in DA. That, against all odds, he got out of that graveyard alive.
Bellatrix raises an eyebrow at her.
Then looks at Harry. Nods. "He goes with his gut. Gut instincts. And he does have a good stance. Come over here, Potter. To the front. We'll do a demonstration."
Uhh…she hadn't exactly meant...
Harry makes his way over—
"Flipendo!" Bellatrix
"Protego!" Harry
Harry skids back down the aisle, the knockback jinx from Bellatrix strong enough to push him a few paces, although his protego holds.
"I wasn't ready!" Harry shouts, steadying himself against a desk and lowering his shield charm.
Bellatrix grins. "Exactly. You weren't expecting it, and you stopped me. That was a strong jinx, Potter. That was good. Now send one at me."
At her?
Harry looks around the room hesitantly.
Steps closer again. Readies his stance.
Casts a dancing-legs jinx at Bellatrix's feet. Harry!
Bellatrix jumps sideways out of the way, stumbling on her wooden leg. Laughs. "Bloody cocky— flipendo!"
"Protego!" Harry grins, holding his wand with both hands and keeping his place this time. Drops it. "Flipendo!"
Bellatrix casually holds her wand up. "Protego."
It's strong enough to stop him. She doesn't even strain. Doesn't tense. Moves around to sit at her desk.
Harry frowns. Widens his stance and holds his wand firmly. "Flipendo!" he bellows, a crackling jet of—
"Protego," Bellatrix whispers. Chuckles to herself as his jinx bounces off and scorches the floor.
Twirls her wand between her fingers. Then lazily flicks it at Harry. "Flipendo," she says calmly.
And Harry flies backwards, lifting two feet into the air and crashing down on top of Neville at the other side of the room. Ouch.
The bell rings. Bellatrix laughs again. Glances at Hermione. "It's not about your stance. Think about that for your homework. Class dismissed."
Everyone begins collecting their things, those on the floor getting to their feet, and everyone shuffling towards the door, murmured chatter starting up.
…Okay then. Definitely doesn't seem scared of Harry. Or to even hate Harry. Is actively teaching him to be stronger.
…what?
She catches Harry whispering his spells a few times that evening and the following day. Feels it, even if she's not paying attention. She's gotten used to it now. Harry. Ron. Ginny. Bellatrix. She can feel them. People she sees often enough. She can't really describe how they feel. Just…familiar. Harry more of a spark. Ron's magic seems to flicker. Bellatrix…
Is like a shiver. Like…
Like when a song hits that certain note, and your body erupts into goosebumps. An unexplained awe. Catching your breath. Catching you by surprise.
So…yes. A shiver. That's what Bellatrix is.
Hermione tries to feel out for more magic as she waits outside of potions with Ron. Double potions with the Slytherins on Friday afternoons. They'd arrived early from lunch, Harry off helping Neville with his shield charm.
She can't feel Neville yet. She'd tried.
She looks around for possible targets. Seamus, Dean, Pansy, Draco…
Huh. She might be able to feel Draco. That's strange. But she supposes she has seen him use magic quite a lot. Even this year, outside of class, he's used…
Draco. Why is it so strong? What's he doing? Is it because he's upset or something?
He seems…perfectly fine. If she hadn't seen him talk to Bellatrix and Ron last week, she wouldn't know anything was bothering him.
Smiling and joking with his friends. Not worried about Narcissa at all…
Draco looks in her direction and she quickly glances away, not wanting another tooth-growing hex to come at her like last time. This was when it happened. She can still remember it. Feel it. The humiliation.
Although that was more Snape's fault.
She runs her tongue over her teeth in memory.
Oh no. Draco is making his way over, Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle following after him.
"So you tricked your way into the magical world and into the tournament, did you, Granger?" Draco says loudly. "Bet you learnt some filthy muggle trick. It's the only way a mudblood like you could even think of representing the school. Here, Weasley. Catch."
And he throws something at Ron. A badge. Oh! That's what she can feel. All the badges. Draco. So that means—
Seriously? Again? This is still happening?
Hermione puts a calming hand on Ron's arm as he turns over the 'Granger Stinks' badge. Opens her mouth to—
Harry comes up behind Draco with Neville, looking at the badges. "You think muggles are smarter than Dumbledore?" he asks casually. "I guess some muggle inventions are quite clever. It's nice of you to point out though, Malfoy."
He picks up a badge, and pushes past the stunned Slytherins to stand next to Ron. "Check out the charms on these. Must have taken hours."
Ron laughs in surprise. Harry's face stays completely serious.
Ron looks at the badge. "Yeah. Looks like a lot of thought went into this. Don't think Hermione stinks though. Although I haven't gone around sniffing her too closely recently."
Hermione smiles at them. Idiots.
She reaches out and takes a badge from Draco, who seems too confused to stop her. "Very advanced charmswork to have it permanently flashing. It might be distracting in potions class though. Wouldn't want to— ah, Professor!"
She turns to Snape as he comes out of the door. "Draco made badges for the tournament. Are we allowed to wear them in class?"
Snape's eyebrows knit together as he looks at first Hermione, then Harry, and then Draco, more and more intensely. "Made…badges?"
Goyle chortles, badge proud on his robes. "Because Granger stinks."
Draco elbows him in the ribs with a scowl.
Snape looks at the badges. Back at Hermione.
"No accessories. And ten points from Gryffindor for delaying the start of class, Miss Granger. Get to your cauldrons and begin preparing your antidotes. Individually. I'm sure by now all of you with working brain cells have come up with an appropriate way to counteract a poisonous substance…which I will be testing…at the end of class."
He gives Hermione a pointed look. Then Neville.
And then whirls around and swoops off back through the door.
Hermione sighs dramatically as she puts the badge in her pocket. "Sorry, Malfoy. I'll have to put it on later."
And she follows Snape into the classroom, hearing Ron holding back laughter behind her and choosing a table for them all to sit together.
Including Neville. She doesn't care if it loses her points. She's helping Neville.
Hermione is just finishing writing out an explanation of cutting techniques for Neville when a loud knock at the classroom door interrupts the lesson.
"Enter."
The door creaks open. Hermione shivers.
Bellatrix.
Why is it always Bellatrix?
Bellatrix…looking straight at Hermione.
"Sorry to interrupt. Looks like brewing hasn't started yet though, so that's good. I've got to take Granger from you. She's wanted upstairs with the other champions for photographs."
Oh! She forgot— pictures for the Prophet! And the wand weighing with Ollivander.
Snape looks at Hermione. Raises an eyebrow. "Very well. If being a champion means…posing for the papers…then I suppose such trivialities as learning magical skill are unimportant. Pity. It appears you are on your own, Longbottom. How…unfortunate for whoever will be testing your antidote."
Neville gives Hermione a very panicked look, and she just smiles helplessly, pushing her notes towards him and then packing her things.
"Antidotes, you say?" Bellatrix calls from the doorway. "Not too difficult. Any good teacher should be able to get acceptable results out of all of these lot. I'd drink the poison and antidote myself if I was you, Snape. Unless you don't have the guts? Or the faith in your teaching abilities?"
Hermione's mouth falls open in astonishment. Wha— is she standing up to Snape?
…a furious Snape, who can't seem to make up his mind between glaring at Bellatrix or avoiding even glancing in her direction.
"Drinking anything brewed by Longbottom is a death sentence," Snape eventually grits out, dark eyes burning into Neville. "He is utterly inept, even in the most basic of potionmaking."
Bellatrix snorts. Beckons to Hermione, who remembers to get her feet moving again.
"What, he can't do any of it? He manages to follow instructions in my class," Bellatrix says. "He can grow OWL level plants in Herbology, already taking into account temperature, timing and planning. Technique. You must have heard Sprout gushing about him in the staff room. No. This is on you, lad. And look at that. An empty spot next to Longbottom for the next hour. Guess you can give him some extra tuition. Really figure out what you've failed to teach him."
Holy— she is! What the hell is happening? Is this just because she doesn't like Snape? Is that it?
And Snape doesn't even get a chance to respond. As soon as Hermione is through the door, Bellatrix shuts it behind her and starts marching off to wherever the meeting is.
Hermione hurries along next to her. Lets out a laugh she can't quite hold back. "I've been waiting years for someone to say that to Snape! Finally!"
"Plenty of people have said that to him," Bellatrix grunts. "Just not in front of students. Anyway. I wasn't saying it for Snape. It was for Longbottom."
Their pace slows as they climb the dungeon steps. Hermione glances sideways at Bellatrix. It was…to be nice to Neville?
Bellatrix taps her temple. "Magic is fifty percent mental. At least. Remember that, Granger. It's all in your head. Not in your notes. Longbottom needs to snap out of it. Tell Snape to sod off, and get on with it. Or he'll fail every time."
Hermione…is out of words.
This…
Fifty percent mental. Is that what Bellatrix was teaching them yesterday?
Hermione looks down at her feet. Frowns in thought.
Different world. This…this Bellatrix is clearly different. There's no denying it now. This is not the Bellatrix she knows at all.
So…who is she? Why is she doing this?
Still supported Voldemort. Still went to Azkaban. Still a Death Eater. Still Voldemort's most loyal lieutenant.
But it feels like she's helping them. Helping everyone. Is that just an act? Being a professor?
She did try to put Harry's name in the goblet. The same as before. The plan is the same. The scenario.
Except now. She doesn't think Moody came to get Harry last time.
Bellatrix clears her throat. "You're not going to ask where we're going?"
Hermione shrugs. "You already said. It's for photographs."
"Yes. But you don't want to know more? You're being very trusting, Granger."
Granger. Again with the— "Well, what else is happening, then?"
They reach the Entrance Hall. Bellatrix grins. "Too late. We're already here. In you go."
And she knocks on a classroom door.
Hermione huffs. Well why bother asking her in the first place? She's so frustrating! She…
Oh.
Is that…a curl? A darker curl of hair on the back of Moody's head?
It is. Her hair is growing. Is—
Bellatrix moves to open the door—
Hermione grabs her arm.
Bellatrix wrenches her arm free. "What are you—"
"You need to drink," Hermione blurts out. To explain herself.
Even if she has no idea why she just did that! Why did she— This is the perfect opportunity. The potion is wearing off. With witnesses. The press. Tournament officials.
But too late. Bellatrix's eye has widened in realisation. Shit.
Hermione swallows. Just watches as Bellatrix holds her gaze. Reaches into her robes.
Pulls out her flask.
Then frowns. "You…should go inside. They're waiting."
Hermione doesn't move. Carries on watching. It's too tempting. Proof. She wants indisputable proof that it's Polyjuice. That it's Bellatrix. Even if she's already certain. She wants to see.
Bellatrix brings the flask to her lips. Doesn't drink. Her face begins to…ripple.
And then the door handle—
Hermione hurriedly moves further into the doorway as it opens.
Ludo Bagman is on the other side. "Aha! Here she is. Come on in, then."
Hermione steps into the room. Turns to check behind her…gone.
Bellatrix is gone.
How does she do that?!
"Here we are. All three champions ready to go," Ludo continues. "Just the other judges to wait for now, for the weighing of the wands."
"Three champions?" comes a voice from the corner of the small classroom. "Because a little birdy told me otherwise. That there was a somewhat thrilling, quite unexpected fourth appearance?"
Rita Skeeter. Raising an eyebrow at Bagman, and then sauntering towards Hermione. Looking her over curiously, quill hovering at her shoulder.
Hermione smiles sweetly. "A bird told you? I didn't spot any birds in the Great Hall. Although I thought I saw a beetle at breakfast this morning, so you never know what animals are listening in."
Skeeter freezes mid-step.
Hermione smiles even wider.
Sits down in a chair by the door. There are three chairs there, presumably for her, Fleur, and Viktor, five chairs being at the other side of the room for the judges.
Viktor comes and sits next to her. He has to. She's in the middle seat. He doesn't say anything though. If she didn't know him, he'd seem quite grouchy and rude.
But she does know him. And knows his English isn't great yet, something he's embarrassed about. "Zdraveite. Kak si?" she says in very clunky, probably too informal Bulgarian. Hello. How are you?
He looks at her in surprise.
And then leans closer to her and says a very long sentence in fast Bulgarian.
She laughs. "Sorry. My Bulgarian is hopeless. Very bad. I only know a few basics from…a friend."
Viktor nods in understanding. "Is difficult language. Not many speak. I—"
And he stops as the door opens once more, and Madame Maxime squeezes through, followed by Karkaroff, Crouch, Dumbledore, Ollivander, and…
And Bellatrix is back. Walks over to stand in a corner and survey the room whilst the judges take their seats.
For once she isn't looking at Hermione though. In fact, she seems to be looking at everyone but Hermione.
Hmm.
Dumbledore takes his seat at the judging table and smiles across at them. "May I introduce Mr Ollivander? He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament."
Ollivander had been looking out of the window, but now turns to face them, pale eyes slowly taking in all three of the champions as he makes his way into the centre of the room. Smiles. "Mademoiselle Delacour, would you like to go first?"
Fleur has just sat down, but stands once more, handing her wand to him with a firm nod.
Ollivander turns the wand over in his hands, very gently. "Hmm…"
With a flick of his finger, he twirls it, and pink and gold sparks fizz from the end. He holds it to eye level. Examines it carefully.
"Yes," he says quietly. "Nine and a half inches, inflexible, rosewood, and…containing…dear me…"
Fleur straightens her spine and folds her arms defensively. "A hair from a Veela. From one of my grandmothers."
Hermione leans forward, head on her hand to see Fleur's expression. She isn't sure…
Yes. There it is. The pride. The lingering shame. The frustration. Having to explain herself and who she is to yet another wizard.
Ollivander's frown fades though as his eyes move from the wand to Fleur. There's a glint to his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I've never used Veela hair myself. I find it can make wands rather temperamental, but if it suits you…"
His lip twitches into a smile as he runs his thumb along it, checking for bumps or scratches. "Orchideos," he says quietly. Ollivander.
Flowers. Really?
Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes as a bunch of flowers bursts from the tip, and Ollivander hands them to Fleur with her wand. "Very well, it's in fine working order," he says. "Mr Krum next."
Fleur comes to sit back down, smiling briefly at Viktor as she passes.
Hermione leans to whisper in her ear. "Do you think he'll give Viktor flowers too? Or maybe some chocolates?"
Fleur barks out a laugh and quickly covers her mouth as the sound echoes through the room and everyone turns to look.
Oops. Karkaroff and Crouch don't look very happy with them. Or Madame Maxime, actually. Glaring at Fleur for…consorting with the enemy, apparently.
And Rita Skeeter is writing something! Didn't she get the message? Stop that!
But Dumbledore is smiling, and Fleur has managed to find a more serious expression.
Ollivander continues muttering over Viktor's wand. It's a Gregorivitch wand, so, again, he's not too happy with it.
Ollivander points the wand towards the window. "Avis!"
Ah. Birds. So at least not overly mascu—
The spell explodes out of the wand like a gunshot, birds soaring off out the window.
Fleur nudges her. "No flowers. An explosion for the boy champion," she murmurs.
Hermione laughs quietly, getting to her feet. "Guess he'll have to share yours then," she whispers back.
Walks towards Ollivander with a smile, holding out her wand. It's nice to see him again under better circumstances. She hasn't seen him since…
Her eyes drift to Bellatrix.
Since the Manor. Since Shell Cottage. Since…
"Ah, now this is one of mine," Ollivander says warmly, drawing her attention back. "Oh yes. Ten and three-quarter inches, slightly springy, although can become brittle if not well maintained. Well-used, but not overly worn. Do you polish your wand, Miss Granger?"
Uhh… "Semi-regularly. Maybe not as often as I should. Although actually, I've read conflicting reports on how often a wand needs a polish—"
She's interrupted as Bellatrix begins coughing in the corner.
"Whenever you feel it's needed, I'd say," Bellatrix croaks before taking a sip from her flask and clearing her throat.
Ludo Bagman starts openly laughing at the judges' table.
Oh.
Oh no! She hadn't— Ollivander was the one that—
Dumbledore chuckles. "Wise words as ever, Alastor."
Eww, gross. Don't—
Hermione feels her face heating up, but ignores it. Clears her throat pointedly. "It's vinewood. Dragon heartstring."
Ollivander nods absently. "Yes, great magical potential. The potential for extraordinary magic, in fact. Vinewood seeks a greater purpose. It has hidden depths. Is made for visions beyond the ordinary. Dragon heart string…great power. Quick to learn. Loyal, but willing to accept a change of allegiance if fairly won. It is, however, a core prone to accidents, and needs a firm and sure hand."
He holds her wand delicately but precisely in his hand, pointing upwards. Whispers an incantation.
A fountain of wine shoots out. "Perfect. Perfect condition," he says fondly.
Talking to the wand. Not Hermione.
She takes her wand back from him slightly uncomfortably. Looks to Dumbledore to find out what's happening next.
Dumbledore claps. "Well then! Thank you all. You'd best be getting back to lessons, or perhaps straight to dinner, as they are about to end—"
"Photos, Dumbledore, photos," Skeeter shouts, steering her photographer over.
Oh dear. Really? Do they have to have photos? She's not sure she wants to have to pose or— And especially stood next to Fleur! She is definitely sticking Viktor in the middle if she can. She learnt that lesson years ago. If you want to look reasonably nice, don't end up next to Fleur in the photo. The comparison is just—
Oh. They want all the judges too. And separate individual shots. Oh this is going to take forever!
She wanders over to stand next to Viktor. Who is actually very sulky now as everyone faffs and fusses, Karkaroff twirling his goatee around his finger and Madame Maxime getting in the way wherever she stands. She needs to sit down. It's the only way. She's too tall for the frame.
Hermione sighs. "I wish Ollivander said that wine spell a bit louder," she mutters. "Do you think he'd tell us what it is?"
A smile twitches at Viktor's lip. "You want a drink? But you are young."
Oh. Damn. She forgot about that.
"And Mr Ollivander is busy," Viktor continues. "He talks with crazy professor."
Crazy—
"Alright, everybody smile! That's it. Everybody looking?"
Hermione isn't looking. She's trying to see whatever Bellatrix is up to with Ollivander. But she can't quite—
"You, girl on the left. Looky here, come on."
Hermione reluctantly looks away. Smiles for the camera.
And again.
And again.
Gets moved next to Fleur. Slumps in defeat.
Fleur tuts. Presses a hand between Hermione's shoulder blades. "Stand straight. You are not Quasimodo."
Quasi—
She straightens and glares at Fleur—
The picture snaps.
Rita Skeeter smiles wickedly. "Excellent. I think that's all of the group shots we need. Now for the individual champions, alright? Fantastic."
Hmm. Well that's not good.
Now where is—
Gone. No Ollivander. No Bellatrix. The judges all beginning to leave for dinner.
She is not looking forward to reading the Prophet tomorrow.
Hermione's starving by the time photos are over, practically running across the Entrance Hall for dinner. Poor Viktor was left till last and is still in there with a far too eager Rita Skeeter. Hermione has managed to drop a few more bug hints though, so that might help to keep her at bay. She will need to talk to her properly later. Make some demands.
Harry and Ron wave her over from halfway down the almost empty table. They've saved her some food.
She smiles gratefully and climbs in. "Hi. I wasn't sure you'd still be here, that took ages!" She gets herself a large portion of cottage pie and starts eating.
Harry looks around the table. Then leans closer. "We were going to meet you in the Common Room, but then this came. Look."
And he slides a piece of parchment across the table towards her. Oh.
Harry,
I can't say everything I'd like to in a letter, it's too risky in case the owl is intercepted, especially after what you told me. We need to talk face to face. Can you ensure that you'll be alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o'clock in the morning on the 22nd of November?
I know better than anyone you can look after yourself, and with Dumbledore there, you're in safe hands. However, with what you've been telling me…
If I've understood your message correctly, then I need to speak with you about what you have uncovered. Be on the watch, Harry, and let me know about the 22nd as soon as you can.
Snuffles
Hermione quickly hides the letter under her plate.
Then remembers the magical eye and looks around. No Bellatrix.
"What did you tell him?" she whispers to Harry. "How much— because if your letter had been intercepted—"
Harry shakes his head. "I used a barn owl, not Hedwig. And we didn't say everything. Me and Ron and Ginny came up with it. We didn't say anything about you. Just said about her name coming out of the goblet and how weird it was, and that Professor Moody has been watching us closely and using curses on us in class."
Ron nods. "We didn't want to say too much in case she got Harry's bird again. But this is good, right? If anyone knows more about her and what's going on, it's him."
Possibly. Yes.
Hermione swallows another few mouthfuls of food. "Do you…it was strange today, wasn't it? When she stood up for Neville."
Harry and Ron glance at each other.
Hermione continues hesitantly. "She's not what I expected. She isn't…the same. I thought everything was the same here, that she'd be the same person, just escaped early. But…"
The more time she spends with Bellatrix…the more she seems…
Hermione continues eating, shaking her head. "You're right. We need to talk to him about her. I'm sure we'll be able to have the Common Room to ourselves that late at night. It will be a Hogsmeade weekend, so hopefully everyone will be tired out by then."
Ron grins. "Ah, nice! Hogsmeade weekend. I forgot!"
Harry's expression falls. "Me too. And I don't have a permission slip. Did they send us new ones? I never managed to…Oh well. Under the cloak again."
Hermione looks around in her bag. She thinks she has…aha!
She finds her own form, duplicates it, and removes her name and her parents' signatures. "Here. Send it to Sirius. You have a week for him to reply, and you can give it to Dumbledore. He's your godfather. He counts as a guardian."
Harry's face lights up as he scribbles his name down. "Of course! I should have sent it with the last note, but— I'll go the owlery now!"
He gets up—
"Hang on a sec!" Ron says.
And then takes a cake from the table and hands it to Harry. "Send this too. No-one's touched it. Uhh…Hermione, do you know how to make a box or something?"
Hermione waves her wand with a smile, transfiguring some parchment and hovering it over to Harry.
He carefully lowers the cake in and then heads off for the door.
"Good thinking," Hermione whispers to Ron. "Did…you save me the cottage pie too?"
He shrugs. "It's horrible being hungry. Me and Harry have to skip dinner tomorrow for our detention with Snape, so it kind of reminded me. How were the photographs?"
She sighs. "Very tedious. And I think I accidentally glared at Fleur right as they took a picture, so who knows what nonsense they'll say about me tomorrow. It's Rita Skeeter. She lies about everything just to create the most scandalous—"
Someone clears their throat behind her, and Ron's mouth falls open in shock.
"Hermowninny?"
Hermione smiles. Turns around. "Hi, Viktor. So you're finished! Come and sit with us. This is my friend Ron. He saved some food. Here."
She moves up so Viktor can sit between them, next to Ron too.
Viktor frowns and glances over at the slytherin table. It's almost empty, and Karkaroff is nowhere to be seen. In fact, the whole hall is almost empty now.
He sits down with them. "Thank you. I am hungry."
Ron springs into action, piling cottage pie onto Viktor's plate. "Course you are. Here, you can have it all. You need to eat a lot. For energy. I mean, not that you don't know that. Of course you know that. Quidditch players need to eat. Have diets. Not— not girly diets. I'm not saying you need a diet. I mean—"
Hermione laughs and puts a hand on Ron's arm to stop him as the food on Viktor's plate becomes a mountain. "I think that's enough," she says quietly.
Ron freezes, and Viktor just looks very uncomfortable.
Hermione keeps smiling. "Everyone is so strange about quidditch. I don't see what the fuss is about, to be honest. It's just a game."
"Just a game?!" Ron squawks. "Hermione, don't say that! Not in front of—"
Viktor chuckles. "Is good game. But yes. Sometimes it is…" He sighs frustratedly. "I am good player. I like to fly. I do not like…people. Photos. Questions. Cameras. Game is good. Challenge. Work is…not good. Boring."
Ron sits back. "You sound like Harry. Harry Potter. He hates fame too."
Viktor eats some pie and nods at Ron. "Fame. Yes. This is the word. You are very lucky. Don't have fame. Annoying witch asking questions for newspaper."
Oh dear. "Rita Skeeter interviewed you?"
He frowns at her in confusion.
"The blonde witch," she explains. "For the paper."
He nods grumpily. Spoons more pie into his mouth. "She say I am strong and…handsome. She see I talk to you and to Fleur. Now she say I choose between you for girlfriend. Is not true."
Great.
She grits her teeth and leans closer to Ron and Viktor. "She's a liar. She always tells lies. You can't believe a word of it, alright? And…"
She looks around. Checks no-one is in earshot. "She's an animagus. A beetle. It's how she spies on people. Watches them. Illegally. Do you understand, Viktor? Spy? Animagus?"
He nods very seriously. "Yes. But what animal is…beetle?"
"An insect," Ron explains, frowning too. "Like, really small. Like this!"
He pulls out some crumpled parchment from his pocket and draws a beetle on it. Just a black circle with six legs, but Viktor seems to understand.
Hermione nods. "So watch out for beetles. And if she does say something horrible in the newspaper tomorrow, I'll write to her. I'll tell her that I know her secret, and that should stop her."
Viktor chuckles again and eats more pie. "You are a clever witch. Good champion for Hogwarts."
Ron laughs too. "She's bloody brilliant. Wicked scary. You'd better train hard, mate. She's competition. The best in the year."
"In the school," Hermione corrects jokingly, glad Ron's lost his awkwardness. "But I'm not a quidditch star. I'll leave that to you. We saw you at the World Cup, Viktor. You were amazing."
But at this, Viktor loses his smile. Hunches over his plate and keeps eating without looking at them. "World Cup is not good. We lose."
Ron claps him on the back. "Not you though. You caught the snitch! With a Wronski feint!"
Viktor shakes his head. "I catch too soon. The team loses. I am not good with team."
They fall into awkward silence. Ron looks at Hermione pleadingly.
Hermione sighs. "Well then. I'm sure you'll prove yourself in the tournament. We have to do that by ourselves. It would be nicer if we could help each other, though…"
She feels her stomach clench uncomfortably. She keeps pushing the thought away, but…
She's never had to fight on her own before. She's always had Harry and Ron. Or Ginny. Or Luna. She's…she's really not looking forward to the tasks.
Viktor stands up. "Yes. We train alone. But I saw you read in library with me. This is good training. I…go now. Go back to ship."
Hermione looks at her watch. Yes, it's getting late.
Her and Ron get up too. "I'll probably see you again in the library tomorrow, you're right. All we can really do is prepare and practice. It was nice talking to you."
Viktor nods and walks away, scowling and head lowered against the whispers as he passes people.
"Bye," Ron says too quietly and too late, hand hanging in the air.
Hermione snorts and hooks her bag over her shoulder, beginning to walk them out of the hall. "See? I told you he's just a normal person."
Ron shakes his head dreamily. "Viktor Krum. We just talked to Viktor Krum. He talked to me. Do you think he remembered my name? I can't wait to tell Harry. Can't believe he missed it."
Hermione rolls her eyes. Well. This is better than Ron being jealous, at least.