章 528: 0527 Vigilance
On that crisp Sunday morning, Hermione gradually stirred from her restless sleep, her bleary eyes slowly focusing on the sparkling autumn sky visible through the windows of Gryffindor Tower.
The morning light filtered through in gentle golden streams, but it did little to lift the crushing weight of exhaustion and melancholy that seemed to press down upon her chest. The events of the previous night had haunted her relentlessly, playing through her mind like a twisted magical projection, causing her to toss and turn beneath her bedsheets until the early hours of dawn.
Even in her brief moments of sleep, her dreams had been plagued by vivid, unsettling scenes that she desperately wished to forget but couldn't seem to shake from her consciousness.
The girls' dormitory was wrapped in an almost ghostly silence with the usual morning chatter and rustling of her roommates notably absent. The beds belonging to Lavender and Parvati were empty, their covers already neatly made.
With tremendous effort, as if fighting against an Impediment Jinx, Hermione forced herself to sit upright. Her trembling fingers found the thick velvet curtains of her four-poster bed, drawing them back with a soft swish to reveal what she had fondly come to think of as her 'book wall'.
Unlike the blunt regularity of the boys' dormitory, which Harry had once described to her as practically monastic in its grim simplicity, the girls' living space reflected the unique personalities of its inhabitants.
While Hermione maintained the traditional Hogwarts-issued bedding in its original deep crimson and gold, Lavender and Parvati had transformed their spaces into vibrant colors. Lavender's bed curtains sparkled with delicate lights and hanging crystals that caught the morning sun, while Parvati's space was decorated with intricate Indian fabrics and moving photographs of her family.
Hermione's corner, in contrast, spoke about her academic nature – towering stacks of books created a fortress around her bed, some wobbling so unsteadily that only magic could be keeping them upright.
If she had her way, Hermione would have gladly remained hidden in this peaceful bubble until the first task of the Triwizard Tournament began. The quiet privacy of her dormitory offered a natural preserve from the chaos that surely awaited her below, but she knew with crushing certainty that such an escape was impossible. The rational part of her mind, always dominant despite her emotional turmoil, reminded her that hiding would only make things worse in the long run.
With resigned determination, she slipped her feet into her worn slippers and padded across the cool stone floor to the dormitory bathroom. The mirror, its frame decorated with carved vines that seemed to shift and grow in the early morning light, reflected back an image that made her wince.
Dark circles shadowed her eyes like bruises, due to her sleepless night. Her usually untamable hair had outdone itself, resembling something closer to a bird's nest than actual human hair. Her cotton nightgown, typically pristine despite her restless sleeping habits, had come undone at the top, the first button having worked itself free during the night. The collar hung awry, leaving one shoulder exposed, giving her the appearance of someone who had just emerged from a particularly vigorous duel.
Drawing upon years of experience managing her unruly hair, Hermione knew that a thorough washing would be the quickest route to achieving some semblance of presentability. The thought of facing her housemates looking anything like this was unthinkable – she refused to give them any additional ammunition for their inevitable whispers and stares.
Leaning against the stone wall for support to prevent herself from falling due to lack of sleep, Hermione began the arduous task of unbuttoning her nightgown. Her movements were very slow and clumsy, as if this could reasonably buy her more time to stay in the room.
Hiss—
When she undid the third button, the nightgown slid down her skin on its own, and the November air rushed to meet her exposed flesh with an almost predatory eagerness. The cold was shocking, drawing a sharp intake of breath through her teeth and causing a ripple of goosebumps to race across her arms and torso. The mirror captured the involuntary shiver that passed through her body.
In an instinctive response to the chill, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, her hands moving rapidly up and down her arms in an attempt to generate warmth. The practical part of her mind urged her to hurry into the shower's waiting warmth, but something made her pause at the edge of the mirror's view. Almost against her will, she stepped back into full view of her reflection, straightening her posture despite the chill.
For a moment, Hermione observed her reflection with an analytical eye that was usually reserved for complex arithmancy problems. The thought that crossed her mind – an assessment of her body that was surprisingly positive – caught her completely off guard.
The sudden self-awareness sent a flush of color racing across her cheeks that had nothing to do with the room's temperature, and she practically dived into the waiting shower stand, eager to escape from her own unexpected vanity.
Under the chute of hot water, surrounded by billowing steam that transformed the bathroom into something similar to a potions classroom, Hermione tried to rationalize her moment of self-observation.
'After all,' she thought defensively, 'Parvati and Lavender have been comparing since second year. There's nothing inappropriate about being aware of one's own physical development!'
The steam seemed to absorb her silent justifications, offering neither judgment nor forgiveness.
Today being Sunday, students could wear their own clothes instead of wizard robes.
She chose a pair of jeans and a light blue sweatshirt that seemed to soften her appearance, making her look more like the teenage girl she was rather than the unwilling champion she had become.
Standing before the mirror once more, she conducted a thorough inspection of her appearance, noting with relief that aside from the stubborn dark circles beneath her eyes – which no amount of cold water had managed to diminish – she looked remarkably normal which made her breathe a sigh of relief.
Her book bag hung loosely at her side, unusually light without its normal burden of textbooks and scrolls. The emptiness should have bothered her – Hermione Granger was never without reading material – but today, she barely noticed.
She stood frozen behind the dormitory door, her hand resting on the handle, gathering her courage like a shield around her. The minutes ticked by as she rehearsed possible responses to the worst scenarios she might face, until finally, with a deep breath that seemed to fill her entire being, she pushed the door open and stepped out to face whatever awaited her.
The descent down the spiral staircase to the Gryffindor common room felt like walking to her own execution. Each step brought her closer to the murmur of voices below, each turn revealing more of the familiar circular room that suddenly seemed as intimidating as the Forbidden Forest.
The moment she emerged into view, the atmosphere shifted palpably. Classmates who had already returned from breakfast greeted her with an enthusiasm that somehow felt forced and uncomfortable, their eyes seemed to hold a mixture of curiosity, concern, and in some cases, barely concealed skepticism.
Colin Creevey, the enthusiastic third-year who was usually Harry's personal paparazzi, practically bounced across the room toward her, his ever-present camera was swinging wildly around his neck. This unprecedented attention made Hermione understand, with startling clarity, why Harry always seemed so uncomfortable with Colin's persistent photography. This boy's eager face and ready camera made her want to retreat back up the stairs.
"I'm sorry, Colin," she managed, trying to inject warmth into her voice despite her discomfort, "but I'm running rather late for breakfast, and then I need to get to the library--"
The words tumbled out in a rush as she deftly maneuvered between Colin and his equally enthusiastic brother Dennis, making a beeline for the portrait hole with the precision of someone who had spent years dodging unwanted attention in the library.
The Fat Lady's portrait had barely swung open when Hermione collided with Harry, who appeared to be returning from some early morning errand. His presence was both a surprise and an immediate comfort, though she tried not to let the latter show too obviously on her face.
"You're up?" Harry's voice carried genuine surprise, and he shifted awkwardly before presenting her with a stack of bread carefully wrapped in napkins. "I went up to the Owlery to send a letter to Sirius, then waited for you in the Great Hall. When you didn't show up, I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some--"
"Oh, thank you--" Hermione's gratitude was genuine, touched by his thoughtfulness.
"Are you heading to the library?" Harry asked again, and after getting Hermione's affirmative response, Harry mumbled 'wait' and rushed into the common room.
Harry's question about her destination seemed casual enough, but when he disappeared into the common room only to return moments later, slightly out of breath and clutching his book bag, his true intentions became transparent.
"I'm going too--"
The last time they had gone to the library together was probably last year when they were trying to help Hagrid find some favorable legal materials for Buckbeak's hearing. So, Harry could understand why Hermione looked surprised.
"To find some information related to Professor Sinistra's essay," Harry said awkwardly, turning his gaze away. "You should be focusing on preparing for your own tournament task, there's no need for you to worry about homework right now, especially not mine or Ron's."
Hermione pressed her lips together and smiled, "No one's going to attack me in broad daylight inside the castle," she continued, trying to inject lightness into her voice. "Though I suppose I should brace myself for plenty of unpleasant comments—"
"Oh, you worked it out then." Harry's surprise was quickly replaced by sheepish recognition that trying to hide his motivations from Hermione had been futile from the start. She hadn't earned her reputation as the brightest witch of their age by being dull-witted. Given how well she knew him, it would have been odd if she hadn't seen through his intentions.
As they began their descent from Gryffindor Tower, Hermione forced herself to ask the question that had been burning in her mind. "What about Ron?" She tried to make her voice sound casual, indifferent even, but the slight tremor in her words gave her up.
Harry's response came with an undercurrent of frustration. "Still in the Great Hall eating breakfast—" he explained, his tone carrying a note of complaint. "I tried to get him to come along, told him that whoever put your name in the Goblet might try something else, but he just said there were plenty of people fighting over the chance to protect you, so there wasn't any point in worrying about it."
Harry grumbled.
The words hit Hermione, and she felt her face freeze into an expression of careful neutrality. She didn't know whether to be touched by Harry's obvious but determined action or hurt by Ron's pettiness.
"That's not the same thing at all!" she managed to say as her voice tightened with conflicting emotions.
The journey to the library wasn't pleasant.
Before leaving the dormitory, Hermione knew that even though Professor McGonagall had told everyone that the school had determined based on certain deductions that she hadn't put her name in the Goblet herself, she couldn't expect understanding from everyone. So, she thought she had mentally prepared herself for others' strange looks.
But the actual situation was worse than she had imagined. Along the way, the Hufflepuff students they encountered made no effort to hide their looks of disgust at her. They didn't care how her name had ended up in the Goblet of Fire; the indisputable fact was that she had 'stolen' the glory that should have belonged solely to Cedric, should have belonged solely to Hufflepuff.
The Slytherins, predictably, treated the whole situation as some sort of cosmic joke. Their sneers and knowing looks suggested they were already taking bets on how quickly she would fail, or worse, meet some gruesome end in the tournament.
Perhaps most disappointing was the reaction from Ravenclaw house. Hermione had hoped that those who prided themselves on their intelligence and rationality would show more understanding, but she was sadly mistaken. As she and Harry passed through a particularly crowded corridor, the whispered conversations of a group of Ravenclaw girls reached their ears with crystal clarity – "Who knows what's really going on, maybe this is just a cover story they made up to hide the scandal."
Harry angrily rushed forward to argue with them, but Hermione held him back, walking on without a word.
The library, usually her sanctuary, offered little relief from the morning's trials. Madam Pince stood at her desk, her hawkish facial features arranged in a familiar scowl as she watched a group of young witches who were failing miserably at being subtle about their attention to Viktor Krum.
Whether it was the book in front of him or the harassing glances, Krum looked gloomy and slightly unhappy. He shook his head absently, then noticed two of the Hogwarts students he was more familiar with appearing in the library.
Krum's demeanor shifted notably when he spotted Hermione and Harry entering the library. He rose from his chair with surprising grace for someone of his build, clearly intending to approach them. "It's you, Her-my-own-ninny" he began, his accent mangling her name in what would have been an endearing way under different circumstances.
However, to his surprise just before he could take more than a step in their direction, Harry suddenly stepped forward positioning himself between him and Hermione, and stared at him with vigilant eyes.
"Don't come closer—"
Harry's hand rested on his pocket, making a motion as if ready to draw his wand at any moment, speaking in a threatening tone.
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章 529: 0528 Friendship (2-in-1 Chapter)
The tension in the library was palpable as Harry's unexpectedly aggressive reaction sent ripples of shock through the hushed atmosphere. The sudden change in his demeanor caught everyone off guard, including Viktor Krum, who was also genuinely surprised.
Even the always stern Madam Pince, her thin lips typically pursed in disapproval, momentarily forgot her customary irritation at the cluster of giggling witches who had been trailing Krum throughout the library. She had only permitted their presence—despite their incessant whispering and dreamy sighs—out of diplomatic courtesy to their distinguished Durmstrang guest.
'But what was Harry Potter doing?'
Krum's thick eyebrows, which had just begun to relax furrowed once again as he looked at the boy before him, who was half a head shorter, with confusion in his gaze.
He knew this green-eyed boy was Harry Potter, someone who was, in some ways, even more famous than himself. They had met face-to-face twice before—first at the Quidditch World Cup, and then just yesterday during when Harry and his two friends had shown them around Hogwarts grounds.
During both meetings, Harry Potter had been nothing but friendly, and especially his red-headed friend— Krum remembered—had been particularly enthusiastic, barely containing his fan-boy excitement.
'But what was happening now?'
Harry wouldn't let him approach them closely and seemed ready to attack. Though Krum had to admit, Harry's stance and expression were quite intimidating - he appeared to have had some training.
"Oh, please don't do this, Harry!" Hermione finally came to her senses and called out anxiously. Her brown eyes darted anxiously between her friend and the international Quidditch star, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of her bushy hair.
She was probably the only one who understood why Harry was reacting so extremely - he likely viewed all unfamiliar people as potential threats towards her. The warmth of being protected spread through her chest, but it was immediately tempered by practical concern.
Any conflict with Durmstrang's champion could have serious diplomatic consequences, not to mention the potential impact on the tournament itself. Her mind raced through possible solutions as she watched Harry's tense posture, his hand hovering near where she knew his wand was concealed.
"Let's talk outside," Hermione said decisively, grasping Harry's sleeve and pulling him towards the library entrance. She opened her mouth to offer an explanation to Krum, but Madam Pince's withering glare made her shiver and reconsider. Instead, she leaned closer to Krum and whispered her explanations, careful to keep her voice below the library's strict noise threshold.
The trio made their way out of the library, passing through its wooden doors into the castle. The library entrance, bustling with students moving between classes, was too public for their needed conversation.
Almost instinctively, Hermione guided them toward a familiar corridor—the same one where Professor Watson had previously assisted the house-elf in birth. As they walked, she noticed Krum's dark eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings, studying the row of sealed classrooms with genuine interest.
A sudden movement over their head caught their attention—a spider, its body roughly the size of a baby's clenched fist, scurried across a web that stretched between ancient stone arches.
Hermione unconsciously brushed her thick hair away from her face, her cheeks coloring slightly as she felt compelled to explain, "We don't use all these classrooms for regular lessons anymore. Some of these spaces haven't been used in centuries... so they're not exactly maintained to the usual Hogwarts standards—"
Harry grimaced; this wasn't another formal tour like yesterdays. There was no need to provide Krum with such detailed explanations of every corner of the castle.
"I think it is.... interestin'—" Surprisingly, Krum showed no concern about the poor conditions nor did he dwell on Harry's earlier aggressive reaction. He enthusiastically stared at a broken-armed statue at the corridor's end and said, "Durmstrang's castle is not so... grand as Hogwarts—only four floors high. And it is not so..... comfortable or interesting..... like here—"
As Krum spoke, Harry began to realize something that shifted his perception of him completely. Viktor Krum as an international Quidditch star didn't carry himself with the expected arrogance of a celebrity athlete.
His usual quietness, Harry now understood, likely stemmed from self-consciousness about his imperfect English rather than any sense of superiority. Even now, as he attempted to describe Durmstrang, his speech was sprinkled with occasional phrases of Bulgarian that neither Harry nor Hermione could decipher, his thick accent was also struggling with certain English words.
The conversation took an unexpected turn when Krum, looking somewhat sheepish, asked, "Could you.... perhaps help me get an autograph?"
The request hung in the air, notable for its novelty—usually, it was Krum being mobbed by admirers seeking his signature. Just yesterday, during their tour of the grounds with the visiting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Harry had witnessed countless Hogwarts girls practically tripping over themselves to get Krum's autograph.
Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, surprise giving way to understanding as they processed the request. "Whose autograph are you hoping to get?" Hermione asked carefully, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
"Mr. Watson—" Krum admitted, his expression unusually weak. "I don't know many people here, and I'm not certain if Mr. Watson would consider it, ah..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Presumptuous!" Harry supplied helpfully, watching as relief crossed Krum's facial features at being provided the exact term he'd been struggling to find.
To Harry's growing surprise, he found Krum remarkably easy to talk to, nothing like the stern, unapproachable figure he'd imagined. Most importantly, there wasn't a hint of hostility toward Hermione despite their status as competing champions. His congratulations to her seemed genuine, and his tone was also far more sincere and comfortable than Ron's had been during last night's interaction.
Curiosity prompted Harry to ask why Krum hadn't sought help from Malfoy—after all, during the past two evening feasts, Krum had been seated beside the Slytherin, and both Harry and Ron had observed Malfoy's constant attempts to curry favor with him.
Krum's response, though partially lost in his thick accent and mumbled delivery, seemed to suggest he didn't find Malfoy very reliable. This assessment immediately elevated Krum further in Harry's estimation, and he felt a twinge of guilt about his earlier hostile behavior.
"Alright, I'll see what I can do about that autograph—" Harry offered, his words serving as both acceptance and apology. The tension from earlier had completely dissipated, replaced by an unexpected sense of friendship.
As they made their way back through the corridors, Krum explained the reason behind his presence in the library to Hermione, "I've been doing research to prepare for the first task—"
At the mention of the tournament task, Hermione's expression grew anxious. She clearly wanted to inquire about the direction of his research, but caught herself before speaking. The tournament rules were explicit about champions relying solely on their own abilities, and asking about another champion's preparation methods would undoubtedly constitute cheating.
"Prepare?" Harry's confusion was evident in his voice. From what Hermione had shared, Barty Crouch had provided the champions with nothing more than vague instructions to prepare mentally for the challenges, without any concrete information about their nature. "But the Ministry hasn't revealed anything, have they? What could you possibly find in books?"
Unlike Hermione, Harry had no such scruples about rules and asked directly. Krum, displaying unexpected generosity, also shared his reasoning, "Yes, they've revealed nothing specific, but... there are always clues—"
He raised his thick eyebrows meaningfully, glancing at Hermione's profile as she pretended not to be intensely interested. A hint of pride crept into his expression, momentarily transforming him from the intimidating celebrity to an eager student trying to show off, "Even though the tasks are kept secret, they usually fall into certain…. categories. By looking at records of past Triwizard Tournaments, you can usually guess the kinds of challenges the champions might face…"
"Oh!" The revelation lit up Hermione's eyes instantly. The approach was so obvious that she felt slightly embarrassed for not thinking of it herself. If she hadn't been so preoccupied with the irregular circumstances of her championship and Ron's concerns, it should probably have been her first course of action.
"—I'm not very familiar with the layout of Hogwarts' library..." Krum continued in his usual clipped tone, "I haven't been able to locate these historical records, and your librarian seems... she doesn't seem to like people asking questions—"
"I can help with that! I know this library like the back of my hand!" Hermione's enthusiasm was infectious, her earlier reservations about rule-breaking apparently forgotten.
Harry, standing like a bodyguard, could only shrug resignedly upon hearing Hermione's eager offer. He had already predicted that their afternoon plans would likely revolve around the library's dusty shelves.
His prediction was indeed absolutely correct. With remarkable efficiency, Hermione gathered every tome that could possibly contain information about the Triwizard Tournament, creating what appeared to be a small fortress of books around their table. The three of them spent hours poring over the texts, breaking only when Harry made quick dashes to the Great Hall to fetch food during lunch and dinner times.
During one of these food runs, Harry encountered Ron in the Great Hall. When he extended an invitation for Ron to join them in their research efforts with Hermione and Krum, Ron's response was evasive, mumbling something about pre-arranged plans to play Gobstones with Seamus that afternoon.
The response both annoyed and puzzled Harry. He could sense that since the previous evening, Ron seemed to be deliberately avoiding Hermione, though he couldn't quite understand why. However, this concerning observation was quickly pushed aside by more immediate concerns—helping Hermione uncover any possible hints about the tournament's challenges was the first priority.
"This is absolutely insane!" Hermione's exclamation came only after Madam Pince had practically shooed them from the library, her repeated insistence finally forcing them to leave.
Both she and Harry emerged clutching stacks of parchment covered in notes about historical Triwizard Tournament conditions, their findings spanning centuries. Krum had left earlier, explaining that Professor Karkaroff had strict rules about students remaining in the castle after hours.
"They actually made champions face Dementors, werewolves, inferi, basilisks—" Hermione's voice rose with increasing dismay as they crossed the corridor bridge.
She suddenly halted, turning to face the black lake that stretched out below them, its surface shimmering like polished obsidian in the evening light. Her expression was a mix of horror and indignation as she cried out, "But this is all completely illegal!"
...
..
.
<<<<****SCENEBREAK****>>>>
Hermione had spent countless hours trying to calculate and prepare herself mentally for the inevitable backlash she would face after becoming the unexpected Triwizard champion, but as the harsh reality of the new week unfolded and classes resumed their normal schedule, she discovered that the situation had spiraled far beyond her worst predictions. Her initial assumption that she alone would bear the brunt of the hostility proved painfully naive - the entire Gryffindor House had become entangled in this increasingly complex web of tension and animosity.
The confrontation she dreaded most was with the Hufflepuffs, whose sense of betrayal ran particularly deep. But as fate would have it, their very first class that crisp Monday morning was Herbology, shared with the very house that felt most wronged by recent events.
The greenhouse's usually pleasant atmosphere was transformed into something almost tangible in its awkwardness. The normally combined class had fractured into two distinct camps. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs now stood rigid and separate, refusing to even acknowledge each other's existence.
The breaking point came when Justin Finch-Fletchley, his face twisted in poorly concealed malice, deliberately "lost control" of his Bouncing Bulb, sending it bowling directly into Hermione's nose. The resulting explosion of laughter from the Hufflepuff section echoed off the greenhouse glass, making the sound seem even more mocking than intended.
Professor Sprout's subsequent reprimand of Finch-Fletchley was notably half-hearted, delivered in such a lukewarm tone that it might as well have been a commendation of his behavior. Even more telling was how the usually fair-minded professor seemed to develop a sudden reluctance to call upon either Neville or Hermione during class discussions, despite their historically excellent participation.
Tuesday brought Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins, and while Hagrid's imposing presence kept outright hostility at bay, the undercurrent of antagonism was impossible to miss. The Slytherin girls, led by Pansy Parkinson, formed tight clusters throughout the lesson, pointing and whispering. Each time Draco leaned in to whisper something in Pansy's ear, her shrill laughter would pierce the air like a knife, her eyes never leaving Hermione's place.
The ripple effects of this controversy extended far beyond Hogwarts, with both visiting schools making their displeasure known through increasingly dramatic gestures.
The students of Beauxbatons, led by their stunningly beautiful group of girls, had expressed their displeasure by boycotting the Great Hall entirely. After classes, they would hurry across the grounds like scattered birds, disappearing to their powder-blue carriage as if the very air of Hogwarts had become toxic.
Fred had discovered through his kitchen connections that the Beauxbatons students had arranged for house-elves to deliver their meals directly to their carriage, effectively creating their own private dining room away from the supposed treachery of Hogwarts.
The Durmstrang students were equally protective of their champion, Viktor Krum. Whenever Krum appeared in the Great Hall, he was surrounded by a phalanx of his fellow students, their dark expressions and rigid postures making it clear they expected trouble. Just as Harry's protective instincts had kicked in regarding Hermione's safety within the castle, Karkaroff's paranoia about potential plots against Viktor had reached new heights.
"If they're so bloody terrified, why don't they just pack up their things and go home!" Harry burst out angrily on Wednesday morning, his voice carrying more than intended across the breakfast table as he gestured angrily toward the conspicuously empty Ravenclaw table where the Beauxbatons students usually sat.
"Please, Harry--" Hermione interjected, fighting to keep her voice steady and reasonable despite her own inner turmoil. "Their concerns aren't entirely unreasonable. After all, whoever placed my name in the Goblet of Fire hasn't been found. If their true intention was to bring shame upon Hogwarts, attacking their champions would be the best way."
Harry's forehead creased in that familiar way it did when he wanted to argue but couldn't find the logical grounds to do so. His shoulders slumped in reluctant acknowledgment of Hermione's point, the fight seeming to drain out of him. Across the table, Ron glanced up briefly, but upon catching Hermione's observant gaze, he quickly returned his attention to his barely-touched breakfast.
The tense moment was broken by the familiar sound of beating wings as the morning mail arrived, hundreds of owls plunged from the enchanted ceiling in a graceful aerial ballet. A single envelope drifted down like an autumn leaf, landing precisely in front of Harry immediately lifting his dejected expression.
"It's from Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, his entire demeanor brightening as he recognized the handwriting. He tore into the envelope with barely contained excitement, his eyes racing across the parchment. "Sirius wants to discuss the champion situation with us in person!"
Both Hermione and Ron leaned forward with interest as Harry laid the letter flat on the table, continuing his explanation with growing enthusiasm. "He says he can't put everything in writing. He wants to meet face-to-face - it must be urgent because he's asking us to come to Hogsmeade this Saturday. He'll be waiting for us at the Three Broomsticks!"
"But this isn't an official Hogsmeade weekend, is it?" Hermione pointed out, her practical nature asserting itself even as she carefully examined Sirius's letter, her eyes scanning each word as if searching for hidden meanings.
Harry's face lit up with a mischievous gleam. "Surely Professor Watson hasn't managed to seal all the secret passages to Hogsmeade, has he?" His voice carried a note of barely contained excitement.
The prospect of seeing his godfather had injected new life into him; since the term's beginning, their contact had been limited to brief letters. The fact that Sirius suggested meeting them in Hogsmeade on a non-designated weekend seemed to carry an implicit approval of their occasional rule-bending, something that clearly delighted Harry.
The arrival of Sirius's letter had provided Harry with something he desperately needed - a sense of purpose and direction. The dark cloud that had been hovering over him for days seemed to lift, replaced by an almost palpable anticipation for the upcoming meeting.
Hermione couldn't quite match Harry's optimism. While she doubted Sirius could offer any immediate solutions to their current predicament, she recognized that at this point, even the smallest gesture of support felt like a precious gift. She was particularly touched by Sirius's involvement, knowing full well how demanding his new position as an Auror at the Ministry had become and she was very grateful that he was willing to make a special trip for this matter.
Sirius's supportive intervention had an almost magical effect on both Harry and Hermione's spirits throughout the day. Even the sideways glances and whispered comments from other houses during their classes seemed to lose some of their sting, as if Sirius's invisible presence served as a protective shield around them.
The afternoon brought a temporary separation as Hermione's schedule diverged from theirs. While she headed off to her additional classes, Harry and Ron made their way down to the Great Hall together, though the familiar journey felt somehow different, laden with unspoken tension. Before dinner could properly begin, Harry excused himself for his daily training session on the grounds, a routine he had maintained with admirable discipline despite recent events.
When Harry returned half an hour later, accompanied by an equally exhausted Hermione, both of them glistening with sweat from their training, Ron's absence from the Great Hall was immediately noticeable. The empty space where he usually sat seemed to draw Harry's attention like a missing tooth.
"Have you noticed something's not quite right with Ron lately?" Harry asked, his voice low and concerned as he dabbed at his forehead with a napkin, loosening his collar to cool off.
Hermione's hand froze mid-motion as she was wiping her own face, her body language suddenly tense. Deliberately avoiding Harry's searching gaze, she attempted to maintain a casual tone that wasn't quite casual. "What exactly do you mean?"
Harry fell silent, clearly struggling to explain the subtle changes he'd observed in Ron's behavior. His time had been overwhelmingly occupied with Hermione's champion situation, but even through that fog of concern, he'd noticed something was amiss. His brow furrowed deeply as he mentally reviewed Ron's recent behavior in the dormitory and during classes, trying to pin down exactly what felt wrong.
"He seems... different," Harry finally managed, choosing his words carefully. "Like something's eating at him. He barely talks anymore, at least not like he used to."
Hermione's response was to quickly shovel food into her mouth, hoping her obvious avoidance technique might discourage Harry's line of questioning. But Harry's steady gaze remained fixed on her, making it clear he wasn't going to let this go without some kind of answer.
"He's probably... just worried about everything too," Hermione said vaguely, seizing her glass of pumpkin juice and taking an unnecessarily long drink, ignoring Harry who seemed unsatisfied with her response.
The evening's routine continued as dinner concluded, but neither Harry nor Hermione made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, knowing they still had Professor Watson's class to attend. The practical consideration of avoiding unnecessary trips up and down the castle's numerous staircases kept them in the Great Hall, where they were joined by Neville and several girls from the Quidditch team, all of them rushing to complete last-minute homework assignments before class.
As the Great Hall gradually emptied, this small group of Gryffindors gathered their belongings and hurried upstairs together, their footsteps echoing through the corridors as they made their way to the Physical Education classroom.
The route was familiar by now, but tonight something was different. Even from a considerable distance, they could hear the sound of laughter floating down the corridor - not the usual kind of pre-class chatter, but something weirdly different, with Malfoy's distinctive drawl clearly audible among the voices.
Harry's expression darkened immediately, his good mood from Sirius's letter instantly vanishing. His instinctive glance toward Hermione confirmed that she had reached the same conclusion he had - whatever awaited them in that classroom wasn't going to be pleasant.
The moment the Gryffindors crossed the threshold, the laughter ceased as if cut off by a knife, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press against their ears. The Slytherins stood in their usual clusters, but their expressions held something new - a collective look of malicious anticipation that made Harry's stomach turn.
Pansy Parkinson, her pug-like face twisted into an expression of cruel delight, stepped forward from the group. "Hey!" she called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness as she deliberately thrust her chest forward, drawing attention to something pinned there. "What do you think of this, Granger?"
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, while Harry's face drained of color as he finally saw what was displayed on the badges the Slytherins wore so proudly. In that moment, something inside him snapped. He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that carried more menace than any shout could have managed. "Take that stupid thing off, Parkinson, or I swear you'll regret it!"
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