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Chapter Text

Hermione adjusts her phone between her shoulder and her ear as she packs the last few bottles, smiling apologetically at the cashier. “Okay, so that’s you, Ginny, Ron, George, and Fleur but no Bill? Should be enough. I didn’t get wine though, just beer and cider. Do you think Fleur will bring— well, I know, but it’s always best to be sure. At least without Bill there’ll definitely be enough to eat. Sorry I just threw this on you, I thought I’d be home by now. Work was— Oh, one second, Harry.”

She puts the phone down so she can search for her card, once again smiles at the cashier as she waits, and then grabs her bags and the phone, wishing she could just get out her wand and cast a featherlight charm. Ah well. Not far.

It’s raining and dark as she leaves the supermarket, but that’s actually a bonus as it means she can hurry around a corner into a dark alley, and disapparate.

Appears in her kitchen.

Harry puts down the phone and grins at her. “Is it raining out? You look like the Giant Squid got you.”

Hermione drops the bags and wipes some hair out of her face before casting a drying spell. “Pouring. Well, in London at least. How’s dinner going?”

He grabs an oven glove that’s flung over his shoulder, opening the oven door and checking the pizzas. “Just about done. We’ll have to put more in later but these three will do for now, and I had a look around in your fridge and managed to make a salad.”

Hermione walks over to look at the salad, quite impressed by what he’s come up with. “Well, it looks great. I can’t believe how long it’s taken for us all to find a time to meet for dinner. I thought I might have to postpone again. You’re a lifesaver.”

He starts hovering the bottles out of the bags. “You mean a saviour? Hmm. Never been called that before.”

She whacks him gently on the head with a big bag of crisps before emptying them into a bowl. “And you’re sure Ginny is up to this with…well…”

Harry holds out his arms in front of his stomach and puffs out his cheeks. “The one-week-old child that doesn’t seem to want to come out of her just yet? Yeah. She definitely wants to come. She was snoring when I left, but she said she’d be over later, and bagsys the chair closest to the loo and the biggest slice of pizza seeing as she can’t drink.”

Hermione snorts. Fair enough. “Well that will work out fine then, seeing as Fleur told me she’s on a diet but intending to drink a lot tonight seeing as she has the night away from the baby. Is that why Bill isn’t coming?”

Harry nods, checking his watch. “Think it’ll be the first time she’s away from Dominique. Remember how she wouldn’t let Victoire out of her sight until she was about three? This one’s barely a month old and she’s off like a shot.”

Hermione shakes her head, following a miaowing Crookshanks over to his bowl and giving him some food. “She’s less anxious. Think that’s normal with a second child.”

Harry hums. “Mess up the first one, and learn from your mistakes with the second one. Got it.”

She straightens up to look at him. Check his expression.

Ah. Joking but worried.

She squeezes his shoulder. “Good job you’ve had so much practice looking after me and Ron then. We’re your practice batch. The baby’ll be fine.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “More like you looking after us. But thanks. Why don’t you go get changed out of your work clothes? I’ll turn the oven off and go back to my place for a sec. See if Ginny’s gotten herself stuck on her back on the sofa like a tortoise again.”

Hermione barks out a laugh and walks off towards the stairs. “I’m telling her you said that!”

He is so getting a bat-bogey hex to the face later.

Hermione hastily moves the bottles out of the way before Fleur can knock them over as she pours herself another large glass of wine.

“I am telling you! This is true! I turn by back for un moment, and Victoire and Teddy have eaten the whole thing. Comme ça!” she snaps her fingers and takes a large mouthful of wine. “Petits monstres. And now I have another one. Remind me to never do that again.”

The wine swills out of the side of her glass, and Ron sends up a subtle protego, pushing some bread and a jug of water towards her hintingly. “Sound like a handful. I’ll have to watch them for you for a bit whilst Andromeda’s away. They could come hang out at the shop with us, right George?

George grins. “We do need some new test subjects,” he winks.

Hermione rolls her eyes but smiles. She knows he’d never.

Ginny snorts. “The last thing we need is those two learning more mischief from you. I’ve lost track of the number of ton tongue toffees I’ve accidentally eaten recently.”

“You fell for it?” Ron laughs. “More than once?”

Ginny flicks her wand at him. A jelly-legs jinx that he deflects. “I thought they’d run out! Didn’t know you were giving them a secret stash.”

Fleur nods gloomily. “It is never-ending. Send me back to the grindylows. I am begging you.”

Harry opens another beer and smiles across at her. “You don’t mean that. Remember how freezing the lake was? I’m surprised you ever got in.”

Fleur’s head snaps up. She puts her wine down, pushes it away, and sits up straight, staring Harry down. “Of course I got in! I was a champion too, non? Just because one of those connards caught me by surprise!”

Then she grins. Raises her wand. “You did not even know the bubblehead charm, little boy. Tu souviens? Maybe we should have a rematch. A real competition.”

Harry laughs, glancing around and giving everyone knowing looks at Fleur’s unsteady hand. “Sure. We’ll have to put it in the calendar. Set up a duel or something. Invite Viktor.”

Ron claps him on the back. “You should! That would be wicked, mate! When was the last time we saw Viktor? We haven’t played a friendly in a while either. How about it? Gin—”

He glances at Ginny and cringes. “Oh. Right. Forgot. Guess it has been a while.”

Ginny huffs, folding her arms over her stomach. “Forgot? Alright for some. Yeah. It’s been a while. But I swear, as soon as this thing’s out of me, I’m getting straight back on a broom.”

“Thing?!” Harry squawks, reaching for Ginny’s stomach. “Child. Baby. James, or Lily, or—”

Ginny laughs. “Okay, okay! I didn’t mean— ugh, whoever it is, they’re pushing on my bladder. Hermione, help me up, would you?”

Hermione is already getting to her feet, used to this by now. “Here we go. Anyone else want anything whilst I’m up? More to eat, Ginny? I could see if there any biscuits in the tin if you want? Or fruit? I might have—”

Ginny waves her off. “Stop fussing. You’re worse than Mum. I’ll be as big as Aunt Marge if you lot aren’t careful.”

“Aunt Marge?” Fleur asks confusedly.

George leans in to whisper to her. “Harry’s Aunt. He blew her up when he was thirteen,” he says solemnly.

Fleur’s eyes go wide.

Hermione fights a smile and nods sadly too, sitting back down and reaching for her almost empty glass. It’s a strange joke they’ve had for years now. Always nod seriously when Aunt Marge is mentioned.

It cheers Harry up. And George.

Fleur looks around at them all.

Then rolls her eyes, muttering about never understanding English humour.

Ron cracks first, laughing into his sleeve. “Wish I’d seen it. Dad knew the poor bloke who had to fetch her down. Did I tell you? They tried to accio her but— but the wind kept blowing her away. Had to— had to get a net and—"

Hermione’s shoulders are shaking now, holding back laughter. Not from the story. She’s heard it a million times before, and it’s not even that funny. It’s Harry. Harry and his ridiculously serious expression. She never knows how he manages it.

Fleur accios some firewhisky from the back of a cupboard and pours some into both her and Hermione’s empty glasses. “I think you are the champion, Cherie, dealing with these idiots for so many years. What is your secret? Because it is not alcohol. Drink! It is Friday night, drink!”

Hermione does drink. Quite a large sip that makes her eyes water but her heart warm.

Or maybe it’s just having everyone together like this. It’s nice to sit back and just…soak it in. Her family.

She frowns down at her glass. How much has she had to drink? She’s getting sentimental.

Fleur adds some more firewhisky. That witch!

Hermione snatches the bottle from her with a stern glare. “No more. I mean it. It’s for the best. You’ll regret it tomorrow.”

Laughter echoes from down the hall, and Ginny appears. “Uh oh, Fleur, you’re in trouble. Hermione has spoken. And you’d better do as she says, with that look on her face. We all know that look.”

Wha— what look?

Ron nods. “The prefect look. Although actually I think you’ve had it down since first year. You always were scary.”

He takes out his wand and tuts. “It’s leviosa. Not leviosaa!”

Ron! “But it’s true!” Hermione cries. “Intonation is a very important part of—”

Harry stands up, eyebrows pinching together and chin jutting out. “I’m going to bed, before either of you come up with another clever idea to get us killed. Or worse, expelled.”

George snorts. “She didn’t.”

Harry grins at Hermione and sits back down. “Word for word. You were an amazing kid, Hermione.”

Hmph.

Hermione sends some empty plates and glasses to wash themselves in the sink. Glares at everyone. There’s nothing wrong with being the sensible one. Someone has to be.

They just smile back.

And…she can’t help but crack a smile too. Raises her glass. “You were all amazing. Every one of you. And…I hope Victoire, and Teddy, and Dominique and whoever is hiding out in your stomach, Ginny…all make friends at Hogwarts that are just as amazing as you lot.”

Ginny raises her glass too with a grin. “To amazing kids.”

“To family,” Harry says, joining in and throwing an arm around Ron.

Family, Hermione thinks as the glasses clink together.

Maybe she’s not an only child after all.

…Huh?

What is…ugh her head is so fuzzy. How much did she drink last night? Who is— oh!

Someone is shaking her awake. In the dark.

Hermione lunges for her wand on instinct.

“Whoa! Hermione! It’s me!”

She pauses mid-reach. Blinks and rubs at her eyes as she peers around. Oh. It’s Ginny. She’s still here?

Where is here? Where…

They’re…at the Burrow? How…

“Sorry,” she mumbles out confusedly. “Where…I thought…”

She pushes herself up on her arms to look around properly, turning on the bedside lamp.

Ginny is crouched next to the bed, pulling a jumper on over her t-shirt and shoving her toothbrush into a rucksack, yawning. “Wow, you’re even less of a morning person than me. Quidditch World Cup? Portkey to catch? Remember?”

World Cup?

No. No, that isn’t—

Hermione slowly pulls the sheets back and gets up. Really takes in the dimly lit room.

And Ginny.

Not pregnant. Younger. So young. Thirteen?

Thirteen-year-old Ginny.

What’s going on? Is this a dream? It has to be. Too much to eat and drink, and talking about the Triwizard Tournament. Her brain is just…muddled or something.

But it feels real.

Ginny is staring back. Has looked up from where she’s packing her bag and frozen at the sight of Hermione.

Hermione looks down at herself. Checks this isn’t one of those dreams where you’re not wearing any trousers.

Nope. She has pyjama shorts on.

Ginny stands up. Steps closer to her. “You…uhh, maybe you should look in a mirror, Hermione. You— what— umm…Did you, like, have a crazy growth spurt over the summer?”

Hermione frowns. Wanders over to look in a mirror on the wall.

She looks…normal. A bit tired. Hair a bit frizzy. She combs her fingers through it.

Oh wait.

She watches Ginny in the reflection. Younger Ginny.

Hermione’s hand comes up to her neck reflexively. Checking for that little hourglass. That she doesn’t have anymore. That she hasn’t seen in years.

Not there. Gave it back to McGonagall, and then they were all destroyed.

But Ginny is younger. And…all of their school things are here. Ginny’s posters. It does look like…

Fourth year. The Quidditch World Cup.

She forces a casual smile onto her face. “Guess I did have a bit of a growth spurt. And I used that time turner so much last year to get to my classes that I think I must have lived third year twice. That’s probably it. You know I’ve read that can happen. A sudden change of appearance due to time travel.”

It is true. But she’d actually read that in reference to changing time. One small change, and someone has a different hair colour.

Or a different child. A different partner.

Oh gods. Oh gods, she really hopes she hasn’t travelled back in time. She really, really—

A loud knock on the bedroom door interrupts her thoughts.

“Girls? Are you up? The tents are all set, and there might be time for a cuppa if you’re quick, but—”

Arthur peeks his head around the door and smiles as he spots them. He’s wearing muggle clothes. Jeans and a golf jumper. “Ah. Good. Well done, you two. Remember to wrap up warm. It’s chilly out.”

And he’s already off again, apparently not noticing anything amiss.

Hermione stares at the space he left. Red-haired. Definitely less grey hair than…

So it really is—

She pinches her arm. Last resort. Ow. Ow, right.

Real. This is real.

She slowly drifts back over to her bed. To the bag she apparently packed the night before.

Ten years before.

She quickly throws the clothes on that she’s conveniently left on top. The clothes she remembers wearing before, the memory trickling back to her.

And grabs her toothbrush. “I’ll go use the bathroom,” she says shakily. Avoids looking at this strange, young Ginny, and hurries out of the room.

Shit. Shit shit—

Time travel?

Okay. Okay—

She shuts and locks the door behind her, leaning against it, head resting on a damp towel. She’s too panicked to even care that—

How? All she did after dinner and drinks was go to bed, and now she’s back in…1994. But— but that’s not even the strangest thing. The strangest thing is…she’s herself.

She looks in the mirror. Yep. Herself. Twenty-five-year-old body. Definitely not fifteen, as she’s supposed to be.

Or will be in a few weeks. It’s not September yet.

The rules of time travel are very clear. Don’t change anything. Don’t show yourself. And whatever you do, don’t see your past self. It will drive you mad.

But…

Her old self isn’t here. She’s replaced herself. And not just her mind. Her body. A ten-year growth spurt overnight.

Oh this is not good.

It really does feel like being in a dream. Or falling unexpectedly into a pensieve. At first, it’s uncomfortable. A nervous twist in her stomach every time someone looks at her, certain she’s going to be caught out. She’s hesitant to do anything. To speak. Desperately trying to remember how she used to act. Everything she did all those years ago, so she doesn’t alter the course of events.

But after a few hours, once they’ve arrived, set up their tent…

It’s nice. Nostalgic. She misses this. Being so carefree. She can appreciate everyone so much more. Little conversations with Harry.

Seeing Cedric Diggory is…

And Fred! She can barely tear her eyes from the twins.

Part of her wants to…

No. No changes. For now, push the thought away. Get through the day.

Enjoy the day. It won’t be long before the happy bubble is burst anyway, when the Death Eaters arrive.

So when Harry offers to buy her and Ron omnioculars from one of the stalls, she just smiles and nods.

“Three pairs,” Harry says firmly from her side, already handing over some galleons.

“No—” Ron jumps in awkwardly. “Don’t bother…”

He’s going red. Thumbs resting in his empty pockets. He’s already spent all of his savings on a dancing shamrock hat, a green rosette, and a miniature Viktor Krum figurine.

Oh Ron. This year really is going to be tough.

Harry just shakes his head, thrusting the omnioculars at him and Hermione. “You won’t be getting anything for Christmas. For ten years, mind,” he jokes light-heartedly.

Ron grins. Takes a pair. “Fair enough.”

Hermione resists the urge to hug them. Adorable. They’re so young and adorable. And maybe Harry is a little more observant than she remembered.

“Ooh, thanks, Harry! And I’ll get us some programs, look…” She hands over some knuts for the programs. So she has something to pretend to read. And can check for any alterations to the timeline. She hasn’t spotted any so far, other than the conversation with Ginny this morning and a few comments on her ‘summer growth spurt’.

They begin to make their way back to the tent. The match will start soon.

Ron catches her eye. She leafs through a program.

Time to think. Next step. Soon they’ll be up in the box, watching the match. So she has to sit in the right place. Make sure that Winky is behind them with the invisible Barty Crouch Junior. That no-one accidentally uncovers him.

She swallows uncomfortably. But nods to herself. She’s made up her mind. So far…the best thing to do is make sure everything happens exactly as it should. Even though it’s horrible, even if it will mean a future where Harry will be terrified in that graveyard, a future where Cedric Diggory will die, where Fred will eventually die…

It’s the best option. Because it’s Hermione’s future. One where she knows, for a fact, that they win. Whatever happens, Harry lives. The light wins.

And until Hermione figures out how she got here, or how to get back, the best thing to do is keep a low profile, and make sure everything goes as planned.

Hermione jumps as a loud gong sounds from the woods, and red and green lights fill the air. She reaches for her wand, eyes scanning the tree line for black cloaks and—

Mr Weasley comes out of the tent next to them, Irish flag draped over his shoulders, Ginny and the others following after him, all wearing green rosettes.

“It’s time!” Mr Weasley announces excitedly. “Come on, let’s go!”

Hermione lets out a quiet breath and stores her wand up her sleeve, giving Harry a reassuring look as his forehead crinkles for a second. He noticed. Noticed her reaction.

She reaches past him to adjust Ron’s hat before it dances off his head, and then grabs Harry’s arm. “That made me jump. I guess I’m a bit on edge! It’s so exciting, isn’t it?

Harry still doesn’t seem convinced, but Ron laughs. “You’re excited? About quidditch? Finally! Did you hear that, Harry? Only took four bloody years!”

Hermione follows along next to him, rolling her eyes. “I meant the atmosphere. And I do appreciate the talent that comes with quidditch. The strategy, and the physical dedication. I just don’t see why it’s so celebrated compared to other specialisms such as—"

Ginny comes up to her and wraps an Irish-green scarf around her neck. And her mouth. “Two weeks. Two weeks, Hermione, and you’ll be back writing essays. Until then, the topic is quidditch. Use that brain for the power of good and talk gameplay with me. See, I reckon if they send Moran after Levski, then…”

Hermione chuckles and leans against her. Lets her friends voices wash over her, and pays a bit more attention to the players. She knows a few of them from the future, the best ones still around, some even friends with Ginny now, or friends of Viktor.

Viktor. Now that’s going to be strange. Seeing his face everywhere has brought back so many memories. Some a bit embarrassing.

That kiss at the Yule Ball. No chemistry whatsoever. And they’d both known instantly. Pulled back and laughed. She’d even shaken his hand. Friends. Definitely better off as friends.

Not that she usually has much chemistry with anyone, to be honest. It’s why she’s given up on dating. Tries not to think about it. Friendship is fine, but anything past that and…well first Viktor…then she realised it felt the same way with Ron…

And after a few dates here and there…

She shakes herself from her thoughts. Not the time. Dating should be the last thing on her mind. Especially as everyone thinks she’s fifteen.

She jogs to catch up with the boys and Ginny, who are beginning to climb the stands two steps at a time in their eagerness. The background hum of the crowd is a roar now, lights flashing and magic buzzing through the air. Crackling. Hermione can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she takes it all in. Magic. Everything is so much—

She comes to an abrupt stop as they reach the box.

Her stomach flips.

Because sat one row behind Arthur and the twins…are the Malfoys. Already in their seats.

But Winky isn’t there. There’s no house-elf.

Just Lucius, Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy. All glaring and looking as if the Weasleys brought a disgusting smell into the box with them.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” a voice comes from behind Hermione.

She turns. Cringes as Cornelius Fudge gives her a condescending look.

She’s blocking the stairway.

She makes her feet walk her forward and falls down next to Ginny in the front row, muttering out an apology. She can’t do much else but…

Changed. Something changed.

So…is Crouch even here? Where is he? What…

She turns around in her seat to watch as Lucius introduces his family to the Minister and the Bulgarian delegates. Definitely no house-elf. Just the three Malfoys on one side, a couple of empty seats behind Harry and Ginny, the aisle, and then where Fudge, Ludo Bagman and the Bulgarians are getting settled.

Or maybe the seats just seem empty. Maybe Winky and Crouch are both invisible.

Her hand drifts to her sleeve. Her wand. She thinks she might be able to perform an homenum revelio without anyone noticing if she’s quick.

And then she freezes as Narcissa Malfoy’s gaze fixes on hers. A curl to her lip that becomes a sneer of disgust. Hatred. Pure hatred and anger. Hermione feels her face heat up with the shame of it. It’s been a long time since someone looked at her like that.

But she glares back. She won’t back down to bigotry. Never has.

And she thinks about how much she pities them. She does. She really pities them. How far they’re about to fall, with nothing to pick them back up. These Malfoys and their glass houses.

“Slimy gits,” Ron mutters, loud enough for the sound to carry, and Ginny pulls her around to face the field just as Ludo Bagman charges into the box.

“Everyone ready?” he calls jovially. “Minister, everyone ready to go?”

“Ready when you are, Ludo,” Fudge says comfortably.

And Bagman pulls out his wand, casting a sonorous. “Ladies and gentleman…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four-hundred and twenty second Quidditch World Cup!”

The spectators scream and clap, flags waving and voices soaring as each national anthem blurs together in a cacophony of noise. Hermione grips her seat as her thoughts whirl, outside world disappearing.

If Crouch doesn’t steal Harry’s wand, he won’t escape. Won’t cast the Dark Mark. Won’t impersonate Moody and put Harry’s name in the Goblet.

Everything will change. A horrifying ripple effect.

Bagman’s booming voice manages to drift past her thoughts. “…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

Arthur leans forward. “I wonder what they’ve brought— ah!”

And he whips off his glasses, rubbing at them and looking away. “Veela!”

“What are…” Harry starts to ask. Then abruptly stops as the Veela fly into the stadium.

His face goes slack and dopey, as does Ron’s. The other wizards have looked away, knowing what was coming. Hermione glances around. Even Lucius Malfoy is studying the floor. Narcissa is holding her hand over Draco’s eyes, turning to further block his view as he tries to pull her hand away.

And that’s when Hermione sees it.

A hand.

A hand appears, from nowhere. From mid-air, just over the seat next to Narcissa Malfoy.

And as Harry stands up…the hand reaches forward carefully, clasps the end of Harry’s wand, and deftly slips it from his back pocket. There and gone in an instant. Disappeared.

Oh.

Hermione knows she should look away. Knows she just witnessed something she definitely wasn’t supposed to see.

Crouch? Is Crouch there? Invisible? Sat next to Narcissa Malfoy?

Except…

Well, she might have imagined it, but the hand looked…small. Feminine.

And strangely familiar. How could it be familiar? If it isn’t Crouch, who could it be?

Lucius Malfoy looks up.

Hermione hastily turns around. Grabs hold of Harry as he tries to climb over the edge. “Harry? What are you doing?”

Harry just gapes at her like a confused fish, one leg hanging in the air.

Hermione tugs him back into his seat with a tut. “Honestly.” Hormones sending Harry plummeting to his death is the last thing they need right now.

Because if something has changed…then things are even more complicated than they first appeared. Winky isn’t here. Isn’t guarding Barty Crouch. Which means this is not the fourth year that Hermione remembers.

She can’t have changed that. Not from anything she’s done today. There’s no way her actions could have changed these course of events.

Which means…

This isn’t just a different time. This is a different world. Just slightly.

And if one thing is different…

Then Hermione can’t be certain of anything. Who knows what will happen? What other changes might suddenly appear?

She glances sideways at her friends as the match begins. Their young, smiling faces.

Grips Ginny’s hand tightly.

First priority, then. Figuring out how she got here can wait. The first thing she needs to do, is to keep them safe. Figure out what’s changed. What will be the same, and what will be different.

How to get things back to how they’re supposed to be.

And that begins with finding out who is sat behind her, with Harry’s wand in their hand.

Chapter Text

Hermione remains tense for the rest of the match, unable to ignore the hidden figure sat behind her.

It could be Crouch. The more time passes, the less she’s sure about that hand. It would make sense if it was him. Then there would only be one difference. No house-elf.

And wizards can sometimes have small hands. She’s never actually met Barty Crouch. He was disguised as Moody the whole time, and then died from the Kiss. Maybe she’s overthinking it. Maybe he just has slender fingers and is relatively small in stature.

By the end of the match, she’s itching to turn around. Casually drop something behind her. Then it would land on the person. Reveal them.

Bad idea. Don’t change time even more just because you’re so impatient.

So when Viktor catches the snitch, finally ending the match, Hermione jumps to her feet in relief.

“Ireland wins!” Bagman bellows, wand pointed at his throat. “Krum gets the snitch…but Ireland wins! Good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

No, and neither were you Hermione thinks, wishing she could warn the twins that they were about to get leprechaun gold as their winnings. Another reason to make sure Harry still wins the tournament. So the twins can open their joke shop. People need laughter and a bit of mischief to—

Oh, ouch! She forgot about poor Viktor.

She steps closer to the edge, omnioculars in hand. Did he always get that hurt? His nose looks broken. “He was very brave, wasn’t he? He looks a terrible mess,” she comments to the others, watching Viktor refuse help from the mediwizards and witches as he sulks and bats the flying leprechauns away. He seems young too now. His brooding obviously embarrassment. Anger. Awkward with the attention.

“And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch Cup is brought into the Top Box!”

What?

Oh!

Hermione quickly sits back down, blinking awkwardly in the floodlights as their box is illuminated for all to see.

She turns to face the other direction, not enjoying all the omnioculars now pointing her way. Watches Fudge instead as he stands to accept the cup from two panting runners who have carried it up the steps.

Cameras flash. The Bulgarian ministers put on diplomatic, congratulatory smiles. The Malfoys preen at the attention.

Or two of them do. Narcissa still looks like she’s swallowed a lemon, even as she gets to her feet…

Gets to her feet, and moves over in front of the chair to her right. The one with the invisible person.

Hermione smiles and claps with everyone else as her mind whirs. Is the person there? Have they left? Surely Narcissa would be standing against them if—

“And let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers! Bulgaria!” Bagman announces.

The Bulgarian players fly over and climb into the box, one by one going up to shake Fudge’s hand despondently. More and more file in. There isn’t much space to hide, if Crouch has wandered off. Is…crouched somewhere.

Hermione looks around for possible hiding spots, moving out of the way as the Irish players begin to arrive, much more jubilantly. Raucously.

Oh. Oh, that’s such a good idea!

She surreptitiously shuffles down the aisle, pretending she’s trying to get closer to the celebrities and get a better view.

And backs into the row behind them. Moves closer to the two ‘empty’ seats. It won’t look too strange. She’s just making room. And if she just happens to get close enough to the seat behind Harry to—

“What do you think you are doing?” a voice hisses close to her ear from behind her.

Hermione jumps.

Turns to meet angry eyes. Grits her teeth. “I’m just giving the players some space, Mrs Malfoy. I have as much a right to be here as—”

A wand digs into her side, hidden from view, just below the heights of the seats. “You have no right. None,” Narcissa whispers steely. “These seats belong to us. Get back where you belong.”

Wha—

She has some nerve! Threatening her? In front of everyone? With all the cameras, and spectators and—

Spectators. People are watching.

Hermione reaches down and firmly pulls Narcissa’s hand away from her. “Careful, Mrs Malfoy. Wouldn’t want to show the world your hand too soon,” she can’t help but bite back.

Narcissa’s eyes narrow. “Oh I believe I’ve made myself perfectly clear. You’ll see very soon. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get away whilst you still can.”

And she pulls her hand back, shoving Hermione away. “Be careful, girl! You’re stepping on my robes!” she sniffs more loudly. Haughtily. Casts a cleaning charm at herself and moves back, closer to Draco.

And as she goes…glances at the empty seats. Just quickly. Hermione wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been looking for it.

A glance.

Hermione backs out of the row, not wanting anyone else to start paying her any attention. Paying any of this any attention.

A stray glance…

These seats belong to us.

These seats. The Malfoys paid for the empty seats.

So that means—

Harry throws an arm over her shoulder. Leans to whisper in her ear. “You alright? Draco’s mum didn’t do anything, did she?”

Hermione blinks at him. Quickly shakes her head. “No. Nothing much. Guess she just didn’t like someone like me getting too close to her.”

Harry ducks his head awkwardly. “Oh. Look, Hermione, you know you’re like, the best witch in the whole school, right? And that everything they say is—”

She smiles at him. “I know. A load of pureblood rot. It’s fine. It honestly doesn’t bother me. They’re just ignorant. I feel sad for them.”

Harry frowns, nodding to himself. “Yeah. They must be…pretty pathetic to believe all that. I mean, Draco should know better after seeing everything you can do. Bet the prat’s just jealous.”

Hermione laughs. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Now come on. We’d better get Ron away from Viktor before he pounces on him.” She can spot Ron edging over behind Harry, quill in his hand and taking a program from Ginny to start asking for autographs.

Harry gives her an odd look and then turns around. “Viktor? Since when do you call quidditch players by their first names? But— he really should leave him alone. I know what it’s like when— Hey, Ron! Come on, let’s go celebrate! Did you see Fred snuck some firewhisky into the tent and—”

“Firewhisky?!” Percy squawks, popping out of the crowd from nowhere. “Underage drinking is a serious issue, Potter. Something which I do not condone under any circumstances, celebratory or otherwise,” he says overly loudly, looking at the Minister.

Mr Weasley pats him on the back good-naturedly as everyone ignores him. “Well said. But come on, think it’s time for us to get out of here. Time to go, you lot. I’m sure everyone has their own celebrating to get to. Come on now, Ron, leave that young chap in peace. You too, Ginny. I see you there. Now where is— Ah, Bill, lead the way, would you?”

Shoot. Leaving already? But what about…

Hermione hangs back. Pretends to tie her shoe.

Keeps glancing at the Malfoys. What are they hiding? Who are they hiding?

Ron hangs back with her. “Good idea, catch them on the way out. Hey, you’re a girl, they might pay more attention to you. Think you could like…bat your eyes at them or something?”

What?!

Hermione straightens and folds her arms. “Bat my eyes? What— no! Of course I’m not going to— What does that even mean? When have you ever seen me…flirt?”

Ron raises his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I dunno, alright. Just thought— it’s something witches can do. Thought you could just…smile at them, maybe. You have a nice smile.”

Oh.

Hermione sighs. Tucks her hair behind her ears awkwardly. “Thank you. But…it’s not very me. Flirting. I’m just as…clueless as you are. You can just talk to them the same as I would, and…”

She’s distracted as she spots Lucius introducing Draco to Viktor. She never knew that happened. Has that changed too?

She looks at Ron. Makes a decision.

Trust him. If she really is stuck in the past, then she’s going to have to build some trust this year. She knows Ron can be rational. The Ron in the future is so clever. And sensible. He can do this, if he doesn’t let his insecurities get in the way.

She can’t have him feeling left out, with her or Harry. She’s not having them fall out again if she can help it. Things have already changed. She might as well make things easier for herself.

So she moves closer to whisper to him. To confide in him. “I think the Malfoys are up to something. I can’t explain it, but…Draco’s mum. Narcissa. She’s hiding something, I’m sure of it.”

Ron frowns. Turns and stares—

Hermione tugs him back around. “Don’t look! It’s too suspicious. Just…go back to the others and say I left my purse behind and I’ll catch up. I can stay here and— Oh shoot, she’s leaving!”

Narcissa is slipping towards the exit. And she does look suspicious! She is definitely—

“See!” she hisses to Ron. “Why is she looking around like that? What’s she up to?”

Ron nods, and they both edge their way to the end of the row. “Don’t know, but you’re right. She’s walking weirdly too. She normally like…glides, doesn’t she? That sounds stupid. It’s probably nothing. Maybe she just really has to pee, I know I do.”

Hermione looks at him in surprise. Glides?

He looks away. Rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Hermione catches his eye. “No, you’re right. I hadn’t even thought of that. She does usually move more fluidly.”

Ron’s shoulders fall slightly in relief. “Yeah. That’s what I meant. Walks all proper.”

They start following Narcissa down the steps, about a staircase behind so it’s not too strange. “So…what do you think she’s doing?” he whispers.

Hermione pulls out her wand. Casts a muffiliato. “I can’t explain completely right now. I’ll have to tell you more once we’re somewhere private, and we can tell Harry too. But there’s…I think she might be hiding someone. An invisible person. I saw someone take Harry’s wand.”

“What?!” Ron shouts. Pulls them to a stop. “Why didn’t you say!” he says more quietly. “Someone stole Harry’s wand?”

Hermione gives him a firm look. “Later. I’ll explain later. It’s dangerous. Until we know for sure who it is, we have to be discrete. Not let them know we know. Now come on, before she gets away. Or— maybe you should go find Harry before he comes looking for us.”

They carry on down the last few flights. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Ron asks. “Going alone? What if Malfoy shows up? I mean Lucius Malfoy. He’s a nasty piece of work.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I’ll be fine. I know spells to hide.”

“Or we could go back for Harry’s cloak?”

Narcissa turns right, heading into the woods without a backward glance. Hermione falters, torn.

A cloak would be good. Concealment charms might not be enough.

But there isn’t time. She has no idea where Narcissa is headed, or even where the Malfoy’s tent is. Although she could probably guess. Look for the biggest one.

Did they even stay overnight in a tent? Or did they apparate in?

Oh gods, what if Narcissa has already disapparated—

Hermione shoves Ron towards the path. “Go back to the others. Tell them I’m catching up, and see if you can explain to Harry a little bit if you can. He doesn’t have his wand, so watch out for him. Something bad might happen so— I’ll see you later!”

And before he can protest, she taps herself on the head, the familiar feeling of a cold, raw egg sliding down over her as the concealment charm falls into place.

“Hermione!” he hisses, eyes darting around for her.

She just heads off between the trees, wand in her hand. It’s dusk now. But she can’t exactly cast a lumos.

Does Narcissa have night vision or something? This is ridiculous.

She fumbles her way over a few roots, feeling out for ditches and rabbit holes.

Oh.

She ducks behind a tree. There’s a light ahead. So Narcissa has given in and used a lumos to light her way.

She sneaks closer, making sure to stick to the shadows. She thinks she must still be close to the path. Parallel, but hidden behind the trees. Narcissa must be heading back to the campsite.

Voices.

Hermione stops. Holds her breath. Yes. Yes, there are definitely voices ahead now. She can’t quite make out…

She edges closer. Towards white wand light.

“…and that’s my final word on the matter. We have not waited this long just for you to—”

And Hermione’s breath is stolen from her lungs as cackling laughter filters through the trees towards her.

She covers her mouth in horror. No. No, it can’t be—

“Waited? That’s what you call it?” a witch’s voice replies harshly. Followed by more laughter. Low and rough this time. “This isn’t waiting. This is dying. A never-ending agony. And I might have given my word, but this is my decision to make. Enough. I’ve been patient with you, Cissy. But it’s worn out. Enough now. It’s my turn. Even if it means going back.”

Hermione grabs hold of a tree to support herself as her knees almost give out in shock. That voice.

That hand. She’d recognised— she remembers—

The voices fall quiet once more, and Hermione dazedly drags herself closer. Pulling herself from one tree to the next. Has to see. Has to be sure—

“…sister?” Narcissa finishes saying, her voice an almost whisper. Oddly flat. “You can only accomplish this if—”

“Stupefy.”

There’s a dull thud, only a few metres away from Hermione now. She swallows harshly. Grips tightly at the tree she’s reached, and ever so slowly peeks around.

There. A figure lying crumpled on the floor, just about visible in the fading light. Blonde hair glinting.

And another figure crouched at her side. Her polar opposite. Dark hair and black dress blending into the surrounding shadows.

“Obliviate,” Bellatrix whispers, brushing some hair off her sister’s forehead.

Then jumps to her feet. Spins around, wand held aloft.

And casting light over herself. A bright, shining lumos, beaming out of Harry’s wand like a headlight, painting the forest scene in harsh, stark lines of light and shadow. It lights up the dark witch. Glowing skin. High cheekbones. Hooded eyes that scan around her. Her eyes are the only sign of movement now, the rest of her held firm. Perfectly still. Seeming not to breathe, all of her focus channelled into her search.

Hermione flinches back out of sight. Stays desperately still and tries to calm her thundering heart.

Closes her eyes. Can’t bear it.

It’s her. It’s Bellatrix. She’s— she’s not in Azkaban. She’s here. Right here. And she’s armed, and she’s looking right at—

Distant screams and shouts filter through the air. A sudden glow through the trees, not harsh and white but warm. Orange and smelling like smoke.

Birds begin to squawk and flap from the trees. Flying away. Escape. Danger. Danger is coming. Is here.

And Hermione flees too. Doesn’t think. Just runs as fast as she can.

Towards the glow. Towards the screams. Towards the campsite, and the Death Eaters, and her friends who are helpless children in this burgeoning war.

She hears crashing behind her through the undergrowth. Doesn’t look back. Doesn’t dare. Feels her back pricking with sweat and her wand slip slightly in her grip as her fingers tingle, numbing.

Get away.

Fight.

Run.

Form a shield. Find a weapon.

Get to the tent.

Hide in the woods.

But the woods aren’t safe now. There’s a demon in the woods. A nightmare. A ghost. A boggart. A—

“Hello?” a voice calls cautiously.

Hermione stumbles to a stop. Harry?

“Who’s there?” Harry calls again, and she can see him now. Him and Ron, getting to their feet in a nearby clearing and moving towards her.

She walks quickly to join them. “It’s me. Come on, quickly. We have to—”

“Hermione! Thank Merlin you’re okay, there’s a riot or something at the camp. They’ve captured these muggles and—”

No!

She stumbles closer and pushes a hand over Harry’s mouth. He said her name. He—

There’s a rustling right behind them now, through the bushes. Hermione grabs hold of Harry’s jacket and Ron’s arm and urges them away, mouth not even able to form words as—

Harry looks over her shoulder, eyes wide.

“Morsmordre!” comes Bellatrix’s excited shout.

And a green, glittering light bursts forth behind the treeline, erupting into the darkness and then up over the trees into the night sky. The Dark Mark. Glowing high above them.

Hermione watches in horror as the boys just stand there looking at it. She tugs at them. They have to move. Bellatrix is right behind them, just out of sight. Right there. She’s right here and—

“Who’s there?” Harry calls again innocently, ignoring Hermione and peering behind her in Bellatrix’s direction.

“Harry, come on, move!” she calls desperately, tugging at the collar of his jacket.

And feels the concealment charm trickle off of her. She forgot about that. Thank Merlin.

Harry finally looks at her. Can see her. Takes in her expression. “What’s the matter?

“It’s the Dark Mark! You Know Who’s sign!” she croaks out, pulling at him with all her might. They have to go! Bellatrix could come out and kill them any second!

“Voldemort’s— Harry, come on!” Ron shouts, scooping up his dropped Viktor Krum figurine and leading them across the clearing, Harry finally running with them as—

Popping sounds fill the air. About twenty witches and wizards apparating into existence all around them, wands drawn and pointing—

“Duck!” Harry yells, dragging them all to the ground.

“Stupefy!” about twenty voices call out in unison, red lights sizzling through the air over their heads.

“Stop!” a voice yells. “Stop! That’s my son!”

Arthur. Thank goodness. He’s still there. Still here.

Hermione slowly sits up. Checks that Ron and Harry are still alright. They seem fine. Okay. Okay—

“Ron. Harry— Hermione?” Mr Weasley says shakily, coming towards them. “Are you all— all alright?”

“Out of the way, Arthur,” Barty Crouch Senior clips, coming towards them. So he’s still here. That hasn’t changed…

Why? Why is Bellatrix—

Bellatrix! They need to catch her!

Hermione hurriedly gets to her feet. “It came from over there!” she interrupts, pointing to where Bellatrix had been. “There was someone behind the trees. They shouted a word. An incantation—”

“Oh, stood over there, were they?” Crouch practically spits at Hermione, eyes wide and bulging as he takes her in. Takes in all three of them suspiciously. “Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark was summoned, Miss…who are you?”

Uh oh. He’s looking at her even more closely. And— she forgot! She looks older! Like an adult!

Mr Weasley clears his throat. “She’s one of my son’s friends. Hermione Granger. They’re about to go into fourth year at Hogwarts, Mr Crouch.”

Crouch’s eyebrows pinch. He takes a step back.

Another wizard edges towards where Hermione pointed, wand at the ready. “I saw a stunner head this way. It could have got them…”

“Amos, be careful!” a witch calls.

Oh. Mr Diggory.

Hermione readies her own wand. If Bellatrix is still there, she could catch him by surprise and…

“No luck. No-one here,” Amos Diggory sighs disappointedly as he parts the bushes. “They must have…There’s a wand!”

Oh no…

He holds it up.

“Hey! That’s my…wand,” Harry trails off uncomfortably.

“Your wand?” Amos says sharply. “Is that a confession? You threw it aside after you summoned the Dark Mark?”

“Amos, remember who you’re talking to! Would Harry Potter have conjured the Dark Mark?” Arthur says exasperatedly.

“Oh. Er…Sorry. Must have got carried away,” Mr Diggory mumbles.

“I…didn’t drop it there anyway,” Harry says haltingly, glancing at Ron and then Hermione. “Think it slipped out of my pocket a while ago, during the match, I’ve been looking for it.”

“During the match?” Diggory frowns, looking at Harry’s wand and then handing it back to him, Harry sliding it straight back in his pocket.

Hermione nods. “It wasn’t Harry. It was someone else. We heard them.”

“Yeah, sounded like a witch,” Ron adds.

Hmm. Should he have said that? This might complicate things if—

Harry agrees. “Definitely a witch. I saw—”

“Halt!” Diggory suddenly shouts, interrupting and looking further behind the bushes, wand raised once more. “Who goes there?! Who— Oh blimey.”

And Narcissa Malfoy stumbles into the clearing, looking around dazedly.

Oh no…

“Mrs Malfoy!” Barty Crouch snaps, walking closer, wand directed at Narcissa and smiling sharply, eyes lighting up in triumph. “Could you explain what you are doing here?”

Narcissa blinks. Looks around.

Sees all of the wands pointed at her and reaches into her robes.

Wands raise—

“Stop!” Hermione shouts, stepping in front of Narcissa. “She seems confused! Can’t you see? She’s not threatening you!”

It’s not Narcissa’s fault that she’s been obliviated! If twenty stupefies hit her, it could kill her!

“Step out of the way, girl. This is a Ministry investigation—”

“What is…might someone explain what is happening?” Narcissa asks timidly. “Where…how did I get here?”

Wands begin to lower.

Arthur cautiously steps closer. Looks over Hermione’s shoulder at Narcissa.

“It could be a trap,” Diggory whispers to him. “You know Malfoy—”

“Do you know your name?” Arthur gently asks Narcissa, searching her eyes.

Hermione moves sideways slightly.

Narcissa frowns. Rubs at her face. “I…yes, of course I do. Why would I not know my name?”

Arthur glances at the other wizards and witches, a concerned look forming. “Then…what is it?”

Narcissa’s eyes dart back and forth. She looks at Arthur. Then Mr Diggory. Then Hermione. “I…Mrs Malfoy.”

“…and your first name?” Arthur insists.

Narcissa begins to look panicked. Her eyes dart to everyone. To—

She points at Harry. “He’s Potter. He— there’s— there’s a war. Some kind of— Where’s my family? Where are we? I don’t—”

She grabs hold of Hermione. “Who are they?” she whispers in her ear. “I’m not— I’m not telling them anything! Why should I—”

Touching Hermione? Okay, something is definitely wrong. How strong was that obliviate spell? How much did Bellatrix erase? Should Hermione tell anyone? There’s a Death Eater on the loose! What if Bellatrix kills someone?

Her stomach twists anxiously. It somehow feels...wrong to tell them what she saw. Dangerous. Risky. Not when she knows so little about what's going on.

“The Granger girl’s right, Barty. Definitely signs of a memory charm,” a witch says firmly. “We should get her to St Mungo’s. Mrs Malfoy? It’s alright. I know you’re confused, but we can help you. If you come to—”

Barty Crouch grabs Narcissa’s arm. “Mrs Malfoy will be coming with us. She’s been found at the scene of the crime, and her behaviour is suspicious to say the least. I’m sure a night in Azkaban will jog her memory quite—”

“No!” Narcissa shrieks in pure terror. “I won’t— Get away! Get— don’t take me— Please!”

She pushes at Crouch and turns to Hermione. “What did I do? What’s happening? You— you have to— Don’t let them take me! I’ll die! I’ll die if I—”

“Stupefy,” Crouch says firmly.

Narcissa slumps. Hermione catches her, Harry jumping to help too. “Why did you do that?” he asks. “She was scared!”

“She’s Lucius Malfoy’s wife!” Crouch smiles sharply. “I knew it. I never believed that nonsense about an imperius curse. And here we are. At the scene of the crime.”

“Mr Crouch, she was clearly distressed. Are you suggesting she modified her own memory?” Mr Weasley asks cautiously, casting a featherlight charm on Narcissa and taking her from Hermione and Harry.

“Of course she was distressed!” Diggory says. “She knew she was off to Azkaban. That her memory charm trick wasn’t working, and she’d been caught out in her support for You Know Who, just like her sister!”

“Sister?” Ron asks. “Who’s her sister?”

Mr Weasley hands Narcissa over to some aurors uncomfortably, giving Mr Diggory a quieting look. “Never mind that now. I should get these lot back to the tent and check on my other children.”

He starts to usher them away. Hermione tries to stall. This is all wrong. This didn’t happen. And she might dislike Narcissa, but she doesn’t deserve this. “Mr Weasley, they can’t lock her up! She’s had her memory erased. Like Professor Lockhart. They need to help her.”

Mr Weasley sighs tiredly. “I know, Hermione. But that’s for the Wizengamot to decide. I’m sure a trial will sort this all out. They’ll find evidence and—”

Oh!

Hermione comes to a stop. “That’s it! Harry! Give me your wand! Mr Crouch! Mr Crouch, wait!”

She snatches Harry’s wand as he holds it out and jogs back to the group of witch’s and wizards. “You should perform prior incantato! Then you’ll know what Harry’s wand was used for!”

Crouch sneers at her. Spits out the spell, tip of his wand to Harry’s.

“Morsmordre…” Harry’s wand echoes quietly.

Hermione grins. “See? That proves Mrs Malfoy didn’t do it! She must have been obliviated before this was cast.”

Crouch folds his arms. “Proves? It proves nothing, Girl. Or have you forgotten that Mrs Malfoy has a wand of her own?”

Oh. Shoot. Yes, she could have…

But did she?

Hermione frowns. “Is she armed? I didn’t see a wand. Even when you grabbed her, she didn’t use a wand.”

“Uhh…she’s right, Mr Crouch,” an auror calls. “The lady’s unarmed. We’ve searched her.”

Unarmed…

Hermione swallows. Bellatrix. Bellatrix must have taken her wand too. Used Harry’s to disarm her sister, but taken Narcissa’s to use.

How horrible. And selfish. So she’s taken her sister’s memories, left her alone and confused, framed her for her own crimes, and left her unarmed to get arrested?

Cruel. Bellatrix is so cruel. Even to her own family.

Harry comes around next to her and takes his wand back. “Come on, Hermione,” he says softly. “We need to see if Ginny and the others are okay.”

She nods to herself. Looks around at all the witches and wizards.

At Narcissa Malfoy lying unconscious on the floor once again.

It’s fine. She recognises some of these people. They’re…rational, right? Good people? Like Mr Diggory. And Amelia Bones is still alive. So she’ll be in charge. She’ll make sure this is…a fair investigation.

Won’t she?

Hermione turns her back, and walks away towards Ron and Arthur. Ignores the guilt churning in her stomach. Tries to forget the fear in Narcissa’s eyes as she’d clutched at her shoulders like a lifeline.

Left lying on the floor. Surrounded by enemies. And Hermione is doing nothing. Leaving her there. Even though she knows she was telling the truth. It was Bellatrix’s fault.

It was Bellatrix.

Chapter Text

Hermione spends the whole night tossing and turning, sick to her stomach with fear, and indecision, and guilt, and just…

This isn’t fair! They won the war! This is over. Why is she back again? Back again…and just as confused as the first time, nothing quite making sense. Yet another mystery to unravel, but none of the childhood naivety to quell the panic. Hundreds of possibilities keep unfolding in her mind. Everything that could go wrong. Everything that’s already gone horrifically wrong.

The weight of it is suffocating.

And as selfish as it is…she doesn’t want to bear this alone. And— and she knows that her friends are children now, but they’re still those familiar faces that she trusts more than anyone in the world. More than the Ministry. More than the adults that should be protecting them, but never seem to understand until it’s too late. Every time.

It’s always been her. And Harry. And Ron.

But they’re so young. Didn’t even know what the Mark was. At dinner, Harry asked Mr Weasley what a Death Eater was. It’s not fair. She shouldn’t put this on them.

She already has.

But time travel? The future?

They have to understand the severity. To keep them safe. Keeping them in the dark only ever made it worse.

She sits up, wand still in her grip. Digging in from where she’s been clutching it all night. This is useless. No sleep for her tonight.

She gets up. Rubs at her face and tiptoes past Ginny and over to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Moves to the entrance to the tent whilst it boils.

Peeks out. All is still.

She casts the wards anyway. A buried reflex, this tent and these wards. Protego totalum. Salvio hexia. Cave inimicum.

She wraps her arms around herself. Steps back inside. Wanders over to the kitchen, eyes drifting over Ginny, Harry, Ron, the twins…

Sits down at the table.

They’ll be leaving soon. As soon as they can. Back to the Burrow. But she’ll take a few moments of peace before she has to make a decision.

She wonders what’s happening with the Malfoys right now…

Where Bellatrix is. Has she left? Is she already with Voldemort? Has she captured Mad-Eye? Is she brewing polyjuice potion, ready for the year ahead?

Or will that not happen at all? She isn’t Crouch. She might have a completely different plan to get to Harry without anyone noticing. The tournament was a good distraction. A good way for Harry to die tragically without anyone thinking anything of it. But she could do other things. Set the tents alight. Set up a train crash for the Hogwarts Express. Jinx his broom like Quirrell did, or a bludger like Dobby did. She could—

A hand waves in front of Hermione’s face, and she looks up.

Charlie grins at her. “Your teakettle’s starting to sound like a wailing banshee. Think that means it’s ready.”

Oh.

She hovers the water off the stove. Hovers a few mugs over. “Thank you. I was miles away.”

“And using magic outside of Hogwarts...”

Hermione freezes. Oops.

Charlie just shakes his head. Zips his lips shut and hovers the teabags and milk over. “It’s fine. A hover charm never did any harm.” He laughs quietly at his own rhyme. Then laughs again. “Actually, that’s a lie. I got into a lot of trouble as a kid for hovering the gnomes around. I stuck fake wings on them. Pretended they were dragons and followed them around. Observing them, I called it. I was a weird kid.”

Hermione smiles. “Me too,” she says quietly. “But…I think it pays off. I mean, look at you. All that practice obviously worked.”

Charlie sits up straight, mock proudly. “It certainly did. Observation is a key skill with dragons, I’ll have you know. That and a few nifty little tricks.”

Hermione’s head snaps up, tiredness suddenly gone. “Really?” she asks as casually as possible. “How do you control a dragon? It must be difficult, with their spellproof skin. How do you…keep them calm? Or protect yourself if they think you’re a threat?”

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Protect yourself? You’re not looking to slay a dragon, are you?”

Hermione focuses on pouring them some tea. “Not slay one. I’m just curious what you do, if you can’t use magic. They’re strong animals. Powerful. How do you…show them you don’t mean any harm?”

His eyes seem to sparkle, and he leans closer, sipping at his tea. “Knew you were a smart one. Looks like my little brother’s chosen a good friend in you. See, you’ve got it already. It’s not about controlling the dragon. It’s controlling yourself. Patience. Calm. Feel the magic in the air. Dragons are ancient beings. They know more about magic than we could ever imagine. What do you think fuels their fire? That spark? You have to learn to feel your magic too. Show that you’re at one with it, not controlling it. Not fighting it. That’s what makes some wizards and witches more powerful. An inner power. Some call it confidence. Charisma. Like…Dumbledore. Or Professor McGonagall maybe. Have you ever noticed it? Seen it? Those people who draw the eye of the whole room with their presence? Their magic?”

Hermione stares back at him. Slowly shakes her head in…awe. Complete surprise. Goodness. That’s so…interesting.

Charlie grins. Takes another sip of tea. “Think about it. Try to feel it. I reckon you’ll be able to, soon enough. You have a bit of a presence yourself.”

And he gets up, stretching. Scratches the back of his neck and steps into a pair of boots to head off out into campsite.

Hermione stays sitting at the table.

Well. New conversation with Charlie. Another thing to add to the growing list of differences in this…world. Timeline. Universe.

She doesn’t really want to think about it being a different universe.

Sensing magic. She knows you can feel magic sometimes. When it’s performed on you. Or wards, if they’re strong enough. But she’s never thought about practicing feeling magic. Fascinating.

Well, that’s something to think about that’s a bit more intriguing and less panic inducing.

She sips at her tea. Puts it down.

Casts a bluebell flame. Holds it in her hands.

Feels for her magic.

It wasn’t long before Mr Weasley woke up the others, anxious to leave as soon as possible. They’re almost back at the Burrow by the time the sun is beginning to rise. Trudging along the damp lane and up the garden path to the house.

Molly comes running out. “Oh, thank goodness! Thank goodness!” she cries, hurrying over, still in her slippers and clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet. Scenes of Terror at the Quidditch World Cup and a moving image of the Dark Mark clearly visible on the front page as Mrs Weasley throws it on the floor and rushes to hug the twins. “You’re all alright! Oh boys!”

“Ouch! Mum, you’re strangling us!” one twin complains.

Mrs Weasley just holds them tighter, letting out a sob. “I shouted at you before you left! The last thing I said to you, about not getting enough OWLs. Oh Fred…George…”

Mr Weasley eases her away and walks her into the house, whispering to her.

Hermione swallows harshly. Looks away as a lump forms in her throat. Avoids looking at Fred. Fred. Maybe she can do something about Fred.

Ginny hip bumps her. “You okay?”

Hermione hastily nods. Walks over to the back door. “Yes. Just tired. And missing my…parents, I guess. You’re so lucky that your parents can understand these things. That you can talk to them about…magic. That they understand your world. It’s…it’s a bit tricky having two. Keeping secrets.”

It’s the only explanation she can think of for why she looks upset. And…

She looks over at Ron. Checks that he’s listening too, as he takes off his shoes. Come on, Ron. See what’s good in your life. What you have, that Hermione and Harry don’t. Money and fame aren’t  everything.

She’s not sure if he’s listening. But Harry looks like he is. Gives her a half smile.

Ginny gives her a brief hug and kiss on the head and then says something about making her mum a cup of tea, heading inside with the others.

And now Ron and Harry share a look. Ron nods towards the stairs.

Hermione sighs. Nods back. Right. They all need to talk.

“I’m gonna go check and see if Hedwig has arrived, Mr Weasley, if that’s alright?” Harry calls into the kitchen. “I sent a letter, but she hasn’t got back yet.”

“I’ll go with you, Harry. She might be in my room,” Ron calls too.

Hermione just follows them up the stairs. It’s not like they need an excuse to talk to each other.

They race up the few flights of stairs to Ron’s room, and Harry shuts the door behind them. Folds his arms. “Right. Hermione. What’s going on? Because I think you’ve figured out a few things that we don’t know about.”

Hermione sits down on Ron’s bed. Nods to herself.

Looks up at them. Smiles. “So…you know how every year something more and more crazy happens to us? And we always have to figure it out? And…well basically try to keep Harry alive?”

Ron laughs. Sits down next to her. “Well that’s one way of putting it, yeah.”

Hermione pats the bed. Waits for Harry to join them and scoots back so she can look at them both. “Well, this year is going to be even more of a nightmare. But you’re right. I’ve already put a few pieces together. I know who conjured the Dark Mark. And I know why. And…I’m sorry, Harry, but they’re going to try to…use you. Hurt you. They…want you to…they’re working for You Know Who.”

Harry looks down at the bed. Nods to himself, as if he was expecting it. “Right. I thought maybe…I had this dream. It— it made my scar hurt. And He was there. Voldemort.”

The same. It's the same. Just like she'd thought...

Hermione reaches for his hand. “Did he mention a loyal servant? That was coming to help him? Something to do with…Hogwarts maybe? Or the World Cup?”

His head jerks up. “Yeah! How did you— He told Wormtail! That they had to be patient, wait for his most loyal servant to return to him. And they mentioned me. Needing me. Hermione, how did you—”

Ron stands up. “So You Know Who has some psycho supporter that— that’s gonna come after Harry?! We should tell someone! The aurors! Or Dumbledore, or—”

“We don’t have proof, Ron,” Hermione sighs. “We might be able to tell. Once we get to Hogwarts, we could try. I think this supporter is going to go to Hogwarts in disguise. As the new DADA professor. They’ll have to get a new one after Professor Lupin, so it’s the perfect way to get near to Harry, like Quirrell did.”

“…You know who it is, don’t you?” Harry says, frowning at Hermione. “It’s…is it the woman that made the Dark Mark?”

Ron pauses in his pacing. Turns to look at Hermione too. “What happened? After you went after Malfoy’s mum? I mean, it looked like it had to be her. She was there. And she’s a Malfoy, so…but you didn’t think it was her.”

Hermione shakes her head. Wrings her hands together. “It wasn’t her. I— I saw who it was. I saw who obliviated Mrs Malfoy. Like Lockhart tried to do to you. That’s why I knew so quickly what had happened to her. You see, it was Narcissa Malfoy’s sister. She’s the one who stole Harry’s wand. Who was invisible in the Top Box. She’s a Death Eater. Her name is—”

“Bellatrix Lestrange,” Ginny says from the doorway.

They all spin to face her.

Ginny walks into the room and shuts the door behind her. “You lot need to be a bit more careful with your secret conversations, you know.”

“Ginny!” Ron says. “Get out of my room! This is private! It’s nothing to do with you, or—”

“How did you know her name?” Hermione blurts out. Can’t help it. How the hell does Ginny even know Bellatrix exists?

Ginny skips over and perches on the bed next to Hermione, flicking her hair over her shoulders. “The thing with being the youngest? You get good at listening. I was there when you were all talking about Mrs Malfoy during dinner. Didn’t you all notice how funny Dad got when we talked about her going to Azkaban? So I asked Bill. Asked if Dad was worried that Narcissa would break out of Azkaban like Sirius did. And guess what?”

Ron sits down on the floor, rolling his eyes at Ginny’s dramatics. “What? Go on, spit it out if you want to be in on this so bad.”

Ginny grins. Twirls an imaginary moustache. “Well, dear brother, prepare to be amazed. Because I have found out, that Narcissa Malfoy…is Sirius’ cousin!”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “The Malfoys? He didn’t tell me that!”

Ron barks out a laugh. “Harry! You’re related to Malfoy! Gross!”

Harry cringes. “Not by blood! Sirius is family, but he’s not…so…Narcissa Malfoy…was Narcissa Black?”

Ginny nods. “Yep. The Black family. A dark wizarding family. They’re like the Malfoys, but worse. See, Narcissa isn’t Sirius’ only cousin. She has two sisters. One was good, like Sirius. She caused a huge scandal by running away and marrying a muggleborn. Her family disowned her. The Malfoys still don’t even acknowledge her existence. But the other sister…”

Hermione holds her breath, the tension unbearable. Will it be the same? Is the story the same? Is Bellatrix the same?

Ginny continues. “The other sister, was as evil as could be. A dark witch. The darkest witch of our time. She wasn’t just a Death Eater, she was the Death Eater. You Know Who’s right-hand man. Or woman, in this case.”

Ginny stands up. Draws her wand, raising it in a fighting stance. “She was his lieutenant. Devoted to him. And she was deadly. People say no-one fought against her and lived. She could duel three people at the same time and win. She was ruthless. Mad. The sound of her laughter enough to send grown wizards running.”

“And she’s the one coming after Harry?!” Ron squawks.

Ginny pauses. Frowns.

Sits down on the carpet. “No. She’s dead. That’s what Bill told me. They caught her right after You Know Who vanished. She got sent to Azkaban at the same time as Sirius…and she died. Ages ago. Couldn’t fight off the dementors and refused to eat. They think she starved to death.”

Ron flops onto the bed in relief. “Thank Merlin. Cos I don’t think we’re up for that. A battle with a psycho warrior witch? Sirius has some crazy relatives, no offence, Harry.”

Harry doesn’t reply. He looks pale. Resting his head in his hands.

He looks up at Hermione. “Most faithful servant. Mrs Malfoy’s sister,” he says tiredly.

Oh, Hermione just wants to hug him. To tell him it will all be alright. That he doesn’t have to worry. That she’ll protect him. That everything will be okay.

She scoots up next to him on the bed. Leans sideways against him. “Harry…I don’t know how…but it was her. I saw her last night. Her name is Bellatrix Lestrange. I know what she looks like, and I watched her obliviate her sister. I think…I think Mrs Malfoy has been hiding her sister somehow. Somehow got her out of Azkaban and…but Bellatrix got fed up with hiding. They were talking. Arguing. Bellatrix said she’d had enough. And then she stupefied Mrs Malfoy. Obliviated her. When I met you in the woods, I was running away from Bellatrix. I don’t know if she saw me.”

Harry nods against her. “So this is like last year all over again. Another murderer out to get me.”

Hermione squeezes his knee. “Yes. But this is different to last year too. We know what she’s up to. We know who she is. And…”

She takes a deep breath.

Casts a muffiliato charm on the room, and stands up. Walks over to the window and looks out over the fields. “There’s something else. Something I need to tell you all. Something…that I’m trusting you all to know. Because I love all of you. You’re all my family and— and if we’re all going to be safe this year then— then I have to— you need to know—”

She clenches her fists.

Turns to face them. Three curious, waiting young faces, looking up at her.

She holds back the odd urge to cry. “You all trust me, don’t you?” she asks quietly.

They all nod. Instantly. Exchange worried looks.

She smiles through a shaky sigh. “Okay then. Here’s the truth…”

It is a weight lifted off once they know she’s not the real Hermione. Once she’s told them what happened last time, with Moody, and Crouch, and the Goblet of Fire.

But at the same time, it’s agonising. And opens up more questions than she’d anticipated.

“So where’s our Hermione,” Ron asks, still looking at her oddly. “Is she…back in your time? Or world. Right? Different world?”

Hermione taps her wand against her lip and reaches for another sandwich. They’d convinced Mrs Weasley to let them eat in their room so they can rest. “I…suppose. I don’t really know. I just…woke up here. And everything is almost the same. Everything, in fact. Except instead of Barty Crouch, Bellatrix is the one who’s escaped.”

Harry reaches past her to grab an apple. “We’ll need to work out how to get our Hermione back then, once this is all over. But first, we should think of a way to catch Bellatrix before she can put my name in the goblet or bring You Know Who back to life.”

Hermione chokes on her sandwich. Whirls to face him. “No! We can’t trap her. Harry, what Ginny said was true. She’s an insanely powerful witch. No, we have to make sure there’s no way she even suspects you know anything. All three of you. You can’t confront her. Can’t question her. You have to seem completely ignorant. It’s the only way. Because as soon as she knows we know…that’s our advantage blown. Do you see?”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but Ron lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “She’s right, mate. It’s like…a chess game, you know? The only advantage we have, is playing a strategy, and being able to predict some of her moves.”

Hermione grins. “Exactly! And things should go our way. We’ll know as soon as she puts your name in the goblet.”

“Which means I have to fight a ruddy dragon,” Harry complains.

Hermione winces. Yeah. Sorry, Harry. He really does have the worst luck.

“We can prepare,” she reassures him. “I’ll help you. I promise, Harry. You’re not alone with all this. I’m going to keep you safe. None of this is your fault. And I swear, the second you’re in danger, I’ll—”

Harry laughs. “This is so weird. You’re like…really an adult, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been acting so strange. You keep looking at us like we’re little kids.”

“You are!” Hermione says exasperatedly. Then bites her lip at their offended faces. “To me. Not in a bad way. You’re just young, you know? My friends are ten years older than you. I just think you should all get to…enjoy being teenagers without having to worry about these things. It isn’t fair. On any of you.”

Ginny scoffs. “We’re used to it. There is a Dark Lord on the rise. But it’s fine! We can still have fun. I’m quite looking forward to this tournament. Sounds like nothing too bad will happen until summer.”

“Except fighting a dragon,” Harry jumps in again, but this time a bit more jokingly.

“And dancing,” Ron whines. “A ball. Why us?”

Then he looks up at Hermione, a sudden thought. “You know the future. Which girls should we ask to this dance? No point asking ones that will say no.”

Ginny brightens up too. “Ooh, yes! Who are we all dating ten years in the future?”

Uh oh. Umm…

Hermione stands up, brushing some crumbs off her and vanishing them. “Nope. I’m not telling you about the future-future. It just feels…wrong. I shouldn’t change events that much. Influence you. And my future might not even be your future. So I really don’t—”

“Well, who are you dating?” Ginny prods, actually prodding her as she stands up too. Poking her. “Seeing as it’s a whole different universe, it won’t matter if you tell us.”

Hermione bats her fingers away. “No-one! I’m not— not dating anyone. It’s not really— I mean I’ve— but recently—”

Ginny bursts out laughing. “Oh you’re still so awkward! Even after ten years you won’t talk to me about boys. Not since Lockhart.”

Argkfdg—

Hermione sinks onto the bed in embarrassment, head in her hands.

“Lockhart?” Harry almost whimpers.

“No! I didn’t—” Hermione groans. “I just thought he was clever. I admired him. Until…I was young! I didn’t notice how fake, and phoney and—”

“How much of a complete knob he was?” Ron says.

Hermione looks up, groaning again. “Language, Ronald. But yes.”

They fall into silence. Hermione lies down on the bed. Stares at the ceiling. Should she have told them? They’re not mature enough for all this. Especially Ginny. Still too young to get it.

Although maybe it’s just bravado. Ginny’s always been like that. Ever since Tom Riddle…

“What about Mrs Malfoy?” Harry asks quietly.

Hermione sits up. Looks over at him fondly. His concerned expression.

He shrugs. “She’s a Malfoy, and she’s horrible, but…Azkaban? She’s innocent.”

Hermione can almost see his brain working. The conflict. He still has that good verses evil mindset. Innocent. Guilty. Right and wrong with no overlap.

But he’s starting to understand. He will soon, once he spends more time with Sirius.

Sirius. He’s probably thinking about Sirius too.

Hermione shakes her head. “She is innocent. But…again, this didn’t happen before. I don’t know what’s happening to her. Hopefully…Lucius Malfoy has a way of getting what he wants. His wife was obliviated. That’s enough proof to say she was attacked. Was the victim.”

“Her own sister,” Harry says bitterly. “Sounds like this Bellatrix is just as heartless as You Know Who.”

Hermione starts to nod. Then pauses. That’s not quite right. “I think…no. She’s not like You Know Who, Harry. She’s almost…the opposite of him. He’s…cold. She’s hot.”

Ginny snorts. “She’s hot? Alright, Hermione. Whatever does it for you.”

“Ginny!” Ron shouts. “You shouldn’t— You’re thirteen, don’t say stuff like that! And Hermione wasn’t even saying that!...right, Hermione?”

Hermione feels her face heat up. “Of course not! I didn’t mean— well, she does actually happen to be a very attractive witch...objectively speaking... But— What I meant is that Voldemort is unfeeling. He uses people. Treats people like objects. And Bellatrix…well she kind of does too, seeing as she thinks we’re dirt beneath her feet, but she’s not cold. Not unfeeling. She’s doing all of this out of feeling. Out of passion. That’s what doesn’t make sense!”

She gets to her feet. Begins pacing around the room. “I can’t understand how she’s been in hiding for this long. How Narcissa has been keeping her a secret. Bellatrix could easily overpower Narcissa. And she did. It’s like she was…letting Narcissa hide her. But why? Bellatrix is devoted to the Death Eaters. She’d die for the cause. Why would she not go looking for Voldemort sooner?”

Silence greets her.

She looks around at them.

Harry shrugs. “Dunno. You’re the one that usually figures out this stuff. I’m sure you’ll get it soon. Until then…what’s the plan, Hermione?”

Hermione nods. Right. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Hermione. “The plan is, we go to Hogwarts. We keep our heads down. We do nothing suspicious, and we wait. We wait for proof of what Bellatrix is up to. And we watch each other’s backs. If you do see her getting up to something, then you come to me, okay? You don’t do this alone.”

Ron pulls at some stray loose threads on the carpet. “You say that, but it sounds like you want to do this alone. Like…I dunno, you want to…go after her or something.”

What? That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near Bellatrix if she can help it. What does—

“Do you know her somehow?” Harry asks. “Do you want revenge? Did she…do something to one of us?”

Hermione tries to stay neutral. Holds her hand at her side as it itches to come up and touch her arm. The scar.

She shakes her head. “She’s just one of his followers. I’ve heard of her, that’s all. Everyone knows her. She’s infamous. She’s…done a lot of awful things. I just don’t want her hurting anyone.”

They…don’t seem convinced.

She walks over to look out the window again. At the bright blue sky. Nods to herself. “Now come on. Enough of this. I bet you lot are itching to play a game of Quidditch after talking about it non-stop all weekend. How about a friendly game? I’m sure Bill or Charlie and the twins will join in with you.”

She hears movement behind her. “I’ll go get my firebolt!” Harry says excitedly. “Meet you guys outside. You playing, Hermione?”

She turns around and laughs. “Still awful at flying, sorry. I’ll just watch. I’m perfectly happy with a good book, and I actually need to reread some of them. It’s been ages since I studied potions or herbology or—”

Harry and Ron share a look. They’re making fun of her, she just knows it.

Harry shakes his head and makes his way out of the room. “You’ll be fine. Better than fine. You need to practice not using magic.”

He disappears down the stairs. Ginny heads after him. “He’s right. You’ve been using nonverbal magic, Hermione. Might want to stop doing that.”

Oh. Oops.

She checks her wand is still in her pocket. Thinks about maybe leaving it upstairs for a while, get out of the habit of using it for everything.

Doesn’t. Keeps it there. It…still doesn’t feel quite right being unarmed. Just in case. Especially with Bellatrix and Voldemort just…out there.

And maybe Barty Crouch Junior. Where the hell is he?

Ron clears his throat.

Oh. Ron’s still here. Sat on his bed and fiddling with a hole in his Chudley Canons duvet cover. “Guess I’ll go get a few of the old cleansweeps from the shed,” he mutters. “Seeing as not all of us have firebolts.”

Hermione sighs.

Sits down next to him. “Yeah. Harry can be…a little tactless sometimes, can’t he? Doesn’t think about…money. But he means well, Ron. He doesn’t notice…because he doesn’t see it. You know he told me you’re the first family he had? That before your Mum hugged him, he never knew what that was like? Having a mother to care for him? You know, sometimes, he gets jealous of you too.”

Ron looks away. “I’m not jealous. I’m not. Only a dick would be jealous of Harry. He hasn’t got parents. And he’s always got some nutter coming after him. People are always gossiping about him, and staring. Who’d want that?”

Hermione frowns. Searches his face.

Then stands up. “You’re right. You’d have to be a bit of a dick to think he’s better off just because he has a vault full of gold. Money isn’t everything. But it does help. So if you’re ever worried about—”

He glares at her. “We’re fine. We don’t need pity. Didn’t you hear? I’ve got a family. I’ve got brooms too. And a new wand. And Dad knows loads of people at the Ministry. They even interviewed him for the paper last night. And Bill’s a cursebreaker. And Charlie’s a dragonkeeper. We don’t need money. We’re doing fine with what we’ve got.”

Hermione smiles at him. “Exactly,” she says quietly. “Now come on. I’ll show you a few spells to polish and care for the cleansweeps in the shed. Get them up to scratch.”

And she turns and heads off down the stairs. Hears Ron scurry after her. “You know spells for brooms? When did you bloody learn that?”

Hermione laughs. “I learnt from you. You’re all just as obsessed with Quidditch in my time. I know way more about broomsticks and quidditch players than I need to. Guess some of the knowledge has filtered through from you lot and Viktor.”

“Viktor? Viktor Krum?!” Ron roars from behind her, tripping down some steps.

She reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns to grin at him. “Oh, didn’t I mention that? We often hang out with Viktor when he’s in England. He’s a good friend. He thinks you’re a great keeper.”

Ron’s face flashes through an alarming number of colours. Parchment to puce and back again.

Hmm. Maybe that was too much.

She walks out into the sunshine, Harry and Ginny already waving them over. Time to watch some quidditch. Again.

Chapter Text

The long summer days slowly draw in over the next couple of week, the heat fading away and leaving an unsettling sense of loss hanging in the air. Unease. Every morning, Hermione wakes up expecting to be back in her own house with only Crookshanks for company and a meeting to go to. But no. Each morning, rain or shine, Crookshanks or no Crookshanks, she’s still in the past. At the Burrow.

And every morning, her, Harry, Ron, and Ginny anxiously check the Prophet for any sign of Bellatrix, or news on Narcissa.

Nothing. Not a word of it. Just more speculation on the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark, but no word of the Malfoys having anything to do with it. No trials or hearings.

Lucius must have lined some pockets.

After a week passes, they barely give it a glance. Distract themselves with games, and water fights, and de-gnoming the garden. It’s a welcome distraction. Allows Hermione the headspace to breathe.

But it can’t be held off forever, and soon the start of the school term rolls around. Summer is over. Bring on the coming storm.

And there is a storm today. The rain is becoming heavier and heavier as the Hogwarts Express chugs further north. The sky is so dark, and the windows so steamy, that the lanterns had been lit by midday.

But in a way…

It’s also comforting. So familiar. The noise of the train. The smell. Putting her trunk up above the seats. Sitting with Crookshanks in her lap, a book in reach, and every face that moves past through the corridor bringing back so many memories.

Lots of people stop to say hello as the afternoon progresses. Seamus, Dean, and Neville, all excitedly talking about the World Cup. Seamus especially. For a while, Hermione just curls up in her seat and listens. Enjoys watching them chatter away.

Hours pass. Soon Seamus and Dean leave, and rather than letting thoughts of the tournament and Bellatrix return, Hermione continues looking through The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4, needing to remind herself what level of magic people will be expecting of her. She can probably get away with magic that’s a bit advanced for her age, but eyebrows might raise if she starts performing NEWT spells with ease.

She’s brought out of her reading as Ron accidentally knees her in the side, reaching up to the luggage rack to open his trunk and pull out his Viktor Krum figurine.

“Check this out, Neville.” He drops it into an awed Neville’s hands. “We saw him right up close too. We were in the Top Box—”

“For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.”

Everyone turns to the doorway where Draco is leaning, Crabbe and Goyle at his back, as usual.

“Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,” Harry says coolly, getting to his feet.

Hermione stands up too. Quickly closes Ron’s trunk and tucks his dress robes inside before Malfoy can spot them and make fun of him like last time.

“What’s this? Got Granger tidying up for you, Weasley?” Draco sneers. “She going to be your little housewitch one day? It makes sense. You two are made for each other. You’re both used to living in filthy hovels.”

“Eat dung, Malfoy!” Ron says, turning the colour of his hair. “At least my family aren’t a load of psychos that get off on hurting people who can’t fight back! Or hurting each other. How is your mum? She remembered who she is yet?”

Shit.

Hermione turns to face Malfoy, wand at the ready—

Oh.

Draco looks…

He takes a step back. Eyes wide. “What did you say to me? How dare you! How— you’d better watch it, Weasley!”

His words are threatening, but he hasn’t drawn his wand. In fact, he’s slowly edging out into the corridor, looking over his shoulder. “Come on Crabbe. Goyle. We’re nearly at the castle. We’d better see if we can get the Weasley stink out of our robes.”

And he’s already stalked off.

What…

She shares a look with Ron and Harry, who seem just as confused as she is. Does…does Draco know? How much does he know about what his father is up to? Or…does he know about Bellatrix? Has he been living with her? Does Lucius know about Bellatrix?

“Uhh, I’d better go and get changed into my robes too,” Neville says awkwardly. “Thanks for showing me your figurine, Ron. It’s really cool. Here.”

He hands the miniature Viktor Krum back to Ron and leaves, closing the sliding door behind him.

Ron drops into a seat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It just came out. But— but that was weird, right? Malfoy looked—”

“Frightened,” Harry says, still looking out into the corridor and frowning. “He seemed nervous. You don’t think he knows, do you? About…you know who?”

Ron blinks. “Do you mean You Know Who…or you know, her?”

Hermione laughs quietly. Sits down with him and pulls Crookshanks onto her lap. “You’re right. We need better code names. It’s confusing.”

“Snakeface and crazy lady?” Harry suggests with a grin.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “A bit too obvious. And you shouldn’t use crazy as an insult. Especially for a woman. Some of the most brilliant women in history have been labelled as crazy by men just because they didn’t conform to societal expectations of womanhood.”

Harry reaches for a leftover cauldron cake. “What, like…trying to start a war and killing people because their blood isn’t pure enough? Sure, Hermione. She sounds brilliant. Such a brilliant role model.”

Okay, he has a point. Bellatrix probably deserves the crazy title. But still. It’s the principle.

She watches the raindrops slide down the windowpane. The storm is really coming in now. They’re going to get soaked on their way to the castle. They did, if she’s remembering right. “I just don’t want us to underestimate her,” she thinks aloud. “She’ll have a plan. And it seems like…maybe she’s been planning for a long time. Or Narcissa did. Draco knows something, I’m sure of it.”

“Did he know before?” Harry asks. “In your time, did he know about the Death Eaters?”

Hermione slowly turns to face him. Shrugs. “We never asked how much he knew. Not when he was this young. He made some comments but…no. I don’t think he ever knew the true horrors of what his father was up to.”

“So Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater?” Ron whispers loudly, looking around their compartment.

Hermione stands up. “He was one in the first war. And he will be again, if You Know Who comes back. But he’s following more out of fear than anything. They all are. Except Bellatrix. They’re tied to him by the Mark, and they can’t exactly say no. It’s…quite sad, really.”

Ron scoffs. “He deserves it. He shouldn’t have signed up to begin with. Serves him right after what he did to those muggles. It’s sick. Let’s see him be scared for a change.”

“No-one deserves to be scared for their life, Ron,” Harry suddenly says. Firmly. Very seriously, for his still youthful face.

And Hermione recognises that look in his eyes. She wishes she didn’t. Feels her heart weep to see that look on him so early. The look that clouded his eyes more and more as the war went on.

He clenches his jaw. Reaches for his trunk. “Let’s get into our robes too. Malfoy’s right. We’ll be there soon.”

Everyone begins getting their trunks down in uncomfortable silence, the rain hitting the window the only sound.

Hermione squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “Remember that spell I taught you to keep your glasses dry. And we can do the same for our robes, it’s stormy out.”

He nods. Smiles at her quickly and looks away.

Ron clears his throat. “Thanks. And I didn’t really mean it about…well I did, but…”

He drifts off. Looks at Harry. Then nods firmly to himself. “Let’s keep an eye on Malfoy this year too then. I mean, his whole family is completely…uhh...not the best. If he’s scared, we should keep an eye on him. Even if he’s a prat. He can’t help it if his whole family are nutters, right? And it’s not like Crabbe and Goyle have the brains to help him out.”

Hermione’s mouth falls open. She doesn’t think she’s ever been this shocked in her life. Where did that come from? Empathy? Emotional intelligence? From Ron?

And for Draco?

Harry seems just as surprised, but shakes himself out of it quicker than her. “You…yeah. Guess you’re right. I mean… I wouldn’t have made it through first year without you two. Or second year. Or any year. I’d hate it if the Dursleys were the only family I had. They don’t really count.”

Ron chuckles, opening his trunk and cringing at his dress robes before moving them out the way to get to his regular school robes. “Nah, mate. They’re not your family. Not even close. Glad we got you right out of there this summer. It’s been wicked having you stay. Both of you. Way better than when it’s just me and Ginny and the twins. Do you know how many years I had to hang out with her and her friend Luna? I mean that witch is crazy— uh— I mean—”

He looks up at Hermione. “I mean brilliant. Different? Anyway, they were a nightmare.”

Hermione smiles. “Luna is quite quirky, yes. And brilliant. Now go on, get ready. I’ll go get changed in the girls’ bathroom.”

She grabs her folded robes from the top of her trunk and heads for the door.

“Watch out for trolls!” Harry jokes from behind her as she slides the door shut. She shakes her head, still smiling to herself.

Idiots.

Her idiots.

They did get soaked, despite the impervius charms. They managed to get to the castle alright, but Hermione had forgotten that Peeves had chosen tonight to throw water balloons at people as they entered. One got Ron right in the head, and Hermione almost got strangled by Professor McGonagall as she skidded on the wet floor, grabbing Hermione around the neck for balance.

Just like last time. Why does that part of the timeline have to be the same?

And the sorting seems to last forever. Not that Hermione is able to stomach dinner once it does arrive. She’s too nervous for that.

Harry doesn’t seem to be faring much better, pushing food around his plate. Ron, on the other hand…

Well, his plate is piled as high as ever. And he seems to have picked up some of Mrs Weasley’s fussing habits.

He holds out yet another dessert to Hermione. “Treacle tart, Hermione!” he says, deliberately wafting the smell towards her. “Or you, Harry. It’s your favourite. No use starving yourselves just because you’re waiting for…uhh…” He glances at Neville and Dean. “Waiting for something brilliant to happen,” he says more quietly.

Hermione’s eyes dart to the teacher’s table. And then the door. She knows Mad-Eye isn’t there. No Bellatrix. But she still can’t help checking. Can’t help checking where her wand is every few seconds, even though she knows it’s right there in her pocket where—

The Hall begins to quieten. Dumbledore has gotten to his feet, everyone but Ron finished with pudding.

“So!” Dumbledore says, smiling around at them. “Now that we’re all fed and watered, I must once again ask for your attention as I give out a few notices!”

Hermione taps her foot against the side of the bench, making herself face forward as her thoughts ping around her head once more.

Any moment now. She’ll be here. At Hogwarts. Right here. Teaching them. Bellatrix Lestrange will be—

There are gasps of outrage all around her.

“What? No quidditch?!” Harry croaks out, scandalised. “Why? I didn’t know that—”

“— due to an event which will be starting in October, and continuing throughout most of the school year, taking up our teachers’ time and energy,” Dumbledore continues, smiling knowingly. “But I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year—”

And with a deafening rumble of thunder, the doors to the Great Hall bang open.

Hermione jumps almost a foot in the air, still taken by surprise, even though she knew this was coming.

She gives Harry and Ron a look, catching Ginny’s eye down the table, and then turns around, craning her neck to see past everyone else’s curious heads.

And…it is Mad-Eye Moody. Or it looks like him. Same scarred face and crooked nose. Stood framed in the doorway and lowering his hood as lightning crackles over the enchanted ceiling.

…is it Bellatrix?

It’s dramatic enough.

‘Mad-Eye’ begins walking down the central aisle towards the teachers’ table, long wooden staff clunking on the stone floor with each stride, echoing through the silently staring room. He limps heavily towards Dumbledore. Reaches out his hand for the Headmaster to shake.

Dumbledore takes it, leaning forward to mutter quietly to the other wizard.

Or witch.

Is it?

Hermione frowns. Squints.

This is harder than she’d thought it would be. What if it is Mad-Eye?

Harry subtly jerks his head towards Moody and raises an eyebrow. “Brilliant?” he mouthes.

Hermione frowns further. Looks back over to the staff table. Tries to look for certain postures. Mannerisms. Signs of Lestrange.

Mad-Eye flops down in a chair at the staff table, pulls a plate of sausages towards him, sniffs one, and then takes a small dagger from his pocket and spears a sausage with it to eat it off the blade.

Hermione almost throws her hands in the air in exasperation. Argh. Well that could be her. Or not. Why…

She freezes.

Moody is still looking down. But his enchanted eye has looked up.

Is looking at Hermione. Right at her. She’s sure of it.

Look away. Look away, idiot!

She tears her eyes away. Focuses on Dumbledore instead.

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody!” Dumbledore says brightly, smiling around at the sea of stunned faces and beginning a feeble round of applause that only Hagrid takes him up on.

Moody doesn’t seem to care in the least, ignoring the Hall of students completely. Hermione can finally breathe again as the magical eye darts from her and continues scanning the room, spinning in all directions.

And then Moody reaches under the table. Pulls out a hip flask and takes a swig.

Ron nudges her in the side. “Look! Just like you said!” he mumbles behind his hand, obviously trying to be discreet.

Hermione slowly nods. It does seem to be signs of polyjuice, like before. If only they could test it. That would be evidence, polyjuice in the flask.

Or it could just be alcohol. She’s seen the real Moody drink from a flask too. That’s the point.

Oh. The real Moody. Is he…trapped in a trunk already?

That would be proof too. And a lot more convincing…

Now how could they open the trunk? Or get into the DADA classroom when no-one was around?

She puts her head in her hands and frowns down at the table as she thinks, letting the hubbub around her drift into a background rumble. She already knows what they’re talking about. The tournament. The Cup. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

Should she let it all just happen? The same as before?

But poor Harry. And Cedric. She can’t let that happen.

If Voldemort doesn’t return this year…she has no idea what will happen!

…But it would stop him. Stop the second war. They could go after the Horcruxes whilst he’s still weak.

But what if he hides them in new places? Or makes more?

It would stop a war! What’s stopping you? Make a plan to stop Bellatrix, and then take down Voldemort before he even has a chance! This is a different world! Save this one from the War!

She could make it so much worse…

Sirius could live! Harry will have a family!

Harry has a family. Is Sirius actually a good role model? Better than Remus? Or Arthur?

Remus could live too. And Tonks. And Fred. And Cedric. You just have to stop Bellatrix now.

…or Bellatrix will get the Kiss, like Crouch did.

She might get it sooner if you tell Dumbledore who she really is!

…if it is her. Is it?

Hermione looks up.

Oh.

The Hall is almost empty, Ginny grinning down at her, and Ron and Harry looking at her in concern.

“Finally,” Ginny says. “We called your name enough times. I was going to drag you out of here, but Harry said you had your thinking-face on, so we thought we’d leave your brain to do its thing. So?”

Hermione stands up. Checks around for eavesdroppers.

And more specifically, Mad-Eye.

But all the professors seem to have left already.

She shakes her head and starts heading for the doors. “I’m not sure. This is harder than I expected. I’ll need some time to plan things out.”

“Well we have until Halloween for things to get going. That’s when the champions are picked,” Ron says. “After that we’ll be busy though, making sure Harry doesn’t drown or get his face fireballed off…uhh, I mean, sorry, mate.”

Hermione stops. Steps back into an alcove and waits for them to huddle closer to her. “I’ve been thinking,” she whispers. “Maybe Harry doesn’t have to compete. What if we make that the goal? We know they’re going to try to put his name in, whoever it is. So what if we stop them?”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry whispers. “Don’t exactly want to enter a competition with a death toll.”

“And Tom waiting at the end,” Ginny says quietly. “We should stop him. It’s…I want to help too, Hermione. So what’s the plan?”

Hermione squeezes Ginny’s arm sadly. “Haven’t figured that part out yet. Sorry. I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s her. How can we stop a piece of parchment falling into a goblet, when—”

“Well, well. Miss Granger. You seem very…informed, of the events taking place this year,” a low, nasal voice drifts towards them.

Of course. Snape. Slinking out from behind a suit of armour and glaring down at them, arms folded disapprovingly.

Hermione almost wants to smile at him. Here he is. Different world, still spying on Harry and catching them in their little planning sessions. It’s strangely nostalgic.

So she does smile. Just slightly. “I’m always well-informed, Professor. I am an insufferable Know It All, after all.” She holds in laughter at his twitch of surprise. Continues. “I’ve read about the tournament. You see, so that it’s impartial, they use an enchanted goblet instead of a person as a judge. It’s like the Sorting Hat. Choosing the best candidate for—”

“Enough. Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for wasting my time and dallying in the corridors when you should all be up in the Common Room. Or need I remind you that you are all still underage and that curfews still apply? Even for the great Boy Who Lived.”

Harry opens his mouth in protest, but Hermione puts a hand to his back to quieten him. “You’re right, Professor,” she says softly. “We should be getting back. We were just worried about Harry. This tournament seems so dangerous. And we seem to have a habit of getting mixed up in things. Hogwarts is never very safe for Harry, is it?”

Come on. They need an extra pair of eyes. Unbiased eyes. See Harry for who he is. He’s not James. He’s just a scared kid. Snape needs to know that Harry doesn’t want the glory. It’s someone else pulling the strings.

Snape’s eyebrows pinch in a frown, his gaze practically drilling into Hermione.

She looks away. Looks at Harry’s eyes. Gives him a reassuring smile.

Harry smiles back awkwardly. “Yeah. We were just trying to figure out how to stay out of trouble, Professor. Guess it didn’t really work out.”

Snape hums skeptically. Crowds closer to Harry. “A likely story. Don’t lie to me, Potter. It may work on your ever-growing number of fawning fans, but your measly excuses won’t work on me. Now get. To. Bed. All of you.”

Hermione quickly nods and tugs at Harry’s sleeve, urging him away as he settles into a staring contest with Snape. Something that…could be good or bad, seeing as Snape is a legilimens. She never found out if he could perform it without a wand...

“Let’s go, Harry,” she whispers.

And then more loudly as they all walk away up the stairs. “Goodnight, Professor!”

Just to mess with him. Intrigue him. She needs him suspicious. Watching. He might catch Bellatrix out, if he’s on the lookout.

“Five points for your cheek, Miss Granger,” Snape snaps after them, already sweeping off down the stairs to the dungeons.

“Greasy bat,” Ron mutters. “What was that about? What were you being nice to him for?”

Hermione smiles to herself, jogging up the stairs. “Haven’t you noticed he always seems to be watching us? Catching us out? Always the first to notice what we’re up to?”

She stops at the foot of the moving staircase and waits as they all nod at her confusedly.

She steps on. “Well. If he’s watching us, and someone else is watching us, he might notice what’s going on. Like he did with Quirrell, remember? If he knows we don’t want Harry in the tournament, he’ll realise what’s going on sooner, and might be able to help.”

Harry snorts. “Snape? Help us? When has he ever done that?”

Hermione stops. Leans against the banister and raises an eyebrow at him. “When hasn’t he helped us? Helped you? Think about it. He’s horrible to you, but if you ignore that…?”

Harry frowns.

“He did try to stop Quirrell,” Ron says. “And stop him from jinxing your broom.”

“And he tried to save us from Padfoot when he thought he was a murderer. And Professor Lupin, even when he was a werewolf,” Harry reluctantly agrees.

Ginny huffs. “Okay, you guys need to catch me up on a lot of details about your adventures. No-one told me Snape was even there, and I thought the werewolf thing was just a rumour. You didn’t even tell me about the time-travelling until a few weeks ago!”

“That’s because you’re still a little girl,” Ron says. “You shouldn’t know any of this. Hermione is right. It’s dangerous. You should just forget about this, go back to the Common Room and—”

“I’m one year younger than you!” Ginny shouts back. “One! I’m older than— than Harry was when he fought the basilisk. Than you when you went after the Philosopher’s Stone and ended up in the Hospital Wing. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t be part of your adventures—”

“They’re not adventures,” Harry snaps. “And if you think they are, then Ron’s right, and you really are still a little kid who needs to grow the hell up.”

A horrible silence falls around them. Ginny swallows harshly, holding back tears. “Don’t you worry. I stopped being a kid the moment I got here. The moment a Dark Lord took over my mind, and my body, and my soul. Nearly took my life. I’m sorry I used the wrong words to tell my friends that I wanted to be included.”

And with that, the tears begin to fall. Her bottom lip wobbles. She rubs at her face furiously, and runs up the last few steps. Shouts a shaky “balderdash” to the Fat Lady, and slips inside the portrait hole before they have time to do anything but shout after her.

Ron kicks the side of the staircase. “But she is young! What am I supposed to do? She’s my little sister. I’m supposed to protect her, not involve her in this…crap! It’s for her own good!”

He stomps up the steps. Stops at the top.

Turns around. “Right? It’s better this way. Even if she gets stroppy about it.”

Hermione follows him up with a sigh, climbing through the portrait hole tiredly and coming to stand in front of the fire in the Common Room. It’s empty. The sound of distant chatter coming from up in the dormitories. “You’re all too young to be dealing with this,” she says, staring into the flames and warming her hands. “I’ll talk to Ginny later. Make sure she knows we’re not going to leave her out. But—”

She shakes her head. Looks at them both. At their too-long hair and scruffy robes. The circles under their eyes. Worry on their faces.

Stupid. They’re too young. Hermione shouldn’t have told them. Shouldn’t have given in. They’re her safety blanket. She’s falling into old habits. Forgetting that she’s the adult this time.

She clears her throat uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. I…shouldn’t have told you all about this. I should have let you enjoy this year, as much as you can. It…I’ll figure this out. I’m the adult here. Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dumbledore, and we’ll get all this sorted out.”

Harry grabs her arm, making her jump.

It’s the arm with the scar.

He let’s go, searching her face. “We’re in it together, Hermione. Like always. All three of us.”

Ron nods. “Yeah, who gives a rat’s arse how old you are? You seem pretty much the same to me.”

Hey! The same as a fifteen-year-old?!

“In a good way!” he hastily adds. “You always know what to do. And…you said we needed proof. That we can’t tell anyone yet. I mean…what are we gonna say? That we just have a feeling the new DADA professor is secretly a witch and out to get Harry? It sounds bonkers!”

Harry steps closer, looking around the room for eavesdroppers. “It’s like you said. If she finds out we know, but they don’t believe us, she’ll know we’re onto her. If it is her, anyway. We need to find that out first. And to do that…I think I have an idea.”

Hermione bites her lip.

Should she go along with this?

They are being quite sensible. And are making a very good counter argument.

She sinks down to sit on the carpet near the fire. Gives them a lopsided smile. “What’s your idea, then?”

Harry grins. Looks at Ron, and they both sit down with her.

“Okay, it’s not much,” Harry says, pushing up his glasses. “But we could just be really annoying to Moody. Be teachers’ pets. Keep going to see him, asking him stuff, knocking on his door at all hours. That way, if it is her, and she slips up, we’ll know. Like if she forgets to take the potion.”

“Spend more time around him— her— them?” Hermione frowns. “That’s a bit risky. What if she just…decides to kill you? Or kidnap you?”

Harry shakes his head. Taps his forehead. “My dream. Voldemort mentioned the servant, and Hogwarts. They’re definitely using the tournament. If she’s really so loyal, she won’t go against his orders, right?”

“Right,” Ron says. “If it is her. Because the bloke looks terrifying, but he definitely looks like a bloke, not a witch. This is a different world. She could be someone else in disguise. Like McGonagall! She just about strangled you, Hermione, on our way in.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “She slipped on a puddle, Ronald. That hardly makes her a suspect.”

“So far, Moody is the best bet,” Harry says. “Right? So we should watch him. We can pretend we think he’s…cool. It won’t seem strange. You’re already a bit of a teacher’s pet, Hermione—”

“Hey! All I do is read the books they give us. It’s not like I bring them apples, or—”

“Well maybe you should this year. Or do badly so you get detention and have to stay after class. One of us needs to be there at all times. Then she might not even have time to put my name in the Goblet!” he says excitedly.

“So…your plan is to babysit a Death Eater at all times until Halloween?” Ron says slowly.

Harry’s smile drops. He runs a hand through his hair. “Uhh…yeah. Well I did say it wasn’t the best plan. But…any other ideas?”

Ron shakes his head. Hermione looks back to the fire.

On Bellatrix watch. For two months.

Watching her twenty-four seven isn’t very plausible— oh!

She scrambles to her feet. “Harry! The Map! Check the Marauders’ Map! It will say her name!”

Harry jumps up, eyes wide. “Oh yeah! I completely forgot about— I’ll go get it! It’s in my trunk. Just— just stay here, I’ll—”

He runs off, practically falling up the staircase.

Ron walks after him. “I’ll go too. Here.”

He reaches into his pocket and hands her his Viktor Krum figurine. “Come and knock on the door in a couple of minutes. You can say you found it. So Neville and that lot don’t ask us what we’re up to.”

Oh. That is a good idea.

She takes it. Watches him climb the staircase, a confused frown on her face.

One change. How can one alteration have made such an impact? Ron was a sulky, selfish fifteen-year-old. Jealous, and with such a lack of confidence in himself.

Was this all he needed? A bit of trust? And someone to remind him how much people need him?

It had taken years for Ron to mature into this person last time.

But this time Ginny is upset and feeling left out instead.

Hermione sighs to herself. Seems like teenage drama is inescapable.

Will Harry have looked at the parchment yet?

She heads for the stairs—

Ron comes running down. “Oh, there it is, you found it. Seamus! It’s alright, Hermione found it!” he shouts back up.

Hermione hurries over, giving him the miniature. “Well?” she whispers, unable to stand it any longer.

Ron nods frantically. “It’s her,” he breathes, looking around as if the walls have ears. “It said Bellatrix Black. She’s in the castle. In Moody’s rooms. It’s her!”

Chapter Text

The next morning is cloudy. White and still.

It feels like the inside of Hermione’s head. A heavy white fog, that just won’t leave. All throughout breakfast. Herbology. Even the blast-ended skrewts can’t seem to shake her from it.

‘Moody’ is nowhere to be seen, which should be a relief.

It isn’t. Leaves Hermione so on edge that eventually she just gives in to the feeling. Gives up trying to be on the lookout. Leaves the Map in her pocket, eyes heavy from squinting at the blurred jumble of overlapping names.

She knows she needs to snap out of it. Can see Harry and Ron’s concerned looks. Managed to offer them a few smiles every now and then before she headed off to arithmancy without them.

But she just can’t…face this. Another night of no sleep. Too many thoughts in her head. Except this time, they seem to have become stuck. Melded into a thick toffee, pulling her mind apart and holding it together.

She’s in the past. But she’s not.

And Bellatrix is here. Here. In the castle.

Hermione just can’t deal with this. Can’t face this. Not yet. It’s too much. Deliberately spending time with Bellatrix? Or sending Harry and Ron off to talk to her? As much as it could work, she’s not ready for that. To take that first step.

“…and Padfoot hasn’t got back to me yet, but when he does, I reckon we could tell him about—”

And that finally seeps through into Hermione’s mind. Harry can’t tell Sirius about Bellatrix! Or talk about Padfoot with Bellatrix around! She might know his nickname!

Hermione jogs the last few steps to meet Harry and Ron at the top of the Entrance Hall staircase, shifting a few books in her arms and helping Ron as he almost drops a star chart. “Ssh!” she hisses, looking around. “It’s not a brilliant idea to talk about that dog right now, Harry. He’s quite a memorable breed. Purebred, remember?”

It takes him a second to catch on, but then his eyes widen and he looks around too. “Right. Yeah. Forgot about…umm, how was arithmancy?”

She nods quickly at the subject change. “Quite interesting. And Professor Kettleburn didn’t give us any homework, so—”

“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!”

They stop outside the Great Hall and turn…

Malfoy?

Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. All looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

And holding a copy of The Prophet. Oh.

“Your Dad’s in the paper again, Weasley,” Draco announces cockily, holding up the paper for all to see. “Listen to this! They even got his name wrong.”

And he begins reading out Skeeter’s article, ‘Arnold’ Weasley going to investigate when Mad-Eye raised the alarm about an intruder in his house. A false alarm.

False.

Not so false.

What is Malfoy up to?

He continues reading, flourishing the paper and smirking at the gathering crowd.

And glares daggers at Ron. And Harry.

Pokes a finger at a picture of Mrs Weasley. “And there’s a picture, Weasley! Of your parents outside their house. If you can call it a house, more like a hovel. Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?”

Ron narrows his eyes at Draco. Holding back, but shaking with pent up rage as a few bursts of laughter come from the students waiting to get into the Great Hall for lunch.

“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” Harry says. “C’mon, Ron…”

“You’ve been there! Haven’t you, Potter!” Malfoy spits, strangely angry too now. “So tell me. Is his mother really that porky? Or is it just the picture?”

“Well what about your mother, Malfoy?” Harry taunts back, eyebrows raised. “Does she always have that expression on her face? Like she’s got dung under her nose? Or was that just because she was sat next to you at the World Cup?”

Draco’s cheeks flush with fury. His eyes dart over the crowd and down the surrounding corridors. “Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter!”

And Harry already seems to be regretting his own temper. Deflates, snapping his mouth shut almost ashamedly. Sighs.

Grabs hold of Ron’s robes to tug him towards the Great Hall. “Then try not to be such a prat, and keep that big mouth shut,” Harry says quietly, turning around—

Draco draws his wand, a hex shooting out with a bang, white light firing right at the back of Harry’s head—

It misses as Harry turns. But only just.

The same as last time. So this is going to happen again.

Hermione’s hand comes up to cover her mouth, to mask her shock. Or a smile, she’s not sure what expression she’s pulling. “Ferret,” she can’t help but whisper.

“Wha—” Ron says from her side, baffled. But he’s cut off as another bang of wandfire sounds, this time from behind them.

“Oh no you don’t, laddie!” comes a shout from the top of the main staircase.

Bellatrix shouts. It might look like Mad-Eye, but the wizard posed dramatically and making everyone scream in surprise is all Bellatrix.

Of course it’s her. Hermione never should have questioned it.

And where Draco had been…there’s a pure white ferret, cowering on the stone floor and squeaking.

Bellatrix comes down the stairs. Turns to look at Harry carefully, eye scanning over him. Other eye looking though the back of her head. “Did he get you?” she asks lowly.

“Uh— no. Missed,” Harry stutters out.

“Leave it!” Bellatrix suddenly shouts, making Harry and a few others jump.

“Leave— what?” Harry says, bewildered.

“Not you, him,” Bellatrix growls, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at Crabbe, who freezes, about to pick up the ferret.

And she turns. Begins limping over towards the three Slytherins.

Draco’s squeaks turn into a high-pitched frenzy, and he takes off, a white blur streaking towards the dungeons—

“I don’t think so!” Bellatrix roars, firing off a spell quicker than Hermione can blink and sending the ferret flying ten feet in the air, falling with a smack on the floor and then rising once more.

And again. And again.

Hermione looks around desperately for Professor McGonagall. She should be here. Why isn’t she—

Draco lets out another terrified squeak, and Hermione can’t help it.

Steps forward, raising a protego and shielding the bouncing ferret behind her. “Stop! This— this isn’t how punishments work here!” she shouts.

Bellatrix’s wand doesn’t lower. It rises. She aims over Hermione’s head.

“He should know better than to attack when his opponent’s back is turned!” Bellatrix growls, moving her wand side to side as Draco whimpers, smacking into the walls. “Stinking, cowardly thing to do.”

Really?! Ethics is her argument? Teaching him a lesson about…manners?!

“Never— do— that— again!” Bellatrix punctuates, still managing to send Draco thudding against stone.

Enough!

Hermione steps forward, shield raised higher and staring Bellatrix down. “Transfiguration isn’t a punishment! Never! A professor should know that. Or was it different when you were at school?”

For a second, a flash of anger appears on Moody’s scarred face, making Hermione flinch and pour more concentration into her shield charm.

But then Bellatrix’s wand pauses. Lowers. “Oh, I have a feeling I’ve got very different experiences of teaching than you do,” Bellatrix mutters. “Miss…?”

Hermione holds her head high. Keeps her breathing as even as possible, and cancels her protego. “Granger. Hermione Granger.”

Bellatrix looks her up and down. Nods. “Granger. What would you suggest I do then, Granger? Give him detention? Is that enough of a lesson, do you think?”

Hermione looks behind her at the crumpled ferret. “Yes. You should change him back. And you could always talk to his Head of House if there are any issues that need to be resolved. That’s how everyone deserves to be treated. Talking calmly. Violence isn’t the answer.”

She doesn’t turn back. It’s too intense. Just knowing that it’s Bellatrix Lestrange in Moody’s skin.

Bellatrix Black. That’s what the map said. Says. It’s still in Hermione’s pocket.

And she watches as the ferret suddenly transforms. A boy once more. Pale and wincing as he gets to his feet, but otherwise unharmed. Thank Merlin for that.

“I’ll do that then,” Bellatrix says coldly. Or hotly. The heat of it making Hermione turn to glance at the witch. Just quickly, before looking away again, back at Draco. The magical eye has always made her uncomfortable, no matter whose head it’s in.

Draco avoids everyone’s gaze, reddening with shame and muttering to himself. Something about his father.

“Oh yeah?” Bellatrix says quietly, limping forwards a few steps, past Hermione and reaching Draco. “Well I’ve known your father for a lot longer than you, boy. You tell him Moody’s keeping a good eye on his son. You tell him that from me,” she whispers.

Draco grits his teeth, but steps back. Looks around for Crabbe and Goyle.

“Now,” Bellatrix continues. “Your Head of House is Snape, is it?”

“Yes,” Malfoy says, clearly bitter.

Bellatrix grins sharply. “Another old friend. I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. And seeing as it’s the school rules according to Granger over there…”

She turns and looks at Hermione, still grinning. “…I’d better do as she says. Come on, Malfoy.”

And she seizes Draco’s upper arm, marching him away towards the dungeons.

Hermione watches them go anxiously. Let’s the chattering mass drift past her and into the Great Hall.

Harry comes to stand next to her. “So...That’s…”

He drifts off.

“Yeah,” Hermione answers hoarsely. Her mouth is oddly dry. She loosens her grip around her wand. Shakes her hand out. Cramp from holding it too hard.

Harry takes a slow breath. “When is it we next have DADA?”

Ron reaches into his bag, rummaging around before remembering an accio and pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. “Uhh…Thursday.”

Harry just nods silently, still staring towards the dungeons.

“Think he’ll be alright? Malfoy?” Ron asks.

Hermione reaches into her pocket. Pulls out the Marauders’ Map and taps it, whispering the password.

Searches out the dungeons…

Two little dots. Draco Malfoy, and Bellatrix Black, moving swiftly down a corridor towards…Snape’s office.

Hmm.

“They’re going to Snape,” Hermione murmurs. “So he should be fine…”

She keeps her eyes locked to the names as she drifts towards the Hall, stomach rumbling and twisting—

Bumps into someone. “Oh! Sorry, I didn’t see you— Ginny!”

Ginny glares at her. Picks up some pieces of parchment, playing cards, and a few sickles that she’s dropped, and then brushes past Hermione. “Figures. Guess I’m invisible to you too now, now that you’ve got your real friends back and don’t have to hang out with me anymore.”

What? No!

Hermione slides the map into her pocket and turns around. “Ginny, wait! It’s not— Can I please talk to—”

Ginny disappears into the crowd without a backward glance. Argh!

Hermione pulls the map back out. “I’ll go after her. Can you spot her? She should be around…”

Outside. Heading across the grounds towards the lake.

Hermione looks up at the enchanted ceiling. Cloudy ceiling. Rain clouds.

Well, if Ginny is so stubborn that she’s going to run off in the rain rather than talk to Hermione, then she really is too immature and needs to get over herself.

“Teenagers,” Hermione huffs to herself. Turns around and marches towards an empty spot at the table near Lee Jordan and the twins. She’s hungry. And she has enough to think about. Ginny knows that. They can talk later. Calmly. In the Common Room. Not out in the pouring rain.

She grabs the pot of beef casserole and doles out three bowls for her, Harry, and Ron, angrily.

Harry and Ron sit down opposite her and share a look.

She ignores them. So what if she has a temper? She has a lot to think about. A lot. Dark witches wandering around the castle. A witch who now knows her name, and was grinning at her for some reason.

And did as she was told. Why did she do that?

Why did Hermione do that? She’d never talk to a real professor like that. That was so suspicious. Everyone must be talking about what just happened.

That just happened. She just spoke to Bellatrix.

She slides the map back out of her pocket. Looks for the little dot.

Bellatrix Black. Still in the dungeons. Alone now.

She traces her finger over the name. Tries to let it sink in, her mind not really grasping it. Unable to put the two…completely opposing images together. It just feels…wrong! Having a sadistic murderer like her around, but in the wrong body. It’s too surreal. She wants to see Bellatrix. Face her properly. Then it would feel right. Not this weird Moody-hybrid.

She can’t read her like this. Can’t understand her motivations. Can’t see her.

She has to see her. Has to catch her out without the polyjuice. It’s the only way. She needs to be exposed.

Ow! Hot!

She reaches for a jug of water, tongue burning from where she’d been shovelling her casserole into her mouth too quickly.

Harry sniggers at her. “Done with your teenage sulking?”

Hermione takes a few gulps of water and then sticks her tongue out at him. It’s immature. But she guesses being back here is kind of rubbing off on her.

Ron isn’t laughing though. Is frowning down at the Prophet. At the picture of his parents outside the Burrow. They wave at him, smiling.

Hermione puts her spoon down with a sigh. “You know, what Malfoy said—”

He bats his hand at her dismissively. Folds the paper in half and turns it over, pointing out something else.

Hermione and Harry lean in to read it.

Mystery Millionaire Funds New Research for Magical Maladies Ward at St Mungo’s

Oh.

Hermione scans the rest of the article.

Anonymous donation…research into mind magic and mental trauma…famous patients…

Oh no.

Gilderoy Lockhart - still doesn’t know who he is.

Narcissa Malfoy - attacked at the World Cup, and in the process of having her memories restored whilst recuperating at home...

And Frank and Alice Longbottom. Long-term patients, who haven’t left the ward since an almost lethally strong cruciatus curse was used against them by Death Eaters Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, and Barty Crouch Junior.

Hermione’s head jerks up. She looks down along the table, searching out….

Neville. Staring into his casserole. His head coming up to meet her eye.

She smiles at him.

He ducks his head back down.

Doesn’t look back up.

“Bellatrix…tortured Neville’s parents?” Harry whispers croakily, reading the whole article.

Hermione turns to look at him. At Ron. Feels her heart sink at their shock and…betrayal, as they see her expression.

“You already knew,” Ron says.

Hermione fiddles with her spoon. Looks at the table. Nods. “I knew. But…Neville isn’t ready for people to know yet. It wasn’t my place to—”

“Give me the map,” Harry says firmly.

Hermione frowns. “But—”

“Now. Let me see where she is. Draco is— We should tell Dumbledore. This isn’t safe. We should show him the map, and—”

Hermione was about to hand it to him, but swiftly pulls it back. “We can’t!” she hisses. “Do you really think Dumbledore, or any of the professors, will give it back to you once they see this? You need to keep it. Trust me. For next year and— the information on it is lifesaving.”

They use it next year to outsmart Umbridge and Filch. And the year after when the Death Eaters enter the Astronomy tower. Ginny uses it all throughout the War against the Carrows and Snape. They can’t give it to—

Harry holds his hand out. “You don’t know that. Not this time. Not for sure. And I don’t care. We have proof. Let’s go. Now. Before someone else gets hurt.”

Hermione hesitates…

Harry snatches the map from her and walks off.

She clambers out of the bench, swinging her bag over her shoulder and hurrying after him. Great. Fantastic.

Dumbledore peers over his half-moon spectacles at them. Then looks back down at the map. “Ingenious. Now this is quite a clever little thing. I myself did not even know there was a twelfth floor, let alone thirteen. Quite the architectural feat, wouldn’t you say? Highly intriguing. Sherbet lemon, Mr Weasley?”

He holds the bowl out to Ron, who raises an eyebrow but takes one anyway. “Uh, cheers. But what we really wanted to show you was—”

“Bellatrix Black,” Harry interrupts. “She’s alive. And in the castle. We saw her name in the Prophet, and we saw her on the map today. The map doesn’t lie, Headmaster. Professor Lupin told me. Bellatrix is in disguise as Mad-Eye Moody!”

Dumbledore smiles softly. “Professor Moody, Harry. And I am sure you are quite correct that this map is tremendously accurate. But as you can see…Alastor is at this very moment within his office. And I’m afraid as lovely as it would be to be reunited with dear Bellatrix, she does not appear to be on here.”

What?!

Hermione, Ron, and Harry all get to their feet, heads crowded over the map. Impossible…

She finds the DADA classroom…

Alastor Moody. In the office.

No Bellatrix.

But—

She searches the dungeons. The staff room. The grounds.

A huff echoes from above them. “Yet another self-righteous Gryffindor making accusations against a Black. We don’t need a map to know where Bellatrix is. Buried with the rest of them outside Azkaban, poor girl,” Phineas Nigellus Black calls down.

Harry shakes his head. Searches the map once more and then looks up at Dumbledore. “Please, Sir. Could you just check? What if the real Professor Moody is…being held hostage in his office? We saw Bellatrix. Last night. And today. She took Draco to Snape, we saw it!”

Dumbledore frowns. “And as I said, Harry. I do want to believe you. I really do. And if it will reassure you, I will check. If you are certain. These are some serious accusations, and Alastor may not take very kindly to being called one of Voldemort’s followers. Especially one he had a hand in capturing. One who, as Phineas rightly points out, died many years ago.”

“So did Peter Pettigrew,” Harry says firmly, frustration edging into his voice. “But he’s still alive. And Sirius escaped too, so why not Bellatrix? His cousin?”

Dumbledore steeples his fingers. “Ah. So you have discovered that connection also. But remember, Harry, it is our choices that shape us far more than our blood. The friends we make. The family we choose. Bellatrix’s relation to Sirius, and so to you, does not make you any more connected to her misdeeds.”

Harry glances at Hermione and Ron, sharing their disbelief at this strange misinterpretation. “I know,” Harry grits out. “But Sir, if we go to the DADA classroom just to check…”

Dumbledore gets to his feet with a sigh. “Alright then, Harry my boy. Perhaps your young eyes are keener than mine. Let’s go pay Alastor a visit, shall we?”

And with another smile, he strides off to the spiral stairway, stepping on with a nod to the statue, and already moving downward.

Harry runs after him, and Ron gives her a sheepish look before doing the same.

Hermione stays standing beside the desk, conflicted. As usual.

“What are you doing, girl?” Phineas Nigellus shouts down at her, making her jump. “Get out of here. Go on. And take that useless map with you. I don’t know what Orion was doing naming his idiotic eldest after my brother. Not an ounce of intelligence in that one. Can’t even make a map that works.”

Oh. Dumbledore left the map behind.

Hermione picks it up. “It does work,” she mutters. “Bellatrix is just…hiding, somehow.”

Alastor Moody is still in his office. But that could be him inside the trunk. Maybe Bellatrix just…left. Went out to lunch. Professors don’t have to stay on the school grounds…

So as she thought. Bellatrix has outsmarted them already. They went to Dumbledore too soon. She told Harry they needed to wait.

She watches Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore’s names stop on the changing staircase as they make their way over to the other side of the castle.

Maybe there’s still a chance. Maybe they’ll get there in time. Open the trunk, with Dumbledore’s help, and find the real Moody. Then Bellatrix won’t be able to come back. Her plan won’t work. The tournament— oh!

She looks around. Surely the goblet is being kept in here! Maybe she could…ward Harry’s name out or something. Just in case.

Is that possible? Could she—

“What are you still doing here?” A portrait shouts. “This isn’t a common room, young lady.”

“Off with you! Go on, now,” another shouts.

She makes her way towards the stairs and steps on, reluctantly spinning down toward the entrance.

Okay. Fine. Too many witnesses. But maybe she should stop by the library and find out how the age line works. And how Crouch got Harry’s name in there last time. If Bellatrix is going to do it, then Hermione might be able to think up a counter-spell of some kind.

She walks down the corridor, considering it. Runes, perhaps? Or arithmancy. Numbers are involved, after all. And probability.

What are they using to assign qualities of worthiness for the tournament? Is it bravery? Resistance? Willpower? Intelligence?

Could she adjust it, so Harry isn’t worthy?

She taps her finger on the stone banister as the staircase moves, ready to take her across the castle towards the Common Room, where she can take the hidden shortcut down to the second floor and classroom 3C. The DADA classroom.

The staircase judders to a stop. She makes her way down and gets off, reaching into her pocket. Maybe she should check the map again and see if Harry’s there—

“Constant vigilance!”

Hermione leaps a foot in the air, clutching the map to her chest, head jerking up and fumbling for her wand—

Mad-Eye is stood in front of her. Grinning at her, magical eye spinning wildly.

“See you’ve still got a lot to learn, Granger. These are violent times, as much as you try to deny it. You’ve got to keep your wits about you.”

Hermione tries to calm her pattering heart. Fails. “Where did you come from?” she accidentally gasps out, still in shock but at least with enough sense to slide the map—

Bellatrix grabs her wrist, trapping it. “As I said. You should have been paying attention. What’ve you got there, girl?”

Oh no.

Hermione shrugs casually. Tries to act…young. “It’s from Zonko’s joke shop. I caught my friend Ron with it. It’s not very nice. Makes fun of people. He got a lot of mischief managed,” she says as calmly as she can. Taps her wand to it. As if gesturing. Please work.

Bellatrix looks down at the parchment. Magical eye no longer spinning. Both eyes focused. “Really? A joke? Looked more like a map of the castle to me. Extremely dangerous in the wrong hands. Give it here, Granger.”

Hermione doesn’t let go. Tries to pull her hand free. “Dangerous? No. It’s just a silly toy. It isn’t worth—”

“Then you’ll let me look at it,” Bellatrix growls. Squeezes Hermione’s wrist so tightly she jerks her fist open on instinct, wanting to get away.

Bellatrix smirks triumphantly and holds up the thankfully now blank piece of paper.

Smirks. Seriously smirks, chin raised. Nothing like Moody.

She’s slipping up. Harry was right. If they spend enough time around her, they could catch her out.

Bellatrix’s eyes narrow. She takes out her wand. Moody’s wand. Hovers it over the parchment. “Specialis revelio,” she mutters.

Oh no…

Words are appearing.

Hermione swallows. “As I said. Joke parchment. Always says something horrible, no matter what you—”

“Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs…” Bellatrix reads aloud. Then abruptly stops. Frowns at the parchment as words continue to appear.

Hermione leans to look—

Bellatrix smacks her in the nose with it, lifting it out of Hermione’s reach, folding it up, and then shoving it into her robes. “As I thought. Extremely suspicious magical item. I’ll be confiscating this, Miss Granger. And ten points from Gryffindor for not handing it in sooner.”

No! She can’t—

Hermione rubs at her face. “But I— will you give it back? If it’s not dangerous?”

Bellatrix is already striding off, wooden leg tapping on the floor and taking out her hip flask. “I’ll make it twenty points if you’re not careful! Now get going. Don’t you have arithmancy to get to?”

Hermione opens her mouth. No more words come out. She just watches Bellatrix turn the corner out of sight.

She does have arithmancy next. Double arithmancy on Monday afternoons.

…was that just a lucky guess? Ah!

She draws her wand as someone taps her shoulder—

Shoves Harry in the chest. “Don’t do that! I’m going to have a heart attack at this rate!”

Then remembers where Harry and Ron have been. “So? Was Moody—”

Harry shakes his head. “He wasn’t there. We checked all of the tanks and cupboards and trunks. Dumbledore did this spell. Homenum revelio. Nothing. Just a load of protection wards and sneakascopes that went crazy. Ron stayed to help Dumbledore shut them up and get these weird creatures back in this crate that— anyway. No Moody.”

Hermione smiles sadly. “Sorry. I did try to warn you. It’s never as easy as that.”

Ron comes up behind him, shoving a handful of sherbet lemons into his mouth. “Should’ve figured. Our luck always sucks,” he mumbles around them, almost spitting one out. “Where’ve you bin? Did ya remember the map?”

Hermione cringes. “So…more bad news. I did have the map. Until about a minute ago. I ran into…her. She saw it. Confiscated it.”

“What?!” Ron shouts, sending sweets pinging across the corridor.

Hermione vanishes them, crinkling her nose. Disgusting.

“She was here?” Harry says, looking around.

Hermione nods. “You just missed her. I tried to stop her, but she’s a professor. There wasn’t much I could do. She took points.”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “Points? Hermione, who cares about points! Now—”

He edges closer to whisper frantically. “Now a Death Eater has a map to the whole school! Knows exactly where everyone is, where we are, at all times!”

Hermione groans. “I know. I know, I fucked up. I’m sorry. But…if it helps, I don’t think she knows the password to get it working?”

She tries to plead for forgiveness with just her eyes. But knows she would be so mad too if Harry had lost the map. She was. She’d been angry thinking Dumbledore would have it, let alone Bellatrix.

Harry just stares at her, an odd expression on his face.

Steps back. Looks at Ron and then slowly begins to smile. “You just swore. Hermione Granger just swore.”

Hermione sighs in relief.

And rolls her eyes. Boys.

She hooks her arms through theirs and walks them off down the corridor. “I’m an adult. I’m allowed. Now we’d better get going. We’ll be late for afternoon classes, and you both have to make it all the way up to the divination classroom.”

They trudge along the corridor in silence for a while. Harry holds up the tapestry for them to duck under and take the shortcut, jumping the disappearing step.

And they still don’t say anything. Just walk.

Hermione glances at them. Sighs. “I’m sorry. For not telling you about what she did to the Longbottoms. I should have. I just…it’s so horrible. And Neville really won’t want people knowing about this,” she whispers.

Ron shrugs. “You told us she was bad. Like, really bad news. And fought in the War. Don’t worry about it. And it makes it…kind of impressive that you keep standing up to her. Talking to her. It freaks me out, to be honest. Dunno what I’m gonna to do if she asks me a question in class. Proper scary, she is.”

Harry considers this. “I think for nerves you’re supposed to picture people in their underwear, right?”

Hermione trips down a couple of steps, her brain helpfully supplying an image of Bellatrix in just her underwear. Pale skin and dark curls falling over her shoulders. Standing in the middle of the classroom and walking towards Hermione—

“Ew! Gross! Mad-Eye in his underwear? What are you on about, Harry!” Ron shouts for all to hear.

Everyone. The corridors are full of students, all waiting to get into class. And staring at a rapidly reddening Harry.

Ron clears his throat. “Sorry, mate. That sounded— it’s not like it sounded!” Ron tries to correct. “It wasn’t— oh forget it.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, maybe that wasn’t great advice. Anyway. We’d better hurry before Trelawney tells everyone I’ve died or something. We’ll see you at dinner, Hermione. Yeah?”

Hermione takes a sharp breath, still rather confused at where her thoughts were going. “Yes. Maybe. Actually, I might go to the library after class. To read up on the tournament and…plan some things. So I guess I’ll see you in the Common Room tonight.”

Ron snorts, heading off. “Library. Of course. Never change, Hermione.”

Hermione smiles. Waves goodbye to Harry— oh! “And if you run into Ginny, try to talk to her! This is ridiculous! We need to sort it out!”

Harry gives her a thumbs up. Turns around and jogs to catch up with Ron.

Hermione adjusts her bag on her shoulder. Okay. Back to class. Fifteen years old. Arithmancy.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for the gossip about Neville’s parents to spread over the next few days, and every time Hermione, Harry, or Ron try to talk to him about it he closes up. Walks away. Stumbles down a flight of stairs or mutters about needing to get to the greenhouses or the Great Hall.

He melts his cauldron clean through in potions class. For the sixth time. Snape, of course, is livid, instantly giving him detention for the next week. On Wednesday, Neville comes back trembling and talking about disembowelling a barrel of toads.

Trevor isn’t anywhere to be found. Hermione really, really hopes it’s a coincidence.

“You’ve noticed why Snape’s in such a bad mood, right?” Harry whispers to her as she finishes teaching Neville a scouring charm to get the guts out from under his fingernails.

She nods tiredly, moving over to sit by the fire. “Moody,” she says quietly.

Ron sits next to her on the rug, nodding too. “So you noticed. Twitchy, isn’t he? Avoids her— him. Always avoiding eye contact too.”

“I reckon he’s scared,” Harry whispers. “But…I don’t know if he’s scared of Moody, or of…could he somehow know something?”

Hermione looks around the crowded common room. Pulls out a book and clears her throat. “Some wizards and witches have learnt a kind of magic called legilimency. Mind magic. It’s like…mindreading, but a lot more complicated. The— the most accomplished legilimens can look into someone’s mind just by making eye contact. Can see thoughts. Memories.”

She looks back up. Cringes at the panic on their faces.

“So you think…” Harry says quietly. “Can she do it?”

Hermione bites her lip. “I…don’t think so. But it’s possible. She knows how to block her mind. Block legilimency. She taught…umm…her nephew. When he was sixteen. But someone who definitely knows about legilimency, at least with a wand…is Snape.”

Ron’s hand come up to cover his forehead, turning deathly pale. “Snape can read minds?” he croaks out. “Why didn’t you tell us? I’ve thought…oh no! Oh bloody hell, I’ve thought so many things in front of him.”

Hermione snorts. “I’m sure he’s not interested in what’s going on in your head. And I think he probably needs a wand to perform it. But I’ll find a book on occlumency if you really want to protect your mind. It might be a good idea.”

Harry lies down on his back on the floor and groans. “That’s the last thing we need. Mind magic. What’s next? What’s the next surprise going to be? Because I can’t take many more of these, Hermione.”

She pats his leg sympathetically.

Doesn’t really have an answer to that.

The portrait hole suddenly swings open. Ginny steps through.

Sees them by the fire.

Hermione raises a hand. Moves to get up and—

Ginny climbs straight back out again, the hole closing behind her.

Hermione’s hand falls back down to her side, heart sinking.

What did she do?

Hermione skids to a stop outside classroom 3C, searching out Ron and Harry in the line— there! Right at the front.

She hurries up to them. “Been in the—”

“Library,” Harry finishes for her. “C’mon, quick, or we won’t get decent seats.”

He moves to go in, but she stops him. “Are you sure you want to be at the front? Seeing as she might be showing us…the spells I told you about?”

The unforgivable curses. She’d warned them in advance. Had wanted to warn Neville too, but couldn’t figure out how.

Harry reflexively rubs his forehead, briefly glancing at the floor. “I’m fine. Better us at the front than anyone else,” he mutters.

And he’s already through the door after Ron, the three of them taking the seats right in front of the teacher’s desk and pulling out their copies of The Dark Forces: a guide of self-protection. It’s painfully ironic.

The room is unusually quiet as they wait. None of the usual chatter, even from Seamus or Lavender, who can never keep their mouths shut for long.

Soon the familiar clunk of a wooden leg on stone reaches their ears from down the corridor. Hermione takes a slow breath. Rubs her sweaty palms on her robes and checks her wand is still in her sleeve.

“You can put those away,” comes Moody’s gruff voice from behind them, before Bellatrix stumps around and falls into the seat at the desk, right across from them. “Those books. You won’t be needing them.”

They put their books back in their bags, Harry meeting Hermione’s eye. So it will be like she thought.

Bellatrix begins calling the register, leaning back in her seat. Her real eye scans down the list as she reads out each name, the magical eye studying each person. One by one.

Hermione is quite proud of how steadily she manages to answer, unlike the squeak Ron produces.

“Right then,” Bellatrix says, putting the register away. “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had quite a thorough grounding with dark creatures. Boggarts, red caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, kappas, and werewolves. That right?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement.

“But,” Bellatrix sighs. “You’re behind, very behind, on dealing with curses. So. Guess it’s up to me to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you Dark—”

“You’re only here for one year, then?” Ron blurts out. Then winces. Maybe Harry kicked him.

The magical eye spins to stare at Ron, who gulps apprehensively, leaning back on his stool.

Bellatrix smiles wickedly. It looks very strange on Moody’s face. “You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, hmm?” she asks. Doesn’t wait for a reply. “Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago…”

She pauses. Seems to drift into memory. Ron gives Hermione a distressed look.

The magical eye moves to Hermione, and Bellatrix continues. “Yeah. I’m here for the year. Special favour for Dumbledore, and then I’m back to my…nice quiet retirement.”

Hermione holds backs scoff. Yeah right. More like back to terrorism and—

And Bellatrix barks out a harsh laugh, apparently amused by her own inside joke. Claps her hands together. “So! Straight into it. Curses. Where to start?”

She gets to her feet. Walks over to a blackboard. “They come in all sorts of shapes and forms. Can even create your own, if you’re clever enough. Which you’re not. So forget that right now.”

She begins writing things down, handwriting sharp and scribbled.

Different. This is different.

Hermione reaches back into her bag for her quill and parchment—

“Granger!” Bellatrix barks. “No writing. Watching only. Or should I deduct more points from Gryffindor for your rule breaking?”

Hermione puts her bag back down, feeling her face heat up as whispering fills the room, people in shock at Hermione Granger losing points.

Bellatrix just continues scribbling away.

Then steps back. Admires her handiwork. It’s…

A venn diagram. With lopsided shapes instead of circles, and different spell names scattered everywhere. What?

“Potter!” Bellatrix barks. “Name a curse. Any curse.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair self-consciously, pushing it down over his scar and glancing behind him at Neville. “Uhh…petrificus totalus?”

Bellatrix turns to face him. Snorts. “Alright. Not what I was expecting, but that’ll do.”

She writes it down on the board, inside one of the misshapen bubbles. “And how did you know it was a curse? Not a hex or a jinx?”

Harry frowns. Looks at Ron, shrugs, and then mumbles something.

“What was that, Potter? Come on, speak up, lad. You’ve got a voice. Use it.”

“I don’t know,” Harry snaps. “It’s just what it’s called. The body bind curse.”

Bellatrix spins around. Raises her wand. “Well you should know. It’s in the first-year textbook. You’ve been in the magical world for four years now. Surely you’ve noticed that words have meaning? Power? Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Saviour.”

Harry just continues to glare at her.

Bellatrix’s wand flicks in their direction. “Petrificus totalus—”

“Protego!” Hermione calls out, wand already in her hand—

Too late. And protecting the wrong person. The curse smacks Ron in the face, his arms snapping to his sides as he falls backwards off his stool and thuds onto the floor.

Lavender lets out a shriek of surprise and the class begins to chatter—

“Silence!” Bellatrix roars.

The room falls still.

Bellatrix walks over to Ron. Nudges him with her wooden foot. “Miss Brown. Seeing as you’ve got such a gob on you, you can tell me what counter-curse to use to wake him up.”

Lavender sniffs. Leans forward in her seat to look down at Ron. “Re— rennervate?”

No. That’s for stupefy. He’s not asleep. He’s frozen.

But Bellatrix just nods. “Possible. Not the most common approach, or the one in the textbook, but possible all the same.”

What? No it isn’t! It’s completely the wrong spell!

Bellatrix raises her wand once more. Points it at Ron. “Totus corpus rennerva!”

And Ron’s body slumps back onto the ground. He blinks. Takes a few breaths.

Sits up and rubs at the back of his head. “What— Bloody hell! Ow! My head—”

Bellatrix reaches down, grabs his shoulder, and pulls him to his feet. “Stop complaining. Sit back down. You’re fine. Now.”

She walks over to the board. “That was an example of how words work. You pick the ones you want. And you use them. Can’t believe I’m teaching fourteen-year-olds rather than four-year-olds such basic crap, but there we go. Someone tell me why that just worked, and why it isn’t in your textbook. Mr Thomas. How about you? You figured out this world faster than Potter?”

Dean hesitates. Points at himself, surprised to be called on.

Bellatrix doesn’t even turn around. “Yes. You. Or is there another muggleborn Dean Thomas in the room?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably. “You…used a word for body. Like…corporal means body. And you said totus. Like total. So…you told his whole body to wake up. And it worked. So…I don’t really know why it wasn’t in the textbook, sorry Professor.”

Bellatrix hums. “Correct. Partly. Five points to Gryffindor.”

She draws another line on the board. Hermione has given up figuring out what it means. It looks more like a crazy spiderweb now, to be honest.

Bellatrix suddenly throws her piece of chalk over her shoulder, hitting Hermione square in the forehead. Wha—

“And the reason it isn’t in the textbook,” Bellatrix carries on without pause. “Is because there are things the Ministry doesn’t want you figuring out. Doesn’t want magic to be manipulated. Experimented with. Doesn’t want your average Weasley realising the power they could have.”

“Hey!” Ron whispers.

Bellatrix turns around. Leans back against the board. “Words have limitless power. Magic has limitless power. The Ministry likes to chop them up. Separate them into near little boxes. Curses and jinxes and hexes. Herbology and potions. Charms and transfiguration. Dark magic, and then everything else. Defense against the dark arts. Nice and neat, isn’t it? Has a nice ring to it.”

“But…some spells are dark,” Harry says. “They’re made to hurt. To kill.”

The room falls deathly silent.

Bellatrix walks closer once more. Tap. Tap…

Leans closer to Harry. “Intent,” she whispers, her voice carrying through the room in the stillness. “Yes. That’s what it tells you in your standard book of spells. Here’s the answer to my earlier question, Potter. Curses…are made to inflict serious harm. To a person. It’s what they are intended for. To hurt. To control. To torture. To kill.”

Her hand twitches. Reaches up. Hovers in front of Harry’s face. As if about to touch.

And then she abruptly moves back. Goes back to the board.

Taps on the word petrificus totalus. “Controls the body. Traps it,” she barks.

Then moves along a line, and writes Imperio at the end. “Imperius curse. One of three unforgivable curses that will earn you a one-way ticket to Azkaban. It controls the mind. Gives over complete control of your mind to the caster. Would you want me controlling your mind, Miss Patil?”

Parvati jumps. “No, Sir. Unless…well maybe during exams.”

There’s some weak laughter.

Bellatrix grins sharply. “Quite right. That would be nice, hmm? Getting to sit back? Relax? Let someone else take over?”

Parvati nods. Does relax slightly.

Bellatrix draws her wand. Taps it against her lip. “And if in this exam, you were told to cast a diffindo, a slicing charm, would you know how to do it? Have you been taught that yet?”

Parvati shakes her head. “I think we were taught it in charms class in first year, but I can’t remember it very well.”

Bellatrix walks down the central aisle. Comes to stand in front of Parvati and Lavender’s joint desk. “Well, lucky for you, I can. Accio apple!”

Hermione turns to watch curiously as an apple flies out from the back room and into Bellatrix’s hand.

She puts it down on the desk. “Geminio.”

The apple duplicates. And then again as Bellatrix mutters out another spell, now with four apples.

“I know what you’re thinking, Mr Finnigan. But make these apples into cider and you’ll seriously regret it. Gamp’s Law. No playing around with food, or it will mess up your insides. No, this isn’t for eating. This is for…”

She picks up an apple.

And launches it high into the air, almost touching the rafters. “Diffindo!” she shouts, slashing her wand through the air.

The apple falls. Split clean in two.

Show off.

Ron whistles lowly. “Bloody brilliant.”

“Want a turn, Mr Weasley?” Bellatrix calls.

Ron squeaks. “Me? Uhh…”

He looks around at everyone. Puffs out his chest. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll give it a go.”

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow. Beckons him over.

She’s not even trying to hide.

“Ron, stop!” Hermione hisses. “Don’t volunteer to—”

He ignores her and walks over to the table. Idiot.

Bellatrix nods at him. “It’s pronounced diffindo. Emphasis on in. Say it for me.”

Ron glances at Hermione. “Diffindo,” he grins.

Bellatrix smacks him on the head. “Five points from Gryffindor for staring at witches instead of paying attention. Now the wand movement. Do you know it?”

Ron flushes bright red. “I wasn’t— yeah. Yeah, it’s uhh…like a slash down with a flick at either end.”

Bellatrix shrugs. Shoves an apple into his palm. “Off you go, then.”

Ron looks at the apple. Looks at the ceiling.

Throws it up in the air. “Diffindo!”

A spell shoots out of his wand. The apple falls.

Bellatrix catches it. Examines it. “Missed. You need to work on your timing. It glanced off the top, see?”

Hermione can’t see. It’s too far away. But she can see Ron leaning in curiously, looking relatively pleased with himself.

Hermione…is just confused. Very confused.

Teaching. She’s actually teaching. Helping. A Weasley.

Ron comes back over, throwing and catching his apple. Shows them the very faint line.

“Anyone else? Patil? You still want me to take your exam for you?”

Uh oh.

Hermione slides off her stool and gets to her feet.

Parvati laughs nervously. “If you want to. I could never do that. I don’t think I could even throw it high enough.”

Bellatrix points her wand at Parvati. “Your choice then. Let’s try it. Imperio!”

No!

“That’s illegal!” Hermione shouts.

“Says the Ministry,” Bellatrix growls back. “You blindly agree with everything the Ministry does, Granger? Think you shouldn’t be taught what the world’s really like? You think Miss Patil is ready for the real world?”

Hermione steps closer. “I…”

She looks around at her classmates, all of them staring at her in confusion for arguing with a professor. Looks at Parvati’s blank, glazed stare.

Looks back at Bellatrix.

Bellatrix slowly shakes her head. “She has no idea.  But she will. Constant vigilance!” she suddenly yells.

Everyone in the room except Hermione jumps.

Bellatrix folds her arms. Looks at Parvati. “Stand up. Go walk into the middle of the room.”

Parvati does. Slowly. Dazedly drifts over. Hermione reaches out to her as she passes. Takes her arm.

Parvati doesn’t even react. Brushes her off and keeps walking. Stops. Waits.

“Cut this apple in half. Like I showed you,” Bellatrix says. Then throws the apple in an arc—

“Diffindo!” Parvati says calmly, wand slashing through the air.

The apple halves fall onto Neville’s desk with a kethunk.

“Ooh! She did it!” Lavender squeals. “Her aim is usually awful. So that was all you, Professor?”

Bellatrix picks up the last apple. Studies it. “I told her to do it,” she murmurs. “So she did it. That’s how the imperius curse works. “Stay still.”

Parvati doesn’t stay still. She walks back over to her desk. A few muffled laughs echo around the room.

Bellatrix ignores them. Walks up to Lavender. Places the apple on her head. “I said, stay still, Miss Brown.”

Lavender freezes. Her eyes widen. Her laughter has faded, unsure once more.

Harry stands up. “Hermione,” he whispers in her ear. “Should we—”

Bellatrix holds up a hand. “Silence. Don’t break my concentration.”

The whole room seems to hold its breath. Watches. A room of frozen forms, apart from Parvati.

Who raises her wand. Directs it at Lavender, hand steady.

“If you move now, Miss Brown…you could die,” Bellatrix whispers. “So don’t do that.”

Lavender swallows, apple wobbling. “Professor. I don’t— I don’t like this. Can you stop her? Please?”

And Parvati spins around. Aims her wand at Hermione. “Should I get her instead, then?” Parvati says in an eerily dulled voice. “You were talking about her hair yesterday. Should I chop it off?”

“No!” Lavender shouts, apple falling off her head. “Parvati! Stop!”

Parvati turns her wand on herself. “I could cut my hair off. Or my ear. What about…my tongue.”

Parvati slowly sticks her tongue out. Raises her wand—

Harry dives at her and pulls her wand from her grasp, sliding it across the floor out of her reach.

Bellatrix laughs harshly. “Yes, Potter! Look at the Saviour go! So one of you has a brain in your head. But you shouldn’t have done that. What should you have done, lad?”

Parvati starts fighting Harry off, kicking at him as he tries to help.

Hermione growls. Spins and slashes her wand at Bellatrix. “Petrificus totalus!” she spits.

And it hits.

Bellatrix stiffens. Falls. Topples backwards and hits the ground with a smack.

And Parvati falls still.

Then sits up. Gasps. “Oh!”

She looks at Harry. “Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to— Lav!”

She stands up and runs to Lavender, hugging her. “I…it felt so nice. I couldn’t stop it. It was like I was dreaming, I didn’t…I could hear…Professor…”

She notices Bellatrix lying on the floor.

Turns to look at Hermione.

Everyone is now looking at Hermione. Getting up and edging closer to crowd around Bellatrix.

Hermione swallows. Moves closer with them. “It’s what you’re supposed to do,” she explains. “She— he was controlling the imperius curse. The only way to stop it, is to stop the caster. Otherwise, the person has to use their willpower to…fight it…”

She pauses. Looks more carefully at Moody’s petrified body.

It’s…

“He’s moving,” Seamus whispers loudly. “He’s breaking out.”

Hermione watches in amazement. It’s true. That was the strongest body-binding curse she could muster, but…

Bellatrix is moving. Vibrating. Straining.

Breaks free with a grunt, bolting up so that she’s sitting on the floor, panting. “Twenty points— to Gryffindor— Miss Granger. For quick thinking. Disarming the true opponent. And for a bloody strong binding curse.”

Bellatrix reaches into her robes. Takes out her flask and takes a gulp from it.

Looks up at a still ashen Parvati. “And twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Patil, for giving your control away so easily. You learnt your lesson, girl? All of you?”

Parvati nods jerkily. Steps back.

Bellatrix struggles to her feet. “Good. Constant vigilance. It’s my motto for a reason. Be on the lookout. Don’t let them control your mind. Don’t let them control your body. Don’t let them take the thoughts from your head. You have a brain. You have agency. Use it. Every person you meet in this world has a deadly weapon in their hand, and the ability to harm you with it. The killing curse isn’t the only lethal spell. The cruciatus curse isn’t the only spell that can inflict pain.”

She walks over to the board. Writes down a dozen more spells, including the cruciatus curse and the killing curse, all connected in a huge web. “The Dark Arts. Every spell is dark, in the right hands. You just have to know...how to stop it.”

She drops the chalk. Breathes heavily in the stunned room.

Turns and looks at Harry. “And that’s why the killing curse…is the most unforgivable of all,” she mutters. “Its intent…is to kill. There’s no stopping it. No blocking it. No counter-curse. No-one has ever been hit with it…and survived.”

Harry bends down and picks up Parvati’s wand. Hands it back to her.

Raises his chin defiantly. “Until me,” he says firmly.

Bellatrix smiles. “Until you. Words have power, Potter. Not everyone realises that. But with you…I reckon someone found the right words, hmm? Stopped the most powerful spell of all time. Stopped death itself.”

“Killing isn’t power,” Harry replies. “It’s cowardly. It’s weakness. It shows you have something to fear.”

Bellatrix studies him for a moment.

Limps over and sits at her desk, pulling out a quill and parchment. “Killing is a mercy,” she says coldly. Distantly. Not looking up. “Death is an end to suffering. There are things in this world far worse than death. People beg for it, in the end…”

She drifts off. Stares into space.

Hermione shudders.

The bell rings from outside in the clock tower. Shatters the horrible silence.

“Class dismissed,” Bellatrix mutters. “Except you, Longbottom. You hang back. I need a word with you.”

Hermione has never seen a classroom empty so quickly. It helps that no-one had any books out, but still. One second they’re all there, the next it’s just her, Harry, Ron, and Neville.

And Bellatrix.

Harry clears his throat. “I’ll stay too, if that’s alright? I…wanted to talk to you, Professor.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Ron says. “About…that diffindo. Think maybe I did the wand movement wrong.”

Bellatrix pushes her chair back. “Just Mr Longbottom. If you three want a chat, you can come during my office hours next week. Until then, off to dinner with you.”

Hermione folds her arms. She isn’t going anywhere. She isn’t leaving Neville here alone with—

Neville nods. “I’ll see you guys later. I’ll…I would quite like a chat.”

Bellatrix stands up. Claps Neville on the back. “There’s a good lad. Come in the back, I’ll make us a cup of tea. Might even have a biscuit or two. This lesson was a tough one, I know. But you had to learn sometime. No point pretending…well. We all know what we know, don’t we?”

The magical eye scans over the four of them.

They do. They all know.

Some more than others, though. How much does Bellatrix know? What did that mean?

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow at them.

Harry nods and heads towards the door. “C’mon, guys. Before we miss dinner.”

Hermione sighs, but follows after him, pulling her bag over her shoulder.

“Oh, and Granger?” Bellatrix calls.

Hermione stops. Doesn’t turn. Waits in the doorway.

Hears the uneven footsteps come up behind her.

Turns around.

Bellatrix takes out her hip flask. Drinks from it. “I wasn’t really going to chop your hair off, but in a fight, long hair can be a hindrance. You should tie it up. Maybe ask Professor McGonagall for some tips.”

Wha—

Hermione’s mouth falls open in complete—

That is ridiculous.

And she can talk! Seeing as her hair is always flying around everywhere, getting in her face when she fights. “Plenty of witches and wizards duel with long hair,” Hermione grits out. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, Professor.”

Bellatrix puts the flask away. Shrugs. “Your choice. Right then. Longbottom! Professor Sprout says you’ve got a bit of a knack for Herbology. I think I have a few books that might be of interest…”

She turns and wanders off, going into the side room with Neville, whose face has come back to life a bit at the mention of plants.

Hermione steps out of the room to meet Harry and Ron in the corridor.

“Barmy,” Ron whispers. “There’s no other word to describe that. Absolutely bloody mental.”

Hermione…can’t exactly argue with that.

She sighs. Leans against the wall, just outside the classroom door. Shrugs helplessly at the others. Well? They should at least make sure that Neville gets out of there unharmed.

Ron’s stomach rumbles as he looks longingly down the corridor.

Harry comes to lean next to her.

Ron glances at the classroom door.

Comes to slump against the wall on her other side.

This…is going to be a long year.

Chapter Text

Hermione was wrong.

Completely off the mark when it came to her predictions about how long the year was going to feel, because the next few weeks fly by. Time playing tricks on her again.

It seems like the professors have collectively decided that as they’ll be missing so much class time due to the tournament, they’re going to cram a year load of homework into the first term, essays coming out of their ears. It’s not too bad for Hermione, as she can still remember most of it, although History of Magic is a struggle, but Harry and Ron are always behind with something these days, scribbling down the last few inches of their essay over breakfast.

And she’s often falling asleep in her cereal too. This goblet business is tricky. She’s read almost two dozen books now, and still has no idea how to stop Harry’s name getting in the goblet without disrupting the whole tournament. She’s not sure she wants to go that far.

At this point, the only plan they’ve got is Ron’s suggestion of tackling Bellatrix and locking her in a trunk of her own until the champions are chosen.

Which would be very satisfying…

But impossible. They can never pin the witch down. She’s already shown she can break free of a petrificus totalus, and Hermione swears she must have found a way of apparating inside Hogwarts because…she seems to appear and disappear at the drop of a hat! There and gone and grinning as people jump out of her way.

Hermione stares up at the dormitory ceiling, arithmancy book lying on her chest. Wednesday night. It’s Wednesday night. Thursday tomorrow. Defense class. And then the other schools arrive on Friday for the tournament.

The champions will be decided on Saturday.

She puts her book on the floor and rubs her eyes with a groan. Think. You can do this. You just have to stop one witch from putting one piece of paper into one goblet. It can’t be that difficult.

Except she’s a sneaky, devious, deadly, murderous, surprisingly smart, highly unpredictable, practically criminal mastermind witch!

You are not making Harry fight a dragon! Think of something!

What else is there? Warding, protection, or…poison Bellatrix? Make her sick, so she’s stuck in the hospital wing?

Except she always drinks out of a flask. And casts detection spells on her food as part of her Moody-disguise. Paranoia.

Magic…is power. Words are power.

What words is Bellatrix using to break Dumbledore’s protection spells? Other than Harry’s name?

She supposes that’s it, really. Bellatrix is old enough to cross the age line. She just has to trick the goblet into choosing Harry’s name when he’s nowhere near the strongest candidate.

So how is she doing that?

Inner strength…

Once again, she thinks about what Charlie had said. That people can…feel magic.  It’s a thought that keeps coming back to her. Instead of fighting it, you accept it. A different way of seeing the magical world. Ancient. Like dragons do.

Hermione closes her eyes. Reaches her hand back and presses it to the stone wall behind her. The castle. Hogwarts has so much magic. She should be able to feel it.

She’s been trying, at least, for the past couple of weeks. Every now and then.

Can she feel anything? Magic is all around her. It’s like she’s…desensitised to it. The same way you can’t smell your own scent.

She picks up her wand instead. She can feel that. Like a comfortable hum.

She makes it blue in her mind. Just to visualise it. Mental associations are always helpful, and she can’t think of a dangerous spell that’s light blue, so she won’t accidentally set the curtains alight or something.

She reaches behind her once more. Brushes her fingers against the wall. Purple. Make Hogwarts purple. Try to feel…

Something. Maybe something. But she’s not sure.

She tries again.

She needs anything, at this point. Any magic she can get.

She spends all of the next day feeling for magic. Really tries this time, consistently. More than she has over the last few weeks. She assigns colours to different people, the same as she did for herself last night.

And quickly realises that it is surprisingly difficult, and that she doesn’t know enough colours that she can picture clearly.

Instead, she whispers names to herself in her head. She’s going for a Pavlovian approach. Every time she uses magic, before she does anything, she whispers Hermione to herself. Even for the tiniest hover charm. Hermione. This is her magic.

And every time someone else picks up their wand, she does the same.

Harry accios a glass towards him at breakfast. Harry.

Ron repairs his ripped star chart. Ron.

Every demonstration in transfiguration class. McGonagall.

And all the while, when they’re covering something she’s already learnt before and doesn’t need all of her attention for, she focuses on feeling the magic. Feeling her own magic, and trying to…open up.

By the afternoon she’s exhausted. But that might be the concentration more than the magic. And all of the nights she’s stayed up reading and writing essays.

Except for DADA. They don’t get many essays for that. Bellatrix seems to be taking a very practical approach, much like the previous Moody imposter in Hermione’s memories.

Apparently Death Eaters all enjoy trying out curses on teenagers. Bellatrix seems determined to teach them every counter-curse in existence. Every spell, and how best to fight it.

It’s oddly helpful, actually. Hermione doesn’t know if she’s just showing off and getting carried away, but she really is schooling them on absolutely everything in the textbook and more besides.

By…showing them the curses.

Hermione gives Harry and Ron encouraging looks as Bellatrix strides into the classroom, wand already drawn and face set in a stern glare. “Out of your seats!”

And that’s the only warning they get before her wand is moving through the air, and all of the stools and desks push themselves along the classroom walls.

Hermione watches intently. Feels the magic as she backs into the centre of the room. Bellatrix.

“That’s it. Everyone in the— Watch it, Longbottom! Vigilance! That means not bumping into anyone!” Bellatrix barks.

Neville flushes and steps away from Seamus, who just nudges him back with a grin.

“As I was saying,” Bellatrix continues. “We won’t be needing desks. Today, I’m going to be testing each of you. One by one. Every single one of you is going to fight off whatever curse, hex, or jinx I send your way. All of them. Including the imperius curse. We’ll see if you can do better than Miss Patil did, now you’ve had a bit of training.”

“But it’s illegal to—”

“Dumbledore wants you to know what it feels like,” Bellatrix snaps, interrupting Ron. “But if you want to face it for the first time unprepared with an enemy whispering into your head…then you’re free to head on out the door.”

She gestures to the classroom door.

Ron clenches his jaw shut. Doesn’t leave.

Bellatrix nods. “As I thought. Right. Finnegan. You’re up.”

Hermione grips her wand tighter. Curses. Random curses, flying unpredictably from Bellatrix.

That…

Surely she can’t get away with that? Is…how are curses usually taught in class? This can’t be allowed. When Snape had taught them in sixth year…

He had sometimes used spells on them.

Hermione keeps her wand at the ready, just in case, and watches uneasily as each of her classmates just...goes along with it. Bellatrix doesn’t try too hard, which makes it a bit more acceptable. Professor persona. Doesn’t jump around or cackle. Just stands in the centre of the room, sending spells calmly. Verbally. Slowly.

First at Seamus, who manages to block a petrificus totalus but quickly stumbles into a stupefy, unable to get another shield up in one try. Then Lavender, who makes use of the desks, hiding behind them until Bellatrix growls out a reminder to use magic and bring up a protego.

Lavender does, but it’s weak, flickering, and Bellatrix’s hex travels straight through it.

Boils. She gives Lavender boils, all over her face. Lavender bursts into tears.

Bellatrix just shrugs. “Put more power into your shield next time. And it’s nothing to cry about if you know the anti-hex. Do you know it?”

Lavender shakes her head, frantically flicking through her textbook.

Bellatrix shrugs again. “Should have studied. Okay then. Longbottom!”

And it continues. Neville is instantly hit with a dancing legs jinx, stumbling around and accidentally dropping his wand. Bellatrix moves on to Dean without comment. Then Ron.

She casts the imperius curse at Ron. Straight away. No warning.

Ron tries to resist, but only makes it a few seconds before he’s pirouetting and gliding around the room in a one person waltz, arms held aloft. Steps in time to imaginary music. Far more graceful than Ron’s dancing has ever been. Bellatrix Hermione thinks as the witch controls his every move. Bellatrix. It’s her magic doing this. Feel it.

And then there’s Harry. Harry, who steps forward and braces himself as soon as his name is called.

Bellatrix sighs. “Here we go, then. Potter. I’m…going to try something different with you.”

Different?

Hermione steps forward with a frown. What does different mean? What is she going to do to Harry?

Bellatrix’s gaze darts towards Hermione. She subtly shakes her head. Lowers her wand.

Looks back at Harry. “I know you’re quick. Fast. You have good instincts. I know you can cast a protego, which is good enough for pretty much all of these. But what I want to see, is how resilient you are. Strong willed. So…I’m going to cast the imperius curse, like I did with Weasley. You’re not going to block it. You’re going to fight it. Break free from it. Alright?”

No! Not alright! Don’t just let her—

Harry nods. Lowers his wand too. Stands tall, and accepts the challenge.

Hermione steps forward again. “Harry—”

“Imperio,” Bellatrix mutters.

Harry’s eyes lose their spark. His face falls slack.

Bellatrix looks around the room in thought. Accios a desk over. “Jump onto the desk,” she whispers.

Oh. Same as before. Except...

Bellatrix, Hermione thinks. Her magic. It feels...

Harry bends his knees.

Pauses. Frowns.

He’s doing it! He’s resisting! Harry, Hermione thinks. Harry’s magic. Fighting back.

“Jump onto the desk,” Bellatrix says, a bit louder this time.

Bellatrix

Harry doesn’t move.

Harry

Bellatrix steps closer. She’s breathing faster. Eyes scanning over Harry, almost excitedly. “Jump! Now!” she shouts. Bellatrix.

And Harry jumps. Except his feet stay on the floor. Legs bending and straightening, but not lifting very high, smacking against the edge of the desk.

He falls backwards onto the floor with a thump. “Ow!”

“Now that’s more like it!” Bellatrix shouts. Looks around at all of them. “Did you all see that? Potter fought! He fought it, and he damn near beat it! We’ll do that again, Potter. Come on. Get up.”

Harry stumbles to his feet, eyes watering and rubbing at his knees, looking like trying again is the last thing he wants to do. “What about Hermione?” he mutters.

Bellatrix pauses. The magical eye spins in Hermione’s direction.

Bellatrix huffs. “No stamina, huh lad? Fine. I’ll give you a break. Granger, get over here.”

To be imperioed?

Hermione takes a sharp breath. Pulls out her wand. “No.”

Bellatrix’s head jerks to face her. “We haven’t started yet. You can fight back in a minute. You’ll know when you feel it.”

Hermione shakes her head. Raises her wand. “No. I’m not going to willingly have my mind taken away. Like you said. Constant vigilance. Why should I trust you?”

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow. Her lip twitches. “Because I’m your professor.”

Hermione laughs. Can’t help it. “So was Quirrell. So was Lockhart. So is Professor Trelawney, or Professor Snape, but I wouldn’t want their wands pointed at me.”

Surprisingly, Bellatrix barks out a laugh too. “So you are a smart one. That’s what everyone’s been saying, but I haven’t seen it yet. Although not as smart as you think. Why tell an enemy your reasoning, hmm? Your allegiances? You don’t trust me, and now I know who else you don’t tru—”

“Expelliarmus!” Hermione shouts. She doesn’t want to talk? Fine. Hermione. Feel your magic.

But Bellatrix just blocks it. Bellatrix. Glares at Hermione, nostrils flaring and wand arm outstretched. “Imperio,” she growls.

Bellatrix… Hermione briefly manages to think. And then…

Warm. Floating. Everything is so nice, and light. Peaceful. Her worries fade from her mind. What worries? What was she worried about?

Tell me the password to the map.

What?

Tell me how to open it.

Oh. Well, that’s easy. It’s—

Bellatrix.

Wait. Wait…what password? The map? She shouldn’t tell anyone that!

Tell me. What are the words, Granger?

Granger. Bellatrix.

Tell me! Now!

“No!” Hermione shouts. Feels a surge of pure panic, and the buzz and crackle of—

Stumbles backwards, hitting into the desk and rubbing her arm. She can feel tears running down her cheeks. “I’m not— not telling you anything!” she stutters out, backing away from…

Mad-Eye Moody. Oh. Classroom.

She wipes at her face.

Bellatrix’s magical eye is going crazy. Spinning around, darting over Hermione. “Another strong minded one,” Bellatrix hums. “Stubborn. Bit of a given with Gryffindors, but to have two of you in one year is quite the anomaly. There’s not many witches or wizards who can fight that. That temptation. One in a thousand…I’d say.”

Hermione steps closer to Ron and Harry. Tries to get her breathing under control. She can’t breathe.

“And to fight against me…” Bellatrix continues. “To fight me off completely…”

She raises her wand again. Hermione flinches.

“Right, Potter,” Bellatrix barks. “Get back over here. Fight me again. Beat it properly this time, like Granger did.”

Harry swallows. Frowns at Hermione and then raises his own wand. “No.”

And with a grunt, Bellatrix has jerked her wand through the air, disarming Harry of his wordlessly. “Stubbornness isn’t everything,” she barks. “You defied me, an opponent you know is stronger, and now you’ve lost your weapon. Think. Don’t just copy your friends or give me what you think I want.”

Harry’s eyes dart to his fallen wand. “You’re not stronger,” he says. “Hermione is. She just beat you, and that surprised you. Scared you. That’s why you’re always on guard and scaring us. Because you’re scared.”

He edges behind a desk. Closer to his wand.

Bellatrix chuckles. “A good try. Taunt your opponent. Knock their confidence. Anger them, so they don’t think so carefully. But again. Brash. Reckless. And too busy talking to think of your own plan. Imperio!”

Harry lunges for his wand too late, right into Bellatrix’s path. Bellatrix.

“Did you see what he did wrong? Never rely on luck. Never underestimate an opponent. Never try to play the hero, even if you are one. And…”

Harry walks over to the classroom window.

“…never expect the enemy to play fair. That your owl at the window, Potter? Beautiful snowy owl. She seems to want to come in. Be a good lad and let her.”

Hedwig?

Hermione moves closer to the window. It is Hedwig. And she has a letter.

Harry opens the window latch. Doesn’t even seem to resist.

Ron comes up next to Hermione, eyes wide. “What if it’s from him?” he whispers in her ear.

Him?

Oh no. Sirius.

Hedwig flies into the room, settling on a desk and holding out her leg.

Bellatrix walks over to Hedwig. Reaches into her robes and pulls out…an owl treat. Offers it to the bird.

Hedwig ignores her.

Bellatrix huffs. “Come get your post, Potter. Let your loyal familiar get some rest. Looks like she’s been on a long journey for you.”

Harry practically runs towards Hedwig. Unties the letter and puts it in his pocket—

“Stop!” Bellatrix shouts. “Read it aloud.”

“You can’t!” Neville shouts. Then falters. Continues more hesitantly. “I mean, you shouldn’t. Letters are private.”

Bellatrix shrugs. “Then he’ll stop me. He did it before. He just has to mean it. Hurry up, Potter. Let’s see who’s been writing to you.”

And now Harry is fighting. Clenching his fists at his sides and jerking. Twitching. Struggling.

His hand jolts into his robe pocket.

“Accio letter!” Ron shouts. The letter flies—

Harry snatches it from the air with a seeker’s speed. Opens it up. “Harry,” he reads. “I’m flying north immediately. This news about your— your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumours that— that— that—”

The parchment crumples in Harry’s fist, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

He shakes his head and shoves the paper into his pocket. “No. I’m not— I’m not reading it!” he shouts, eyes sharp once more.

Silence fills the room.

The bell rings.

“Flying north,” Bellatrix mutters. “Sounds like you’ve got a visitor coming, Potter. A reunion? Won’t that be nice.”

And she bends down and picks Harry’s wand up off the floor. “Homework for the week is once again to keep your wits about you. We all have visitors arriving tomorrow. All Hallows’ Eve soon enough...”

Her eyes move over Harry, considering. She hands him back his wand. Chuckles darkly. “Funny time of year. Keep your heads down, but your eyes up, the lot of you. Class dismissed.”

And she turns on her heel, limping out of the room, desks and stools rearranging themselves behind her as everyone scrambles out of the way.

Harry ducks under a desk and grabs his bag, eyes lowered.

“You alright, mate?” Ron whispers. “You both did bloody well fighting her off. It wasn’t your fault that—”

“I’m fine!” Harry snaps.

Then kicks a stool so it goes crashing across the room, making Lavender and Parvati squeal as they dodge out of the way.

Harry cringes. A flash of regret. Looks at Hermione and Ron. “It is my fault. I told him about my scar, and my dream, over the summer. And now he’s coming. Risking his neck. Could get caught by the Ministry, or the dementors, and now she knows too. She knows everything! Knows what my ruddy bird looks like and— Did you see her face? She knows. She knows something.”

Hermione sighs. Loops her arm through his and walks him towards the door. “It’s not your fault. Ron’s right, you did everything you could. They’re the adults. He can make his own decisions. And…if it helps, this happened last time too. He came last time.”

Harry’s head jerks up. “Yeah? And he was alright? They didn’t spot him?”

Hermione feels her face freeze up. Forces a smile and pretends to rearrange some books in her bag so she can look away. “Only his…furrier form. No-one recognised him. He was pretty careful. Stayed in the background.”

This year. Next year, on the other hand…

Ron claps Harry on the back as his shoulders fall in relief. “See? You were wicked, mate. Pretty much told her to sod off with that letter reading bollocks. And hey, between us?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. Waits.

Ron grins. “I reckon I could have stopped her too. But that was good practice, wasn’t it? For the Ball. Thought I’d let her take me for a bit of a spin around the room. She gave away some good moves. Think Miss Brilliant fancies herself a bit of a dancer.”

Harry shoves him with a laugh. “Give off! You did not want dance practice!”

Ron grins wider. “I did! The voice was all: stand up straight, Weasley, and follow these steps. You’re a pureblood. Act like it. Don’t be an embarrassment, or no witch will ever want to dance with you. And I thought, you know what? Fair enough!”

Harry smiles. “You did look pretty elegant, I’ll give her that. It was an improvement to your usual lolloping. She must know her stuff.”

“Oy!” Ron complains. “I don’t lollop. Let’s see you dance if you’re so clever.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Everyone will at this rate. Maybe I’ll have to ask Moody for dance lessons too. All the champions have to dance. And…unless you’ve come up with something, Hermione, it looks like I’m still going to be one.”

Hermione steps out of the way of a suit of armour, turning the corner towards the entrance stairs, frowning. “She’s not a dancer. She’s a Death Eater. The only time she looks like she’s dancing is when she’s spinning through spellfire. She’s arrogant. And she’s getting cocky. And we are not letting her win. She’s toying with us. You shouldn’t let her.”

She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly angry, but she is. She knows Ron is joking. Just cheering Harry up. But he shouldn’t. They shouldn’t joke about this. Shouldn’t humanise Bellatrix. Talk about her possible dance skills and…relax around her. They need to keep their distance. Not be pulled into her…strange charisma, and presence, and that confusing blend of knowledgeable teacher and screaming threat.

“So uhh…you’ve seen one? A real fight? With…her?” Ron asks hesitantly as they join the dinner crowd.

Hermione grips her wand tighter. Feels it. The hum. Hermione.

She looks at Ron and opens her mouth to—

The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. An instinct. A feeing. A sense.

She spins around—

“Constant—” Bellatrix barks out—

“Silencio!” Hermione whispers, sending the charm over the crowd and up to the top of the stairway.

Moody’s mouth opens. No words come out.

The magical eye searches out Hermione. And the real eye.

Hermione smirks.

Bellatrix.

She’d felt it. She’s sensed her magic. And if their homework is to be more vigilant…

Then Hermione is going to pass with flying colours.

Ron elbows Hermione in the side as he cranes to get a better view of the lake. “You’re not pulling my leg? It’ll really be him? Here? Viktor Krum?”

Hermione rubs at her side and smiles. “Really. But he’s honestly just an ordinary wizard. He’s…a good quidditch player—”

“— bloody great quidditch player.”

“— and he trains hard, but he’s also pushed hard. Has a lot of expectations riding on him. And he doesn’t like all the fame and attention, so don’t go asking him for an autograph or anything, we’ll get one later.”

Ron gives her a sheepish look. Slides his quill back into his robes. “I wasn’t going to. I mean, unless he just happened to sit with us. Maybe if we get— look!”

And he almost knocks Dennis Creevey over as he steps forwards, pointing at the lake. A mast is appearing.

Harry snorts. “You sure Ron doesn’t ask Krum to the Ball?” he whispers to her.

Hermione laughs quietly. “Well last time he asked Fleur and got rejected. Maybe he’ll change it up this time.”

Harry glances back towards the castle. “So Fleur Delacour, Cedric Diggory, Viktor Krum, and me.”

Hermione slowly shakes her head, eyes on Karkaroff as he greets Dumbledore. “No. No, I’ve…I’ve decided…well if we can’t get you out of it, then I’m putting my name in too.”

Harry grabs her arm. “What?!” he says a bit too loudly. Gets a glare from McGonagall.

He mouthes an apology, but continues to stare at Hermione like she’s grown a second head.

Hermione ignores him. It’s perfectly reasonable. She’s old enough to pass the age line. Harry will need an ally. Especially in the maze. Just in case. In the graveyard, if it goes that far, which she really hopes it won’t. If worst comes to worst, she’s at least saving Cedric. It might not even work, but…

Well, she can give it a shot. She’s brave. And resilient. And she knows more now than any of the teenagers. There isn’t an upper age limit. And she’s a representative of Hogwarts. She’ll try to get Harry out of it, but if not, last resort, she’s fighting with him.

Harry keeps trying to catch her eye. She smiles at him and shakes her head. Non-negotiable.

And it’s time for them to go inside, everyone hurrying up the steps after Durmstrang, the French students already inside trying to get warm. Hermione still can’t understand it. Silk robes. On a Scottish mountain. Why?

Everyone around them is just as bad as Ron now, Seamus jumping to see the back of Viktor’s head, and Lavender wondering if he can sign something in lipstick as she forgot her quill.

They enter the hall. Watch Beauxbatons settle at the Ravenclaw table, and the Durmstang students head for Slytherin. Ron gives her a pleading look. “He’s about to sit with Malfoy,” he whines. “Can we at least warn him about that tosser?”

Hermione pushes him towards the Gryffindor table. “He’ll figure it out. He’s observant enough to see through it. Let’s just sit down and—”

Harry.

Hermione turns and frowns at Harry. “Did you just use magic?”

She’d felt it. Like a hum. Or a spark.

He shrugs. “Yeah. A warming spell. So what?”

A warming spell…

Hermione nods to herself.

Stops next to the Ravenclaw table and scans along it for Fleur.

More allies? Is that a good idea?

Can’t hurt. And it will be nice to see Fleur. She misses her.

She looks for…

Luna. Opposite Fleur. Well that’s handy.

She beckons to Harry and Ron, and makes her way over. “Hi Luna,” she says brightly, knowing Luna won’t think anything of it, even though they’ve barely spoken yet. “That’s a…nice necklace. Did you make it yourself?”

Luna turns to look at her. Then looks down at her peacock feather necklace as if only just noticing it. “Oh yes. Professor Moody gave me the idea, you see. It’s easier to be vigilant if people think you have a lot of eyes on them. That’s what peacocks use their feathers for. As fake eyes. Why are you talking to me, Hermione Granger?”

Hermione blinks. It’s been a while since she’s spoken to Luna. She’s gotten out of the strange rhythm of it.

“Uhh, you haven’t talked to Ginny, have you, Luna?” Ron asks. “Only she’s been giving us the silent treatment for ages, and we don’t really know why.”

Luna tilts her head at him thoughtfully. “No. You don’t understand. But you will eventually, it’s alright. And Ginny has found some new people to talk to. So she’s not alone, don’t worry. Is that why you’re here? You need to sit down at your table soon. People are funny about these things. Houses. Years. Ages.”

She turns and looks across at Fleur. “This is a very peculiar school, but it can be very nice,” she explains. “When people aren’t stealing your clothes. Is that why you’re cold too?”

Fleur scoffs, mouth open and seemingly appalled that this strange girl is even addressing her. “Our clothes are not stolen! It is the chateau that is too…open. The cold air is everywhere, even inside. Why do you live like this?”

Hermione pulls out her wand with a sigh. “It is a rather harsh climate, yes. But there’s always magic to keep us warm. You should remember that too, Luna. Here.”

She casts a warming charm on Luna. Then on herself. Then on Ron. “Anyone else?”

Fleur shakes her hair behind her shoulders with a tut. “We can also do magic. We do not need your help. We just thought you would be more welcoming…but…”

And she casts a warming spell at herself and the other Beauxbatons around her.

They all relax in relief. Hmm. Strange. Why didn’t they do that earlier?

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and, most particularly, guests!” Dumbledore calls.

Hermione hastily sits down next to Luna, dragging Harry and Ron with her. They get some odd looks, but at least there’s lots of space, and Luna seems happy not to be sat alone anymore.

“I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be comfortable and enjoyable.”

Fleur lets out a derisive laugh. Guess she still hasn’t grown up yet either. Hermione forgot how arrogant and spoilt she used to be. Kind of wants to kick her, under the table.

Ron and Harry seem to have other ideas. Staring across at the witch and practically drooling.

Oh.

Is that what’s so funny? Fleur’s uncomfortable…because of the boys?

Hermione…feels out for Fleur’s magic. It’s easier to feel than everyone else’s. The Veela thrall.

Hermione takes her wand out of her pocket and holds it in front of her casually. But pointed backwards. At Ron and Harry. “Protego…totus corpus,” she tries under her breath. Protect the whole body. From the Veela.

Luna leans to whisper to her. “Not body. Mind.”

Oh.

“Protego mentes,” she whispers, combining a protego wand movement with the legilimens movement. Protect the minds.

And Fleur’s gaze snaps to hers. Harry and Ron shift in their seats. Rub at their mouths and look down in surprise at the dishes of food that have appeared whilst they were gawping. Pick up their cutlery.

It worked. It actually worked. She can feel it. Or she can’t feel it. Fleur’s magic stopping behind the shield.

Hermione smiles at the witch. Shrugs.

Leaves her shield up and picks up her fork with her other hand to begin eating.

Fleur slowly begins to eat too. Reaches for the bouillabaisse. Eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

Hermione takes a breath and turns to Luna. “So. Tell me about these stolen clothes. I think it’s high time you got them back, don’t you?”

Chapter Text

Hermione has to recast the shield spell a few times during dinner to keep the boys focused and Fleur free from their creepy leering, but now she has other things to focus on.

Because this is it. Their last chance. Twenty-four hours. From…now!

Filch carries the jewel encrusted casket containing the goblet down the aisle and over to the table in front of Dumbledore, who smiles and nods. “There will be three tasks spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in different ways. Their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”

Hermione scribbles it all down on a piece of parchment. So those are the differentials! She’d forgotten! Maybe that will come in useful. Not that she has much time for any calculations. She’s run out of time, to be honest. It’s embarrassing. The amount of times she’s scolded Harry and Ron for leaving things to the last minute is— But this is difficult! Too difficult! Outsmarting Bellatrix, whilst having to keep up the teenage act and not causing any kind of diplomatic friction by tampering with an ancient relic or disrupting—  

“…The Goblet of Fire!” Dumbledore announces, breaking her from her thoughts. He draws his wand with a flourish, and taps on the casket three times, the lid creaking open so he can pull out the small, wooden goblet, magical blue flames dancing around the rim.

“Didn’t think it was going to be that small,” Harry whispers. “Think we can just nick it once everyone’s gone to bed? Hide it in a sock drawer?”

Hermione smiles and shakes her head. If only.

“So! Anybody wishing to compete must clearly write their name and school on a piece of parchment, and place it in the goblet some time in the next twenty-four hours,” Dumbledore continues.

Oh!

Oh that’s it! Hermione can remember now! She can’t believe she forgot!

Schools!

That’s how Crouch did it. He confunded the goblet into thinking there were four schools. That way, Harry was the only option for the last, imaginary school. And so had to be chosen. One hundred percent probability.

So if Bellatrix is doing the same thing…they could maybe catch her in the act and have the confundus removed! Counter it!

They’d have to get the timing right…and she’d definitely notice what they’re up to…

But it’s something.

She grins at Harry. Nudges Ron. “I have a plan!” she breathes out excitedly. “I think I know how she’s going to do it!”

Ron and Harry duck closer to her, eyes sparking with a mixture of excitement and relief. “So? What is it?” Harry whispers.

Hermione nods. “We have to stand guard over the goblet. You’ll need to get your cloak, and we’ll have to take turns. Two of us at least at all times. For twenty-four hours. Thank Merlin it’s Saturday tomorrow.” Constant vigilance. How ironic.

Ron sighs. “Great. And if we’re guarding it…what do we do when she does show up?”

Hermione gets to her feet with a determined nod. “She taught us. Counter-curses, remember? There’s one for everything. Words. Magic is limitless. If all three of us form a strong enough counter-spell and hold it for long enough, at the right moment, she won’t be able to trick the goblet. She’s going to use—”

She pauses to move out of the way as Karkaroff passes with Viktor.

“Thank you,” Karkaroff says absentmindedly. Then spots Harry and does a double take, freezing in place.

He stares at Harry’s scar, as do all of the Durmstrang students stopping behind him to see what’s going on. Harry stares back uncomfortably.

“Yeah, that’s Harry Potter,” a voice growls from behind the crowd of students.

Karkaroff whirls around. The Durmstrang students part. Edge away from Moody.

“You!” Karkaroff shouts shakily, hoarsely, as if he can’t believe his eyes.

“Me,” Bellatrix replies grimly, leaning on her wooden staff. “And unless you’ve got anything you want to say to Potter, you’d better move. You’re blocking the aisle.”

Karkaroff pales even further, and then turns without comment, leading his confused students out of the Hall and back to the ship. Bellatrix watches him go, an…unreadable expression on her face.

Hermione sits back down on the bench, avoiding eye contact, but watching the witch out of the corner of her eye.

Then glances at Harry. Nods to the door. Go. Get the cloak.

Harry seems to read her mind, nodding at Bellatrix and then quickly leaving.

And Bellatrix wanders back over to the staff table. Way too close to the goblet for comfort. Magical eye scanning the room.

Her eye. Now that’s another problem. Hermione has no idea how that eye is powerful enough to see through Harry’s cloak, but it is. The cloak won’t help against Bellatrix.

But it will help them sneak back and forth to the Common Room over the next twelve hours. And not be seen by anyone else. So if Bellatrix sees them guarding the goblet…

There’s nothing they can do about it. She’ll know they’re suspicious. And that’s that.

But they could still stop her. Get in the way. Derail her plan.

And that’s the only hope they’ve got.

Hermione readies her wand. And waits.

It’s twenty minutes before Bellatrix leaves. Twenty minutes of Hermione and Ron pretending to look over some transfiguration notes, all whilst keeping their wands trained on the goblet.

A difficult thing to do surreptitiously, with a magical eye that can see straight through a table scanning over them.

But Bellatrix does leave, and Harry comes jogging in to meet them. No cloak in sight.

“C’mon then,” Harry says overly loudly. “Stop studying you two, it’s Friday night. Seamus has started a game of exploding snap up in the Common Room.”

And he pulls them towards the door.

“Harry!” Hermione hisses. “We can’t—”

“Snape!” he mutters back, opening his robes to show her the invisibility cloak held under his arm.

Oh.

Snape has followed Harry in, watching from the entrance. Shoot.

Well they definitely need to be careful about putting the cloak on now.

Although at least with Snape here, Bellatrix can’t do anything.

They reach the doorway.

Snape raises an eyebrow at them. “Trying to slip your name in before the age line is drawn, Potter? Or you, Weasley? I thought Miss Granger would have warned you against such foolish, asinine behaviour.”

Harry glances at Hermione and then grins. “Actually it was Hermione who wanted to hang around and see how age lines work, Professor. We were hoping we could watch Professor Dumbledore perform the spell.”

…What? Well…that could work.

Since when is Harry so sneaky?

Snape seems to be thinking the same thing, staring down at Harry, and then directing his fury at Hermione instead when Harry doesn’t react. “So now even the Headmaster owes you a private lesson, does he Miss Granger? You think so much of yourself that you believe you deserve to be set apart from your peers. How grand it must be…above them all…”

“Now, now, Severus,” a voice comes from behind them. Dumbledore. “No need to quell such inquisitive minds. It is, after all, the mark of a true young scholar, to question and investigate the ins and outs of magic. Something I believe you yourself have always been adept at.”

Snape draws in a deep breath and closes his eyes, just briefly, as if drawing on his last ounce of willpower to get through this interaction without snapping anyone’s necks.

Dumbledore smiles twinklingly. “Mr Weasley, would you be so kind as to fetch the goblet for me? It can go in the centre of the room, once we’ve gotten these cumbersome tables out of the way. Shall we, Severus?”

Ron hastily jogs off towards the goblet, looking a bit unsure about if he’s allowed to touch it, eyeing the flames warily.

And Harry pulls Hermione back out of the way as tables begin to hover around them. Snape and Dumbledore working together to move one at a time to the far edges of the room.

“You and Ron might have to take first watch,” Harry whispers. “There’s no way Snape will let me out of his sight. Here.”

He opens her bag and shoves his cloak inside.

Hermione quickly nods. “It’s seven o’clock now, so we have three hours before curfew. Try to get some sleep, but be back here before ten so Filch doesn’t catch you. Then Ron can go back and get some sleep. I’ll tell him to wake up at five to come and take over for me, and then we’ll be free to take turns throughout the day without it being suspicious.”

Harry groans quietly to himself. “Let’s just hope we catch her before midnight so—”

“There we are,” Dumbledore sighs contentedly. “Just there is fine, Ronald, my boy. Thank you, Severus. You were a marvellous help.”

Snape doesn’t respond.

Dumbledore continues beaming at them all. “Right then. Don’t be shy, gather round. Ah! But what am I saying? Stop!”

They all freeze.

Dumbledore chuckles to himself. “We can’t have any of you on the wrong side of the line. Now that would be quite the conundrum, especially for those too young to cross back. Yes. I suppose I should mark the circumference!”

And with a sweeping, swish of his wand, hands outstretched as though conducting, Dumbledore turns in a slow circle, a gold line engraving itself into the stone floor under their feet. A wide, ten foot circle all around the goblet. Dumbledore, she thinks to herself. She thinks she might be able to feel his magic already. A…presence.

Ron nudges her. “Quite a lot of entrances to watch,” he murmurs, looking around.

Hmm. He’s right. The main door isn’t the only way in, especially for staff.

“And now for the incantation! Or in this case…some magic of my own making,” Dumbledore winks. “With a little help from fundamental charms, of course. Have to remember those wand movements. And so…”

He clears his throat, eyes glinting. “Cavete intrantes, nec sapientia nec robore vos succurrent. Septendecem aetatis superare necesse, nisi expellemini ex circulo. Barba crescit, caput nescit!”

And for a shining moment, they’re blinded by a domed, neon blue light.

And then nothing.

The thin golden line the only hint of a boarder.

But…

Hermione feels out. Dumbledore.

Yes. Still there. Hanging in the air.

Dumbledore claps his hands together. “Rather anticlimactic, I’m afraid. But there we are.”

Anticlimactic? That was fascinating! He just created an entire warding system. Those wand movements! What were those? The combination of—

“And I’m afraid I must be going,” Dumbledore continues. “I’m sure our guests shall be settled by now, and what kind of hosts would we be if we did not welcome the new staff? I believe the staff room is calling us, Severus. And a slice of cake, if I am not mistake. How I love Fridays.”

He hooks his arm through Snape’s walking him towards the door.

“Friday night or any other, some of us still have duties to attend to,” Snape scowls, trying to slip his arm out of the headmaster’s apparently firm grip. “Dunderheaded students to supervise. Speaking of which, Potter—”

Dumbledore chuckles, leading him out of sight. “I’m sure Harry can find his way to the Common Room on his own. Or wherever else in the castle he wishes to be. Ah, to be young and free to walk in the moonlight…”

His voice fades away as they leave up the stairs.

Ron laughs, shaking his head. “Bloody bonkers,” he whispers. “But that was a stroke of luck, wasn’t it? Come on! Let’s get the cloak on, quick!”

Hermione pulls it out. Holds it up. “Can we still all fit?”

Harry shrugs. “We can try. Don’t want anyone else telling us to leave. Should be alright if we all sit down on the floor. Better sit at the edge though so no-one steps on us.”

And so they settle against the side of the Hall, under the tables so it won’t matter if a stray foot peeks out.

And they wait.

And wait.

Hermione pulls out a book.

“Hermione!”

She puts a hand over Harry’s mouth. “What? You could get your essays done too. And don’t say my name. We’re supposed to be discreet. Muffiliato!”

She opens her charms book to the page on the confundus charm. Taps it. “This is what I think Bellatrix will use. A really powerful confundus. Powerful, but quite easy to stop, actually.”

She shows them the counter-charm. Or in this case, a simple protego shield. “Even a protego might work with enough power behind it. But we should try a more precise variation. Protego confundus, for example. Or protego corruptis. She’s relying on the fact that nobody knows it’s her. Underestimating her opponent,” she smiles.

Ron huffs from where he’s squashed up next to her, head touching the underside of the table. “Yeah, I’m not sure you get to sound all smug when you’re using what she taught us to beat her.”

Harry yawns. Probably nods, although she can’t see him. “We’re the ones in a tight spot alright. She’s probably up in the staff room eating cake.”

True. Hermione’s bum is getting a bit numb.

But it’ll be worth it! She can’t wait! And she’s so curious to see what happens if Harry isn’t in the tournament.

Plus, once that’s out of the way, they can focus on getting Bellatrix discovered.

And then there’s the whole wrong-time-slash-universe problem to work on. But she’s pushed that very, very far to the back of her mind, for obvious reasons.

Ron nudges her. “Someone!”

What?

Oh!

She tucks her feet closer to her and raises her wand…

Durmstrang. One of the Durmstrang boys.

She holds in a disappointed sigh. Feels Ron slump against her.

Reaches for her book. Starts working out the wand movement for a modified protego so she can teach it to Ron and Harry.

And all the candles go out. As they do after every mealtime is over.

Well, perfect.

“Tempus,” Harry mutters, voice gravelly from disuse. “Five to ten. One of us had better get back to the Common Room. Whoever it is can get some sleep and swap in later.”

Hermione practices the wand movement again. And again. “One of you go. I need to stay. Need to…stop her,” she yawns.

“Why don’t we all just stay?” Ron says. “It’s not like they check our beds. If they did, we would have been screwed in first year. Pretty much every year. And if we all stay—”

“Door!” Harry whispers.

They all freeze. Staff entrance this time. It could be her.

Shit. And Hermione’s leg is completely numb and useless.

They all raise their wands. Ready to go.

Whoever it is doesn’t cast a lumos. Just edges closer in the dark, the blue flames and the moonlight the only source of light, shadows flickering…

Hermione tried to kneel up. Just in case. Grits her teeth and holds her wand steady…

“Ginny?” Ron whispers.

…It is Ginny.

Harry pulls the cloak off of them. Casts a lumos. “What are you doing?”

Ginny spins to face them, right at the edge of the line. “Shit! Harry? Ron! Hermione, what— Why are you here?”

They all get to their feet, Hermione picking up the cloak, and make their way over to Ginny.

There’s a small piece of parchment in Ginny’s hand.

Ron groans. “You’re trying to put your name in? Are you stupid? There’s no way you’ll get past the line.”

Ginny folds her arms and glares up at him. “Fred and George are trying. I don’t see why I can’t. And anyway, why are you here? Don’t go off on me just because—”

“And look what we have here. Just as I suspected.”

And Snape appears from the shadows by the staff entrance. Smirks at them gleefully.

“…Tempus,” he pronounces.

Looks at the hovering numbers. His smirk sharpens. “One minute past ten. Tell me, Potter. When is curfew at this school?”

“Ten o’clock, Sir,” Harry grits out. “But—”

“But…this time does not apply to you, and your…friends. I see.”

Hermione almost groans in frustration. “Professor, please listen. We have to watch the goblet. Someone’s going to tamper with it. They want to—”

Snape folds his arms. “Tamper with an extremely powerful, ancient relic, imbued with protection by the Headmaster himself, and placed in the most secure location in the country? And you are arguing…that it needs to be guarded by three fourth years, and a third year?”

Hermione shakes her head. “We need your help too! It’s not safe. The age line only stops teenagers, not adults. Anyone seventeen or older could put a name in. Any name. We—”

“Out!” Snape shouts. Casts a lumos and practically blinds them as he points toward the door. “You are all out after curfew, and so will all be in detention for the next week as it is. And think yourselves lucky that you won’t be expelled for interfering with such a ceremonious, diplomatic event. Your foolish arrogance could have a lasting impact on the school’s reputation. Do you have any idea what would have happened if one of the judges had found you in here? Hogwarts students? Cheating?”

And he opens his arms wide, somehow sweeping them all towards the door with his presence alone, none of them wanting to accidentally knock into him.

What should they do? Could they stop him? They have to stay!

They reach the Entrance Hall—

“Wait!” Ginny shouts. “Wait, I— I need the bathroom! Let me go to the bathroom. There’s one back there.”

Snape snorts. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for such outright lies.”

Ginny wriggles past him anyway. “It’s the truth! There’s one here. I’ll just—”

And she starts running down the corridor.

“Weasley!” Snape barks, whirling in her direction, face white with anger. “Ten more points from Gryffindor, and three weeks detention if you do not get back here—”

Ron runs after her. “I’ll get her, don’t worry, Professor,” he grins. “Oy! Gin!”

Snape growls. “Weasley—”

Harry runs off down a different corridor. “I’ll cut her off! I know a shortcut!”

Hermione holds a hand to her mouth to cover a smile.

Snape whips to face her. Glares at her. Looks at the door to the Great Hall suspiciously. “Whatever you’re up to…”

Hermione schools her expression. Swallows. “Please, sir. We’re just trying to keep Harry safe. Someone’s out to get him. An imposter in the school.”

Snape frowns.

Looks down the corridor Harry ran down.

Starts striding off after him, cape billowing. “Stay there, Granger. Or you will regret being born.”

Hermione breathes out a sigh of relief.

Waits for him to get nearer the end of the corridor.

Puts the invisibility cloak on and sneaks back towards the Great Hall—

Ginny comes sprinting back down the corridor. “Hermione!” she hisses, looking down each corridor and then behind her. “Where are you?”

Hermione pulls the cloak off again. Waves and steps—

Feels a tingling—

“Ah!” Ginny shouts, smacking straight into…

Moody. Bellatrix. Suddenly appearing from around a corner.

Ginny clings onto Bellatrix as they wobble unsteadily.

Then shouts again and scrambles away when she realises who she just bumped into. “Shit! Professor! I’m sorry, I— Snape saw me out after curfew and—”

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley,” Bellatrix barks. “What are you doing roaming the castle in the middle of the night? And— Granger!”

No no no…

Eyes in the back of her head. Hermione forgot.

Could Hermione petrify her? Maybe if—

And Snape rounds the corner, dragging Harry and Ron with him by the collars. He’s panting. Red cheeked. And furious.

He throws the boys at Hermione. “All of you. Up to your dormitories. Now,” he spits. “And be sure to explain to your housemates in the morning why Gryffindor is in minus points.”

Bellatrix snorts. “What are you doing chasing students around, Snape? Never heard of a stunning spell? Or is that too tame for your tastes? Enjoying the chase?”

Snape freezes. Notices Bellatrix’s presence and stiffens. Stares steadily at the wall. Doesn’t reply.

Bellatrix barks out a laugh.

Walks over to the doors to the Great Hall. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, lad, and walk them up to bed? Seems they need to be kept on a shorter leash. Especially the little one. She’s got a slip of parchment in her hand. Guess she thinks herself a champion…”

Snape whirls to face Ginny. Grabs her sleeve.

Drags her off up the stairs. “Detention. One month. Every weekend. And the same for any of you who do not come. With me. Now!”

Hermione looks at him. Then at Harry. Then turns to—

Bellatrix is gone.

And the door to the Great Hall is closed shut.

No. No, she—

If Hermione opens the door, Bellatrix will see. And could run away. And could know that Hermione knows.

But Harry…

But Snape is watching! And if she gets detention, she won’t have as much time to—

Stop Bellatrix! Just stop her!

Hermione runs towards the Great Hall. Pushes the doors open and rushes inside, squinting around in the darkness and raising her wand, protego on the tip of her—

Bellatrix is stood over the goblet.

Her fist opens.

A glint of white is visible in the moonlight. Parchment.

A small piece of parchment, drifting down to fall past the blue flames and into the cup.

Bellatrix catches her eye. Grins at her.

And begins coming towards her. Foot tapping.

Hermione can’t believe it, frozen in shock. Can’t believe this is happening again. That she was too late. That—

Bellatrix reaches her. Grabs her still raised wrist. “Detention. You’ll be serving it with me, I think, seeing as you’re so keen to come running after me. What was it Snape said? One month’s detention? Guess I’d better follow the school rules.”

And she walks Hermione out of the room, grip tight.

Hermione tries to tug herself free. Tries to dig her heels in. “What were you doing?” she grunts out. “Why were you near the goblet?”

Bellatrix carries on dragging her up the stairs, no sign of Snape or the others. “I’m the defense professor, girl!” she shouts. “We have strangers all over the castle! We have the boy who lived in our midst! We have Snape, and Karkaroff! Ex Death Eaters. We have Barty Crouch, whose own son was a convicted Death Eater. I’m here as a favour to Dumbledore. Extra protection. I was guarding the goblet, idiotic witch!”

Hermione finally manages to push her away as they reach the next floor. “No, you weren’t!” she cries. “I saw—”

“Prove it!” Bellatrix snarls. Pushes up close to Hermione, backing her into a wall, eyes to crazy eyes. “Can you prove it? Hmm?”

Hermione backs away. Presses herself to the stone.

Bellatrix grins at her once more. “Think you’ve still got more to learn, Granger.”

And she ducks behind a suit of armour, walking off up a spiral staircase.

Hermione’s shoulders slump. A lump forms in her throat. Stupid. It went so wrong. How did it…

Harry…

Poor Harry…

Hermione looks up the main staircase.

She should get back to the others. To the Common Room, before Snape finds her again and gives her detention for the year.

She doesn’t.

Trudges down the steps. Let’s her feet carry her down, down to the Entrance Hall.

She pulls a piece of parchment out of her bag. Rips a corner off.

Takes out a quill.

Hermione Granger. Hogwarts.

Pushes the door to the Great Hall open.

Strides over to the goblet. Up to the age line.

Steps over it.

Reaches up…and puts her name in the Goblet of Fire.

Chapter Text

Hermione heads to breakfast early the next morning, unable to sleep. Sips at her tea and watches over her book as different students nervously cross the age line to submit their names. Warrington from Slytherin. Roger Davies from Ravenclaw.

It’s not long before Harry and Ron come and slump down next to her, bleary eyed and miserable looking. They’d waited up for her in the Common Room last night.

She’d told them about Bellatrix. And about putting her name in.

“Did you see the house points?” Harry asks quietly, reaching for a piece of toast.

Hermione nods. She’d seen it. Empty hourglass for Gryffindor.

Ron sighs heavily. “Bit of luck that everyone’s focused on the goblet instead. But I am not looking forward to whatever nightmare Snape is going to have us acting out in detention. If Neville got disembowelment just for melting one stupid cauldron…we’re doomed. Goodbye freedom. Goodbye evenings sat by the fire.”

Hermione takes another sip of tea. “Well, he can’t give Harry detention for a whole month. Not if he’s a champion. And I’ve got detention with Moody, so—”

“So it’s just me and Snape then. Perfect. Oh, and Ginny. Who I’m not going to talk to now either for ruining everything. She—”

“Ssh,” Harry interrupts him. “It’s Ginny. She’s coming over.”

Ron scoffs, folding his arms. “She has some nerve. We were this close to catching her. And Snape would have seen too. We’d be bloody heroes by now rather than—”

Ginny skips over the last few steps and plops down next to Harry, stealing some of his toast with a deft swipe and smiling brightly at them. “Morning! You guys alright? My legs are aching from sprinting around the castle so fast. Worth it though.”

They all give her incredulous looks.

“Worth it?!” Ron squawks. “You’ve gone and got Harry pretty much killed is what you’ve done! Helped bring a Dark Lord—”

Ginny shoves the piece of toast in his mouth. “Sshh!” she hisses as some people turn to look at them curiously. “And you don’t get it. We got Snape away from the goblet.”

“Snape?” Harry says, eyebrows raising into his hair in disbelief. “It wasn’t about Snape! It was—”

They’re interrupted as Fred, George, and Lee Jordan come running into the room, whooping excitedly.

One twin sidles up to whisper to them. “We’ve done it!”

Hermione rolls her eyes.

“Done what?” Ginny asks.

He sticks out his tongue. “Ageing potion. One drop each for me, Georgie, and Lee. Whoever gets picked is gonna split the winnings three ways.”

Hermione sighs. “I’m not sure that will work. You do know we watched Dumbledore create the age line? I’m not sure a potion will fool it.”

George comes over. “Course it will! Besides, it’s only a couple of months until our birthday anyway. We only needed a couple of months extra. Ready, Fred?”

“Ready, George. Sure you don’t want a bit, Gin? Or are you still doing your own thing?” Fred asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

Ginny’s face pales. She leans closer. “You knew? How did you know what I was doing?”

The twins wink at her, tapping the sides of their heads. “Can’t outsmart us. We saw you sneaking off to the dungeons—”

“— and hanging out with those older years—”

“—Coming into the Common Room late—”

“— Hiding things up your—”

Ginny is getting steadily redder now. Shoves the nearest twin. “Don’t you have a line to cross before your potion wears off?”

Fred salutes her and walks off with a chuckle. Stops at the edge of the line.

Steps over.

George lets out a whoop when nothing happens. Idiot.

Hermione doesn’t even bother watching the rest. She hears the laughter when the beards appear.

Watches Ginny instead. Sneaking off to the dungeons? What’s she been up to?

Ginny catches her eye.

Snatches another slice of toast and slips it into her pocket, getting to her feet. “You’ll see,” she whispers to Hermione with a wink, ducked so her hair is falling around them and no-one can see. “Now I’d better go. Someone just walked in.”

Ginny spins and walks out of the Hall, and Hermione looks around…feels around…

Bellatrix. Standing near the staff entrance, magical eye scanning the room. Pausing on Hermione.

Hermione gets to her feet too, suddenly not hungry. “I was thinking of going to Hagrid’s,” she says to the boys. “It’s what we did last time, and we haven’t seen him outside of class yet. Nothing else to do…so…want to get away from here for a bit?”

Harry gives her a grateful look. “Yeah. That sounds great, actually. Need a distraction.”

Ron nods absentmindedly, grabbing some pastries and pushing as many as he can into his bag, flaky crumbs getting everywhere.

He catches Hermione’s eye. Shrugs. “One benefit of those French lot. They can keep their cheese and bouillabaisse, but croissants and pain au chocolate? Whoever’s making these knows their stuff.”

Hermione transfigures a napkin into a more sensible, separate bag and hands it to him. “Put them in this. Or I’m sure we can just go down to the kitchens and talk to the house-elves if you want some more.”

Harry frowns. “House-elves? Like Dobby? They work in the kitchens?”

Hermione smacks herself in the forehead. SPEW! This is the year they all found out about house-elves because of Winky and Crouch! But Winky wasn’t—so they have no idea who makes the food or cleans up after them or—

She marches them out of the hall. “Yes, Harry. House-elves. Like Dobby. And it’s a very complicated issue rife with ethical dilemmas and almost certainly tied into race issues. Luckily I know a fair amount about the rights of magical creatures. You see…”

And she begins a much more nuanced explanation of house-elves as they make their way out of the entrance door and down through the grounds towards Hagrid’s hut. They pass the Beauxbatons carriages and Fleur on the way, who glares at them apparently for just passing through.

Hermione casts the shield charm she’d come up with and keeps walking. She can’t have the boys getting distracted. She’s only reached the fourth amendment on her most recently revised bill of house-elf rights. Or will write, ten years from now. Maybe she can lay down some foundations in this world too and get ahead of the game. Earn the other Hermione more time to act.

…If there is another Hermione.

She’s not thinking about that yet.

If they’d thought waiting for the feast last night to end was agony, then the one tonight is pure torture. The table piled high with food.

The goblet ready and waiting, now sat in front of Dumbledore’s chair.

Even Ron has barely touched his dinner, which says it all, really.

But finally, finally, the long wait is over. The goblets and plates clean themselves, the chatter in the hall mounts.

And then dies away instantly as Dumbledore gets to his feet, Madame Maxime and Karkaroff watching expectantly and tensely from either side of him, and even Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch Senior making an appearance, sat at the very ends of the staff table.

“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” Dumbledore announces. “I would like to ask that when the champions’ names are called, they each come forward, walk along past the staff table, and exit through to the back chamber where they will receive their first instructions.”

He shakes his sleeves back and raises his wand…

And extinguishes all of the candles in the room apart from those within the carved pumpkins sat along the tables, plunging them into shadowy semi-darkness.

Hermione reaches for Harry’s hand. Squeezes it tightly.

Harry gives her a nervous smile.

“Any second now…” Lee Jordan whispers from a few seats away.

And he’s right. Hermione turns back towards the front, the goblet glows red, and a piece of parchment is spat out, shooting into the air and drifting downwards.

Dumbledore catches it. “The champion for Durmstrang…will be Viktor Krum!”

And there’s a roar of applause as everyone gets to their feet, Ron pulling Harry up with him and flinging an arm over his shoulder to hold him steady. He’s shaking. “No surprises there then!” Ron yells. “At least that’s something!”

“Bravo, Viktor!” Karkaroff booms, loud even above the crowd.

But then the noise dies down once more, all eyes on the goblet.

It glows red.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!”

And Fleur of course gets to her feet with the grace of a ballerina, long blonde hair swishing behind her as she makes her way between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables and disappears into the back chamber to yet another round of thunderous applause.

Hermione can’t even muster the energy to stand up this time. She’s light-headed. She thinks she might be sick. Why did she put her name in? Dragons? And a maze of…deadly creatures, and deadly hedges, and a deadly psychopath waiting at the end. A graveyard of psychopaths. Why—

“The Hogwarts’ champion…” Dumbledore calls into the now silent hall.

Please be Cedric, a very small part of Hermione whispers from the back of her mind.

“…is…oh dear.”

Dumbledore pauses. Frowns. Muttering breaks out as his eyes scan up the Gryffindor table.

He lowers his glasses down his nose.

Disappointed and worried eyes fixed on Hermione.

“Hermione Granger,” he announces solemnly.

The nail in the coffin.

And now everyone turns to look at Hermione.

Shit.

It worked.

…now what?

“What is the problem, Mister Dumbledore?” Madame Maxime asks confusedly. “You do not want this witch as your champion?”

Dumbledore just continues to frown.

“Miss Granger is…underage, Madame Maxime,” McGonagall explains, and the disappointment on her face is infinitely worse than Dumbledore’s. “She is barely fifteen years old.”

Some of the beauxbatons students gasp in realisation, and both Karkaroff and Madame Maxime rise to their feet. “This an outrage! So your age line did not work!” Madame Maxime shouts.

And then Karkaroff barks out a laugh. “Well, she has been chosen! Her magic is tied. It looks like Hogwarts is already at a disadvantage, with only a young girl to fight for them! Oh Albus, my friend. I am sorry for your misfortune,” he chuckles.

Dumbledore smiles uncertainly. Beckons to Hermione. “Miss Granger! Up here, if you please!”

Harry nudges her. “I’ll see you soon,” he whispers. “It’s fine. They won’t be angry with you for long once my name appears. Go on.”

Hermione stands up and climbs off of the bench. Grits her teeth and nods to herself as she makes her way down through the rows.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

This is taking forever.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She stops in front of Dumbledore. “Headmaster, I—”

“Through the door, Hermione,” he says, unsmiling. Eyes hard. “We will—”

And he pauses as shouts ring out throughout the room.

The goblet glows red once more. And another piece of parchment flies out. Drifting into the air and falling into Dumbledore’s reaching hand.

Harry. Here they go again.

Hermione’s eyes drift along the staff table, looking for….

“Bellatrix Black,” Dumbledore whispers.

Hermione blinks.

…what?

Her head jolts back around to stare at Dumbledore, not believing her ears.

Dumbledore pushes his glasses more firmly onto the bridge of his nose. Looks to McGonagall. Then Snape. Then Moody.

Draws his wand and lights all of the candles in the Hall, bringing the whole room into startling clarity.

He holds up the piece of parchment. “Bellatrix Black!” he shouts.

Hermione draws her own wand, wide eyes searching out Harry and Ron.

What the hell is happening?

Harry jumps to his feet. “It’s him! It’s Professor Moody! He’s Bellatrix! She must have put her own name in!” he shouts, pointing at Moody.

Bellatrix gets to her feet too with a growl. “Be careful where you’re pointing fingers, lad! Especially at those of us who have been fighting the dark forces for longer than you’ve been alive!”

Then she limps closer to Dumbledore. “What do you say, Albus? Should we put the castle into lockdown? Interrogate every single one of them until the slimy traitor comes forward? You know I’ve got some veritaserum ready, and I’m betting either Snape or Karkaroff will be quick to talk.”

And Bellatrix turns on Snape, reaching into her robes.

Harry comes running down the aisle, wand drawn. “Get away from him! We know it’s you! Give up! We know you’ve been drinking polyjuice from your flask!”

“Oh you mean this flask?” Bellatrix roars, face twisted with fury. Takes the flask from inside her robes and holds it up. “This flask, that I’ve drank from since nineteen seventy-eight, when one young wizard by the name of Severus Snape decided to slip a sleeping potion into my drink? Hmm?!”

She upends the flask.

Water pours out onto the floor.

“Constant vigilance,” she hisses.

Then grabs a very pale Snape by the scruff of the neck, dragging him to his feet.

By now the noise in the Hall has risen from confused babbling to shouted speculations and accusations from all around.

Dumbledore casts a sonorus and directs it at his throat. “Silence!”

All falls still.

Dumbledore nods measuredly. “I believe there are some elements that need to be explained before we move forward,” he says calmly. “Now, as some of you may be aware, there is no student here at Hogwarts by the name of Bellatrix Black. She is a witch that attended this school some…twenty years ago, if I do recall correctly. Her name appearing from the goblet, is something that can only be assumed to be an elaborate prank. And a rather distasteful one at that. Miss Black cannot compete in this tournament…because she died more than a decade ago, whilst serving out her sentence in Azkaban prison as a supporter of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort.”

“And we have another two supporters sat right here,” Bellatrix barks over the growing commotion, glaring at Snape and Karkaroff.

“Alastor!” Dumbledore snaps harshly, the name echoing in the stillness.

A crackling fills the air. A buzzing. Dumbledore.

“I understand that tensions are running high,” Dumbledore says firmly and clearly. “But I would ask that you not make accusations of my staff or my guests within this school. Both Severus and Igor have long been pardoned for any actions taken in their pasts, and are no more followers of Voldemort than I am. And will be treated with respect.”

Bellatrix let’s go of Snape. Huffs and looks at the floor sulkily. “Innocent until proven guilty. You’re still standing by that motto?”

Dumbledore smiles. “As it should be for us all, in a civilised society.”

Bellatrix shrugs. Nods.

Goes and sits back down. “Then I guess we’ll have to wait for the guilty bastard to come forward. Someone’s out there stirring the pot. If you change your mind about your methods, you know where I am and what sort of spells I have up my sleeves. Until then, you’d better get back there with the other champions, Granger.

Hermione startles on hearing her name, still just…gobsmacked and utterly bewildered by everything that is happening. She— but—

“But it’s her!” Ron yells, pointing at Bellatrix.

Bellatrix grins. “Innocent until proven guilty, Weasley. But if you want to imagine I’ve got a dead witch under my robes, go ahead.”

She’s not dead, Hermione wants to blurt out. You’re not dead. I saw you. I saw you at the World Cup. And I saw you put a name in the goblet.

But Bellatrix’s words from the night before echo around her head, and she keeps her mouth shut, shaking her head at Harry and Ron resignedly.

Can you prove it?

Hermione still can’t quite believe what’s happening as she leaves the Great Hall, making her way past the teachers’ table and through the door into the back room, a smaller chamber filled with portraits and a large glowing hearth.

Bellatrix’s name was in the goblet…

How? Why? Why on Earth was it Bellatrix’s name and not Harry’s?

The other two champions are silhouetted in the firelight, Viktor leaning against a column and deep in thought, Fleur turning to face her.

But before either can say anything, their eyes move over her shoulder.

“Miss Granger. A word, if you please,” comes Dumbledore’s voice.

Hermione’s shoulders fall.

And tense. He left Bellatrix alone in the Great Hall?

Fleur and Viktor give her matching looks of suspicion as Dumbledore leads her into a dark, far corner of the chamber.

Hermione fiddles with her wand and looks at the floor. She knows what he’s thinking. Oh this is horrible.

Dumbledore squeezes her shoulder. “Look at me, Hermione.”

She slowly raises her gaze. Yep. There are those disappointed eyes again.

“Hermione, did you put your name in the goblet of fire?” Dumbledore asks gently.

Hermione bites her lip. Looks over at Viktor and Fleur instead, unable to take it. “I…I’m sorry, Headmaster,” she whispers. “I…I asked an older student to put my name in. I wanted to compete. I thought I was— that I was clever enough. And when you made the age line, you didn’t say that you had to put your own name in. Anyone could put a name in. So I…took my opportunity. I wanted to try. To prove myself.”

That’s the lie she’s come up with. The one they’ll believe. The one that will take the suspicion off her age.

Even if it will make her seem like a stupid, arrogant, naive little child.

It’s for the best.

Dumbledore sighs. “As I feared. And now tell me this, Hermione, and this is important. You must tell me the truth now.”

Now Hermione frowns. Turns to look at him.

He looks around. Smiles at Bagman and Crouch, who have now come through, and walks her further away, stopping them to look at a portrait of a wizard with a ridiculously large, walrus-like moustache.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “A young lady with a keen mind, and a point to prove. But what I would like to know…is if there was another point that you…and perhaps Harry and young Ronald Weasley…were proving.”

Umm…what?

She glances sideways at him. He smiles sadly. “You are quite correct in your assessment that my age line was flawed. That anyone could put another’s name in…even without their consent. Now, a few days ago, I do recall Harry coming to me with the belief that one Bellatrix Black was hidden within the castle. So I am asking you, Hermione. Did you also put Bellatrix’s name in the goblet, in order to convince me of your theories?”

…what?

He thinks…they not only imagined Bellatrix’s name on the Marauders’ Map, but also confunded the goblet and added Bellatrix’s name just to prove a point?!

“No!” Hermione exclaims, probably a bit too loudly, her voice echoing around the room. “No, we have no idea how her name got in there! And that’s what’s even more suspicious! We saw her on the map, and now she’s in the goblet too? Professor, you can’t believe that’s a coincidence!”

He smiles at her knowingly. “Hardly a coincidence at all. But if you are certain…?”

Hermione folds her arms. “Yes. Professor—”

“Kids will be kids, am I right, Headmaster?” Ludo Bagman says with a boyish grin, coming up behind Dumbledore. “Bellatrix Black. Now that would have been an interesting tournament.”

“Interesting?” McGonagall snaps as she comes into the room too, worry in her features and pace hurried. “This is no time for joking, Mr Bagman.”

And then more quietly to Dumbledore. “Are you sure it is wise to continue?” Her eyes dart to Hermione. “You cannot be expecting us to stand by and let this happen. As qualified as that goblet, and apparently Miss Granger, have deemed her to be, she is still underage.”

Oh Hermione wishes she could reassure her. Hermione is probably the most qualified contestant. Knows what’s to come. Has years of practice. Much more than the other champions.

Well, except for maybe Bellatrix.

And speaking of which, here she comes now, close on the heels of Snape and Karkaroff, watching them suspiciously. Karkaroff does seem jumpy, and Snape…

Has regained some composure. And seems to have found a new outlet to focus on. Swoops in on Hermione.

“Curious about the age line? Someone tampering with the goblet? I believe we need look no further to find the instigator of this so-called prank, Headmaster.”

Everyone else gathers around too, all stopping their private conversations to openly stare at Hermione.

Mr Crouch pushes forward, hands behind his back and glaring down at Hermione. “Yes. Very curious that of all people, Miss Granger here has been chosen. You have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, girl. Getting mixed up in matters that don’t concern you…”

Hmm. Still angry about Narcissa, then.

Hermione raises her chin. Glances at Bellatrix. Continues anyway. “Being in the wrong place at the wrong time isn’t a crime, as I told you before. No matter who you are.”

Crouch’s eyes narrow further. “Indeed? Is that what this school has been teaching you? You think you can talk down to your elders? Stick your nose in and—”

“Get on with it, Crouch,” Bellatrix barks. “We can discuss all that later. Now is the girl competing, or do we need another champion for Hogwarts? Or better yet, maybe we can cancel this ruddy tournament altogether. It should never have been held to begin with. Told you as much, Albus. Asking for trouble.”

Crouch’s jaw clenches. He almost looks like he might call Bellatrix out on her tone, daring to speak to a Ministry official so brashly, but Bellatrix continues staring at him and he balks, stepping back and clearing his throat. “As unusual as events this evening have been, I see no option but for the tournament to continue as planned. Miss Granger is underage, but her name has been entered. This constitutes a magically binding contract. She must compete in each task, as poor as her performance is likely to be. Perhaps she will serve as a warning to those foolish enough to enter unprepared.”

“Has to compete? Albus, this cannot be true,” McGonagall whispers.

Dumbledore nods gravely. “I’m afraid Bartemius is correct. “However, I’m sure by now Hermione has realised her lapse in judgement, and will do her utmost to learn all she can for each of the tasks ahead.”

Hermione ducks her head and quickly nods. She hates this. Hates everyone looking at her like she’s stupid. Arrogant. Looking for glory.

A loud clap startles her into lifting her head. Ludo Bagman. “Right then. Now, uh, now that’s settled, gather around, champions. Don’t be shy. Not that any of you are,” he laughs.

Viktor and Krum take a step further forward, clearly unamused, but eager to…

Moody has stepped closer too. Shifted closer, just slightly.

Seriously, Bellatrix?

Hermione resists the urge to give her a look, knowing that would be a bad idea with this many people around.

No-one else seems to have noticed.

"The first task is designed to test your daring," Bagman tells them excitedly. “So we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard or witch. Very important.”

Hermione almost laughs. See. She’s definitely qualified. Facing the unknown? She seems to be doing that a lot more often than she would have suspected, given she’s living in the past.

"The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges,” Crouch continues in a more serious monotone, as if reciting the guidelines from memory. “The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests. Any questions?”

There aren’t any questions. Not aloud.

But Hermione can definitely read about a dozen questions on everyone’s faces.

She can’t help herself. Raises her hand.

Bagman grins. “Yes! Miss Granger, Hogwarts. Any questions?”

Hermione looks around at everyone, gaze pausing on Bellatrix. “So all champions have to compete in every single task, otherwise they…lose their magic?”

Bagman grimaces, laughing awkwardly. “Uh…yes. Magically binding, as Barty said. So just…do your best, alright?”

Karkaroff chuckles too. “Yes. I would suggest you show up and try not to die. You do not have to have the best points. Save those for the real competitors.”

Hermione nods. Keeps her eyes on Bellatrix.

Okay. So Bellatrix has to show up to each of the tasks, or lose her magic.

Well that should hold her up a bit in her plans to kidnap Harry.

After that, they’re quickly sent off to bed so that the staff can get back to the possible ‘Bellatrix issue’.

And the whole time with Bellatrix stood right there in Moody’s body.

Fleur and Viktor barely glance her way before leaving.

It’s strange without Cedric there. Or Harry. She’d been certain Harry would be here with her.

She’s changed things. Really changed things now. Cedric won’t be champion. Won’t compete. Won’t die.

So this must be a good outcome? Right.

Hermione isn’t so sure as she heads back to the Common Room, alone.

But when she gets there, gods, it’s bizarre! People are smiling at her. Cheering! Think she outsmarted the goblet, Fred and George clapping her on the back and asking how she did it without getting a beard. Offering her food, and sweets, and drinks, and— just—

“I’m tired!” she bellows when ten minutes has passed without a break from their clamouring, looking around for Harry and Ron. “I’m going to bed! I’m—”

No-one listens, busy celebrating.

She pushes through the crowd and heads towards the stairs to the boys dorms instead. Where are they? Did they even come back?

She knocks on the door to the fourth-year room and then walks right in. Oh.

They’re sat on Harry’s bed with Ginny.

They turn to look at her. Harry grins. “It was Ginny! You’ve gotta hear this, Hermione! It’s amazing!”

Hermione frowns. What? It— what does that mean? What did—

Ginny shuffles over and pats the bed. “Quick. Before the other boys come up here.”

Hermione hurries over and sits down. “What did Harry mean? What did you do?”

Ginny leans in, eyes glinting mischievously. “So now you don’t think I’m too young? Don’t think I can’t understand this stuff? Can’t be discrete?”

“Just hurry up and tell her!” Ron says.

Ginny bounces on the bed and smiles. “Fine. You see, I wasn’t really angry with you. Well, I was at first. But that’s what gave me the idea. You said that Bellatrix was powerful. And was watching. So…I stayed away from you all. Pretended I hated you. That way, she wasn’t paying attention to me,” she explains.

Tucks her hair behind her ears. “The next thing, was that if she’s so clever, then she was bound to get past the enchantments and put the parchment in the cup. There was no stopping that. She was going to put a name in the goblet. But…”

She shows Hermione her empty palm. Then flicks her wrist. A piece of parchment appears.

It reads: Harry Potter – Hogwartes

Hogwarts is spelt wrong. And she recognises that handwriting.

That’s Bellatrix’s handwriting.

Ginny flicks her wrist again. The parchment disappears. “Magic,” Ginny whispers. “But not real magic. Muggle magic. It’s called slight of hand. I caught some older Slytherins doing it and asked them to teach me. Told them if they didn’t, I’d tell the other Slytherins that they were using muggle magic.”

Slight of hand? So…

Hermione gasps. “You bumped into her! Before she went into the Great Hall and confunded the goblet! You— you bumped into her on purpose? To switch the parchment? How did you know she’d be there?”

Ginny squints at her. “I’ve been watching her. And if I didn’t know she was after Harry…I’d say she’s watching you. Seems to follow you everywhere. And it happened again. I shouted your name, and then she showed up. I figured I just needed to make a lot of noise and chaos so we’d be a distraction for her to sneak in, but you being there really helped.”

Hermione scoffs awkwardly. “Me? She’s not following me. Why would she be following me?”

Harry frowns. “She does talk to you a lot. Maybe…maybe she knows you know. Maybe she saw you at the World Cup, and has known the whole time that you’re onto her. Do you think she caught you looking at her?”

Oh.

Oh dear.

She…had been quite slow to turn around when Bellatrix stole Harry’s wand. And her and Ron weren’t very subtle when they followed Narcissa.

Maybe Bellatrix has known all along. She has made a few hints…

Hermione shakes herself from her thoughts. Smiles at Ginny as she remembers something. “So you tricked her into putting her own name in the goblet?”

Ginny stretches. Preens. “Yep. Let’s see her get out of that. Magical contract.”

Hermione swallows.

No magic.

…she can’t even imagine it. Not anymore. It’s such a big part of her life now. Part of her. Losing that…

She almost feels sorry for Bellatrix. Responsible, for putting her in this situation where she might lose her magic. No-one deserves that. Taking something…so innate.

She rubs her face tiredly. Looks around blearily at the others.

Their smiling faces. Harry is obviously relieved not to be in the tournament. Ginny proud of herself for her plan. Ron just happy to be a part of it. To be in on all the plans.

They really…haven’t realised what this means, have they? All of the potential consequences are already laying themselves out in Hermione’s mind. All of the unknowns coming their way.

Because yes, they’ve stopped Bellatrix’s plan. Voldemort’s plan.

But that just means they have no idea what the next move will be. How they’ll get Harry’s blood for the resurrection. If they’ll still use the cup. If they’ll now just decide to kill Harry. If they’ll decide to use Bellatrix at all, or cast her aside now that she’s tangled herself up in the tournament.

What will Bellatrix do now? Compete or lose magic. But can she compete without being sent to Azkaban? What’s worse? No magic, or no freedom?

Or the Kiss. She could get the Kiss.

Yes. Hermione definitely wouldn’t want to be Bellatrix right now.

Chapter Text

A day goes by, and all eyes are once again on Hermione. She doesn’t know how Harry stands it, the constant scrutiny.

It can get quite bad for her in the future, once she’s known by all as the Golden Girl, one of the Golden Trio. But she’s not used to it at school. She even has to leave the Common Room to get some peace and hide out in the library. She can understand now why Viktor was always there escaping his fans.

But also for the tournament. Where else would you go to prepare for a test?

A…very tricky test, she has to admit. Especially as, if this goes as she remembers, Fleur and Viktor will be using the most logical approaches to bypass the spell resistant dragon scales - a powerful sleeping spell from Fleur, targeting the mind, and a conjunctivitis curse from Viktor, blinding the dragon, eyes being their weak point.

Not that she actually wants to hurt the dragon if she can help it. Nesting mothers. It’s barbaric. If she was the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in this time—

She closes yet another book and adds it to the growing pile of rejects in the centre of the table with a drawn-out sigh.

“No good?” Ron whispers to her from across the table.

She shakes her head. “Too violent. Fighting tactics, not negotiation. How about you?”

He shows her the cover of his book. Men Who Love Dragons Too Much. “You do not want to know. Trust me.”

“Do you think we should…talk to Malfoy?” Harry asks cautiously.

Hmm?

Wait, what?

“Talk to Malfoy?” Ron frowns.

Harry shrugs. “About Bellatrix. She’s his aunt. He might know something.”

That could work, she supposes. Although she’s really not sure he’ll be that much help…

“But why would Malfoy talk to us?” Ron asks. “Unless…”

He looks across the room. Watches Viktor as he hands a book back to Madam Pince and leaves. “Oh! I know! Someone give me a piece of parchment and a quill.”

Harry passes over his quill, and Hermione absentmindedly accios some parchment from her bag, her mind already back on other things.

Dragons. Is she being ridiculous? Should she just find a way to fight one? The books are all here.

But that’s cruel. So cruel.

Should she look into charms? A modified containment charm, perhaps? She’d have to transfigure a very large cage. Maybe from a rock…

She could just use Cedric’s idea, now that he won’t be there. Transfigure a rock into a dog as a distraction, like he did.

Or a horse. A horse might be more sensible. Bigger than a human, but clearly prey rather than a predator.

Cedric did get burned though…

“There!” Ron says proudly as he finishes writing something down. “Now it’s not us that wants to meet up with Malfoy. It’s Viktor Krum. No way he won’t show up. Hey! Dennis!” he hisses.

He reaches out and drags Dennis Creevey towards him as he passes. Hands him the scroll. “Give this to Malfoy for me, would you? Viktor Krum wants him to have it, but he had to leave for training.”

Dennis’ eyes widen. “You know Viktor Krum?! He’s a champion!”

And then he noticed Hermione. His eyes gleam. “And so are you! Can I get your signature, Hermione? I’m collecting famous people, and I already have Harry, but now you’re famous too!”

Madam Pince clears her throat pointedly and shushes them as Dennis’ voice carries squeakily through the room.

Hermione quickly writes her name down and hands it to him. “Here,” she whispers.

He nods at the piece of paper in awe and backs away, tripping over his feet slightly on the way out.

Ron snorts. “Looks like you’ve got your first super fan, Hermione.”

Ginny shoves him. “Leave Dennis alone. It’s sweet.”

“Yeah, like when you wrote that poem for Harry. What was it again? Eyes—”

And a bat-bogey hex hits Ron in the face, sending him sprawling and shouting on the floor. Ginny.

“Out!” Madam Pince snaps. “All of you! This isn’t a Common Room. If you want to mess around, you can go out on the grounds.”

Hermione sighs, packing up her things as Ron flails around, fumbling to aim his wand at his face and remember the anti-hex.

He does, to her surprise. Huh. Looks like Bellatrix’s intense teaching so far this year has already sharpened his practical skills.

Ginny smiles but quickly bites her lip, tidying her books. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get you kicked out,” she whispers.

They head for the door under Madam Pince’s steely glare.

“Oh!” Ginny shouts as soon as they get past the door. “I’m meant to be meeting Luna for a walk around the grounds. Want to come? It’s a bit rainy but not too bad?”

Hermione shakes her head. “I need to do some more research. I have some Charms and Transfiguration books in my dorm, so I guess I’ll head back.”

Harry nods glumly. “I’ve still got that Herbology paper to write for tomorrow. And I need to work on my switching spell for McGonagall.”

Harry! How is he this behind already with— he should have said! Why was he looking up dragons if—

Right. Studying in the Common Room, then. She’ll just have to use her prefect voice if people start to hassle her.

It is possible to transfigure a rock into a cage, but it would have to be a very large rock. And she might have to hover it over the dragon to capture it, which isn’t ideal.

And containment charms work better on airtight materials like glass or dense wood.

So she’s hit a bit of a snag.

She might have to go back to the library alone and beg forgiveness from Madam Pince. All she has left to read now is yesterday’s edition of the Daily Prophet, which she’s half-heartedly scanning through for any new research. Or timeline inconsistencies. She’s still wary about that. News on the Malfoys or any more Death Eater attacks…

A scroll is dropped onto her newspaper.

“Hey. I have a note for you from her,” Ginny’s voice comes from behind her chair. “Don’t think it’s cursed or anything, but you might want to check.”

What?!

Hermione pushes Harry’s half-written paper out of the way on the coffee table and puts the newspaper and scroll on there instead, avoiding touching it. Turns to stare at Ginny.

Ginny huffs, taking off her wet cloak. “She gave it to me out in the corridor and then stomped off. Go on! Open it!”

Hermione turns back around. Glances at Ron and Harry and then raises her wand. Casts some detection charms. A revelio.

Nothing.

Oh fine!

She undoes the seal and unfurls it. Scans…Oh for goodness—

“Detention! She’s still given me detention with her tonight and…every Sunday night until the first task! That’s four Sundays!”

Ginny leans over her shoulder and hums. “You’re lucky. I’m seeing Snape every weekend till Christmas. That’s where I’m going now, once I’ve changed my clothes and grabbed something to eat. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Hermione sighs. She’s right. “Thank you. For stopping her. And for getting Harry out of the tournament.”

Ginny looks a bit bashful at that. Shrugs awkwardly. “Well. Guess you’ve got it worse than me. I mean, Snape’s Snape. But at least he’s an ex-Death Eater and not a spy for You Know Who.”

Hermione clears her thought as a strange sound escapes her. Well he’s not a spy. Not quite yet, but…

Alone with Bellatrix. All evening. Doing whatever task she’s come up with.

Harry clears his throat too. “Maybe you shouldn’t go. Or maybe we should come with you. She must be…furious with us. We’ve ruined her plans. You’re in the tournament instead of me. So if there’s anyone she can blame…”

Hermione swallows. He’s right. Bellatrix had a mission from Voldemort, and thanks to Ginny…she’s failed. But she doesn’t know it was Ginny. All signs do kind of point to it being Hermione’s fault.

Which is just perfect, given Bellatrix’s wonderful anger management skills and self-restraint.

Hermione takes a breath. Right. Don’t panic. Think logically.

And don’t put this on them. She doesn’t want the others to worry. “No,” she reassures Harry. “She’s already under enough pressure. Has had enough suspicion pointed her way. She can’t do anything to me, or any of us, especially before the tournament. That’s her main problem now. Thanks to Ginny, her priority isn’t you anymore. It’s keeping her magic somehow. It must be. She’d never lose her magic, not even for Him.”

She thinks. She’s not sure. Bellatrix’s devotion seemed to run deep. She’d probably die for Voldemort.

But give up her magic? Everything she knows? Her power, her strength, her usefulness to Him and the cause?

Hermione shakes her head, standing up. “I’m going back to the library. I’ve got to go…”

And she doesn’t even look back before walking away, straight out of the portrait hole and down the stairs. She’s not sure what’s wrong, she just…

Everything is so…confusing, and overwhelming, and complicated. And she just knows that the library always makes that better. It’s what she always does. And she knows it’s not exactly rational, that if anything she should be working on practical skills and physical fitness, but— ah!

She reaches for her wand as she’s pulled into a classroom. Wh—

“Expelliarmus!” she shouts as soon as her wand settles in her palm, panicked instincts setting in. Pushes…blonde…

Blonde?

A hand covers her mouth. “Chut! Arrête! I just want to talk to you.”

Hermione lets out a breath and slumps back against the windowsill, pulling the hand away. “Fleur! What are you— Why didn’t you just come talk to me at breakfast or lunch like a normal person instead of…waiting to ambush me?”

Fleur steps back, eyeing the door, eyebrows raising. “We cannot be seen talking! We are competitors. Rivals. Even if you are a little girl, I still cannot let the others see this!”

Hermione smiles. Little girl. How ironic.

And Fleur seems so serious. It just feels…ridiculous. She thinks she has problems? Is keeping secrets? It’s not the worst thing in the world if two of the champions talk to each other. “And what is this, exactly?” Hermione asks lightly. “Why are we in here and…ugh, I have ink on me! You pushed me into an ink pot.”

Who leaves their ink lying around on windowsills? Ugh it’s all over the back of her top.

Fleur rolls her eyes and casts a non-verbal cleaning spell at Hermione. It even smells nice. Fleur’s cleaning spells always do.

Fleur Hermione thinks. Fleur’s magic.

Fleur comes to lean against the wall next to her. Folds her arms, wand still drawn and pointed casually towards the door. “How did you do it?” she asks quietly. “How did you stop the veela?”

Oh…

Hermione once again sighs in relief. “I thought you were going to ask me about the goblet.”

Fleur doesn’t reply. Waits.

Hermione draws her wand. Clears her throat. “I noticed that you…had an effect on the boys. So I thought of a spell that would shield their minds. It doesn’t last very long, it’s basically just a modified protego, but—”

“Show me. Please.”

There’s…a vulnerability here. A very different side to Fleur than she’s seen before. Younger.

Hermione quickly nods, raising her wand. “It starts like a protego, and ends like the legilimens spell. Do you know it? And the incantation is protego mentes. So it’s like this.”

She flicks her wand up, and then points it back toward herself to shield her own mind. “Protego mentes!”

Looks at Fleur. Cancels the shield “See? That was to protect my own mind, though. That’s why I aimed at myself. You—”

Fleur drags Hermione to stand in front of her. Readies her wand. “Protego mentes!”

Fleur, Hermione thinks. It feels like…

A weird combination of Fleur, and not Fleur.

Fleur being stopped, but Fleur doing the protecting.

And then Fleur laughs. A bright, excited laugh. “I feel it! Feeled— felt— ça marche!”

Hermione smiles back. Now it feels like the Fleur she knows. Happy, and confident without being so full of herself.

Hermione shrugs. “I saw that you were uncomfortable. It must be awful, affecting everyone around you all the time. You know, maybe there’s a way to make it last longer. Like lumos, that lasts…well infinitely until you cancel it, so maybe—”

Fleur throws herself at Hermione, wrapping her arms around her neck and pulling her close. “Now I know why you are a champion! I see! The goblet is not wrong! You are intelligent!”

And she pulls back to kiss Hermione’s cheeks. O— okay. Why is— normally only Harry— she—

Hermione feels her face heat up and pushes Fleur away. “Really, it’s nothing. I just— like trying new things. I mean— and I’m not young. I’m old for my age. I mean I feel older.”

Fleur studies her. Seems to look at her properly for the first time. “Yes, you do look older. I thought you were a final year, like me.”

Hermione just stares back uncomfortably, not knowing what else to say.

The silence drags.

She clears her throat. “Okay, well…I’m off to the library. Got to get ready to fight— fight my way through whatever the first task is. Good luck, by the way.”

Fleur nods happily and walks past her towards the door. “Yes, I should practice too. And I am going to practice your veela shield. I will hit all the boys with it! Protect all the boys. That is why we are champions, non?”

Hermione chuckles, following her out the door—

Fleur pushes her back in. “Not together. It is suspect. Me first.”

And she whips her head around, hitting Hermione in the face with her hair before she’s out the door and away.

Hermione waits.

But only for about thirty seconds, because not being allowed to be friends with Fleur is ridiculous.

She steps out into the corridor—

“Having fun with Delacour, Granger?”

Almost bumps into Bellatrix.

Okay, she’s starting to think Ginny is right and Bellatrix is stalking her for some reason. She’s always there!

“Yes, thank you,” she replies, not bothering explaining herself. “Now I’m sorry, Professor. But I need to get to the library. I have to prepare for the first task, and as you know, this evening I’m going to be busy.”

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow. “I’m not stopping you. Off you go. I’ll see you at seven sharp. Wear something appropriate.”

And Bellatrix walks off.

Wear…what?

Appropriate?

Appropriate for what?!

Hermione stands in front of the long bathroom mirror and frowns.

There’s a knock on the door. “One minute!” she shouts.

“It’s me. I heard Lavender and Parvati talking about you at dinner. They said you were acting weird.”

Hermione turns around and sighs at Ginny. “I don’t know what to wear.”

Ginny slowly walks into the room, eyebrows raising. “To…detention?”

Hermione groans, pulling off her top. “She said to wear something appropriate! But she didn’t tell me what we’ll be doing! I’m just going to wear my school robes. Appropriate. Appropriate schoolgirl…plus it makes me look younger.”

She feels hands pull her top back on. “School robes? On a Sunday? Just wear this, Hermione! It looks fine! I don’t see why you’re trying to impress Bellatrix with—”

Hermione twists back into her top and checks her hair in the mirror. “I’m not— impress? I just don’t know if I’ll be…in the Forbidden Forest or something! But you’re right. This is fine. I have my cloak just in case. And my bag. And my wand so— yes. I’ll be fine. Don’t know why I’m panicking. Sorry.”

She feels for her wand in her pocket. That’s why she’s nervous. Alone with a probably very angry and vengeful Bellatrix. With no witnesses.

Ginny marches her out of the bathroom. “You look great. You’re an adult witch posing as a teenager. You’re always gonna look way better than us, it’s totally unfair. And it seems like you’ve figured out how to make your hair look nicer since last year. So just get out of here before you’re late. It’s almost seven. It’s detention, not a date.”

Nearly seven?!

Hermione runs down the stairs straight for the portrait hole. “Thanks! I’ll see you later, maybe tomorrow depending how long she keeps me.”

Ginny snorts. “Tell her you have to be back by curfew!” she calls after her.

Hermione nods to herself, skidding around a corner and then down the hidden spiral staircase that leads down to the second floor.

Jumps the disappearing step.

And burst out into a crowd of Hufflepuffs. What? “Excuse me! Running late here! Could you move—”

They don’t move. Just glare at her. And then laugh as she slips on a gobstone. Why are they playing gobstones in the corridor? She wishes she was still a prefect so—

“Alright, you lot! Back to the Common Room if you want to play that, it’s obviously a hazard,” Cedric calls. Helps Hermione steady herself and grins at her. “Sorry about them. You okay?”

Hermione adjusts her bag. Smiles back gratefully. “I’m fine. Thanks. Just in a bit of a rush. Late for detention.”

Cedric’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but he’s still smiling. “Detention? You? And after tricking the goblet too? I think I’ve got you all wrong.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean to…well I did but…I’m sorry it didn’t pick you. I know you wanted to be champion.”

He shrugs easily, only a brief flash of sadness on his face before its gone. “It chose you. You’re obviously the better choice. I look forward to seeing what you can do.”

Hermione ducks her head, still uncomfortable that she kind of stole his place. His dream. Even if it’s for the best. He’s just so nice. Practically made to be the dashing hero.

“You can find out what Granger can do on your own time, Diggory,” a voice barks. “But for the next few hours, she’s mine. Get in here, Granger, or I’ll add another week.”

Hermione almost rolls her eyes again, but stops herself. Bossy. And quite needy, actually! She’s only…a minute late or something!

She smiles apologetically at Cedric and then walks past him, over to the DADA room.

Bellatrix is stood in the doorway, but turns around and makes her way into the room as Hermione arrives.

“Come on, then. Through to the back room.”

Umm…

Right. Okay. Just a classroom. Nothing dangerous or deadly.

Other than the Death Eater.

It’ll be fine.

Will it?

She’s a professor. She’s pretending to be a professor. She can’t hurt a student.

She could imperio you to get to Harry…

She can get to Harry anyway. She walks past him every day. Now be a Gryffindor and get in there!

Hermione does as she’s told and quickly makes her way past the desks and into the smaller…back…room.

Not smaller. A huge back room. What? This isn’t the same as—

When Harry had mentioned trunks, and tanks, and cases, he hadn’t mentioned that there were dozens of them. So many creatures. Plants. Books. Would Moody really have—

Alright, there are still sneakascopes everywhere too. And a foe-glass on the wall. A secrecy sensor. But also an owl, spiders in a tank, hinkypunks in another. There’s a rat in a cage…

She counts the fingers and toes. Not Wormtail. Well that’s a—

Bellatrix comes to stand next to her. Pulls out a—

Knife—

Hermione flinches. Backs away towards the exit and—

Bellatrix looks at Hermione. Frowns and reaches into her other pocket. Pulls out an apple.

Cuts a slice and gives it to the rat. Oh.

Cuts another slice. Walks over and gives it to a Cornish pixie in another cage in a corner. It’s awake and watching them, the other pixies floating around sleepily. “Hungry?”

Hermione swallows. Is…she talking to her? Or the pixie?

Bellatrix turns to look at her over her shoulder. Raises an eyebrow again.

Hermione just shakes her head.

Bellatrix takes a bite of the apple. “Fair enough.”

And she waves her wand to open a crate on the far side of the room. Throws what’s left of the apple inside and then closes the crate up again.

Hermione wanders closer. “What’s in there?”

Bellatrix shrugs, limping through the room and over to a door. “Nothing special. Doxies. Definitely got to be vigilant with those. They’ve bitten at least half a dozen third years by now. Turns out they like biting apples too.”

She opens another door and walks through. “Come on. In here.”

Hermione edges along past different boxes and…enclosures, careful not to knock over any of the sneakascopes or…books. There are some Herbology books scattered around, next to some Care of Magical Creatures books. So she wasn’t lying to Neville about the plants.

This…

Wasn’t Dumbledore suspicious when he saw this? Mad-Eye never cared about animals.

But neither did Bellatrix, she doesn’t think. And it is technically part of the job, so…

“Granger!” Bellatrix barks. “Stop gawping and hurry up! This is detention, not— And don’t open that. There’s a boggart in it!”

Hermione steps away from the rattling trunk. Boggart? Or the real Mad-Eye trapped inside?

She leaves it for now. Walks through to another back room…

A small office room, with two large side-by-side desks, a stack of parchment, a clock on the wall, and not much else.

The desks are identical. Bellatrix probably duplicated her one.

Bellatrix sits down at one of the desks. Pulls the stack of parchment towards herself. “Sit. You’re going to help me mark some essays. First and second years. Think you can manage that?”

Hermione slowly sits down too, frowning. Bellatrix’s mood seems to have taken a sharp turn. The strange casualness from earlier has disappeared. “Yes…” Hermione replies questioningly. Tries to study her. Figure her out.

Not angry. Just…grumpy. Irritable. Tense.

“Yes, Sir,” Bellatrix corrects, handing her half the essays and a mark scheme.

Hermione takes them and nods. “Sir,” she repeats. And then more quietly under her breath. “If you say so.”

Bellatrix ignores her. Starts marking.

Okay…

Hermione shivers in the draughty room, but decides against casting a warming spell, instead pulling the first essay towards her to make a start. It’s…not great. And short.

She turns the parchment over to check there isn’t more on the back. There isn’t.

Well then. Let’s see what the second years know about Cornish pixies…

As it turns out, not a lot. None of them know much of anything. And they can’t spell to save their lives, which isn’t surprising seeing as there are no literacy lessons at Hogwarts.

Hermione sighs to herself, unclenching her hand as it cramps.

Stops and looks at Bellatrix, who has been slowly and steadily marking this whole time, without pause or complaint. Just the occasional sip from her flask.

“Don’t you get tired of this?” Hermione can’t help but ask.

Bellatrix’s quill still doesn’t pause, but she shifts slightly in her seat, hunching further over the parchment. “Of what?”

Hermione raises an eyebrow. Surely Bellatrix can read between the lines. Knows what she’s asking. Harry and Ron shouted her identity to the entire school, she must know what Hermione knows. Keeping up the act all the time must be exhausting.

Bellatrix continues marking.

Hermione sighs. “This. Don’t you get tired of this? All the time?”

Bellatrix writes a large letter E at the top of the page and pulls another sheet towards her. “Do you?” Bellatrix murmurs. “Get tired?”

Hermione blinks. Feels her breath catch for a second.

Did she mean…did that mean…

“Of course. Sometimes,” Hermione whispers.

Bellatrix glances at her. The real eye.

Hermione hesitantly continues. “It can be hard sometimes. A lot of the time. But there are a lot of good moments too.”

Her heart pounds as she speaks so truthfully. It’s the truth. Being here in the past is so hard. But getting to be back at Hogwarts with all of her friends again is…so comforting. Nostalgic. Safe. It feels oddly safe. Being watched over again by the professors. All those familiar faces and places.

Bellatrix holds eye contact. Seems to stare into her soul.

Hermione really hopes she doesn’t know advanced legilimency. Should look away. Can’t bring herself to.

Bellatrix looks away. Looks back to her marking. “You put your name in the goblet,” she says. A gruff statement.

Hermione slowly shakes her head. “I’m too young. Someone else put my name in for me.”

No reply.

Silence once more, other than the scratching of quills. The tick of the clock.

Bellatrix takes out her flask. Unscrews it. Brings it to her lips.

Pauses. Doesn’t take a drink.

Screws it back up and puts it down on the desk. “You put your name in the goblet,” Bellatrix repeats. Firmly this time.

Hermione continues marking. Decides that this one is acceptable. Writes an A at the top.

Glances up at Bellatrix.

Sod it. “You put your name in the goblet,” Hermione says right back, just as firmly.

Bellatrix meets her eye. Tilts her head to the side. “You’re…hiding something.”

Hermione’s heart picks up. The hairs on her arms standing on end under Bellatrix’s certainty. She feels exposed. Impossibly caught out in her fifteen-year-old act.

But…

Was that…confirmation from Bellatrix too? She didn’t deny anything.

Hermione darts her eyes to the flask. “You’re hiding something,” she repeats back.

Because it seems like this is what they’re doing. Exchanging statements that are true to both of them.

Bellatrix chuckles lowly. Eye glinting. Hovers all the marked essays into one drawer, and all of the unmarked ones into another.

Leans back in her chair and stares at the ceiling. “You’re scared,” Bellatrix says calmly. Continues staring up.

Oh.

Hermione shifts to sit up in her chair. So she can look at Bellatrix properly. Or as well as she can, in Moody’s skin. At her lying back in the chair, rocking slightly. Wooden leg at an awkward angle. Magical eye rolled back. Heavy leather cloak on.

Scared?

“You’re tired,” Hermione says slowly instead.

Bellatrix’s real eye falls shut. A calmness falls over her demeanour. “You’re pushing it, cheeky witch. You’re good at that. Pushing your luck.”

Hermione can’t help but smile, slightly confusedly. True. For both of them.

Bellatrix lifts a hand and gestures lazily at the door. “Go. Go on, go. You’re right. I’m tired. Goodnight, Granger.”

For a moment, Hermione doesn’t move. Has the strange urge to…stay. Find out more.

But soon makes herself get up. Bellatrix is right. Pushing her luck.

She heads for the door, glancing at the clock. Nine. She’ll be back before curfew.

She pauses in the doorway. “You hate me,” she says quietly. Another truth for their game. You hate me, I hate you. We’re on opposite sides. We’re both just pretending.

Except…

The words don’t strike true. Fall flat. For the first time tonight.

There’s no reply. She turns to look.

Bellatrix sits up. Shrugs out of her leather cloak. Picks her flask back up and takes a sip. “If you say so, Granger. If you say so.”

And Hermione feels an odd…guilt. She’s not sure why. She shouldn’t. Because she does— because they are—

Hermione shakes her head. “Goodnight, Sir.”

Walks the winding path past the various creatures and scattered objects, through to the classroom and leaves for the warm glow of the Common Room.

With one thought nagging at her mind.

Whatever world she’s in, this Bellatrix…

…doesn’t actually seem crazy at all.

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 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 22^nd 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 22^nd 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.

Chapter Text

Jealous. That’s the word of the day on Saturday. The gossip mill has been spinning once again, and now everyone seems to be jealous of Hermione and Ron for talking to Viktor yesterday. The staring is back. Whispering. Pointing. Even worse than the week before.

And it only gets worse when the evening edition of the Prophet arrives. A Love Triangle. That’s what Skeeter is calling it. The Triwizard Love Triangle.

The picture of Hermione glaring at Fleur is in there. And her talking to Viktor, him laughing. Fleur smiling at Viktor.

But that isn’t what catches Hermione’s attention when she manages to find a spare copy on the table in the Great Hall before dinner.

Because there are photographs of each of the champions on the front page.

Including Bellatrix.

Skeeter hasn’t left her out. Is apparently using all the gossip she can get. The handsome quidditch star, the ambitious Golden Girl, the seductive French Veela…and the mysterious, thought-to-be-dead Death Eater.

A photograph of Bellatrix. With a large question mark next to it, and a smaller photo of her headstone outside Azkaban.

“That’s her?!” Ron squeaks. Turns to look at the staff table and then hurriedly looks away, realising he doesn’t actually want to catch Bellatrix’s eye.

Hermione slowly nods. “Yes, that’s her. But this must be an…old photo. She’s older now.”

The photo is of Bellatrix in her early twenties. Or that’s what Hermione would guess, given she’s not in Azkaban yet but obviously out of Hogwarts, and…

Well she’s young, and rather beautiful. She can understand Ron’s shock at the sight of her. She’s…striking.

Even if, from the looks of it, she’s up to her usual destruction. This time in Diagon Alley. Blasting open the front of the apothecary and then turning to glare at whoever is taking the photo, raising her wand at them before the image goes white. Repeats.

Did she…kill the photographer?

Oh.

Her heart aches as she has a sudden thought. Looks for Neville. Poor Neville—

He’s not here…

“Neville?” she whispers to Harry.

Harry smiles sadly, patting her on the back. “Left for the greenhouses.”

She nods. Well…that’s not surprising.

She looks back at the paper. Her own photo waves at her. At the photographs of Viktor and Fleur. Smiles at them as they cautiously wave back. Photo-Fleur begins to walk over…

And then the Hermione in the photo glances sideways at photo-Bellatrix nervously. Waves at Bellatrix too.

Stop it! Why would—

Bellatrix blasts away the front of the apothecary. Whirls around…and then pauses mid-spin. Looks sideways instead, at the photo of Hermione.

A snort comes from behind Hermione. “See? I was right. She’s even stalking you in picture form,” Ginny laughs. “Photos don’t lie, Hermione.”

Harry stands up. “Then you’d better sit here and keep an eye out during dinner,” he says. “Me and Ron have to get to the dungeons for detention.”

Ginny falls into his spot. “I just came from there. He had me pickling rat brains all afternoon, but there were still some left to finish up, so have fun with that.”

Ron grimaces. “Pickled— What potion even uses that?”

“Brain elixir…” Hermione mutters absentmindedly, still watching her photograph interact with Bellatrix. Both of them looking at each other from the edge of their frames.

Death Eater. She’s definitely still a Death Eater in this world. She’s blowing up a shop. And she’s dressed the same as before, black dress, same wand, same hair and same…

Is scowling. Folding her arms and scowling as Fleur and Viktor walk into Hermione’s picture to talk to her and point at Bellatrix.

Ginny takes the paper from her and looks at it. “She doesn’t look anything like Mrs Malfoy, does she? Kinda looks like Sirius though. Oh, ha! Well fuck you, too!”

What? Oh. Photo-Bellatrix is giving Ginny the finger.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for such appalling language, Miss Weasley!” Professor McGonagall’s voice suddenly snaps from behind them. Uh oh.

Ginny turns bright red. “Uh, Sorry Professor. But it was— She started it!”

She holds up the front page to McGonagall and points at Bellatrix. Who sticks her tongue out at them.

McGonagall sighs shakily, taking the paper. “A bad influence from beyond the grave…” she murmurs to herself.

Bellatrix skips over to the picture of her gravestone. Studies it critically. Then leans against it, folding her arms, crossing her ankles, and raising an eyebrow at them.

“I’m not sure she is dead, Professor,” Hermione whispers back.

Turns to look at her Head of House. Searches her face. “You knew her, didn’t you? You…Professor Dumbledore doesn’t believe us, but you heard what Harry said. That Professor Moody—”

McGonagall abruptly hands the paper back. “You’d do well not to listen to gossip and rumours, Miss Granger. I’d thought perhaps seeing how you yourself have been portrayed by Ms Skeeter would have shown you that. Let me assure you that Alastor Moody, is Alastor Moody, and that it is quite impossible that he is in fact Bellatrix Black.”

“It’s not impossible!” Ginny says. “What about polyjuice potion?”

McGonagall smiles sadly. “Polyjuice only alters appearances. And as you have pointed out, I did once…know Miss Black. Almost all of the staff here did. And she…you’re too young to understand. That’s why you should trust our judgement. It is not her. So put that worry aside. You have other things to worry about, hmm, Miss Granger?”

And with that she raises an eyebrow and walks over to the staff table for dinner.

Huh?

Hermione turns back around. Whispers to Ginny. “It is her. I saw it. Yesterday, her potion was wearing off and I saw her hair coming back. Curls. Like that.”

She taps on the picture of Bellatrix.

Food begins to appear. Ginny shrugs. “I believe you. But McGonagall sure as hell doesn’t, does she?”

No. Not at all.

And Hermione can kind of see why.

Because the Bellatrix in the photo? The one cackling and blowing up a shopfront? Dancing around and shooting out hexes? Glaring at Hermione?

That’s not the Bellatrix she’s seen over the last few weeks at Hogwarts.

Ginny passes her the peas. “So…did she tell you what you’re doing with her in detention tomorrow?”

Oh. Sunday again. Detention with Bellatrix.

No. Hermione has no idea what will happen tomorrow.

As it turns out, nothing. Nothing happens. Because Bellatrix has cancelled her detention. Which is…

Suspicious. Confusing. Infuriating.

Two months. For two months now, almost three, Bellatrix has been showing up everywhere Hermione goes. Staring at her. Watching her. Grinning at her.

And now nothing. The whole week, Bellatrix barely looks her way. Doesn’t talk to her. Doesn’t appear at any point outside of class.

Avoiding her. It’s the only explanation. She got caught out with her polyjuice potion, and now she’s avoiding Hermione altogether.

“Or it could be that her face is all over the papers and it’s spooked her,” Harry points out as they make their way towards the Three Broomsticks, Hermione finished with her rant.

Hmm. Well, that’s true too.

“Speaking of which,” Ron whispers. “We’ve got a bug following us.”

Hermione knows. She spotted Skeeter and her photographer lurking a while ago. Cast a muffiliato charm against eavesdropping. She’d thought the witch would have more sense, but—

Hermione spins around. Marches towards Rita Skeeter, wand drawn. “Stop bugging us. Just leave us alone. All of us. Or at least stop using that quill and tell a true story for once in your life. You know, actual journalism? Fact checking?”

Harry puts a hand on her arm. “Come on, Hermione. Just ignore her. It’s not worth it.”

Hermione shrugs him off. “Words matter. They’re important,” she grits out. “Spreading lies can have a real impact on people’s lives. It’s not just about me. Do you think it’s fair on Fleur? On Viktor?”

Skeeter laughs. “Well! What a brave lion we have here! So protective of the other champions. I can see the inter-school relations are going well. So Viktor and Fleur, hmm? Close with them, are you?”

Hermione frowns. Steps back. “They’re both very friendly. We get on well when we do see each other, yes. A competition doesn’t mean we have to hate each other.”

Skeeter produces a quill and a little leather book from her pocket. Begins making notes. By hand. “Close with the competition. And…have you been helping each other? The first task will be…in three days time. Any idea what it will be?”

Hmm. Well this is suspicious, but doesn’t seem…overly malicious.

Hermione shakes her head. “None of us know what it will be. And we don’t talk about it. I don’t know what the others have been doing, but I’m sure they’re practicing a lot of spells and reading up on different topics like I am. I’ve seen Viktor in the library quite often.”

“In the library with Viktor…” Skeeter murmurs, tongue wetting her lip as she writes. “And you haven’t seen Miss Delacour at all?”

Hermione shrugs. “We’ve spoken a few times. She might be in Hogsmeade today, I’m not sure.”

“You’re going to the Three Broomsticks?”

Ron clears his throat. “Yeah. We’re about to go in now. So…”

Skeeter shrinks her book. Puts it back in her pocket. Twirls her wand through her hair. “Then I’ll leave you to it!”

She turns to leave. “Oh, one last question…”

Hermione huffs. Carries on towards the Three Broomsticks. “I think that’s enough questions for—”

“Bellatrix Black. Any idea how her name came out of the goblet?”

Hermione carries on walking. “No idea. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Mr Potter, what do you think? I heard you had a lot to say on the matter? Made some accusations?”

“Uh…no. Well— I did think— but Professor Dumbledore said—” Harry stutters.

Hermione grabs Harry’s arm and drags him towards the door. “No comment. Come on, Harry.”

“Are you disappointed you couldn’t enter, Harry? You are the Saviour, after all. People say you’ll be a powerful wizard one day!” Skeeter calls. “Didn’t you want to see what you could do?”

“Sod off and leave him alone!” Ron shouts. “Course he didn’t want to enter. He’s fourteen. He could bloody die.”

“Just ignore her, Ron,” Hermione hisses, pushing open the door.

It’s busy inside. Fred, George and Lee Jordan are already there, at a table by the window. There are some spare seats. Ron waves at them and gestures to the bar, motioning that he’s getting a drink but to save the chairs for them.

They all push through the milling crowd. “I’ll get it, Ron,” Harry says. “First round’s on me.”

Ron shakes his head, fumbling around in his pocket for the money. “I’ve got it. I can buy a sodding butterbeer, Harry, alright? It’s not like—”

“I know that. I just thought—”

“Well, stop it. I know you’re being nice and all that, but you don’t have to—”

“Hermione!”

And Hermione is yanked away from the boys by the back of her robes.

Relashio! she thinks, spinning around and—

Fleur raises her hands in surrender. “It’s me! I am only saying hello!”

Oh.

Hermione lowers her wand. “Sorry. You surprised me. Umm…hi.”

A table of Beauxbatons girls, all looking at Hermione suspiciously.

Except for Fleur. She kisses Hermione’s cheeks in greeting. “Hello. I was wondering if you and your friends wanted to sit with us? We have wine?”

Hermione smiles. Maybe Fleur hasn’t changed that much over the years then.

“Oh, sure. We definitely want to join you,” Ron says, quickly coming over. “I’m Ron Weasley, and this is Harry. Harry Potter.”

Hermione sits down next to Fleur. “And they are both fourteen, so won’t be drinking.”

“Hermione!”

Fleur laughs, subtly casting the Veela shield Hermione taught her between herself and the boys as they get closer. “But of course they can! Look how small the glasses are. It is nothing. You English are too strict with these things.”

Ron sits down, pulling Harry into the chair next to him. “Yeah, Hermione. Lighten up. She’s right. It’s not that big a deal.”

Not a— “Madam Rosmerta could lose her license! Just because you’re all seventeen doesn’t mean—”

“I am eighteen,” Fleur grins. “My birthday was yesterday. And as an adult…I think your law says that I can accompany minors and buy drinks for them, as long as they are eating in the pub, non?”

She gestures to a few plates of food on the table.

The sneaky…

“That’s only for sixteen-year-olds…” Hermione mutters. Hang on. “Wait. It was your birthday! I forgot!”

Fleur gives her an odd look. “Of course you did not know. It is fine.”

Oh. Right. Not friends yet. Gah. It’s so confusing with Fleur and Viktor! They don't look that different to in the future, it's so easy to forget!

Ron stands up. “I’ll get butterbeers for us then. Don’t want to get Madam Rosmerta in trouble.”

Harry frowns. “So…we’re allowed butterbeer but not wine? Why?”

“Butterbeer doesn’t count as alcoholic because the alcohol percentage is so low,” Hermione explains automatically, looking across the table at the other Beauxbatons students. Who are still just staring at her. Do…they never talk? Do they not speak English?

She waves at one. “Bonjour.”

The girl’s eyes widen. She looks at Fleur.

Fleur sighs and says something in French about…interdite…Madame Maxime…

“They’re not allowed to talk to me?” Hermione sputters. “That’s ridiculous!”

Fleur shakes her head. “Madame Maxime does not want us talking to the other champions. But yes. I also think this is ridiculous. We are not talking about the tournament! It is fine. So, I say the subject is forbidden, and we talk about other things, bon?”

“Like the terrible wine?” one girl says sulkily.

“And the strange professors?” says another.

“And that this is Harry Potter and nobody is talking to him?!” Another girl says, hands flying into the air in exasperation as she leans closer to Harry. “He is famous! Where are all of his friends and admirers? Are you horrible or something?”

Harry leans back as she scrutinises him closely for his hidden defects. “Uhh…no. And I do have friends! Hermione is— and Ron. And— I was going to sit over there with my friends, so—”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” the girl interrupts him.

“Do you want one?” another quickly asks.

“Arrêtez!” Fleur shouts through laughter. “Leave the poor little boy alone. He is cute like a baby.”

Harry splutters. His mouth falls open. “I— baby? I’m not— I— Oh look, Ron needs help carrying the drinks.”

And he shoots out of his chair and over to the bar.

Hermione laughs. Looks like Harry won’t have any trouble finding a date to the Ball this time.

“Does he?” Fleur asks. “Have a girlfriend? Or boyfriend?”

Hermione looks at Fleur in surprise. Raises an eyebrow.

Fleur tuts. “Not for me. I am just curious. Camille is right. It is strange that he is famous but people do not…like him.”

Hermione checks that Harry is still at the bar. Then leans in to talk to the girls. “He doesn’t want to be famous. He likes being normal. Being treated like everyone else. And…no. He doesn’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything. There is a girl I think he might like, but—”

Camille squeals. “Who is it? We should tell her!”

Hermione holds up a hand. “But she has a boyfriend already.”

Cho. Does Harry still like Cho this time? Hermione hasn’t noticed.

Plus there’s the whole ‘married to future Ginny’ thing, not that she’ll be telling them that or forcing them together when they’re this young.

Fleur clears her throat loudly. “So, Hermione, do you like anyone?”

Wha— Well that’s— Why is—

Has Fleur been drinking too much? Why is she being so nosy and— Oh, Harry is coming back. So Fleur was changing the subject.

Ron puts the tray down, and Hermione takes a butterbeer gratefully. “Thanks. And no. No, I— well I don’t have time for dating, do I? Not with…the thing we’re not talking about.”

“The newspaper said you like Viktor Krum,” one girl says, folding her arms and smirking. “Is this true?”

Hermione glares at her. “No.”

Fleur throws an arm over Hermione’s shoulders. “Do not listen to Isabelle, she is of a bad mood today. She knows the newspaper is not true. Fighting over Viktor. That is why I ask you to sit with me. To show we are friends. Even if you are English and strange.”

Strange?!

Fleur smiles at her. “A joke. So tell me, Ron Weasley, your hair, it is natural?”

Ron flushes to match his hair and shrugs uncomfortably. “Yeah. Runs in the family. Red hair.”

Fleur nods. “It is magnifique. I have never met someone with red hair in France, but I see many since I arrive here.”

“Uhh, thanks. I guess. You probably saw my brothers and little sister.”

Fleur looks around the tavern. “Your family is here? Oh, I miss my sister so much. She also has blonde hair, like me. This is also in our family. It is hard to be away from…oh. Those are your brothers? They are jumeaux?”

They follow Fleur’s gaze to Fred and George.

The twins look up. One of them winks.

Ron scowls. “Ignore them.”

Fleur takes a sip of wine. Winks back.

Oh dear.

What…

What happens if Fleur…

She can’t be interest in Fred or George! That— But Bill!

Red hair. Cheeky. Mischievous. Up for an adventure.

Hermione turns Fleur around by the shoulders, so the twins aren’t in her line of sight. “So. Your sister. Tell me more about her. Did she send you a birthday card?”

Fleur huffs. “You don’t want me looking at the wizards? Pourquoi? You are jealous?”

The grumpy witch, Isabelle, mutters something in French and all the other girls start glancing at Hermione and whispering.

Hermione sighs. “I’m not jealous! I told you! I’m not interested in anyone. What is this obsession with talking about boys and dating?”

Fleur pours herself some more wine with a hum of amusement. “They are not talking about boys. They think you are in love with me.”

Hermione freezes in surprise and Harry spits butterbeer everywhere as he starts laughing. “Wha— Hermione— you— why?!”

Fleur shrugs, cleaning up the spillage with a flick of her wand. Fleur. “It often happens to me. And it is true, Hermione, we do not know each other very long, but you are often touching me, whispering to me, joking and smiling. They notice.”

Hermione groans. Oh dear. She’s accidentally…oh and she is touching Fleur!

She moves her arm away. “Sorry! I’m not— You’re very pretty, Fleur, but I’m not in love with you. I just— I’m being friendly!”

Fleur sighs. “Ah. Dommage. You— oh. I think that big wizard over there is waving at us.”

Big…Hagrid?

Oh, the dragons!

Hermione stands up. “That’s Hagrid, our Care of Magical Creatures Professor. I’ll go see what he wants.”

And she quickly walks over. She definitely needs to get out of that conversation. In love with Fleur? This is a very strange universe to be dropped into—

Shit. Bellatrix is with Hagrid. Hermione hadn’t noticed her stood behind him.

“Alright there, ‘ermione?” Hagrid greets her cheerfully. “Not too nervous abou’ the first task I ‘ope?”

Hermione smiles. “A little. But I’ve done my best to read as much as I can, just in case. It’s so hard not knowing what it will be!”

Hagrid glances around awkwardly. “Yeah, very ‘ard. Very difficult. Still, yeh always know what to do, don’t yeh? Got a good ‘ead on those shoulders, as I was jus’ sayin’ to Professor Moody over ‘ere. Nothin’ our Hermione can’t ‘andle.”

Hermione glances at Bellatrix.

Bellatrix shrugs. “There’s only so much you can prepare. Guess we’ll have to wait and see how much Granger can handle.”

Well. What is that supposed to mean?

Hagrid clears his throat. “Uhh…right. Okay then. Is tha’ Harry and Ron over there? Looks like you lot are making some new friends this year. Good, tha’ is. Makin’ those French lot feel at ‘ome.”

Hermione looks over. Harry waves. And Fleur.

Bellatrix barks out a laugh. “Interesting choice of friends, Granger. Very trusting.”

Hermione turns back around with a huff. Will she stop with the— “There’s nothing wrong with champions being friends! I like Fleur. What does trusting have anything to do with—”

“Being vigilant, are you? Watching yourself? Or are you letting her pour the wine?”

“I’m not drinking wine,” Hermione grits out. “I’m underage. We all are.”

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow. “She’s not.”

Wha…

Why…

Hermione looks at Hagrid in complete confusion at where this conversation is going.

Hagrid shrugs. “Whelp. Guess we’d better ‘ead on back to the castle. You lot have fun, and say ‘ello to ‘arry for me. Oh.”

He leans closer to whisper to her. “And ask ‘im to ask after Witherwings. Been too long now since I ‘eard from ‘im and Padfoot.”

Oh no. He whispered. But loudly enough to still reach Bellatrix.

Bellatrix’s magical eye spins towards Hagrid. She steps closer. “Witherwings and…Padfoot? Unusual names…”

Hagrid laughs. “Well ‘course they are! Did Dumbledore not tell yeh? ‘Course they got right unusual names when one’s an ‘ippogriff and one’s—”

“Hagrid!” Hermione shouts. Just because— because— gah shut up!

She clears her throat as he falls silent. “Maybe…maybe leave that up to Dumbledore? Telling people?” she says more gently.

Hagrid nods, running a hand over his beard. “Right. Yer right. Good thinkin’, Hermione. Should no’ of said tha’. Never know who’s listenin’, do yeh?”

Bellatrix claps Hagrid on the back. “Let’s get on back to the castle. Too many bloody strangers hanging around here. Too many eyes and ears. We can go back to your hut and put the kettle on, and you can tell me more about those skrewts.”

They begin to leave. No. But— but how can she—

“You don’t want to stay?” Hermione calls. “Sit with us? There’s room at—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Granger! Detention. Seven o’clock,” Bellatrix shouts back.

And they leave out the door.

Hermione heads back towards the table defeatedly. Prays to all the gods that for once Hagrid keeps his mouth shut.

And he didn’t even tell her about the dragons! Why? Does he just think she’s smarter than Harry? Does he like Harry more than her? Did Crouch convince him last time, but this time Bellatrix didn’t bother?

Why is Bellatrix even hanging out with Hagrid, then? Because it’s definitely not to talk about skrewts. She must be trying to get information out of him.

Although she does have her fair share of magical creatures to care for…

“Hermione!”

Someone grabs her arm as she passes the door, and this time Hermione manages not to draw her wand.

Ginny smiles at her. “Good, I found you. Wasn’t sure if the boys would have left yet for their detention with Snape. He just let me go. Is there space for me at…You’re sat with the French girls?”

Oh, yes, detention. Harry and Ron had better get going.

Hermione shrugs. “Fleur asked us to sit with her. They’re actually quite nice. Well. Fleur is, at least. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to…wait. Why do you always have detention without the boys? Have you been…alone with Snape all afternoon?”

It’s strange. And a bit creepy.

Ginny rolls her eyes, moving out of the way of the door to let Ernie Macmillan get past. “He says we can’t be trusted together. Make too much mischief. So he keeps me separate. But Neville was there today too, working on his antidote. It exploded twice, so Snape made him go right back to basics and started teaching him how to prepare his cauldron and do temperature gauges and stuff like that. First year stuff.”

Oh.

He’s…teaching Neville? Privately? Did Bellatrix change—

Harry and Ron come up behind Ginny, putting their cloaks moodily. Ron looks especially sour faced. “Stupid, rotten Snape. Witches! French witches that want to talk to us, drink with us, and we have to go and crush up dung beetles or something for greasy Snape.”

“Flobberworms, actually,” Ginny says. “Mincing flobberworms.”

Ron’s mouth practically bends off his face in dismay.

Harry chuckles. “We’d better go. If we’re late, he’ll have us there until midnight. And anyway. Don’t think you were having much luck with Fleur. She obviously has someone else in mind.”

Someone— “Not Fred and George,” Hermione groans. Oh this is so going to complicate things.

“Fred— what?!” Ginny shouts, looking around for her brothers.

Harry laughs again. “No! Not— Hermione, did you not notice that you just rejected Fleur Delacour? I think she likes you.”

Wha…what?

But—

That’s not—

Hermione pulls all three of them outside into the village and around a corner. “Fleur likes me? That’s— Fleur doesn’t like me. She can’t. She—”

Ginny whistles. “Delacour. Damn. And you rejected her? Why the hell would you do that? You said she was nice.”

Hermione leans back against a wall and groans, casting a muffiliato and then covering her face. “She is! But she— You must have got it wrong. I’m only fifteen. She can’t like me.”

“Uh, Hermione, you’re twenty-five, remember?” Ron whispers loudly.

Hermione pulls her hands away to look at them. “She doesn’t know that. She thinks I’m fifteen. And she doesn’t like me! She’s never liked me. Not like that. We’re friends.”

Ginny crowds closer, grinning. “You’re friends with her in the future? After all those years? And you’re not going out with anyone. Are you sure you’re just friends?”

Yes! And— it’s—

“She’s married to Bill!” Hermione can’t help but hiss out as they laugh at her. “Your brother! They have kids!”

Ginny steps back, mouth falling open. “Bill?”

“I’m an uncle?” Ron says. “Bloody hell. Fleur’s my family?”

Finally.

Hermione relaxes. “Yes. That’s why I’m so used to her. We see each other all the time. Her and Bill.”

Harry clears his throat awkwardly. “So…okay, I might be wrong. But…I think if you’re not careful you might steal Bill’s wife.”

Hermione leans against him. “I’m being friendly! That’s all! I haven’t…kissed her or anything!”

Ginny laughs. “Maybe you should. You said this is a different universe. If Fleur likes you—”

“She shouldn’t kiss her!” Ron shouts. “Hermione doesn’t want to— Do you want to?”

Hermione pulls away from Harry. Feels her face heat up as she considers…

Hmm. Kiss a witch. She’s never really contemplated…

She’s not opposed to it. If Fleur did kiss her, then…she’d probably try it. Kiss back. Ginny’s right. Fleur isn’t married yet.

But if Fleur actually likes her, she wouldn’t trick her like that. Use her. Hurt her feelings. This is just hypothetical. It’s to imagine how it would feel for a witch to—

She’s broken from her thoughts as Ginny snorts and grabs her arm. “Well, there’s your answer. You boys have fun with Snape. Me and Hermione will go say hi to Fleur.”

Hermione tuts. “We’ll say goodbye to Fleur, and then I’ll go back to the library. The task is on Tuesday and I still need to improve on my plan. It’s still quite risky.”

If only she could use Fleur’s sleeping charm idea. It’s the best approach by far, but would look very suspicious if they both used it…

Ginny leans to whisper in her ear. “Going to kiss Fleur goodbye? You know you want to.”

Hermione smacks her arm. “No. It wouldn’t be right. She’s my friend, and doesn’t really know who I am,” she whispers back as she opens the door.

Ginny pauses them by the entrance. “But…so you do like witches?”

Hermione bites her lip. Looks around the tavern. At Fleur. Angelica, Katie, and Alicia. At Madam Rosmerta. Imagines…possibly… “Maybe,” Hermione whispers. “I haven’t really thought about it. But…yes. I might. A little. I think?”

She tries to picture it. If she had the choice, who would she have asked to the Yule Ball? Ron? Viktor?

It was fun going with Viktor. But...the same as it would have been to dance with Harry. They had a good time. But kissing him…

Who does she want to kiss?

Ginny squeezes her arm. Smiles at her. “Me too,” she whispers back.

Oh.

Well, she knew that. Bisexual. Ginny told her that ages ago.

But not when she was thirteen.

Hermione hugs her. “I know. You told me in the future. We all know.”

Ginny hugs her tighter. “You do? Even— and Mum and Dad aren’t— or my brothers?”

“They’re fine with it. It’s never an issue. They love you.”

Ginny laughs quietly. “Thank Merlin. Okay. Okay, but— But you didn’t know that you—”

Hermione groans. “Romance and dating aren’t a big part of my life! I’m busy with work. I’ve dated wizards, but— Look, do you want to go talk to some French girls? And maybe warn me if I’m accidentally…signalling to Fleur?”

Ginny pulls back with a grin. “Want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

Hermione’s face screws up. Ew, no! “No! You’re so young and— No! Just— I don’t want to hurt her feelings if Harry is right about...all this. And keep her away from Fred and George too, she likes redheads.”

Ginny flicks her hair over her shoulders. “Redheads? Hmm, maybe I should get to know Fleur.”

No. Ginny— don’t—

And she’s walking over.

Fantastic.

Chapter Text

Hermione wraps her cloak around her more tightly, casts a lumos, and hooks her arm through Ginny’s. It gets dark so quickly now. At least it’s not raining, otherwise this walk back to the castle would be dreadful.

They probably should have left Fleur and the others earlier. But Ginny was having fun, and it was nice to talk to Fleur. Even if it was a bit awkward now that there’s a possibility that…

No. It’s fine! Fleur is just being friendly. She has to be.

She’s your friend, and she’s eighteen, and if she does like you, it’s probably because you’re the only person at Hogwarts who’s treating her like a normal person. 

“So Charlie’s really here, then? Can’t believe he didn’t tell us,” Ginny says, looking towards the forest.

Hermione nods. “He’ll be out there right now with the dragons. It’s all a secret. Or should be. I bet Viktor already knows. And Fleur will, by tomorrow.”

They pass through the school gates, and Ginny pulls Hermione sharply to the left. “Well let’s go see him then! The rules said you couldn’t get help from your professors, but Charlie isn’t a professor! He’ll know what to do.”

Hermione tries to pull her back towards the path to the castle entrance.

Half-heartedly. She has a point.

“Ginny, if someone sees us—”

“You know hiding spells, right? Invisibility or something?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Come on, then. It’s only two days now until the first task, and all you have is that charm for fireproof robes that you found, and a plan to dodge a dragon!”

And she could still use what Cedric did and conjure a distraction. What she really needs is some kind of warding spell. A containment spell. Or a way of freezing the dragon.

She hasn’t found anything strong enough.

Hermione…gives in. Taps Ginny firmly on the head with her wand, and then does the same for herself. Concealment charms.

“Ugh, what was that? It feels like an egg dripping down my neck!” Ginny complains.

Hermione chuckles. Casts a muffiliato. “It’s a concealment charm. I’ll teach it to you later when I have time. But it’s not full invisibility, you need a cloak for that, so stick to the shadows.”

“And watch out for dragons…” Ginny says quietly as they head deeper through the trees.

Trees that grow taller and taller. Hermione isn’t quite sure where the dragons will be. Probably where Grawp was. Outside of Centaur territory, but only just, so they’re not visible from the grounds.

She leads them through the dark. Through—

Tingling—

“Nox,” she whispers, pulling Ginny against a tree.

Magic. She’d felt…where is…who is…It feels familiar, but she doesn’t quite recognise it.

Footsteps. Wandlight.

Oh.

…Tonks?

What is she doing here?

Hermione slowly pulls Ginny along after her, just on the edge of the wandlight so they don’t trip over any stray roots.

She can’t believe…Oh she misses Tonks! She’d forgotten how much. Seeing her again is— Maybe Tonks will survive in this world. It feels like…well almost everyone died because of Bellatrix. If she’s changed, then surely Tonks could survive. And Sirius. Anything could happen!

“Ah!” Tonks stumbles. Falls over a log and into a pile of leaves. “Bloody— oh bollocking—”

Ginny bursts out laughing. Oh no. Hermione hopes the muffiliato is strong enough to—

“Expelliarmus! Homenum revelio!” Tonks shouts, getting to her feet. Tonks.

Hermione manages to cling onto her wand. Ginny doesn’t.

Tonks catches Ginny’s wand, and dusts some leaves and twigs off of herself with a sigh as the concealment charm disappears. “Alright. C’mon, then. What years are you in and what are your— Hermione Granger? You’re a champion. You really shouldn’t be here.”

Hermione smiles. “Neither should you, right? You’re not a professor…Auror Tonks.”

Tonks’ eyes narrow and her hair darkens. “Have we met?”

Hermione walks closer, pulling Ginny with her and unable to keep the wide smile off of her face. “No. But I’ve heard of you. Professor Moody trained you. And you’re a metamorphagus. You’re a great auror.”

Tonks scratches the top of her head awkwardly. “Huh. Ain’t had no-one recognise me before. Didn’t know I had a reputation. Did…Mad-Eye talk about me? Weird.”

Then she brings her hand down, wagging her finger at them sternly. “But you still ain’t supposed to be here. It’s the Forbidden Forest. It’s in the name.”

Hermione taps her lip with her wand. “So…you’ll tell a professor that we’re here? In the Forbidden Forest? And that you were here because..?”

Tonks barks out a laugh. “You’re a clever one, ain’t you? But that ain’t gonna work. I’m an auror. I’ve got permission to go on patrol and investigate suspicious activities.”

“You’d better get investigating, then,” Hermione says. “We’ll find our way back to the castle by ourselves.”

Hermione doesn’t move though. Just stands there. Winks at Ginny, who still looks a bit nervous at being caught.

Tonks folds her arms at them. Looks behind them, back through the trees.

And then huffs. Hands Ginny back her wand. “Too dangerous. You’ll have to stick with me now. So…c’mon then, I guess. And keep those concealment charms on, and your gobs shut.”

And she whacks them both on the head with her wand, concealment charms falling back into place.

“Kingsley will bloody murder me…” Tonks mutters to herself. Starts walking again.

Hermione squeezes Ginny’s arm and speeds up to walk together. Now what is Tonks up to? Because aurors are not supposed to interfere at Hogwarts, no matter what she says.

For a while they walk in silence though. Tonks did say not to talk. Hermione shouldn’t push her luck too much.

That’s what Bellatrix said. That she pushes her luck.

Most people don’t notice that about Hermione. They call her sensible. Too cautious. It’s quite strange that Bellatrix somehow—

“Wait…I think I know you too,” Ginny suddenly murmurs. “You…did you used to have longer hair? Brown hair?”

Tonks laughs. Lengthens her hair until it’s halfway down her back. And dark brown. “Depends on the day. Like this?” She shortens it to her shoulders, makes it mousey and curly. “Or like this?”

“Have you ever been to Ottery St Catchpole?” Ginny asks.

Tonks stops.

Her hair shortens, and she turns to look in their direction.

Then her eyes widen. “Red hair. Oh shit! I mean— Let’s go back. I should have taken you back. We can—”

“Tonks!” a voice shouts from through the trees.

And someone jogs towards them, not quite visible behind a bright lumos.

But that voice is very familiar. Hermione can’t believe their luck.

Charlie.

Charlie barrels into Tonks and wraps her in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you! How are you? You alright? How’s—”

“Oh!” Ginny shouts. “That’s how I know you!”

Charlie pauses.

Steps back from Tonks. Looks in their direction.

Smiles. “Hi Gin. And Hermione. See you’ve met Tonks then.”

Hermione cancels the concealment charms. Well. Look at this. Tonks and Charlie?

Tonks leans down to look at Ginny properly. “Wotcha. We’ve already met, haven’t we? When you was like…four? How old are you now?”

Ginny nods. “Thirteen. You visited over the summer holidays. You were…Charlie’s girlfriend.”

Charlie laughs easily. “Yeah, that was a weird summer, wasn’t it? Mum loved you.”

Tonks grins, standing up straight. Starts walking along next to him. “And then hated me when we broke up. Kept calling me Nymphadora.”

They all start moving deeper into the forest, where Charlie had come from.

“She didn’t hate you,” Charlie sighs. “Not really. But yeah. Sorry about that. I tried to tell her that—”

Tonks pats him on the back. “You were fourteen. We both were. Don’t worry about it. Besides, weren’t your fault or nothing.”

“Why did you break up?” Ginny asks.

Hermione elbows her. “Ginny! Leave them alone, you can’t ask people that!”

Tonks looks at Charlie. He looks ahead. Leads them to the left a bit and…

They’re nearing the edge of the trees. How strange. So they’re not going deeper.

Charlie sighs again. Moves closer to Ginny and hugs her sideways, arm around her shoulders. “I was going out with Tonks when I was fourteen. She was my best friend. Funny, and smart, and listened when I was going on and on about dragons like I always do. But…that’s it, you see. I…kind of realised after a while that I was more interested in dragons than girls. I told Mum. Said I never wanted to get married, settle down. That I wasn’t interested in all that. Mum said I’d change my mind once I was older.” He laughs softly. “Hasn’t happened yet though.”

Oh.

Ginny hugs him back. “Yeah. Mum’s probably wrong about that then. So…can we see the dragons now?”

He lets out a breath. “Right. Right, the— wait. How did you know about—”

“We already know,” Hermione says. “It’s…well it’s obvious, isn’t it? Why else would you be here?”

Charlie stops and turns to Tonks. Glances at Hermione and frowns. “What do you think? They really shouldn’t be here. I mean…Hermione really isn’t allowed to be here.”

Tonks leans back against a tree. “No. But, if she already knows, then it ain’t our fault. Plus, you know, she’s underage. Reckon people will be more pissed if she dies.”

Charlie seems to consider this.

“Please, Charlie,” Ginny says. “She’s my friend, and…we need your help. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Oh, Ginny.

Hermione pulls her into a hug. Strokes her hair. She’s so small. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“I didn’t know you were going to put your name in,” Ginny whispers. “I should have told you my plan. So you knew Harry was safe. You didn’t have to enter.”

Hermione pulls back. Looks at Ginny sternly. “It was my choice. And it’s fine. I can do this. Really. I have lots of options that I could use. Sleeping charm. Conjunctivitus hex. Transfigure a rock into a horse to distract it, or iron chains to—”

“Blimey, look at you, little Miss Clever Clogs,” Tonks says, eyebrows raising. “Maybe the goblet was right, and you don’t need our help.”

Hermione shakes her head. Looks at Charlie pleadingly. “I do. I really do. I want to do this right. I don’t want to hurt the dragons, or harm their eggs. It’s cruel. Magical creatures have rights too.”

Charlie just stares at her.

Then slowly reaches out and taps his wand on her head. Concealment charm. Charlie.

“Come along, then,” he says softly. “There’s a spot we can sit and watch, away from the others. I’ll explain…have you practiced what I talked about?”

Hermione nods. Then remembers he can’t see her. “Yes. I can feel it. With people I know.”

Ginny and Tonks frowns at them in confusion, but Charlie just leads them off a bit more to the right. “Good. That’s good. I’ll point out the dragons to you. You can sit and…feel them. I’ll teach you how to let them feel you.”

“Feel a dragon?” Ginny whispers. “Think I’ll leave that to you lot.”

Tonks laughs. “Same. Maybe I will take you back to the castle, Gin. Reckon running into Filch won’t be as bad as burning alive. I’d still avoid McGonagall, mind you. If she found out I took her lions into the forest…” She shudders. “On second thought, take me to the dragons.”

Hermione smiles. Shivers as Tonks casts a warming charm. Tonks. Tonks. She’s back. And making jokes.

The clearing comes into view.

Right. Focus, Hermione. Feel…

Feel…

Oh. It feels…

A blast of flames lights up the treeline. Charlie leads them around the edge, voices and shouts bouncing off of the trees.

He holds a finger to his lips. “Voices carry in the woods,” he whispers.

And walks them further around. To a fallen tree. Walks around and sits behind it, ushering them over. “There. Can you see?” he breathes out gently.

Hermione follows his gaze. Towards the glowing flames. The silhouettes of people holding ropes, and raising wands, and…

Towering dragons. Half hidden by the trees, but stood tall on their hind legs. Shrieking roars come towards them now, piercing the air.

“They’ve sensed us,” Charlie says. “Dragons are territorial. They know the feel of every plant and creature around them. They feel it. It’s a part of them. They…well they really shouldn’t be here,” he whispers sadly. “They should be home. Where they belong. Can you feel it? Their discomfort? The…wrongness?”

Hermione tries. Tries to feel it. But…well she can see the dragons are upset, or angry. And she can feel their…aura of magic. It’s a bit like Hogwarts. An ancient, old, strength. Safety and threat. Power.

But no. She can’t feel their emotions, or even single them out individually.

Ginny is shaking her head in confusion, and Tonks…

Has metamorphed scales over her face. Her pupils are slitted. Hermione isn’t sure if she’s deliberately turning into a dragon, or if she’s trying too hard to connect with them.

“I’m not sssure,” Tonks hisses. “There’s sssomething. Oh.”

Did she morph her mouth too? Ha!

Charlie ruffles Tonks’ hair with a grin. “You’re doing it again. It’s supposed to be mental. Not physical, puff-brain.”

Puff-brain?

Tonks launches herself at Charlie and pushes him down into the muddy grass, dragon skin disappearing and shoulders broadening, arms more muscular. “Mental and physical is connected, Einstein. Hello? Have you never met me!”

Oh.

Oh wait.

“Magic is at least fifty percent mental…” Hermione mutters to herself. “Physical and mental are connected. You choose the words you want…and feel…”

Magic is mental. You have to believe in what you’re doing. But you also have to do it right. Have the right words, and guidance, and a history of…

She welcomes the feeling of the dragons. Remembers watching them. The Welsh Green. The Swedish Short Snout. Chinese Fireball. Hungarian Horntail.

Looks out over the log at the treeline. Tries to spot the different coloured scales. Tries to pinpoint…

She cancels the concealment charm on herself. No hiding. No tricks. Hermione. Her magic. She can feel it. And she knows what Ginny feels like. What Tonks feels like. What Charlie feels like.

Harmony, she thinks. Tries to feel it. Calm. Friendship. Peace. Aid.

What spells do that?

Charms, perhaps. Or a calming draught.

She doesn’t want the dragons to think she’ll drug them though.

She points her wand towards the clearing, inches closer, leaning over the log.

“Hermione…what are you doing?” Charlie says warily, sitting up as Tonks moves back.

Hermione takes a calming breath. “Protego totus corpus. Protego mentes. Protego horribilis,” she whispers gently.

Fire continues to light up the night, roars shaking the air. What about…a cheering charm?

She whispers the incantation. Warmly.

“That…won’t work, Hermione,” Charlie says, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Their scales are spell repellent. Almost no spells affect them.”

Hermione shakes her head. Intent. She doesn’t need it to work. She just needs to show her intent. “Do they have names? Names are important. Have you named them?”

Charlie shuffles closer and points over her shoulder. “Ah, okay. So the green one is a Welsh Green—”

“No,” Hermione interrupts him. “Their names. Have you given them names? Even nicknames? In your head?”

Ginny snorts. “What? Like Fluffy and Norbert?”

Hermione turns to raise an eyebrow at her. “Exactly. Or Aragog. Creatures that everyone is terrified of, but Hagrid managed to befriend. Friends of Hagrid. If an acromantula can have a friend, recognise a friendly face, then so can a dragon,” she says firmly.

Then turns her gaze on Charlie.

He smiles. “I’ve always thought that too. And I’ve tried. I really have. And sometimes…sometimes I swear they know me. But they still attack. It won’t stop them, Hermione. Even if they know who you are.”

Oh.

Hermione slumps back to sit in the grass. She’d thought maybe…

But no. Dragons have never been domesticated. Never trained. Only taught through pain and fear. Only ridden once, when she’d jumped onto that poor dragon’s back and broken out of Gringotts, soaring free into the sky.

Freedom. She can still remember that freedom. That relief and…terror. How her muscles ached with clinging on. How exposed she’d felt in Bellatrix’s dress.

And a shivering vibration thrums through her. As if from the earth. From the forest, and the heat of the fire, and the night air.

It feels like flying. The thrill of flying.

Silent.

Everything is silent.

“They’ve stopped,” Ginny whispers.

Darkness falls around them. The moon the only light. No flames.

And then the shouts return. Roars and shrieks. The crash of rocking cages.

But for a second…

There’d been peace.

Hermione and Ginny manage to get back to the Common Room five minutes before curfew, without running into Filch or McGonagall. Which doesn’t make a difference, because they said goodbye to Tonks at the gate before she headed into Hogsmeade with Charlie. Hermione still finds it…

Part of her is sad. An ache in her chest for the Tonks in her time.

Was her Tonks ever friends with Charlie? Did they date when they were younger? Did Tonks come to see him in the forest?

She doesn’t know. She never had the chance to know that about Tonks.

Alive. She’s still alive.

Ginny yawns, leaning against her on the sofa, eyes closed. “What’s the time now?”

Hermione casts a tempus, still staring into the crackling fire. “Gone midnight. You can go to bed if you want. I’ll tell you what Sirius says tomorrow.”

Ginny shakes her head. “Not long now. I’m just glad I’m not in the dungeons. It’s freezing down there at nighttime.”

Now Hermione turns to look at her. “What have you been up to in the dungeons at night?”

Ginny opens her eyes. Reaches behind Hermione’s ear and pulls out a sickle. “Saving the Saviour. Duh.”

The Saviour…

Hermione smiles. “Harry should be back soon. Snape can’t keep them forever. It’s…nice, isn’t it? Seeing Harry so relaxed. No dementors this year.”

Ginny closes her eyes again. “He’s a lot happier. And it’s good he has Sirius now. Even if he’s on the run. He’s still like…someone he can write to. Mum says Harry can always write to her if he has any problems. But—” She laughs. “Can you imagine it? Harry writing to Mum? She’d just tell him to eat more and get to bed on time. Ask if he’s keeping his room tidy. Don’t think she’d be much help with this. She doesn’t get it. Treats us like kids.”

You are kids, Hermione thinks.

Doesn’t say it aloud.

“I think most mums are like that. I got sent a toothbrush a couple of weeks ago,” Hermione smiles instead.

Doesn’t admit that it almost made her tear up. That little letter with a stamp on, making sure she was okay and hadn’t eaten too many sweets over Halloween.

Ginny hums an agreement. Yawns again. “Tonks was nice, wasn’t she? I’d forgotten all about her. She was friends with Charlie all through school, but I was only eight when he left for Romania. I recognised her voice though. And something about her. She’s fun. Warm.”

Hermione leans into Ginny a bit more, sinking lower in the sofa. “I never knew that. I know Tonks though. We meet her next year, in my time.”

Ginny sits up with a laugh. “You know everyone! Quidditch stars, aurors, Veela, even Death Eaters! Next you’ll be telling me you’ve met the Wyrd Sisters!”

Hermione grins. “I didn’t tell you? Who do you think is the band for the Yule Ball?”

Ginny shoves her. “You’re lying! Why would you…really? You’re not joking? They’re really—”

Hermione keeps nodding.

Ginny grabs a cushion and screams into it. “Okay, now I have to go to the Ball! You need a date. Why don’t you take me?”

Hermione smiles. “I’d love to. If no-one else asks you…”

Ginny stills. Puts the cushion down.

Tucks some hair behind her ear. “Someone asks me? Who?” she asks quietly.

Hermione stands up and moves closer to the fire. It’s nearing one o’clock in the morning. “I’ll leave it as a surprise. I know who asked you last time, but it might not be the same. But…if it gets close, and you don’t have a date, we’ll go as friends.”

Ginny comes to sit next to her. “Deal. But you should get a real date if you can. You deserve to have fun with someone.”

Hermione looks away into the flames again. Shrugs. “I can’t really. It’s too complicated. Either I’m too old, and it’s creepy, or I’ll be with someone older who thinks I’m fifteen. Either way, that’s an awkward opening dance.”

“I still think you should go with Fleur,” Ginny whispers. “She’s so hot. I would, if she didn’t keep calling me a little girl and saying I could be friends with her eight-year-old sister.”

Hermione smiles. Yes, Ginny’s flirting hadn’t exactly gone to plan with any of the Beauxbatons witches. Thirteen is just too young to be taken seriously.

The portrait hole creeks open.

“Hermione?” Harry whispers.

She waves him over. “Just us. Everyone else is in bed,” she whispers back.

Harry and Ron tiptoe over. “Can’t believe how long Snape kept us,” Ron complains. “Mincing flobberworms and plucking lacewing flies. Without gloves.

“Yeah, you stink,” Ginny’s says bluntly, nose wrinkling. “Have you not even washed your hands? Ugh, it’s like rotting—”

“No time,” Harry whispers, edging closer to the fire. “Sirius will be here any minute.”

Ginny catches Hermione’s eye. Smiles at his eagerness.

Hermione smiles back. Checks the time. “Two minutes.”

Ron sniffs his hands, grimaces, and then casts a scourgify at them. “Ow! Shit, that hurt.”

Hermione sighs. “Don’t use that on skin. Objects only.”

He nods to himself.

They wait.

“So did you kiss Fleur?” Harry asks with a sly smile.

“No,” Hermione says calmly. “We stayed for a drink and then went to find out about the dragons from Charlie. We left the Beauxbatons at the tavern.”

“You saw Charlie?” Ron asks excitedly. “How is he? What did he tell you? Bet he knew loads about—”

He’s interrupted as a head appears in the flames.

“Sirius!” Harry grins, face lighting up. “I wasn’t sure— Are you okay? You haven’t been spotted, or—”

Sirius smiles back, but not as widely. Cautiously, as he looks behind him and around at them all. “I’m very well, Harry, but I don’t have much time. I’ve broken into a house to borrow a floo. But…what about you? Are you alright?”

His voice is still rough and croaky from Azkaban. But he doesn’t look too gaunt. Not worryingly unhealthy, so that’s a relief. And he looks how he should. How she remembers.

Harry pauses before answering.

Leans closer. “I’m fine. I really am. But it was close. It— well it all started when we were at the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione saw someone steal my wand. They were invisible, and sat with Mrs Malfoy, she— she’s your cousin, isn’t she?”

Sirius slowly nods, frowning deeply now.

“Well, Hermione followed her,” Harry continues. “And she saw who it was. It was Bellatrix. Hermione saw Bellatrix obliviate Mrs Malfoy, and now we know that Bellatrix is at Hogwarts, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody using polyjuice potion, and she tried to put my name in the goblet, but Ginny tricked her into—”

“Hang on a moment, Harry,” Sirius laughs in shaky shock. “Just one— I’m struggling with…Bellatrix is alive? And she…she’s the one who obliviated Narcissa?”

He says both of their names hesitantly. As if they’re uncomfortable in his mouth.

Should Harry really be telling him all this? She has no idea what Sirius’ reaction will be…

Harry nods firmly without pause, not even questioning it. “Yes. She’s alive. And she’s here in the castle. We saw her name on the Marauders’ Map. Bellatrix Black.”

Sirius runs a hand over his mouth. “That…is…”

He drifts off.

Then takes a deep breath. “So she was trying to put your name in the goblet. She must have wanted you to…to die in the tasks. It’s the only…it’s…I don’t understand how Narcissa could have…”

Hermione clears her throat. She just too impatient. “Could you tell us about Bellatrix? Only— well we heard that she was a Death Eater. That she was cruel, and— and we know what she did to the Longbottoms. But— well she’s different here. It could be acting, but she’s oddly…calm. Rational. She…she’s quite nice to me, actually. Sometimes. I’m a muggleborn. That’s— it’s strange, don’t you think?”

There’s a long pause whilst Sirius stares at her.

Then he nods. “She…I know what you mean. I’ve also been trying to…”

He looks back at Harry. Smiles grimly. “My cousins have always been bloodpurists. My whole family were. Prejudiced, elitist. Convinced that being Blacks made us practically royalty. Toujours Pur, that’s the Black family motto. Always pure. Well, I very quickly decided that I didn’t want to be like them. Like my parents, or my elder cousin, Bellatrix. Narcissa was just as arrogant and deluded, but she was younger. The same age as me. More spoilt than anything too malicious. Just rather annoying and stuck up.

“Sounds like Draco,” Ron mutters.

Sirius smiles. “Yes. Precisely. From what little I saw of Draco last year, he’s exactly like his mother. Although…perhaps not as cunning as Cissy was. Is. I forget that…”

He shakes his head. “Anyway. Narcissa was one thing, Bellatrix…had joined the Death Eaters by the time I was in second year. She was eighteen. And she…terrified me.”

He looks away uncomfortably. “I never admitted it. Especially not to her. Never showed fear. But other than…my parents, and my aunts and uncles…she was what I feared. What I hated.”

“So…she is bad,” Harry whispers. Then nods. “She’s a Death Eater. She’s tortured people. Killed people. She’s evil.”

Sirius sighs. “It’s not that simple. As Hermione pointed out, something…must have happened. She changed.”

He rubs at his forehead. “Twice, actually. Looking back on our childhood…she really wasn’t that bad. Not until she was fifteen or so and got into…well, she called it politics. Before that, she was relatively…normal.”

He laughs. “Normal for her. For a Black. None of us were exactly normal. Being told all your life that you’re above everyone else creates…monstrous egos that are hard to temper. All of us struggled with it, even myself. I can admit that now. We were all exceedingly arrogant. Embarrassingly so.”

He cringes at himself, lost in memory.

Then tilts his head to the side. Nods slowly. “Except…maybe Andromeda. She was my favourite cousin. Always managed to calm Bella down when she got into one of her moods. Made it funny. Made it ridiculous. Our whole lives were…ridiculous. Dromeda helped me see that. I was amazed when she ran away. She married a muggleborn. Ted Tonks. And just…left. That’s what made me realise I could leave it all behind too.”

He drifts off into thought again, staring blankly across the room.

Harry clears his throat. “You ran away?”

Sirius blinks back into focus. Looks at Harry fondly. “I stayed with your Dad. With the Potters. I was always welcome at the Potters, even once I was seventeen and got a place of my own with the money my Uncle Alphard left me. Another good one in the bunch. My parents hated him for it.”

Harry nods. “So you didn’t have to see your cousins after that. It’s the same as me and Dudley. You were just stuck with them.”

Sirius laughs hoarsely. “Yes, I’m not exactly welcome at the Malfoys’ for tea. I was quite glad to be rid of them. As I say, when we were young children, we could almost manage to get along, but people change, and by the time—”

He suddenly freezes. Then looks behind him. “I have to go,” he whispers harshly. “But just— You’ll be safe so long as you’re at Hogwarts, but I need to tell you more. Hermione is right. Bellatrix changed again. I thought I’d imagined it, that it was just the madness, but when I was in Azkaban with her, she spoke to me. Often. She was insistent. She told me that—”

He turns around again. Flickers. “I really have to go. I’ll contact you again soon. Goodbye, Harry.”

And he’s gone.

Well—

That—

Damn it!

Hermione falls onto her back on the carpet with a groan. “Told him what?! We already knew the other stuff! He could have gotten to the point a little faster. Now we still don’t know anything!”

“We…know she’s into politics?” Ron says cautiously.

Hermione sits back up. Looks at them all.

Really?

“Politics is Voldemort, Ron. That’s what the Death Eaters are. Radicalists who wanted to see a change in the Ministry’s attitude to muggleborns. They want to take over the Ministry, and be in power. Politically. It’s not just about randomly killing people they don’t like.”

“Except me,” Harry says. “I’m a pureblood, and they still want to kill me.”

Hermione sighs. “Yes. Because your parents fought against them. Opposed them. Plus, they don’t think you count as pure enough as your mum was a muggleborn.”

Harry frowns. “Voldemort’s Dad was a muggle.”

“Yeah, but no-one knows that,” Ginny says quietly. “That’s why he changed his name. He didn’t like being called Riddle. Or Tom. He wanted to change it as soon as he got to Hogwarts, but then his name was called out at the Sorting Ceremony.”

Oh.

Ginny hugs her knees to her chest.

Harry puts a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes gently. Ginny smiles gratefully.

Hermione stands up. “Let’s all get some sleep. As Sirius said, we’re safe here. We can all see each other at breakfast. We have all day tomorrow. It’s just a normal Sunday.”

Ginny gets up too and puts an arm around her. “Normal apart from your detention with Bellatrix. You should be careful. Even if she’s being nice to you, you shouldn’t trust her.”

Hermione starts walking them up the stairs, a guilty twist in her stomach. “I know don’t worry. We’ll figure out what she’s up to. She’s not fooling us,” she says firmly.

As firmly as she can. Tries to believe herself, even as her brain fights against her. Logically…

Logically what? Bellatrix has changed. Sirius admitted it. He believes Hermione. He’s noticed what she noticed. Something about Bellatrix is different.

She’d talked to him in Azkaban.

And now Sirius thinks they’re safe at Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

The others go into Hogsmeade again the next day, but this time Hermione stays behind. The first task is creeping up on her, and it’s making her nervous.

She wakes up early. Heads straight for the Room of Requirement, the only one awake, wandering the chilly, empty corridors.

And once she's asked it to appear, asked for an arena, a realistic but safe arena, she begins.

Imagines a dragon on the nest. Casts the charms to protect her clothes. Takes a calming breath, and transfigures a rock into a horse.

And waits. Waits for an opening.

Runs for the—

Is hit by a blast of flames. Fake flames.

Again. She tries again.

Transfigures a rock that’s further away this time. Sprints— ducks!

Hides behind a rock. Okay. Closer. That’s closer.

And the dragon has moved away to look for her…

She transfigures another rock into a heavy iron chain. Animates it. “Incarcerous!”

It clamps around the dragon’s ankle, and it lets out a roar. Thrashes and flaps its wings—

Hermione clambers up the nest. Reaches the—

Got it! But here comes the—

She slides back down, bringing up a protego and panting as—

Flames hit her shield. Pass through. Burnt.

She imagines the dragon away, and collapses down to lie in the dust.

Great.

This…cannot be the best plan. It’s not.

Oh why did Fleur have to have the best plan?! And Viktor’s isn’t that bad. If she didn’t care, she could just blind the dragon and be done with it!

But she does care. Just the feel of the dragons last night. Magic, in the most…muggle sense. They feel like magic. Extraordinary. Breath-taking.

She struggles to her feet. Dusts herself off. Right. She needs a new idea.

So she needs books.

And a door appears in the arena wall. Huh. That’s never happened before.

She puts down the golden egg. Takes her wand out instead, and slowly makes her way over. Cautiously tries the door handle.

It’s unlocked. She peeks through…

Oh. Is this a secret library? There are bookshelves. Chairs and sofas. High ceilings, and tall windows, with calming blue wallpaper and—

Two girls hurry through the room, putting their cloaks on and then heading—

Oh! Blue and bronze!

Is this…the Ravenclaw Common Room?

No-one else is around. She pushes the door open a bit more.

Realises she’s higher than the floor. Is behind a portrait.

Checks again for Ravenclaws. Looks longingly at the books covering the walls.

Climbs through. She just wants a look. A little—

“Hello, Hermione Granger. You’re in the wrong house again.”

Hermione jumps and spins around. Luna. Curled up in a window seat.

Hermione smiles through a nervous laugh. “Yes. Sorry. I just— I was looking for books about…dragons.”

Oops. She’s didn’t mean to say that. The dragons are still a secret.

Luna just smiles and jumps up to pad over. “Oh, well you’re in the right place, then. There are an awful lot of books here.”

They both stand and look up at the nearest bookshelf. In awkward silence.

Hermione clears her throat. “Where…is everyone else?”

Luna begins to sway, twirling her skirt. “Third years and above can go to Hogsmeade with a permission slip. It has to be signed though, and Daddy doesn’t believe in signatures. Names are powerful, you see. And…the first and second years have all left too. I’m not sure where they are. They didn’t tell me.”

So…oh. All alone.

Hermione reaches for Luna’s hand. Squeezes. “He’s right. Names are very important. Maybe he could just sign with an ‘x’ so you can go next time.”

Luna squeezes back. Swings their hands. “I suppose he could. As long as he doesn’t think his name behind it. It’s the thought that counts.”

Thought. Names. Intent. Words.

Hermione looks at Luna curiously. “Luna…if you had to…take something from a dragon, something…they think belongs to them, but it doesn’t, how would you do it?”

Luna takes her wand out from behind her ear and taps her lip with it. “It doesn’t belong to them? And you really need it? Could you tell them that it’s not theirs? Ask for it back?”

Hermione smiles. “I could, if I could talk to dragons, which I can’t.”

Luna wanders over to look at a plant in the corner. Sighs. “Then I suppose they would be rather angry with you. No-one likes their things being taken. I have my clothes back now. Did I tell you? Ginny helped me explain that I need them back. She was very cross. It was quite a relief. And I’m much warmer now.”

She taps her feet together. Her trainers.

Hermione starts perusing the books. Charms. Maybe a shield charm. A book about protection. “I’m glad. And if it happens again, tell me or Ginny. Or Ron and Harry. They’ll help you too.”

Luna laughs softly, and it echoes through the room. “Ask Harry Potter? Oh, no. He doesn’t need to help anyone else. He’s saving far too many people already. It does make him happy. And sad. People needing him.”

Right. Luna is right. No more pressure or responsibilities on Harry.

“I’m sure he’d still like to talk to you though, Luna,” Hermione hums as she flicks through a book. “You’re a good friend. And very wise.”

Arms go around Hermione from behind. A warm hug. “Thank you. You’re very clever too, Hermione Granger. But you know that. You’re very clever at doing exactly what’s needed, at exactly the right time.”

Hermione freezes. Time?

She feels Luna lean on her to look over her shoulder. At the book.

“Protection,” Luna whispers. “Yes. Very sensible. Charms.”

And she accios a book from the shelf. Gives it over to Hermione. “Don’t forget this, though. You often forget this.”

And then the warmth is gone from her back. Luna skips away. Leaves the room completely. No explanation or goodbye.

Hermione looks at the cover. It’s…The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

She groans. Not again. There is no way she needs to read this again. There’s nothing about dragons, or—

It opens in her hands. By itself. Opens to The Fountain of Fair Fortune

A tale about four people who travel to a magical fountain to get a cure for their different problems, but, once they arrive, realise that they had what they needed all along.

It’s basically the magical version of the Wizard of Oz.

So…

She has what she needs?

In the story, the people help each other to get what they need. The first witch is very ill, and looking for a cure. The second witch saves the life of the first with a potion she brews. This makes her realise she has a talent, and can become a potioneer for money, meaning she’s no longer in poverty, and doesn’t need to ask the fountain for riches. The third witch comes to terms with her lost love along the journey, washing away her sorrows in the fountain rather than asking for her lover back. And marries the final member of the party. A wizard. Sir Luckless. Who is finally lucky enough to find a witch to love him.

So…

Hermione puts it in her bag with a sigh.

What…is Luna trying to tell her?

She puzzles over the book for the rest of the morning. Then makes herself go down to lunch. And returns to the Room of Requirement to practice, none the wiser.

By late afternoon, she’s managed to get the egg four times without getting ‘burnt’.

And is caught off guard half a dozen more times.

Goes to the library. Researches wards. Shields.

Nothing.

She might have to accio a literal shield and suit of armour towards her at this point. There are enough of them in the castle.

Day turns to dusk. Her eyes become heavy, squinting in the dim light.

Enough of this. Time for some fresh air. There are other ways of studying. More practical ways.

The trip back to the dragons is a lot easier than the night before, now she knows that you don’t have to go through the forest to get to them. They’re not in the forest. You can walk around the lake, and reach them as soon as the castle is out of sight.

Charlie is busy. Constantly surrounded by other keepers, trying to calm the increasingly agitated dragons. Tonks isn’t there.

The cold sets in, breath visible in the air, even with the bursts of flames.

Hermione stays. Curls up against a tree under her cloak and a concealment charm, and watches. Tries to keep her heart steady as the dragons snap their jaws and fight off the keepers.

It will be okay. She’ll be fine. She knows the charm for fireproof robes. And she has a plan. It will work. She thinks. She’ll just…transfigure more chains. Chain the dragon away from the nest.

For now though, she just watches. Feels the magic. Lets it calm her. Reminds herself that these dragons are nesting mothers. That they’re just defending their children. Are caring, really.

She names them. By their colours. Assigns the same colours to their magic. Blue. Green. Red.

Black.

The Hungarian Horntail.

She…hopes she doesn’t get the black one. It has more fight. Fighting the hardest.

She focuses on it. On her. On that one. Feels the magic. The heat of it. It’s the fiercest. The biggest threat.

The one she needs to feel the most. Understand the most.

Soon the sun has set completely. Pitch black.

Not long until dinner now.

And then detention.

Hermione stays. Watches.

She pushes open the door to the DADA classroom at seven o’clock sharp, determined to have as much time as possible to figure out once and for all what Bellatrix is—

Ducks a spell that hisses and sparks towards her, leaving a mark on the door where her head had been. Wha—

She stays ducked and crawls behind a desk, casting a protego as she leans slightly to…

No-one there. Gone again.

Hermione waits. And waits.

Huffs in frustration. Time to go off a hunch she’s had for a while. “Using an invisibility cloak is cheating!” she calls out into the room.

“Tell that to Potter.”

Ah!

Hermione spins around and falls on her arse on the floor at the whisper in her ear.

Bellatrix grins at her. Stands up straight again from where she’d been crouching behind a nearby desk, wand pointed at Hermione. “There’s no such thing as cheating in a fight. Fights are never fair. And it looks like you need a lot more practice before the first task, Granger.”

Hermione gets to her feet. “That’s not what you told Draco about cheating. When he hexed Harry from behind. You turned him into a ferret.”

Bellatrix frowns. Lowers her wand.

Opens her mouth. Closes it.

Shrugs and walks towards the blackboard. “You’re right. Guess I was just in a bad mood that day. Plus it wasn’t a real fight. Just Malfoy tripping over his ego.”

She starts cleaning the blackboard. Rubbing off the writing. Without magic.

Hermione wanders over curiously. Here it is again. That calm, easy conversation.

Different. What did Bellatrix say to Sirius? He said…that they were safe at Hogwarts. That Bellatrix has changed. “Actually, for once Draco didn’t seem very sure of himself,” Hermione says cautiously. “It was because Harry mentioned Narcissa. I think he was upset.”

Bellatrix pauses.

Picks up a piece of chalk without comment.

“Is…is Mrs Malfoy any better now?” Hermione asks.

The chalk snaps in Bellatrix’s hand and falls to the floor. “How should I know?” she asks roughly.

Okay. One question too far…

Hermione doesn’t bother replying. Walks away to look out the window.

It’s dark. She can’t see out. But can see the reflection of the classroom. Can keep her wand at the ready.

Bellatrix taps her fingers on the board. Drums them. One two three four. One two three four.

“How long have you been here?” Bellatrix asks quietly.

…What?

What does she mean? She’s…been in the classroom for a few minutes.

One two three four. One two three four.

“When did you come from?” Bellatrix asks.

And Hermione feels her heart plunge into her stomach. The breath leave her lungs.

She stares helplessly at her reflection. “I— I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she says shakily.

She hears footsteps coming closer behind her. Can’t bring herself to turn around.

“Yes. You do,” Bellatrix says firmly. “You know what you know. And now you know what I know. What we both know. So. How do you want to…proceed with this? Does anyone else know?”

What is happening what is happening how is this happening?

How? How does she know?

She opens her eyes. She isn’t sure when they fell shut. Bellatrix is stood right behind her.

Hermione shakes her head. “It— you don’t know. I don’t know. None of this— I saw you. At the Quidditch World Cup, I saw you.”

Bellatrix chuckles. “I know. And you saw because you were looking. And I’ve seen. Because I’m looking. Do you understand?”

Hermione spins around. “No,” she groans frustratedly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You— you don’t make any sense!”

Bellatrix grins. “And neither do you. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Hermione laughs. What? Exciting? “This is…fun for you? It’s a nightmare! This whole thing is—”

Bellatrix barks out a laugh. “Oh, Granger, you have no idea. If you only knew. But gods, it’s nice to have someone that knows. Can we say it? Please just say it.”

Hermione puts her head in her hands and pushes past Bellatrix. She needs space. She needs— “This is too complicated! I can’t tell you— or I shouldn’t— this shouldn’t be happening!”

“Should or shouldn’t. It’s happening. Should I go first?”

Hermione brings her hands down. Turns around.

Bellatrix is just stood there. In the centre of the room. Casually.

Looking like Mad-Eye Moody.

Bellatrix sighs. “You’re not from here. You’re not from now. You’ve come back. Accidentally, by the sounds of it. And I’m fucking up your plans.”

Hermione doesn’t nod. Can’t nod. Can’t admit it.

But…

“You’re Bellatrix Lestrange,” she whispers, fiddling with her wand. “Bellatrix Black. And…I don’t know why you’re here.”

Bellatrix doesn’t nod either. Doesn’t react.

Slowly walks back over to the blackboard, repairing the chalk on the floor and picking it up.

“So…know anything about dragons?” Bellatrix slowly asks.

Then chuckles, shoulders moving up and down. “Because I fucking don’t.”

A surprised laugh escapes Hermione’s mouth.

She— that—

She doesn’t know anything about dragons?

“Maybe. I don’t think the champions are supposed to help each other though, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Bellatrix shrugs out of her cloak and drops it on the floor, freeing her arms and throwing them up in the air, stretching. “I didn’t ask to fight a bloody dragon!” she groans out, looking at the ceiling. “You’re the one crazy enough to put your name in. Spell resistant scales. Merlin's balls.”

Hermione can’t believe this. Just cannot believe this is actually happening right now.

She falls down to sit at a desk in shock. “You’re admitting it.”

Bellatrix stops.

Lowers her arms. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

Hermione opens her mouth.

Closes it.

Opens it again. “I…already have. And Harry did. You know that. We always knew it was you.”

Bellatrix bends down and picks her cloak up. Reaches into the pocket. Takes out a folded piece of parchment. “From Sirius’ map,” she mutters.

Holds it out to Hermione, behind her back.

The Marauders’ Map.

Hermione slowly gets up. Tiptoes over. Carefully pulls it from Bellatrix’s hand, amazed that she’s giving it back. “Did you look at it?”

Bellatrix shakes her head, still facing away. “I never knew the password.”

Right. Well…that’s good.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Bellatrix says quietly. “About you. I’ve known about you for a while too. I haven’t told anyone.”

Hermione puts the map in her pocket. “How? Why?” she asks just as softly, not wanting to do anything to break this strange atmosphere. This strange calm.

Bellatrix doesn’t answer. Just stands there.

And her hair…starts to move. To curl. To darken. Very quickly.

Hermione watches.

Watches as Bellatrix…begins to shrink. Steadies herself on the blackboard.

“I should go,” Hermione whispers.

“You have detention,” Bellatrix replies gruffly. Roughly. Voice wavering in pitch.

Hermione hurriedly shakes her head. Steps back. “I don’t— I’m not supposed to see this. I don’t— I don’t want to see you.”

Bellatrix laughs. It’s throaty and feminine. “Don’t want to see the truth? Can’t face it? Can’t accept it? I thought you wanted to see who I am. You watch me enough.”

“I…”

Bellatrix groans. Grabs her knee. Starts unscrewing the wooden leg.

Why is— “I should turn you in,” Hermione says shakily, raising her wand and backing towards the door. “I should tell Dumbledore. You— you’re dangerous. For— for Harry, and— and—”

Bellatrix wobbles and curses to herself. Falls to sit on the floor. There’s a loud tap as the magical eye falls out. Bounces and then rolls across the floor and under a stool.

Her hair is completely dark now. Long and curly. And she’s smaller. Drowning in Moody’s clothes.

“You could tell Dumbledore,” Bellatrix says, nodding. Her voice is— it’s her voice. “You could show him your memories in the pensieve. You could tell him everything.”

And Bellatrix twists around on the floor. Turns, so she’s facing Hermione.

Hermione freezes. Can’t look away. Thinks her heart might beat out of her chest.

Her. It’s her. Those eyes. Both eyes, and that hair, and that familiar expression on the right face. Right there. Exactly as she remembers. The face imprinted in her still lingering nightmares, but…

Calmer. Relaxed features. Not twisted in anger, or fear. Looking at Hermione…openly.

And then shifting as Bellatrix smiles sadly. “Please don’t. I won’t tell anyone about you. Please don’t tell anyone about me. I…really don’t want to go back, if I can help it.”

Hermione swallows. Can’t find any words.

Bellatrix sighs shakily. Brings her hands up to her newly revealed face, and just trails her finger over it. Over her cheeks, and her nose. Over her hair.

Touches her chin, and neck, and shoulders. Rubs her hands up and down her arms, as if warming them up. Splays her legs out in front of her. Wiggles her feet and then reaching to touch her shins. Both shins. No wooden leg. The relief on Bellatrix’s face is obvious.

But then she pauses. Pulls back.

Crosses her legs and rolls up her sleeve. Looks at the Dark Mark. “Now what am I going to fucking do about this?”

What…

Hermione takes a careful step closer.

Then hastily retreats as Bellatrix’s finger moves to the Mark. Touches it.

Hermione hits into the door, raising her wand.

Bellatrix looks up. Frowns in confusion. “What…Oh. Oh, no. I’m not calling him. Can’t do that. It’s gone grey, see? Because he hasn’t got a strong enough body.”

She casually holds up her arm to show Hermione.

Hermione grits her teeth. “I know. That’s what you’re doing. You want him to get his body back. That’s why you wanted Harry to be in the tournament. That’s why we stopped you.”

Bellatrix’s arm falls to her side. Her sleeve falls down over it, too long. “Yes, how did you do that? You said I put my name in, but I didn’t. I put— And look, you don’t have to worry about Potter. You never have to worry about Potter. We’re the ones who are royally fucked. Me more than you, if I’m honest. You seem to be doing just fine.”

Hermione resists the urge to laugh again. This is— whatever universe she’s in, Bellatrix is somehow funny now. And chatty? Very chatty.

And looks kind of ridiculous still sat on the floor in a puddle of clothes. Hermione hadn’t realised before how small she is.

Right. Let’s just get a few things straight then.

Hermione clears her throat. “So…you don’t want to kill me?”

Bellatrix leans on her knees as she gets up, stepping out of the one boot on her left foot that's so big it just falls off. “What? No. I told you. You’re interesting. You’re the only exciting thing going on around here.”

Only— There’s a whole tournament! And time travel! And a resurrection plot! And— “I’m a muggleborn!” Hermione shouts, completely flummoxed now.

Bellatrix rolls her eyes. “I know. Hermione Granger. Muggleborn. Friends with Harry Potter. Thinks too fast but moves too slow. I’ve been teaching you for months, I know who you are.”

Thinks too…what? So she knows she’s a muggleborn, but has been watching her, and analysing her, and— but—

“And my blood doesn’t bother you?!” Hermione squawks.

Bellatrix points her wand at herself and starts shrinking her clothes. “Nope. I’m done with all that. Done with everything, actually. Can’t quite figure out what the point of anything is anymore. I was just going along with it. Teaching is fun though. Or would be, if I wasn’t stuck in the worst body imaginable,” she finishes with a quiet mutter.

Hermione…walks closer to Bellatrix once more. As close as she dares. Right up to her. Searches her face. The slight frown of concentration as she judges when to stop the shrinking spell. The look in her eyes.

Focused eyes. No madness. No…

Hermione takes a shaky breath in the suddenly heavy air…and reaches out. Touches Bellatrix’s shoulder. Just taps it. To check she’s real.

Bellatrix stops the shrinking spell and looks up. Grins. “Hi.”

Hermione stares back. “You don’t make any sense. Who— who are you? What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

Bellatrix frowns.

Then holds out her hand for Hermione to shake. “Bellatrix Black. And I’m just as confused as you are. Try not to think about it too much. Messes with your head. Just…if you’ve met me before, try to forget all that, alright? It hasn’t happened to us yet, whenever you’re from.”

Hermione doesn’t shake her hand. Of course she doesn’t. Why would she— “You’re not easy to just forget,” Hermione says coldly. “Or forgive.”

Bellatrix’s expression falls. She takes a step back. Turns to face the blackboard.

Draws a large circle. “I didn’t ask for forgiveness.”

Hermione shakes her head jerkily. “You want my help. With the dragons.”

Bellatrix shrugs. “Not really. I have a few ideas. Just wasn’t sure if I should…don’t know. Too many options. Just wanted to talk to someone about it.”

Oh.

No. No, Hermione is not feeling sorry for her. She doesn’t— They’re not friends. They’re not anything! They’re—

Don’t trust her. Remember what Ginny said, don’t trust her.

The chalk scrapes down the centre of the blackboard. Bellatrix is drawing a dragon eye.

“You can go now, Granger. End of detention,” she mutters.

Hermione frowns. “It’s only been a few minutes. And what are you going to do? How are you going to even compete? Everyone thinks you’re dead. How—”

Bellatrix points her wand over her shoulder at Hermione. “You worry about yourself. I’ll worry about me. Discussion over. Class dismissed.”

“But I—”

A silencio hits her. And then her jacket sleeves grow longer. And longer. Come to life and wrap around her like a strait jacket.

There’s a bang as the door behind her flies open.

And then a gust of wind blasts her backwards, feet skidding on stone. Through the doorway and out into the—

Ow!

Corridor.

She smacks into a stone wall, losing her balance and sliding down against it.

The door to the classroom closes and locks itself.

She sits on the floor in her too-big clothes, cursing silently to herself and trying to find her wand.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

Hermione runs up the spiral staircase, panting and stumbling as she jumps the disappearing step. Pushes her way through the tapestry. Sprints towards the Fat Lady. “Balderdash!”

“Someone’s in a hurry,” the Fat Lady comments as she swings open.

Hermione staggers through. Looks around for—

Spots Harry and Ron.

Drags them away from Seamus and Dean.

“Hermione—”

“Upstairs. Now. Have to talk to you. Is Ginny—”

“I think she’s in her dorm. What’s wrong? Did she—”

She urges Harry up the stairs. “I’ll go get her. I’m fine, but— We’ll meet on your bed.”

And she heads off to Ginny’s room. She cannot believe what she has to tell them.

Harry pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and then takes the Marauders’ Map from her with a frown. “But…why?”

Hermione throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know! I don’t know anything! She just said she knew about my time-travelling, wasn’t going to tell anyone, and that she doesn’t want to hurt or kill either of us! I don’t think she even follows You Know Who anymore!”

Ron tucks his knees up, checking the curtains around Harry’s bed are still completely drawn shut. There’s a silencing charm too. “So she’s an ex-Death Eater now, like Snape and Karkaroff? She’s turned good? Why did she try to put Harry’s name in the goblet then?”

Hermione sighs. “Again, no idea.”

Silence falls, all of them lost in their shared confusion.

Then Ron shrugs. “Guess she’s not our problem anymore, then. Sucks for You Know Who, but she doesn’t want to work for him anymore. Can’t blame her. Most loyal servant. I wouldn’t bring him back to life either if I was just going to be bossed around.”

...A bit simplistic, but also true. Hermione lets out a quiet laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “So…she’s not a problem. She’s just…there.”

“If she’s telling the truth,” Ginny says.

This again. Which she understands, of course, but…

She squeezes Ginny’s ankle. “She’s not manipulative like him. None of you understand how…terrifying she was in my time. Impulsive. Violent. She wasn’t like…the Malfoys. She didn’t play a part, or tolerate people like me to keep up appearances. She’d never even touch someone like me except to hurt them. She didn’t think we were worthy of speaking to her. But now she talks to me all the time! She’s…different!”

Harry nods. “Like Sirius said. She’s changed.”

Hermione lies down, head in Ginny’s lap.

Changed. She’s definitely changed.

And now everything has changed.

So…if Hermione isn’t here to stop Bellatrix…

Then why is she here?

Tuesday. It’s already Tuesday. She hadn’t even registered Monday passing, too caught up in her thoughts, drifting from Herbology to Care of Magical Creatures to Arithmancy.

And now the day is here. The dreaded day. The first task.

She can’t stand it. She feels nauseous. Thinks she might actually faint if something doesn’t distract her soon, stuck in History of Magic. It seems even in this universe, history doesn’t change. She already knows everything about the goblin wars. There’s nothing else to learn.

Instead, she feels for her magic. Closes her eyes like everyone else beginning to drop off to sleep as Professor Binns drones on and on.

She can feel Hogwarts. It’s soothing. And she thinks she can feel Harry’s magic, even when he’s not using it now.

It is comforting. Calms her magic. Makes her more…aware of it. Self-aware. Like her magic is clearer. Sharper.

Right then. Now you’re awake, be productive.

She sits up. Wakes herself up, and writes out her list of spells. Her plan for the task.

Fireproof robes. Transfigure a horse. Transfigure the chains. Accio the egg, if she can. Run.

It seems far too risky. Unpredictable.

But she can’t think of another way. Fleur and Viktor already took the best approaches. And Cedric’s idea wasn’t bad. It doesn’t matter what marks she gets. So as long as she doesn’t catch on fire, and distracts the dragon long enough to get to the egg—

And the bell rings for lunch.

Okay. Okay, nearly time.

Harry throws an arm over her shoulder. “You okay? Is there anything we can do to help? I could—”

“I need to get out of here,” she whispers. “Just— fresh air. And then lunch. And then I’ll be taken down to…”

Ron takes her bag from her. “One step at a time, yeah? And remember, we’ll be in the stands. Harry’s bringing his broom, so if you need to get out of there—”

She pulls them to a stop. They’re outside in the corridor now. She’s not sure when that happened.

And stares at Harry. Feels tears gather in her eyes.

Cups his face. “You— you have your broom? Harry, you don’t have to—”

He smiles awkwardly. “Someone has to be there to save you. Just in case. I know you’ll be brilliant. You always are. But if you need help, well, me and Ron remembered what you told us about the firebolt. I can be there in a flash.”

She hugs him. Drags Ron over and hugs him too, blocking the corridor. Breathes in the smell of Harry. “I love you both so much. You know that, right?”

Harry clears his throat uncomfortably. “Uh— Yeah. We— I mean—” he pulls back. Shares a slightly panicked, confused look with Ron at how emotional she's getting.

She smiles at them both.

Continues walking down the corridor. “I know. And don’t worry, I have a lot of spells I could use. A lot of options. I’m just trying not to hurt the dragon, but if I have to?” She shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s better than burning alive. And I could always use the same spell as Fleur, even if it seems suspicious.”

They reach the Great Hall. Luckily there isn’t a line today. And there’s space at the— oh good, Ginny.

She takes her bag back from Ron and squeezes onto the bench, Ginny giving her a hug.

“Hey. I didn’t know how long you’d have, so I’ve filled up a plate for you. Probably best if you eat a little bit. Just slowly. Energy,” Ginny says softly.

Hermione fights tears yet again and forces herself to eat a bite of a sandwich as her stomach churns as flips. Fine. It’s fine. Protection, distraction, take the egg, leave. It will be over before you know it.

And the next task will be so much easier. Swimming in a lake. No problem. And you already know the clue.

She wonders who will be taken into the lake this time. Harry, maybe? Or Ron? Or Ginny?

She eats another bite. And another.

Makes herself drink some pumpkin juice.

Fine, fine, fine.

Breathe. You—

She jumps as someone taps her shoulder. Turns—

Oh.

Bellatrix bends down to whisper in her ear, close enough so Harry can probably hear, but that’s about it.

“Hi. It’s nearly time. McGonagall is coming to get you.”

Well this is strange. She'd thought Bellatrix might ignore her again, but it seems like...they're still talking. When they don't really have to.

Hermione swallows. Slowly nods. “Thank you…for telling me. What— Do you know what you’re going to do?”

Bellatrix looks…tired. Quite pale. Her expression is difficult to read on Moody’s face.

Hermione almost wishes…

But Bellatrix suddenly grins. “Worried about me? I’ll be fine, Granger. I’ve narrowed down my options. You know what you’re doing?”

Hermione cautiously smiles back. “Yes. I think so. I’m keeping my options open though.”

Bellatrix stands back up. “Sounds sensible,” she says, more loudly now, some people turning to look.

Including McGonagall, who is hurrying down the aisle towards them, clearly anxious.

There’s a brief flash of fear on Bellatrix’s face, there and gone. Her eyes dart to Harry. Then back to Hermione.

And then she gently squeezes Hermione’s shoulder. “Good luck. Be vigilant. And try not to die, I was just starting to like you, Granger.”

“Alastor!” McGonagall gasps, aghast. “This is no time for jokes! This— Miss Granger, I’m sorry but you need to leave now to be with the other champions, ready for the first task.”

Hermione distractedly gets to her feet, glancing from Bellatrix, to Harry and Ron and…just…

Likes her? Bellatrix likes her? Why is she being so nice to her? What is—

She doesn’t need all this confusion right now! Why—

Ginny pats her on the back. “Good luck. We’ll see you soon. It’ll be fine, you’ve got this.”

Harry smiles and nods. Gives her a weak thumbs up.

Ron hands her an apple. “Here. Just in case, you know, don’t know how long you’ll be—”

McGonagall takes the apple. “That is very thoughtful of you, Mr Weasley, but I’m afraid Miss Granger is only allowed her wand,” she says gently. Puts the apple down on her table and looks at Hermione. “You may give your belongings to me…or to your friends now, if you would like.”

Hermione swallows. Hands her bag to Ginny.

Gets another tight, wavering smile from McGonagall, and is lead from the room.

Don’t be sick. Don’t— you can do this. You can do this. Viktor is doing this. Fleur will be there. And Dumbledore will— If you’re about to die then—

She breathes deeply as they make their way around the lake. Tries to feel the wind, and the cold November air, and the magic.

Magic. Can she feel McGonagall?

She thinks so. Yes. A steady presence at her side, or…no, steady isn’t the right word. More…directed. Precise.

The warm buzz of the castle is fading. And as they move past the trees…

Blue? Black? Red? Green? Can she feel any of the dragons? Can she picture any of them?

She doesn’t think she can.

McGonagall puts a hand on her shoulder. “Now, don’t panic. Just keep a cool head. We’ve…got wizards standing by to control the situation if anything gets out of hand, so…”

They round the corner to where the dragons are usually kept, but instead a large tent is blocking the view and their path.

Now McGonagall is the one who looks like she might faint. She clears her throat, and continues. “In you go. It’s just like any other examination, Miss Granger. You are…the best student I have seen in a long time, with knowledge far greater than even some of my NEWT level students. Remember that. As erroneous as you were in entering your name, the goblet picked you to represent our school for a reason.”

Oh. Oh that’s so—

Hermione forces a smile onto her face. “Thank you, Professor. I’m— I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

That’s all she can really manage to say. So.

She looks back to the tent. Stands tall. Clenches her jaw, grips her wand tightly, and walks inside.

“Ah, here she is! Good-o!” Bagman says, practically bouncing up and down in excitement, and oblivious to the tension in the room. Viktor looks so nervous that his whole body is tensed, and she’s never seen Fleur so shaken, perched on a wooden stool in the corner and staring at the ground.

No Bellatrix. Obviously. But how is she going to—

“Don’t just stand there. Come in, come in. Make yourself at home,” Bagman grins. “Now you’re all here, it’s time to fill you in!”

Hermione makes her way to the centre of the room. Offers a shaky smile to Viktor and Fleur as they come over.

Bagman rubs his hands together and then picks up a purple sack. “Good. So once the audience has assembled, I’ll be offering each of you this bag, from which you’ll each select a…uh…variety of the thing you’re about to face! Oh! And I have to tell you something else too. Your task…is to collect the golden egg!”

He looks around at them, waiting for a reaction.

There isn’t one. They all know what they’re facing.

Bagman smiles at them brightly and then walks over to the entrance, ducking through the tent flap.

Hermione feels a tug on her sleeve. Oh.

Fleur smiles weakly, fingers brushing Hermione’s wrist and then retreating. “So…I think perhaps we are all picked by the goblet because we are very stupid.”

Hermione lets out a quiet laugh. Looks at her and Viktor. “Definitely. Do you think they’ll notice if we all escape to the Three Broomsticks instead?”

Viktor walks closer, frowning. “I think they notice. I think this is not allowed. We are champions. We compete.”

Hermione resists the urge to roll her eyes. Still struggles with sarcasm then.

Fleur gives her a look, turning so Viktor can’t see. “Ah well. You are right. Afterwards then. We drink later.”

“Yes, winner buys the wine,” Hermione says, pointing at each of them. “Deal?”

Now Viktor smiles. Holds out his hand. “Deal. I—”

Bagman comes back inside, and Viktor’s hand falls to his side as he turns and walks away to the side of the tent again. And Hermione can hear the crowd now. Hundreds of footsteps, excited conversations. Laughter.

Soon. It’s soon. Out there all alone, with everyone watching.

She glances at Fleur. Really wants to hug her. Knows that she probably shouldn’t.

“We’ll be fine,” Hermione whispers. “We’re brave. We’re champions. We were chosen for a reason.”

Fleur just nods, turning faintly green she’s so pale. Clammy.

Bagman comes back over. “Right! We’d better get started. I’ll have to be quick, because I’m commentating. Miss Granger, how about youngest first?”

He holds out the sack.

Right. Okay. Colours. Which colour do you want?

She just reaches in. Feels around. Deftly pulls out…

“The Chinese Fireball!” Bagman announces. “Yes, there we are, there we are. And now you, Miss Delacour?”

Third. Hermione is last, a number three around the tiny dragon’s neck. She was hoping she’d be able to get it out of the way, but…”

Fleur is second with the Welsh Green. And Viktor is going first.

With the Swedish Short Snout. No Hungarian Horntail this time. It must be a spare.

Unless Bellatrix…

She’d been planning on fighting a dragon. Is she just going to…demand a fight?

“Well, there we have it!” Bagman calls, already leaving. “Wait for the whistle, Viktor, and then you’ll be out first. Good luck!”

And he’s gone.

Viktor starts pacing around the tent. Maybe being first is worse than being last.

The time ticks on, and Hermione just concentrates on staying upright. Goes through her plan in her head over and over.

The whistle blows. Viktor heads straight for the entrance to the arena. Doesn’t look back, even as Hermione smiles at him and—

Hermione suddenly has a face full of blonde hair and is being hugged tightly. Thank Merlin. She didn’t want to be the first one, but she really needs a friend right now.

They hug for a long time. She can feel Fleur’s heart beating wildly. Knows her own is doing the same. Under any other circumstances she would have pulled away by now, awkward and flustered. But she's too nervous. Needs the comfort. The familiarity. Fleur smells the same. The same as she always does, except no sea-lavender, sand, or salt.

No Shell Cottage yet.

Fleur starts muttering in French, too quickly and quietly for Hermione to understand anything. And then takes a breath. Steps back. “We can do this. I have a plan. Do…do you have a plan?”

Hermione smiles. “Yes. I have a few ideas.”

Fleur searches her face. “Really? Because if you cannot think of one, I can tell you mine. Remember, you cannot stupefy them. They are too powerful because—”

“I know,” Hermione interrupts. “And it’s alright, I do have a plan. Thank you, though. What…so we’re not rivals anymore?”

Fleur shrugs awkwardly, a smile pulling at her lips. “Of course we are rivals. It does not mean I want you to burn alive, or…”

She drifts off. The crowd outside is going wild. Viktor has the egg.

“See?” Hermione says. “It will be over before you know it. You have a plan. You can do it.”

Fleur nods to herself. Turns towards the entrance and rolls her shoulders back. Flicks her hair behind her head and raises her chin.

The whistle blows.

“Bon courage,” Hermione whispers.

And then Fleur is gone too, a deafening applause greeting her as she reaches the arena.

Hermione sits down on the ground. Her legs are too shaky.

She plucks at the grass. Pulls out a few longer blades by the roots.

How did Harry do this? He was fourteen and it had taken him all night to learn accio.

She takes out her wand. Feels the hum of magic. Transfigures the wooden stool in the corner into a cushion. And then a teapot. Then a pot plant.

“Ooh! That was close! Thought she was going to get it then!” comes Bagman’s voice from the commentator’s box.

Come on, Fleur. You can do it.

Hermione directs her wand at herself. Begins casting the imperturbable charm on her clothes. No-one said they couldn’t. She knows she’ll be facing a dragon, and she’s only using her wand.

She really hopes it works on dragon—

The crowd erupts into cheers. Fleur did it. She’s done it. Which means—

Hermione stumbles to her feet. Heads towards the door.

Ties her hair back. A last-minute decision, but probably sensible just in case her hair catches on fire.

Come on. Get this over with. You’ve fought in a war. You’ve been through worse.

But never alone…

The whistle blows.

She takes a breath, and opens the tent flap.

Continues past trees to the gap in the enclosure fence. Forces her feet forward as hundreds of faces look down at her.

The dragon is there. At the other side of the rocky arena. Crouched over a nest, just like in the Room of Requirement, and already roaring at the crowd. Blue.

She stops in the entrance, just inside some wards. Dumbledore. Yes, he must have added them to keep the spectators safe.

If only wards could be cast on people. But only bloodwards on a location really do that...

She takes a second to try to spot Harry or—

And then she’s shoved from behind, hitting into a rocky wall and stumbling —

What—

But the dragon’s over there! What was—

Gasps and shouts break out from the stands.

“Good Lord,” Bagman’s voice comes from the commentator box. “It can’t be. It’s—”

Bellatrix reaches down and pulls Hermione upright, brushing some curls out of her own eyes with a grin. “Sorry, Granger. You’re going to have to wait a bit longer.”

Bellatrix. And she looks like Bellatrix. She’s dressed like Bellatrix. She—

She winks at Hermione, and walks out into the arena, arms held wide. Casts a sonorus. “Surprise! Sorry I’m late! Or early. Or…alive. Did you miss me?”

The dragon roars. Spreads it’s wings and begins coming towards her, right at the edge of the nest.

Bellatrix laughs. Looks around the stands at the shocked, terrified, or confused expressions. Scanning through the crowd. “Everyone got their scorecards ready?”

And her eyes stop. Focus on someone. Hermione follows her gaze…

Harry.

And Bellatrix raises her wand at him. Right at Harry.

More wands draw. People get to their feet. Dumbledore. Harry. Ron. McGonagall. Crouch. Hermione begins to move forward, wand in hand and ready—

The dragon hisses out a warning, fire curling from its nostrils—

“Accio firebolt!” Bellatrix yells.

What?!

And Harry’s firebolt comes soaring towards her. She—

She stole Harry’s idea!

Bellatrix jumps to grab the broom and swings on, ducking a jet of fire and curving off around the arena.

“Uh, well I’m not really sure of the rules here,” Bagman shouts confusedly as people stand up and sit down, murmuring and pointing. “This hasn’t happened before in the history of the Triwizard— But look at her go! Bellatrix Black can fly!”

Hermione stays flattened against the nearest wall, not wanting to catch the dragon’s attention, but she has to admit that…

Bellatrix spirals through the cloudy November sky, dodging in and out as the Chinese Fireball defends its nest. Flames shoot from its gaping mouth, but Bellatrix is too fast. Flying around and around and…

Her wand is drawn. But the sonorus has been cancelled. She’s muttering something.

Hermione shivers. She can feel it. Magic. Bellatrix.

The fire stops. The dragon stills. Stays stock still, staring at Bellatrix.

Its wings fold in.

Bellatrix swoops down. Snatches the golden egg.

And shoots back up into the sky, a black figure getting smaller and smaller.

And away.

A heavy silence falls over the arena.

And then it’s broken as the dragon begins to shriek in fury. Oh dear. Oh no. Oh—

Hermione casts a sonorus. “Am I still…is this my dragon? I think I might need another dragon, Headmaster!” she shouts, ducking behind a rock. “Or an egg?”

“Leave the arena, Miss Granger!” Dumbledore shouts back. “The whistle will call you when—”

“You are giving her more time?!” Madame Maxime shouts angrily. “She is at an advantage! She has more time to prepare!”

Advantage?! This is definitely a disadvantage!

Hermione tries to edge closer to the exit without the dragon spotting her, trying to keep her magic calm.

“We should halt the tournament altogether!” Karkaroff shouts. “We all saw who that was! She’s alive! Free! We need to call the aurors!”

“And Miss Granger needs to compete, or risk losing her magic,” Dumbledore says firmly. “Another dragon, please. Another egg. And back to the tent, Miss Granger.”

Easier said than done! Where’s the exit? She can feel the heat of the flames. The dragon is— there!

She jumps through the barrier. The shimmering protection ward at the gate. Dumbledore.

And sits in the grass for a second, catching her breath.

Okay. Maybe she should have worked on her fitness a bit more. That was more tiring than she’d expected.

Not that she’d expected any of this.

She gets to her feet. Brushes the mud off.

Takes one last look at the arena. The confusion. The chaos. The roaring dragon.

And heads back for the tent.

Right. See? Not so hard. Bellatrix got her egg in a few minutes flat. So just go back there, get on with it, and get your egg. You have a plan. And the dragon won’t hurt you. Feel it.

She steps into the tent. Feels for her magic. The magic in the air. Feels out for…Hermione. Dumbledore. McGonagall. Harry…

Dragons. Feel it. Dragons. Hogwarts. Old, peaceful, long lasting magic.

Bellatrix?

No Bellatrix. Her magic has faded. Gone.

The whistle blows.

Hermione turns around. Returns to the arena.

The crowd is still buzzing. Still on edge. Restless.

And so is the dragon.

The Hungarian Horntail.

Hermione stops at the entrance. Outside the wards.

Hello, she thinks. I need to pass through.

Intent. Words.

She takes a slow breath. “Balderdash,” she whispers. The password to the Common Room. Entry granted. Going home. Warmth. Safety. Friendship.

Imagines stepping through Platform Nine and Three Quarters…and moves forward.

“Protego totalum,” she mutters. “Protego horribilis. Cave inimicum. Salvio hexia.”

Not for herself. For the Horntail. The black dragon tensed and screeching before her. Safe. You’re safe. I want you to be safe. “Protego mentes. Protego totus corpus.”

“…Well, here goes our youngest champion,” comes Bagman hesitantly. “She seems to be casting protection spells. An…interesting approach.”

Hermione smiles. So he hasn’t noticed who she’s protecting.

Black. The black dragon. That’s the colour she assigned. Feel it.

It feels…old. Ancient. Earthy and…hot. Molten.

She makes her way around the very edge of the arena. The edge of the territory. Remove she thinks. She needs to remove the golden egg. It isn’t supposed to be here. It belongs in the water.

She casts a bubblehead charm. Remembers the water. Feels the lake. Imagines the golden egg in the lake.

The black dragon tracks her. Its magic ebbs and flows. She feels it. Surging and releasing with every fiery huff of breath.

It doesn’t move from the nest though. And Hermione pauses with every torrent of fire. She understands. Understands the need to protect. This dragon is a mother. Is caring for her children.

Hermione casts a warming spell. Warmth. Protection. Just like she’d cast one on Luna, and Ron. Offered for Fleur. Protego mentes. Protego totus corpus. Cave inimicum.

And she edges closer. This wasn’t the plan. She should have transfigured a rock by now. Into a horse. A clear enticement.

But no. She doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to fool this creature. Ancient. Understands more about magic than any of them.

Hermione…feels out for the golden egg. It’s magical. She tries to sense it. Water. Song.

“That one doesn’t belong here,” she whispers, looking up at the Horntail from the bottom of the nest. “Do you see? It’s been taken. I want to take it back.”

Rocks begin to fall and crumble under the dragon’s scraping claws, pattering over the lip towards her. Restless. The dragon is restless.

Peace Hermione thinks. “It’s almost over. You’ll be home soon. Once I have that one. Let me take that one.”

She climbs up the slight slope. Edges towards—

The dragon’s head whips to face her. It screeches. Mouth wide and backing away—

Its tail swing around. Comes in her direction and—

Hermione quickly continues forwards. Closer, out of range of the spiked club at the end.  Focuses on the hum of her magic, and remembers riding the Norwegian Ridgeback out of Gringotts. Flying free. Escaping. Letting it free. Peace. Flight. Escape.

And she ignores the rage. Ignores the possibility of fire and burning flesh. Ignores the crowd, and the people watching, and heads straight for the golden egg that's nestled amongst the others by the Horntail's feet. “Protego totalum,” she whispers. “Protego horribilis.” Casts a warming charm. A cheering charm. Mine, she thinks. This one is mine. It belongs with me.

Silence falls. Complete silence. All movement stills. A stadium of held breaths.

And…she reaches the egg. Touches it. Cold metal beneath her fingertips.

Picks it up.

Turns—

Meets the gaping maw of a dragon. Feels the tingle of magic in the air, and watches the spark catch at the back of its throat. Brings her arm up in front of her face, blood rushing in her ears and—

Is flying. Is soaring up into the air, feet dangling, her arm— arm—

Bellatrix swings her onto the back of the broom. “Are you fucking insane?! Granger! What the— That was a fucking dragon, Granger!”

Hermione squeezes her eyes shut as the world tips and blurs. Reaches out on instinct to cling onto Bellatrix, unable to steady herself properly with the egg still in her other hand, held to her chest. “I— I didn’t—”

Bellatrix groans. “I have to leave. I have to hide. I wasn’t counting on actually having to save you from burning to— You’re not going to die. Just remember the arresto momentum, alright?”

Arresto— no!

But Bellatrix has already pried her fingers off of her, and tipped the broom upside down, giving Hermione a harsh shove.

Falling— just— she—

“Arresto momentum!” Hermione cries out.

And just in time. Hovers just inches above the heads of the gaping spectators.

Luna smiles up at her, head titled back. “Oh, hello Hermione.”

The spell breaks. Hermione falls on top of her.

Ow.

Chapter Text

Hermione pushes herself up off of Luna. “Sorry. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to— oh, thanks.”

Luna hands her back the egg. “You’re welcome. I think you need to go back down now. I’m very curious to find out what your score will be. And Bellatrix Black’s.”

Uh…

Right.

Hermione brushes her robes down and squeezes past a still dumbstruck Neville. “Sorry. Excuse me. Just need to— thank you.”

She walks down the steps awkwardly, feeling more than a hundred eyes fixed on her.

Bagman clears his throat. “Right then. Uhh…well, usually the champions have to stop off at the first aid tent to be checked over, but seeing as Miss Granger appears unharmed…and…uhh…we’d best get on with the scores!”

She reaches the bottom. The keepers have already taken the Horntail away, and now the judging table is fully visible once more.

Hermione looks up at them. Shrugs helplessly. She…has no idea what score she’d give herself either.

Dumbledore trails his wand through the air, gold magic streaming from the end. An eight. Oh. Well that’s…more than she expected.

Madame Maxime huffs at his side. Drags her wand through the air jerkily. A two.

Also fair enough. Hermione hadn’t used any kind of advanced magic. And had…needed saving.

Crouch is next. Looking very pale and shaken. A five. Neutral. Easy.

Bagman gives her a three with an apologetic shrug. Looks like he doesn’t have any wagers placed on her then.

And Karkaroff…looks even more terrified than Crouch. Hesitates for a long time, before slowly raising his wand.

Glances at the sky.

Draws a shaky nine.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Thank you, Miss Granger. I believe that concludes the first task. I would advise that you do stop off at the first aid tent for Madam Pomfrey to check you over before you return to the castle.”

Hermione nods quickly, turning and jogging towards the exit. Time to get out of here. She’s had enough of all the staring, and really needs to just—

She rounds the corner. Slows to a fast walk, her eyes blurring with tears and—

She brings a trembling hand to her mouth. The adrenaline is wearing off. This always happens. The built-up panic.

The tent flaps open, and Madam Pomfrey hurries out. “Dragons! What were they thinking? What— What is the matter, Miss Granger? Come here. Where are you hurt? Can you tell me?”

Hermione shakes her head, rubbing at her eyes. “Nowhere. I’m fine. Honestly, Madam Pomfrey. It’s the— it’s the—”

Madam Pomfrey pats her hand and leads her to a bed. “The shock. Yes, it’s alright. Happens to the best of us. You just sit here for a few minutes and drink this. A calming draught. Now let me just have a little look at you…”

Hermione sips at the calming draught, her heart immediately slowing. Hands unclenching. Stomach untensing.

Madam Pomfrey looks at her critically. Searches her eyes. “No burns, as I thought. So she was fast enough. Did…And she didn’t hurt you in any way? Use any…spells on you? Anything?” Madam Pomfrey asks quietly.

Oh. She was watching what happened with Bellatrix too?

Hermione slowly shakes her head. “No. She just…grabbed me, and then dropped me so she could leave,” Hermione whispers back. “She told me to use an arresto momentum.”

She saved her. Bellatrix saved her. Came back for her.

She takes another sip of the calming draught as Madam Pomfrey looks her over one last time and then leaves through the partition. Calm down, Hermione. It’s over.

So why is she still nervous?

And Harry, Ron, and Ginny burst into the tent. “Hermione!”

Harry gets to her first. “Are you okay? Are you alright? I couldn’t— She took my broom! I would have helped you, but—”

Ginny whacks her in the arm. “What were you thinking?! That wasn’t the plan! You were—”

Hermione puts a hand over Ginny’s mouth. “Ssh! Of course there wasn’t a plan, the dragon was a surprise, remember?” She looks at Harry. “And I’m fine. Honestly. Not a scratch. I’ll be able to leave soon. I just needed to…sit for a bit. On solid ground.”

She digs her hand into the bedsheet. Safe. Ground. First task over.

Ron looks her over. “Well…it’s good you’re okay. Weird that she… but…so you got the egg!” he says, changing the subject and nodding at it.

Hermione smiles, relieved to focus on something else. “Yes. You can look at it if you want. Here.”

She hands him the egg. “Don’t open it though. It—”

Fleur suddenly steps backwards through the nearest partition, gesturing quickly to someone. “Une seconde! J’arrive. Il faut ranger mes—”

She breaks off and lets the partition fall shut, hurrying over to Hermione, pushing Ron out of the way. “Are you okay?” she whispers. “I thought you were going to—”

She moves to touch Hermione’s face but pauses. “That witch. The Death Eater. Where did she come from? And does she know you? She was faster to save you than all of the professors.”

Hermione flushes uncomfortably, feeling her face heating up even more as Fleur’s fingers move forwards and do cup her face, stroking her skin. Oh dear...

Hermione gently pulls her hands away. “I’m fine. And…I really don’t know why she saved me. She didn’t say. I guess she was fast enough because of the broom.”

“Delacour! Dépêche-toi!” Madame Maxime calls from outside the tent.

Fleur sighs. “She is worried. All of the professors are. We have to return to the castle, quickly. Before they call the aurors and the dementors.”

Dementors?

Hermione shares a worried look with Harry and hurriedly gets up. “We’ll come with you. Let’s go.”

Fleur nods. Glances to the exit. “I cannot be seen with you. They are suspicious. Even more now. I am sorry, Hermione, but I have to go.”

And she kisses Hermione’s cheeks before running off.

Ginny laughs quietly. “She likes you.”

“Never mind that now,” Harry says, following after Fleur. “We have to send an owl. We have to warn Sirius. Dementors. He’s nearby. What if they get to him first instead of Bellatrix?”

Hermione jogs after him, anxiety back, despite the calming draught still sloshing in her stomach. She hadn’t expected— well she understands that Bellatrix is a wanted criminal now they know she’s alive again, but…

It feels…

Dementors? It’s not like she hurt anyone.

…well, not recently.

They all head back around the lake, joining the crowd. Everyone is talking excitedly. Colin Creevey taking photographs. Prefects shouting. Some people looking up at the sky and pointing, as if expecting Bellatrix to swoop down.

Hermione looks too. Searches the sky for a tiny black figure. Feels out…for…Harry. Ron. Ginny. Hogwarts.

No Bellatrix…

Oh. Wait.

Charlie? Tonks?

She grabs Harry and pulls him to a stop. Looks around for— aha! At the edge of the forest. “It’s Charlie! He’s with Tonks. She’s an auror. Come on!”

And they push through the crowd, falling free close to the tree line. Charlie is there, frowning in concern.

Stood next to a wizard about the same age as him that Hermione has never seen before.

Ah.

She turns to the wizard. “Tonks, are they really sending dementors? That’s so dangerous. What are the aurors—”

Tonks clears her throat. “You need to return inside with the other students, Miss Granger. I’m sure Mr Crouch and the aurors will come to speak with you very soon.”

Oh.

Shit.

They’re definitely going to talk to her about Bellatrix. And is Tonks…angry?

Hermione steps closer to her. “I can talk to you? Right? I can tell you—”

Charlie pats her on the shoulder. “Go on. Back to the castle, all of you. Tonks…well she shouldn’t show herself right now, should she? Might be recognised.”

By…Bellatrix?

Ginny grabs hold of Charlie. “Then both of you come with us! You shouldn’t be out here if dementors are coming. We’ll be safe in the castle.”

“Will we?” Tonks asks abruptly, staring at Hermione.

Hermione swallows. Nods. “I— I think so. She told me she needed to leave. To hide. She flew away.”

They all start walking quickly around the lake once more, Tonks at Hermione’s side and Harry jogging ahead, obviously eager to get to the owlery.

“She spoke to you,” Tonks says quietly. “Why’d she do that? Why’d she save you? What’s going on, Hermione?”

She…

What is going on? Everything is just so— so different, and confusing. Nothing like this has ever happened to Hermione before. She doesn’t know why she’s here. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She just— all she keeps thinking is that—

Bellatrix saved her. There has to be a reason. There has to be something very different about her. Something good in her.

Because she saved her. When she didn’t have to. When she would have had more time to make an escape.

“Well?” Tonks says as they reach the entrance, a crowd still waiting to get in. “You said you wanted to talk. And we all saw her dive in front of a dragon for you, which don’t make no sense unless—”

Gasps and shouts ring out around them.

“Move!” Dumbledore’s voice booms. “All of you. Back. Get back.”

The crowd quickly parts. Everyone practically flattening themselves to the walls, even Hermione. She’s never heard Dumbledore like that.

And now she can see why.

Mad-Eye Moody is standing just inside the Entrance Hall.

She quickly feels out with her magic. Dumbledore, Tonks, Harry, Charlie, Ron, Ginny, Fleur, McGonagall, Snape…

Person after person.

But no Bellatrix.

“It’s me, Albus,” Moody growls. “Black is long gone. Told me to say…sorry about the broom.”

He looks at Harry.

What? Does that have a hidden meaning? That’s a bit of a weird thing to focus on, if not.

Dumbledore folds his arms. “Do you fly, Alastor?”

Moody barks out a laugh. “Prefer to have my feet on solid ground, myself. I’ve done my fair share of flying in my time, and it’s never come to any good, as you well know.”

Dumbledore seems to relax. “I do indeed. What year was it, again? My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

Moody points at his elbow. “Fifty-nine.” Then at his neck. “Sixty-three.”

Then glances around at the crowd. “And that’s all you’re getting with this many witnesses. You happy?”

Dumbledore smiles. “Overjoyed to see you again. And…appalled that it took me so long to notice your absence.”

And he walks forward to shake his hand.

No grin from Moody at this repeated action. No smirk. No searching out Hermione in the crowd.

It feels wrong. So wrong. Like he’s the imposter.

Dumbledore lets go, and turns to smile at everyone instead. “I believe any imminent danger has passed, but the castle will still need to be searched, as well as the grounds. The Azkaban guards are already en route. So if you would all make yourself comfortable in the Great Hall for now, it would be much appreciated, and a weight off my mind.”

Chatter builds once more. Students begin to drift inside, still looking at Moody fearfully. Suspiciously.

Harry stands in the doorway. Clearly torn between doing as he’s told and contacting Sirius.

He opens his bag. There’s the slight shimmer of the invisibility cloak, and then he’s gone. Ducking out of sight and disappearing altogether.

Tonks makes her way over to Mad-Eye, and Hermione takes the opportunity to go with her. Listen in, rather than be walked inside with Charlie like the others.

Crouch, Snape and McGonagall have all gathered too, glaring at any students that are hanging back.

Including Hermione.

Tonks glances at her and back to Mad-Eye. “So what Potter said was true? Polyjuice?”

The magical eye scans over Tonks. A glint to the real eye. Recognition. Maybe this is a regular persona for Tonks at work.

And then the eye spins to Hermione. Moody nods. “We’ll speak about it inside. Somewhere more private. Who’s this?”

“This,” Barty Crouch glares, “is Miss Hermione Granger. And who she is, is yet to be determined. Auror Tonks. Take her inside for questioning. A room within the castle will do until we can safely evacuate to the Ministry.”

What? “Questioning? What kind of questioning?” Hermione protests, looking at Tonks warily. “I don’t know anything! I’ll tell you everything I know, you don’t have to—”

McGonagall moves around between Tonks and Hermione and places a firm hand on her shoulder. “Yes, Miss Granger will not be going anywhere. As her Head of House, she is in my care, and any questions will—”

“This is a Ministry matter!” Crouch snaps, eyes bulging. “A highly dangerous convict has falsified her death and escaped Azkaban, and Miss Granger was conveniently the last person seen with her! After tampering with the Goblet to enter a tournament where both parties are participants! And after appearing at the exact location where the Dark Mark was summoned only three months ago! At the same moment as the convict’s sister, who was conveniently obliviated. Something that Miss Granger was very quick to point out!”

He finishes, breathing fast. Points at Hermione. “Take her in for questioning, Auror Tonks.”

Oh no. Well, that does sound suspicious, but—

“And if she continues to try to talk her way out of it…bring the veritaserum,” he adds, looking at Snape.

Dumbledore chuckles. “Ah, Barty. Your vigour is always commendable. But perhaps it has slipped your mind that veritaserum cannot be administered to a witch or wizard who is underage. Miss Granger is only fifteen. And as she says, is more than happy to answer any questions the DMLE might have.”

Barty’s eyes narrow further. “Veritaserum is permissible. With probable cause and motive. And it cannot have escaped your notice that this fifteen-year-old girl looks remarkably mature for her age.”

Shit.

Hermione takes an automatic step back as he moves closer, wishing she’d begun using glamour charms as soon as she’d arrived here.

Not veritaserum. He can’t. That would be—

McGonagall lets out a sound of outrage. “Mature for— How a student looks is none of your concern. And if you ever mention the maturity of one of them again then a formal complaint to the Minister is the least you’ll be getting!”

Tonks puts a protective arm around Hermione’s shoulders, eyes narrowing at Crouch and sharing a look with McGonagall and Moody. “Alright then, Mr Crouch. I’ll take Hermione inside. We can all sort this out, yeah? Let the kid talk. Your office, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore smiles fondly at Tonks. “Splendid. I’m sure that this will all be resolved very shortly. Alastor, if you would accompany us, and Severus, Minerva, perhaps you may ensure that the rest of the student body and our guests are situated in the Great Hall and well provided for before joining us?”

Snape gives a terse nod, before turning and entering the castle.

McGonagall hesitates. “I would prefer it if I could accompany Miss Granger, Albus. Veritaserum, I ask you! She has nothing to do with any of this, she’s just a girl!” She gives Crouch another disappointed look, which he shrinks back from, authoritative stance slipping into self-doubt.

Dumbledore sighs. Shakes his head at her sadly. “As was another. Of course, I am not suggesting in the slightest that Hermione has anything to do with this. But Bartemius is correct that there are certain connections between Miss Granger and Miss Black, the extent of which needs to be determined.”

He lowers his glasses. Looks at Crouch sternly. “Without the use of veritaserum.”

No veritaserum. Okay. That’s good. That’s better. But still—

And that’s when she feels it. The cold. A cloud covering the sun, darkening the sky.

But not a cloud. Not just warmth stolen from the air. Happiness. Hope. A heavy, nauseating dread.

Tonks tightens her grip around Hermione’s shoulders. “Let’s get inside. Come on. It’ll be alright. Just a chat. Mad-Eye’ll make us a cuppa tea,” she smiles with an exaggerated wink.

Mad-Eye snorts, turning and limping inside, wooden leg and staff tapping on the stone floor and echoing through the entrance. “I wouldn’t count on it. If you’re waiting on that, you’ll be waiting a damn long time,” he growls. “Get me up to speed. Who’ve we got? Kingsley? Dawlish?”

Tonks walks quickly after him, bringing Hermione along with her and knocking them into suit of armour slightly as they go. “On their way. Or might be searching already. I’m off duty but was…uh…around to watch the tournament.”

Moody nods without comment. Carries on leading their small group up the stairs.

Right. Hermione. Think. Last chance to get your story straight.

What…on Earth is she going to tell them?

As it turns out, they do have tea. And biscuits. And sherbet lemons, all sat around Dumbledore’s desk in differently conjured chairs.

Much to Crouch’s obvious displeasure. He’s reluctant to even sit down. And won’t stop glaring at Hermione, which is just becoming very annoying.

He does stop once McGonagall and Snape return though.

Dumbledore rests his hands together, eyes twinkling. “Now then, Hermione. I believe I owe you an apology. You tried to warn me on multiple occasions of Bellatrix’s presence in the school. I am terribly sorry that I did not listen.”

Hermione smiles awkwardly. Doesn’t really know what to say to that.

“Damn should have,” Moody grumbles. “I’ve always told you that you need to be more vigilant. Fooled by Lestrange.”

“Where have you been?” Hermione can’t help but ask. “Did she…hold you somewhere?”

“We’re asking the questions!” Crouch shouts, making them all jump. Except Mad-Eye. And Snape, who just raises an eyebrow and shares a look with McGonagall at this tantrum-like outburst. “How about you tell us what happened on that broomstick, hmm?” Crouch continues. “Or in the arena. Black spoke to you. Touched you. Seemed…familiar with you.”

Everyone turns to look at Hermione curiously. All eyes on her. It’s strangely intense. She’s flustered. Feels like she’s been caught…fraternising or something. Which she— she isn’t friends with Bellatrix. Just because they talk sometimes doesn’t mean—

Hermione shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know why she talked to me. I can tell you what she said. She…in the arena she apologised and said I was going to have to wait a bit longer to fight the dragon, and on the broomstick she— well she swore quite a lot and called me crazy, and then said she had to leave and hide, and pushed me off the broom, telling me to use an arresto momentum. She’s just been…my professor. My fake professor. That’s why she talks to me.”

“And came to your rescue…,” Snape comments.

Hermione turns to glare at him. “I don’t know why she saved me. I guess she just…didn’t want me to burn, or…had fast instincts or something!”

Snape scoffs. “I highly doubt that Bellatrix has any kind of instinct to save someone’s life. Quite the opposite. Especially someone she views to be…less than.”

He gets a few disapproving looks at this, but he’s right, so Hermione just shrugs again. “I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s all she said. All I know.”

“So you can confirm that you have had no interaction with her outside of what we have seen today, or in her capacity as a professor?” Crouch presses. “Nothing…unusual?”

Hermione focuses on her breathing. On keeping it even. On relaxing her expression. “No. Nothing at all. She pretended to be Professor Moody, and taught me Defense Against The Dark Arts. She taught all of us. That’s it.”

There’s a brief silence as everyone seems to weigh up whether to believe her. Hermione tries to remember how she would normally react in this situation. Should she be angry? Offended?

Scared?

She swallows. “How did this happen? I mean…a Death Eater? In the school? I— well I read in the paper that she’s…not considered very mentally stable. She didn’t hurt me this time, or anyone, but…why didn’t she? Why didn’t she try to hurt Harry?”

There. A bit naïve. Half worried. But also brings up the fact that Bellatrix didn’t hurt anyone. Maybe they have some idea what’s going on with that, because Hermione doesn’t. She’s quite lost on that front, to be honest.

Dumbledore nods tiredly. “Yes, we are very fortunate that Miss Black has for whatever reason been very dedicated to her role as professor. I admit that it is quite the surprise, and the very reason I believe that all of us here were quick to dismiss her as an imposter.”

He glances at McGonagall who nods uncomfortably. “It is extremely out of character,” she whispers, as if confessing a shameful mistake. Trying to rationalise it. “Never would I have imagined that she would be capable of, or even inclined to…”

She drifts off. Shakes her head. Dismisses whatever thought or indecision has drifted into her expression, and then is calm and collected once more. “Have we discovered the reason for her actions? Her behaviour? Should we be concerned for Mr Potter?”

Moody clears his throat. “Something strange is going on with Lestrange alright. Or Black. She insists on Black. Claims she’s divorced, not that I’ve ever seen a record of it. She was a Lestrange when she entered Azkaban. But…her personality has changed a lot since then.”

He sees it too!

“Where were you?” Tonks asks, morphing back to her usual appearance. “What happened?”

Moody glares around the room at them all.

Then scans with his magical eye, section by section. Pauses on Snape until even he shifts uncomfortably.

But, like Tonks, Moody eventually seems to be happy that there are no spies in the room, and sits down, taking out his flask.

Looks inside. Grimaces. “She could have washed it better. And the bloody eye keeps—” He grumbles to himself. Smacks the side of his head to get the eye spinning. “She ambushed me at home, not long before the start of the school term. Her and Peter Pettigrew.”

He nods at Dumbledore. And Crouch. “Pettigrew is alive, and working for You Know Who. Saw him with my own eyes.”

McGonagall gasps. Whirls to look at Dumbledore, and then let’s out a disbelieving scoff as she sees the knowing twinkle in his eye.

Looks at Snape, whose expression is suspiciously blank. Folds her arms and mutters to herself.

Hermione fights not to smile.

Moody nods at Crouch, who is one of the only other people showing surprise. “Don’t know exactly how it happened, but we need a file on him. Didn’t see a Dark Mark. Wasn’t time to look. Seems he’s also an unregistered animagus, a rat.”

Moody stands up with a groan, starts pacing around. “So, when I went out to check on the dustbin alarms going off, I didn’t think much of him. Old rat sat there in the rubbish. For one second, I hesitated. One second. That’s all she needed. I cast an homenum revelio first. Readied a stupefy second. They…caught me unawares,” he mutters. “She’s still damn fast. Even if her act has changed.”

“What do you mean her act has changed? Her personality?” Tonks frowns. “From her file—”

Moody waves a hand, interrupting her. “We need new intel on Bellatrix Black too. Need to go over our sources. Don’t know what she’s been up to for the past decade, but she’s a damn sight saner. Didn’t make any threats. Didn’t harmed me. Didn’t even try. I was expecting a fight, but….” He runs a hand over his mouth. “It’s strange. Bloody strange. I don’t know what to think of this, Albus. And I don’t like it. The witch has a plan. Is up to something. And as the weeks have gone on, I’m less sure of her. She started off normal enough but lately she’s been acting…nice.”

He makes a face. Like Bellatrix being nice is the most disgusting thing imaginable.

Hermione almost laughs, his expression is so put out. What did she do?

Moody just scowls. Keeps his mouth firmly shut. Doesn’t elaborate.

Can she ask?

Dumbledore claps softly. “Then it seems we have much to think about. And now that Miss Granger has answered all of our questions, I believe it is time she return to the Great Hall with the other students, and we can begin a thorough search of the castle. Under the sage advice of the Auror Department, of course.”

Moody grunts. “Madam Pomfrey’s coming up the stairs now. About to knock. Must be here to check on the girl, but she’ll have to take her to the Hall, not the hospital wing. We can’t have people wandering about.”

And there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Dumbledore calls cheerfully, breaking into a chuckle. “Alastor is ready for you now.”

Madam Pomfrey bustles in and straight up to Moody, already casting diagnostic charms and shining a light in his eye. “Well, it’s about time! Kidnapped? A hostage for months? He should have been given medical assistance the moment he arrived. Now look here, Mr Moody. Tell me what the year is and who’s Minister for Magic.”

Moody bats her away with a growl. “94, Cornelius Fudge, and if you don’t get that wand away from me—”

“Constant vigilance,” Dumbledore says warmly, a twinkle to his eyes. “We cannot be too careful, under the circumstances. Poppy?”

Madam Pomfrey sighs. “A few aches and pains, but that’s to be expected. No recent injuries, or even malnutrition or dehydration. Of course a patient’s health is confidential, so I can’t go into detail. But given he’s spent months under the…care…of Bellatrix Black? Remarkably unhurt. Not a scratch. Physically or mentally.”

Moody huffs. “As I said. So get out of here with your poking and prodding. We have a castle to search and an investigation to get underway. How we doing this, Crouch? This my operation?”

Crouch clears his throat and gets to his feet. “Yes, yes. I should be getting back to the Ministry, get this officially underway. As for the tournament…”

He pinches his brow. “It shall have to continue. A magical contract cannot be broken. All of the champions would be magically compromised. This…”

He drifts off.

“Is gonna be a bloody pain in the backside on all fronts,” Moody finishes for him, already on his way to the door. “Tonks, with me. Change your face. Don’t care which.”

This seems to be the cue to leave, Tonks changing back into the young wizard she was before, and everyone getting to their feet and filing out of the room, off down the stairs.

Hermione follows with a quiet sigh of relief, keeping her head down in case Crouch spots her and has a sudden change of heart.

That was a lot less interrogating than she’d expected, but she supposes there’s a lot to sort out, and Bellatrix’s behaviour towards Hermione isn’t as suspicious if she’s being ‘nice’ to everyone now.

She wonders—

“Miss Granger, a word,” comes a low murmur in her ear. Then a hand on her elbow. “Now.”

And Snape is pulling her into a classroom. Wha—

She jerks out of his grip. “Get off! What—”

He swishes his wand behind them, locking the door, and then folds his arms, staring down his nose at her. “Oh do be quiet. And stop with the floundering, innocent act. It is becoming tiresome and won’t. Work. On. Me.”

Her mouth snaps shut. Silence falls.

He smirks. “Better. Good. So we’re on the same page. The fact that you just got through that meeting is a miracle in and of itself. So the truth, Miss Granger. Quickly now. If you would. When are you from? For what purpose have you returned? And what is your relationship with Bellatrix?” he asks in quick succession, voice calm and certain. Almost bored.

No no no no—

She takes a step back, bumping into a desk. “Professor? I think there must be some misunderstanding. I really don’t—”

He scoffs. “Now this is just embarrassing.”

And he raises his wand. Points it at her. “Answers, Granger,” he says more harshly. “What is your plan? What is her plan? This is dangerous for all involved and it would be incredibly stupid for you not to answer me. If only you had come to me sooner, we could have avoided this mess. Why put her name in the goblet? You’ve forced her to reveal herself. Forced her to become useless to the Dark Lord. Do you know what he does to things he no longer has a use for? And do you understand who he may now come to to aid him? You are messing with people’s lives!” he all but spits.

Oh. Oh, if Voldemort doesn’t have faith in Bellatrix…then his next most faithful servant would be…

Hermione swallows. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t put her name in. I— how do you know all this? Are you working with her?”

“Work with her?” Snape sneers. “Of course not, you imbecilic witch. How I know is that the both of you have the subtlety of a stampeding erumpent and just as odd a mating ritual. Now I don’t know what kind of relationship the two of you have fallen into in this distant future, but—”

Hermione lets out a strange squawking sound. “What are you talking about?! I’m not in a relationship with her! And future— She’s not from the future! She’s from now! I’m the one that’s from—”

She cuts off abruptly. Doesn’t quite catch herself in time.

He raises an eyebrow. “…From the future. So you do admit it. But…not Bellatrix? She didn’t travel with you?”

Hermione folds her arms. Looks away. “No,” she says quietly. “Of course not. She’s not from the future, and she’s definitely not in a…relationship with me. She— We don’t know each other. Not now. Not ever. She was on the other side of the War. Hated people like me. The Bellatrix that is here is not the Bellatrix that was there.”

Snape gives her a look.

Then pinches his brow, closing his eyes. “Gryffindors,” he mutters. “So willing to— Has it escaped your notice that you just admitted to being a time traveller within…a two minute conversation, with almost no prompting? As well as revealing major future events such as an upcoming war, your obvious belief that I am on your side in this war, and, somewhat more disturbingly, that you know Bellatrix well enough within this time period to have deemed her different from her future self. A self that you are claiming to not know at all.”

Oh.

She leans against a desk. Rubs her hands over her face. Oh she is so bad at keeping secrets.

Snape sighs. “Please please tell me that no-one else knows of this? That you have not revealed any information to…”

He drifts off, probably catching her expression.

She looks up guiltily. Clears her throat. “I…yes and no. But— but this isn’t the past! Not really! In my fourth year, Bellatrix wasn’t here! She was in Azkaban! It was Barty Crouch Junior that was here!”

At this he pauses. Frowns. “An…alternate universe? I did not…believe that to be possible. Linear time travel itself is only theoretical on a more than six-hour basis.”

Hermione snorts. Gestures at herself. “Not anymore. But I have no idea how it happened. There isn’t some grand plan. I came here accidentally. Woke up here on the day of the Quidditch World Cup.”

His gaze snaps to hers. His wand hand twitches. She grips her own more tightly on reflex, unsure of the expression on his face.

And then it’s gone. He looks to the door. “Back to the Great Hall, then. Before our absence is noted. And try to keep your mouth shut. It’s clear that you have already spoken with Potter and at least one Weasley, is that all?”

She almost argues at his condescending tone.

Then remembers the other person she told. Swallows. “Bellatrix…figured it out too. She knows I’m from the future. She guessed.”

Snape had turned towards the closed doorway, and now rests his hand against it. Leans forward. As if he might suddenly bang his head against the wood in frustration. “Bellatrix? You told— unbelievable. It is extraordinary that you have enough brain cells to function.”

“She guessed!” Hermione huffs. “The same as you did. She was watching me, and she’s clever, so— oh! By the way, is she a legilimens? Is that why you were avoiding eye contact with her?”

Snape sighs. Unlocks the door and walks out, stopping to check left and right and then continuing along the corridor, Hermione following after him. “She is not a natural legilimens, no. That is a highly rare skill. She needs a wand to perform the spell. Thankfully. Otherwise, the amount she would have uncovered…”

He turns sharply to the left, and they head down a stairway. “And Potter? He was not in the Great Hall,” Snape murmurs. “Is he using his cloak to accompany you?”

Snape knows about the cloak?

Of course he does.

Hermione looks down at her feet to avoid stepping on the back of Snape’s robes, shaking her head. “He’s not here. He went to the owlery to—”

She almost bumps into Snape as he stops. “Owlery? That— What is it that that boy does not understand about the words manhunt and fugitive and stay where you are told!”

And then his pace is picking up again, almost gliding through the corridors as Hermione hurries to keep up. “Idiot! The owlery. Yes, I’ll just go to the furthest, tallest tower, alone, surrounded by dementors and in a place that is conveniently accessible by broom.”

“It was urgent,” Hermione puffs out. “But as you say, he has his cloak. I’m sure he’s back in the Hall by now.”

They reach the entrance stairs. “He’d better be. Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for allowing such idiotic behaviour. And for your own stupidity, whilst we’re at it. You—”

The doors to the Great Hall open, and Viktor looks through, his shoulders falling in relief as he sees Snape and Hermione. “Sir! There is problem! Is Headmaster Karkaroff. He take sheep.”

Uhh…

Sheep? What?

Hermione actually shares a confused look with Snape it’s such a strange comment.

She walks up to Viktor and clears her throats. “Sheep? What do you mean?”

Viktor just nods. “He go— went. He has gone home.”

He— Oh! Ship. So…he left them and just…ran away? Because of Bellatrix? That cowardly, selfish—

Snape ushers them inside and shuts the door, buzzing conversation reaching their ears from all the tables. “All of you? Are you all accounted for? All here?” Snape asks slowly and clearly.

Viktor points across the room. “Yes. All here with Slytherin. They say you help.”

Snape nods and sweeps past up the aisle, Viktor following after him. This is all such a mess! And with hardly any professors around to—

Someone taps her on the shoulder. Hermione jumps. Turns, for some reason expecting a grinning face and—

It is a similar grin, but not the same. Tonks, still looking like a wizard. “Good, you’re here,” Tonks says. “Thought I might have to go looking for you. We still need a chat at some point, so owl me if you have anything to tell me, yeah? I have to go on patrol, and the protection wards are all about to be put in place, here and on the school gate, so Charlie and me are off out of here.”

Tonks looks over towards the Gryffindor table where Charlie is sat with his siblings and Harry. And Fleur and Luna. Tonks waves to try to get his attention, but he’s too busy laughing with the twins.

Tonks rolls her eyes. Then whistles. Loudly. “Oy! Weasley! Come on, you ain’t a student no more!”

The Hall falls almost silent at the unexpected sound, and Charlie flushes embarrassedly as everyone turns to stare, quickly saying goodbye and jogging over.

Chatter breaks out again. He shoves Tonks. “You know I hate it when you do that. You could have just walked over.”

Tonks snorts. “And get chewed out again? Not on your nelly. Your girlfriend’s scary, Hermione. Thought I was going to get my eyes clawed out. You need to tell her I come in peace.”

What?

Hermione just stares at Tonks in complete bafflement.

Then looks back towards the Gryffindor table. Scary girlfriend? “I don’t have a girlfriend. What are you talking about?”

Now it’s Tonks’ turn to frown. “Delacour. She ain’t your girlfriend? That’s what the Daily Prophet said. I don’t normally believe Skeeter’s bollocks, but then Frenchie came at me. Asking who I am and how I know you and what I was doing touching you and all that. I mean, look at her!”

Tonks looks over at Fleur. Waves.

Fleur gives her a death glare and then glances at Hermione. Her wand twitching in her hand.

Uhh…

Hermione smiles at Fleur and waves too. Pats Tonks on the back. Friends.

Tonks barks out a laugh, shrugging her off. “I’ll leave you to it. Good luck. You seem to attract a lot of strange attention, wouldn’t wanna be you. Two dragons in one day.”

Hermione sighs. “She’s not a dragon! She’s nice! She’s probably just worried about me walking off with a stranger and not coming back for ages. But she’s not my girlfriend. We haven’t— I don’t— What do you mean about the Skeeter article? She said we were fighting over Viktor! Not each other.”

Charlie grimaces. “Oh. You haven’t seen it? She’s changed her story. The love triangle is…a complete triangle now. There’s a photograph of you two drinking in the Three Broomsticks. Of you laughing and touching each other. It was in the paper this morning. Star-crossed lovers. Forbidden love. Something like that.”

Skeeter! And a photograph?! How did she—

Hermione huffs. “No, I didn’t see it. But as soon as we’re allowed out of here, Skeeter is going to get a very blunt letter discussing her journalism methods and how they will not be usable in the near future. Now come on. This is ridiculous. Come talk to Fleur. You can keep an eye on Harry at the same time until more professors get back.”

Tonks shrugs. “Alright. But if she kills me, you’re paying for the funeral.”

Hermione swallows, stomach clenching. Forces a smile and shakes it off. “No funerals. I promise.”

And she walks over to the others, smiling and nodding at them in greeting, and then squeezing in next to Fleur. Leaning to whisper. “Hi. What’s wrong?”

Fleur grabs the side of her head and pulls her even closer to whisper right in the shell of her ear. “That wizard. He is suspicious. How do you know him? What is his name? Why can’t I feel him?”

Feel…oh!

The thrall? That’s why Fleur is suspicious? She can’t feel any reaction from Tonks or whatever she normally feels with wizards?

Hermione smiles. Pulls back to look at Fleur. “It’s okay. I know. It’s a disguise.”

Fleur’s eyes widen as she glances at Tonks and away. “It is her?!” she hisses. “The Death Eater again?”

“No!” Hermione corrects. “A friend. An auror. She’s making sure Harry’s safe. That we’re all safe.”

Fleur slumps in relief. Rubs at her face. “Sorry. I am…suspicious of everything. After the DADA professor…I knew something was different. That he did not feel right. I should have believed Harry when he said it was this witch, but I did not know who anyone was. We do not know much about your wars.”

And then she pats Hermione’s hand with a sigh and stands up. Walks over to Tonks, still stood beside the table with Charlie, and leans up to whisper to her.

Tonks laughs. Smiles. They start talking.

Thank Merlin.

Hermione shuffles along to talk to Harry instead, the Weasleys all distracted talking, and Luna gazing into space. “Did you send the owl?" Hermione asks quietly. "I need to send one too. To Skeeter. I’ve had enough of her articles. Did you see the one this morning? Charlie and Tonks just told me about it.”

Harry grimaces. Runs his hand through his hair and glances at Fleur. “We saw it. But we figured you had bigger things to worry about. And yeah. My letter’s sent. I just hope he gets it in time. Is…”

He looks around at the rest of the table, everyone else still in conversation. “How did it go with the aurors? Everything alright?”

Hermione checks around them too. Notices Ron looking over now, but no-one else at the table…”

And Snape. Across the hall. Talking to Draco. But looking at Harry and Hermione.

She sighs, looking away. “Everything’s fine. They believe me. And now that the real Moody is back, they have more information about whatever Bellatrix is up to. They’ve got her on the run.”

Harry nods to himself. Frowns. Doesn’t say anything for a while.

Looks over at Snape too. “She saved you,” he eventually mutters quietly. Thoughtfully.

Yeah. Yeah, she did.

A hushed lull suddenly falls over the hall. The torches and candles around them begin to light up, shadows creeping in.

The enchanted ceiling is dark. Almost pitch black.

It’s mid-afternoon. And this isn’t a storm coming in.

It’s the dementors. A sky full of dementors.

Chapter Text

They spend the night in the Great Hall, just like in third year. Sleeping bags handed out, and professors on the lookout. The dementors can’t penetrate the castle walls, but they leave a lingering unease, a looming feel of threat that makes sleep near impossible. Hermione and Harry cast patronuses as often as they can, as do some of the older years and professors. McGonagall’s cat slinking past to rub against them. To sit in the lap of a trembling first year. Dumbledore’s phoenix patronus flies overhead every hour. Swooping around the hall and then gone, leaving them to rest in the darkness.

Snape doesn’t cast a patronus, as often as he patrols past. Stands watchfully at the door. Hermione isn’t sure if that’s out of embarrassment…or if he can’t summon the emotion.

It’s difficult. Happiness. The dementors overwhelming. Hermione can’t…even imagine having to spend every night like this. Every day.

Sat alone in the dark, locked away on a far-off island in the middle of the sea…

By the next morning there’s still no word of Bellatrix. Or Sirius. Or Karkaroff.

And the dementors have left the grounds, off searching further afield. It’s still cold out though. Winter is setting in, and even with all the fires lit, there’s a chill in the air.

Maybe Fleur is right about the castle needing better insulation.

Fleur. Hermione…doesn’t know what to do about that. She’s sent the letter to Skeeter. The blackmail. Don’t write about any of the champion’s love lives, or I’ll tell everyone you’re an unregistered animagus. And it seems to have worked. Over a week, and no article.

People do keep staring at Hermione though. Whispering. Pointing. She’s not sure if that’s more because of the ‘dating both Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum’ rumours, or the ‘saved by a Death Eater’ side eyes. Lavender and Parvati beg her for details on both, but Hermione just rolls her eyes and tells them there isn’t anything to tell.

Other than that, everything goes back to normal. Classes. Homework. The Durmstang students staying in a room in the dungeons near to the Slytherin Common Room now that their ship has disappeared without a trace.

Mad-Eye Moody teaching DADA on Thursday afternoons.

It’s strange for everyone. Like they know him, but they don’t. Used to his barking and growled orders, tapping foot and spinning eye. Even used to defending themselves from unexpected spells.

He gives them all a very dubious look when they say they’ve learnt everything in the book. Tests them. Asks for dozens of counter-curses.

They can all name them. Even Neville. Protego. Rennervate. Relashio. Emmancipare. Expelliarmus.

By the following Thursday, they’ve moved on to magical theory and fighting tactics. Auror drills. She’s never seen Ron and Harry so enthusiastic.

She grimaces across the table as Ron shovels some more eggs into his mouth. “…and Viktor’s told me his diet and training plan too,” he says around a mouthful before swallowing, nodding towards the Slytherin table. “I think I’m getting muscles. See? And I swear I saw Lavender checking me out in class yesterday. Reckon she’ll go to the Ball with me?”

He flexes his arm at Harry, who squints and nods unconvincingly. “Sure. I mean…have you ever spoken to Lavender though? What’s she like? All she ever seems to do is…giggle and talk about dresses and make-up.”

Ron shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to get to know her. Who are you gonna ask?”

The Ball. The rest of the school doesn’t know about the Ball yet. Probably won’t know for another week or so.

Harry puts down his drink and looks around the Gryffindor table uncomfortably. “Umm…I haven’t really thought about it. We don’t have to have a partner, do we? I thought as we’re not champions, we could go as friends.”

Ron claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll still all go together. Just thought we could give it a shot. But you could go with…Hermione! What about Hermione?”

Harry frantically shakes his head, hands raised. “No. No way. I’m not dancing in front of everyone. Champions have to dance, remember? Sorry, Hermione. I really don’t want to—”

Hermione smiles. “Actually, I already told Ginny I’d go with her if we both can’t find a romantic partner. Otherwise she can’t come, because she’s a third year.”

Ron’s expression turns more serious. “Ginny? Oh. So…uhh…but just as friends, right? Or…because you said about Fleur and—”

He looks around and then ducks closer to whisper, both her and Harry leaning in expectantly. “Do you want your date to be a witch? Or a wizard?” Ron asks quietly.

Well…at the moment Hermione isn’t sure she wants a date at all. But that isn’t really what he’s asking, so…

She fiddles with her spoon, looking down at the table. Then looks up and sees Ginny watching nervously across from them, pretending to talk to Demelza Robins but obviously listening in.

Right. She can tell Ron. He doesn’t have a problem with sexuality. Ginny needs to see that. That reassurance.

“I would…rather date witches, I think,” Hermione says carefully but surely. “I’ve never felt that spark or interest in wizards. Only friendship. Nothing more. So I suppose seeing as I have to go to the Ball…I would go with a witch. If I had a choice.”

There’s a brief pause. It’s very tense.

Then Harry just smiles. “Well, that works out then. Bet Ginny or Fleur or someone will be better at dancing than me,” he jokes.

Ron nods too. Thank Merlin. For a moment she was worried he still liked her in this universe. That he was about to turn into a jealous prat or tell her she was just confused.

But no, Ron just eats more eggs and points at her with his fork. “Guess you can ask Fleur,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s easy. She’ll definitely say yes. And then…Harry can go with Ginny! Right? Then we’re all together.”

At this Ginny spits out a mouthful of pumpkin juice, coughing and spluttering and turning very red. Ah. So the crush is still there, then.

Hermione vanishes the juice with a chuckle whilst a concerned Harry hands Ginny a napkin. Tries to reach to pat her on the back and check she’s not choking or—

Squawks and flapping fills the air. The owls have arrived with the morning post. Hermione’s expecting the Daily Prophet, and hopefully some kind of acknowledgement from Rita Skeeter that…

Oh she has got to be kidding!

Three crows come swooping down over the Gryffindor table, cawing loudly and carry a very long, thin, large package wrapped in crumpled newspaper.

It’s shaped like a broom. It’s obviously a broom.

Unbelievable. Subtlety of an erumpent. Snape is right.

The crows drop it on the table, steal some bacon, and take off again.

Harry moves to touch it—

“Potter!” Snape shouts from behind them, as if she just summoned him by thought alone. Or Harry did, by being stupid. “Don’t touch it. None of you even think about touching it,” Snape spits.

He starts casting detection spells. The newspaper falls away. Harry’s firebolt lies there innocuously on the table. Looking the same as ever.

And an owl flies over to Hermione. Drops the Prophet. And a scroll. Hoots.

Oh.

A…very familiar owl. That— that cannot be Bellatrix’s owl. Or Moody’s owl. Whoever it originally belonged to.

Hermione glances sideways at everyone crowding around the broom, chattering and pointing.

She picks up the Prophet. Opens it.

Picks up the scroll too. Undoes the seal under the table and then brings it behind the Prophet, pretending to read the newspaper.

As she thought. Familiar scribbled handwriting.

Granger,

Detention. Seven o’clock. If you don’t know where, look out for eyes. They’ll find you.

P.S. The owl is called Alastor Moody. You can keep him if you want.

The…owl?

Hermione looks at the owl warily. It’s not…she didn’t transfigure Moody into an owl somehow, did she?

And detention? How? Eyes? What eyes?

More and more people are gathering around now, so Hermione hastily folds up the newspaper with the note inside and puts it in her bag.

Moody comes limping past her down the aisle, which is a bit of a relief. Not a bird. Casting more detection spells and checking the broom, he and Snape and now Flitwick too hovering it over to the staff table to look at it properly.

Harry slumps to sit next to her with a heavy sigh. “I’m not gonna get it back, am I?”

She pats his back, grimacing. “Maybe not. Sorry. And…she’s given me detention again. Seven o’clock.”

Unsurprisingly, Harry gives her an incredulous look.

And the owl flies up to land on her shoulder.

She sighs in defeat. Gestures to it. “And this is Alastor Moody. Junior, I guess. Apparently he’s mine now, or— oh!”

Junior! Alastor Moody Junior. Barty Crouch Junior.

The Marauders’ Map only sees names! So in the defense classroom—

Hermione turns to look at the owl. “You’re who we saw on the map? Because you have the same name? It’s your name?”

The owl doesn’t reply. Obviously. Just stares at her expectantly. Waiting for something.

Hermione frowns. “I…don’t have a letter. Or any treats.”

Moody Junior hoots at her in an almost huff, and then flies away. Off out the window again, possibly to the owlery, or maybe back to Bellatrix.

“You…you do see how crazy you look, right Hermione?” Harry laughs.

She leans down to rest her head on the table. She knows. It’s Bellatrix. She has to be the reason. She makes everything…bonkers!

Harry rubs her back, getting up and grabbing his bag. “Come on. We need to get to History of Magic.”

History of Magic? Ugh, Hermione is so fed up with lessons. She’s done this already! She wishes she could skip her classes. Or at least go with the NEWT students and learn some more advanced magic.

Like time travel theory. That would be helpful. Why the hell is she here—

Someone grabs her hand as she passes the Ravenclaw table, tugging her back. Oh. Is it Fleur? That’s quite bold, and—

No. Luna. Smiling at her softly. “Hello, Hermione. Hello, Harry. I’m sorry to stop you, but Hermione needs to know, she’s going to go the wrong way. The room has changed, you see. You need the room that always changes.”

“The room has changed?” Ron asks as he joins them with Seamus and Dean. “For History of Magic?”

Luna frowns. “You have History of Magic now? I have Herbology. It’s terribly similar, don’t you think? Although we should all be very wary of the puffpod spores. We don’t need any more dizziness right now. I think everyone is dizzy enough.”

Ron laughs. “Right. Okay then. I’ll keep it in mind if I’m going past the greenhouses. C’mon, guys.”

He heads off with the other boys, Harry hanging back to smile at Luna. “I think I know the room you mean. Thanks. Did…umm…did you get an owl today too?” he asks quietly. 

Luna shakes her head. “No. I didn’t need a messenger. I had the opposite.”

Opposite?

Different room…but not for this morning…a room that changes…Room of Requirement. So Hermione has to go to the Room of Requirement for ‘detention’. Not the DADA classroom. And Luna didn’t need a messenger…

Oh!

“She told you?” Hermione hisses. “Is she in the castle? Harry! Get the Map. We need to—”

Luna puts her hand on Harry’s wrist to stop him with a light laugh. “No! She’s not here. That’s why you have to help her, don’t you see? I’ll be there too. And Neville, maybe. I think he’d like to come. I haven’t asked him yet. Would you like to come too, Harry Potter? I do like talking to you.”

What— so Luna talked to Bellatrix? And this detention isn’t a secret meet-up or…

Neville? Why Neville?

Harry laughs uncertainly. “Umm…sure. I’ll come. If this detention isn’t just for Hermione?”

Luna smiles wider. “No. The words were for Hermione, what they said wasn’t as important. It’s the thought that counts. You’d better leave now, or we’ll all be awfully late.”

Right. History of Magic.

Hermione begins walking out of the Hall, not really…

A note from Bellatrix. The thought counts. The thought to…give her an owl? Talk about detention? A fake detention.

Oh.

She laughs to herself. Fake detention. Like always. None of her detentions were detentions. Not really. Bellatrix wasn’t her professor.

Just someone who she talked to every week.

They begin climbing the stairs to the first floor. Luckily it’s not far. They are a bit late. Not many students in the corridors now.

Empty. The school feels oddly empty. Quiet.

Should…

Should she write back? To say she got the note? Or to ask about the owl, or about…anything?

Owls are getting intercepted. Searched. You can’t write to a fugitive just to be polite, or because you’re curious. That’s stupid. Don’t be stupid. Snape’s right, where has her brain gone?

She and Harry fall into the empty seats next to Ron, Professor Binns already mid-monologue and not noticing their presence. Or absence.

She takes the note from Bellatrix and the copy of the Daily Prophet out of her…bag. Oh.

She should have checked the paper! Maybe there are clues! Or another message! Or…

Nothing. That she can see. And she can’t feel any magic.

She mutters a revelio.

Still nothing.

Alright then…but maybe Hermione can…

Ah. This isn’t today’s paper. It’s the one from last Tuesday, revealing her ‘romance’ with Fleur. So…

If the article is about Hermione, maybe Bellatrix will look at this section too for a message, even though it’s not on the front page.

She gets out her quill and ink, thinks of what she wants to say, and studies the words carefully.

…Granger, an outspoken, ambitious girl, seems to have her eyes on not only the Triwizard Cup, but also her fellow competitors. And not just the ‘fellow’. Miss Granger and Beauxbatons champion Fleur Delacour, whose heated looks even I once mistook for a bitter rivalry, are reported to be growing closer by the day, often seen laughing, whispering, and sharing drinks in their free evenings outside of school and away from their professors’ prying eyes. Is this the kind of inter-school relations that the tournament is promoting? And what of Viktor Krum, the wizard in the middle? Will he able to keep up with his two fiery opponents? This is a competition, after all, and only one champion can take home the prize. How far are they willing to go? You know the saying. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. And it seems this competition is more than friendly. Is this the forbidden love of star-crossed lovers? Or are the corners of this love triangle sharp enough to stab each other in the backs? Only time will tell. The first task will soon be underway, and it’s all to play for, with a grand prize of…

She carefully blacks out the letters. Black. Bit of a clue. She hopes the message makes sense, even if it’s cryptic and will just look like the ink has smudged.

She kind of wants to…acknowledge how open Bellatrix was with her. It’s a bit of an apology. For…not accepting that handshake. She’d been too wrapped up thinking about their past. A past that Bellatrix doesn’t even know about. Something this Bellatrix might never even do, seeing as she seems to want to save Hermione rather than hurt her.

So. Yes. Hermione has said that she wants to talk, and that she’s tired. But really what she means is…she’s sorry. And thank you. And can they start again? Back to honesty and knowing looks?

Not that they can look at each other. Yet.

Hermione needs to try to find her somehow. She’d just ask to meet if it wasn’t so dangerous. Because this is the only anomaly in this timeline. Bellatrix. It all surrounds Bellatrix. Even Snape thought Bellatrix was a time traveller.

So…

She blows the ink dry, and rolls the paper back up. Ties it with some string. Puts it in her bag to take to the owlery later.

What if…

…what if Snape was right. If Bellatrix is different…

What if she’s not from here either? What if Hermione isn’t the only one who has crossed universes?

From somewhere. Bellatrix might not be from here…but she also isn’t the Bellatrix from home…

So is she from another universe altogether?

And if so, why is she here? An accident, like Hermione?

Or did she cause this?

Is this all because of Bellatrix?

It’s seven o’clock. Hermione and Harry stood awkwardly outside the Room of Requirement.

Harry clears his throat. “Do you think we should say something? Ask for…a room?”

Hermione tucks a curl behind her ear as it falls in her eyes. Then fiddles with her robes, fingers still oddly restless. “What room, though? We don’t even know why we’re—”

A door appears. Just a normal door, like all the other classrooms. Well then.

Harry nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”

And he walks straight up to the door, opening it.

But—

Oh.

Oh!

Hermione follows Harry inside, looking around in realisation. In recognition.

Crates and tanks and trunks. Cornish pixies. Hinkypunks. Alastor Moody (junior) on a perch by an open window. Plants and books scattered around.

No rat. Empty cage.

And Luna, closing a trunk and coming towards them. “Hello. Look, Neville. We have some help.”

Neville…

Ah. Sat uncomfortably in a corner. Clutching a Herbology book and surrounded by different potted plants.

Harry moves into the middle of the room. “So…this is her room? All her stuff? It didn’t belong to the school?”

Luna takes his hand and pulls him over to look at the pixies. “Oh, they don’t belong to anyone. Creatures never do. But they do all need caring for. I don’t think Professor Moody is very good at that. At caring. That’s why we’re needed, you see. Like this one. It needs help sleeping.”

She reaches through some bars and strokes her finger down the back of the only Cornish pixie still awake, eyes wide whilst the others drift sleepily. Oh.

Hermione clears her throat. “I think it might be waiting for…a piece of food. An apple, maybe.”

Luna’s eyes spark as she grins at Hermione. “Aha! As I thought. Always in the right place at the right time, isn’t she, Neville? Does anyone have any fruit?”

Uhh…no? Of course not. Who goes around with fruit in their—

Harry pulls an apple out of his robe pocket. Puts it down on a small table and raises his wand carefully. “Diffindo!”

A piece of the apple slices off roughly at a bit of an angle. Harry hands it to the pixie, smiling as it grabs it eagerly with its tiny hands.

Turns to look at Hermione and shrugs. “Ron. He’s trying to get me to eat more.”

Oh.

Hermione smiles fondly. Watches as Harry turns back around to check the other pixies and talk to Luna.

Neville clears his throat quietly. “Hermione?” He says cautiously. “Do— could you—”

He stumbles over his words. Hermione heads over to him. Pulls up a stray stool next to him. “What is it?”

He looks down at his lap. At his book. “You…you knew it was her?”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Yes…” Hermione quietly breathes out. “We— and we did try to tell Dumbledore. But…well…oh I’m sorry, Neville. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

Neville takes a slow breath. Nods. “She’s sorry too, I think,” he whispers. Opens his book.

Then moves closer to Hermione to show her. “See? This plant. It’s— it’s supposed to help with— with mind healing. No-one has figured out how yet. Not for anything advanced. But— but with Herbology and Potions—”

He turns the book around so she can see the right way up. Bellatrix’s handwriting is scribbled in the margins. As well as someone else’s much neater, cursive writing, that Hermione doesn’t recognise. Correcting Bellatrix. Crossing bits out and underlining things in green ink.

Oh.

Hermione looks up in complete shock. “This is the book on plants she gave you? What she talked to you about a few months ago?”

He nods, cheeks red with embarrassment or…shame. “I didn’t know it was her. Thought it was Moody. She— and she kept telling me to ignore Professor Snape. To relax, so that I get better at potions. But I can’t! I’m useless! And now I’ll never be able to do it. And my parents— I can’t do it! And— and it’s her fault!” he ends with a shout, standing up.

Harry and Luna turn to look at him. Some of the creatures wake up, hissing and squawking.

Luna skips over. Pulls Neville into a hug, which he accepts awkwardly.

“You don’t have to forgive her,” Hermione says softly. “You’re right. It was her fault. She was…nothing can make up for what she did. Even if she’s regretting it now. And to put this on you—”

Neville pulls back, wiping at his eyes and shaking his head. “It’s not on me. She— she said she’d help. Anything I need. Ingredients. Plants. Money. Said she’d research more. That she knows people who can help too. She just— she said she couldn’t right now. That she had to do something else first, was busy. I thought she meant teaching, but…now I understand why. She can’t help. Because she’s a criminal. Is on the run. Is supposed to— to be in Azkaban because she—”

He breaks off again.

Hermione hears the tap start to run at the sink. Water filling a glass.

Harry comes over and gives the glass of water to Neville. “Here. Just…sip at it. It helps. And— and I get it. If Voldemort suddenly wanted to help me get my parents back then— Well it wouldn’t happen, but I still wouldn’t want to work with him. Even if he could help.”

Neville nods. Sits down on the floor with Luna and obediently sips at his drink.

Harry walks over to Moody Junior to stroke him and give him a treat. Pet him. Look out the window at the stars. “But if she’s right, if there’s a way to help…we’ll help you too, Nev. You know loads about plants, but so does Professor Sprout. And Hermione is great with everything! Right? You could help with potions. And mind magic! What about…Snape! You said he knew legilimency.”

Luna laughs. “Professor Snape reading minds? Oh no, that’s just asking for trouble. He doesn’t understand minds at all. Not even his own. No, to help Mr and Mrs Longbottom, we’re going to need to help somebody else first.”

Neville frowns at her. “Who?”

Luna leans over and takes his book from his lap. Opens it to the earlier page, and taps on the neater handwriting. “This person. See? They’re already helping.”

Neville huffs out a laugh. “Yes, but we don’t know who that is, Luna. Moody— Bellatrix wouldn’t tell me,” he says gently.

Luna doesn’t reply. Just looks at Hermione. Then at Harry.

Harry kneels down to look at the writing. Runs his finger over it. “It looks like…Draco? Is that his writing? It’s neat like his.”

Draco? How could it possibly be— oh!

“Narcissa!” Hermione says in sudden realisation. “That’s why it’s— Of course! She’s the only person who would know about this and be helping Bellatrix. But she—”

“She’s in St Mungo’s too,” Neville finishes for her. “I saw her there over the summer when I was visiting the ward. She didn’t stay for long. They let her go home and get her treatment there because Lucius Malfoy came and shouted at everyone, but— but she has memory loss! It’s the same problem.”

Luna sighs sadly, head in hands. “It is all a bit of a muddle. That silly Bellatrix Black. She does make things very complicated for herself.”

Harry scoffs. “More like for everyone else. This is her fault, Luna. All of it. She obliviated Mrs Malfoy too.”

Luna stands up. Wanders over calmly to the spiders and bends down to look int their small, glass tank. “Yes. She’s quick to take. But it isn’t always her intention. And it seems she wants to give now. If people will let her.”

She turns. Eyes fixed on Hermione. “And Narcissa Malfoy may have lost her memories, but she hasn’t lost her brain. I think if I knew there were some years missing…I’d try very hard to get back what I’d lost.”

So…Narcissa might be trying to cure herself? Is that possible? Is that why she’s at home?

Can she cure herself? How smart is she? She’s just…a pureblood snob. Holds events, and parties, and pays people off. Is she—

Hermione looks back at the Herbology notes. Scans the page. And then Bellatrix’s…

Hmm. Well, that’s one theory. But surely it would need to be sliced. If Bellatrix chopped it like that, then it would lose—

That’s what Narcissa said. If it is Narcissa.

And— oh! Oh that’s so clever!

Hermione quickly imagines a blackboard, and then rushes over to it, grabbing some chalk before the idea leaves her head. “Neville! Did you see what she said about membranes? Plant membranes and phytosterals, but also cell membranes in the brain! If magical plants hold the properties for cell regrowth then…”

Hermione pauses. Wait. If Narcissa wrote that, knew the answer, then…

She slowly turns back around. “This could help Narcissa. It’s her own work. Her own research. Why— why did Bellatrix give this to you? Is she…deliberately keeping the information from Narcissa? Keeping her without her memories?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “Well she did obliviate her on purpose. There must be a reason. But…do you think we should send the book back to Mrs Malfoy. Or…I don’t know…give it to Draco?”

Hermione groans to herself. She doesn’t know! She doesn’t know what Bellatrix is doing. What she’s thinking. What if there is a reason, an important reason, and they just haven’t figured it out yet?

She looks to Luna, almost pleadingly. Luna always seems to know what’s going on. What to do.

Luna comes over and takes the chalk from her. And the book. “Lots of very interesting ideas. I am looking forward to the answers. But for now, I would like some help with the hinkypunks. And the doxies. And billywigs. And perhaps you could give the owl something to deliver. He might like another journey.”

Oh. The newspaper.

Hermione reaches around in her bag and pulls it out. Casts a charm on it against the rain.

Takes a breath, and walks over to give it to Moody Junior, stroking his feathers. “Could you take this to Bellatrix? I’m not sure where she is…”

She gets an immediate hoot in response, and the owl leaves through the open window, off into the dark sky.

Well. There’s no going back now. She’s officially corresponding with a fugitive.

Not for the first time. She’s been a fugitive before. Undesirable Number Two.

She wonders which Black cousin is Priority Number One—

She turns as a buzzing fills the air. The billywigs.

“Ow!”

And one immediately stings Neville. He starts to float.

Of course.

Luna sighs wistfully, skipping over to look up at him. “Flying. How fun. You are ever so lucky, Neville.”

Hermione wakes up early on Saturday. Gets an early breakfast. Borrows the Marauders’ Map from Harry just to…well just to check it. Just in case.

Most people are still in the Common Rooms or Teachers’ Quarters. Dumbledore is in his office. Snape in one of the rooms in the dungeons. Alone.

Oh. And here comes Viktor. Up the stairs. Through the Entrance Hall.

She looks up as the doors open. Catches his eye and waves him over.

He makes his way towards her with a nod and sits down, pulling eggs and…salad towards him. And some ham. And cheese. Continental breakfast. She doesn’t really understand how he can stomach it, first thing in the morning.

She just munches on her toast. “How did you sleep? Is it okay in the dungeons? Not too cold? Are the other students friendly?”

He groans. Reaches for some coffee. “You talk too much in morning. Brain awake. Too awake.” He takes a large mouthful. Swallows. Sighs. “But…yes. Is good. In Durmstrang we have castle also. Not as big as this, or as comfortable, I am thinking,” he explains.

Hermione nods encouragingly, even though she’s heard it all before. It’s nice that he feels confident enough to talk to her now, especially with less people around.

“We have just four floors,” he continues. “And the fires are lit only for magical purposes. But we have grounds larger than these — though in winter, we have very little daylight, so we are not enjoying them. But in summer we are flying every day, over the lakes and the mountains —”

There’s a scoff from behind them. “Well thank goodness that you can fly! Mon dieu, another cold castle?”

And Fleur sits down on Hermione’s other side. Oh no. Oh people are starting to look. More and more as they arrive for breakfast. This—

“Fleur!” she hisses. “Are you sure— Don’t you have to stay away from me? From both of us? Madam Maxime—”

“—Is still asleep. She sleeps long in the weekends. It is fine, Cherie. Let me talk to my…well, apparently we are all lovers, non?”

Hermione fights a blush, trying to act casual as Fleur leans past her to reach the orange juice.

Fleur just smiles at her. Quite cheekily. “You know, at the Palace of Beauxbatons, we have ice sculptures all around the dining chamber at Christmas. They do not melt, of course. They are like…huge statues of diamond, glittering around the place.”

She gestures at the empty Hall. Helps herself to some pastries and fruit, putting some on Hermione and Viktor’s plates too. “And the food is simply superb. We have choirs of wood nymphs, who serenade us as we eat. And none of this ugly armour in the halls, and if a poltergeist ever entered into Beauxbatons, he would be expelled like that,” and she snaps her fingers, glaring around at the ceiling. Oh.

Hermione looks around too. “Did…are you having a bad morning or something? Did you run into Peeves?”

Fleur quirks an eyebrow. “Peeves? Non. Not today. But he has ruined my outfit many times this year. It is ridiculous. You should not have to put up with these things. Not in a respectable school. Hogwarts has a reputation! I am disappointed. Everything here is…dangerous! Dementors! Around the little children. And the staircases that move, or the steps that disappear, or the forest, that is forbidden but with no guards or barriers! It is madness!”

Hermione laughs. She does have a point. She’d thought it was just the wizarding world that was always slightly manic, but maybe it’s just Magical Britain and the rest of the world is a lot more sensible.

She grins at Fleur. “But it’s more fun, right? More unexpected? There’s never a dull moment here.”

Fleur sighs. Nods in defeat, a smile pulling at her lip. “Very…unexpected. Yes. Everything is a surprise since I arrive here. Just when I think I understand, there is something else. Usually because of you. It seems you like the danger and the adventure.”

Hermione snorts into her glass. Oh no! Attracting danger and adventure? Is she the Harry of this world? “I can’t help it! It just happens to me!”

Fleur pats her hand. Then…leaves her hand there. Rests it there. “I am not so sure about that. What do you think, Viktor?”

Viktor looks up from where he’d been slowly eating and frowns. “I think…that my parents will wonder what happens here. They will think I am…liking two witches. And that I am in danger from dementors and criminals. And that Headmaster Karkaroff has abandoned the students. I…expect very long letter.”

And he looks over to the window where the owls are beginning to arrive. More post.

It’s been hours now since she sent the message to Bellatrix. She wonders…

Hermione swallows nervously as her eyes scan the birds. Feels her palms begin to sweat and— Why is Fleur holding her hand? She’s making everything more complicated. Even if she’s just joking, and— but she keeps smiling! She’s so beautiful. All the time. How is Hermione supposed to not—

Viktor doesn’t get an owl. Fleur does though, and thankfully let’s go of Hermione to open her letter and some chocolates from her family. Her sister. She must miss them. Tears making her eyes shine as she reads.

Not that Fleur acknowledges it. Just sniffs, shakes her head with a smile, and then makes Hermione and Viktor try the chocolates. Chocolate, at nine in the morning.

Hermione politely declines, pushing the box away. “No, thank you. I’m sure they’re lovely, but they’re yours, and it’s honestly too early for me to even think about— mmpf!”

Fleur just pushes one into her mouth, eyes gleaming. Looking very smug as Hermione realises this is the best chocolate she has ever eaten. Ever. What is in this? Godric, it’s— She might have actually moaned aloud. How embarrassing.

And just as Harry, Ron, and Ginny sit down opposite her. Ginny’s eyebrows raise in question, Harry’s eyes also darting back and forth to her chosen breakfast companions.

She knows, okay? It’s not ideal.

But can she have another chocolate?

Ron pulls some food towards him, still bleary-eyed and not seeming to sense the awkward atmosphere. “Morning,” he half yawns. “Is…uhh…”

He drifts off. Seems to freeze. Looks up to stare at Fleur, mouth hanging open.

Fleur sighs quietly and casts another shield charm under the table at him. “Good morning. I hope you all slept well. Do you want some chocolate? They are the best in all of France. Perhaps the whole world. I have never tasted chocolate so good, wherever I go. My family has sent them to me especially.”

Ginny hides a scoff behind her hand, sharing a look with Hermione that seems to say ‘can you believe this witch?’

Hermione just shrugs back. Tilts her head to say ‘no, but seriously, she has a point this time.’

Harry looks between them, utterly confused, and then just reaches for a chocolate, whispering a thank you. Nudges the box towards Ron.

Amazingly, Ron shakes his head. “I’m good. Got to stick to that diet plan, right Viktor? Can’t have empty calories. Here, Harry, have some of this too.”

He passes a dish.

Ginny takes a chocolate instead, smiling at Fleur. “You hear ‘best chocolate in the world’ and say no? Even quidditch isn’t worth that. Besides, it’s good to stay healthy, but you don’t want to gain too much muscle. You’ve got to be light. That’s what’s good about quidditch. You want to be soaring, not swinging around like a boulder.”

Viktor nods. “This is also what I think. This is why I am seeker. Flight is the most fun. Hovering and following wind like bird. But Ron is also right. He wants to be keeper, see? Must be strong. Big to fill hoop.”

Ginny leans further over the table to talk to him. “Or he could be light and quick. It’s not about size. Trust me. I’m just as good a keeper as him, even if I’m half his weight.”

“Just as good?” Ron squawks, mouth open. “You’re not bloody— You’re fast, yeah. Agile. But keeper? No way.”

Krum chuckles. “I am interested to see. Maybe we ask professors for…friendly game.”

And Ron, Harry, and Ginny all freeze in utter shock, faces draining of colour and then both Weasleys turning beetroot as they croak and splutter about being good but not that good. But that they’re not saying no. But they might need some training. Or warning. And that he must be trying to bloody kill them if—

Fleur leans to whisper to Hermione, putting an arm around her waist. “I think Viktor is needing a ‘quidditch star’ shield. Perhaps you can invent one for him? So they are thinking clearly?”

Hermione laughs again. Tries to ignore how close Fleur is. She might need a shield of her own. How has she never noticed— Does Fleur always sit this close? Whisper this much? Joke this much? She’s so flirty! And— and now that Hermione has kind of realised that she might have an attraction to witches…

Hermione’s head turns without really meaning to. And now she’s very close to Fleur. Oh no. Don’t look at her mouth. Don’t—

And Hermione jumps out of her skin as a crow lands on the table with a loud caw. Shit. Wha—

Crow?

And a piece of parchment.

She reaches—

The crow snaps at her. Hops over to Harry instead and offers its leg.

Harry takes it. Cautiously. The crow grabs his toast and flies off.

“You use these black birds here?” Viktor asks. “It is clever. These birds are clever. But long distance, not good.”

They all just smile nervously at him, not knowing what to say. How to say that the person writing doesn’t have an owl to…

Bellatrix should have an owl. Did Moody Junior not get back to her yet?

Harry scans the note. Smiles confusedly, seemingly surprised. “It’s…from my uncle. He’s in the area…camping, with his dog. He’s just checking I’m okay, and reminding me to stay in the castle. To stay safe with the dementors around.”

Uncle? Dog?

Harry catches Hermione’s eye and laughs. “He even signed it with a paw print.”

He shows Hermione the note.

A muddy paw print. And sharp, slanted writing.

Sirius. Not Bellatrix. He must be using crows too because he doesn’t have an owl.

…and he says he’s camping in a cave up the mountain. Waiting for the dementors to leave. Oh.

That cave? The same as before? And he just told Harry where it is? He should be more careful!

Although to be fair, he probably doesn’t know how suspicious the crows look after Bellatrix’s ‘delivery’.

Fleur suddenly stands up, looking across the hall. “Merde. She is awake. I have to go. Perhaps I will see you all again soon. Tomorrow? I will try tomorrow.”

Viktor stands up too. “Yes, is time to start day. I go train. You come too, Ron? Harry? Or…what is your name?”

And now everyone is getting up, Ginny climbing out of the bench and holding her hand out to Viktor. “Ginny Weasley. And I’m definitely coming for training. What kind of training? If it’s fitness, I bet I can run around the grounds faster than you. Me and my friend Luna do it all the time.”

Viktor laughs loudly, making his way out of the hall with her and Ron. “Maybe. I am not often running. I swim. But today we can do both. We run, then swim. And the winner…I don’t know. What is prize? For winner?”

And Hermione doesn’t find out what the prize is either, because they’ve already walked off and turned the corner out of the door, eager to start. So competitive.

She shakes her head at Harry, who is still finishing his breakfast. “You’re not going with them?”

“Nah. Voluntarily sprinting around the lake and then jumping in? Swimming? It’s December! They’re nuts.” He shudders dramatically. Pouts himself a cup of tea.

Then picks up Sirius’ letter. “Do…I know he said stay in the castle,” he whispers. “But if we use the cloak…can we go see him? Bring him some food? He must be starving if— and you know where he is, right? From before?”

Hermione sighs. “Harry, it’s dangerous. He literally said stay in the castle. Even he knows—”

“I know,” Harry interrupts. “But…we both know how to cast patronuses, and…well Sirius isn’t dangerous. And even Bellatrix isn’t really dangerous. At least it doesn’t seem like she is. Can’t we just go see him? Just for a little bit? I want to check he’s okay. He’s all alone, surrounded by dementors, up a mountain without food, or clothes, or— And he’s here to be close to me.”

Well…

Winter is setting in. They could bring Sirius some blankets. Give him some supplies. Check in on him.

And maybe find out what he was going to tell them about Bellatrix…

Hermione nods. “Alright. But not today. We can go to the top of one of the towers in a bit and check how far away the dementors are. We’re not going if they’re still in Hogsmeade. Only once they’ve left.”

Harry sighs. “Fine. I guess that makes sense. A few more days can’t hurt.”

Hermione looks up at the cloudy ceiling.

No. It can’t. And…Hermione doesn’t know why, but as anxious as she is to figure things out…

She really feels like she needs another day or two. A break. To sort her head out. Everything is just so…confusing.

“So! Hermione!” a voice comes from next to her, making her jump.

She groans. “What is it, Parvati?”

Lavender sits down on her other side. “Oh, nothing. We were just wondering if you had a nice breakfast. With Viktor. And Fleur. You know, Professor Trelawney told us that because of the conjunction between the Moon and Neptune right now, it’s normal to be feeling more dreamlike and passive, so it’s alright if you just let things happen. And you might be quite sensitive and emotional because of Capricorn, of course.”

“But,” Parvati jumps in, “she also said that because of the conjunction with the Moon and Uranus, a new romantic love affair could appear in your life!” she practically squeals. “Isn’t that exciting? Romance is in the air for all of us!”

Hermione holds back a snort and just nods with the pitiful amount of enthusiasm she can muster. Sure. New romance. Because she doesn’t have enough confusion on that front already.

Fantastic.

Harry nudges her excitedly as they sneak out of the trap door and into Honeydukes. “No dementors. See? They’ve left! Come on!”

Hermione reluctantly follows along close to him, not wanting her feet to become exposed as he gets further ahead. There aren’t many people around, only villagers. It’s not a Hogsmeade weekend.

They should be in the castle. She can’t believe she’s doing this, she’d thought the dementors would stick around longer, not be gone the next day!

“Careful!” she hisses to Harry. “People could still hear us. A muffiliato doesn’t cover everything!”

He nods, but still pulls the door open so that it bangs and the bell jingles. Harry!

He grins at her. “The wind. It’s blowing a gale. It’s fine!”

Hermione grips the cloak around them snuggly. Not fine if the invisibility cloak gets blown away!

They make their way awkwardly up the High Street. Past Dervish and Banges, and soon out of the village altogether, wandering up the winding lane past the occasional cottage. The foot of the mountain.

They stare up at it, not looking forward to the climb ahead, and leaning against the stile. “Cloak off?” Harry asks.

Hermione pulls it free of them, glad to be able to breathe more freely, but really feeling the cold now, hastily casting warming spells. “Off. And I brought a thermos too in my bag, so let me know if you want to stop for a drink. It’s pretty high up.”

They climb over the stile and start trudging, pulling woollen hats further over their ears against the biting chill.

“Wish I had my broom back,” Harry mutters. “We could be up there in seconds.”

Hermione just gives him a look, resisting the urge to groan into her hands. “Yes, and let everyone see,” she says slowly. Pointedly. “A broomstick heading straight up a mountain. Not suspicious at all. In this weather. For no reason. After a known fugitive escaped on the same firebolt—”

“Okay, okay, maybe not!” Harry pants as they scramble up the rocky ground. “I just thought there might be an easier way up a mountain. Like…are we forgetting magic or something? What would Ron say?”

Hermione scoffs. Keeps walking. Ron is in the hospital wing with pneumonia, as is Ginny. Apparently diving into the lake in the middle of winter is not a good idea, even with a warming spell.

They’re fine, of course. Nothing a pepper-up potion and a night’s rest couldn’t fix. It’s more that they’re being kept there as a lesson. For their ‘unthinking idiocy’ as McGonagall called it when she found them coughing and shivering in the Common Room.

Viktor is in trouble too. For being a bad influence on the younger years. So…not the most common way to start a new friendship. But a bit of a bonding experience.

Hermione stops to lean against a rock. Nearly there. Can’t be far.

“What about…teleporting?” Harry asks. “Is that a thing?”

Hermione smiles. Starts climbing again. He’s so young. “Apparition. It’s called apparition, but it’s like teleporting, yes. You have to learn to do it and get a license once you’re seventeen.”

He nods to himself. They carry on climbing for  a bit, navigating a narrow passage and then a steep incline. “I can apparate,” she eventually continues, now that they’re on an easier path. “So I could side-apparate you. Transport you. But Sirius might have anti-apparition wards in place. He should, if he’s clever. And anti-muggle—”

Aha! There it is!

She points up to the cave entrance. “He should be there. Hang on. Let me just feel out for him…”

Sirius. Come on, can you feel…

Sirius. Yes. It feels like the Marauders’ Map. And a bit like Grimmauld Place. Sirius. It’s strong. He must have wards. So at least—

Bellatrix

Hermione screeches to a stop, grabbing hold of Harry. Casts a muffiliato.

It can’t be.

Bellatrix

But why is she—

Bellatrix. Definitely Bellatrix.

She holds backs a shiver. A shudder.

And throws the cloak over her and Harry. “It’s Bellatrix!” she hisses. “She’s here too! Both of them! I don’t— Come on!”

Harry’s eyes widen, and then narrow in determination as he and Hermione practically crawl up to the lip of the cave, peeking over.

It’s dark. Hard to see inside, even if they squint. No sign of—

Harry edges closer—

“Did you feel that?” calls Bellatrix’s voice. “In the wards?”

Hermione holds her breath.

“Shut up!” Sirius shouts back harshly. Louder. Closer. “You’re not tricking me again, I told you. I’m not talking to you!”

A cackling laugh echoes across stone, sending another shiver right up Hermione’s spine. “But you are talking to me,” Bellatrix sing-songs. “So stop being so stubborn, and—”

Sirius growls. A human growl, but still quite fierce. And frustrated. “Go away! Get— fuck off! I told you. That’s your side, and this is my side. See? There. The line is right there, and you know it. From the rock to the puddle. Don’t pretend you can’t— Bella!”

A sigh. And footsteps. “I’m just coming to get a little look! Didn’t you feel it? Someone tripped the wards! And— Hey!”

A scraping thud. “That’s my newspaper!” Bellatrix shouts. “How did you get it? I sent it to Hermione! Are you stealing my letters now?”

Sirius laughs. A bark. "What happened to sharing? I thought—"

There’s some more scraping sounds. Stone crumbling. Some kind of kerfuffle. Light smacking sounds.

Hermione slowly raises her eyebrows at Harry. Are they…fighting? Squabbling? What—

There’s a bark. A woof.

“Cheat!” Bellatrix calls. “Just admit that I’m stronger than you now, and let me give you some—”

And then a black dog is bounding towards them out of the darkness, tongue hanging out and sniffing the air.

Harry yanks the cloak off them without warning, a hesitant smile on his face. “Hi, Padfoot.”

And Sirius transforms in an instant, pulling Harry up and into a hug. “Harry! What are you doing here? I told you, it’s safe at Hogwarts.”

He pulls back, cupping Harry’s face and bending to look him in the eyes. “I hope that you are not here on my account. I’d hate for anything to happen to you. Your safety is of utmost importance. Do you understand?”

Harry nods, a guilty look forming.

And a scoff echoes out of the cave. “Why are you talking like that, Wagtail? You’re not Cissy. Or Dumbledore. Why have you suddenly turned into the wise, all knowing godfather. Heed my words, young Harry. The road is dark, but there is light ahead—”

Sirius whirls around. “Stay back!” he bellows. “Stay inside! You know my conditions. I said I’d consider talking to you, but only if—”

Bellatrix comes into view. Steps out into the light. Just walks casually out of the cave, rolling her eyes at Sirius.

Leans against the rock. Looks Hermione up and down.

Grins. “Hi Granger. Nice of you to drop in. Sorry I had to leave so suddenly.”

Chapter Text

Hermione can’t seem to find any words under Bellatrix’s gaze. Her familiar grin. What is she doing here? How is she just standing there like it’s nothing! Leaning against the rock, only wearing a black cloak over her dress. Nothing else. And it’s open at the front. How is she not freezing?

Bellatrix takes a step forward. “So? Did…you happen to bring anything, other than your lovely selves? Wagtail and I are starving here. He almost ate my rat!”

And she pulls a rat out of her pocket. The rat from the cage. Strokes it. Hugs it to her chest fondly. As if apologising to it.

Umm…

Hermione slowly reaches down and opens her bag. Starts pulling out all the different items they brought. And food. Lots of food from the kitchens. Chicken legs. Bread. Cheese. Some drinks too.

Sirius’ mouth falls open and he practically dives at her, pulling the chicken from her hands and tearing into it with a groan.

Bellatrix just waits. Watches him. Smiles.

Then wanders over. Closer. Chooses some chicken for herself. Tears a piece off and gives it to the rat.

And takes a bite with a moan, closing her eyes. “Knew there was a reason I liked you, Granger.” She takes another bite. “Didn’t I tell you, Wags? Your godson chose the best friends. Bloody mind-reading geniuses.”

Sirius stops eating. Pauses to lick his fingers and look at Bellatrix curiously. “Good friends? You don’t think they’re…bloodtraitors? Beneath you?”

Bellatrix chuckles. “Beneath me? I’m living in a cave! Now, come on. Eat some more. And they brought blankets! Clothes! Go on! Put something on. A hat! You should be wearing a hat.”

And she looks around for one. Doesn’t find one. They didn’t think to bring a hat.

Bellatrix holds her hand out to Harry with a sigh. “Duplicate yours. It won’t last, but it will do for now. Can you remember the wand movement? The incantation? It’s—”

“Geminio,” Harry says firmly, hat already in hand, wand in motion. Looks relieved when it turns out okay. Smiles cautiously at Bellatrix. “Like the apples. Right?”

She grins back. Snatches the hat. “Right. Five points to Gryffindor. But tighten the wand movement a bit more next time. Not so floppy, firmer intent. Then it’ll last longer.”

And she shoves the hat on Sirius’ head.

“Ow! Get off! I can do it myself! Why— you’re pulling my hair,” Sirius shouts, jerking the hat into place, out of his eyes. “Why are you acting like this? What’s got into you?”

Bellatrix folds her arms with a pout. “I’m helping! Let me help. That’s what I’m for. That’s why I’m here. So if you would just listen and let me—”

Sirius hastily puts a hand over Bellatrix’s mouth.

Opens his own mouth. Then closes it.

Glances at Harry and Hermione.

Sighs. “Into the cave. All of you. It’s safer past the wards. And…and if you want to help, Bella, then help them bring some of those things in. I’m still…weak.”

Bellatrix pushes his hand of. Wipes at her lips and grimaces. “And you taste awful. You need to learn to wash your paws. Bleurgh.” She reaches for a bottle of pumpkin juice and takes a swig.

Offers it to Harry. “Want some? Must have been a long walk up here.”

Harry gives Hermione an uncomfortable look and then just pushes the bottle away. “I’m good. Maybe later. Uhh…here, Sirius. I’ll take that. Hermione has this bag that you can fit really big things inside. We wanted to bring a bed, but we didn’t know where to get one.”

They gather everything back up, some in their arms and some back into Hermione’s bag, and walk further inside the cave, wands lit. Bellatrix first, Sirius pushing her inside and her feet dragging and skidding on the stone in protest.

Harry laughs into his hand. “They’re like kids!” he whispers.

It echoes.

“Heard that!” Bellatrix shouts. “And he’s the silly little kid. I’m older, you know. Six years older. Taught him to ride a broom, and swim, and tie his shoes—”

“No, you did not! You just watched and laughed whenever I fell off, or sank, or tripped over. Andromeda taught me. And she taught Narcissa. And…Reg.”

They drift into painful silence. In the dark. It’s quite a small cave. About the size of a garage—

Harry pulls her to a stop. “Buckbeak!”

She’d almost stepped on Buckbeak. Who is waking up. Getting to his feet.

Hermione hastily steps back. Bows low, Harry at her side. Holding eye contact as much as they can in the dim light.

The hippogriff bows back, to her relief, and then trots past her towards the entrance.

Bellatrix follows. Stops next to Hermione. Pokes her bag. “Anything for him? Chicken?”

Oh, right!

She reaches around in her bag and throws some chicken for Buckbeak. He catches it with a snap.

“Poor thing,” Bellatrix murmurs. “He shouldn’t be here. Needs freedom. Freedom to run. Freedom to fly.”

Hermione glances sideways at the witch. Is…she really talking about Buckbeak?

“Are you staying here?” Hermione asks quietly. “Permanently?”

Bellatrix hums. “I don’t know. There are…a lot of options for me to narrow down. Choices to make about…well. You know.”

“Hermione…” Sirius calls warily. “I think maybe you should come away from—”

Bellatrix tuts. “I’m not going to hurt them. I already told you.”

“Well I don’t believe you!” Sirius says. “Why should I? You haven’t done anything for me to believe—”

“She saved me from a dragon,” Hermione blurts out. Flushes as Bellatrix grins at her again. Reaches for—

Hermione jerks back. Was she about to touch her arm? It looked like…

She hastily makes her way over to Harry and Sirius, opening her bag to get some blankets back out that Harry immediately wraps around Sirius’ shoulders.

“Got any drugs?” Bellatrix whispers in her ear from behind.

Hermione rolls her eyes. “No.”

She feels a chin rest on her shoulder. Steps forward out of reach. Why— she’s so close. So touchy.

Bellatrix clears her throat. “Sorry. But what I mean is…”

And Bellatrix walks around to kneel at Sirius’ feet. “I’m worried about Wagtail. It’s too cold. Too damp. He’s too thin,” she whispers quietly. “And he won’t let me help him,” she grits out. Almost growls. Stands up on her knees to press a hand to Sirius’ forehead.

“He’s getting sick?” Harry asks panickedly. “Sirius, if she can help— You shouldn’t be here! You need to get away. Just…apparate away somewhere. I’m fine at Hogwarts. Safe.”

“Thank you!” Bellatrix shouts. “See? Listen to Potter! Get your strength back. Then you can help.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” Sirius mutters. “I’m not waiting any longer.”

Bellatrix puts her head in his lap and groans. “You’re not thinking clearly. Believe me. I’ve been there. So let us think for you. Eat. Sleep. Recover.”

“Is there somewhere he can go?” Hermione asks.

Bellatrix sits up. Raises an eyebrow at Sirius.

He grits his teeth, pushing at her shoulders. “No. I’m not going back there. Never. Get off me.”

Bellatrix snorts, ignoring him. “So you’re going to die out of spite, just like her.”

Her? Who? Where?

Oh wait. Sirius has a house. Grimmauld Place. It’s not being used by the Order yet. And it makes sense why he’s avoiding his hated childhood home.

“Wherever it is, go there,” Hermione says firmly. “You’re not well. Don’t do this to Harry.”

This seems to make him think about it. He glances at Harry. Searches his face, as if he can’t believe he’s there. Can’t believe he gets to look.

Harry nods. “You’re the only family I have left. I want— I’m telling you to take care of yourself, and let other people take care of you. That means a home, and food, and a shower, and clothes. That means admitting when you need help, and talking to people. Maybe— If you don’t want to talk to Bellatrix…why don’t you write to Professor Lupin?”

“Remus will worry,” Sirius sighs. “He has enough troubles. He doesn’t need—”

Bellatrix stands up. “Just ask the bloke to move in with you! He lost his job, right? No money? Nowhere to go? We have money.”

Sirius gives her a disbelieving look. Maybe because she just offered her own money to a werewolf.

And shakes his head, snapping himself out of it. “Had money. We can’t access it, we’re on the run! Do you think we can just show up at Gringotts?” Sirius says, slightly delirious now. Giddy. “Hello, Mr Goblin. My cousin and I are being hunted across Britain for being mass murderers! But can we have our houses and our money back?”

“We already have the house! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Bellatrix shouts. “It’s automatic! Next male heir. Blacks don’t care if you broke the law or killed anyone! And you didn’t even kill anyone! You’re innocent!”

Harry stands up too. “Then it’s settled,” he says firmly. Authoritatively. A glimmer of his older self shining through. A leader. “You have a house, so you’re going to live there. And you’re going to write to your friends, and take all this food, and Bellatrix…”

He looks at Bellatrix. Studies her.

And the warily hopeful child returns, hand moving to run through his hair before he remembers the hat on his head. “You’ll look after him?”

Bellatrix sighs tiredly, looking at him and away. Looking down at Sirius, still huddled in the blanket. “Of course, Potter,” she says softly. “You’ve got to take care of family. Love the ones you’ve got. Help them out. He’s still my little cousin. And I’ve got a lot of teaching to…make up for.”

“I don’t want to learn anything from you,” Sirius says hoarsely, teeth chattering.

Bellatrix drags him to his feet. “I know you don’t. But tough tits. Neither of us have a choice in the matter. So do you think you can make it to London on the back of a Hippogriff, or— wait. No. That’s a stupid idea. I’ll apparate us like Potter said, and then I’ll find someone to relocate Witherwings. Somewhere with his own kind.”

“Can you apparate him?” Hermione asks. “He won’t get…splinched?”

She shudders. As does Bellatrix.

“What does splinched mean?” Harry asks innocently.

“When part of you gets left behind,” Bellatrix explains, seemingly on professor-autopilot. “A body part. It can happen when you apparate without focusing. Like if you’re tired, or injured, or drunk.”

“Body part…” Harry whispers.

Sirius pulls himself upright. Pushes Bellatrix off. “I’m fine! For Godric’s sake, I’m not unwell, I’ve just been on the run for far too long. I can certainly handle apparition. Bella is just babying me. I’m a grown wizard.”

He hugs Harry tightly, and then walks him towards the mouth of the cave. “It was good to see you, but you should be getting back before it gets dark. And I will look after myself. I promise. I’ll be fit as a fiddle in no time.”

Hermione hands over the bag of food. “So you’ll go?” she clarifies. Sternly.

For a moment he just looks at her.

Then Bellatrix.

Then takes the bag. “Yes. I’ll go. Just over the winter whilst I recover. So now you get going back to Hogwarts. I thought you’d be one to follow the rules, Hermione, but…”

He laughs. Looks at Harry again. “You have chosen your friends well, Harry. Your Dad would be so proud of how brave you’re being. Sneaking out with his cloak and— and kind. Kind and brave, like Lily too.”

Harry ducks his head. Scuffs at the ground. “I just…didn’t want you to be all alone out here. Because you’re not, okay?” he looks back up. “You’re not alone.”

Hermione glances away. To give them some space to share this moment.

And to look at Bellatrix. A Bellatrix with…a strange look in her eyes, standing there shivering.

Did she not get a blanket? Or a hat, or anything for herself?

“Bellatrix, turn around and face inside the cave,” Sirius orders out of nowhere.

What?

Bellatrix frowns at Hermione, but does turn around. “Why? What are you hiding from me? You don’t have to—”

Sirius ignores her and quickly pulls Harry’s invisibility cloak out of his bag, beckoning Hermione over and throwing the cloak over her and Harry.

He holds a finger to his lips, and then motions for them to leave down the mountain.

Oh.

Still doesn’t trust Bellatrix. Keeping them safe. And…thinks Bellatrix doesn’t know about the cloak.

Bellatrix huffs. “Well? Can I look?”

“No!” Sirius shouts. “Just do as I say.”

And he looks around. Reaches out to see if they’ve left yet.

Harry quietly moves back. They back all the way out. Past the wards and down over the lip.

And then Harry jerks them to the side and pulls them to a stop. “I want to make sure he leaves,” he whispers in her ear.

Fair enough. Sirius isn’t…overly reliable when it comes to keeping his word.

They wait. And wait. Can’t hear or see anything with the wards in place.

Sirius comes out, bag on his shoulder and without the blanket anymore.

“—and I’m coming with you!” Bellatrix says as she appears too, running out after him.

Sirius walks over to stroke Buckbeak. Then sighs. “No you’re not,” he quickly whispers.

And he spins. Apparates. Gone.

Oh.

Bellatrix sighs.

Sits down just inside the lip of the cave. Takes the rat out of her pocket. Strokes it sadly.

Then looks up at them. “I can see your feet," she grunts.

Hermione looks down at the uneven ground. Oops.

Harry cautiously pulls off the cloak.

“Uhh…” he says as he stares at the empty spot Sirius had been standing in. “I’m gonna…go see Buckbeak before we go. And have a look at the view from around that side of the mountain. It must be…”

He drifts off. Gives Hermione a look and gestures at Bellatrix, who is now back to staring at the ground.

And then walks off around a corner with Buckbeak.

Great. So…well she guesses she should…

Hermione climbs back up the lip and sits down next to Bellatrix on the rocky, wet floor just inside the cave. “What’s your rat called?”

Bellatrix keeps stroking it. Then hands the rat to Hermione. “Ratty.”

Hermione holds back a strange laugh. This is all very weird, and uncomfortable, and— She’s not the biggest fan of rats, they’re just a bit…

She hands Ratty back. “You keep him.”

Bellatrix just nods. Puts him down, frowning now.

Leans her head against Hermione’s shoulder. “What do you think I should do?” she asks quietly.

Hermione tries to act like this is normal. Keeps her breathing even, and brushes some hair out of her face. “You mean…with Sirius?”

Bellatrix turns to look at her. “He’s the only one I’ve got left. Cissy will be in danger if I go to her. And Andy won’t speak to me. Refuses to see me. How…You’re talking to me. You didn’t want to, before. You wouldn’t even shake my hand, but now you’re talking to me. So why is that? What did I do? What did I do right?”

She…wants to talk to Andromeda? And— oh! She’s staying away from Narcissa to protect her! Is that why she obliviated her? So that when the aurors went looking, Narcissa would have no connection with her? To make sure Narcissa was safe? But then why draw attention to herself and cast the Dark Mark in the first place?

And she wants advice? Isn’t it obvious that— “Well you…you’re nice to me,” Hermione explains. “I don’t know why exactly, but you act like we’re friends. And you saved me from a dragon, so I guess I…trust you more now. Did you…get my message?”

Bellatrix shakes her head. Oh. So where did that— accio newspaper!

The newspaper flies towards her out of the cave. She finds the article. Hands it to Bellatrix, slightly embarrassedly.

Bellatrix scans it. Then her eyes seem to glint. She smiles. Darts her fingers over the words, mouthing them to herself.

Then laughs. “That was clever, Granger. I would have got that. If Wagtail wasn’t slobbering all over my stuff. How do you know me so well? Do we know each other in the future?”

And she turns and looks at Hermione curiously.

Hermione swallows. Shakes her head. “No, not really. That’s— that’s why I didn’t like you. I knew what you did, what you’ve done, but I…never met you.”

It’s true. She hasn’t. She hasn’t met this Bellatrix. The one who wants to look after Sirius, and be close to Hermione, and smiles and laughs all the time. Laughs in a warm, genuine way.

This Bellatrix is different. This Bellatrix is…

Hermione is staring. She’s just realised that she’s been staring. Looking at Bellatrix’s face for ages without saying anything. Her mouth. Her smile.

Hermione looks away.

Bellatrix grabs her chin and pulls her head back around. “So why do you like me? I was nice to Siri, and joked with him, and shared with him, and tried to help him…and now he’s gone home without me. How can I make him let me in?”

Uhh…

Hermione can’t really think right now. Her heart is thundering in her ears. Her jaw caught in a firm grip. Eyes staring into hers, looking for answers.

She wets her lips. “I— you— you were persistent. You were everywhere I went, and you— you’re confusing, and intriguing. You— maybe you should go and see if he’s alright. Maybe the wards will let you in, because you’re family, and you know the address to Grimmauld Place.”

Bellatrix wets her own lips. “Grimmauld?” she murmurs. “Now how do you know that…unless a Black told you?”

Oh. Oh dear. Um—

“How are you here?” Hermione blurts out. “Are you— How old are you? How did you escape Azkaban? What have you been doing for the last ten years? Why did you put Harry’s name in the Goblet? What are you trying to do? Why are you scared of—”

“If I kiss you, will you stop asking questions?”

Wha—

Hermione pulls back with a yelp of surprise. Falls backwards, almost tumbling out of the cave.

Bellatrix laughs. “Okay, okay. I won’t. That’s why I asked.”

Loud footsteps smack across rock towards her. “Hermione? Are you okay? What’s going on?!”

She looks up at Harry confusedly, rubbing her head. Thoughts still—

Mating rituals. Erumpents. Thundering—

“Hermione!” Harry shouts again, urgently now, pulling her to her feet.

She shakes herself. “Yes! It’s fine. I’m fine— I— just unexpected— we should go.”

She turns to look at the view. The sunset. Nods to herself. “Bellatrix, you should check on Sirius. Stay with him. I’m sure he’ll let you in, he did before. And— um— well— I—”

“Focus, Granger,” Bellatrix says firmly. “Remember to put on Potter's cloak, and apparate him down the mountain. The frost’s come in. It’s too slippery to walk down. I’ll…write to you and let you know how Wagtail’s doing. And I’m sorry if— I’m not very good with boundaries.”

Oh. Of course. Right.

She makes herself look at Bellatrix. Makes herself hold eye contact and smile even though she thinks her head might explode from just how—

Bellatrix wanted to kiss her?

To get her to stop asking questions, right? Not because—

“It’s fine,” Hermione says. Again. “You just…surprised me. I’m not— We don’t know each other very well yet.”

Bellatrix’s shoulders seem to relax. She grins. “Yet.”

Yet.

Oh. Did Hermione just imply—

Bellatrix chuckles. Slashes her wand through the air, taking down the wards, and walks back into the cave. “I’m here because Sirius is here. I saw you send Hedwig, so I knew he was around here somewhere,” she calls out of the cave. “I put Harry’s name in the Goblet because at that point I didn’t know what else to do, and it seemed like the best option— Come here, Ratty!”

Some scraping sounds. A thud. Footsteps. “And I’m forty years old. Six years older than Siri, as I said. So not bad, right?” she says, coming back into view.

Then winks. “I think that’s enough answers for now, until I get more of my own.

And she throws on a cloak. An invisibility cloak. Disappears.

There’s a crack of apparition, and then silence.

Harry pulls his own cloak out of his bag with a sigh. “Well that wasn’t enough answers, but it’s a bit better. She seems…well I kind of trust her too. I see what you mean. I still think she’s a bit crazy though. What did she do that made you shout?”

Hermione ducks under the cloak with him, suddenly aware of how dark it’s gotten and how cold she is. “I’ll tell you later. We need to get back. Hold on tight to me, and take a breath. This isn’t going to feel very nice.”

And with a crack, Buckbeak is alone on the mountain.

Hermione doesn’t actually get around to telling Harry about the ‘kiss-question’ incident. More like she deliberately avoids it, in case she makes his head explode like hers did.

But by bedtime, she’s worked herself into a bit of a panic about it. Turned it over in her head hundreds of times, Snape’s comment about relationships and erumpents pinging around her mind, playing on repeat.

So she does what anyone would do.

She walks down the stairs, in the dark, in her pyjamas, to knock on the third-year dorm door and talk to Ginny, who is finally back from the Hospital Wing.

Hermione hugs her knees as they sit on Ginny’s bed, curtains drawn and silencing charm firmly in place. She’s told her everything. From the mountain, and from Snape.

Ginny gives her a strange look.

Then flops back on the bed. “Fleur Delacour and the crazy but weirdly attractive Death Eater lady? What kind of pheromones are you giving off?! Do you go around with amortentia in your pockets? Even I’m thinking about kissing you now, just to see what the fuss is about!”

“Ginny!” Hermione hisses, not quite able to tell if she’s joking. “That’s not helpful.”

Ginny shrugs. “Look, it’s fine. It just means you’re hot. You’re like…one of those wizards in Witch Weekly that everyone goes mad about. Except for witches. I don’t see what the problem is, to be honest. You like witches. They like you. I would have kissed both of them by now.”

Oh…

She’s attractive?

Hermione shuffles around to lie down next to Ginny. Hesitates. “Don’t kiss me,” she says, just in case.

Ginny laughs. “I won’t! I was joking. We’re friends. It would be weird.”

Well that’s a relief.

“Would you really?” Hermione whispers at the ceiling. “Have kissed Bellatrix?”

There’s a brief silence. “If I liked her,” Ginny replies quietly. “From what you said, she seems trustworthy now. She must be from another time, like you. One that's more...normal. Nice." She glances at Hermione. "But kiss her? I’ve never even spoken to her, so I don’t know. I think…”

Ginny turns on her side. “I think for some reason you’ve freaked yourself out about relationships. But it’s okay. It’s meant to be fun, not scary. Don’t panic. It doesn’t have to be a huge decision. It doesn’t have to be serious. If you want to do something with someone, and they want to too, then do it! And if later you don’t want to, then tell them and stop. Easy, see?”

Okay. That does make sense. She makes it sound so simple, it—

Maybe Hermione is a bit scared. Of the commitment. Of the decision. Of accidentally stringing someone along when she’s not sure or ready.

Like with Ron. She’d ended up…trapped. And felt so guilty for hurting him. For not feeling what he felt.

But fun? She’s never thought about relationships being fun. But that’s what Fleur seems to do. And Bellatrix. Flirt and make jokes for the fun of it. Touching her…just because they want to.

She rolls to face Ginny too. Smiles. “Snog, marry, or kill…Harry, Luna and Dean Thomas.”

Ginny gasps. “No! That’s too hard! Couldn’t you give me—”

Hermione shakes her head with a laugh. “Go on.”

Ginny huffs. “Well…I can’t kill Harry or Luna. So it has to be Dean, because even though he’s cute, I don’t know him that well. So…”

Her eyes dart back and forth. “Snog Luna, marry Harry,” she quickly says.

Then sits up. “Okay, your turn—”

Hermione holds up a hand. “Only seventeen or older, and…only witches. I— I’m— I’m gay.”

Ginny freezes. Then immediately falls on top of her to hug her. “You said it! That’s the hardest bit. Well done. I still can’t really say it.”

Hermione lets out a shaky breath. “It’s stupid, isn’t it? Scared of a word. And I’m twenty-five. It shouldn’t— all it means is that I’m exclusively attracted to witches. Why is it so hard to say? I’m gay. I’m a lesbian, I’m gay.”

Ginny squeezes her tighter and laughs quietly. “Fight the fear!” she whispers. “I’m…bisexual. I’m bi. Gah, my face is going to burn off. Can you feel it? I’m radiating!”

Hermione hugs her and then pushes her back, casting a cooling charm at her face. “Better?”

Ginny smiles. “Snog, marry, kill…Fleur, Bellatrix, and…Trelawney!”

What?!

Hermione shoves her. “You did that on purpose! Now I have to—”

“Have to…?” Ginny drags out gleefully.

Hermione huffs. “Well, I’m not going anywhere near Trelawney, obviously. I’m definitely not marrying her, that would be dreadful. And a snog— ugh. No. I’m killing Trelawney.”

“Go on…” Ginny says, practically bouncing on the bed.

And Hermione thinks about it. “So…well I’d marry Fleur, wouldn’t I? She’s my friend, and I know we stay friends for a long time, and that she’s reliable, and—”

“Boring!” Ginny says. “Get friendship out of your head for once. Think wife. Think…touching her. Holding her hand. She’s yours. She loves you.”

She pictures it. Replaces Bill…with herself. Except she wouldn’t have married Fleur so young. Or at the Burrow. But…it is nice when Fleur smiles at her. And touches her. Her wrist, or her back, or hugs her, whispers to her in French and feeds her chocolates or—

“Marry Fleur,” she says. “Because she’s fun, and caring, and beautiful. But also quick-witted, and impressive, and fiery. Hot.”

Ginny smacks the mattress. “Told you she was hot! Okay, now tell me what you really think about Bellatrix.”

Hermione nods. Just goes with it. “So that obviously means I’d have to snog Bellatrix. And— and I would. I’d kiss her. I caught myself staring at her today. She’s just so…argh, I can’t explain her!”

She sits up. To think better. “She…every conversation I have with her is unexpected, and different, and exciting. I never know what she’s going to do, but at the same time it’s like we have this rhythm. Like she can give me a knowing look, and I can follow her train of thought."

She fiddles with the sheets as Ginny looks at her encouragingly. "I…like it when she looks at me. Grins at me. She always seems happy to see me. Excited. And it makes me feel important, and special and— and she always knows when to stop, too. When to back off. When to change the subject. We both do. Everything just becomes…calm. She opens up around me. Asks me questions, and for advice. She whispers to me, and I whisper back. We tread carefully, trying to figure out what each other means, or wants. And even when I’m completely wrong…it feels right. Like there’s a moment of connection. This strange kind of trust, or understanding, so that even though I have no idea what’s happening whenever she’s around…the communication is still open and…free. Whether we’re walking in silence, or asking each other question after question.”

And now there’s a very long silence.

Hermione lies back down awkwardly. “Plus, she saved me from a dragon,” she adds, because that seems significant.

Ginny joins her. Clears her throat. “So Fleur is hot…and Bellatrix is reliable, easy to talk to, and always happy to see you, and is there to support you with clear boundaries that you both understand?”

Hermione just nods in shock.

“Hermione…you’re going to have to switch your answers,” Ginny says in laughing shock. “You want to kiss Fleur…and marry Bellatrix.”

And now the panic is back. Marriage? No no no

And it’s Bellatrix. Have you forgotten who she is?! What she—

Hermione hugs her arm to her chest. “It’s— no. No, this is just a game. For fun. And— and I’m not switching. Fleur— Fleur is kind, and cares about me, and Bellatrix…is attractive enough for me to kiss her. Hypothetically. It’s all hypothetical, it’s—”

Ginny hugs her. “You’re making it all serious again. Of course you’re not going to get married! It’s just part of the game. You don’t have to marry anyone…ever, Hermione! It’s just— I’ll change the words. Kiss, fuck, kill. Is that easier?”

Hermione laughs and pushes her off. “Ginevra Molly Weasley you are thirteen years old and— I forgot! You’re a baby! Come here!”

And she hugs Ginny again. Tiny Ginny. It’s so strange. To think her Ginny back home is married. And pregnant.

Ginny fights her off, squawking and complaining, so Hermione lets her go. It’s getting very late, and they have lessons tomorrow. Monday morning.

She climbs off the bed and creeps towards the door. “Thanks for talking to me,” she whispers. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Ginny grins at her. “Sweet dreams!” she shout-whispers back.

And Hermione fumbles the door handle and manages to get out. Climbs the stairs again.

Dreams. Oh she is going to have some very confusing dreams. Her head is…

Gay. Oh Godric she is gay. That’s why she’s been avoiding dating. Dating because she should and it’s what’s expected, but every time a wizard leans in to kiss her…

If Fleur or Bellatrix leant in to kiss her…

Bellatrix almost did. And you pushed her away. And Fleur is making it extremely obvious, so obvious that even Harry saw it.

You shouldn’t kiss Bellatrix. You don’t know for certain who she is. And even if she’s changed, and nice, and interesting and— she tortured people!

Right?

She shuffles through the dark to her bed. Nudges Crookshanks awake and pushes him off. No sharing tonight. Go catch some…rats.

A pet rat? Seriously? Of all the animals—

Fleur. Think about Fleur instead. Much safer option. And unbelievably beautiful. Ginny is right, what was she thinking? Why did she reject Fleur? This is a different universe! She isn’t married! This is your one chance to—

Well, that sounds creepy. She’s not just an object. She doesn’t belong to Bill. She’s a person. Your friend. Your now much younger friend. Who maybe has a crush on you in this timeline.

Definitely has a crush on you. Feeding you chocolates and stroking your face.

Because you’re hot.

Hermione can’t believe she’s hot! When did that happen?

But it’s kind of the only explanation that witches keep wanting to…

She closes her eyes. Just closes her eyes. Go to sleep. Being in a different universe is not an excuse to explore your sexuality without consequences.

Or is it? Why is she here? Why this point in time? Why is she reliving her teenage years with…witches hanging all over her? Harry isn’t in danger right now. All of her friends are happy. Bellatrix isn’t a threat. Sirius is being sensible. She already fought the dragon, knows the next task, and it’s nearly Christmas.

Is Ginny right? Are Lavender and Parvati right? Should she just relax and…see what happens?

Her hand drifts down her stomach under the covers. She casts a silencing charm over her bed.

There is…one way to relax. That she hasn’t done in a while.

Her mind’s eye drifts to her bedroom back home. And the box under the bed. With the vibrator inside, that Ginny got for her as a joke for her birthday, saying she needed to loosen up.

A box she never opened. Too embarrassed.

She does need to loosen up! What’s wrong with her? Why is she so repressed? She’s a feminist! She should be—

She stifles a laugh as she imagines ordering a vibrator through owl post. If any of the professors or house-elves spotted it—

Don’t think about professors right now. Ugh, she just thought of Filch. Go away! Go—

She rolls over. Grumbles to herself and closes her eyes. Sleep. Just go to sleep.

Chapter Text

Ron’s mouth falls open. “I missed all of that? Harry, why didn’t you bloody wake me up and tell me last night?!” he hisses, looking around to check no-one is listening in as they trudge down the hill to Care of Magical Creatures. Luckily no-one seems to be paying them any attention, too busy keeping a hold of their scarves and cloaks in the howling wind. This is the worst day to be heading towards a pumpkin patch and blast-ended skrewts.

“You were snoring your head off!” Harry shouts. “And you’d been ill! I wasn’t going to wake you up just to—”

“—to tell me absolutely everything! Snoring? I’m always snoring! Next time just poke me and—”

“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!” comes a shout from behind them.

Draco?

Draco comes jogging up to them, the other Slytherins frowning confusedly, looking up to watch.

He stops next to Ron. “I’ve got a proposition to make, Weasley. See, I don’t feel like dealing with these blast-ended abominations today. So when we’re told to pair up, or get into groups or whatever the great oaf tells us to do, I think you’re going to pair up with me and sort it out for me. And in return, you can copy the Herbology notes that you were too stupid to understand.”

What? Herbology notes? They just had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs, and Ron managed fine.

But Ron’s eyes widen and he quickly nods. “Yeah, uhh…sure. I mean, you’re sure? Maybe Neville could—”

Draco nods. “You’re right. The size of those things?”

He looks down his nose at the skrewts as they all get closer to the pumpkin patch. “They’ll definitely need two people to handle them. Longbottom! Come here and work with Weasley!”

What is happening? What the—

“Ignore him, Neville,” Harry shouts as Neville looks over panickedly. “Don’t let him boss you around.”

And he pulls Ron a step away from Draco. “Mate, what are you doing? What—”

“Err…right,” Hagrid says confusedly as he comes over. “All of you gather ‘round then. Tha’s it.”

He rubs his hands together and gestures to the skrewts and some large wooden crates that he’s spread out and filled with blankets and hay. “See, with winter coming in and all, I thought these lot might want to hibernate. So I’ve got each o’ them a nice bed, and uhh…well, we’ll see how it goes! As Malfoy said, it’ll take some handlin’, so get into groups.”

Everyone looks around and reluctantly moves closer to their friends, Draco for some reason studying his nails and staying stood next to Ron, Harry, and Hermione.

Hagrid beams at the sight of them. “Good! Great! Of you go, then!”

And Draco marches off towards the skrewt that’s furthest away. “This one’s smallest. You’ll be done faster, and I can get inside. Weasley! Keep up!”

Ron huffs and rolls his eyes. But follows after him.

Hermione shares a very confused look with Harry and follows, jogging to the far end of the pumpkin patch beside some large rocks.

And they all crouch down near the skrewt’s head, avoiding claws and it’s blasting back end, none of them even attempting to get it near the box.

“Muffiliato,” Ron whispers, looking around.

Then turns on Malfoy. “What was that?! I didn’t agree to that! Now everyone thinks I’m your bloody house-elf and too stupid to—”

“You wanted to talk, didn’t you? Malfoy hisses back. “So talk! But don’t look at me. Do you realise what Nott will say if he sees me talking to you lot?”

“Why are you talking to us?” Harry asks. “What’s going on?”

Draco glares at him. And Hermione. “That’s the question you should be answering, Potter. Or more like Granger. What’s going on between you and my aunt? Why would she save someone like you? Why would she even speak to— Why did she give Longbottom that book? And you knew about it. You and Potter knew about a plant that cures memory loss, and you told Longbottom not to give it to me. You—”

There are shouts and screams from around them, everyone else battling their skrewts, who seem very reluctant to hibernate. Obviously. They’re crustaceans. Burying them in sand would probably be more appropriate. Or just leaving them alone.

“Not to worry!” Hagrid bellows. “Easy does it! They’re more scared of you, than—”

Some of the class run into the edge of the forest, the skrewts beginning to go on a bit of a rampage. Parkinson and the other Slytherins even head for Hagrid’s hut and shut themselves in.

Hermione casts an immobulus at their skrewt before it gets any ideas, hovering the box down on top of it and backing away, gesturing for the others to follow.

She ducks behind an oak tree. “Look, Draco. I can’t really explain right now. I get that you’re angry, but—”

“Angry?!” Draco yells. Then more quietly, practically spitting at her. Cheeks red. Coming towards her so she’s backing across the grounds. “She obliviated my mother and now you’re somehow…working with her! She sent the broom back! Spoke to you! She— you have a book that she gave you, that she’s keeping from my mother, and you’re—”

“And why is that?!” Hermione finally snaps. Stops backing away and glares him down. Stands her ground. “Hmm? What do you think would have happened if she wasn’t obliviated? Why are you really angry, Draco, because from what I can see, Bellatrix saved me, she tried to talk to you, and she saved your mother from being investigated by the aurors for harbouring a wanted criminal! Or what do you think would be happening right now if your mother had her memories? Memories of her?”

Draco pauses. Breathing fast, and wand still held tightly, but face conflicted. Wary.

Hermione presses on. “Why do you hate your aunt, Draco? Do you hate her for protecting your Mother? Do you hate her for being a Death Eater? Or for not being one? Do you hate her for saving me, and teaching Harry, and helping Neville, and—”

“She took my mother from me!” Draco yells again, this time raw, and whiney, and childish, and—

He stomps his foot. “I knew about her!” comes bursting out of his mouth. “I knew she was there. She was always there. I saw her through the keyhole. Through the door. I saw her hiding under her cloak. I saw her with her rat, and her birds, and plants, talking to Dobby and— I remember her. I knew. I knew she wasn’t dead. I saw Mother sneak away to her. Make excuses. Pretend she had a headache, or was writing letters, or going out to buy new robes. And I kept her secret. I didn’t tell Father. I let them lie to him. I told him Mother spent the day with me rather than her. I kept whatever their secret was, and now— now—”

He runs out of steam. Realises what he’s revealed. Takes a step back. “She doesn’t care, you know,” he whispers harshly. “Not like normal people do. She doesn’t understand what caring is. What love is. It’s just…a game to her. She cares until she doesn’t. And then she moves on to something else. And if you don’t believe me? Ask her. Ask her how many rats she’s had. Do you really think she cares? That this is the first Ratty?”

Uhh…

Hermione glances at Harry and Ron, not quite…

“Rats don’t live very long,” she whispers back. “And…she does care. I think. She…Did she care about you? Talk to you? Is that it? Are you angry she left? That she didn’t warn you before—”

Draco raises his wand at her. “Where is she, Granger? Where’s she hiding this time? Is she here at the school? Is she hiding with you?”

Hermione raises her own wand. “No! No, she’s not—”

“Then where is she? Where did you and Potter go yesterday? You weren’t here all evening. You missed dinner. And from how defensive you’re being, I think you weren’t alone. So where—”

“We don’t know!” Harry says. “We can’t tell you! We don’t know where she went! But— are you saying she’s not safe? That she’ll turn on people?”

“Not safe?!” Draco squawks. “Of course she’s not safe! Just ask Longbottom! So if you know anything—”

“We can’t tell you!” Hermione grits out. “She’s gone somewhere that we can’t tell you. Somewhere far away. You’re safe. She told me that she wants to stay away from your mother. To keep her safe.”

“Well, she’d better,” Draco mutters. Looks over to where people are beginning to head to lunch, Pansy waiting for him, brow furrowed. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from her too. Not that I care if she hurts you anyway.”

And he walks off, crashing through some long grass and then up the slope, up towards the castle.

They watch him go.

Ron clears his throat. “So…Neville told Malfoy about the book, by the way.”

“Yeah, thanks Ron. Think we got that,” Harry says dryly.

Hermione doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know…

So Bellatrix doesn’t care? Doesn’t understand what caring is?

I was nice to Siri, and joked with him, and shared with him, and tried to help him…

How can I make him let me in?

Make him.

Is that what Bellatrix was talking about? Was she just…faking it? Following the steps? Like a code? Joke. Share. Help. Then people will forgive you and let you in.

But that…that is being nice. She’s just making amends. Just—

She was hiding this whole time. Even from Lucius. Biding her time. Planning something with Narcissa and…Dobby? Did Draco say she spoke to Dobby?

A warming spell washes over her. Harry.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get back inside for lunch. And don’t let Draco get to you. You know what he’s like. You can’t take what he says literally, I mean, he’s so dramatic. Remember what he said about Buckbeak?”

Right. Yes. Of course. Buckbeak was innocent, and Malfoy…

Hermione turns as they climb the hill. Turns to search out the mountain. The cave.

Looks for a hippogriff. A hippogriff that was left behind.

Left to be free.

Draco doesn’t speak to them again that week, but his words linger. Harry sends a letter to Sirius, asking if he’s okay. If he’s safe. If he’s feeling better.

No reply.

And no message from Bellatrix either. No owls. No crows. The manhunt is still underway, aurors stationed at the school gate or patrolling the grounds, protection charms in place, interviews in the Prophet every day with Fudge or Crouch or other high ranking officials in the DMLE. It’s clear that all eyes are on Harry and Hermione. Professors watching closely. Pityingly. Warily.

On Thursday, after the announcement of the Yule Ball in transfiguration class, McGonagall asks her to hang back. To come to her office.

They walk up there in uncomfortable silence. Hermione is so unsure recently about what she’s doing that she can’t bring herself to speak up, and McGonagall doesn’t try to talk to her.

Until they’re inside. Then McGonagall hovers the chairs from her desk over to the fire. Summons a tea tray. Sits down and gives her a firm look. “Have a seat, Miss Granger. And a biscuit. You’re looking rather peaky.”

Oh. It’s that noticeable? She’s been having trouble sleeping. Keeps dreaming about…the future.

She dutifully takes a bite of shortbread. Accepts the steaming cup of tea.

McGonagall nods approvingly. “Now. Is there anything you’d like to talk to me about?”

Hermione forces a smile. Shakes her head. “I’m fine, Professor. I think it’s just the cold weather. I’m just a bit worn out. I’ll be fine once we break up for Christmas. It’s been...a long term.”

McGonagall sighs. Sips at her own tea. “It certainly has. Especially for you. You’re giving Mr Potter a run for his money. And giving me grey hairs,” she says, a twitch to her lip.

Hermione laughs. “I am sorry, Professor. I didn’t mean to.”

She just gets a hum in reply. They sip at their tea.

Hermione stares into the flames. Enjoys the peace. The warm silence. McGonagall is still very intimidating…but also a relief to be around. Someone she can trust completely. Who never changes. Always has their interest and wellbeing at heart.

Should she ask…?

No. What did Snape say? She’s too quick to tell people things. It’s time travel. She can’t. Even McGonagall told her the rules of time travel. That she shouldn’t change anything. Let alone everything that’s already different. She could give the witch a heart attack!

Hermione puts down her cup. Asks another question instead. “Umm…I was actually wondering, Professor. About the partners for the Yule Ball—”

McGonagall sighs heavily. “I’m afraid it is mandatory. Champions must open the Ball with a dance. It’s tradition. I can find you a book on dancing etiquette if you are not familiar with—”

“Do I have to go with a wizard?” Hermione blurts out. Makes herself say. Feels her heart quicken and her face flush, but ignores it. “Can I— you said the wizards should ask witches but— but what if— can I ask a witch?”

Oh gods she thinks she might die of embarrassment.

It’s fine. It’s fine! You’re gay. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s just possible that same-sex couples aren’t allowed because of the dancing rules. Ballroom is usually male-female.

“I…assume you have a witch in mind?” McGonagall asks slowly. Carefully. “And if I am correct in guessing which one…that is quite the statement, Miss Granger. Witch or otherwise.”

Oh.

Fleur? Because Fleur’s a champion?

And McGonagall noticed Fleur flirting? Well that is just mortifying. What have they been talking about in the staff room? Are people always watching her and—

“Not— it doesn’t have to be her,” Hermione splutters. “I just— going with a wizard would be lying. Hiding. I don’t want to…lie.”

She looks up. McGonagall is smiling at her softly. “And that is…very courageous of you. Five points to Gryffindor.”

Hermione lets out a breath. “But stupid. Is that what you’re saying?”

Now McGonagall laughs. “I would certainly never call you stupid. But I do wonder what this will say to Mr Krum and Durmstrang. Two of three champions attending the Ball together? It does seem like an alliance.”

Hermione grins. “Well I could always ask Viktor too. Rita Skeeter would be happy. Not so sure about the parents though. Or Crouch. Or how we’d dance.”

“Partner,” McGonagall glares. “One partner, Miss Granger. Or you will succeed in sending me to an early grave.”

Then she stands. “It is up to you who you ask to attend. There is certainly nothing in the rules prohibiting it. I myself would not see a problem in you inviting Mademoiselle Delacour. Or any other witch. For the rest of the school…I cannot say. It is for you to decide.”

Right. Okay.

Hermione stands too and heads for the door. “Thank you, Professor. I’ll keep it in mind. And thank you for the tea and…for…well…”

McGonagall just raises an eyebrow.

Then transforms into a cat. Seemingly for no reason. Walks out of the door ahead of her, and off down a corridor.

Hermione…sometimes forgets she’s an animagus. Can just…decide to do that.

Can Hermione still feel her magic? McGonagall.

Yes. Still there. Stronger, even.

Well. She’d better leave. She has a free period now, but she can’t exactly hang around in McGonagall’s—

A cracking sound interrupts her thoughts, making her jump.

Oh.

“Kreacher?” she says cautiously, blinking confusedly at the grumpy elf hunched before her.

Kreacher glares up at her. “Mudblood filth,” he mutters. “What would Mistress say? Bringing shame to the Noble House of Black. Bloodtraitors and—”

Hermione sighs. “Well? Why are you here then?”

Kreacher stops. Literally bites his tongue, and then clicks his fingers. A scroll of parchment appears. “From…Mistress Bellatrix.”

Oh. Not from Sirius. Right.

She cautiously takes it. He clings on. “Kreacher— will you— please give it—”

She yanks it free. “Thank you. Now…”

Gosh. It’s very long. What is she…

Dear Granger,

 

Sorry in advance for Kreacher, he’s not quite right in the head. I’ve tried talking him around, but he’s not having it. Still, he’ll do as I say and shouldn’t bother you. (If he does, tell me. Or tell him that I know where he keeps his treasures).

Anyway, bit off track. Guess what? I’m in! Wagtail caved. Or actually the ceiling caved in. He set off a load of wards and nearly got us blown up. We reckon we’ve sorted it now though. Mostly. The doxies are a pain in the arse. Sometimes literally, I’ve got even more potions to brew against the bites. You’d think I’d be done brewing after all that polyjuice…

What I really wanted to say, was thanks for the advice. And that Wagtail is doing better…physically. Mentally, I’m not so sure. Which is a bit fucking worrying with our family history (Can I joke about that? Is it too soon? I’m going to joke about it anyway, seeing as you seem to like me even though you know I went around the twist). Anyway, he could do with some cheering up. Light in the dark and all that shit Dumbledore goes on about. He needs a friend. Someone he trusts. Potter was right about Moony…but I might be in a bit of trouble if he shows up.

So, again. I don’t know. Just wanted to talk to someone.

The next task is in March, isn’t it? Have you figured out your egg? (Or did you already know the answer? From the future you won’t tell me about?) Either way, I recognised what mine was. Haven’t had the chance to stick it in the water yet though. All the baths here are rusting away or full of sludge and who knows what else. I’d probably come out Blacker than when I got in. (I might force Wagtail in one soon though. Wet dog is better than what he has going on).

Salazar, I’m writing a long-arse essay. But it serves you right. Your essays are always longer than the limit. And too wordy. I’ve seen more than one professor fall asleep on your essay, sorry, Granger. So if you fall asleep finishing this, then I’ll call it a success.

I think I just miss talking to someone. Someone who listens. That’s why I like talking to you.

I’m sure you’ll tell Potter all of this, but I’ll send some love from Wagtail too. I talk about Potter as much as I can. As much as he lets me. It’s good to remind him about Potter.

I think

No. I won’t tell you yet. I have to be sure first. But it should work. It’s risky, but out of my options…

Sorry. I know that will drive you mad. I’ll stop now. How do you end a letter?

 

Faithfully yours,

 

Bellatrix Black

 

P.S. You might want to destroy this. Probably sensible.

P.P.S. Kreacher should go and get some of my stuff now, so if Lovegood is wondering where it went, that’s what happened. Although she likely already knows somehow. Little genius. Weird that, isn’t it? How does she do it?

P.P.P.S. It’s probably better if you don’t write back, as an owl might not make it through the wards. They’re still a bit strong. You could reply by house-elf if you have/know one. A reliable one. Don’t ask Dobby, he could blab to anyone. Another one who’s missing a few gobstones.

P.P.P.P.S. …I’m looking forward to seeing the photos from the Yule Ball in the Prophet. Shame I can’t be there in person. I have just the dress. I’ll have to show you later. Or you can just picture me in whatever springs to mind. I’m curious, is it black? Slytherin green? Gryffindor red?

There go my boundaries again. Tell me to stop.

Or don’t.

Uhh…

Fuck.

Well…if she had any doubts that Bellatrix was flirting, then they’ve gone straight out the window. And where have her cryptic half-sentences disappeared to? That was…

Chatty. Flirty and friendly and chatty. Like she is in person. More than she is in person.

Hermione rolls the note up. Remembers where she is.

Kreacher is gone. So…

She puts the scroll in her pocket, and just…absentmindedly walks out of the room and down the corridor. Feet carrying her along.

So…that’s good news, right? She does care. About Hermione, and Harry, and Sirius, and even the owls that might get killed by the wards.

Acknowledged that she went crazy. Went ‘around the twist’. Which— She knew? Is she talking about a different version of herself? Or did she…go crazy too? Did she torture the Longbottoms? But— why— this is all so—

A dress…

Hermione is going to need a dress. There’s only two weeks until the Ball, and— well—

She could wear the one from last time. But she’s not sure she wants the memories that go with it. She wants a fresh start. A new look. A new…

Argh, does she want to look good for Bellatrix now? Just because she mentioned it? That is so misogynistic, and objectifying herself and—

Bellatrix not in black? In…red, or green?

Fuck. Shit. She’s imagining it. And even in black—ah!

Her arms windmill as she falls backwards, smacking into a hard chest and—

A hand shoots out and grabs her, unbelievably fast. “Hermowninny! Are you okay?”

She blinks. Takes a breath. Hanging there for a second before she rights herself. “Yes. Viktor. Hi. Yes. Wasn’t looking, or thinking, or…how are you?”

He smiles at her awkwardly. “I…am good. Very good. And is good I see you. Can we talk?”

He gestures to an empty classroom. Where even are they?

Oh no. Is he…nervous? Happy but nervous? Oh no. Not the Ball. Please don’t—

She goes into the room. Can’t think of an excuse. They sit at a table.

He clears his throat. “So…I think you are very interesting witch, and very good friend. I am glad you are champion. Even if you are young, you are good. Clever. Strong.”

No no no no

He frowns. Searches for a word. Then shakes his head. “I try to say more. But all I can say is…will you go to the Ball with me?”

Shit.

Hermione swallows. She could do this again. McGonagall is right, it won’t be easy if she goes with a witch. Even if it’s not Fleur, there’ll be some judgement. She doesn’t think there were any same-sex couples last time. Not even Seamus and Dean went together.

Oh.

Nobody. Which means…there must have been some people in the closet.

So…

She grits her teeth. Right. Be brave. Be an example. You’re a champion, you fought in a war, you can do this.

She smiles sadly at Viktor…and shakes her head. “Viktor…you’re a very good friend. And a very good champion. I’m glad I’m competing with you too. But…well, you see, I don’t like wizards. I’m going to go to the Ball…with a witch. If I can. If a witch wants to go with me. I’m sorry, but we can only be friends.”

He stares at her. Slowly nods back. “O…oh. I…understand.”

Then he frowns again. “Even as friends? We go as friends? I not…want more. I not ask for kiss. Just dance and talk.”

Hermione sighs in relief. Shakes her head again. “Really? You don’t want to go with a witch that likes you? You have…dozens of witches following you around. You don’t like any of them?”

He groans through a smile. Embarrassedly. “Only annoying ones talk to me! They follow, they laugh, they don’t talk. But…I understand. You go with witch. Is good.”

And he gets up. Walks towards the door. Then pauses. “It is Fleur? She is witch?”

He knows too? Oh for…

She sighs . Gives up. Shrugs tiredly. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Is Fleur too young? Too…interested? She just wants to try it. One date. With one witch. With no pressure, or expectations. Nothing serious.

Is Fleur too serious? Not serious-serious, but…

Will Hermione break her heart?

But who else could she ask? She doesn’t know anyone other than Ginny and Luna, and they’re just too young—

Gah! But everyone thinks she’s fifteen! If she asks anyone—

Fleur. Ask Fleur. Just explain to her that you’re new to this gay thing and that anything serious will freak you out! Just tell her the truth!

Not the whole truth. You can’t. But be as truthful as you can.

Viktor stops. They’ve reached the library. Apparently that’s where they were going.

He smiles at her. Points to a far corner, and then squeezes her shoulder. “Good luck, my friend.”

Hermione follows his…Fleur. Sat alone, writing.

Now?! No! She can’t—

She frantically shakes her head at Viktor.

He just walks away. To a different table. Where Harry and Ron are sat.

They’re here too? Since when does everyone spend their time in the library?

Since it’s blowing a gale outside, and they have essays due next week before the end of term.

Short essays. She needs to shorten her essays. Unless Bellatrix was joking and—

Is that Roger Davies walking over to Fleur?

Hermione quickly makes her way over. Only just beats Davies, who stops nearby, looking at a bookshelf.

Pretending to look at a bookshelf. Unless he’s especially interested in the history of quillmaking.

Fleur looks up at her. Smiles. “Hermione! This is a pleasant surprise. I did not see you in here all of yesterday evening. Or at dinner. I heard that some of your friends were sick from swimming with Viktor, did you…swim too?”

She raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t seem especially worried. Taps her quill on the parchment.

Oh.

Merfolk. She’s researching merfolk. Golden eggs.

Hermione smiles. “In this weather? Of course I didn’t swim. I’m sensible. I’ll…wait until the weather warms up to take a dip in the lake.”

Fleur’s eyes glint. She leans forward on her arms. “Here?” she whispers. “This lake? It is this lake?”

She doesn’t know where the task will be? Madame Maxime hasn’t told her?

Hermione bites her lip, pretending to consider it. “I thought we were rivals? In fact, maybe I shouldn’t be speaking with you. If Madame Maxime—”

Fleur reaches forward and takes her hand. “I am tired of Madame Maxime. She is my headmistress, not my mother. And even my mother cannot tell me what to do. Who I want to spend my time with. A competition? Yes. A fair competition? Well…I hope so. A good competition.”

She squeezes Hermione’s hand and then lets go. Shrugs casually. “I intend to beat you, you know. And Viktor. You will see. I will be the champion.”

Hermione gasps loudly in complete— “You seem very sure of yourself! After asking me for—”

She hastily breaks off, Madam Pince shushing her from across the room, and lots of people looking.

Fleur starts writing again. Chuckles. “I did not ask you. I…found the information. From you.”

Hmmph.

Fleur glances up at her.

Then puts her quill down with a sigh. “Do not be angry with me, Cherie. I hate to see you frown. So. Perhaps I will make you smile instead, yes?”

Umm…how?

Fleur leans forward again. Leans to whisper in her ear. “Will you go to the Ball with me, ma belle?”

Oh.

Belle. Beautiful? Oh no. That sounds serious. That sounds—

Fleur pulls back to look at her. Frowns.

Then rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. “Come. Walk with me. Somewhere we can talk.”

Hermione gets to her feet, hurrying after her as she leaves. Talk? Oh no, they need to talk. Is she cross? Is she upset? Should Hermione have said something by now? She could say yes. Why didn’t she—

And she’s pushed through a door. Into a cupboard. Why—

Fleur shuts the door behind them. Locks it with a collaportus.

This is a broom cupboard. Hermione is standing with one foot in a bucket. In the dark.

Fleur leans against the wall opposite her, just about visible. Laughs quietly. “You are so quiet. It is alright. I am not about to devour you.”

Hermione swallows. Devour her? Did…Fleur mean to say that? Does she know it means— in the dark? In a cupboard? In—

“Do you trust me, Hermione? Am I your friend?” Fleur asks.

Hermione instantly nods. Then remembers she can’t see her. “Yes. Of course you’re my friend. I trust you.”

Fleur sighs. “Then…tell me. Your answer. And why. The truth, away from all the other people.”

Right. Okay. Yes. Time to explain.

Hermione shifts. Moves her foot out of the bucket. Steadies herself, and, well… “I would like to go with you,” Hermione says slowly. “I’ve never been to a dance with a witch before.”

“And I do like you,” she adds as quickly as possible. Gets it out. “I just— I don’t want this to ruin our friendship, because I’m not looking for— I’m not ready for a relationship. I only just realised that I like witches, I’ve never even kissed a witch, and relationships kind of scare me. I guess I must have commitment issues. But you’re my friend, so if anything happened— but I do want to experience this, and I do like you, and you’re so beautiful, I can’t believe you asked me to the Ball, I was going to ask you, and I’ve noticed you flirting but I don’t have a clue what I’m doing and—”

Fleur starts laughing, and a hand covers Hermione’s mouth in the dark. “So…you want to go to the Ball with me, and you think I am beautiful, and your friend, but you don’t want any commitment afterwards because it scares you? You just want this one night?” she says gently, warmth in her voice as the laughter fades.

Hermione slowly nods, mouth still held shut.

Fleur moves her hand away. “Then we are still friends. And it is a shame, but I don’t mind having you for only one night. It is alright. I like you, Hermione. But I don’t want you to worry. To be scared. Do not worry for my feelings. My passion is…always strong. Fast. Here today and gone tomorrow. That is why I joke with you. Flirt with you. To feel it before it is gone. I have lost count of the number of times in my life I have been in love.”

Hermione relaxes. And leans forward, intrigued, trying to catch Fleur’s eye. To see if she’s telling the truth. “Really? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better about…this one-time thing?”

A hand smacks hers lightly. “You are calling me a liar? After I ask you to a Ball and speak of love? Yes. It is the truth. In fact, I think I am in love with someone else already.”

Someone else? “Who? At the same time as me? You…love me too?”

Fleur laughs. Leans forward against her. Wraps an arm around her waist, and leans to rest her head against Hermione’s shoulder. Ear pressed to her, breath against Hermione’s neck. “I will not tell you who. Because you already sound jealous. I thought you did not want commitment?”

Hermione steadies her breathing. Feels her palms begin to sweat. She doesn’t know what to do with her arms. If she can touch. If she should touch, or—

She clears her throat. Touches Fleur’s back. “No commitment. I’m not jealous. I— and I like someone else too.”

Fleur freezes. Stands up straight again. “Please do not say Viktor.”

Wha— Viktor?!

“No!” Hermione says quickly. “I don’t like Viktor! That was all lies and— I’m gay! Do you like Viktor? Is that who you—”

“No! Not Viktor! This is lies, this is why I am surprised!” Fleur shouts back.

They fall into silence.

Hermione laughs. “Well then. Good. We’re going to the Ball together. Because…you love me.”

Love. Fleur said she was taking about love. Falls in love easily. Love. Should she really—

“And because you think I am beautiful,” Fleur replies easily. “And have never been to a dance with a witch. Which is a tragedy, ma belle. Why not? Why have you never asked a witch to dance? It is wonderful. What about this other witch you say you like, hmm? Where is she? Is it…the red-haired little girl?”

Ginny?!

“No,” Hermione groans. “She’s…a little girl! Like you said! Only thirteen, and my friend, and— no the— there isn’t really a witch I like. Just one that— that I’ve realised I…might be attracted to. I haven’t— I’m new to this, Fleur. I’m not like you. I can’t just…admit my feelings so freely. It’s scary!”

She hears Fleur moving around. Then feels an arm brush hers against the wall. A warm body at her side. “Sometimes I forget you are only fifteen,” Fleur murmurs.

Oh. Right. “Well…I used a time-turner for a year. So I’m actually sixteen,” Hermione mutters. Half-truth. Half blatant lie. Plus that logic makes her twenty-six. Even older than Fleur.

Fleur’s hand finds hers. “Alright. But this…is still new to you. I see. I see why you are frightened. I was frightened, when I realised…but I was only ten.”

Ten? Wow, Hermione really was slow on this whole sexual awakening thing.

The hand squeezes hers. “Witches are beautiful,” Fleur murmurs. “Or they can be handsome, too. Even when they are doing nothing. Have you seen a witch stand? Have you seen a witch write? Or gesture when she talks? Or pick up a drink? Incredible, aren’t they? Some witches? The ones our heart chooses.”

Hermione nods mutely.

Fleur’s fingers stroke over her wrist. She sighs. “Or the ones our body chooses. That is okay too. To feel it. There is no shame. The attraction you feel…it is telling you. That one. Get closer to her. She is special. There is something about her that you like. Move closer. Touch her. Feel it.”

Hermione shivers as fingers brush over her arm. Can feel it. Can feel—

“Witches are beautiful,” Hermione whispers back. “When they— when they smile. Or laugh. Or even when they’re angry. When they walk, or sit, or— You’re right. I don’t know how I never noticed. How did I not know? You knew when you were ten. I— gods, I must be so stupid.”

“You know why you are stupid?” Fleur asks. A very sly edge to her voice.

Hermione turns. Squints. Tries to figure out her expression. Can only see the shine to her hair. Maybe pinpoint her eyes. And a smile.

Fingers brush over her shoulders. “You are stupid,” Fleur continues. “Because we have been here for several minutes. And you have not tried to kiss me. Even though you want to, and I want to.”

Kiss? Now? “But— but we said— the Ball. One night,” Hermione stutters.

Fleur laughs again. Then groans. “You’re so sensible! So serious! Do you always follow the rules? I thought that you broke the rules. Like the tournament. You saw what you wanted, and you did it anyway. Do you not want me at all? Am I just practice? For this other witch? That you are too scared to ask?”

Gah, Hermione shouldn’t have mentioned Bellatrix. And— and it’s not about the rules. It’s just to keep things simple. “I just don’t want to complicate things, Fleur,” Hermione sighs. “Because I’m not just using you. It’s…been so nice competing with you. Talking to you this year. But my feelings aren’t as strong as yours. We’re not in the same place.”

She feels breath on her cheek. Feels Fleur lean closer. “And I told you that I always feel more. Perhaps it is the Veela. I don’t know. But I have…freedom with witches. The thrall does not affect you, so I know it is you that wants me. With wizards, I have to be careful. Have to be cold. Have to push them away. Except now I don’t, because you are clever, and you think of a shield for me. You have allowed me to feel. To love. Without fear. I just want the same for you.”

And just as Hermione remembers to breathe, Fleur has pulled back. Moves through the dark. Past the bucket and towards the door. “But if you are not ready, are not in this place, just want to dance, and eat, and talk, then I—”

“Wait,” Hermione whispers. Reaches out a hand in the darkness. Pulse beating in her ears but…

Feel. She wants to feel. Wants to let this...confusion leave. This fear leave. Wants to accept that—

Attraction. She’s attracted to witches. And she wants to—

She finds Fleur’s arm. Tugs her back over. Both of them laughing as the bucket clanks around on the floor between them, trying to kick it out of the way.

Fleur. Magic. Did she just vanish it? Why didn’t Hermione think of that?

Or a light. Does she want a light?

Different universe. Sexual exploration. No consequences.

Hermione should probably remind herself of the consequences. “Lumos,” she whispers.

And squints against the light. Lowers her wand as much as possible, and blinks her eyes open.

Fleur does the same, arm shielding her face and nose wrinkled.

Young Fleur. Eighteen-year-old Fleur. A Fleur who falls in love easily. Strongly. Hermione never knew that. Should have guessed, from how quickly she married Bill.

And is now wondering if maybe their marriage is more open than she realised, or if Fleur falls in love less as she gets older. Or maybe loves Bill more than anyone. Chose him over everyone. That’s what marriage is.

For the love of Merlin, stop thinking about marriage, and—

Hermione just does it. Steps forward. Leans in. Fleur is watching her now. Has lowered her arm. Is waiting, smiling softly.

She’s so pretty.

So yes. Screw it. Fleur wants this. She wants this.

She presses her lips to Fleur’s.

Then immediately pulls back. Because oh gods, what is she thinking, she’s kissing Fleur. She shouldn’t—

Fleur tuts. “That’s it? I thought you were a champion! Come! Face your fear. Get what you want. I can see that you want me. It is in your eyes. You think I don’t recognise—”

Hermione leans in again. Grabs the witch, and pulls her against her. Brings their lips together. Kisses her. Feels her. Because Hermione is brave. And she does want this. And she needs to get over whatever stupid, mental…fuck, this is what kissing a witch is like? Kissing someone she’s attracted to?

A shiver washes over her. She pulls Fleur closer, who melts into her. Hermione feels her back hit the wall as Fleur leans her whole body against her. Deepens the kiss. Hermione thinks every part of her might be buzzing and she definitely wants to— well she definitely—

Fleur breaks her lips away. “Now I am finally warm enough in this castle. So this is the solution,” she murmurs. Kisses Hermione again. And she does feel warm. Feel—

Castle. At Hogwarts. At school. Wearing a school uniform. That Fleur’s hands are edging under.

Hermione pulls back with a laughing gasp. “Fleur. Fleur, wait, we— we’re at school! It’s a Thursday! It’s the middle of the day!”

Fleur shrugs. Leans forward again. “We can skip lunch.”

Tempting. Very tempting. Too tempting— no! Be the sensible one, Hermione. Someone has to be.

She firmly pushes Fleur back. Lights her wand again. “We need to get back. People will wonder where we are, and it’s not— we can’t— I’m going back outside. Does my hair look okay?”

Fleur sighs. “Yes,” she grumbles. “I did not even touch your hair yet. But…you are right. It is not appropriate to stay in this…closet.”

Hermione snorts. “Did you say that on purpose?”

Fleur frowns at her. “Is it the wrong word? It is not a room, or a…wardrobe. Closet?”

Hermione shakes her head. “A cupboard. But— kind of a closet. You don’t know the…coming out? We’re going to come out.”

Fleur nods in recognition. “Ah. Le coming-out. That I understand.”

And she brushes her clothes down. Uncreases them. Does the same to Hermione, tugging her robes back into place. “There. I think…you are ready. Are you ready?”

Hermione just watches her for a second. Can’t believe she just…

Yes. Yes, what is she waiting for? What is she scared of?

Hermione smiles at her. Walks to the door, and rests her hand on the doorknob. “Ready when you are, ma belle,” she winks at Fleur. Winks. She’s never winked in her life!

But Bellatrix winks sometimes, and it feels…

She pushes the door open. Just a crack. Checks the coast is clear, everyone at lunch…

Comes out. With Fleur. Out into the—

A cat is sat watching them. From the end of the corridor. By the corner.

Not Mrs Norris.

But they’ve still been caught. McGonagall

A laugh bursts from Hermione’s mouth. She can’t help it. Oh no! Oh she really hopes—

The cat stands up. Stretches.

Shakes her head at them.

And walks off around the corner.

Fleur takes her hand. “What? It is only a cat. Come. Have lunch with me. And tell me what dress you are going to wear. If we are going together we cannot…what is the word…the colours need to agree in some way…”

Hermione shakes her head and lets herself be walked along. Hand in Fleur’s. Fights the fear. Enjoys it. Fleur. Fleur wants to hold her hand. Good Godric. The old Ron would have fainted at this. Although the shrieks she’ll get when Lavender and Parvati find out will be— and Ginny! She can’t wait to tell Ginny.

“I…don’t actually have a dress,” Hermione says. “Well, I do. But I’m not sure it’s the one I want. I’ll show you later.”

…I have just the dress. I’ll have to show you later. Or you can just picture me in whatever springs to mind…

Her palms begin to sweat. She pulls her hand from Fleur’s. Smiles apologetically.

Fleur smiles back. “I’m sure I can help you find the perfect dress. Something to make you feel confident. You should be confident. That is why I like you, you know. You are brave. You have fear…but you face it anyway. You do not let it stop you. Or let it show, most of the time. When you are not trapped in the closet.”

Hermione laughs. Notices the glint to Fleur’s eyes. “You do know you’re saying it! You must know what you’re saying. Don’t play dumb with me, Fleur. You’re not dumb. You’re very clever.”

Fleur grins. Shrugs. “You reminded me of the phrase. So yes. Shall we go and make everyone’s mouths fall open? Even the girls? Even the grumpy and strange professors? Shall I kiss you in front of the whole school?”

Hermione laughs again. Takes her hand again. “For now, let’s just sit together. This is a school. No kissing at the table.”

Fleur scoffs. “I am French. We always kiss at the table.” And she kisses Hermione’s cheek to demonstrate.

A nearby hufflepuff boy walks into a pillar.

Fleur sighs. “Fichu bouclier,” she curses to herself, before waving her wand to form the Veela shield. Ah. The corridors are getting more crowded. Boys staring.

Hermione hesitates…

Then puts an arm around Fleur. Around her waist. Shields her. Holds her. Stop staring. Will they just stop it? Can’t they fight it? It isn’t that hard, snap out of it!

Fleur laughs quietly in her ear. “As I thought. Jealous…”

Chapter Text

As expected, the school is abuzz with gossip over the next few days. Hermione thinks all eyes might actually be on her at all times now. Even Harry and Ron give her the odd look occasionally, as if they can’t believe what she’s doing.

Not that she’s doing anything in particular. Other than…beginning to flirt with Fleur. Trying it. Much to Ginny’s glee. And maybe slight envy. But definitely a lot of grinning and eyebrow wiggling.

Not everyone is as pleased as Ginny though. Madame Maxime is furious, which is slightly terrifying if she happens to walk past, towering over them. Snape is…she doesn’t know what he is, but every look he sends her seems to scream ‘idiot’. And of course there are some rather nasty comments from the Slytherins, as well as some less accepting students in other Houses.

Lavender and Parvati are definitely more self-conscious getting undressed around her, for one, which is…just stupid. She’s the same person, and they seemed to want her to have a ‘romance’ with Fleur before!

“I know, ma belle, but people can be strange about these things,” Fleur sighs, holding a dress up against herself. “Just ignore them. And tell me I am beautiful.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, leaning back on her hands on Fleur’s bed. Madame Maxime would murder them if she knew Hermione was in here, but she’s off with Hagrid down the Three Broomsticks. Hypocritically.

“You’re beautiful,” Hermione says. “You know you’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful.”

Fleur turns. Smiles at her. “Then tell me you think I am beautiful. Like this. Hermione, I cannot choose a dress for you for the Ball, because I think you will look beautiful in all of them.”

Hermione smiles bashfully. Looks away. It’s so direct.

But… “Really?” she asks instead, biting her lip. “You don’t know…if maybe you want to look at my legs, or my arms…or find a dress that hugs my figure?”

Fleur laughs in an almost gasp and walks over, throwing the dress on a nearby chair. “You’re learning! You finally see that you are beautiful!”

And she sits on the bed, leaning to kiss Hermione’s cheek.

Hermione turns her head. Expecting it. Catches her by surprise. A peck on the lips, before she breaks away with a smile. Stands up and walks over to Fleur’s wardrobe. “I don’t think I can wear your dresses anyway,” Hermione comments, looking through them. “You’re taller than me.”

“It is just to get an idea. Colours, style. But as I said, you will look beautiful in anything. Perhaps we should forget dresses.”

Hermione laughs, turning around. “What, not wear anything to the Ball? I think McGonagall really would have a problem with that. And Madame Maxime.”

Fleur smiles widely at her. Raises an eyebrow. Pulls her robes up to expose her legs. Slowly higher, and higher—

And there’s a knock at the door.

Hermione freezes.

And Fleur runs towards her. Pushes her into the wardrobe, shutting the door. “C’est qui?”

Seriously? In the closet? Again?

“It’s Ginny! Is Hermione with you? Camille said—”

Oh, thank Merlin.

Hermione stumbles out into the room, rubbing her neck where a hanger had stabbed her.

And Fleur lets Ginny in.

A red-eyed, pale Ginny.

Hermione quickly goes over and takes her hands, pulling her towards the bed to sit down. “What is it? What’s wrong? What happened?”

Ginny shakes her head. Smiles weakly and shrugs. “Oh…Nothing. It’s nothing. Just…”

Her voice breaks. Chin wobbling. She shrugs again. “Harry asked Luna to the Ball. She said yes. So now…I guess I— well—”

Oh. Oh Ginny.

Hermione pulls her into her arms. Feels her slump in relief. “Oh, Ginny, I’m so sorry. If I’d known...”

They just hug in silence for a bit. 

Then Ginny pulls back. Wipes at her eyes and smiles thankfully when Fleur passes her a box of tissues. “It’s fine. It’s not— stupid crush. It just sucks that it’s both of them and—” She breaks off, laughing. “Just my luck. I should have had the guts to ask Harry if I could go with him, or— or told him…anyway. Too late.”

Hermione wraps an arm around her waist. Squeezes her sympathetically. “You…well there’s always Dean? If you didn’t kill him?” she jokes.

Ginny laughs again wetly. “He’s going with Seamus. Thanks to you two and your…big gay statement. Which is great, by the way. Wish I was as brave as you.”

“Hey,” Hermione says firmly. Gives her a stern look. “You’re brave. You’re so brave. Way braver than me. Always have been. You don’t let anything hold you back. You’re always standing up to your brothers. And…you fooled Bellatrix! You hoodwinked You Know Who’s Right-Hand. Using muggle tricks! That’s brave! And a stroke of genius.”

“What?” Fleur asks confusedly.

Oh. Oops. Oh she forgot that— gah, again? Can she never keep her mouth shut? She’s just so used to being open with Fleur, not keeping secrets. Actively fighting against her need to hold things back.

Hermione sighs in defeat. Shares a look with Ginny, and then turns to Fleur. “Ginny put Bellatrix’s name in the Goblet. As a trap. That’s how she ended up in the tournament. It’s…a long story.”

Fleur’s eyebrows raise up her forehead. “It…sounds like it. I think you should tell me about this Bellatrix Black. Who she is. What she is doing. Because I am…not sure I understand the ‘fourth champion’.”

Ginny snorts. “Welcome to the club. None of us know what’s going on with her either. But Hermione probably knows her best. They have this weird thing going on.”

What— weird— Ginny!

Hermione gets up. Goes over to the wardrobe to look at dresses. “There isn’t a thing. It’s not a thing. It’s just— I’m trying to figure out who she is. Like you say. And if she happens to speak to me sometimes, then— then I can’t help that!”

“But isn’t she dangerous? A terrorist? The dementors are searching. Her and her…brother? Cousin? Sirius Black. They are criminals. Why are you talking to her?” Fleur asks. Her voice closer now, and sounding concerned. Moving towards the windows. The door. Checking.

Hermione shakes her head. “Sirius isn’t dangerous. He was framed. Wrongly imprisoned. He’s Harry’s godfather, and even Dumbledore knows he’s innocent. There just isn’t proof, so the Ministry doesn’t believe us.”

“And Bellatrix?” Fleur tuts. “Hmm?”

Hermione runs her fingers over an olive-green dress. Pulls it out to look at it. Hold it against herself. “No,” Hermione says softly. “I…don’t think Bellatrix is dangerous either. Or at least…not a threat. That’s why everyone is so confused by her right now. She hasn’t hurt anyone. And…well I did speak to her. A few times. She doesn’t seem to follow You Know Who anymore. She treats me like an equal. A friend.”

It’s very strange. But it’s true. Bellatrix wrote her a letter. Just to talk. Friends. Hermione should really find a way to write back soon…

And Fleur suddenly gasps “Non. No, Hermione, s’il te plaît. Tell me she is not the witch you like.”

Hermione fumbles the dress. Almost drops it. Hastily puts it back, next to a…black dress? She can’t wear black, can she?

She’s grabbed from behind. Turned around by the shoulders, wide eyes staring into hers. “You are not answering me. Hermione— the Death Eater?! The imposter? The one the whole country is searching for, the— there are aurors patrolling— she killed people!”

Hermione pulls herself free. “I know that! Of course I— I’m not stupid, Fleur. But she isn’t—”

Fleur laughs. Darkly. Disbelievingly. Throws her hands in the air. “And I thought I was bad with the…attraction to danger! Putain.” She begins pacing. Angrily. Wand waving everywhere. “Oh you are— this is— merde, Hermione! Merlin, why—”

Ginny pulls Fleur back and pushes her onto the bed. “Okay, sit down before you faint or…hex us or something. Wand away, Delacour.”

“Wand away?! There is a criminal—”

Ginny grabs her wrist. Glares at her. “Do you trust Hermione? Is she your friend?”

“Yes,” Fleur grits out. Turns to narrow her eyes at Hermione. “Unfortunately, I love her. Even if she is very very stupid.”

Ginny drops her wrist. “Love? Shit. I didn’t know— I thought— Hermione, this isn’t fair. You need to tell her the truth. Right now. She loves you.”

The truth? The whole truth? She can’t. For one thing, Snape will kill her. And— but—

She walks over to Fleur. Sits down next to her. The anger is still there. But confusion seems to be the main emotion now.

Hermione sighs. “Alright. I do owe you an explanation. But it’s not what you think. I’m not…going after the danger, or the thrill, it’s not…I like her because she isn’t dangerous. She’s not—”

She swallows nods. Nods at Ginny too. “We think that this Bellatrix, the one we’ve met…is from another reality. Another universe. A different time. And…and I know that sounds crazy, but— but it—”

She takes a sharp breath. Here it goes. The truth. Because Fleur deserves it. “Fleur…I’m from the future. From a different future. That’s why I look older. I’m older.”

And there’s a horrible, horrible silence.

Fleur scoffs. Smiles. Looks at Ginny. Waiting for the punchline.

Ginny nods too. Very uncomfortably.

Fleur’s smile falls. She looks back at Hermione.

Then gets off the bed. “Non. Non, this is a joke. There is…time travel is not possible. C’est pas possible.”

Hermione shakes her head sadly, heart clenching, and the guilt rising up inside her. Filling her stomach. “It is. It’s possible. It’s true. I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve travelled to the past. A different past. I wasn’t in the tournament before. Bellatrix wasn’t here before. I never really spoke to you before. Not in my fourth year.”

Fleur edges towards the door. Raises her wand at Hermione. “You know me? From before? So you— How old are you? When are you from? Why are you here? Why are you in the tournament?”

She— how much can she say? There’s so much about the future she can’t tell Fleur. Shouldn’t tell her. About the War, and Harry, and Voldemort, and— and...

“How are you here?” “Are you— how old are you? How did you escape Azkaban? What have you been doing for the last ten years? Why did you put Harry’s name in the goblet? What are you trying to do? Why are you scared of—”

“If I kiss you, will you stop asking questions?”

Is that why Bellatrix did that? How much is she hiding? Because this is feeling very familiar.

Hermione lowers her hands placatingly. “Fleur, I’m sorry I lied. But you are my friend. I do care about you. I’ve…you’ve been my friend for years,” she says softly.

Fleur’s wand rises. “How. Old. Why are you here? What are you— who are you?”

No. Oh no this is so bad. She knew she shouldn’t have— why did she—

Hermione shakes her head. “I— I’m— I’m twenty-five. I came back from— from 2004. And I— I’m in the tournament to save Harry. I’m doing everything to protect my friends. And I know I shouldn’t have— I like you. But I didn’t mean to—”

Fleur steps to the side. Lowers her wand. “Get out, Hermione. Both of you. Get out of here and— and leave me to— barrez vous! Out!”

But—

Ginny pulls her towards the door. “Come on, Hermione. I think we’ll get more than a bat-bogey hex if…” She pauses them in the doorway. Looks at Fleur. “She really does care about you. About all of us. So please…”

“You knew?” Fleur whispers. “You all knew? The little girl knew, that you— from the future? The future. You already knew me. Tricked me. You…I trusted you.”

And tears begin to fall. And that is so much worse than the anger. So much—

Hermione reaches for her. Tries to—

Fleur smacks her hands away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare— go away. Sors d’ici. Now. Before I decide to tell everyone who you are, and that you are friends with the Death Eater.”

Shit. Hermione sharply pulls back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I— we’ll go. But just— please talk to me. We need to talk about this. It isn’t— I just—”

Tears fill her own eyes, and she backs away, unable to face the look of…betrayal on Fleur’s face. She can’t—

She stumbles out of the door. Out of the carriage and into the snowy grounds. Backs away towards the horses, the pegasi, drinking hot malt whisky from their trough. The smell fills her senses. Makes her dizzy. Light-headed. Alcohol and—

What if Fleur does tell? What if— it’s only a few days until the Ball. And then the tournament will continue. What if Fleur tells Madame Maxime? What if the aurors come back to question her? What if they already—

Someone bumps into her. Red robes. Grabs her. The aurors.

She steadies herself on the snow. Finds her wand and—

“Whoa, wotcha, Hermione. You alright?”

Tonks?

Hermione wipes at her eyes. Looks up.

An unknown witch. With blue hair. In red robes. Smiling softly. Concerned. Confused.

Still alive. Tonks. Tonks.

And Hermione starts sobbing. Hugs her. Feels her breathe. Tonks. Tonks. Why— why did she have to die?

Tonks hugs her back, clearing her throat. “Uhh…it’s alright? You…hey, Ginny? Maybe you should…well, I don’t know if hugging is really allowed when I’m on duty, or…not that I’ve seen a written rule on it or nothing,” she laughs to herself.

Pulls back. Pats Hermione’s shoulder and leads her towards Ginny.

Hermione just keeps staring at Tonks. Not her face. It isn’t her face. But her expression. Those eyes. The life in them…

Ginny leads her away. Inside. She’s not sure where. Through the corridors. Everyone staring.

So many stares. So many questions. So much to decide. She can’t just relax and be herself. She isn’t herself. No-one knows her. No-one…

She wants to write to Bellatrix.

And she knows it’s stupid…but she’s the only one who might understand this.

But she can’t! She can’t send an owl. Can’t trust Kreacher to deliver a letter. She’s not his Mistress. He’s not reliable.

Neither is Dobby. Bellatrix is right. He can’t keep a secret. Hermione should have kept all of this a secret. Should have kept her mouth shut. And her lips. And her— how could she do that to Fleur. She knew it. Knew this was wrong. That she was going to hurt her. Break her heart. Betray her. Again. She’s done it again. Hurt someone who loves her when they shouldn’t have.

They’ve reached the Common Room. Harry and Ron are sat by the fire, but getting up. Coming towards her. Questions written on their faces. Mouths opening.

She shakes her head. Shrugs away from Ginny, and heads up the stairs. To her dorm. Locks herself in.

Climbs into bed and closes the curtains. Just lies there. Reminds herself how stupid she’s being. That she’s surrounded by children and should— shouldn’t have made such a mess of this! Snape is right. She’s an idiot. She’s so…

She needs to get out of here. She shouldn’t be here. Doesn’t belong here. She must have been sent here by mistake. This is all a mistake. A huge mistake.

She still goes to the Ball with Fleur. They haven’t really spoken, but for one, it’s too late to find someone else, and for another, they are kind of role models for the rest of the school now. Neither of them want any animosity to spread. Not because of them.

So now they’re stood waiting to go in. Side by side. Still not talking to each other.

Hermione is wearing the periwinkle blue dress she wore last time, just magically altered to fit her. She didn’t have the energy to find a different one. And it…goes with Fleur’s own silvery-grey dress. No clashing colours. No clashing words. Just…silence.

Hermione turns to look over her shoulder. Forces a smile for Ginny. Ginny, who asked Viktor to the Ball when she found out he still didn’t have a date. As friends, of course. And of course he’d said yes. They haven’t stopped talking about quidditch for two days straight.

It’s…strange that Harry isn’t here. And that…well, three champions. Two going together. It’s going to be a very empty dance floor.

Fleur sighs. Takes her hand. “You…know how to dance?”

Hermione lets out a quiet, disbelieving breath. “Yes." She chances a glance at Fleur. "I’m not brilliant, but I’ve been to a few events. Do…can you lead? I’ve never lead before.”

Fleur nods. Expression hard to decipher. Blank. “Yes. I’ll lead. You just follow.”

Hermione nods sadly. Looks down at her feet. Their feet.

Fleur’s fingers stroke her wrist. “I…do not mind that you are older,” she whispers. “I just wish you had told me. But…I want you to explain, after this. Just tell me if— Have we dated before? In this future? I must have loved you, if I knew you.”

Oh.

Hermione looks up. Meets her gaze. “No,” she whispers back. “No, you didn’t love me. Or you didn’t tell me if you did. As I said, we didn’t know each other very well at first. Harry was in the tournament. And…I knew you later, from a family friend. You…married someone I know.”

A curiosity fills Fleur’s expression. “Marriage? Oh. Who do I— wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to— You know who I marry?”

Hermione hastily shakes her head. “Different future. This is all…different. Different world.”

Fleur looks away. Toward the doors. “Like this Bellatrix,” she murmurs. “She is different.”

Hermione squeezes her hand. “The Bellatrix in my past…was horrible. I’d never talk to her. Like her. I…don’t know who she is. I don’t know why she’s here, and I don’t know why I’m here. I have no idea why any of this is happening, Fleur. I’m lost. But I know you. You’re my friend. And so are Ginny, and Harry, and Ron. I guess I…just wanted my friends. But it isn’t fair. Because you’re younger. So I— I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry.”

She hears Fleur tut. Feels a kiss press to her cheek. “You are too serious. And…I have forgiven you. But I want to know more. You need a friend? An adult? I am an adult. Not these little children.”

Hermione chuckles. Leans against Fleur. “You’re young to me. I’m used to you being older. Telling me what to do.”

Fleur scoffs. “I still tell you what to do. And I think I am more intelligent than this ‘other Fleur’ if she did not even love you. She must have. But if she is married…married, mon dieu. How many years? Ten. Twenty-eight years old. Hmm. And my wedding, what was—”

And McGonagall opens the doors, leading them into the Great Hall. A winter wonderland, walls sparkling with silvery frost, ivy and garlands and mistletoe hung over the surrounding tables along the edges, and a large round table at the back where Dumbledore and the rest of the judges are sat. Applause fills the air.

And they make their way to the top table. Dinner first. Then dancing. Which means small talk.

Hermione takes a seat next to Fleur, forever grateful that Ginny and Viktor sit down on her other side so that Madame Maxime is very far away. Unfortunately though they do have Mr Crouch sat opposite them. Glaring at them.

Hermione cautiously serves Fleur some food, eyes questioning. She doesn’t know if being nice is nice or if she’ll come off as even more a…dick. Sucking up.

Fleur just nods to the salad and shakes her head at the fish. Right.

And then pours Hermione and herself a drink. “Are you having a nice evening, Mr Crouch?” Fleur asks. “I wasn’t sure if you would be busy with your work at the Ministry.”

Crouch’s eyes snap to Fleur.

And narrow. “Interested, are you? In the work going on in the Auror Office?” And he glances at Hermione.

Hermione holds back a smile. Sips at her drink. “Well, you are quite busy at the moment, I’d imagine. Any luck with the…search?”

And now his eye appears to be twitching. And the fork almost bending in his grip. “Why you little—” he snarls. “If you know anything—”

And then his eyes glaze over. The fork slips from his grip. His mouth falls open, eyes dragged from Hermione back to Fleur.

Fleur turns to Hermione with a cheeky smile. “Ah well, it does not seem like Mr Crouch feels like talking. I’m sure he is tired.”

Oh. The thrall?

Hermione leans closer to whisper. “So you can control it?”

Fleur sighs. Shakes her head.

Leans back to reveal Ludo Bagman on her other side. Soup dripping from his spoon as it hovers next to his mouth, dopey smile on his face. “I can only make it stronger, not weaker. There is a…line. A baseline. Some wizards are strong enough to ignore it. Others are not.”

And she takes a slow breath.

Bagman falls forward slightly and then jerks ‘awake’. And Mr Crouch’s chair squeaks against the floor as he stands. “I must be going. Business. Yes. Work. As you say, the search is still on. Weatherby? We’re leaving!” he calls.

Oh, Percy is still here? Still working for him? Hermione hadn’t realised that.

But no, that is Percy, scrambling to get Mr Crouch’s hat and cloak for him.

“You’re not staying for a dance, Bartemius?” Dumbledore asks, standing too, eyes gleaming.

Crouch puts on his cloak. Looking extremely uncomfortable. “Nonsense. I’ve attended the Ball as part of my role as judge, but not all of us have time for such frivolities. Not when there are more important matters at hand. Now. If you would excuse me.”

And he’s already striding away.

Dumbledore shrugs. “Ah. Pity.”

And sits back down. Umm…

He wasn’t serious? Right? Because Mr Crouch? Who would want to dance with him?

Fleur laughs quietly. “Do you think the Headmaster will ask someone else to dance? Another wizard? He does not have much choice. Perhaps…Professor Snape?”

Hermione laughs into her glass. “Oh I would pay to see that. That would be— Where is Snape?”

She has a look around. Searches the tables. Maybe he’s supervising the younger years. She’d thought he’d be…

There he is. Sat next too Moody at a teacher’s table and looking very uncomfortable.

He glances in her direction. Hermione smiles cheerfully.

He raises an eyebrow back.

Well. That is…creepy.

She turns back around.

Fleur gives her a look. “I saw that. You have a secret with the horrible potions professor too?”

Hermione nods. Keeps eating. “Same secret. He knows. And he thinks I’m a complete idiot.”

“He— What, you are friends with him too?”

Friends with Snape? “He’s not my friend! No, he—”

She checks no-ones listening. Leans in to whisper again. “He just guessed. He’s very observant. And…well I don’t trust him completely, but he knows what he’s doing. I trust him to keep secrets. He…was a spy. In the war.”

“You trust the spy?” Fleur hisses back. “That is the opposite of what you should do!”

Hermione shakes her head. “I trust him. He wants to protect Harry. Which is what I want. So it’s fine.”

Fleur doesn’t reply. For a moment they just eat.

Then Fleur gives her a very serious look. Reaches for her hand. “You are here to protect Harry Potter. Because…he is in danger. Because this war you speak of…you have seen it, yes? A war?”

Shit. Fleur is too clever. And it’s probably written all over Hermione’s face because—

Fleur puts down her cutlery. Throws her arms around Hermione. Pulls her close. “I knew it. It is okay, ma belle,” she murmurs in her ear. “You are keeping secrets to protect us, yes? To protect me. You are brave. You think this is your problem to fix. You are stubborn. But it makes you afraid. This is why you come to me. Why you tell your friends. Why you are drawn to this Bellatrix. Because she is also alone. Is also faced with an impossible challenge.”

Hermione hugs her back tightly. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. That’s exactly why— gods this witch is clever. And so understanding. “Be careful, Fleur. You’re going to make me fall in love with you,” Hermione whispers back.

Fleur laughs. Lips press quickly to Hermione’s neck. “Do it! It is wonderful. I’m sure my future spouse will not mind.”

Hermione sighs. “If you ever marry them. What if I’ve messed things up, and you miss out on that? This is— I don’t know why things are different. I thought it was Bellatrix, but now—”

And a clinking glass interrupts them. A chair scraping back. “Now that we are all sufficiently fed and watered,” Dumbledore announces, “it is my great pleasure to introduce our entertainment for the evening. Please join me in giving a hand to The Wyrd Sisters!”

And thunderous applause breaks out as the band takes to the stage. A lot louder than when the champions entered. Ginny even whoops and whistles between her fingers as they all get to their feet, earning her a grin from Bagman and a deadly glare from McGonagall that they all feel even from across the room.

The band doesn’t seem to mind, getting into position, one of them even smiling at Ginny. Hermione still doesn’t know who’s who. She’s only ever watched a wizarding band perform a few times.

She’s only just now realising that they tune their instruments magically! How fascinating. There really should be a music class at Hogwarts to learn these thing. Magic and music? She can feel…something. Like the instruments are being tuned to the magic. How— but what about vocalists?

“Music is magical? Singing is magical?” she asks Fleur. “I didn’t know singing used magic!”

Fleur smiles. Begins leading her onto the dance floor. “Not all singing. Only if people know to use it with their voice. To sing through their magic. Like sirens, or merfolk…or veela." She stops them. Stops opposite Hermione. Shrugs. "We are related, you know. To the sirens? To harpies? I have never used my magic to sing. It…I do not like the power I have. My mother accepts this. My grandmother…not so much. And you can imagine that she is not so beautiful when she is angry, hmm?” she chuckles quietly.

Oh. Oh! Of course! Sirens are…

Fleur seems nervous, gaze flickering around the room. Hermione can’t believe she’s revealing so much about herself. That she’s been forgiven so quickly. How? How can Fleur trust her after what she did? How does she reveal her heart so easily?

She takes Fleur’s hand. Puts her other hand on her shoulder, and feels one at her waist. “Am I…allowed to tell you that you’re beautiful?” Hermione asks quietly, eyes drifting over Fleur.

Fleur looks down at her. Then looks away, mock haughtily. “I suppose. If you mean it.”

The music starts up. A slow cello.

Hermione leans to whisper. “I think you’re beautiful. And maybe the kindest person I’ve ever met. And the bravest. I could never show my heart like you do. It shines from you. That’s why you’re beautiful.”

And now they’re moving. And Fleur is smiling. And Hermione is sure she can feel the thrall. Can feel something. Or…maybe it’s the music. Magical music. Who knew? How had she never felt the magic before?

Fleur leads them slowly around the edge, and then across so they pass Ginny and Viktor. Both of them terrible at dancing. Laughing as they step on each other’s feet. They’re both way more agile in the air than on the ground.

Fleur sighs at them. “One of you is the player, one is the broom,” she calls across. “Tell her where to go, Viktor.”

Ginny bursts out in even louder laughter. “Delacour, are you telling him to sit on me?”

Thankfully more people have joined the dance now, so her comment goes unheard. Mostly. McGonagall and Dumbledore have drifted into their part of the dance floor. Behind Ginny.

“Miss Weasley, need I remind you that you are representing all of Hogwarts this evening in front of foreign visitors and members of the Ministry and photographers from the press?” McGonagall says sternly whilst Dumbledore moves them back and forth in place, thoroughly amused. "Please refrain from inappropriate comments."

Ginny turns bright red. Starts stuttering and spluttering.

Fleur lets go of Hermione. Winks. “Oh, she is fine. She just does not know the dance. Here. It is simple. I will show her, Professor.”

And she swaps with Viktor, taking Ginny’s hand and waist, and grinning at Hermione as Ginny loses the ability to breathe. Or move.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, that is not what I meant, and you very well know it!” McGonagall reprimands.

But Fleur has already whisked Ginny away, counting aloud in French to show her the rhythm.

Hermione laughs, walking over to Viktor. “Guess I’m your partner now. Rita Skeeter will be very happy.”

He takes her waist and frowns. “If bug is here…we squash her, yes?”

Hermione laughs again, slowly pulling them along backwards and keeping her feet out of the way. “I wish. But we should definitely trap her under a glass or something. You know the unbreakable charm, right?”

He grins. “Ah. Yes. Unbreakable glass. A good idea, my friend.”

Then he trips over her foot. Sighs. Frowns again. “You show me this dance? You are…broom?”

Yes, what did Fleur mean by…oh. How do you turn a broom?

Hermione nods. “You…lean, don’t you? To turn the broom? You turn your body? So tell me where to go by leaning your body. The feet are always the same. One, two, three. But if you want to turn, tell me.”

And she feels him guide her left. Yes. That’s a lot better.

And now she can look up rather than dodging his feet. Looks around the room and sees…Hagrid and Madame Maxime. Ron dancing very close to Lavender, not really moving at all. Whispering and grinning. Hands moving to some less appropriate places.

Snape making his way over, probably to take points, his eyes across the room on…

Harry and Luna. Standing in a corner and looking at the plants. The holly and ivy and…mistletoe. Ah. Looking out for nargles. They’re hanging up butterbeer corks as they talk.

So if Lavender is with Ron, then Parvati…

Neville! So he did ask someone. Parvati? Wow, how did that happen? She hadn’t been paying attention to any of this…

Seamus and Dean. Oh it’s so nice that they’ve admitted their feelings earlier this time. She can remember their wedding—

And she’s suddenly pulled away from Viktor. Back in Fleur’s arms. “Bonsoir.”

Hermione smiles. “Bonsoir. Did you have fun with Ginny?”

Fleur pulls her closer. They just kind of sway. “I think the little girl also has a big heart. I see why she is your friend.”

Fleur is so close. And so pretty. And so kind. And she smells so…

Get it together, Hermione. She’s still talking.

“And I am sad for her, that Harry has not noticed her,” Fleur continues. Gives her a knowing look. “But her crush on me is also adorable. I had to dance with her.”

Hermione shakes her head. “But that’s such a tease! Now she has two people she likes that she can’t have.”

Fleur raises an eyebrow. “Two? Can’t have? What do you think I said to her? Look.”

And she nods towards the corner. Towards Harry and Luna.

And Ginny. Ginny talking to Harry, and Viktor talking to Luna, which…oh Merlin, she’s showing him the mistletoe. Oh that’s so funny. What the hell will he think?

Hermione turns back. Kisses Fleur’s jaw. “I think I’m going to have to start calling you cupid,” she jokes. “Fleur the love guru. The matchmaker.”

They’ve come to a stop. Fleur takes her hand and pulls her towards a table. “Do not call me any of those names. How ugly. But…it is fun, non? And people are stupid. They do not see what is before their eyes.”

And now Fleur isn’t looking at Hermione. She’s looking across the room, towards the entrance.

Wait. “Who’s that?” Hermione asks.

Fleur chuckles. “You do not recognise them? They are your friend. In disguise.”

What?! Bellatrix—

Tonks.

Oh. Tonks. Her friend in disguise.

Ah. Hang on.

She looks back at Fleur. Then over at Tonks. Hmm.

She nudges Fleur. Grins at her. “So…this person you’re secretly in love with. How do you know them?”

Fleur sighs. Leans her head on her hand. “I am this obvious? Oh, Hermione they are wonderful. This auror. They patrol the grounds, past my carriage, almost every day. I do not even know what they look like, or their name. I think she is a witch, because of the thrall, yes? You said she is your friend?”

Tonks. Now this is adorable.

Hermione stands up. “Her name’s Tonks. Come on, let’s go talk to her.”

Fleur hugs her from behind, holding her back. “But this is your night, ma belle. Our one night. You don’t want me to yourself?” she whispers in her ear.

Hermione turns to smile at her. To stroke her cheek. Because Fleur is beautiful, and she can. “You’re in love, Fleur. Talk to her. I’ll be here all year. She might not be.”

Fleur searches her face. “Will you be here? Or are you trying to return? To your time?”

Return?

She hugs Fleur, heart thrumming. Panic filling her. The one thing she tries the hardest to forget. “I don’t know how. I’m— I might be here forever, Fleur,” she breathes out in a rush. “I don’t know how I got here, and I haven’t even begun to think about how to get back. The only clue, is that maybe Bellatrix knows something. She’s the only change. In my time, she wasn’t here. Another Death Eater was here in disguise, and he put Harry’s name in the Goblet. That’s why I put mine in instead. To save Harry. Because last time…well, the tournament went wrong. A champion died. And Harry…he met You Know Who. Voldemort. He used Harry to come back to life. To return.”

She feels Fleur take a sharp breath. Hold her tighter. “Viktor died?”

Hermione shakes her head. “Another boy. From Hogwarts. His name’s Cedric. He’s…”

She pulls away to look around. Spots Cedric sat with Cho and some friends, points him out.

Fleur nods. “Then…this time we will be careful. I will keep watch during the tournament.”

Hermione sighs. “I’m sorry to put this on you. It’s your final year at school. And you’re a champion. You should be…enjoying it. The challenge.”

Fleur takes her hand. “It’s fine. And we can still have fun. Come. Let’s get drinks. You know, I have some firewhisky in my—”

Hermione snorts. “I know. In your wardrobe. I saw.”

Fleur grins. Gestures to the top table. “Not anymore. It is in my bag.”

And she accios her bag towards her. Snatches it from the air. Heads towards the drinks table.

Hermione hurries after her. “Fleur!” she hisses. “Don’t you dare—”

And then something hits her in the chest. A horrifying dread. A wrongness. Like— like the magic is being sucked from the air. The—

Hope. It’s hopeless. And cold. She’s trembling. Reaches out to Fleur.

Who has also paused. Stilled. Everything is still.

Silent. The music screeches to a stop. The frost covering the walls spreads to the floor. Puffed breaths fogging the air.

And then the stillness is broken as the doors to the Great Hall slam open. Bang against the walls.

And a witch stumbles inside. Throws back her hood and clutches a nearby chair, gasping.

“Mother?” a boy shouts. “Mother!”

And Narcissa Malfoy manages not to fall. She’s shaking, as pale as her hair, but she straightens her spine and catches her breath. “It’s— dementors!” she gasps out. Scans the crowd.

Finds Hermione. Nods. “Both of them. Both of— the dog. And— and— by the tree. They can’t— quickly!”

And then she falls. Hits the floor. But Draco is there. Already crouched beside her and—

Dementors. Sirius. Bellatrix.

Hermione sprints for the door. Hears shouting break out around her, but ignores it. Turns the corner and—

Almost stumbles. How many…hundreds of dementors heading across the grounds. No. But—

Harry runs past her. “Hermione, come on!” he yells.

And she keeps going. Fights for breath. Fights for balance in the snow as they skid down the hill— “Where are they?” she shouts. “Can you see—”

“She said the tree!” he shouts back. “Whomping willow! They must have come through!”

“Potter! Get back here!”

And someone else runs past Hermione. Snape. He’s faster. Taller. Catching—

Hermione turns to see—

Tonks following. And Luna. And Fleur.

No. No— “Fleur, go back!” she shouts. Fleur can’t cast a patronus. She never learnt. Not a fully corporeal—

And she almost bumps into Harry. Snape has caught him. Is trying pull him back—

“Relashio!” Harry shouts. “Stupefy!”

And Snape is down. Didn’t expect it. Harry is running again. Argh!

“Wake him up!” she calls back as she chases after Harry. “We need him. Harry. Harry—”

“I can see them!” Harry yells. “Expecto patronum!”

He can see—

She takes a gasping breath. Wipes the tears from her cheeks. Looks at Harry, and Fleur, and Luna, and Tonks is alive. “Expecto patronum!” she calls out across the grounds. Tries to see the base of the whomping willow between the swarming dementors. Tries—

Her otter flies out. Lights a trail. She—

She can see them too. Two figures in black. In the grass. Fighting. Struggling. They’re fighting now? What—

“Expecto patronum!” Tonks shouts. “All you kids get back! Harry! Harry, don’t— Hermione!”

And the figures stop fighting.

“Harry!” Sirius bellows. “Harry, run! Get away! Get—”

“Get the fuck out of here, Potter!” Bellatrix yells. “We can’t— Where did he go? Homenum revelio!”

And the dementors close in once more. Hermione is so close now. Probably too close to the tree. But she’s blind. In the dark. And the feeling is— she can’t— it’s hopeless. What is she doing here? She’s endangering Fleur, and Luna, and—

“Expecto patronum!” comes a lilting voice. A hare bounding past. Luna. Luna’s okay. She—

“Harry, go back to the castle!” Sirius cries hoarsely. “Listen to me! Please! Go! Bella— Bella, get off of me! We have to—”

And Hermione reaches them. Sirius struggling towards her. Crawling across the grass. Bellatrix pulling him back. Trying to force him back into the tunnel under the tree.

Bellatrix spots her. “Oh thank Salazar. Help me. He can hide in there. Stupefy!”

And now Sirius is unconscious.

The dementors move in. Hungry.

“What are you doing here?!” Harry shouts. “What are you— ah!” he cries out.

What? Harry—

Harry falls to the ground. Falls back. And she can’t see—

“Expecto patronum! Lumos maxima!” Hermione yells.

Harry is clutching at his ankle in shock.

And Peter Pettigrew is crouched over him. Frozen and squinting in the light.

Then shrinks.

“No!” Bellatrix shouts. “That— Accio Wormtail!”

It doesn’t work. Harry dives for the rat. Misses.

“Black! Hands in the air! Away from the kids!” Tonks shouts from nearby.

“Tonks, get that rat! It’s Peter Pettigrew!” Hermione shouts. “Accio Peter!”

He’s getting away! Into the forest. But—

She looks between, Bellatrix, an unconscious Sirius half in her lap, Harry, who is now bleeding into the snow from his ankle and— and—

And the dementors. The dementors are…

It falls dark. Her lumos has given out. All of the patronuses have faded away. Nothing is…and she can’t see…can feel…

“Potter…” Bellatrix whispers roughly. “Potter, please. I didn’t— I tried— I didn’t mean to— I tried to protect them. I tried to hide. Please!” she shouts. Raw. Gasping. “Don’t send me back. He’s alive. They’re all— Siri. Siri, wake up. Wake up. Rennervate! Rennervate!”

Hermione follows her voice. Feels a body at her feet and falls to her knees. “Bellatrix? He’s okay. He’s alive,” she croaks out, lungs heavy. “Remember? He— expecto— expecto—”

She can’t—

Sirius is dead. She can feel…his body is there. Cold. And Harry. She didn’t— Harry is hurt. She…

Hands cling to her. “Granger. You— are you hurt? Cissy. Where— did— did she—”

Cissy? Who is…

And that voice. She knows this voice. This voice did something to her. It hurt. It hurt so—

“Hermione!” another voice calls through the dark. “Hermione, answer me! Réponds-moi!”

Oh. Oh—

Fleur’s here. Fleur’s okay. So— So—

She reaches out for Bellatrix. “They’re fine. They’re all fine,” Hermione gasps out. Squeezes her shoulders. “It’s all in our heads, remember? Can you feel it? It’s the— the dementors. Expecto patronum!”

A faint trail of mist. She can’t—

Yes, you can. Magic. It’s in you. Feel it. Don’t let them take it.

“Bellatrix,” she snaps. “Come on. The tunnel is behind you. It’s only a few metres. We have to get to the tunnel.”

“You— you’re— who—”

Hermione feels for Sirius. She thinks he must be awake. Breathing. Bellatrix woke him up, so…

“Harry’s alive,” Hermione says firmly. “But we have to get the dementors away from him. They can’t get in the tunnel. Come on! Before someone gets hurt. Come on!”

And she tugs at them both.

“The rat,” Sirius rasps, beginning to move. In the wrong direction. “I have to kill the rat.”

“No killing,” Bellatrix groans back. “Not…allowed…to kill. Potter— Potter— where’s Cissy?”

Hermione focuses on that. Ignores the dementors. Fights it. Because she has to survive if she wants to find out what the hell is going on.

Cissy. What does that mean? Why is that so familiar…oh!

She grabs hold of Sirius’ robes, pulling him along the slippery, muddy ground. “Narcissa is okay. She’s— she made it to the castle. She told us to find you. She’s with Draco.”

Bellatrix laughs. Manages to stand up and help her, both of them skidding and fighting for balance as they pull Sirius along. “Knew she’d make it. Cissy always makes it.”

And they reach the tunnel. The tree. Luckily it’s frozen. Immobilised. They kind of just shove Sirius inside the hole.

“Tonks!” Bellatrix suddenly yells at the top of her lungs, cupping her mouth. “We’re going underground! Get the kids out of here! I mean it, Potter, or I’m taking points!”

Hermione actually laughs at that. “Go, Harry!” she calls. “We’re okay! All of you— go back, Fleur! Please! I’m okay! Go—!”

And then she’s falling backwards. Bellatrix has grabbed her. Pulled her into the tunnel.

Hermione hastily casts the counter-spell for the immobulus charm as she falls. Watches the tunnel seal itself. Hears branches begin to whip through the air.

And then nothing. Back to calm. Back to silence.

And she’s lying on top of someone. Probably Bellatrix.

She’s so exhausted she doesn’t care. Just lies there. In the dark. Catching her breath.

A dog barks.

“Give us a fucking minute,” Bellatrix grumbles.

A minute.

Hermione might need more than a minute to process this.

Chapter Text

Hermione stares up into the darkness. Feels Bellatrix breathing beneath her. Feels her chest rise and fall.

Right. Time to get up.

She fumbles for her wand as she struggles to her feet. Casts a warming charm at herself because she’s bloody freezing. Then a lumos. Then another warming charm at Bellatrix, because she’s lying in a puddle on the floor.

Hermione reaches down to her. “Need a hand?”

Bellatrix opens her eyes. Grins. Takes her hand and pulls herself up. “No. But I’ll take one anyway, as you’re offering. You look…”

Her eyes run over Hermione. She laughs. “A bit of a muddy mess, actually. Sorry for crashing your Ball.”

Muddy?

Hermione almost steps back, doubt creeping in, but Bellatrix suddenly looks just as uncomfortable. Cringes at her own words and gestures at Hermione’s dress.

Hermione looks down at herself. Oh. She is quite muddy.

She adjusts her dress and casts a cleaning charm at herself. Tries out the French version of the charm Fleur uses that smells nice.

And brushes past a soggy, muddy Bellatrix. “You’re not looking too great yourself,” she says casually, and casts the charm behind her at Bellatrix too. Starts walking down the tunnel, Sirius leading in dog form. “We need to get further away from the school. Away from Harry and the others. What were you both doing here?”

She hears Bellatrix follow. And sigh. “We were tracking Wormtail. Siri has been pestering me to go and kill him for weeks. I said no. So he asked if we could keep tabs on him. Watch him. I said yes. As his Christmas present. Wormtail chose tonight to go after Potter. So here we are.”

Hermione stops. Whirls around. “He’s here for Harry? To kidnap him, or— I thought he just hurt him to get away. Because he was—”

Bellatrix shakes her head. “It’s worse than that. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken. We need to hurry. Or we’re going to have a Dark Lord on the rise.”

Shit. The ritual. All they need is the blood. Not the— He got blood from Harry?

“Then we have to tell the Order!” Hermione shouts. “We have to stop him! Before it’s too late! If we get to the graveyard in time—”

“And if we don’t, we’re heading to a battle. Or our deaths,” Bellatrix says firmly.

There’s a growl. “Then we fight!” Sirius says, human once more and turning around. “I don’t understand you, Bella. We could have killed him as soon as we saw him. He was right there, and you didn’t react. Now you say you’re on our side—”

“Your side!” Bellatrix shouts. Pushes past Hermione to get to Sirius. “I’m on your side, and Cissy’s, and Andy’s. And that means I’m on Potter’s side too. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be killing anyone. I won’t. If we go there, and He’s back, I’ll defend you, but I’m not killing. Not for anything. Never again. I’m not going back.”

And she pushes past Sirius too to continue along the passage.

Sirius laughs, slightly hysterically. Shares a look of shock with Hermione before it morphs into frustration. “You won’t kill? Now you won’t kill? Won’t hurt anyone? Now?! I can’t believe this!”

That’s— “Look,” Hermione says, jogging to catch up. These two are surprisingly fast for being close to death a few moments ago. “That’s not the problem right now. The problem is getting to the graveyard. Contacting the Order, or the Ministry. Or— Is this our decision to make? Should we tell Dumbledore?”

“There’s no time to involve all of that,” Sirius says. “Bella knows where the graveyard is. You seem to somehow know about it. Let’s go there. I’ll kill them, if Bella won’t. And you can…send a patronus to Dumbledore if it will make you feel better. I’m sure the Ministry will be on our trail as it is. And the dementors.”

They’re heading uphill now. Nearly at the shack. Which means they’re almost outside of the wards.

Sirius transforms back into Padfoot to bound ahead.

And Hermione jogs the last few steps to grab Bellatrix’s arm. “Wait. Just— we need to think about this. Please. You know how…complicated this is. It will change everything. We need to think it through.”

Bellatrix flinches. Pulls her arm back, turning to stare at Hermione.

Then hastily rolls up her sleeve, eyes wide. “No no no, don’t be black, don’t be—”

The Dark Mark. Still grey.

Bellatrix gives Hermione a desperate, almost helpless look. “Wagtail’s right. No time. There’s just no time. Rats are fast. He’ll be past the wards soon. The only advantage we have is that he’ll need to find his way out of the Forbidden Forest, prepare the potion, and feed the Dark Lord milk from Nagini before he weakens. But if we’re too late...”

And she turns, marching up the slope. “He’s only got Wormtail left. He’s weak,” Bellatrix explains, ‘professor voice’ suddenly back. “Half his followers are in Azkaban, Crabbe and Goyle and the Carrows are too stupid, Lucius is too self-serving to get involved yet, plus the Dark Lord doesn’t trust him after he failed with the diary. He doesn’t trust Snape because he stopped Quirrell getting the stone, and that just leaves Avery, Yaxley, Selwyn, Nott, and Macnair.”

Hermione quickly calculates— “So if he calls everyone, there’ll be eleven Death Eater’s waiting at the graveyard?”

“If he calls them. And if Snape goes, which I doubt. But yes. Eleven. Twelve, if you include me.”

Hermione nods. Well then. That sounds like a battle. Twelve including Voldemort. And the Order of the Phoenix has…thirteen at the most right now. Including Hermione and Sirius. And Snape, who also probably won’t make an appearance for them. “We have to stop the ritual then. Now. We can apparate from here.”

Bellatrix looks her firmly in the eyes.

Hermione stares back. She’s not wavering on this. They have to. Or the War will start now.

Bellatrix’s eyes scrunch shut. Just for a second. And then she nods. Reaches into her cloak pocket.

Pulls out another cloak. Whistles.

Sirius tears back towards them.

And Bellatrix shakes out the cloak. Puts it over Hermione. And herself. And Sirius, as he transforms.

Hermione stares at it. At the familiar fabric. “Harry’s cloak?” she mutters.

“So you did steal it!” Sirius says to Bellatrix. “I knew it wasn’t yours! This is James’ cl—”

And they’re apparating away.

Outside of a graveyard. In a small village. In the dark. Only the moon and stars lighting the way. Casting shadows over the headstones and the untouched snow.

“Granger, go see if anyone’s there,” Sirius whispers.

Hermione turns her head to give him a disbelieving look that he probably can’t see. “Why me?”

“It’s not personal! They don’t know you as well,” he hisses back. “Peter will know me straight away. And if they see Bella—”

“I’m in a bright blue dress! I’m the most suspicious—”

Bellatrix crouches, pulling them with her. “We’re all staying under the cloak. Muffiliato…” she breathes out. Then begins moving closer.

They all shuffle along awkwardly. Reach the graveyard wall. Peek over.

Nobody. Empty. She feels out with her magic.

Bellatrix. Sirius.

Nobody else around. Well, that’s a relief.

“Could we…vanish his father’s grave?” Hermione suggests. “No more bones of the father.”

“Or kill the rat,” Sirius says. “No more servant.”

Hermione frowns. “How do you know the ritual?”

“I told him,” Bellatrix whispers harshly. “Now both of you shut up and look for Riddle’s grave. We’ll do what Granger said. Vanish the bones.”

Sirius scoffs. “Of course we’re doing what she said.”

And then he transforms. Pads off. Shit.

Bellatrix mumbles out some curses, pulling Hermione along after him. “See what I have to put up with? Worse than Potter.”

Hermione just nods, already reading gravestones. Looking for the biggest, fanciest one. Harry said Riddle lived in a…manor.

Hermione stops them. Looks around at the surrounding hills instead. They’re in a valley. Houses along…

There’s a rundown manor house on one of the far hills. Looking out towards them.

Light in one of the windows.

“Look!” she whispers to Bellatrix. “Is that Riddle Manor?”

Bellatrix turns too. “Yes. But he might not be there. If they left the fire lit. But maybe…”

She pauses in thought. Hermione just waits. Tensed. Wishes she could cast a lumos to see better. See her expression.

“We can’t kill him,” Bellatrix continues. “But we could stop Wormtail, if that’s where he’s headed. But it would give us away. And then we don’t know what he’ll do next. And if he moves the horcruxes—”

She knows about the horcruxes? And is telling Hermione?

A sound comes from behind them. Digging. That dog!

They both run over to Sirius. He’s found the grave.

“You can’t dig in a graveyard!” Hermione squawks. “If someone sees—”

“A dog digging for bones?” Bellatrix says, laughter in her voice. “Better than human grave robbers. How else can we vanish the bones?”

Well…

Hermione sighs to herself. Steps back out of the way of flying earth, bumping up against Bellatrix. “I can’t believe I’m digging up Voldemort’s dad whilst wearing a…ballgown.”

Now Bellatrix is really holding back laughter. Sniggering. Shoulder rubbing against Hermione’s, up and down as she chuckles. “Welcome to the Black family,” she murmurs as they watch Sirius dig.

Silence falls. Other than the digging. It’s…eery.

“I don’t like this,” Hermione whispers. “They could arrive at any minute. We’re out in the open. If they’re in the house, they can probably see us right now.”

Bellatrix sighs. “I know, but he only has Wormtail. If he sees us, it might just put him off. My only worry is— well, what if they took a bone already? They took the blood. What if they’re doing the ritual…in the house?”

Oh.

“Should we go look?” Hermione reluctantly asks, not really wanting to go near whatever Voldemort is looking like right now.

“And leave Siri?” Bellatrix says worriedly. Turns to face Hermione.

Under the cloak. They’re…very close, under the cloak. And now they’re even closer.

Hermione can feel her breath. Can’t see anything as she blocks out the light from the moon.

“Is…there another way?” Hermione slowly asks. “Should I call the Order?”

Bellatrix pulls back. Hermione can just make her out. Biting her lip in thought. “Maybe you should. So they can be here and at the manor. But again, it’s very visible. They could scare him into hiding. We’d have no idea where he was. I don’t know where else he’d go, other than…well, it’s possible Lucius would let him in. I can’t do that to Cissy again.”

Again?

A bark interrupts them. Bones. Oh Merlin, that’s a skeleton. That’s a coffin.

Well. It looks like a full skeleton. No bones obviously missing…

Hermione takes a breath. Draws her wand and sticks it out of the cloak. “Once we vanish it…that’s it. He won’t be able to use this plan. New plan. Unknown plan.”

Bellatrix takes a sharp breath too. “Fuck, Granger. It’s risky. This is risky as shit. The amount of new options we’ll have if this—”

“Options?” Sirius says, back with them. “If he uses these, he’ll come back. Be back. Kill people, and use the Mark to control all of his followers. Including you, Bella. The answer is fucking obvious.”

He grabs Hermione’s wand arm, still hanging in the air hesitantly. Puts his hand over hers and moves it for her. “Oseum evanesca!”

And the bones are gone. No more Tom Riddle Senior.

Oh.

Sirius grins at them in the following shocked silence. Claps. “So. Now for the servant. Where are we headed?”

Hermione turns back towards the manor. Points…

No fire. No light in the window.

Does that mean—

Light shines from the nearby church. A door opens. Voices filter towards them.

“Siri, back under the cloak!” Bellatrix hisses, already dragging him over.

He transforms instead. A huge black dog. Growls, head lowered, ready to pounce.

And a gasp comes from the church entrance. “Vicar! It’s the grim! See there? A grim, guarding the headstones!”

Vicar?

A throat clearing. Footsteps over stone. “Uh…well, the Lord works in mysterious ways, Mrs Worthing. But I really would prefer that you put aside superstition, especially as tonight is—”

Sirius freezes in place, snarl drooping.

And two people turn the corner of the church. A middle-aged vicar, and a little old lady. Carrying candles and paper booklets. “It’s a dog!” the vicar exclaims. “And it’s dug up the— Here, boy!” he shouts firmly. “Come! Who do you belong to? Do you recognise it, Mrs Worthing?”

“No-one has a great beast like that!” the lady says, candle raised to look. “It’s a grim! Keeping away spirits, like my Nan always said. There’s nowt wrong with a bit of superstition, Vicar.”

The Vicar moves closer. He pats his knee. Whistles. “Come here. Come on. We’ll get you some food, if you’re hungry. And you can come inside out of the snow. It will be warm tonight for midnight mass. Can you believe this, Mrs Worthing? A soul in need at Christmas.”

Sirius runs behind a nearby headstone. Transforms, crouched down. Ducks under the cloak, holding back laughter. “Muggles,” he whispers. “Forgot it was Christmas. We need to get out of here. Up to the manor, Bella.”

Bellatrix nods, curls brushing Hermione’s face. Grabs her arm. But—

And they’re…outside a small cottage. The manor just about visible a few hundred yards behind it.

Bellatrix looks around. Then pulls off the cloak. Walks through the powdery snow up the small front garden and knocks loudly on the cottage door. What the—

Hermione jogs after her and pulls her hand away. “What are you doing? Where are we?!”

Bellatrix knocks again with her other hand. “Frank!” she shouts.

Frank? What—

And a dim light shines from the cottage. They wait. Sirius opens his mouth and then shuts it, shrugging at Hermione. They hear a key turn in the lock. A bolt pulled back.

And then an old man opens the door. Still fully dressed, despite it surely nearing ten o’clock by now. A muggle man, by the looks of it, in his late seventies.

Bellatrix grins. “Hi, Frank. Merry Christmas. Sorry it’s so bloody late. Can we come in?”

Frank grumbles. “Only if ye give out with the foul language. And tell us the latest. Because something’s been going on in that house. Just like ye said.” He turns and shuffles back inside. “I’ve kept my distance so far, but I have half a mind to—”

Bellatrix follows him inside with a tut. “To leave it alone! They’ll be gone soon. But they’re dangerous. And you understand how dangerous, after what happened to the Riddles.”

Frank hobbles over to a small kitchen table. Falls down to sit in a chair and light a lantern as Bellatrix…puts a kettle on the stove. And takes a hot water bottle out from under the sink.

Definitely muggle.

Hermione shares a look with Sirius as he shuts the door and hides her wand.

“It wasn’t me that did it,” Frank croaks out. “And I told them. I told those plodders, it was a young fella. The teenage lad. He was the last one in the house at the time. This was gone…fifty years ago, now. But I still remember him. Something up with that lad. The look in his eye. And pale, he were. Dark haired. I told them…”

Bellatrix sighs. “I know. I told you. I believe you. Here.”

She hands him the hot water bottle.

And casts a warming charm at him behind his back. Then starts making him a cup of tea by hand. “So? Any news for me? This is important, Frank. Have you seen anything tonight?”

But Frank is frowning at Sirius. Tapping his lip. “Haven’t I seen ye before? Swear I’ve seen ye somewhere. In the paper, or...” His eyes slide to Hermione. “And that’s quite the party frock. What have you been up to this time, Bella?”

Sirius walks over to the window. “Yes, what are you up to? Because we don’t have time for this little catch up.”

Bellatrix plonks the cup of tea down. “That’s my cousin. Everyone calls him Snuffles, because he’s like a dog after a bone, won’t sit still. And Hermione is having a worse night than you. We stole her from a ball. Because this is important, Frank.”

Frank shakily picks up the cup of tea, sipping it with a sigh. “Alright. I did see something. I’ve been keeping watch, like you said. Staying away. But I actually reckon he’s off and left, whoever he was. Not long ago. Fire went out, which it never does, mind. Then this dumpy, pudgy sort of fella walks past. Reet suspicious. Twitchy. Carrying something. Could be a basket, or even a bairn. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. I almost went out there, but I did swear to you and all—”

“Which way? Which way did he go?” Bellatrix asks firmly.

Frank gestures back down the hill. “Well, he started off down’t. Had a light on him. Must have been a torch, a bright white light. Heading off to the other side of the dale, I reckon. Over yonder.”

Sirius walks over to the other side of the cottage, looking through the opposite window, cupping his eyes and leaning close to the glass. “A light. Over there, can you see?”

They all crowd over, squinting across at the hill opposite.

“Try these, lad,” Frank says. Passes Sirius some binoculars.

“It’s him!” Sirius shouts.

Then gives the binoculars to Bellatrix. “Is it a trap? He’s walking. Why is he walking? What could be nearby?”

Bellatrix scans along with the binoculars. The faint light disappears. “The Gaunt Shack,” Bellatrix whispers, almost fearfully.

She looks at Hermione, then at Frank. Points out a spot on the hill. “That’s where they used to live, isn’t it? The Gaunts? Old family. Strange. Talked to snakes. Up on the other side of the valley, out in the woods.”

And Frank has barely nodded before Bellatrix is kissing his head and heading out the door. “Thanks, Frank. You should be safe now. Think they’re gone. So get some sleep, and—”

“Now hang on a minute, lass. You’re allus doing this. What’s really going on, hmm?”

Bellatrix sighs, ushering Sirius and Hermione outside and through the snowy front garden. “I can’t tell you that. Just keep drinking the remedy I gave you. It’s good for your hip. And your ears.”

“You know, your sister stopped by,” Frank says slowly.

Bellatrix freezes, halfway down the garden path. Turns. “Really? When?”

Frank gives her a look. “Not long after ye were last here. July, I should think. Brought a remedy of her own. A better one.”

Bellatrix smiles back at him, shaking her head. “You’re a lucky one, Frank. I told her about you. Didn’t think she’d visit though.”

Frank just nods. Then slowly shuts the door.

Bellatrix takes a loud breath. “Right. So…that gives us a lot more time, but I think all our options just multiplied. Tenfold. It…might be time for you to contact the Order now, Granger. Because I know my stuff, but I think we might need old Dumbles for this one.”

“So you don’t think Wormtail has a bone?” Hermione asks. “He’s not just doing the ritual over there?”

Bellatrix shakes her head. Walks them around the corner past some hedgerows and pulls out the invisibility cloak. “If he had the bones, he would have stayed. But he’s gone off to Grandfather’s house. To the ring.”

“What grandfather? What ring?” Sirius asks. “And who was that? A muggle? You have old men muggle friends keeping watch for you? That also know Cissy? That was Wormtail! He’s over there. Why are we stopping?”

Bellatrix glares at him. “Because we don’t know what we’re walking into. And we’re not going to go running in and get ourselves killed. Don’t underestimate the opponent, Siri. They had a view of the graveyard. They saw us. Saw you. And now they’re shining their way through the village. The Dark Lord isn’t stupid. And neither is Wormtail, even if you won’t admit it. We need help. We need a plan. There will be enchantments on that shack. Worse than Grimmauld.”

And she looks up at the sky. “And we need to get out of the open. To get some chocolate. For all of us. We’re shaking.”

Shaking?

Hermione looks down at herself. Notices how pale she is. How much her wand is jerking in her grip. Muscles spasming as they clench and unclench.

Bellatrix gently takes her arm. Wraps the other one around Sirius. She’s shaking too. All of them are. Trembling from the dementors. Late shock. “Don’t underestimate the opponent,” Bellatrix whispers again. “And don’t push your luck. Can’t save anyone if you’re dead. We did our bit. Time to count our loses, and go home. To London.”

And Hermione is being squeezed through a tube. Apparating.

Staring up at 12 Grimmauld Place.

She swallows. Looks to the people next to her, and can’t quite believe she’s ended up in such a strange situation. With both Sirius and Bellatrix. At Grimmauld Place, once again.

“Will the wards let me in?” she asks cautiously.

Sirius grins at Bellatrix. “So you were right. She can see it, and she’s not surprised. She’s been here before. You, Hermione Granger, are more than you appear.”

And he walks up the steps. “And of course you can come in. What do you think Bella and I have been up to for the last few weeks? We had to get the house ready for visitors. I’m not getting stuck with only her for company forever. I did tell Harry he could live with me.”

Hermione hesitantly steps closer. Looks at Bellatrix. “So…no deadly wards? Can owls get through? You said…”

And Bellatrix smiles at her. Drags her forward, tapping her wand to the door to let them all in. “Just get in here. Before someone spots us on the doorstep. We can chat inside. Oh wait!”

And she puts a hand over Hermione’s mouth as they follow Sirius in. Points at the wall opposite.

Oh yeah. The portrait of Warlburga Black. Sirius’ mother. She’s impossible to get off the wall. And won’t be happy if she hears Hermione.

Bellatrix very carefully shuts the door behind them. One handed. Other palm still pressed to Hermione’s lips.

Hermione pulls out of her grip. Follows after Sirius along the corridor and down the stairs into the basement…kitchen. Wait.

“It’s clean!” she whispers to Sirius. “Everything is…you did all this? All this cleaning and tidying and polishing?”

The fire is lit. The pots and pans are shining. Surfaces clean and cleared.

She sits down at the kitchen table. Sirius gives her a strange look. Grabs some bread, cheese, and chocolate from a cupboard, before sitting down opposite her.

“You’ve been here before…” he murmurs. Then louder. “You’ve really been here before! I can’t believe she was telling the truth! You’re from the future!”

What?! That was a secret!

Bellatrix falls into the chair next to Hermione. “Of course she is! Look at her face. Or look at her tits. Is she the same girl you saw a few months ago?”

Hermione quickly folds her arms over her chest. “Don’t look at my— Neither of you look at my— And you’re not from here either!” she shouts at Bellatrix. “You’re all…different! You know things you shouldn’t know. Or at least— Are you from the future?”

Bellatrix snaps the bar of chocolate into thirds. Hands her a piece. “Eat this first. And then contact Dumbledore. You can ask more questions later.”

Hermione chews on some chocolate angrily, feeling the lingering chill of the dementors leave. The magic of chocolate. Not that she can fully appreciate it right now when— “Or you could just answer me,” she says, mouth still full because she’s fed up with waiting. “Tell me anything! Could you just answer one of my questions?”

Bellatrix bites off a piece of chocolate. Raises an eyebrow. Then looks at Sirius. “It’s all clean and tidy in here because Cissy found us,” she says slowly, smiling. “I was trying to keep her away, but she read the Prophet and saw we were both alive and on the run. She wrote to Draco a couple of weeks ago asking what he knew, because she saw I saved you from the dragon, which meant I was interacting with students.”

Bellatrix looks at her. Breaks off another piece of chocolate. “And Draco found out where I was from you too, not that he knew it. You and Potter said you couldn’t say where I went. Well. That screams fidelius charm, doesn’t it? Cissy was here the next day. Brought house-elves. And charms. And rules.”

Narcissa. That’s why Narcissa was with them. But…

“But her memories,” Hermione says slowly. Cautiously. “You…obliviated her.”

Bellatrix nods. “Had to. And I was going to keep her that way until the heat died down. But she put the pieces together. Knew it was me. Told me to give the memories back. So I did. Memory charms are much easier to undo by the person that cast them.”

True. Like Hermione’s parents…

Sirius pushes his chair back and grabs some drinks from a low cupboard. A lot of dark, dusty bottles. Nods at Hermione. “Go on, now. Bella’s good at avoiding questions. We’ll be here all night. I think you should tell Dumbledore you’re safe before we have kidnapping added to our list of offences. And tell him You Know Who’s moved to…What did you call it? The Gaunt Shack?”

Bellatrix reaches for a bottle. “Yep. The Dark Lord’s Mother’s house. He’s half Gaunt, half Riddle. Half muggle. Half-blood.”

Sirius barks out a laugh. “Half-blood?! You’re kidding! I thought Riddle might be a wizarding family I hadn’t heard of!”

Bellatrix shakes her head. Sirius laughs again. Keeps laughing. Laughs at the ceiling. Gestures at the house. “You hear that, Mother? A half-blood!” he shouts.

Okay…

Bellatrix is right. He’s still not particularly mentally stable. Bit of a live wire.

Hermione casts a patronus.

The room seems to calm. Like everyone can breathe a little easier.

She clears her throat. “Could you take this message to Dumbledore, please, once he’s alone or around only members of the Order.”

She hesitates. It’s strange talking to Dumbledore.

Just do it. He’ll know a bit about what’s going on now anyway, if he’s spoken to the others. He always knows more than he lets on. “We followed Pettigrew back to Riddle House in Little Hangleton, and have vanished the remains of Tom Riddle Senior to stop a ritual taking place,” she says slowly. “I know you might be shocked that we know this, but…Bellatrix and I know more than you think. We should probably talk soon. You Know Who and Wormtail have left the manor, and we think they’re now at the Gaunt Shack across the valley. We know for a fact that the shack is under some very strong, very dark enchantments, so we decided not to go inside. All three of us are now at…a Black safehouse. And we’re safe. I can promise you that I’m safe here, Headmaster. I can’t explain right now, but I’ll be in contact…tomorrow.”

There. That was…not the best message, but she’s tired. It’s late. And she just…wants to stop thinking and get out of this dress.

Her otter flies off.

Bellatrix sighs. Passes her a bottle and a glass. “That was good enough. It’s hard to know if we should get him involved but…I don’t fancy sorting this out by ourselves. Plus, he can tell your friends you’re alright. Or he should. Hey, maybe we should send Kreacher to let Potter know we’re okay. Kreacher!”

And Kreacher appears. After about thirty seconds. Taking his time. “Mistress,” he spits. Glances at Sirius. “Master.”

Looks at Hermione. “Mud—”

Bellatrix slams her hand on the table. “What did I say about that word?”

Kreacher bites his tongue. Shakes his head from side to side. Ears flapping. “That— That Kreacher doesn’t deserve treasures if— if he doesn’t respect—”

Treasures. Wait. His treasures! The locket! It’s still here. Mundungus hasn’t stolen it! The horcrux is—

“Kreacher!” Hermione shouts excitedly. “I know about the locket! I know how to destroy it!”

And Kreacher freezes. Stares at her. “Destroy…the locket? You know how to do it?” he croaks out.

Then pops away. Pops back. Holding the locket. And beginning to cry. “Master— Master Regulus told Kreacher to destroy it. Kreacher is trying everything. Fire. Smashing. Poison. But is still whispering. Kreacher tried for Master Regulus. You…you know how?”

And he shakily offers it to her.

“Reg?” Sirius whispers hoarsely, face paling. “Hermione…what is that?”

Hermione takes it. Pushes down the growing nausea as the dark magic seeps into her. Calls to her. Worse than before. Dark. Wrong. Broken. Torn.

She looks at Bellatrix instead. “Regulus…didn’t run away” Hermione explains softly. “He didn’t just desert the Cause. He wanted to stop it. He wanted to kill Voldemort. But he knew Voldemort had a secret. Something keeping him alive. So—”

“This is one? Reggie found one?” Bellatrix asks. Reaches for the locket.

Hermione hands it over. “Yes. He had to drink a potion to get it. It weakened him. He didn’t…he told Kreacher to destroy it once he was gone.”

“But Kreacher couldn’t!” Kreacher wails. Looks at Sirius. “Kreacher tried, Master. And it was being a secret. Be sworn to secrecy. But Master was so young. Kreacher tried to help. Tried to save him.”

Sirius stands up. Walks around to sit next to Bellatrix. “He died…to stop him? He died for that?”

And tears fall down Bellatrix’s cheeks. “I didn’t know. I never knew. He just disappeared. I didn’t— Siri, I’m sorry. I should have— have looked out for him, or— or—”

And then she grits her teeth. Stands up. Puts the locket on the table.

Draws her wand.

“Bellatrix…” Hermione says. “Maybe…maybe think this through. Now might not be the—”

Her wand hand is trembling. Tears still fall. She shakes her head at Hermione. “Open it. Go on, open it.”

But—

Sirius opens the locket. Or tries. It doesn’t work, no matter how hard he pulls. It needs…parseltongue.

Hermione looks at the desperate grief on both of these cousin’s faces. On Kreacher’s face. At the fearful determination set into Bellatrix’s features.

Not anger. Grief. Regret.

Well…if they want to do it. It’s what Regulus wanted. His last wish.

“Open,” Hermione hisses. The one word of parseltongue she knows.

Bellatrix flinches.

And the locket clicks open. Falls open. Tom Riddle’s dark eyes staring out at them from each window.

It laughs. The locket laughs, in a strangely warm voice. “Ah, Bellatrix Black. Such a disappointment…”

“Destroy it, Bella!” Sirius shouts. “Don’t listen to it. Kill him!”

“Yes,” the locket hisses. “Listen to him. Kill me. Kill someone else. It’s who you are. I’ve seen your heart, Bellatrix Black. I’ve seen your dreams. Your hopes. But we all know…you’ll never do it. You always fall at the last hurdle. The last step. Time and time again.”

Bellatrix stumbles back. Shakes her head. Her wand lowers.

“You could have stopped me tonight,” the locket continues, “but you didn’t. You’re too afraid. Afraid of what will happen to you. You’re weak. They’ve made you weak. You’re worse now than you ever were with me. Making all the wrong choices. You’re lost without me. Come back, Bella.”

“Bellatrix, don’t listen to him!” Sirius urges. Grabs hold of her. Raises her wand arm. “Whatever he’s talking about, it’s not true. You helped us tonight. You helped me. You’ve been helping me for weeks. And I don’t know why, but— Yes, I do. I do know. It’s because you love me. So thank you. Thank you for being here. You’re— you’re my family, Bella. Don’t listen to him. He’s gone. That’s just a locket. A locket Reg found for us. This is the right choice. Choose this. Choose me. Trust me. Trust yourself. Because you’re a hell of a lot better without him.”

Bellatrix laughs wetly. Nods. Raises her arm. “Avada Kedavra!”

The green light hits. The locket screeches. Worse than the egg. Worse than a dragon. Hermione slams her hands over her ears and watches Sirius close his eyes.

Bellatrix doesn’t. She watches too. Her eyes are wide as she looks around the room. Stares at Hermione. Grabs hold of Sirius, grip so tight she’s white knuckled. As if bracing herself for something.

And then there’s silence.

Sirius’ eyes blink open. Hermione cautiously lowers her hands.

Bellatrix stays frozen in place. Not even breathing. Like she doesn’t dare move.

Sirius hugs her from the side. “You did it! Whatever that was, you did it! Look at that. There you are, Kreacher. Problem solved.”

Bellatrix shakily reaches up and touches her own face, her hair. Pats herself down. “I did it? I…killed it? I did the right thing? It’s gone?” she whispers, still staring across at Hermione.

Hermione nods, not really sure who Bellatrix is talking to. Hovers the locket off the table and over to Kreacher.

Bellatrix laughs. Soft shock. Happy disbelief.

Then turns around to hug Sirius properly. “Merry Christmas, Siri.”

Sirius laughs. Hugs her back. “Merry Christmas, you crazy nut,” he says softly. “What was that about? What— Are you crying all over me? Gross. What a wimp.”

Bellatrix doesn’t reply. Sirius begins cautiously stroking her back.

Hermione tears her eyes away. Gives them a moment, even though she really wants to keep staring. Can’t help it. It’s just so…sweet. But heart-breaking. Bellatrix and Sirius.

Was…this inside Bellatrix all along? Deeply buried? Did she regret killing Sirius, in Hermione’s universe? Or did the other Bellatrix just…never have that relationship? That caring? Where did this come from? When?

She pushes all questions aside for now. Smiles at Kreacher, who now has the locket around his neck, staring down at it in awe.

“Kreacher? Thank you for keeping your promise to Master Regulus. He would have been proud of you. You’re helping to defeat the Dark Lord, just like he wanted.”

Kreacher looks up at her.

Hermione nods. “When you have a moment, could you let my friend Harry know that we’re all okay? That we’re safe? And take a message from him if he has one for us? Harry Potter. He’s Sirius’ godson, and he got hurt tonight. By one of You Know Who’s followers. He’s probably in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts.”

Kreacher walks towards her. Stands proud. Shuts the locket and tucks it under the sheet he’s wearing.

A clean sheet. Hermione should have noticed the difference. More evidence of Narcissa.

Although why she let Dobby be dressed that way...

Kreacher nods gently. “Of course, Miss Hermione. Friend to the House of Black.”

And he disappears with a pop.

Hermione leans back in her seat with a sigh. Right. Well that’s…everything.

She pulls the bottle of alcohol towards her. Doesn’t know what it is, no label.

Pours a glass and drinks it anyway. Grimaces. It’s strong. Some kind of spirit.

She looks down at her dress and tuts. Of all the outfits. Stuck in this dress. And there won’t be any cosy pyjamas to borrow around here. Unless these two secretly have matching pyjama sets and fluffy dressing gowns.

She laughs to herself. Gods, she’s exhausted. Delirious.

Bellatrix flops back down in the chair next to her.

Sirius pulls up a chair on her other side. “Are you laughing to yourself? Oh dear. That’s the first sign of madness, isn’t it Bella?”

Bellatrix leans closer on one of her hands to look at Hermione, elbow on the table, tears dried. “Nope. Talking to yourself. That’s the first sign. Laughing comes later. She’s further gone than we thought.”

“And she’s drinking. She shouldn’t be drinking. Not at fifteen. Oh, wait…” Sirius hums.

“Yes, how old are you, Granger?” Bellatrix asks innocently. Twirls a curl around her finger. “I told you how old we are, it’s only fair…”

“…that you tell us,” Sirius finishes for her.

Oh Merlin’s balls, what have they unleashed? This is like having the twins on either side of her!

“If I tell you, will you find somewhere for me to sleep?” she groans. “And a change of clothes for the night?”

Bellatrix laughs. “Well there’s somewhere you could sleep. Somewhere you can slip out of that dress.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “And a spare room. Or six. You’re safe from the cougar.”

Bellatrix reaches over Hermione to smack him on the head. “I’m forty, not a hundred and forty, you cheeky bugger! And I was joking! Granger knows I’m joking, right?”

Hermione stands up. Just laughs. “Joking? Well, that’s a shame,” she smiles, eyes flitting bravely over Bellatrix. “I guess I will go find a spare room, if you’re not offering yours. Maybe Narcissa has left behind some pyjamas I can borrow instead.”

And she heads for the stairs before Bellatrix has a chance to respond. Time for her to get a taste of her own medicine.

Barked laughter echoes after her. “I like her,” Sirius says as she shuts the door. “I can see why you like her, Bells.”

Hermione smiles to herself. Carefully makes her way up the stairs, past the portraits. Watches her step so Warlburga continues snoring.

Off to bed in the House of Black. With a few questions answered, and a thousand more to ask tomorrow.

To her own bed. Alone. Because she’s not that crazy.

Yet.

Chapter Text

Hermione ends up sleeping in her underwear, because despite what she said, she would never dare even try to borrow some of Narcissa Malfoy’s clothes, and going in search of Bellatrix’s room also seems dangerous on multiple levels.

No, she finds a clean, empty room and settles in. Empty wardrobe. Nothing under the bed. No boggart, spiders, doxies or other creatures in the drawers.

So that’s good enough for her at Grimmauld.

She does, however, still get woken up very early. To someone banging on her door.

She wraps a sheet around herself. “Who— what— before you come in can you please find me some other clothes?” she shouts confusedly, half-asleep and not wanting to put her stupid ballgown back on.

The banging stops. Loud whispering starts up.

“Your options are baggy shirt or slutty dress!” Sirius shouts. Then yelps. “What? I didn’t say slutty was bad. I have slutty clothes— what do you want me to call it?”

Hermione shuffles towards the door, trying not to laugh. “Shirt and trousers, please, if you don’t mind me shrinking them?”

This time she gets a bark in response. Scampering feet across wooden floors. And then silence.

Hermione rubs at her eyes. Leans against the door. “I’m…guessing you’re still there. Did something happen? Have Dumbledore or Harry replied? Don’t—” The door handle turns. She grabs it. “Boundaries. Please.”

It stills.

“I won’t look,” Bellatrix says quietly. “I was just going to give you Potter’s letter. I’d push it under the door, but Cissy’s charmed all of them. To stop the drafts and the spiders.”

Spiders? Thank you, Narcissa…

Hermione slowly opens the door. Peeks through the gap.

Bellatrix is leaning against the wall. Fully dressed, in a similar but slightly different dress to yesterday that…well slutty is the wrong word, but Sirius has a point about the necklines being a lot more daring than Hermione would be comfortable showing.

Not that she’s looking. That would be rude. Bellatrix can wear what she wants, it doesn’t mean—

And Bellatrix isn’t looking either. She’s kept her promise. Is staring studiously across the hall rather than in Hermione’s direction, even as the door creaks.

Hermione smiles. “Morning. Sorry. I’m not shy or anything, it’s just…boundaries. I feel like everything is happening quite quickly, and even though I do feel safe with you and Sirius, wearing clothes in front of you feels like…a sensible rule not to cross quite yet.”

Bellatrix’s face breaks into a grin. Still facing out into the corridor. She holds out a piece of parchment without turning. “Sounds sensible. Can’t have you wandering around without any clothes. Yet.”

Hermione takes the letter with a laugh. “You’re always on, aren’t you? Can never miss an opportunity.”

Bellatrix shrugs. “Why hold back? Live a little, Granger. Don’t wait. You might miss it. And hurry up and read that.”

Oh. Right… “Did you read it?” she asks as she unrolls it. Broken seal.

“Wagtail did. Knew it was from Potter and thought it might be urgent. Or that’s what he said. He’s not good with boundaries either.”

Hermione nods absentmindedly, already reading.

Hermione,

 

I’m glad you’re okay. This house-elf said you’re with the House of Black now, so…the house? Are you at the house? That Padfoot went to?

Everything here is crazy! I’m in the Hospital Wing (even though I’m fine, we’re all fine, it’s just Madam Pomfrey making a fuss, my leg is already healed, no scar or anything except…the usual) with Fleur, Luna, that Auror Tonks, and Narcissa Malfoy. Snape and Moody were here too for a bit, but they managed to get out of staying the night (Snape tried to take a hundred points from both of us and said I should be expelled for stunning him, but they wouldn’t let him).

We’re all just here because of the dementors. It was really bad, but once you were safe, we got away, and then Dumbledore, McGonagall and Moody arrived too and the dementors slowly left. Did they follow you?

I think the Ball is over, but I’m not sure. I can’t hear music. And Dumbledore has been in to talk to each of us about what we know. Me and Fleur had to explain some things…and you and Bellatrix are really going to have to explain yourselves. Sorry. What could we say?!

The good thing is, Tonks saw the whole thing and believes us about Pettigrew and Sirius. I didn’t realise she’s Sirius’ niece, I’m kind of related to her now! (And Bellatrix, that’s still weird. As well as Mrs Malfoy. Sirius is related to everyone!) Tonks says Moody already warned the aurors about Pettigrew after he saw him with Bellatrix over the summer. So Sirius could be given another chance! If only we caught Wormtail…

I told Dumbledore that he cut my leg. And it was deep! It was really bleeding. Dumbledore asked if he took any of the blood, like in a vial or something, but I didn’t see. Does that mean he could have used it for that ritual? Do we need to go to that graveyard? Will Voldemort come back? I don’t think he has yet, because Dumbledore would know.

Mr Crouch wants to talk to all of us too, but Madam Pomfrey won’t let him in. Says we need to rest. And everyone is wondering where you’ve gone. McGonagall keeps whisper-arguing with everyone. Dumbledore. Snape. Moody. But I think they all kind of trust Bellatrix a bit now. Because she’s with Sirius, and Sirius is innocent.

But yeah, they all want to know why you went with them, why you helped them, why you didn’t wait in the tunnel and then come back… which is why I think Sirius and Bellatrix are up to something and you’re helping. That’s why they came.

Oh, and Narcissa Malfoy won’t say anything. She says she doesn’t remember how she got here, but I think she’s faking this time. Snape gave her this weird look, and she stepped on his foot. I think on purpose. Maybe it’s a message. And I remember what you said about him being on our side. If Narcissa can’t remember, why was she with them tonight? (I think she’s fake sleeping right now. She’s too still. Has been ever since the house-elf showed up. I had to ask him some questions to prove he came from you, which he did, but he also called her Mistress Narcissa. I’m going to ask her if she wants to send a message. Sirius did say she’s just a spoilt snob like Draco, not evil, and she ran through the dementors to get help…)

Ok, she’s still ‘asleep’. But Tonks, Luna and Fleur say hi. Well, Fleur says you’re an idiot, but she loves you, and something about…if that witch gets you killed, she’ll kill her? So that must mean Bellatrix. Tonks keeps asking about Bellatrix too. I don’t know what to say!

I have way more to say to you, and to ask. I just hope you can come back tomorrow and sort this out. I can’t figure out what you’re going to do, but you always do. Dumbledore said not to worry and that he’ll contact you tomorrow. He says as we all did the right thing, we have nothing to worry about. That we were all brave to help save those in need, and that…it pays to be cautious? I don’t know what that means, because we definitely weren’t cautious.

Anyway, he said he was going to the Burrow tomorrow to order some things and have a Christmas gathering. I didn’t know he saw the Weasleys over Christmas. I’ll have to ask Ron and Ginny about that. He said all were welcome. I might ask Ron if I can go home with him tomorrow as it’s still the Christmas holidays and the Ball is over now.

I feel bad for Fleur and Viktor though, they’re kind of stuck here. Madame Maxime wants to take all the Beauxbatons back to France because it's not safe here, but Fleur has to keep competing, so she can’t go home. Unless…she just comes back for the next task. She really doesn’t want to leave though. It was all in French, but it sounded angry, and Tonks had to pull her back into bed.

I’ll send this now. Sorry I was so slow writing it and that my writing’s not great, we’re supposed to be sleeping and Madam Pomfrey keeps checking on us so I’m writing in secret and have to keep stopping.

See you soon, and say hi to Sirius and Bellatrix for me.

And Merry Christmas!

 

Harry

Oh. That…is a lot to think through.

But the main thing is—

Sirius skids around the corner, human once again, and stops in front of the door. Mock bows to Hermione and offers her some clothes. “Milady.”

She takes them. Smiles despite herself as he straightens and…Wait.

What is he wearing? Is that…

Hermione laughs. “Is that your ‘slutty’ outfit?”

His shirt is unbuttoned very low, open from just above his belly button. And he’s wearing tight trousers. And knee-high boots. All black. His whole outfit is black. Rings on his fingers. A long necklace.

Is this…to make fun of Bellatrix? Or his actual style when there aren’t any teenagers around?

Bellatrix is staring at him too.

And now glaring.

So there’s the answer.

Hermione quickly shuts the door on them and starts getting changed, relieved that this shirt has buttons up to the neck and that the material is magically alterable.

She shrinks it around her, doing the same with the trousers. Hears some kind of scuffle in the hallway and sighs. “So? Did you figure out Dumbledore’s message too?” she shouts.

“Order meeting at the Burrow today,” Bellatrix calls back. “And he wants us there.”

Hermione walks over to a slightly warped, rusted mirror to check her clothes are alright. And her hair.

It’ll do. She’s seen these two at a lot worse.

She goes back to the door. Yanks it open. “All of us? I really don’t think— well especially you, Bellatrix. You—”

Sirius is tied up on the floor. Tightly bound in black satin ribbons that criss-cross over his back like a corset. Stuck on his stomach, arms trapped to his sides.

He seems okay though. And probably deserved that.

Bellatrix takes her in. Smiles innocently. “Worried? I can defend myself, you know.” She glances at Sirius, her smile turning smug as he wriggles and rolls around.

Hermione folds her arms. “Against the whole Order? Including Dumbledore?”

Bellatrix turns and saunters off down the corridor, hips swaying. Then starts skipping. “What do you mean? I’m the person Dumbledore wants the most. He won’t let anything happen to me. It’s you and Wags that have to be careful.”

What?!

Hermione follows after her. “Why do you think that?! That’s completely—”

Bellatrix scoffs. Turns around. Walks backwards. “He knows I’ve abandoned the Cause. That I'm on the run from both sides. That my life is tied to his tournament. And that I’m an excellent fighter. What’s not to want?”

Oh.

“So…you think he’ll…use you?” Hermione asks slowly, feeling slightly queasy. The Greater Good…

Bellatrix nods. “Time for an exchange. Information for information. Fighting power for political power. I need him too. To let me compete in the tournament. I’m not losing my magic.”

“Hello?!” Sirius shouts from back down the corridor. “I don’t have a wand, you know!”

He doesn’t have a wand?

Of course he doesn’t. Azkaban. He had to use Ron’s wand before, in the Shrieking Shack. So this whole time—

Hermione turns around. Casts a relashio. “You were doing all this without a wand?! You were going to kill Wormtail as a dog?! I can’t believe—”

She spins back around to give Bellatrix a disbelieving look. “Why did you let him do that?! That’s so stupid! Where— How do you have a wand?”

Bellatrix rolls her eyes. “Cissy got mine when I ‘died’. And I told you he’s an idiot. He doesn’t listen to me! Cissy was going to get him a wand from Ollivander’s, but the old crackpot just smiled at her and said ‘the wand chooses the wizard, not the witch’. We’ve sent off for a Gregorovitch one instead. It hasn’t turned up yet.”

Sirius snuffles past them, tail low. Thumps down the stairs.

Definitely an avoidance tactic.

Hermione takes the opportunity to talk to Bellatrix a bit more privately. Joins her, leaning against the banister and looking down at the entrance hall as Sirius pads down and out of sight. “So…you thought this through already,” Hermione whispers. “You told me to tell Dumbledore.”

Bellatrix nods. “Best option,” she murmurs back. “And…you should be alright too. You have information too. Just don’t go giving it all to him straight away. Tell him there are things you can’t tell him. That only you know. And don’t say you’re here to help Potter. Say you’re here by accident.”

Hermione sighs. “I am here by accident.”

Bellatrix snorts. “I know. You have no idea what you’re doing. Worse than me. I read you wrong. Thought you had a plan. But you’re clueless, aren’t you?”

Hermione ignores the jab. And the question. “What’s your plan?” she asks instead.

Doesn’t get a reply. Of course. Bellatrix just keeps staring down at the lower floors. Leans further over the banister.

And further.

Further— tips forward—

Hermione pulls her back.

Bellatrix laughs. “Oh you so care about me! How weird! What the hell kind of future are you from? So you don’t know me? Really?”

Hermione groans frustratedly. “Do you know me? Do you—”

Hermione leans up on the banister too. Tips forward. She’s not worried. She has her wand. Can cast an arresto momentum—

Bellatrix pulls her back, fist clenched in her shirt. “I already saved you from a dragon, what more do you— fine! No! I don’t know you, alright? I just know you now.”

Hermione turns to face her. Finally. “And your plan is—”

“To get through this!” Bellatrix shouts.

Her voice echoes off the walls. Hermione stills.

“To get far away from Azkaban, and never go back!” Bellatrix continues, gesturing wildly. “To make sure Sirius doesn’t get himself hurt, or killed! To teach these bloody kids how to really fight. How not to fight. To take a step back, and be rational, and not be on the frontlines for once. To persuade my sisters to talk to me again, and trust me, and stop looking at me with such…disappointment! I fucked up my life! I’m trying again. And I have no fucking idea if I’m in the right place, or if I’m doing it right, or if I’ll just make another mistake and be sent right back. But then— but then there’s you!”

She waves her hands confusedly at Hermione. Splayed fingers. Empty hands. Cracking voice. “You’re not supposed to be here! You’re from the future! Which means— which means you must know if I fuck this up.”

And her words fade once more. Spiral down. From the penultimate floor to the bottom, no longer loud enough to set off the portrait of Warlburga.

Bellatrix leans against the banister again. Rests her arms on it. Her head on her arms, face half hidden. Looking out. “And you…you keep watching me,” she says quietly. “And I can’t tell…if you’re scared…or not.”

Oh.

Answers. Some answers.

Is…Did Hermione get this wrong? Is Bellatrix from another universe?

Or is she from this one? And just decided to change?

But then how does she have Harry’s cloak?

Hermione…takes a slow breath. And releases it. Tries to decide…how much to say.

Stands next to Bellatrix. Against her. Sides brushing.

And…places a hand on her arm. Okay then. Answers for answers. “I’m…not from here, Bellatrix,” she says gently. “I’m not from this…future. So I can’t tell you what will happen. But I can tell you that…I don’t know you. I only know you now. And I— I’m not scared of you.”

Because…she’s not. Not really. Whatever fear she had…has faded. Or split off. There’s the Bellatrix that hurt her…and this one. That hasn’t hurt her at all. That has probably done some horrible things too, just admitted that, but is ashamed of it. Of what she did. Of her actions. Her beliefs. Her prejudice. Has spent ten years hiding.

Bellatrix turns her head. Still resting on her arms.

So now her mouth is very close to Hermione’s hand.

Bellatrix raises an eyebrow. “Not scared? Not even a little?”

Hermione smiles down at her. Almost shakes her head. Because right now, Bellatrix is anything but scary.

But other times... “Well, okay,” Hermione admits. “Maybe a little. Is anyone not intimidated by you?”

Bellatrix bites her lip. Considering. “Yes. A lot of people. Cissy…Frank…Lovegood…Ratty...”

Hermione laughs. “Ratty isn’t a person. And how would you know? How can you tell if a rat is intimidated?”

Bellatrix smiles. Stands up straight.

Reaches under her dress and pulls out a rat. Which…where on Earth…?

No explanation, Bellatrix just runs down the corridor. Puts the rat at the end. Runs back.

And crouches down. “Come here, Ratty! Come to Bella!”

For a moment, the rat just sits there. Cleans its paws. Its face.

Then walks away.

Bellatrix laughs, standing up. “See! If he was scared, he would have done as he was told!”

She— What— what? “That’s complete nonsense!” Hermione exclaims. “That’s— So if he’d come to you—”

“—Then that would show he loves me,” Bellatrix finishes with a grin. Leans closer to Hermione, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Sometimes, the rules are fixed!” she whispers loudly. Winks.

Hermione laughs again. Smiles back. She’s so…

Cute.

Uh oh.

And Bellatrix grabs her. “Now, come on! Breakfast. Then the Burrow. You’re going to need your energy if you’re going to play human shield for me and Wagtail. Dumbledore didn’t say a time, so we’re going to have to just show up and hope Molly Weasley doesn’t have a heart attack. Or kill us.”

Killed by Mrs Weasley? Well that’s an unfortunate—

And she starts dragging Hermione down the stairs.

Hermione tries to push her off. Then clings on as she accidentally misses a step. “We’ll both die in a second if you don’t— careful! Stop— why are you pulling me and—”

“You’re not scared of me. So I don’t have to hold back anymore. Such a relief. Do you know how hard it’s been avoiding getting too close or—”

Hermione casts a silencio at her to cut her off as they reach the last staircase, next to the portrait. Finally manages to pull Bellatrix to a stop. Walks them slowly and calmly to the kitchen door.

Cancels the silencio, and gives the witch a stern look. “Boundaries. Just because I’m not scared doesn’t mean you can touch me without my permission. Don’t you know that? You must do. You were a professor, and you never touched anyone inappropriately.”

Bellatrix ducks her head. “I wasn’t friends with anyone as Moody. He’s a paranoid bastard. Wouldn’t touch anyone. Wouldn’t be friends with anyone.”

Friends?

Hermione clears her throat. “Oh. You’re…touching me because we’re friends?”

Bellatrix’s head shoots up. She smiles slyly. Leans past Hermione to push open the door. Leans close. “We can be more than friendly if you want,” she purrs close to Hermione’s ear. “My room’s still open. Were you cold last night? We—”

Nope! This is not— focus, Hermione! Ignore— hot breath and—

Hermione turns around. Trots down the steps into the basement and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Good morning, Kreacher. This looks nice. Thank you for…”

Breakfast. And Sirius reading the Prophet whilst he drinks his coffee.

There’s a picture of Hermione and Fleur on the front page. Dancing. Uhh…

Sirius smiles at her toothily from over the paper. “The ball looked fun. We really did interrupt, didn’t we? French? Witch? Veela? Stunning blonde? All of the above?”

“What?!” Bellatrix shouts. “Delacour?! I told you to stay away from— give me that!”

She snatches the paper from Sirius. Leafs through it. Paces behind Hermione. “Bla bla bla…dementors…cut short…Harry Potter…mysterious disappearance…Hogwarts champion and date, Fleur Delacour! What— She’s a rival champion! What kind of diplomatic nightmare is that?!”

Hermione scoffs. “That’s your problem? She’s a champion? I told you, I like her. And I trust her. She’s my friend.” She takes a sip of orange juice. Shrugs. Probably time to come out. “And a very good kisser. She’s taught me a lot,” she manages to say calmly, even if her face is heating up a bit.

There’s a beat of dead silence.

Then Sirius bursts out laughing. Points behind Hermione at Bellatrix. “Ha! Oh! Oh, you were stuck in a creepy old man’s body and— and now Granger— Gods, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in ages! So she’s your girlfriend?” he asks Hermione, wiping tears from his eyes.

There’s a suspicious silence from behind her. It’s…still quite intimidating, actually.

But Hermione just pours herself some cereal. “We haven’t labelled it. Nothing exclusive. We’re just…having fun whilst she’s here for the tournament. She really is a very good friend. A very talented witch.”

“I bet she is,” Sirius snorts.

The door to the kitchen slams shut.

Oops.

Hermione turns around. Gone.

She cringes. Turns back to Sirius.

Eats some more cereal in the awkward silence. Watches him sip his coffee. “Does…was that…does Bellatrix really like me?” Hermione whispers cautiously. “I thought she was just…flirty!”

Sirius frowns. “That’s what I thought too,” he muses. “I was just teasing. I didn’t think…shit. She’s a bit hard to gauge.”

Hermione drops her spoon. Well, obviously! “You think?” she says sarcastically. “She’s the most difficult person to gauge. What— what has she told you? About who she is? Or about me?”

He sighs. “Not very much. She avoids it. She’s hiding something still, I just don’t know what. But… I think I was wrong about her. Didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt when— she spoke to me in Azkaban. Years ago. Spoke to me the whole time she was there. Told me that she was going to make things right. No more killing, ‘sharing her power’ or something like that. She didn’t want to…be selfish anymore. Kept telling me she loved me, and that I was going to get out. That it wasn’t my fault. That she knew I was innocent, that my— my friends would be proud of me. That I— I had to— that Harry needed me, so I had to be strong. She—”

And the door bangs open again. Bellatrix. With the Prophet still, but also some parchment, and a quill and ink.

She walks around the table and sits down next to Sirius, passing her armful of stuff across to Hermione. “Here. You should write to Delacour and let her know…well, whatever. It must suck for her being stuck at the Castle without you. And she hates the cold. She must be miserable. And worried.”

Oh. Well—

Will she stop changing her personality every five seconds! So she wasn’t angry or jealous or—

“You know her?” Hermione asks as that fact registers in her brain. The cold. How does Bellatrix know that Fleur is always so cold?

Bellatrix gives her a weird look. “I was the DADA professor. The only DADA professor. I know all the students. All of their strengths and weaknesses. She…well, you’re right. She’s talented. Quick. A good fighter. Too quick to anger, but it works well for her. But too arrogant. That will cost her. She’s probably never failed in her life. If she wants something, she gets it. She’s a bit like Cissy that way. It’ll be a steep learning curve when she enters the real world.”

Hermione frowns. “She understands the real world. She’s part veela. She’s had to put up with that. How people see her. Or don’t see her. In the real world.”

Bellatrix reaches for some toast with a considering nod. “True. I’ll give you that. Must be a fucking nightmare having wizards all over her all the time. Or wanting to be all over her.”

And she suddenly grabs Sirius’ face. Turns him towards her. “Promise me you won’t flirt with her, Wagtail. That you’ll leave her alone. Resist the thrall.”

Sirius pulls back, coughing and rubbing at his face. “I was drinking! What was that— I’ve never even met the witch! But fine, I promise, I guess.”

Bellatrix nods. Butters her toast. “Good. Because you will meet her. She’s eighteen. A champion. Has to stay here for the tournament too, and…well, she won’t be leaving Hermione. Dumbledore will snap her up in an instant. New recruit. She came to help with the dementors, remember? But didn’t cast a patronus. Another brave soul with a bit of self-sacrifice in them.”

Hermione stares across the table at Bellatrix. “You…do this with everyone? Figure them out?” she murmurs. “Strengths and weaknesses?”

Bellatrix chews. Swallows. Shrugs. “Have to know people’s weaknesses to help them. Plus it’s interesting. Plus she’s got herself involved with you, which means she’s involved in all this. Plus…”

And she grins. Picks up the Prophet again to look at the pictures on the front page. “Plus, she’s part veela. Stunning. You think I’m not watching her? I’m not blind! Ugh, and she can dance too. You can both dance? Why couldn’t I have gone to the Ball? Siri, we miss out on all the fun! And look at the way she—”

Don’t—

Hermione snatches the paper back. Folds it up. “No more staring. It’s rude,” she grits out. “And we need to hurry up and finish breakfast.”

She looks down and focuses on her cereal, not that she’s very hungry. Her stomach is— will people stop gawping at Fleur for her looks? It’s…it cheapens her. So what if she’s part veela? Yes, she’s beautiful, but she’s also so kind, and warm, and funny and—

“Lesbians,” Sirius mutters under his breath.

“How’s Moony, Wagtail?” Bellatrix asks. “Hmm? Written to him yet? You know, he’s a member of the Order. Guess we’ll be seeing him today. You going to change your outfit, or—”

Sirius jerks to his feet, chair falling over. “You think he’ll be there? Shit!”

Hermione looks up. Oh. Oh!

She smiles at Sirius. “Maybe you shouldn’t change your outfit. It might be a good distraction. A talking point. If you’re nervous, or—”

“I’m not nervous!”

He’s so nervous. She’s never seen Sirius this…jumpy.

Bellatrix cackles. Stands up and pushes at him. “Then let’s get ready to go! I think we’re done with breakfast. Go wash your paws, and clean your teeth, and—”

Sirius walks off. “I’m having a bath. I haven’t had a bath in— Which bath works now? Which one did Cissa— never mind. I’ll find it. I’ll ask— Kreacher!”

The door swings shut behind him.

Hermione laughs. “He likes Lupin? They’re together?” She’d never known that. Although she’d had some suspicions. She’d caught a few looks. Softly spoken words.

Bellatrix shrugs. “Dunno. They had something going on at Hogwarts, and maybe after, but I wasn’t…Cissy thinks so. But she was out of the loop too.”

Hermione starts clearing up, smiling to herself. Sends some dishes to the sink. “You…gossiped with Narcissa about this?”

Bellatrix hovers things back into the cupboards too, peeking into them as she drifts around the room curiously, still munching on some toast. “Of course! Wags loves the bloke, either as a friend or more. We needed to know about him. And there isn’t much left to talk about after a decade of—”

She breaks off.

“Right,” Hermione says. “Draco…told us you lived there. Hid there. For…most of his life, I guess.”

Bellatrix pauses. Strokes her hand over a cupboard.

Then turns to smile. “He was a really annoying toddler. Always crying, and whinging. Snotty. One of those permanently snotty kids. Gross.”

And she walks off too. Up the steps to the door.

“You saw him? Met him? He said you were a secret,” Hermione calls.

Bellatrix laughs. “Who really remembers being two? Or three? Had to meet my nephew, didn’t I? Even if I…had to disappear afterwards. I was imaginary…for a while.”

She opens the door. “Write that letter to Delacour, Granger. It’s still early. We have time.”

And she’s gone.

Hermione looks down at the Prophet. Unfolds it. Watches herself dance with Fleur. Watches them smile. Laugh.

Photo-Fleur meets her eye. Over her other self’s shoulder. Stares through the paper at her.

Hermione waves.

Fleur rolls her eyes through a smile. Pulls Hermione close and turns them around.

Dances away across the ballroom.

They decide that Hermione should be the one to go through the floo first. No-one will raise a wand at her. Hopefully.

She takes a last breath. Grabs the floo powder. “I’ll come back in a few minutes to get you. Or not. Depending if— don’t come through until I’m ready.”

She aims that mainly at Sirius. Because he’s an idiot, and Bellatrix isn’t.

He crosses his heart. Over his bare chest.

The slutty outfit has stayed. These cousins are quite the pair.

Oh gods what has Hermione gotten herself into?

Just go! It’s Mrs Weasley, not a dragon!

She throws down the powder, shouts the address, and spins away into green flames—

Steps out of the fire. Into the living room. At the Burrow. Straight into a group of people.

Silence.

And then Hermione is being hugged tightly. Red hair tickling her chin. “You’re okay! Thank fuck—”

“Ginevra Molly Weasley! When did you sneak in here? Out! Up to your room! Now!”

Ginny pulls back. “But Mum! She’s my friend! And I know about Sirius, and Bellatrix, and—”

Mrs Weasley pushes past Moody and Tonks, almost knocking them over, wand raised. “And you will be sent back to Hogwarts in a minute if you don’t do as you’re told. Upstairs with the boys!”

Ginny freezes.

Glances at a suspiciously empty corner of the room.

Are they under the cloak?

And Ginny is ferried away up the stairs by Mrs Weasley.

Hermione looks around. It really is everyone. Dumbledore in a nearby armchair. Mr Weasley hovering anxiously but excitedly. But also more people at the long dining table. McGonagall. Kingsley.

Lupin. He did come. He…Oh Hermione forgot…

There he is. Looking tired, but younger than she remembers. Sipping at a cup of tea. Alive. It’s so strange, so ordinary, so…

And with Tonks here too. But they haven’t gotten together yet. Probably don’t know each other at all, Tonks standing with Moody instead. She might not even be in the Order yet. This might be her first meeting.

No Snape. The only noticeable absence. But everyone else…

Dumbledore stands up. “Welcome, Miss Granger. As Miss Weasley so…colourfully put, I’m sure everyone here is very relieved to see you unhurt. You are…unhurt, of course?”

Hermione smiles. Shrugs awkwardly, gesturing to herself. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Then doesn’t know what else to say. Where to start.

Lupin clears his throat. “Come and sit down, Hermione. You’ve had a difficult night. Arthur, do you have any chocolate, or—”

“Bellatrix and Sirius already gave me some,” Hermione interrupts. Walks over to sit with him as the silence grows thicker. “Because that’s who I’ve been with. The reason we’re all here, right? Partly?”

Dumbledore laughs. “Quite right. Perhaps we should move things along.”

He takes a seat at the head of the table. McGonagall on one side, Kingsley on the other.

Everyone else joins them. Mr and Mrs Weasley opposite Hermione and Lupin. Tonks next to her.

Moody stays standing, even though there’s a space next to Kingsley. Stands in the corner by the back door instead, watching the door and the fireplace.

It’s still weird seeing him.

Dumbledore sighs. “Now then. First things first. I believe it is now abundantly clear, and needs to be officially acknowledged, that Sirius Black is innocent. He was not the secret keeper for Lily and James. Peter Pettigrew was. Peter Pettigrew betrayed his friends, framed Sirius for the murder of many innocent bystanders, and faked his own death by hiding in his animagus form. As a rat. A rat, that Alastor, Miss Tonks, and I believe many of the children have seen.”

Muttering breaks out. Lupin nods. “It’s true. I saw him too, last year. Last summer. Sirius was— he is truly innocent. Should never have gone to— he should— why wasn’t there a trial, Headmaster? Why—”

“You’ve known all this time?” McGonagall interrupts. “Whilst the poor man has been in hiding? And Mr Potter! Does he know? Does—”

“But he was with Bellatrix!” Tonks shouts.

All falls quiet again.

Tonks turns to look at Hermione. “What’s with Bellatrix? She’s the one that’s the big mystery. She saved you. She didn’t hurt Mad-Eye. She taught all you kids to fight. And she was yelling at Potter to get away right before Pettigrew attacked. My mum don’t even mention her or nothing because she’s so horrible. After the things she’s done. What she believes about bloodpurity, that we’re traitors, that my Dad ain’t worthy or all that crap. So what gives? What gives with her talking to you?”

Hermione looks around at everyone. Raises her chin. Looks them all in the eye. “Bellatrix has changed. We’ve all seen it. And I…I’m vouching for her. She’s not a bloodpurist anymore. She’s not a Death Eater anymore. She’s…my friend, and I trust her. Because I know what she used to be like, but she’s changed. She wants to change.”

Lupin bursts into hoarse laughter. As do a few other people. Scoffs of disbelief. “You don’t know her, Miss Granger,” Lupin says softly. Patronisingly. “Not at all. If you really knew who she was, you never—”

“Sirius trusts her,” Hermione snaps. “And she loves Sirius. She told him. She’s looking after him. She found him.”

She stands up. Begins listing, counting on each finger. “She’s caring for Sirius. She saved me from a dragon. She gave Neville Longbottom a book that could help him heal his parents. She has pet creatures that she cares for every day. She’s forbidden her house-elf from calling me a mudblood. She has a friend who is a muggle. And last night she helped me and Sirius stop Voldemort from returning from the dead.”

Her voice echoes around the room. She glares at them all. Daring them to argue. “So. There’s seven reasons. Seven ways I know her. How many more do you want?”

“Stopped You Know Who…returning?” Mrs Weasley whispers.

Oh.

Hermione deflates. Sits back down. Looks at Dumbledore. Then at Tonks. “That’s why Pettigrew came to the Ball. He came to get blood from Harry. To perform a ritual. Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son. Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master. Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe.”

She rubs at her eyes with a sigh. “Bellatrix and Sirius were tracking Pettigrew. Bellatrix knew about the ritual. Knew where to find the grave of Voldemort’s father. She took us there. Sirius vanished the bones in time. Because she told him. Because she helped us.”

“She’s changed sides,” McGonagall says quietly. “Bellatrix Black.”

Oh. Hope. Such hope. Such…sad hope.

Hermione nods. “And she wants to come here. To share information. They both do. They’re waiting for me to tell them it’s safe. That you won’t hurt them, or send them back to Azkaban. That you won’t turn them in.”

And muttering breaks out once more.

“Here? Here?! My children are here!”

“— two of them at once—”

“— the whole Order! Access to—”

“Now? Sirius is coming now?”

“— and we can’t forget the Longbottoms—”

“Hey!” comes a shout from the living room.

And Harry is suddenly there. And Ron, looking like he wants to sink into the carpet. Or vanish back under the cloak as his parents glare at him.

“Hermione is right,” Harry says, coming forward, head held high. “They’re not dangerous. I’ve met both of them too. And— and think how scared they are! They’re trusting all of us. We could send them back to Azkaban. They’re outnumbered. And if what Hermione said is true, they just betrayed Voldemort! They almost died from the dementors to try to save me. Neither of them can cast a patronus. There were hundreds of dementors. But they came anyway. Even after Azkaban. They were brave. Shouldn’t— shouldn’t we be brave too? Let them in? Sirius is my family. My only family. And— well I guess Bellatrix is too. And you, Tonks. They’re our family.”

A few mouths open to argue, but no argument comes. Harry gets soft looks instead. Teary eyes.

Lupin clears his throat. Stands up. “Well said, Harry. But…I’d like you to know…that we’re your family too. You can choose people to be your family. Blood doesn’t matter.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. Smiles awkwardly. Looks at Ron and Hermione. “I know. The…well the Weasleys are my family too—”

Mrs Weasley gasps wetly, tears already filling her eyes.

“— And Hermione,” Harry continues. “And…and all of you are…you fought with my parents. Fought for the Light. You are the Light. So if people want to join us and help…shouldn’t we let them? Forgive them? Like— like Professor Snape, right?”

Dumbledore chuckles. “Like Professor Snape indeed. I should no longer be surprised at how wise you are, Harry, but it seems I keep forgetting, and you continue to surpass my greatest expectations.”

And he turns to Hermione. “Why don’t you go and fetch our guests? I believe there is room at the table for two more. They are most welcome.”

Okay. Okay, it…feels like he means it. Seems like they’ve done it. They won’t fight in front of Harry, right?

Hermione moves over to the fireplace.

“You cannot be serious, Albus!” Moody barks.

“Extremely,” Dumbledore says firmly.

And Hermione throws the floo powder in and shouts the address, knowing the fidelius charm will stop anyone hearing. Sticks her head in the flames.

Looks up at two very quiet, twitchy Blacks. Smiles. “You can come through. Both of you. Harry and I have talked them around. It’s a full house though, just to warn you.”

“Harry’s there?” Sirius whispers.

Then almost steps on her head.

Hermione crawls back. “Sirius! Be careful! You—”

And he walks through. Alone.

Steps into the living room, brushing the powder off himself.

Then turns and grins at the table. “Good morning, everyone! Or is it lunchtime yet? Anything cooking, Molly?”

“Sirius!” Harry shouts. “You’re— you look—”

He drifts off confusedly as he notices the outfit.

Sirius laughs. “Dashing? Merry Christmas, Harry. I’m sorry I couldn’t send you a gift in time. I’ll have to think of something, once my assets are a bit more liquid and less frozen.”

“Spent your inheritance already, have you?” Lupin calls. Smiles fondly. “I told you not to buy that motorbike.”

And Sirius is already across the room, pulling him up to hug him. “You’re looking pale, Moony. Time of the month?”

Lupin laughs. “Just passed. You’re safe. And looking…”

He pulls back. Looks Sirius over. “You look…alright,” he says in surprise.

Sirius barks out a laugh. “Alright? I look bloody fantastic— sorry, Molly, language, kids, I know, and oh, hi, Dora. Tonks. Remember me? Probably not. Your mum kept me away. Bad influence. She wanted to keep you out of the war. Looks like you took after me, though. Or maybe Bella—”

And he finally stops talking. Snaps his mouth shut. Wow. What was that? Very manic. Rambling. He really is nervous.

And now looks like he’s biting his own tongue.

Steps back from Lupin. Looks towards the fireplace. Whines. Doglike.

“Is Bellatrix coming too?” Harry asks innocently from the edge of the sofa.

Molly gets up. “Upstairs with you. Come on. You shouldn’t be down here anyway.”

“And neither should Hermione!” she adds, as if she just remembered. “Hermione, dear? Why don’t you go upstairs to Ginny’s room and—”

Hermione laughs gently. “No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. I think I’m better off here. I’ll go and see what’s keeping Bellatrix.”

Mrs Weasley frowns. Pauses, pushing Harry and Ron up the stairs. “What? Oh. No. Now, I know what you said, and it’s very kind of you dear that you feel…sorry for the witch. But what you don’t understand is—”

“I do. I really do,” Hermione pushes.

Sirius laughs. “Knows more than all of us combined,” he mutters. “Go and get her. She went looking for her rat, but I think that was just an excuse. She’s scared.”

And he ruffles Lupin’s hair. “We finally found it, Moony. Something Bella’s scared of.”

Lupin frowns, hair stuck up everywhere. “And what’s that?”

Sirius sits down where Hermione had been. “Brightest witch of her age? She’s scared of failure. She’s trying to be good. To do the right thing. So. This is quite the test, isn’t it? We’d better send our other brightest witch to help her along.”

And he turns to smile at Hermione. Gestures to the fireplace.

Failure? That’s her fear?

That is kind of what the Harry-boggart said…

Brightest witch of her age. She hadn’t expected her own fear of failure to correlate quite that closely. But it does make sense.

She glances at McGonagall, suddenly hit with the strange image of her coming out of a wardrobe for teenage Bellatrix too.

Then shakes the thought away. Walks over to the fireplace. “None of you draw your wands,” she says firmly.

Grabs the floo powder—

And the floo sounds just as she moves to step in. Bellatrix steps out. Smacks into her. “Oh shit! Granger!”

And they go falling onto the carpet. Oof!

Ow.

Hermione groans. Rubs her chin. “Ow! You head butted me in the— What are you—”

Bellatrix is reaching between them. Hands groping, and searching, and—

Hermione pushes her off. “Seriously?! Boundaries! What is wrong with—”

Bellatrix finds the rat. Grabs the rat.

Ratty.

She sits up and looks him over carefully. “We almost squashed him! Do you think he’s hurt? Can you do a diagnostic spell on animals? Diagnostico!”

Some lights shine off his little body. Different colours. “Uh…is that good or bad?” Hermione asks.

Bellatrix tuts. “I don’t know. But no red, so that seems good.”

She taps his nose. Strokes his head. Runs a careful finger over him. He doesn’t squeak or flinch.

Hermione strokes him too. Checks his ribs. Smiles. “He seems okay, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix smiles back. Sighs in relief. Puts him back under her skirt somewhere, winking at Hermione.

Then looks up. As does Hermione.

Everyone is staring at them.

Which is kind of expected. Shock, luckily, rather than fear or anger.

Bellatrix smiles weirdly. “It’s not Pettigrew, I swear. Different rat. My rat. Real rat. Ratty. Oh. Hi, Potter. Nice socks. Christmas present?”

Hermione rubs at her face tiredly. Blacks. They really are awkward when they’re nervous.

And always know how to make an entrance.

Chapter Text

Harry looks down at his sock, taking a few steps down the stairs. “Uh, yeah. Luna got them for me. Or made them, I think. Did…you have a nice Christmas?”

Oh. He actually does have quite unusual socks on. Mismatched. She can’t quite see—

Stand up, Hermione! What are you doing?

She gets up off the floor, accepting a helping hand from Bellatrix, who laughs softly. “Yeah, our Christmas was okay. Other than the dementors. And we didn’t exactly get each other any presents. Can’t go shopping when you’re on the run.”

She turns to point accusingly at Dumbledore. “Which Sirius shouldn’t be! When are you going to tell everyone he’s innocent? You’ve known for ages now! You should clear his name!”

Dumbledore raises an eyebrow. “And your name?”

Bellatrix lowers her hand. Twitches. Glances to the fireplace.

Looks back to the table. “Well, I’m not innocent, am I?” she says quietly. “The Ministry will want me…back behind bars. Safe behind bars. Where I can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore says. “So you have hurt people?”

And at this Bellatrix frowns. Steps closer. “Yes? You know who I am, right? You all— Do I need to introduce myself? I thought it was obvious.”

Tonks scoffs. “You don’t need no introduction. We all know who you are. It’s just fishy you’ve had such a personality flip.”

Bellatrix looks at her. And looks at her. Stares at Tonks, almost longingly. It’s a bit weird.

Hermione nudges her. “Stop it!” she hisses.

Bellatrix nudges her back. “No. Stop telling me what to do!”

And she walks over to sit down at the far end of the table, two empty seats from Tonks.

Everyone watches her warily. Wands twitch. But don’t draw. Although some chairs squeak back, and there are a lot of glances at Dumbledore.

Who seems as calm and relaxed as ever.

Hermione glances at Harry and Ron, still stood at the bottom of the stairs. Waves and mouthes a hello. Gets a couple of smiles.

Then goes to sit next to Bellatrix.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “Miss Granger, If I might ask you a rather personal question?”

Personal?

Umm…has he caught her staring at Bellatrix or something? Has she been staring? She doesn’t think so. She’s kind of pushed those thoughts aside. It’s more sensible. Even though she knows it’s fine and— Is this a gaydar thing? Has he picked up on their…whatever it is? Like everyone did with her and Fleur?

Dumbledore chuckles quietly. “I thought that might be a bit of an uncomfortable question, but in the spirit of trust and openness for which you have so valiantly advocated, I would just like to ask…how old are you, Miss Granger?”

Oh. Shit. Fuck.

“Well, she’s fifteen, I think, Headmaster,” Mrs Weasley says. “Yes? Your birthday was in September, wasn’t it dear.”

Hermione smiles weakly.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Ron says from behind her. “Few months older than us, isn’t she Harry? Almost a year older than you.”

Harry clears his throat. “The oldest in our year.”

Bellatrix and Sirius both start coughing. Hands over their mouths. Not disguising their laughter at all.

Not helpful.

Tonks looks back and forth between them. “What is it? You two had better not give us some weird illness. Because it sounds weird. Whooping cough? What you laughing at?”

Bellatrix stops laughing. Leans to whisper to Hermione. “He knows. No point hiding it any longer. Go on. Tell us.”

Hermione holds back a shiver, because apparently her body just does that now when witches whisper in her ear. She blames Fleur.

Fleur, who also knows. Fleur knows. Bellatrix knows. Sirius knows. Harry and Ron and Ginny know. Snape knows. Dumbledore knows.

And it would mean she might get out of going to fourth-year classes. No more History of Magic…

She sighs. “Fine. Fine, I—”

She turns to look at Bellatrix and Sirius instead. Tells them. “Twenty-five. I’m twenty-five. Happy?”

There’s a pause.

Bellatrix looks her up and down again, eyebrow raising. “Hmm. I was about right, then.”

Tonks blinks at Hermione too. Realisation spreading across her face. “You…ain’t a kid. You ain’t a teenager. I thought you looked my age! Just thought cos you was with Ginny— But how?”

Hermione smiles. Shrugs. Remembers what Bellatrix said about answers. “I can’t tell you much. Time-travel. Accidental. I’m not here on purpose. And I probably shouldn’t say anything else. There are rules.”

Bellatrix laughs again. Loudly. Bursts out laughing. “Sorry! Nothing! Didn’t mean— You wouldn’t get it. Inside joke. Me to me.”

She keeps laughing. Obviously trying to stop, but whatever it is has tickled her.

Hermione smiles nervously at everyone’s slightly terrified faces. “Ignore her. She’s a bit mad,” she jokes.

And now Sirius is laughing too. “She’s mad? You, Hermione, are completely insane! So casual. ‘I’m from the future, but don’t mind me, don’t ask any questions. Don’t ask why I’m suddenly best friends with Bellatrix’. Even I don’t understand how that happened!”

Wha— “She’s not my— best friend? It’s not— she’s your cousin. I just…this just…”

Bellatrix’s laughter stops. “Are you two fighting over not being friends with me? Well that’s just great! Thanks a lot! Nice to know.”

Sirius grins at her. “Sorry, Bells. My best friend spot is already filled, right Remus?” He throws an arm around Lupin. “You could try someone else.”

McGonagall clears her throat. “Would you all perhaps take this a bit more seriously?” she snaps. “This is— Time-travel? This is a serious matter. A serious claim.”

“Serious,” Tonks mutters under her breath. Or maybe ‘Sirius’.

McGonagall glares. “Miss Tonks. Sit up straight and behave. You are not too old for me to take points from Hufflepuff House.”

Tonks quickly straightens, hair flickering to mousy and back.

“It is serious,” Bellatrix suddenly says, humour gone. A dark edge to her voice. “So Granger is right. The less we talk about it the better.”

“And who made you the expert, Black?” Moody barks. “You’re sitting there very confidently for someone who infiltrated Hogwarts not long ago. Who is responsible for the torture of two of our own, and the deaths of countless others!” he growls. Hits his staff on the floor, making everyone jump.

Bellatrix doesn’t jump. Tilts her head sideways. Gives him a considering look. “I can take three to one,” she says gently. “You have eight to one. Eight to two, if you don’t trust Sirius at all, but he doesn’t have a wand, as you’ve probably noticed.”

She gestures lightly at the back door. “Four exits. One nearest you.”

Moody’s eye whizzes around. His fingers tap on the staff.

“I have killed,” Bellatrix continues quietly, not needing to raise her voice in the silence. “I have tortured people for information. I fought in a war. You think I’m self-serving. Can’t be trusted to stick to a side. I’ve turned on the Dark Lord. But I’m a Slytherin. I have goals. Ambitions. And I’ve decided that Voldemort isn’t all he’s cracked up to be. Doesn’t have the right view of the world. That bloodpurity isn’t as significant as my family made it out to be. That the world is a hell of a lot bigger, and more complicated, and pretty pointless, actually. There’s no rhyme or reason to anything. Except for love. Except for family. Except for what you make of it, and the people by your side, and the fight you choose. And I think you know that I’m not self-serving. That I can be trusted to stick to a side. Because I may be a Slytherin, but that means I’d do anything for what I believe in. I’ve stuck my neck out here, Moody. I’ve rolled the dice and come here knowing it might be the bloody end of me. That I might be shipped off back to hell on Earth. But I came. And I want the Dark Lord fucking dead, do you?”

He just nods in response. Grunts. Probably because…what the hell do you say to that? Wow. What— that was…

Hermione stares at Bellatrix, slightly in awe of how…

She’s not sure. Doesn’t know what it is. That was just very impressive. She’s so impressive.

Bellatrix nods too. “Good. Because I am the expert. Here I am. Dark Lord Expert. Right-hand gone rogue. Want to know what he eats for breakfast? Used to eat. Now he milks a snake. Or Wormtail does.”

There’s a pause as her words sink in.

Hermione grimaces. “Snake milk? I thought you were joking. Snakes don’t produce milk! That’s so disgusting— what does that mean?”

Bellatrix turns to Hermione and bares her teeth. Taps her canines with her nails. “No, milk the venom. Extract it. For a potion. Of course there isn’t milk.”

Right, because drinking venom makes so much more sense.

Dumbledore claps. “I think perhaps now would be a good time for Miss Granger and Miss Black to excuse themselves so we might deliberate on how and what information they should provide us with. As Bellatrix and Minerva have pointed out, this needs to be taken seriously. Too much or too little knowledge could have drastic consequences. So, for a moment…perhaps they might adjourn to another room?”

Uhh…

“Just them? Not me?” Sirius frowns.

“Do you know anything?” Moody huffs bluntly.

Sirius opens his mouth. Closes it. “Well, no, I suppose not.”

“I’m not leaving him in here alone!” Bellatrix hisses. Walks around to stand behind Sirius. “What are you planning? What— he’s staying with me!”

Lupin turns to look at her. “He can stay. No-one here will hurt him.”

There’s a bit of an emphasis on here. That doesn’t go unnoticed.

Sirius squeezes his shoulder, looking at Bellatrix apologetically.

“Where exactly should they go?” Arthur cautiously jumps in. “When you say another room…well, I suppose there are the bedrooms. Percy’s is free. But the other kids…”

“It’s alright, Dad,” Ron says. “It’s just Hermione. And…uh…well we’ve been at school with Bellatrix almost all year without anyone knowing.”

Bellatrix laughs. “Don’t think you’re helping there, Weasley.”

“I think the children would enjoy a nice walk in the snow, don’t you?” Kingsley says calmly. “It’s Christmastime. They can go out and enjoy the fresh air. Throw a snowball or two.”

“Oh yes!” Mrs Weasley says, jumping on the idea. “Ron, hurry on up there and get your sister and the twins—”

“But Mum!”

“—And don’t forget your hats and scarves. Harry, I’m sure you’ll find some warm clothes by the door—

“Mrs Weasley, I—”

“—Might want to borrow some wellies, yes, there’s a good lad, by Mr Moody. And Hermione— oh.”

And Mrs Weasley finally runs out of steam, staring at Hermione as she remembers. Twenty-five. Not one of the kids.

Sirius sniggers. “Hermione can go get a room with Bellatrix,” he mutters to Lupin and Tonks, overly loudly.

There’s a weird lull. Oh no.

Argh, Sirius! That sounded so—

Now everyone is wondering what he’s talking about, and— why did he—

Lupin is looking at her very strangely. Eyes widening. Sniffing the air. Glancing at Bellatrix. He might think— well Snape thought that—

“We don’t know each other in the future!” Hermione blurts out, gesturing at Bellatrix as she gets up. “Nothing— don’t know her.”

Bellatrix groans. Grabs her arm and pulls her up the stairs, past Ginny, Ron and the twins who are coming down. Squeezes them past. “Stop telling people things. You’re a bloody nightmare! Can you not keep your mouth shut for five seconds?”

Wha— “I’m allowed to talk!” Hermione complains. “And stop pulling— sorry, George, stepped on— or maybe Fred. Is it—”

Bellatrix pushes a hand over her mouth. “Am I going to have to gag you or something?”

Some chairs screech back. And Ginny starts laughing.

Hermione pulls Bellatrix’s hand away. “Joking! She’s joking!” she calls down. “We’ll— we’ll be in Percy’s room! Carry on!”

And she runs up the stairs, now pulling Bellatrix with her. Up and up again to the second floor.

Bellatrix snorts. “Eager to get me alone, are you?”

Hermione laughs exasperatedly. “Eager to get us both out of there because I think neither of us are very good at holding our tongues.”

Bellatrix sighs. “You have a point. Ups and downs, weren’t there? I should have said— or not said— ah well. We’re alive and free, that’s what counts.”