Alright, this one requires a bit of prefacing that I may yet explain in the story but just don't want to remain a mystery. I find flashbacks cumbersome. In Harry's third year, when he was saving Sirius and himself from the dementors using the patronus, he wasn't quite in time to save the portion of Tom Riddle's soul clinging to his. It's a trope that's been done in many stories, but the idea of Harry being an "oopsie" horcrux never really sat well with me. Anyway, Harry experienced a bit of a personality shift after this event, and a lot more of James Potter will be shining through this year, I imagine.
Also, don't ask how the climax of third year shook out without Hermione and her time-turner, because I just plain don't have an answer.
Chapter One: The Quadwizard Tournament
Nothing good ever happened on Halloween.
In fact, to Harry Potter, Halloween usually served as the launch point for whatever year-long fuss he was about to endure. A troll attack, the opening of the Chamber of Secrets, the first big break-in attempt by the escaped mass-murderer after his blood.
Well, that last one had ended up being a misunderstanding, but contextually, it had been a very trying time for him.
Given the trend, however, the news that not only was there a major inter-school magical tournament happening this year but that the Great Big Name-Picking Ceremony was going off on Halloween had been all Harry had needed to be on alert. And he had been absolutely right to be so, since not only had the Goblet of Fire spat his name out, it had done so in addition to the three other champions, meaning he was now the fourth champion in some sort of…Quadwizard Tournament.
Of course, the other schools had only seen fit to point out the injustice of the whole thing rather than consider that this was some elaborate plot to see him maimed or possibly killed. In fact, the general consensus seemed to be that Harry Potter—a fourteen-year-old boy who abhorred any and all semblance of fame and glory—had not only decided that he wanted to attempt to trick an ancient and powerful magical artefact in order to gain entrance to a tournament sure to be his death but had also figured out how to do so.
Why wasn't he being hailed as some magical savant, then? Clearly, he was the next Albus Dumbledore.
But no, rather than try to discern his methods or understand the truth, he was simply being congratulated by his housemates for his successful hoodwinking of the Goblet, most likely mocked by just about everyone else for this latest "attention-seeking stunt", and scorned by his one and only remaining friend for…not letting him in on the whole thing? For inviting yet more unwanted attention on himself? Frankly, he had no idea what Ron's deal was or how he could actually think Harry had wanted any of this fuss. Whatever was motivating him—jealousy, most likely—it was telling enough for Harry that he believed the rumors at all. Ron Weasley, for all intents and purposes, was calling him an attention-seeking prat just like the rest of the school.
And, well, he could sod off with that sort of talk.
The downside to this bit of backbone was that it left Harry rather alone. His only other friend, Hermione Granger, had drifted away in third year, increasingly absorbed in her massive workload and making less and less time to actually socialize with her friends.
He rather missed her sometimes.
And so, as Harry dragged himself from bed, dressed and readied himself for the day, and meandered from the portrait hole, he did so utterly and completely alone. His stomach gave a hungry growl, but he wasn't so sure if it was worth braving the Great Hall (and the stares of all of his classmates in addition to their guests from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons) for a bite of breakfast.
After all, growing up under the "care" of the Dursleys had taught him that simple determination was often a passable substitute for a meal.
But he needn't dwell on his "family" for longer than was necessary. The fact that Dumbledore had insisted he remain with them was almost as infuriating as listening to the same man last night claim that he "must compete" in the Triwizard Tournament.
The hell with that, Harry decided. He'd find a way out of this, without Dumbledore's help, if need be.
…
On the way to the library, Harry sent two letters from the Owlery. The first, he sent off to Sirius, informing him of his unwitting entry into the Triwizard Tournament and asking him for any advice on how to get out of a binding magical contract that he hadn't actually signed up for. On a whim (and not wanting to leave Hedwig out of things even though Sirius had cautioned him not to use her to contact him again), he sent a similar letter to Lupin, who had also been his father's friend and thus had to have his best interests at heart.
As Hedwig and the school owl winged their way off into the cool morning, Harry watched them leave, jealous of their ability to just take off and leave the world and its troubles behind. Maybe he'd get his broom out and just go for a fly. Quidditch was off this year (which was rather silly, in his opinion), but that didn't mean he couldn't just do a few laps around the pitch, right?
Well, he mused as his stomach gave a hungry growl, perhaps it would be best to get some food first.
He was just considering getting out the invisibility cloak and swiping some sausages from the Gryffindor table when the door to the Owlery opened, and a small figure came dashing in, nearly bowling him over and sending a flurry of feathers flying as a few owls took off in fright.
"Oi, careful, there," he said, steadying the new arrival. It was a girl, he could see, and rather a small one. She couldn't possibly be older than first year. Scampering back a step, she peered up at Harry with pale baby-blue eyes, brushing a few stray locks of strawberry-blonde hair from a heavily-freckled face. Her expression was mildly fearful, and as she registered Harry standing there, she slunk behind him.
"Hide me!" she squeaked out, grabbing two handfuls of Harry's shirt. Before Harry could ask, the door burst open once more.
"She went this way!" a voice called back before a black-haired boy stalked into the room. He was younger as well, though older than the girl currently clutching fast to his shirt. When he caught sight of Harry, his eyes went wide. "Oi. You're Harry Potter."
"I am?" Harry asked. "Couldn't tell."
"Hey, that's real nice, hiding behind someone," the boy said, and Harry felt the girl flinch against him.
"What's going on here?" Harry asked as another boy came running in. He was smaller, with similar black hair and the same nose as the first one. Brothers, most likely. "You two picking on this girl?"
"She wouldn't stop harassing us, she wouldn't," the shorter of the two claimed in a whiny voice. "She's been following us asking why we stole one of the little tapestries off the wall."
"Shut up, Roger!" the older brother shoved Roger, looking fearfully up at Harry.
"Did you steal a little tapestry?" Harry asked.
"…Maybe."
"Then leave her alone unless you want Filch to hear about it," Harry said, turning back to the girl. "Pestering people is rude, don't do it."
"Okay," the girl said immediately.
"There," Harry said. "We're all good now. Go away."
"Right," Roger said as his older brother ushered him from the Owlery, leaving Harry with the girl still clinging tightly to him.
"D'you mind?" Harry asked once they'd left. "You're wrinkling my shirt."
"Um," the girl said quietly, releasing him. "Thank you."
"Yeah, no problem," Harry said, heading for the door. All he had to do was get out, and he wouldn't feel obligated –
"Wait!" she said. "Can I walk with you, in case they come back?"
"…Oh, fine."
…
Her name was Mafalda Prewett. She was ostensibly a muggle-born, though her father was apparently a squib and more than a bit resentful that the magic gene had seemingly skipped over him. Things at home had gotten a bit awkward when her letter had come, and she was honestly dreading going back for the summer simply because of her father's new propensity for sullen silences. Despite this, she was ever so excited to be here at Hogwarts and learning actual magic, though her penchant for nosiness had gotten her into a few scrapes, as evidenced by the confrontation in the Owlery. It was most certainly not her first foot chase, to be sure.
Harry learned all of this before they'd even made the bottom of the stairs.
"Did you really trick the Goblet of Fire into making you a champion?" she asked, skipping along behind Harry as he walked toward the Great Hall.
"Of course I didn't," Harry sighed.
"Oh," she said, though she didn't sound doubtful as much as curious. "Well, who did?"
"I don't really know," Harry shrugged, though he was glad she believed him so easily. "Someone who's trying to get me hurt or killed."
"That seems like a really complicated way of going about it," Mafalda pointed out.
"Well, you'll find that a lot of things in the wizarding world don't make very much sense," Harry told her. They had reached the Entrance Hall now, and Harry paused near an alcove by the stairs. "Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Yeah!" she said, bumping into him as he stopped. Harry steadied her and placed his hands on her shoulders, staring down into her small and smiling face.
"Go in there, grab me three sausages, a few rashers, a muffin, and some orange juice," he recited. Blinking several times, Mafalda stared at him for a long few seconds before nodding.
"Bits or no bits?" she asked.
"No bits," Harry said.
"Alright, I'll be back," she said.
"Atta girl," Harry said as she took off. He stood there and watched as the occasional student filtered into the Great Hall, though none of them glanced in his out-of-the-way direction, thankfully. He didn't think he was ready to deal with Hogwarts and its guests and their reaction to this latest bit of insanity to fall upon him.
Just when he was beginning to think Mafalda had gotten distracted and completely forgotten her mission, she came skipping out of the Great Hall with a bundle of napkins and a goblet of orange juice. Harry hadn't really thought about what he would actually do with the goblet once he was done, though he figured he could just leave it in the common room with a note to the house elves or something.
"I'm being followed!" Mafalda said cheerfully as she reached him.
"That's…not really ideal, Mafalda," Harry said, gathering up some of the food and stuffing a piece of bacon in his mouth. "Who's fo'owing you?"
"A girl with brown hair, big and bushy," Mafalda said. "She asked me why I was taking food, and I said it was for my dog. I don't think she believed me."
"You don't have a dog," Harry said, now leading her away. "Students aren't allowed dogs."
"I have a dog at home," she said. "He's a corgi, just like the Queen's – "
"That is not pertinent information at the moment," Harry said, glancing back and seeing Hermione Granger emerging from the Great Hall. She cast a glance around and spotted the pair, zeroing in on them.
"Harry!" she called.
"Run," Harry said, taking off and chugging some of the orange juice so as not to slosh it out of the goblet.
"Ah!" Mafalda squeaked. "I don't like to run, why are we running!?"
"Because things with Hermione Granger are really awkward at the moment, and I'm not keen to deal with that right now," Harry said. "Keep up, you're holding my bacon."
"I don't like to run!" she whined again.
"You've said that, it's not new information," Harry said. "If you're giving up, pass us the bacon."
"I'm not giving up, I just wanted to complain about it," Mafalda shot back.
"Fair enough."
…
"What's the story with her, then?" Mafalda asked once Hermione had lost their trail. Strolling along and occasionally taking a bite of sausage or a muffin, Harry heaved a small sigh.
"We were best friends," he said. "Sort of a once-in-a-lifetime meeting. I helped save her from a troll that had gotten in on Halloween."
"What is it with this place and Halloween being a disaster?" Mafalda asked. "I was talking to Colin Creevey, he told me there was a basilisk attack on Halloween two years ago. And then Sirius Black got in on Halloween last year."
"Thank you!" Harry sighed. "I'm glad someone else put that together, at least. I think Halloween should just be spent sitting quietly in the common room, so nothing bad can happen."
"Until the fireplace just explodes or something," Mafalda pointed out.
"Excellent point," Harry said. "Anyway, last year, Hermione took on a bunch more coursework and sort of drifted off. I tried to talk to her, and things…well, got a bit strained."
"Strained?" Mafalda asked him.
"It's an even longer story than this one," Harry told her with a wave of his hand.
"I like long stories," Mafalda said.
"Maybe I'll tell you when we've known each other longer than an hour," Harry said.
"Oh, fine," Mafalda said, sounding faintly huffy as she held up the goblet of orange juice. "Juice?"
"Thanks very much," Harry said, taking a swig. With his stomach full and satisfied, he noticed he felt a bit better about the situation ahead. He was on his way to the library for answers, he had a small human to help him, and the bacon was extra crispy this morning.
Maybe things wouldn't be so bad?
…
Given that the Hogwarts library was one of the most complete repositories of magical knowledge in all of Britain, finding information about the Goblet of Fire wasn't terribly difficult. Mafalda Prewett turned out to be some sort of tiny library gnome, scouring the shelves and scanning titles with a quick and critical eye. More than once, she had snatched a book out of Harry's hands seconds after he'd retrieved it, apparently determined that it would be no help at all. After three instances of this, she had finally shoved a volume at him and sent him to find a table.
"This requires an expert's touch," she insisted.
"Carry on," Harry shrugged, plunking down and going into his bag to withdraw a spiral-bound notebook and a pen, because scrolls and quills were unwieldy things to use and he refused to do so outside of homework assignments. Cracking open the book, he had barely made it through a paragraph before his new pal returned.
"I found this book about binding magical contracts," she said, placing a rather large and old tome on the table in front of Harry. "And this one's about the Goblet of Fire itself, and all the things it's been used for. There wasn't much else, though."
"That's a good start, though," Harry muttered, already opening the larger of the two books. "Thank you, Mafalda."
"Why didn't your friend come along?" Mafalda asked, climbing into the seat opposite him and leaning on the table to stare across at him. "The redhead."
"Ron?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. "He thinks I put my name in the Goblet, and now he's mad at me over it."
"But he's your best friend," Mafalda said with a small pout. "If you're telling him you didn't do it, why wouldn't he believe you?"
"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "Could be he's not as good a friend as I thought, I guess."
"That's really sad, though," Mafalda observed. She was quiet for a moment, spiritedly twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "I'll be your friend, then."
"Will you?" Harry asked her, grinning. "Alright, then. Let's be friends."
The pair fell silent, Harry skimming through a few paragraphs looking for some good bits about the particulars of the Goblet of Fire's binding magical contract. It was a lot of boring legalese, and he forced himself to pay attention and not doze off, which was hard.
He found himself missing Hermione. She would have loved this exact sort of thing. But that was a window he wasn't ready to leap out of just yet.
"Oh, what about this?" Mafalda asked him, and he looked to see her having cracked open the other book and skimmed a few pages. "'For any instance in which names are entered into the Goblet for selection purposes', blah, blah, 'tournament or other competitive event', blah, blah, blah, 'a cosigner may be used to enter another competitor's name as written in their own hand.'"
"That doesn't bode well," Harry said flatly.
"Okay, hold on, down here…" Mafalda said. "Um, something, something, 'dubiously obtained names or those entered into the Goblet without express permission given.' Oh, 'If the aspirant competitor', that's a weird word, 'elects to forego the tournament', blah, blah, 'the penalty will fall to the cosigner, in order to deter dubiously' the rest of what I just said there."
"So, if someone put my name in and I decide not to compete, that's on them and not me," Harry surmised.
"That's…basically what it sounds like?" Mafalda said. "Dad always said I should use context clues and look at the words around the words I don't understand, but that was mostly words I don't understand. What's 'dubious' mean?"
"Alright, so now I just need to find out what the penalties will be, and if it's something obvious, I'll know who put my name in," Harry said.
"What if it's not obvious?" Mafalda asked.
"I don't compete and know that they're quietly sweating over it," Harry shrugged.
"Long as you've got a plan, I suppose," Mafalda said, and Harry snapped the book shut.
"Exactly," he said, getting to his feet. "Well, that's a load off my mind. Thanks, Mafalda."
"So now what are you going to do?" Mafalda asked him, and Harry gathered up the stack of books.
"I suppose be ridiculed by the rest of the school, per usual," he said.
"Sounds like a gas." Mafalda hopped readily to her feet. "I will too, then."
"You know, you don't have to toddle after me like a duckling," Harry insisted, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
"You saved my life," she said. "So I want to."
"I seriously doubt those two would have done much more than a few stinging hexes," Harry said.
"Well, that sounds really awful, and I'm grateful you saved me from it," Mafalda said matter-of-factly. "Where are we going?"
"Probably find a quiet corner of the common room to keep looking through these books," Harry shrugged. Mafalda nodded, reaching for the stack of them. "No, no. You carry the little one. I'll get the others."
"It's not that heavy," Mafalda huffed.
"I think this book actually weighs more than you," Harry pointed out, hefting one of the larger ones she had brought. "I'm surprised you survived the trip to the table."
"That's an exaggeration and you know it," she all but pouted, and Harry snickered at her.
"C'mon, then, let's get back there before we run into someone and I have to actually talk to anybody."
ooo
Harry spent the remainder of the weekend sifting through a lot of repetitive and looping rules and policies about both the Goblet of Fire and binding magical contracts in general. He wrote down bits that stuck out, connected pertinent points when he could, and came to one singularly satisfying conclusion:
Whoever had put his name in the Goblet of Fire was in for a rough year.
Cosigner rules were unforgiving, designed to deter exactly the sort of situation Harry had found himself in. Apparently, they had only been implemented after the third Triwizard Tournament had seen three competitors selected, none of whom had actually put their names forth. The fallout had been immense, as one of the selected students had been the Bulgarian Minister for Magic's daughter, who had found herself compelled to compete or face the consequences of breaking the contract.
The Bulgarian minister had seen fit to impose few extra provisions after that, and the others had readily agreed.
The consequences themselves were rather harsh, though they fell a hair short of life-threatening, at the very least. The more the unwitting participant refused to actually participate, the less comfortable life became for their cosigner. Sleep became increasingly elusive, and not as restful when obtained. No matter how much they ate, a small bit of gnawing hunger always lingered. The mind swam and buzzed often, unable to focus on the task at hand. Eventually, if the starved and sleepless cosigner reached the end of the tournament and the champion still refused to take part in the final task, they experienced a magic block that lasted up to a year, longer in one extreme case. Even when the effects wore off, the cosigner might never return to their full potential.
Why no one had informed Harry of this was anyone's guess. He had had to do quite a bit of digging to find it himself; perhaps it simply wasn't common knowledge? It would be just like the Ministry to forge ahead with this thing without a comprehensive understanding of the rules. These were of course the same folks that had decided to station soul-sucking monsters as guards around a school.
For the moment, though, Harry rested easy knowing that despite the court of public opinion, he was free and clear as far as the Goblet was concerned.
Public opinion, however, proved to be a bit less forgiving than even Harry had anticipated. Monday dawned bright and with one last gasp of unseasonable warmth, giving the day a springlike feel as Harry trooped along with the other Gryffindors down to the greenhouses for Herbology. Harry noticed the Hufflepuff contingent, who usually took to mingling with the Gryffindors during the lengthy walk, were keeping their distance today. He caught a few unsavory mutterings and deduced that, like everyone else, they believed he had entered his own name into the Goblet of Fire.
He immediately wrote them off as beneath his concern, followed closely by Professor Sprout, who seemed to be treating him a bit coldly in the wake of his selection as an illegitimate champion. Granted, she was the head of Hufflepuff and probably thought Harry was trying to steal some glory, but that was also a completely unfounded accusation that flew in the face of everything she had learned about him in the past three years.
Honestly, woman. Act like an adult.
One person at least acted semi-normally around him, though Harry had mixed feelings about it.
"Good morning, Harry," Hermione's cordial voice greeted him as she took the workstation next to him.
"Hermione," Harry nodded at her. "Sleep well?"
"Well enough," she said with a small smile. "You?"
"Blissfully," Harry said. Hermione looked a bit surprised at that, peering at him searchingly.
"Is that so?" she asked. "I would've thought things would be rather stressful for you right now."
"Oh, it's only been enlightening," Harry said. "Figuring out exactly the sort of people I'm sharing a school with. D'you know, I can count the number of people who believe I didn't put my name in that goblet on one hand? With one finger."
"That girl you were with?" Hermione asked.
"Mafalda," Harry said.
"She's the look of a troublemaker to me," Hermione said with a distasteful expression.
"Nah, we're basically best friends now," Harry insisted with a grin.
They fell silent for a moment as Professor Sprout called the class to order and announced that they would be repotting Bouncing Bulbs, assigning two students to a tray and instructing them on the proper procedure.
"You know, I don't think you put your name in the Goblet either," Hermione told him almost primly as they set up the new tray and poured in a bit of soil in each segment. "It's completely unlike you."
"…Well…thanks for that," Harry said, unable to deny a bit of warmth in his chest from her words. At least somebody knew him well enough. He glanced across the greenhouse to where Ron was now working alongside Seamus and Dean, chatting away. "More than can be said for Ron."
"Ron is…well, he's jealous, obviously," Hermione sighed, following his gaze. "He always has to deal with you being the center of attention, doesn't he? It's not your fault, it's just… Between that and his brothers always overshadowing him, it's a lot for him to put up with, I suppose. And now you're Triwizard Champion – "
"He's putting his own hurt feelings before our friendship," Harry added. "Good to know. Writing him off as well."
"Writing him off?" Hermione asked.
"D'you remember in second year, when everyone thought I was the Heir of Slytherin?" Harry asked. "Despite the fact that I'm…well, me? Who's never shown an ounce of prejudice against a muggle-born, who was friends with a muggle-born at the time?"
Harry didn't miss the small, sad smile that flitted across Hermione's features at his use of the past tense.
"And now they're calling me some attention-seeking glory hound?" he went on. "No, I've realized something, Hermione."
"What have you realized?" Hermione asked, watching transfixed.
"Everyone in the wizarding world is a braying idiot," Harry said. "They're lemmings. They're all backward-thinking dullards. A bunch of Death Eaters go off at the Quidditch World Cup, and Lucius Malfoy hasn't seen one bit of scrutiny? No one's even the slightest bit concerned about that?"
"Well, he does make an awful lot of 'donations' to the Ministry," Hermione muttered.
"Do I really want to trouble myself caring one bit about the opinions of a society that lets itself be bribed and taken advantage of?" Harry asked her. Hermione let a small noise of surprise.
"You've changed," she decided.
"Well, it's been some time since we've spoken," Harry said.
"It…has," Hermione said, falling silent for a moment. "Harry, why did you run off the other day?"
Harry sighed, grabbing a hold of a Bouncing Bulb and feeling it writhe in his grip as he attempted to extricate it from the soil and stuff it down into the new tray. Hermione reached to help, plucking up a trowel and scooping out a measure of soil for Harry to stuff the bulb into.
"I thought it might be awkward after…" he trailed off, peering up to see her smiling gently at him.
"I rather mucked it up, didn't I?" she said.
"Well, I certainly wasn't helping matters," Harry told her. "Coming at you all accusing like I did."
"You had every right to be upset with me, though," Hermione said. "I was putting my studies before my friendships. I was…somewhat insufferable."
"You had your priorities," Harry insisted.
"I had the wrong priorities," Hermione said. "I feel terrible about how things went. I…miss you, Harry."
Harry wanted to tell her that he'd been around the last month, that she'd had ample opportunities to rekindle their friendship. He wanted to berate her for ever letting them drift apart in the first place and prioritizing her glutted education over her two best friends. In fact, he'd gone through several imagined versions of this scenario numerous times over the past few months.
But at the sight of her contrite expression and her wide, hopeful brown eyes, his ire at her absolutely melted, and cursing his weakness, he simply bumped her with his shoulder.
"I've missed you too," he said. "My grades have really dropped off without you."
"Oh, you…prat," she huffed, smacking him gently on the arm. "Is that the only reason?"
"Of course it isn't, you madwoman," he said. "Believe it or not, I actually quite enjoyed your company."
"You're not about to write me off, too?" she asked, digging up another hole for Harry to plant the next Bouncing Bulb. He made the mistake of looking up at her and seeing those blasted eyes again, the faint but visible spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.
When had she gotten so bloody cute!?
"No, I wouldn't write you off," he said. His grip on the Bouncing Bulb slackened ever so slightly, and it leapt from his hand to smack him in the face, causing both of them to yelp in shock as Harry reeled back.
"Oh! Harry, are you alright?" she said with a small giggle.
"Are you laughing at me?" Harry asked, smirking at her. Pouting, Hermione brought out her wand.
"While helping you!" she insisted. "Hold still, your glasses got a little smashed."
Harry obliged, and with a flick of her wand, Hermione fixed up his glasses, leaning in to examine his face.
"Did it get me good?" he asked.
"You may have a small bruise, but you'll mend," she said.
They resumed the work in front of them, Harry snagging up the Bouncing Bulbs while Hermione dug the holes and buried them. They were a fine team, as always, and Harry found himself enjoying her quiet company as they worked. When class ended, Hermione joined him on the walk to Care of Magical Creatures.
"What do you plan to do, then?" she asked. "About the tournament."
"Absolutely nothing," Harry said. "I'm not taking part at all."
"But…isn't it a binding magical contract?" Hermione asked him.
"Yeah, but as I'm not the one who put my name in, I'm not the one bound to it," Harry said. "My cosigner is."
"…You did research, didn't you?" Hermione asked, looking unduly shocked. "Harry, I'm so proud of you!"
"Well, Mafalda helped, too," Harry said. "She really knows her way 'round the library."
They had reached Hagrid's hut by now, and Harry heard Draco Malfoy going on about autographs or something, though he didn't bother to even look at the boy.
"Do you think anyone will be…upset that you're not planning to participate?" Hermione asked.
"Absolutely," Harry said. "I imagine there's going to be a lot of people upset. But I've decided I don't care. If all they're going to say is that I have to compete, if they're not even going to look at the rulebook to see if I can get out of it, I mean—most of them think I actually put my name in, Hermione. They think I somehow hoodwinked an ancient magical artefact. I can't even cast a summoning charm."
"You're doing better," Hermione told him. "I've been watching you—I mean… Well, I've seen you in class, and – "
"Alrigh', yeh lot, gather 'round!" Hagrid's booming voice called out, causing them both to jump. "Now, got a real treat fer yeh t'day. Bein' 'at the skrewts've been…well, eatin' each other, I've decided th' best course is ter leash 'em up teh yeh and take 'em fer a walk. Little tyke's've been probably gettin' pent up, is all."
"…This is a horrible idea," Hermione whispered.
It was indeed, and before long, Harry was observing his classmates in varying states of distress as they were dragged along by the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Hagrid asked for Harry's help with the largest (Darby), though he seemed to simply want to talk to Harry, insisting that he knew Harry hadn't put his name in the Goblet of Fire.
"Dumbledore believes yeh didn'," he said, as though that were incontrovertible proof in itself. To Hagrid, Harry supposed it was.
"He still seems to think I should compete," Harry said.
"Well, o' course yeh should," Hagrid said. "S'only sportin', innit?"
"Yeah," Harry muttered. "Sure."
"Noticed yeh talkin' ter Hermione again," Hagrid said, his beard twitching with a smile. "'Bout time yeh patched things up."
"I have missed her," Harry said, watching as Hermione ponderously navigated the task of leashing up a creature with no discernible head or neck. "She's one of maybe two people that doesn't think I've put my name in for the tournament."
"Yeh don' meet a girl like that very often, Harry," Hagrid said. "Yeh keep her close, mind."
Harry glanced over again to see Hermione now letting a squeak as she the skrewt she was walking lurched forward.
"Very rambunctious," she said breathlessly.
"You alright, Hermione?" Harry called, and she looked up at him with a wide-eyed smile that was clearly concealing panic for Hagrid's benefit. Reaching up, she tucked a lock of hair away from her face.
"Never better," she insisted.
As they made their way back to the castle for lunch, Hermione rubbing at a sore shoulder, Harry pondered Hagrid's words. Keep Hermione close? He'd certainly missed her, more even than he'd realized now that he was talking to her again. Hermione's presence was strangely comforting, an orderly influence on the chaos that was his world. It would probably even be prudent to have her look through the books he'd checked out and ferret out a few nuggets of information as only she was able.
At the same time, however, the hurt of their last talk still lingered, and the pit her absence had left over the past several months remained fresh. She had apologized and promised to be better, and Harry wanted to believe her. But especially with Ron's latest bout of idiocy, it was hard to trust anyone.
He supposed, for now, he could wait and see.
This was posted over on AO3, all the way to chapter seven. I've been neglected my page here, a bit.