The Goblet of Fire
“HARRY POTTER!”
The Great Hall immediately turned silent and everyone, student and staff alike, turned towards the young black-haired boy, who turned paler every second. The expressions all over the room were diverse, like Severus Snape’s anger (hiding his concern, because he couldn’t show it), Minerva McGonagall’s broad smile, Pomona Sprout’s disappointment, the Slytherins’ anger towards Potter, the Hufflepuffs’ disgust with the damn boy-who-lived, the Ravenclaws’ confusion and curiosity, the delighted of Gryffindor’s students, Ronald Weasley’s anger and disappointment towards his “best mate” and various other combinations of those feelings all over staff and students. Albus Dumbledore wasn’t sure how to react, so he just looked at Harry, trying to discern whether or not the boy crossed his protection.
And then there were the few people actually concerned.
Hermione immediately knew Harry hadn’t done it. He wouldn’t. Fame? Money? Hah, Harry had those things and was in mortal danger often enough. Besides, his reactions were obvious to her and Ron…or apparently not, as it seemed. Damn. Their massive fallout was to be expected if no one with authority would clear up this situation…and the professors really didn’t have the best track record in regards to that. Up until this day barely anyone knew of the basilisk, Quirrell had “left them” and so on. Now, the usually very rule-obedient Hermione Granger had enough. Everyone was acting freaking negligent and Harry would pay the price for that. So in an attempt to make a plan her eyes wandered across the whole hall while her hand ended up on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it softly. She mouthed “I’m with you, always” as he turned back to her before getting up. A small smile creeped on his face, he nodded thankfully with a look of gratitude and adoration towards his fantastic friend. She knew he hadn’t done it.
“Harry Potter! Please, come up here now.”
Knowing he had Hermione’s support, Harry somehow found the strength to speak up.
“I…I didn’t do it, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore, about to ask if he did it, was actually inclined to believe that, but there was nothing he could do about it. He knew it would end with some confrontation between Harry and Voldemort, and that was just what they’d need for the prophecy. Depending on how Tom wanted to return…the right ritual and some of Harry’s blood as a base element and the boy could even survive. Yes, that was the preferred outcome, but the main objective was to stop Riddle. He’d have to see how this would play out.
“Come with me, Harry.”
While Harry disappeared into the antechamber to get accused by Karkaroff and Snape, belittled by Fleur and supported by Moody - but without any actual help to get out of the bloody tournament or without someone publicly claiming he hadn’t put his name in the goblet - Hermione continued to observe the students and teachers. Alone she’d be overwhelmed with work while trying to keep Harry alive, so she needed trustworthy assistance. Maybe some of the Quidditch Team would help, they’d probably believe Harry and her. And since Hufflepuff and Slytherin were out for obvious reasons, she could only check within Ravenclaw for additional help, some of the Claws could probably verify her assumption that a wizard of Harry’s age couldn’t fool the Goblet and pass the age line. No matter how much they didn’t want Harry to steal Hufflepuff’s well-deserved chance for some glory, some would probably assist her to keep him alive.
After a short while the students were sent to their Common Rooms, Harry still hadn’t shown up. Hermione grudgingly left the Great Hall too, but as soon as she heard the rumours of the upcoming party, she knew what was bound to happen. Harry would enter the Common Room, probably explode at everyone (which happened rarely) and tell them he didn’t do it, then go to bed after everyone ignored him. Ron didn’t seem to be in the mood for a party, so he’d most likely go to bed and sulk before snapping at Harry for not telling him. Harry would feel abandoned and would close off while getting shunned by most of the school.
But she was ready to change all of that.
While the party was being prepared and Ron was still complaining to everyone that would listen, Hermione took the chance to sneak into the boys’ dormitory for Harry’s cloak. To not get noticed, she used a mild notice-me-not charm, courtesy of an old textbook that wasn’t in use anymore (why though? Back then the curriculum had been much more challenging and diverse) and sneaked up to Harry’s trunk.
“Hermione?”
The young witch turned around and saw Neville sitting on his bed, with a book on exotic herbology in his lap. Apparently she had made enough noise for him to see through the charm, or maybe she had subconsciously dropped it.
“Ahem…hey, Neville. Just grabbing something from Harry’s trunk.”
The boy just smiled faintly.
“Let me guess. The cloak so he can escape all that chaos down there. They’ll never understand him. Even if it’s so obvious he hadn’t put his name in the damn cup.”
“Maybe tell him that, Neville. Enough people will say the opposite. Including…”
She turned her head and looked at Ron’s very messy bed and trunk, and Neville just nodded.
“Yeah, I reckon you’re right. I’ll tell him. But look out for him, he needs you.”
As always, the quiet and rather shy Neville was the most observant student of their year. He knew what was going on nearly as well as Hermione. Something that she should keep in mind on her mission to help Harry.
Sneaking out under the cloak she waited in front of the painting of the fat lady (which was an inappropriate name, but not even the painting remembered what she was called before) until Harry came back. It didn’t take too long, and from afar she was already able to see how exhausted and discouraged he was. As he was near her, she pulled down the cloak. Harry barely flinched, he had expected something like this.
“Hey Hermione.”
He looked up and forced a smile upon his face, at the same time answering the unasked question with the way he looked at her.
Having waited for his permission - she knew he had issues with physical contact - she then threw herself at him to give Harry the best hug she could. And for once, he didn’t even flinch but even hugged back. All he did was mumble some barely understandable phrases along the lines “I didn’t do it, I didn’t put my name in the bloody cup” and Hermione felt that he relaxed - probably for the first time in several hours.
Once Harry had ended the hug and wiped away a few tears he wanted to enter the common room, but Hermione held him back.
“You really don’t want that, Harry.”
“Party? Everyone thinks I did it on purpose?”
“Yep. And Ron…”
Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“He’s being a jealous idiot, huh? I saw the look on his face in the hall earlier. As if I did it for some stupid glory. He’ll take ages to make up his damn mind again.”
Hermione took a breath before saying what would turn out to be phase one of her plan.
“But…why bother? You know how that’ll turn out. He’ll say something like “damn someone wants you dead” once the situation gets dire. Not bothering to properly apologise. He’s just a lazy and jealous prat. And in the situation you’re in…that’s not really helpful.”
“You have a plan?”
“Yes. One focusing on keeping you alive.”
Harry was hesitant. Ron was his first real friend - Hagrid kind of not counted there, he was decades older - and he couldn’t just give that up right now. Sure, Ron was jealous and a bit daft, but he was his friend. He trusted Hermione with his life, but he owed it to Ron to try at least. The Weasleys took him in, they were nice to him.
“I give him one chance right now. If he doesn’t come to his senses then I’ll go with whatever you have planned. But I hope he’ll help us.”
Hermione nodded. She hadn’t really expected anything else. Yes, she obviously had feared he’d tell her how stupid she was assuming Ron wouldn’t believe him, but that was an irrational fear. This situation wouldn’t turn out like the whole Firebolt disaster.
“If he doesn’t come to his senses, then meet me before breakfast tomorrow. It’s Sunday so we’ll have time for planning. I’ll be down in the Common Room from…probably six thirty on. That’s always the best time to read in peace and quiet.”
“Okay. Keep the cloak till the morning, you can sneak back in now. I’ll have to face the crowd now.”
He turned around and wanted to say the password, but then hesitated, turned back and - for the first time in his life - initiated a hug. The rather surprised girl hugged back almost immediately, smiling broadly, patted her best friend’s back and whispered “I’m so sorry, Harry. Why does Halloween always turn out to be so cruel to you? As if everyone celebrating wouldn’t be bad enough.”
A tear rolled down Harry’s cheek once he realised what Hermione was talking about. He usually just hid his sadness and put up a nice face, because no one ever realised that while everyone celebrated he mourned his parents.
But Hermione…she was different from everyone else. She cared about “Harry”, not the “boy-who-lived.” And while other people too realised how different those two were, she was always able to understand him like on one else.
“Thank you. A lot.”
He then wiped the tear away, took a deep breath and told the fat lady the password. Time to face…whatever it was going to be.
And while Harry tried yelling at the common room (well, to be precise at the crazy party in there) and then had a very…unfriendly encounter with a jealous and grumpy Ron, Hermione was laying in her bed and scribbling down some notes in a notebook. Yes, not parchment, but a notebook. Most wizards didn’t like the usage of muggle stuff, and in classes it was outright banned, but for all the private things she continued using paper, notebooks and fountain pens.
Anyway, Hermione mapped out potential challenges based on previous tournaments (gosh, those had been insane) and compared Harry’s skill level to that of someone barely of age - the age group for whom the tournament was intended. After that it was time to devise a training plan, mainly focussed on defence spells, Charms and Transfiguration as well as basic silent casting. Those things that would be of use for Harry.
What she hadn’t considered though was how tired she had gotten, and so Hermione fell asleep while being more or less literally buried in research, only to wake up to her alarm at six in the morning. After a refreshing shower to properly wake her and putting on fresh clothes she grabbed her notes, tossed them into her book satchel and rushed into the Common Room. Hopefully Harry would show up soon…
“Good morning!”
She shrieked, startled by his unexpected appearance out of nowhere, before starting to giggle together with her best friend…who was already sitting on a couch with a book in his hands. Gosh, he had nearly given her a heart attack.
“Harry James Potter, don’t you ever scare me like that again.”
He just stuck out his tongue at her while she dropped onto the couch next to him. Not his fault that the Common Room was a bit dark and she hadn’t seen him. Besides, it was funny. Freaking funny.
“No promises.”
“You…anyway. What are you reading?”
“Oh, just a book I picked up in the Alley in the summer. Something about duelling techniques. Totally forgot about it until this morning.”
Hermione smiled. It seemed like Harry was actually studying, doing something to survive the bloody tournament. But what was implied in his presence here just now was that she had been right. Ronald must have been a jealous prat, but instead of sulking Harry committed his mind to the upcoming task.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No ‘I told you so?’ But no, I don’t want to. He’s not worth it right now. You were right and I have different priorities.”
While Harry was putting up a smile, Hermione knew him well enough to see the hints of sadness and anger in his eyes, but she wouldn’t push him to talk about that. She was happy enough that he accepted her plan.
“Okay. So…breakfast and then some studying before we enact phase one of my plan?”
“Sure but…what’s phase one?”
Hermione just smirked. As if she’d tell him that now, where’s the fun in that?
But her plans were rather simple. She had a few people - two for the beginning - in mind that could help. So, step one was to get their help. Since teachers weren’t really allowed to help the champions, that would have to be under the guise of training Harry for potential Death Eater/Voldemort confrontations. To those believing the Ministry crap, she could alway just say “Sirius Black is still free.” That should work. Then settle into a studying and training routine, probably with some muggle training as well, since wizards tended to forget those things. Physical fitness for example was often overlooked.
It would also be important to work on the narrative. Clearly this was a plot by you-know-who and his followers, now everyone should get told that it wasn’t Harry’s intention to compete. Maybe get friendly with Cedric to stress that, and work on relations with the international students as well.
Then, because Dumbledore never bothered to involve the proper authorities (where was the DMLE when students were getting petrified or a teacher just “disappeared”?), they’d have to do that, maybe start an official investigation.
And lastly…cheat and swindle.
That wasn’t easy to admit for Hermione, but if everyone was much more experienced and advanced, and if no one bothered to actually care for Harry, then it was more than appropriate to…maybe take advantage of a certain invisibility cloak and find out things they shouldn’t know just yet. No need to feel guilty if it wasn’t with malicious intent.
Thankfully the Great Hall was nearly empty when the duo arrived, just very few students and staff members were around. Most of them watched them carefully and whispered to each other. Seems like the rumour mill was already starting to go crazy.
One sixth-year Ravenclaw, neither Harry nor Hermione knew his name, then came up to them.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Potter? Not enough glory just yet?”
Harry, short-tempered as he usually was, was on the verge of jumping up and spouting unflattering words, but Hermione beat him to it.
“You’re one hell of a smart guy, I see. Take a look at Doctor Jones Jr.’s book about magical relics, Treasures of the Magic Realm Volume 2 , where he describes the bloody Goblet and his enchantments. If you manage to find one plausible way, how anyone without a fully matured and unusually large magical core plus knowledge of mastery-level runes and the ability to cast rituals in Cumbric…or probably Old English and weeks of time in preparation could have confounded the cup in selecting four champions and ignoring the age perimeter, then you may continue accusing Harry. I spent half of last night trying to come up with a conclusion, but there is NONE.”
Now everyone in the Hall looked at her, unsure what to say. She might have talked a little louder than planned. Oops.
“That’ll be five points from Gryffindor for your language, Miss Granger, but fifteen points for Gryffindor for a correct line of reasoning and standing up for your fellow co-students.”
At the sound of Irma Pince’s voice Hermione spun around, staring dumbfounded at the librarian. She never gave points, only took them, and she was barely seen outside of the library. And while most students didn’t really like her (much too serious for their taste), her vast knowledge was nearly as respected as Dumbledore’s magical power.
“Oh and Mr. Harper, fifteen points from Ravenclaw for foul language and insulting a student. Come see me in the library and I shall hand you the necessary literature to double-check Miss Granger’s statement. I haven’t been able to come up with another solution either, maybe you will enlighten us…but until then students should refrain from claiming Mr Potter got himself into the Tournament. There are very few people who would have achieved this manipulation before finishing school.”
Timothy Harper, now beginning to feel bad for his behaviour towards Potter, nodded. He’d go over the information, but if Irma Pince claimed it was not possible…
“I will, Madam Pince. And apologies, Mr Potter.”
Harry took the offered hand and shook it.
“No problem, I’d probably react the same. And Madam Pince, which students would have been able to do it?”
“Before their NEWTs? The Headmaster without a doubt, maybe Minerva too. She had the power but not enough Runes knowledge, her focus was Transfiguration. Tom Riddle certainly could’ve done it, Severus would have had the power, but not the knowledge…your father could have managed it, with a little assistance of your mother maybe, she was fascinated by the more obscure magics and could have provided him with the theory. Sirius and Regulus Black, as well as their grandfather Arcturus. He was a match for Dumbledore, just like your great-grandfather Henry Potter. He could have done it too. What a genius. And in more recent times Bartemius Crouch Junior, Bathsheda Babbling and Xenophilius Lovegood. So…about a dozen people within the last century, and of those maybe Albus, Bathsheda, Henry and Arcturus at the time of their OWLs. Not before that.”
By now every student in the Hall listened carefully, and even the few Hufflepuffs had to admit that if Madam Pince said Potter couldn’t have done it, then that would be very likely. Still, damn Potter always was the centre of attention, those facts barely changed their frustration. And while the rumour mill would certainly do its job and inform everyone of this conversation here, the story would get distorted and both Puffs and Snakes would focus on the fact that several of Potter’s ancestors could’ve done it. So…it wouldn’t do Harry too much good.
Just as Madam Pince finished talking and headed back to the Head Table, Harry had a realisation.
Just how many members of his family had been so powerful? Apparently his great-grandfather (from whom he heard for the first time) had been a Dumbledore-level genius. Both his parents were brilliant and powerful. Maybe he should ask Madam Pince if she had some information about his family.
So that’s why he got up and walked up to the Head Table, where Madam Pince, Professor Vector and Professor Sinistra were having breakfast.
“Madam Pince? “
“Yes, Mr Potter? Do come up here and take a seat if you have a question.”
Yes, this was an unusual request, but Irma Pince didn’t care. Mr Potter seemed troubled and the students’ stupidity angered her. Couldn’t they leave the poor boy in peace?
So he sat down next to her, feeling a little out of place, took the offered cup of tea and began talking.
“You mentioned a few of my family members just now, is there any chance you have some books or information on them? I barely know more than my parents’ name.”
Irma Pince smiled at the boy, but deep down she was upset. To her knowledge mattered a lot, and it seemed like someone deprived the boy of the things he should know. She knew to whom she would have to talk.
“About which family members first, Mr Potter? I presume you’re probably interested in all of them, both Potters and Blacks.”
“I’m sorry? I know Sirius is my godfather but…”
“Oh. I will find a family tree for you, Mr Potter, and if I have to sketch it myself. James’ parents were Fleamont and Euphemia, two lovely people and friends of Minerva if I’m not mistaken, and Fleamont’s parents were Henry and Electra, a born Black and Arcturus’ eldest aunt. Only because the Black family tradition prioritises male inheritance she didn’t become Head of the Family. I hope that solved your confusion, you are a member of the main branch of House Black with probably a higher claim to the title than Mr Malfoy. Maybe.”
Harry’s confusion just got bigger and bigger. What title? And why didn’t anyone ever bother to tell him something like that.
“Thank you. A lot. Not really anyone ever told me things about my family beyond ‘you look like your father’ and ‘you have your mother’s eyes.’ I will definitely drop by the library later.”
“You’re welcome, Mr Potter.”
Not much later, Irma Pince knocked at the door of a professor’s office. Five minutes later, the two of them left the room, seemingly worried (not that any student was near them to realise that), just to head to another professor to have a very serious conversation. Things were going in a completely wrong direction here at Hogwarts, and it seemed like no one cared about this. Harry Potter, the student Severus Snape described as an ‘insolent brat like his father’ and Minerva McGonagall titled ‘crazy troublemaker with a knack for flying’ was not really any of those things. Okay, the knack for flying aside. He was not a spoiled troublemaker, but a nice young man with no knowledge of his family, his legacy and just how gifted his ancestors were. The librarian and the professor - both not really familiar with the boy themselves - never realised it. He wasn’t spending much time in their presence. Harry Potter clearly must be muggle-raised, otherwise he’d know about his family, his legacy. So what if no one ever bothered telling him anything? What if everyone just expected him to know that? Just how negligent and ignorant had the Headmaster and Minerva turned?
And now no one looked out for Harry Potter, no one but Hermione Granger. Dumbledore didn’t launch an investigation into the whole ‘Goblet Situation’, didn’t tell the students that Potter couldn’t have done it, didn’t help the boy.
In their opinion, the DMLE should have already been here, and someone should have released a statement regarding Potter. A responsible guardian should have protested.
Who even was the boy’s guardian?
The two hoped that the person, to whose office they were heading, would be in agreement, and that together they could do something about all of that.
Harry and Hermione didn’t realise any of that yet. They had left the castle to take a stroll on the grounds after breakfast to escape the students slowly arriving for breakfast. Maybe the rumour mill would be nice to them for once, but there was no guarantee for that.
“So, how do we start?”
“First we get help from someone who’d help us and whose help would be of any assistance. Not many who fit those criterias.”
“But they can’t, Hermione. The Goblet prevents that.”
The smirk Harry got in response amused him.
“But…don’t you need help to be prepared for Voldemort? Or if he’s really gone, for the dangerous escaped convict Sirius Black? I mean a man known to be Voldemort’s right hand and have a special hatred for you…you will need some training.”
Harry laughed out loud.
“Hermione Granger, please do remind me to never get on your bad side. Good god, you’re perfect.”
And Hermione couldn’t help it but to blush when he gazed at her with adoration and thankfulness. Did he have to be so adorable?
“Come on, Harry, let’s go.”
Ten minutes later they knocked onto the door of the second professor that came to mind. This was actually their first choice, but the other one had been closer. Still, no one had opened. But it was Sunday morning after all. Maybe they’d get lucky here though.
Irma Pince and the two professors, in whose company she was, all turned around as someone knocked on the door. Why did they have to get disturbed now?
The professor got up and opened the door, just to exclaim surprised: “Mr Potter, Miss Granger. Come in.”
Well, that was convenient.