The Champions
Hermione somberly stabbed her fork at the English peas spinning around her plate. She couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
She and Fleur had walked together from the library towards the great hall, their conversation easy and flowing despite the presence of Fleur’s friend. Each step they took closer to the hall, it seemed as if more and more Beauxbatons students fell into step around them, forming a protective barrier between the two girls and the bustling corridor. Isabelle had been the last to join them, just before the great doors. Hermione had sensed her presence before she saw her, the warm and comforting tingle that always accompanied the girl sliding in around Hermione’s magical core, greeting her playfully. Isabelle had glanced between Hermione and Fleur, a small smirk pulling at her lips.
The group had moved into the hall heading towards Hermione’s seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table. Since they had sat themselves down to steal Hermione’s toast the day before, the Beauxbatons students had taken to filling the seats around Hermione during meals. They filled not only the ones that typically remained empty, but often filled far enough down the table to push the Ravenclaws towards the extended end by the Professors. Hermione found she didn’t mind their presence terribly. Besides the playful glances and occasional smirks, they never really seemed to bother her, letting her listen on in silence as they spoke about their days in rapid, flowing French. While it had only truly occurred for the last two meals, and Hermione wouldn’t admit it to anyone if they asked, she appreciated the company. They made her feel welcome and blocked the skeptical view of the rest of the Hogwarts students. It didn’t hurt that both Fleur and Isabelle had made a point to sit directly across from her. Their golden eyes rarely leaving her even as the conversation moved around them.
Hermione hadn’t really spoken to them, beyond her meeting with Fleur in the library moments ago. Something about the two of them terrified her. It was like they could see into her very soul and their eyes always held a sad expectation. She was confused why they appeared to be so curious about her, she was nothing special.
Hermione looked back at her peas and sighed. Her gaze flickering towards the far end of the table, now filled with the Beauxbatons students.
As they had entered the hall and headed towards Hermione’s usual seat, Madame Maxime had intercepted them, briskly telling her students that, as they would be announcing the champions at the end of the meal, they would have to return to their assigned places. For their part, the Beauxbatons students looked sad at the thought of leaving her. Fleur in particular seemed distraught, which, as she had looked at her, quickly hardened into barely concealed anger. It was Isabelle who surprised her though. Hermione had accepted the professor’s words, heading towards her seat when she was stopped by a soft grip on her arm and terse, angry French. Looking up, Hermione saw that Isabelle was furious. Her eyes sharp and seeming to narrow as her grip on Hermione’s arm tightened almost painfully.
Just as Madame Maxime had begun to reply, Fleur coolly interjected, wrapping an arm around her young friend and whispering into her ear. Isabelle’s golden eyes flicked to Hermione’s and her expression softened. She squeezed Hermione’s hand gently and gave her a small nod before following her classmates.
Fleur had stayed behind for a moment and grasped Hermione’s other hand. Fleur’s touch was electric and she felt the current run through her entire body.
“We will see you after, Hermione.” She had said, “I am sorry.”
Hermione had waved her off, the girls weren’t obligated to be her friends and she truly didn’t mind.
But now, sitting alone feeling a slight tremor of something akin to fury strangely tangle into her disappointment, Hermione realized that in actuality she did mind. Which, as she did not even really know the girls, made absolutely no sense.
She was interrupted from her musings by Draco who had stumbled his way over to her.
“Are you trying to kill that pea, Granger?” He asked jokingly, “If so, I think it’s safe to say you’ve done it.”
She glanced up at him and gave a small smile.
“Hi Draco.” She said, “What did I do to deserve your company this evening?”
He slid onto the bench across from her. She noticed the glares she received in return from some of the Slytherin table.
“Oh you know,” he said, “just making my rounds. Making sure no one gets into any trouble. And based on your actions towards your meal, it seems I’ve arrived just in time.”
Hermione’s smile broadened before the gravity of the situation before her set in.
“Well my meal thanks you kind sir,” she said, before assuming a more serious tone, “But Draco, you really shouldn’t have this evening. They seem to be quite set on having all students remain in their seats in preparation for the announcement of the Triwizard champions. I would hate to be the cause of your punishment should Professor Snape see you over here.”
As if to prove her point, she pointedly glanced at the Professor’s table where the Defense against the Dark Arts Professor was taking his seat.
“Bah!” Draco explained, “You think I’m worried about Snape? And, for your information,” he said, leaning forward as if to bestow a secret upon her, “This visit is completely approved.”
Hermione’s head snapped back to the Professor’s table. She quickly found the eyes of Professor Black. She had one eyebrow raised as she gave Hermione a gentle nod, raising her cup in greeting.
Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands.
Draco laughed. “Hey, I agreed with her you know,” he said with a kind smile, “You looked miserable over here, like a child who lost their favorite toy. Are you alright?” He asked genuinely.
Hermione looked at him over her hands refusing to award him a response.
He moved around the table to sit next to her, his arm moving to embrace her before he paused. Confused, she looked up, instantly meeting two pairs of bright golden eyes. Draco seemed to have thought better of his action and dropped his hand back to his side.
“I’m here for you, you know.” He whispered for only her to hear, “Have you read the book yet?”
Taking the slight shake of her head as answer enough he smiled and straightened up. “Well, you might want to prioritize it. My mother’s requests should not be taken lightly.”
With that, the boy stood and quickly headed back towards his own seat. While she was sure Professor Black would intervene, she could see that the boy truly did not wish to incur any of Snape’s wrath.
Hermione’s gaze wandered back toward Professor Black. But, when she reached her typical seat, she was surprised to see that the woman was no longer there.
She felt the eyes on her again, prodding her as if begging their contact be returned. Hermione was half tempted not to comply to the sensation, having had quite enough of the strange feelings.
Yet, even had she wanted to give in, her choice was cut short by a much more unpleasant distraction. Ron Weasley had decided it was high time to confront her again. About what, she knew not. He seemed to have a thing for her, going out of his way to interrogate her about growing up in the muggle world or about her early acceptance to Hogwarts. He stood before her now, his mouth open as if to speak when a voice boomed out across the halls.
“SILENCE,” Dumbledore roared. Hermione looked back at the gaping boy as he quickly shut his mouth and returned to his seat, tripping over his own feet as he stared back at her.
“It is the time you have all been waiting for,” Dumbledore continued re-gaining Hermione’s attention. “Tonight, we will be announcing the champions of the Triwizard tournament. One champion, over the age of 17, will be selected to represent each school. This is a position of immense honor and, once selected, the champion cannot turn their nomination down.”
Dumbledore stepped forward towards the silver and gold cup, two ministry officials joined him. The first official was the same as the first day of the term, a stout man who stood tall and proud—the ministry representative. The second must be the director of the tournament. He limped forward on a cane and had a band around his head attached to an artificial eye—Mad-eye Moody they called him. The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang also rose to join him.
The cup turned a brilliant blue before turning a deep red. A single piece of paper exploded out of the cup and floated towards Dumbledore’s hand.
“The champion for Durmstrang,” he spoke out, the room silent except for the pounding of feet emanating from the Durmstrang students, “Victor Krum.” The hall erupted in cheers, Krum standing up from his place at the head of the Slytherin table and making his way towards his High Master.
The cup turned blue again, and with it, the room descended into silence. Next, it flashed a bright white a second piece of paper exploded forth.
“The champion for Beauxbatons,” he boomed, “Fleur Delacour.” The room erupted once again but Hermione felt as if she was surrounded by silence. She quickly looked up and met Fleur’s eyes. While she was reassured by the confidence and determination she saw in their golden depths, which quickly shifted to blue as she turned from Hermione, her heart gripped with pain and fear. She didn’t know why this girl had such an impact on her, but she did and now she was entering a tournament for her life.
Hermione’s attention barely returned to the room as Dumbledore announced the Hogwarts champion. She hadn’t heard the name, but noticed that the room was in complete silence.
“Harry Potter please come forward.” He repeated.
No, Hermione thought, how could it be? Harry was far too young. The entire room seemed to think so as the silence quickly broke into angered outbursts, particularly from the end of the Hufflepuff table where Cedric Diggory, the Hogwarts hopeful looked on in astonishment.
The room was so upset that they didn’t noticed as the cup turned blue and then flashed once more, this time silver.
A lone slip of paper drifted down through the air slowly landing in Dumbledore’s outstretched hand.
“Isabelle Dubois,” he said. “Is there an Isabelle Dubois here?”
The rest of the room didn’t seem to know what was happening or to care, still disturbed by Harry’s nomination. But Hermione noted the complete stillness in the Beauxbatons delegation. How they all sat perfectly still, none of them moving, shock and pain filling their eyes.
“Isabelle Dubois” Dumbledore repeated, “You are now a champion, step forward.”
Hermione watched, gripped with paralyzing terror as Isabelle stood, her head high, and stepped forward. Her eyes flashed across the room, searching until they found Hermione’s. On the outside, the girl was the picture of confidence but, within her eyes, Hermione could clearly read the immense fear. The girl was terrified. Hermione stood, on instinct, as if she could do something to protect her. Hermione wasn’t even sure if the girl was eligible for the competition, let alone if she put her name in for consideration. But, given one look at the rest of her delegation and seeing the fear in her eyes. Hermione knew instinctually that something was wrong.
Something was terribly wrong.