Chapter 6: Dances and Deceptions
London, Ministry of Magic, August 27th, 1994
"Yes, I've heard about the attack on the Boy-Who-Lived! A terrible tragedy!"
He smiled politely at the witch, even though the question was asinine - an attack on the Boy-Who-Lived, at the Quidditch World Cup? Every wizarding newspaper in the world had covered it. In detail. Even The Quibbler, though that magazine claimed the whole incident was a botched assassination attempt by the goblins on Minister Fudge - according to the article, the goblins had ordered Jorkins to attack the most important wizard in Britain, and she had misunderstood their intent.
"Indeed, a terrible tragedy! To think that the poor, imperiused witch was killed in cold blood…" Madam Umbridge sighed theatrically, and for a moment, he was reminded of a toad preparing to croak. Although the witch's squat appearance was not as loathsome as her character, in his opinion - she was a toady with a penchant for backstabbing her betters.
Nevertheless, she was a useful creature. As the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, she would allow him to influence Fudge without being connected to him. "To be fair, Black couldn't have known that," he pointed out. "And seeing what her curse did to that unfortunate fellow from Ireland, I cannot fault him for overreacting." He shook his head in apparent compassion and understanding.
Umbridge's fake smile slipped a bit. "But did he know that, or did he simply curse her, without even noticing what curse she had cast? By all accounts, he struck with a lethal curse, without taking into account that this could have just been a misunderstanding, or a miscast by a drunk." She clicked her tongue as she shook her head. "What if it had been an innocent child, playing with their first wand?"
"I do not think Black would kill a child," he stated, sincerely even - Black was too weak to do such a thing, no matter the situation. "He did this to protect his godson, after all - the boy to whom we all owe so much."
That didn't please the witch, he could tell. Her eyes almost disappeared when she frowned. "But aren't you worried? Bertha was Mr Crouch's secretary. She's been handling his estate, just as you've been handling your aunt's."
She wasn't as subtle as she thought. He gasped. "Do you mean those crimes might be linked?"
"Do you think they could be? You would know best, wouldn't you?"
He pretended to consider this. "I still haven't dealt with all of my aunt's affairs - it's hard, with the fire having destroyed so much - but I haven't found anything linking her with Mr Crouch. I do not think there is any financial motive there. For all her political achievements, my aunt lived a frugal life. No, if there is a connection, then it has to be something else, something personal, perhaps."
Her smile grew wider. "Ah… maybe revenge?"
"The only one with a - far-fetched, I have to say - motive would be Black. But why would he force the poor witch to attack him, in public, so he could kill her? Wouldn't it have been much easier to simply have her disappear? A magical accident, easily accepted by the Ministry? You would have to have a very deranged mind to arrange such a public murder, with all the risks that entails. And Black was said to have recovered remarkably well from his ordeal in Azkaban." He emphasised 'said' just a little, as if he had simply sought a more precise word. But the witch had understood his apparently accidental meaning.
"Maybe we need to have him examined again. Black is not just the Head of his family, but also the guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived. That much responsibility might be too much for him. It wouldn't be the first time that someone couldn't handle such stress." Umbridge's attempt to sound sympathetic wasn't very convincing, in his opinion.
"I wouldn't know," he said. "I only knew him, briefly, at Hogwarts, and there he had no responsibilities at all."
"Oh, I've heard the stories. He was the last student anyone would have made a prefect, or given any form of authority." She smiled.
"But that was when he was young. He has certainly changed since then. I mean, he was in Azkaban." He didn't have to force himself to wince when he mentioned the prison - his most loyal followers were still suffering there, hanging onto the shreds of their sanity through the merest hint of his presence in their marks. He would save them as soon as he could do so without endangering his plans.
And there would be a reckoning with those who had repudiated him to save themselves, those who had abandoned him. They would answer to him, and they would have to struggle to gain his forgiveness, and even more to regain his favour. Lucius had a lot of explaining to do for his behaviour at Pettigrew's trial.
"Oh, indeed. He has changed - but maybe not for the better." Umbridge's smile was sickly sweet. "But I think that's a matter of concern for the DMLE, not for either of us."
He nodded in agreement. "Certainly. Which brings me to a matter that concerns us, or rather, the Minister."
"Oh?" She tensed and eyed him.
"Yes!" He nodded eagerly. "I've mentioned that I've been going through my aunt's documents, to settle her estate, haven't I?"
"Yes, you did. But you said most of it was lost with your aunt's house."
"Oh, yes. But she had a chest full of correspondence in her basement, protected from fire." He sighed. "I hoped that it would concern her finances, but it's all about politics, as far as I can tell - I have only skimmed the letters, you know."
He now had her full attention. "Political correspondence?"
"Yes. Letters, to and from Dumbledore, and others. I thought the Minister would know best if those should be handed to the Ministry's archives, since he is her successor."
"Definitely!" She was beaming now, probably drooling at the thought of getting her hands on material that could be used to blackmail her rivals.
He pulled out a shrunken chest. "It's all there - all the letters I found."
And some that his aunt had never willingly written. But which appeared as authentic as the others.
He watched the witch leave for a moment, before turning around and making his way to the Atrium of the Ministry. Dumbledore and a few of his other enemies would have a devil of a time trying to explain the contents of those letters. But even if they could prove that the letters were forgeries, no one would suspect earnest young Alphons Bagnold, who was defending Black and Dumbledore at every opportunity, even if his efforts sometimes seemed to unintentionally backfire.
The Dark Lord Voldemort smiled widely. Things were progressing as planned.
*****
London, Merton, September 1st, 1994
Hermione Granger checked the clock on her desk. The desk was new, but the clock was a used one she had found in a flea market. Completely mechanical, it would work inside wards as well, so she wouldn't have to abandon it when the day came that she had her own flat. Eleven o'clock. The Hogwarts Express would be pulling out of the station now. With Harry, Ron and the other students. Without her.
She sighed. Last year, she had thought it would get easier with time, but it hadn't. It still hurt to think that her friends would be at Hogwarts, without her. Learning magic with hundreds of other students. Having access to that amazing library. Having fun without being thought a delinquent who almost ruined her family.
Of course, she and her parents had told their friends and acquaintances that the matter had been settled, that the mistake had been rectified, but… 'audacter calumniare, semper aliquid haeret', as her father had put it.
Slander boldly, something always sticks.
And something had stuck. Not as bad as it had stuck in Wizarding Britain, of course. There she was not just a thief, but a gold-digging mudblood as well. At least among those who believed the Prophet and that muckraker Skeeter. That, unfortunately, included a lot of the British wizards and witches. Mr Black - he had told her to call him 'Sirius', but that felt uncomfortable - had mentioned he'd be able to do something about that, but that it would have to wait until he had dealt with his own troubles with the press. She'd wish Skeeter would fall over dead except that would cause even more trouble for Harry's godfather.
Sighing again, she tried to focus on her studies once more. Her last exams had proven that she needed to work harder if she wanted to keep up with the others at Hogwarts.
And she would keep up. At least in the important and useful subjects. She'd not let the other witches, especially the Ravenclaws, look down on her and call her a cheater or a failure! The thought of them being all smug at Hogwarts, while she was stuck here… some of them would probably even try to replace her, 'help' Harry, and Ron, with their homework, hang out with them…
She realised she was clenching her teeth and forced herself to relax. It wouldn't be like that. Harry and Ron were her best friends. They would not replace her.
*****
Hogwarts, September 2nd, 1994
"Krum's coming to Hogwarts! For the entire year!"
Even a day after it had been announced at the start-of-term feast, Ron was still excited about his idol spending a year at Hogwarts. The better part of a year, Hermione would have corrected them, if she were present, Harry Potter added in his thoughts. The delegations from the other schools wouldn't actually arrive until a month into term, due to scheduling conflicts and other such things.
"Yes," Harry agreed, "If Oliver was still here we'd be training every evening 'so we won't look bad in front of Krum'." He snorted. "Even so, Angelina has already said we'll train more often than she had originally planned - with Krum here, she expects scouts to attend the matches. Don't ask me why."
"Why wouldn't they? Scouting Hogwarts gives them an excuse to meet Krum," Ron said. "It's what I'd do."
His friend was right, Harry had to admit. "And there's also the fact that we'll play Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as well."
"Yes! Almost double the Quidditch matches this year!"
Ron was still smiling widely when they knocked at the door to the Defence classroom. Sirius opened the door, a wild grin on his face. "Ah! Here to see our newest celebrity? Come in!" He turned around as soon as the door closed. "Remus! Two more fans!"
Harry heard a groan from behind the door to Remus's quarters, followed by: "Ignore him, please. He's been insufferable all day." as the other wizard stepped into the room.
"What? Why wouldn't I be excited over the fact that, for the first time in a year, a member of my family has received good press?" Sirius scoffed, but he was still smiling.
"All I did was start my second year of teaching," Remus said.
"You beat the Dark Lord's curse! The first Defence teacher to last more than a year in decades!" Sirius laughed. "They'll call you the 'Professor-Who-Taught' soon!"
Remus rolled his eyes at his friend, but Harry had the impression that he wasn't quite as annoyed as he acted. "Enough of that. We've more important matters to discuss." Remus turned to Harry and Ron. "You've heard about the Tournament."
Harry nodded.
"Dumbledore's discovered a curse on the Goblet of Fire, the artefact that will choose the champions. He took a few days to remove it," Remus said. "If the curse had been triggered…" He shook his head, his expression tense. "It would have been very bad. The Headmaster's certain that it was the work of the Dark Lord."
Harry clenched his teeth. "So he's attacking Hogwarts, then?" Which meant Voldemort would be gunning for him.
"Anything that goes wrong at Hogwarts while the eyes of Europe are on us will lessen Dumbledore's influence on the Ministry," Sirius added. "Especially if some of our guests get hurt. So keep your eyes open. It won't be just Malfoy trying to attack you this year."
"We can easily handle him," Ron said, scoffing. Harry nodded - the git was no match for them.
"I meant either Malfoy," Sirius corrected them. "And the Dark Lord's worse. He managed to curse an artefact stored in a Ministry vault without anyone noticing. He might even be able to sneak into Hogwarts."
Ron muttered a curse under his breath. His good mood was entirely gone now.
And so was Harry's.
*****
Hogwarts, October 1st, 1994
"There's two more great things we can enjoy this year," Ron said between two mouthfuls of roast beef at the 'Welcome Feast' for the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students.
"Which are?" Harry Potter asked, refilling his own plate. There hadn't been many good things so far this term, in his opinion. Voldemort hadn't done anything yet, but the constant threat, the constant nagging fear of an attack… he shook his head. Tonight, at least, he wanted to focus on having fun.
"We have more feasts than normal - and we have stunning visitors!" Ron nodded towards the Ravenclaw table, where the students from Beauxbatons were seated.
Harry made a noncommittal sound, glancing at Durmstrang's Headmaster, who was seated next to Dumbledore at the staff table. To have another supposedly reformed Death Eater at the school had also put a damper on his mood.
"I thought Krum staying at Hogwarts was the best thing this year, but those witches…" Ron sighed with a - in Harry's opinion - silly grin on his face.
"Ron's gone gaga, like everyone else, over the
Veela," Ginny cut in. Harry looked at the redheaded witch and saw that she was sneering and glaring at the witch in question. A quick glance told him that she wasn't the only witch at their table glaring at the Ravenclaw table.
"Fleur Delacour…" Ron sighed again.
"As if a Veela would bother with you!" Ginny huffed. "She's three years older than you, too!" With a deep scowl, she added: "But everyone's panting after her!"
"I'm not," Harry defended himself.
"Well, you're the exception." Ginny beamed at him. "Her Veela allure must not work on you."
"Sirius said there is no such thing as Veela allure," Harry said. "They're just very beautiful." And his godfather claimed that he had extensively researched and examined the matter.
Now Ginny was scowling at him as well. Sirius had been right, Harry thought - witches were very fickle.
*****
London, Greenwich, October 10th, 1994
Bagnold Feared that Dumbledore Sacrificed Political Rivals during War!
Hermione Granger wished that she also had a subscription to the Daily Prophet as she craned her neck in an attempt to read the front page of the newspaper held by her tutor. She could make out an old picture of the late Millicent Bagnold, and another one, more recent, of Dumbledore, but not the article itself.
But to let anyone at the Prophet have her address would be a very bad idea. She didn't want to see pictures of her family or their new home in the newspaper, nor Skeeter following her parents around and making up lies about their lives. Well, she could buy her own newspaper in Diagon Alley, if she really needed to.
And judging by the way Mr Fletcher's fingers were almost tearing this issue of the Prophet apart, she might have to do that today, if she ever wanted to actually read the article. She was about to point this out when she caught a glimpse a of Mr Fletcher's expression, and closed her mouth. He looked absolutely furious. It would be better, she decided on the spot, not to bother him and to focus on her studies instead.
"Yes?" But, of course, her tutor was practicing what he preached, and had noticed her abandoned attempt to talk to him. She really needed to learn how to be more inconspicuous.
She considered practicing her lying, but decided against it. She was, had been, a Gryffindor, after all. "I was wondering about that article."
Her tutor stared at her for a moment. She realised that she was biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. He had mentioned this habit of hers before, as a 'tell'.
When she was about to bite her lip again, tells be damned, he sighed. "Someone dug up Bagnold's old letters, and the Prophet caught wind of it." He threw the newspaper on the table. "Read for yourself."
She eagerly grabbed the issue and refrained from smoothing out the wrinkled edges where Mr Fletcher had held it.
"Letters recently discovered... survived the fire in her house… correspondence with Dumbledore during the Blood War… concerns about Dumbledore's reaction to the civilian casualties… mentioned a disturbing letter from Dumbledore…"
"A letter conveniently missing from the stack," Mr Fletcher cut in. He still looked furious.
She cleared her throat. "What do you make of this?" A nice, neutral question.
He scoffed. "The Prophet's reading a lot into Bagnold's letter, and speculates even more about the missing letter from Dumbledore."
"They all but accuse the Headmaster of sacrificing his political rivals to the Death Eaters," Hermione pointed out.
He scoffed and stared at the wall behind her. "A lot of people were murdered in the war. The Death Eaters struck at anyone opposing them - or those refusing to support them. And they had their choice of targets." Hermione saw that he was slowly shaking his head. He still wasn't looking at her. "Dumbledore couldn't be everywhere, of course, and the Death Eaters counted on that. He had to 'make hard choices'." Mr Fletcher practically spat the last part out.
She bit her lower lip, not caring that it was a tell. She wanted to know what had happened to Mr Fletcher in the war. And yet, she dreaded knowing it as well.
"Yeah," he continued, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, "Dumbledore made hard choices, he effin' did. And an effin' whole lot of innocents died because of it." He shook his head again. "Only natural that he'd pick his friends over his enemies, course. But he couldn't even protect all of his friends. Or their families." Hermione almost missed his last words - they were spoken in a much softer tone.
He suddenly stood up. "I gotta … check up on somethin'. Study Transfiguration until tomorrow." Hermione drew breath to ask him to stay, but he apparated out of his flat before she could say anything.
Sighing, and wondering what exactly he was doing - and hoping he wasn't about to go drinking, though it would be understandable, if he had lost his family in the war - she returned to the article. Bagnold's nephew was quoted as saying that he was shocked at the allegations, and said that his aunt must have been imperiused to forge the letters by her murderer, 'because Dumbledore would never do such a thing'.
Hermione winced - Mr Bagnold meant well, but he wasn't helping. That wasn't an argument that would convince anyone. Quite the contrary, actually. Though the speculation that Dumbledore murdered his rivals and framed the Death Eaters, attributed to 'anonymous sources', sounded far too far-fetched too.
Some of the public would still believe it, of course. British wizards and witches seemed eager to assume the worst, she thought.
*****
Hogsmeade, October 25th, 1994
"Harry! Ron!" Hermione Granger hugged first Harry, then Ron as soon as they entered the Hog's Head Inn. They were filling out, she noticed with surprise. "You've been training hard," she remarked, reaching out to squeeze Harry's biceps. She quickly released him when she realised what she was doing and mumbled an apology.
"Oh, Sirius and Remus are pushing us hard," Ron said. "Of course, Harry's also doing Quidditch, and Angelina seems like a worthy successor to Oliver."
"She's not as bad," Harry corrected his friend as they took their seats.
"Could've fooled me," Ron retorted. "You certainly look as exhausted after training as you did last year."
Hermione laughed, even though she once more felt jealous and sad about not being at Hogwarts with them. "So, what else is new? You didn't have trouble with Malfoy again, did you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, he's been behaving since the last time. Maybe Remus's detention convinced him to stop being an arse."
"No." Ron shook his head. "He's too busy cozying up to Durmstrang's students to bother with us."
"To Krum, you mean." Harry grinned.
Ron scowled. "For such a great Seeker, Krum has really bad taste in friends."
"Well, Durmstrang doesn't even allow muggleborns to attend," Hermione pointed out. "He might feel Slytherins are kindred spirits."
"I hope Harry beats him at the match," Ron muttered.
Harry didn't look like he expected to beat the world-class Seeker, in Hermione's opinion. His next comment proved her right. "Yeah, I'll beat him, right after you convince Delacour to go out with you."
"At least I'm not moping because the witch I like already has a boyfriend!" Ron shot back.
Hermione blinked. Harry was interested in a witch? Who was that witch?
Before she could ask, Harry snorted. "I didn't know that Cho was with Cedric, and I'm over her anyway."
Hermione smiled. That was good - she didn't want her friends to mope over witches. It was petty, but she knew that if Harry and Ron had girlfriends, they would want to go with them to Hogsmeade, and not with her. And she didn't want them to meet her out of pity.
"You're over her?" Ron's tone was rather doubtful.
"Yes." Harry shrugged. "Sirius said that you should never go after a witch who's taken, not unless you are really in love. And if you're asking yourself whether you are in love, then you aren't. Or something like that." He perked up. "He said I should go after the Patil twins, anyway."
Hermione felt her smile slip. For all that she and her family owed Mr Black, she felt that Harry's godfather was not an entirely good influence on her best friend. A change of topic was in order, she decided.
"So… do you know how the visiting students compare with Hogwarts' own?"
*****
Hogwarts, October 31st, 1994
The Goblet stood on its pedestal, the flames within throwing a flickering light on the ceiling above. It looked remarkably harmless for its rumoured powers, Harry Potter thought when he glanced at it. And it looked remarkably harmless for a potentially cursed object, too.
"Mate, stop staring at the Goblet!" Ron whispered. "Dumbledore said it was safe."
Apparently, Harry hadn't been as subtle as he had thought. He looked at his friend and sighed. "I can't help it." It was Halloween too. The anniversary of his parents' murder at the hand of the dark wizard who had cursed the Goblet. "Dumbledore might have overlooked something." He might have been distracted by the allegations in the Prophet. The newspaper had stopped their thinly-veiled campaign, but according to Sirius, it had required Dumbledore to have a personal talk with the Prophet's owner.
"It wasn't just him, you know," Ron said while finishing his second serving of the filet mignon the elves had prepared for today's feast. "They brought in Curse-Breakers too, Bill told me. No one found anything. And they even tested it." He grinned. "Apparently, Dumbledore would be Hogwarts' champion if he was a student - who'd have thought!"
Harry forced himself to chuckle. He had known that already, too. But this was Voldemort - Dumbledore's equal. He had already managed to sneak into Hogwarts and attack Harry once, under Dumbledore's nose. If not for his mother's protection, Harry would have died. And probably Ron, too.
But so far nothing had happened. Not when the Goblet had been lit, and not when the various older students had dropped their names into it. Or when those who were too young to take part but had tried anyway had been repelled. Like Ron's brothers. He took a deep breath, then grinned. "Well, stop glancing at Delacour. She might take offense, and from what Sirius told us, angry Veela are definitely not safe."
Ron snorted. "I'm not glancing at her. I'm over her."
"You mean your desire not to be left drooling and stammering has finally grown stronger than your desire to ogle her?" Harry said, a bit more sharply than he had intended. It was Halloween, after all. Not his most favourite day in the year. At all.
"At least I tried to talk to her. You slunk away unseen when you saw Chang with Diggory," Ron shot back.
"I was being discreet," Harry defended himself. It hadn't been his finest hour. But it beat being embarrassed in public.
"Some Gryffindor you are!" Ron scoffed.
His friend was grinning, though it was a sore spot for him, Harry knew. "Speaking of… what are you going to do about the Yule Ball?"
"What do you mean? Do you wonder who I will ask to be my date? Or whether I managed to transfigure my robes into something more fashionable?"
"The first," Harry said. "The latter is hopeless. Not even Dumbledore could manage that."
"He wouldn't even try - he'd like the robes." Ron snorted. "I thought Fred and George had pranked me, you know, when I saw the robes."
"So did I," Harry said.
"But I'll manage," Ron went on. Which meant he didn't want Harry's help. Or Sirius's. "Maybe I'll ask Hermione on our next Hogsmeade weekend for a few tips. She has done her own robes, hasn't she?"
"I think she only mended them." Hermione wasn't exactly a witch obsessed with fashion, Harry knew. "You might be better off asking Lavender, or Parvati."
"That's not a good idea," Ron said, wincing. "That would make asking either to be my date a little embarrassing."
Harry nodded - that was true. Not that asking a witch out wasn't already embarrassing anyway. He snuck a glance at Parvati, who was talking - and giggling - with Lavender. What if she laughed at him? He wanted to ask her or her sister in private, but… asking them to step out for a minute would be the same as asking her straight out; everyone knew what that meant these days.
Which was another thing to consider: Time was running short. Harry wasn't the only wizard who needed a date for the Yule Ball, after all.
He was still pondering how to handle this problem when Dumbledore stood up from his seat and announced that the Goblet would now select the champions.
Harry held his breath for the whole drawing, but it went according to plan. And the champions chosen were no surprise either: Delacour, Krum and Diggory.
Harry looked away when Cho kissed Diggory in celebration.
*****
Hogwarts, November 20th, 1994
Hermione Granger was impressed when she saw the stadium that had been erected near Hogwarts. It was not as big as the one at the Quidditch World Cup, but it certainly dwarfed the stands at Hogwarts' Quidditch pitch. And it had been erected in a few weeks, since she hadn't seen it on her last visit to Hogsmeade.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Ron said, walking next to her. "Percy told me that the Ministry had a special task force to build this, drawn from the one at the World Cup. They couldn't simply conjure stands, since a single Dispelling Charm could have caused a catastrophe."
That sounded like a direct quote from his studious brother. "Was he involved?" she asked. Percy had started at the Ministry this year.
"Only a little. He's working in the Wizengamot Administration Services."
So, office gossip, or paperwork related to the event, Hermione thought. Good to know either way - as her tutor had told her, good thieves needed to know everything about their marks. She suspected, after hearing the examples he had used to make his point, that he had unknowingly robbed an Auror once. "I'm glad to hear that he's doing well."
"You and my mum both," Ron said, sighing. "She wrote me a whole letter about Percy - she wants me to follow his example."
"Well, it's safer than Curse-Breaking or working with dragons," she pointed out.
"Sure. But it's also boring. Percy loves his work, but I'm not him."
No, Ron wasn't Percy, Hermione agreed. "Where's Harry?" She had expected both of them to meet her at the gates.
"He's guarding our seats. With so many visitors, we thought the Boy-Who-Lived might be needed for that."
She glanced at Ron and nodded. "His godfather is coming as well then?"
"Yes. He's already up there with Harry." Ron nodded towards the towering side walls of the stadium.
And, Hermione thought, Mr Black was probably drawing his own share of glances and sneers. Like herself. She sniffed and raised her chin. So be it - she knew that she was innocent. She had done nothing of which she should be ashamed. And she might have been expelled from Hogwarts, but she didn't have to be a student to watch the Triwizard Tournament. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
They reached their seats a few minutes later, and Hermione saw that Ron hadn't been exaggerating - they were among the best seats in the stadium, right at the field. And there was Harry!
"Hi, Harry!" She hugged him, then nodded at his godfather. "Mr Black."
"Miss Granger." Mr Black nodded back at her, barely hiding his grin. She clenched her teeth.
"Hi, Hermione." Ron's sister was there as well.
"Hi, Ginny."
"Hello." And a blonde witch Hermione didn't know. "I'm Luna Lovegood, Ginny's neighbour."
"Ah. I'm Hermione Granger."
"I know. My father wrote about you." Luna nodded her head several times. "Worst Nargles infestation in ten years."
"Nargles?" Hermione blinked. Lovegood... Ah, The Quibbler! She smiled politely. She wasn't certain if such creatures existed - but she wouldn't rule it out either; she had 'known' that there was no magic, after all, until she had received her Hogwarts letter - but The Quibbler hadn't slandered her.
Luna was already explaining everything Hermione had ever wanted to know about Nargles, and then some. Ron glared at his sister, who glared back, and Harry grinned.
It felt so much like being back at school, Hermione had to turn away and focus on the arena to distract herself as soon as the blonde witch had finished.
*****
Fortunately, the first task of the tournament was a captivating sight. In the middle of the arena, walls had been erected to form three lanes - one for each champion - lined with obstacles ranging from ornate gates to simple-looking pits. And all lanes led into the same building.
Hermione Granger wished that she could observe the spells on the lanes - she could spot signs of Extension Charms, and, thanks to Harry's Omnioculars which she had borrowed, she could spot the runework indicating complex curses on the gates, but without her detection spell, she couldn't really study the traps and other obstacles.
Though she assumed that even if her detection spell had had the range to reach the arena's centre, Dumbledore would have blocked it to prevent cheating. So her best hope was that the organisers had thought to cater to those 'with a more discerning eye for protections and curses', as Mr Fletcher had put it, as well as to those wishing to see daring and spectacular spellwork.
She knew her tutor was also attending the event, but she hadn't seen him so far. He had told her that he would be mingling with the purebloods to socialise as 'Mr Smith' in the hope of establishing a few contacts. Without her, of course - a pureblood of good standing couldn't be seen with a convicted and expelled thief if they hoped to gain acceptance in those circles.
She could have come with him in disguise, but she wouldn't have been able to be with her friends in that case. And as tempting as it might be to see how Harry and Ron would react to her disguise, she much preferred to be with them as their friend instead of meeting them as a snobby pureblood witch.
"Did you spot Malfoy?" Harry asked, interrupting her attempt to figure out what obstacle a seemingly bare patch of sand was - quicksand seemed too obvious.
"No." She shook her head. "I wasn't looking for him, though."
"He's in the Ministry's section with his father," Harry said.
"Cozying up to the Minister, I bet," Hermione said, zooming in on that area. And there they were, with Mrs Malfoy. All clad in the latest robes from Paris, as far as she could tell with only Witch Weekly to go on.
"Of course. Trying to further erode Dumbledore's influence," Mr Black cut in. "And Dumbledore is too decent to simply tell off the Ministry and the press."
Ron nodded. "Percy said the bribes were so large, even the post owls were getting new perches. He got one of the old perches for our family owl."
So that hadn't been a joke from Ron's brother. Hermione should have expected that - Percy was very unlike his brothers, after all. And he certainly wasn't the kind of wizard who would look the other way, not even for family. Or, knowing the twins, especially not for family. "Aren't they afraid of your reputation?" she asked. "Or your family's?"
Mr Black scowled. "Not enough, or too much, it seems. With Crouch and Bagnold murdered under mysterious circumstances, Malfoy isn't the only one who has realised that if anything happens to him or his friends, I'll be blamed." He sighed. "It doesn't help that I'm the last Black - if there were more of us, those Bowtruckles would be too scared to try anything. I would pull Andromeda back into the fold, but with my current reputation, that would harm her family more than it would help me."
Hermione wondered what that meant for Harry's reputation, since her friend was living with Mr Black, but she knew better than to ask - Harry was fiercely protective of his godfather. Even if the man was not a good influence on her friend.
Before the mood could get even worse, though, the voice of Ludo Bagman filled the stadium. "Good afternoon, everyone! Welcome to the first task of the reborn Triwizard Tournament!"
"Damn bloke cheated my brothers out of their winnings at the World Cup," she heard Ron mutter while Bagman prattled on about the Ministry's achievements.
Hermione would have pointed out that nomen est omens in this case - Mr Fletcher had said a 'bagman' was a term used among criminals for someone handling dirty gold - but she didn't want to appear too informed about the slang used by criminals. So she simply nodded as she made a mental note - Bagman might be an easy mark to blackmail, if needed.
"...so, our champions have to race each other through these lanes which are filled with the deadliest curses and traps ever seen in Britain! Will they be up to the challenge, or will they fall prey to the dangers of this task? But even if they reach the goal, they will still have to face the task's ultimate challenge - the mysterious last guardian!"
Which meant it was either an animal or an enchanted, animated construct, Hermione thought.
Ron snorted. "He's a bad liar. Percy told me that the tasks are safe. They look dangerous, but they're no worse than a Quidditch match."
That made sense, Hermione thought. Although as the tournament's deadly history proved, it hadn't always been the case. Then she clapped and cheered with the others for the Champions - and especially for Cedric Diggory. He was a really handsome wizard, she couldn't help noticing. Chang was a lucky witch.
"And they're off!" Bagman yelled.
The champions stepped over the starting line, and dark flames sprang up in front of them. Cursed fire, Hermione thought. The Flame-Freezing Charm wouldn't help there. Maybe some conjured clay, to smother them?
The champions, meanwhile, had their own solutions. Delacour created fire herself - caught in a bubble, Hermione noted - and forced the fire to burn out in seconds by consuming all the oxygen around. Diggory conjured a stone tube and created a safe way through the flames and Krum dug a tunnel with his wand.
They hadn't advanced very far, though - next came the first gate. Krum tried to simply blow his away, but that backfired - literally. The Bulgarian had been ready for that, though - his Shield Charm weathered the blast, and he was flinging his next spells at the gate a moment later. But melting it down didn't work either. Delacour and Diggory were taking the more conventional approach, their wands trailing over the gate's surface, tracking the runes engraved into the metal. The Veela soon started tapping the different runes, until the gate opened. Diggory tried the same, but must have made a mistake - he was pushed back as if hit by a Bludger, and almost sent tumbling into the fire behind him - though, Hermione noted, the distance had been lengthened considerably thanks to Extension Charms that might have been conditionally activated.
He tried again, and passed through the gate at roughly the same time as Krum's latest curse managed to wreck his, and the two wizards rushed on. Delacour meanwhile had proven to be the bigger raptor when faced with a swarm of Bloodravens and had sent the birds flying by transforming. While Bagman wondered aloud if this was cheating, Krum hit his own swarm with an Acid Cloud Spell - Luna loudly protested such cruelty - and Diggory distracted his opponents with a conjured slab of bloody meat.
Delacour was still in the lead, though, and had reached the patch of sand Hermione had been wondering about. The French witch hesitated a moment, then cast a spell at the sand - which erupted into a dense cloud. For an instant, Hermione thought it had been a Reductor or Blasting Curse. But the cloud started to move - towards the champion. It was a miniature sandstorm, Hermione realised. And it engulfed Delacour before she could react.
Hermione wasn't the only one who gasped. But mere seconds later, the sand was swept up into the air by a sudden whirlwind, revealing the Veela only slightly worse for the wear - her robes had been ripped in spots, and her hair was a mess, but she seemed unhurt with the exception of a few scrapes as she continued the race. There were a few catcalls among the cheers, Hermione noted. None from her friends, though.
Delacour lost most of her lead when Diggory transfigured the sand into stone without slowing down and Krum blew the sand away. All three were now faced with another gate - one covered with glowing runes. Obvious distractions, Hermione thought. But then, this was a spectator event, so those runes might be used to make it easier for the audience to follow the champions' actions.
She'd find out soon enough, she knew - the champions were already casting. Hermione started to take notes. Her tutor had been correct - this was not just entertaining, but educational as well. Especially for a budding thief.
*****
"Oh… that had to hurt! Looks like Diggory didn't quite dodge that tail swipe!"
Bagman sounded almost gleeful, Harry Potter thought when the Hufflepuff champion was thrown in the air and landed hard on the extended stone floor where the last part of the task took place. He seemed to almost bounce.
"It moves like a real dragon," Ron commented. "Charlie told me about the tail swipes the Welsh Greens like to do."
"It's a construct created by Dumbledore," Hermione added, "so of course it will be very close to a real dragon. I guess Hagrid helped as well."
"I don't think so," Ron said. "If he had the thing would have already maimed a champion or two."
Harry laughed at that. Ron was probably correct; Hagrid had some rather… peculiar views of what was considered dangerous. The construct was holding back in order to not kill any of the contestants. Then he had to wince when Krum blew one foreleg of the dragon-construct's away, but paid for it when the construct breathed fire at him. The Bulgarian's robes caught fire, but he managed to roll away and started dousing himself with water.
"Krum's on fire today!" was Bagman's comment - not as funny as the wizard apparently thought.
"Look at Delacour!" Ron yelled suddenly, and Harry jerked. Where was… there! The French champion had used the construct's damage and distraction, and had changed into her raptor form again, diving at the box the dragon was guarding. The construct's tail snapped up, but the Veela avoided it, pulled up in time to miss the ground, as Wood used to call almost crashing, and snagged the box right from its pedestal.
"And Delacour uses the opportunity created by Krum and Diggory to sweep in and snatch victory from the jaws of the dragon! A daring but successful move! Beauxbatons' champion wins the first task!"
It had been an entertaining event, Harry thought as he clapped and cheered for the champions, but he couldn't help wondering how he would have done. He didn't know much about Runes or Arithmancy, but his and Ron's training had taught them how to dodge and fight - and he thought he would have done better at dodging, at least, than either Diggory or Krum. Maybe he'd throw his name into the Goblet next time.
*****
Hogwarts, November 22nd, 1994
"There they are," Ron whispered unnecessarily - Harry Potter had spotted them already. "And they're alone, just like Sirius's map showed."
Harry knew that Sirius and Remus had created - or recreated; the first had apparently been lost in their seventh year - that map to help keep him safe. But he was certain that his godfather wouldn't mind Harry and Ron using the map to ask girls out without humiliating themselves - Sirius had hinted at using the map to peep on witches as a student himself, after all. Hermione, of course, would have scolded him for this. But she wasn't there, he thought, feeling the familiar sense of regret.
Then he focused on the task at hand. They couldn't miss this opportunity - it had been pure luck that they had overheard Parvati complaining about having to give her sister some of the sweets her mother had sent her. "Let's go," he whispered as he straightened and checked his appearance for the last time. No wrinkles or dirt on his new robes or shoes. And his hair better stay in the shape it was meant to be - he had paid enough for the Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. Ron ran his hands over his own robes - Harry didn't know if his friend had transfigured his eyesores, or had someone else do it for him, but he looked stylish. Or dapper, as Sirius had called it.
"Alright." Ron sounded a little nervous, Harry thought - just like himself.
"Just act natural," he repeated his godfather's advice, talking as much to his friend as to himself.
"There's nothing natural about this," Ron muttered as they turned around the corner.
Harry forced himself to smile. "Ah, there you are!" he said, maybe a little too loud and too cheerful. "We've been looking for you."
"Hello, Parvati, Padma," Ron added.
The two witches exchanged a glance, then smiled. That was a good thing, Harry thought. Probably.
"You've been looking for us?" Parvati's smile widened. Harry felt suddenly less certain that this was a good sign. Too many teeth, he thought.
But he was a Gryffindor, and the only thing more humiliating than being turned down would be to slink away without asking. He cleared his throat, then bowed with a flourish to Parvati. "Would you do me the honour of agreeing to go to the Yule Ball with me?" The old forms, just like Sirius had taught them.
Ron mirrored him with Padma, bowing as soon as Harry had straightened again.
The two witches weren't looking as smug any more, he thought. They seemed surprised, but they were still smiling. It looked as if Sirius's advice had been right - you couldn't overdo it when courting witches.
He still waited with bated breath while Parvati looked at her sister, then back at him. But she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."
It wasn't quite the correct form to agree to his invitation, it lacked the curtsey, but Harry didn't care. She had said yes.
And, judging by Ron's wide smile, so had her sister.
"You honour me, my lady. My wand is yours." Harry bowed again. The forms sounded rather pompous to him, but apparently, Parvati liked that kind of talk.
Just like Sirius had predicted. Harry wouldn't ever doubt his godfather again. Not when it concerned witches, at least - his other advice sometimes seemed a little questionable.
*****
London, Merton, December 25th, 1994
Lying in bed, having slept in, Hermione Granger knew she should be happy. She had a new home, her family's financial troubles had been solved - mostly - and this Christmas saw all their book collections, if not fully restored, at least making good progress towards that goal.
And yet, despite all the positive changes compared to last year's Christmas, she wasn't happy. Not really. While she was celebrating Christmas with her parents, her friends were at Hogwarts, preparing to attend the Yule Ball. With the Patil twins.
Well, she thought with a glance at her alarm clock, they wouldn't be getting ready just yet. It was still morning, after all. But Parvati might already be fretting over her appearance with Lavender - those two witches certainly had spent a lot of time on such things when Hermione had been at Hogwarts, and she doubted that they would have changed in the years since.
She sighed. She was being catty. And petty. She had changed a lot herself, after all, since her second year. But then - Hermione had been forced to, after she had been expelled. She doubted that anything similar had happened to Parvati or Lavender. People were supposed to be ruled by their hormones in puberty, after all, and those two witches had already been obsessed with boys back then, so they had probably become even worse.
She certainly paid more attention to boys now herself, she had to admit, and not just because her tutor wanted her to always be aware of her surroundings, and to learn how to manipulate others. She wanted to be at the Yule Ball, dancing with Harry and Ron… Her eyes widened when she realised that she was jealous.
She wasn't just petty and catty, she was even jealous of her friends' dates! Not even the fact that Mr Fletcher had managed to secure invitations to the New Year's Ball at Smith Manor - his mingling at the first task had been quite successful - was much of a consolation. Her friends wouldn't be there, and even if they were to attend, Hermione would be in disguise.
Hermione leaned back and closed her eyes. She wasn't looking forward to celebrating Christmas in this mood. But she couldn't help it - she wanted to be at the Yule Ball. With her friends. Not alone with her parents.
But she would at least act as if she was happy. Her parents didn't deserve to have their holiday ruined by her petty mood. Especially not after what they had gone through due to her mistakes.
And, she added in her thoughts, if she managed to fool her parents, then she should be able to fool anyone else as well.
*****
Hogwarts, December 25th, 1994
The Yule Ball really was a 'grand affair', as Sirius had put it, Harry Potter had to admit. The Great Hall had been turned into a ballroom, with a dance floor polished almost to a mirror sheen and matching decorations. It almost outshone the guests themselves, many of them clad in some of the most beautiful and stylish robes he had seen so far. Though Delacour's robes would have stood out even if worn by a plain witch. Worn by the Veela champion, they had caused a few accidents already.
"Oh, look, there's Padma!" Parvati, hanging on his arm, said excitedly. "Let's go talk with her for a bit."
She didn't wait for an answer and started tugging on his arm. Harry simply nodded and went along with her - as he had done for the whole evening so far. Sirius had said to let the witch lead anywhere other than on the dance floor, after all. His godfather had also said to let the witch think she was leading when it came to more intimate affairs, but Harry hadn't quite figured out how to achieve that.
On the way to Padma and Ron, he grabbed another pâté en croûte from one of the trays floating around. The kitchen staff had outdone themselves - they had prepared delicacies from Britain, France and Eastern Europe, and if something wasn't available they somehow produced it within minutes. He was already feeling stuffed, and he and Parvati had just circled the room once, so far - they had been dancing longer than he had expected, based on Sirius's tales. Padma and Ron hadn't been on the dance floor as long, Harry had noted as well.
"Oh, did you see Sally-Anne's robes?" Parvati remarked. "I didn't know Perry's had such nice robes. Everyone said it was Madam Malkin's, or nothing. But Madam Malkin's selection is rather British-centred, and I wanted Indian-style robes."
"I didn't know either," Harry said. He hadn't known that 'Perry's' was a tailor in Diagon Alley, nor that his robes were thought inferior to Madam Malkin's until today. Nor did he really care about robes. Well, apart from how nice they looked on witches. But according to Sirius it would be both impolite and stupid to point that out. He also had said to flatter their dates often, and so Harry added: "A good decision, in my humble opinion. They suit you very well." Sirius would said something more… well, Sirius, but Harry couldn't bring himself to say the lines his godfather would say. They would get him hexed. Boy-Who-Lived or not.
"Thank you," Parvati beamed at him, and Harry felt both more confident and more nervous at the same time.
They passed a group of older wizards and Harry heard the buzzing sound of privacy spells until they gave them a wider berth, which led them closer to the drapes covering the walls that showed animated scenes of Hogwarts's history. Hermione would have loved them, Harry thought, and she would have quoted Hogwarts: A History verbatim. His friend probably wouldn't have danced at all - if she had even bothered to attend.
Although if she had, she would have talked about something other than robes and relationships, he added to himself as they reached Padma and Ron.
"Padma! There you are! How do you like the ball so far?" Parvati asked, and Harry felt her grip on his arm tighten just a little. "I just love the orchestra; we've been dancing almost nonstop."
Harry nodded, once more glad that Sirius had taught him and Ron how to dance as well.
"It is nice," Padma said, "but I wouldn't want to spend all my time on the dance floor. This is a unique opportunity to talk to foreign witches and wizards. The differences in their views on spells and customs are simply fascinating."
That sounded like something Hermione would say, Harry thought. Though even with her slight overbite, she wouldn't have shown quite that many teeth while smiling. And Parvati's smile was matching Padma's. He glanced at Ron, whose own smile looked a little forced, and said: "Oh, it looks like Diggory took a break from dancing for a while. I wanted to talk to him about the last match we played against each other."
Parvati looked at him, then at Diggory, who was talking with Krum, and beamed at him again. "Oh, yes, let's go! Have a nice evening, Padma, Ron!"
Indeed, Harry thought as they left his friend and his date behind, letting the witch think she was leading worked well.
*****
"I had a marvelous time, Harry!" Parvati said as they walked back towards the Gryffindor dorms later.
"I simply did my best to measure up to you, my lady," Harry answered, nodding his head at her. It was, ironically, completely true. Parvati wasn't the most stimulating conversationalist, but she could dance very well, and she was very pretty, too. "I do hope that I did not disappoint you," he went on, still channeling the forms Sirius had drilled him and Ron in.
"Oh, no! You're a great dancer. And great company," the witch said. "You do your reputation proud."
Harry hadn't known he had a reputation - not as a dancer or as company, at least. But he was pleased anyway. "Not as great as you. You were the centre of attention wherever we went." That wasn't quite true - no witch would draw much attention next to Delacour, of course, unless she was hexing the Veela, and the champions drew the most attention to begin with. But it wasn't quite a lie either. As Sirius would have said, it was a 'polite truth'.
The kind of flattery that impressed witches into showing some affection, his godfather had said. And it seemed Parvati was slowing her steps as they neared Gryffindor Tower. And looking around. They were alone, Harry knew - his Defence training had emphasised such awareness.
Parvati must have come to the same conclusion, since she stopped and leaned against the wall as if taking a breather. "The evening was almost perfect," she said, smiling at him.
"Almost?" He tilted his head slightly.
"Something's been missing, so far." She licked her lips as she kept smiling.
Ah. Harry hoped that he wasn't misreading her intentions as he took a step closer to her, their chests almost touching. "And that would be?" he asked, leaning in.
For a moment, she seemed to hesitate. Then her arms went up around his neck, and their lips met. Mostly.
But Sirius had told him about the way first kisses usually went, and what to do. By the time they entered the Gryffindor dorms, they were quite proficient kissers, at least in Harry's admittedly inexperienced opinion.
*****
London, No 12 Grimmauld Place, December 28th, 1994
"So, how was the Yule Ball?" Hermione Granger asked as she sat down on the bed in Harry's room. Which was quite a lot bigger than her parents' bedroom in their new house, she noted. She kept her voice light and her tone casual. She was just making conversation and not desperate to find out what she had missed.
"Well, it wasn't too bad, I guess," Ron said, sitting in a chair at Harry's desk. He shrugged. "We danced, we chatted, we ate good food. I had expected more, though."
That didn't sound that great, Hermione thought. Then she looked at Harry, who was sitting down on the bed as well. He had an almost dreamy smile she didn't think she would like.
"Oh, I had a lot of fun with Parvati. She is a good dancer," her friend said.
"What he means is that they snogged," Ron said.
Hermione was glad for Mr Fletcher's training since she kept smiling politely even though she felt as if she had just been jinxed. "Oh?"
"We kissed," Harry said, rolling his eyes at Ron. "After the ball. That was all that happened."
"Well, according to Parvati, it was a bit more than a simple kiss," Ron shot back. "A lot more."
"You asked her?" Hermione blurted out.
"No. I heard it from Ginny," her friend clarified. "Apparently Parvati gave a detailed account of Harry's kissing skills to the entire dorm."
"We really just kissed." Harry was actually blushing, Hermione noted.
Ron snorted. "Mate, that wasn't just a peck on the cheek. You've got a girlfriend. She's already planning your next Hogsmeade weekend."
Hermione felt like she had been hexed. If Harry had a girlfriend - especially someone like Parvati - then he'd want to spend his weekends with her, and not with Hermione. She had known that this would happen, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
Harry glared at Ron, but didn't say anything. Especially not something like 'I won't let her do that.'
Ron grinned. "Hey, you 'just kissed' her."
Harry scoffed. "You'd have done the same in my place."
"Maybe. Padma just gave me a peck on the cheek." Ron shrugged, a bit too casually in Hermione's opinion. "But she was more interested in the other schools and their differences to Hogwarts than in me anyway. She reminded me of you, actually," he added, smiling at Hermione. "But for her looks, of course." He smiled wistfully. Harry nodded in apparent agreement - of course, he was dating Padma's identical twin.
Hermione wanted to hex both of them for that. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't really show how much she had changed and that she could dress up as well as any pureblood witch, not without revealing her training. If her friends could see her in one of her disguises they wouldn't treat her like that.
For a moment she enjoyed the fantasy of approaching Harry and Ron at a masquerade ball, in daring robes, a mysterious beauty flirting with them, leading them on, then leaving them. Their reactions would be priceless. She almost missed Harry's next comment. "What?"
"Well, I said I'll be attending the Smith's New Year's Ball with Parvati. Sirius got us invitations." Harry smiled, and Hermione hoped it was because Sirius's reputation was apparently improving, and not because he was looking forward to snogging with Parvati. Or more.
Then she realised what that meant. Harry would be at the same ball she was supposed to attend in disguise.
She didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But she had to inform Mr Fletcher as soon as possible.
******
Kent, Smith Manor, December 31st, 1994
"Thank you, sir." Hermione Granger smiled and curtseyed. "You're a very skilled dancer."
Her dance partner, an older cousin of Zacharias Smith, beamed at her. "You're talented as well. Would you like to take a little break in the winter garden?" He stepped a bit closer and reached out with his arm for her waist as he asked, apparently assuming she would agree.
But she had anticipated that - the wizard's hands had shown a tendency to roam a little on the dance floor - and deftly avoided him with a twist of her hips and a step back masked as another curtsey. "Thank you, but I think my tutor might want a word."
For a moment, his smile faded - he likely hadn't expected a refugee from the Colonies to react like that - but he quickly smiled again, bowing. "Of course. May I have the honour of another dance with you afterwards?"
"If possible, yes," she answered, deliberately not using the proper forms. A few slips were expected of her cover, after all.
She made her way to Mr Fletcher, who saw her coming and excused himself from the three older wizards he was talking to and met her halfway. "Are you enjoying the ball, Miss Merriweather?"
"Oh, it's marvelous!" she said, in a tone she imagined an impressed witch who cared about such things would use. Like Lavender or Parvati. In a lower voice, she added: "Another one wanted to 'take a break in the winter garden'."
"That's to be expected. They think you'll be easier to seduce, not knowing the local customs. And of course, your robes support such assumptions. That's why I chose them." He frowned. "But I should consider assumptions of ignorance as an insult to my reputation as a tutor. After all, I'm a distant relative of our hosts."
Hermione wanted to shake her head - she wouldn't have expected anyone to fall for the 'I'm a distant relative from the New World' scam, but apparently, Zacharias Smith's family was not overly suspicious.
"Did you approach your beau yet?" Mr Fletcher asked.
Hermione drew a deep breath. "No, not yet." She was wearing a blonde wig, coloured contact lenses and muggle makeup that made her look very different from her usual looks, in addition to dress robes with a neckline that drew attention away from her face, but Harry was her best friend and had known her for years. Even with a Shrinking Charm having taken care - temporarily, alas! - of her slight overbite, and the spell on her robes adding more bust, he might recognise her. At least her voice was disguised by a Volubilis Potion.
"Well, the ball's halfway over, and the Boy-Who-Lived is very popular. You should get a move on, Miss." In a softer tone, he added: "You've been training for over a year for this. You're ready. He won't recognise you, trust me." He held out his arm, "I'll introduce you."
She shot him a look but he simply kept smiling until she sighed and hooked her arm into his. Harry was just stepping off the dance floor, with Parvati hanging on his arm as if she would stumble and fall if she let him go. The witch had been glued to his side for the whole evening, basking in the Boy-Who-Lived's fame.
Well, Hermione thought, time to test just how much Harry liked his new girlfriend. She put on her best smile and let Mr Fletcher guide her towards them. It was time to test what she had learned.
*****
Harry Potter noticed the older wizard and the young witch making their way towards him and Parvati long before they reached them. After one and a half such evenings, he could spot people wanting to talk to him well enough. And judging by the sudden tension he felt on his arm, and the sniff he heard, Parvati had spotted them as well. Or rather, had spotted the young blonde in the rather daring robes.
"Is that her father, or her lover?" he heard Parvati whisper, right before the pair reached them.
"Mr Potter? I'm Mr Smith, a distant relative of our hosts. This is Miss Merriweather."
"Charmed," Harry said, shaking the man's hand before bowing to kiss the witch's. Which brought his eyes rather close to her chest, he noticed. Of which a lot was on display. He straightened. "This is my girlfriend, Miss Patil."
"Charmed." Parvati's smile was as sincere as Snape complimenting a Gryffindor.
"Miss Merriweather has recently arrived from the New World, and I've been tutoring her so she can fit into British society," Mr Smith explained.
The witch nodded. "He's a very good teacher. I would have been lost without him." She sighed, which did interesting things to her neckline. "Of course, even in the New World, with all our troubles, we've heard of you." She shook her head. "You've lived through so much tragedy! I admire your strength." She smiled at him. She had bright blue eyes, he noticed, belatedly. And a nice smile too. And a rather husky voice. She was no Delacour, but then, no one else was.
"Many lost family in the war," he answered.
She nodded as if he had said something profound and twirled a strand of her long hair around a finger. "We've had wars of our own, but not such bloody ones. Not usually, at least."
Well, everyone knew about that, too, Harry thought. Magical North America's East Coast was like Magical Europe's Balkans - always on the brink of a war, if not already fighting. Mr Smith seemed to have spotted someone else he might want to talk to, and Harry quickly asked, mostly to keep the conversation going a little longer: "Will you be attending Hogwarts next year?" Her age was hard to tell, but if she needed a tutor, then she couldn't be that old, or so he thought.
She shook her head. "I don't think so. I already finished my education. I would have loved to attend your school, though. It must be great."
"Best school in the world," Harry agreed. "You could visit it for the second task of the Triwizard Tournament."
"Maybe I will. That sounds very intriguing." She smiled at him. "I would need a guide, though," she added with a glance at her tutor. "Mr Smith didn't attend Hogwarts either."
Harry opened his mouth to volunteer - that was the polite thing to do, of course - but Parvati's sudden death grip on his arm distracted him long enough for the witch to speak up. "I'm certain there will be many students willing to give you a tour."
And there were the teeth again, Harry thought. He quickly looked around for Sirius and spotted his godfather talking to a pretty witch in a corner. Good enough. "I think my godfather wanted to talk to me. If you'll excuse us?" he nodded at Mr Smith and Miss Merriweather.
"Of course." Mr Smith nodded and led his student away as Harry tried to get his girlfriend to loosen her grip on his arm before he lost all feeling in the limb.
He still snuck a glance at Miss Merriweather's back as she walked away. Just to check if it matched her front.
It did.
*****
