0528 Friendship (2-in-1 Chapter)

The tension in the library was palpable as Harry’s unexpectedly aggressive reaction sent ripples of shock through the hushed atmosphere. The sudden change in his demeanor caught everyone off guard, including Viktor Krum, who was also genuinely surprised.

Even the always stern Madam Pince, her thin lips typically pursed in disapproval, momentarily forgot her customary irritation at the cluster of giggling witches who had been trailing Krum throughout the library. She had only permitted their presence—despite their incessant whispering and dreamy sighs—out of diplomatic courtesy to their distinguished Durmstrang guest.

‘But what was Harry Potter doing?’

Krum’s thick eyebrows, which had just begun to relax furrowed once again as he looked at the boy before him, who was half a head shorter, with confusion in his gaze.

He knew this green-eyed boy was Harry Potter, someone who was, in some ways, even more famous than himself. They had met face-to-face twice before—first at the Quidditch World Cup, and then just yesterday during when Harry and his two friends had shown them around Hogwarts grounds.

During both meetings, Harry Potter had been nothing but friendly, and especially his red-headed friend— Krum remembered—had been particularly enthusiastic, barely containing his fan-boy excitement.

‘But what was happening now?’

Harry wouldn’t let him approach them closely and seemed ready to attack. Though Krum had to admit, Harry’s stance and expression were quite intimidating – he appeared to have had some training.

“Oh, please don’t do this, Harry!” Hermione finally came to her senses and called out anxiously. Her brown eyes darted anxiously between her friend and the international Quidditch star, her fingers nervously twisting a strand of her bushy hair.

She was probably the only one who understood why Harry was reacting so extremely – he likely viewed all unfamiliar people as potential threats towards her. The warmth of being protected spread through her chest, but it was immediately tempered by practical concern.

Any conflict with Durmstrang’s champion could have serious diplomatic consequences, not to mention the potential impact on the tournament itself. Her mind raced through possible solutions as she watched Harry’s tense posture, his hand hovering near where she knew his wand was concealed.

“Let’s talk outside,” Hermione said decisively, grasping Harry’s sleeve and pulling him towards the library entrance. She opened her mouth to offer an explanation to Krum, but Madam Pince’s withering glare made her shiver and reconsider. Instead, she leaned closer to Krum and whispered her explanations, careful to keep her voice below the library’s strict noise threshold.

The trio made their way out of the library, passing through its wooden doors into the castle. The library entrance, bustling with students moving between classes, was too public for their needed conversation.

Almost instinctively, Hermione guided them toward a familiar corridor—the same one where Professor Watson had previously assisted the house-elf in birth. As they walked, she noticed Krum’s dark eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings, studying the row of sealed classrooms with genuine interest.

A sudden movement over their head caught their attention—a spider, its body roughly the size of a baby’s clenched fist, scurried across a web that stretched between ancient stone arches.

Hermione unconsciously brushed her thick hair away from her face, her cheeks coloring slightly as she felt compelled to explain, “We don’t use all these classrooms for regular lessons anymore. Some of these spaces haven’t been used in centuries… so they’re not exactly maintained to the usual Hogwarts standards—”

Harry grimaced; this wasn’t another formal tour like yesterdays. There was no need to provide Krum with such detailed explanations of every corner of the castle.

“I think it is…. interestin’—” Surprisingly, Krum showed no concern about the poor conditions nor did he dwell on Harry’s earlier aggressive reaction. He enthusiastically stared at a broken-armed statue at the corridor’s end and said, “Durmstrang’s castle is not so… grand as Hogwarts—only four floors high. And it is not so….. comfortable or interesting….. like here—”

As Krum spoke, Harry began to realize something that shifted his perception of him completely. Viktor Krum as an international Quidditch star didn’t carry himself with the expected arrogance of a celebrity athlete.

His usual quietness, Harry now understood, likely stemmed from self-consciousness about his imperfect English rather than any sense of superiority. Even now, as he attempted to describe Durmstrang, his speech was sprinkled with occasional phrases of Bulgarian that neither Harry nor Hermione could decipher, his thick accent was also struggling with certain English words.

The conversation took an unexpected turn when Krum, looking somewhat sheepish, asked, “Could you…. perhaps help me get an autograph?”

The request hung in the air, notable for its novelty—usually, it was Krum being mobbed by admirers seeking his signature. Just yesterday, during their tour of the grounds with the visiting students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, Harry had witnessed countless Hogwarts girls practically tripping over themselves to get Krum’s autograph.

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, surprise giving way to understanding as they processed the request. “Whose autograph are you hoping to get?” Hermione asked carefully, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“Mr. Watson—” Krum admitted, his expression unusually weak. “I don’t know many people here, and I’m not certain if Mr. Watson would consider it, ah…” he trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Presumptuous!” Harry supplied helpfully, watching as relief crossed Krum’s facial features at being provided the exact term he’d been struggling to find.

To Harry’s growing surprise, he found Krum remarkably easy to talk to, nothing like the stern, unapproachable figure he’d imagined. Most importantly, there wasn’t a hint of hostility toward Hermione despite their status as competing champions. His congratulations to her seemed genuine, and his tone was also far more sincere and comfortable than Ron’s had been during last night’s interaction.

Curiosity prompted Harry to ask why Krum hadn’t sought help from Malfoy—after all, during the past two evening feasts, Krum had been seated beside the Slytherin, and both Harry and Ron had observed Malfoy’s constant attempts to curry favor with him.

Krum’s response, though partially lost in his thick accent and mumbled delivery, seemed to suggest he didn’t find Malfoy very reliable. This assessment immediately elevated Krum further in Harry’s estimation, and he felt a twinge of guilt about his earlier hostile behavior.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do about that autograph—” Harry offered, his words serving as both acceptance and apology. The tension from earlier had completely dissipated, replaced by an unexpected sense of friendship.

As they made their way back through the corridors, Krum explained the reason behind his presence in the library to Hermione, “I’ve been doing research to prepare for the first task—”

At the mention of the tournament task, Hermione’s expression grew anxious. She clearly wanted to inquire about the direction of his research, but caught herself before speaking. The tournament rules were explicit about champions relying solely on their own abilities, and asking about another champion’s preparation methods would undoubtedly constitute cheating.

“Prepare?” Harry’s confusion was evident in his voice. From what Hermione had shared, Barty Crouch had provided the champions with nothing more than vague instructions to prepare mentally for the challenges, without any concrete information about their nature. “But the Ministry hasn’t revealed anything, have they? What could you possibly find in books?”

Unlike Hermione, Harry had no such scruples about rules and asked directly. Krum, displaying unexpected generosity, also shared his reasoning, “Yes, they’ve revealed nothing specific, but… there are always clues—”

He raised his thick eyebrows meaningfully, glancing at Hermione’s profile as she pretended not to be intensely interested. A hint of pride crept into his expression, momentarily transforming him from the intimidating celebrity to an eager student trying to show off, “Even though the tasks are kept secret, they usually fall into certain…. categories. By looking at records of past Triwizard Tournaments, you can usually guess the kinds of challenges the champions might face…”

“Oh!” The revelation lit up Hermione’s eyes instantly. The approach was so obvious that she felt slightly embarrassed for not thinking of it herself. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with the irregular circumstances of her championship and Ron’s concerns, it should probably have been her first course of action.

“—I’m not very familiar with the layout of Hogwarts’ library…” Krum continued in his usual clipped tone, “I haven’t been able to locate these historical records, and your librarian seems… she doesn’t seem to like people asking questions—”

“I can help with that! I know this library like the back of my hand!” Hermione’s enthusiasm was infectious, her earlier reservations about rule-breaking apparently forgotten.

Harry, standing like a bodyguard, could only shrug resignedly upon hearing Hermione’s eager offer. He had already predicted that their afternoon plans would likely revolve around the library’s dusty shelves.

His prediction was indeed absolutely correct. With remarkable efficiency, Hermione gathered every tome that could possibly contain information about the Triwizard Tournament, creating what appeared to be a small fortress of books around their table. The three of them spent hours poring over the texts, breaking only when Harry made quick dashes to the Great Hall to fetch food during lunch and dinner times.

During one of these food runs, Harry encountered Ron in the Great Hall. When he extended an invitation for Ron to join them in their research efforts with Hermione and Krum, Ron’s response was evasive, mumbling something about pre-arranged plans to play Gobstones with Seamus that afternoon.

The response both annoyed and puzzled Harry. He could sense that since the previous evening, Ron seemed to be deliberately avoiding Hermione, though he couldn’t quite understand why. However, this concerning observation was quickly pushed aside by more immediate concerns—helping Hermione uncover any possible hints about the tournament’s challenges was the first priority.

“This is absolutely insane!” Hermione’s exclamation came only after Madam Pince had practically shooed them from the library, her repeated insistence finally forcing them to leave.

Both she and Harry emerged clutching stacks of parchment covered in notes about historical Triwizard Tournament conditions, their findings spanning centuries. Krum had left earlier, explaining that Professor Karkaroff had strict rules about students remaining in the castle after hours.

“They actually made champions face Dementors, werewolves, inferi, basilisks—” Hermione’s voice rose with increasing dismay as they crossed the corridor bridge.

She suddenly halted, turning to face the black lake that stretched out below them, its surface shimmering like polished obsidian in the evening light. Her expression was a mix of horror and indignation as she cried out, “But this is all completely illegal!”

…

..

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 <<<<****SCENEBREAK****>>>>

Hermione had spent countless hours trying to calculate and prepare herself mentally for the inevitable backlash she would face after becoming the unexpected Triwizard champion, but as the harsh reality of the new week unfolded and classes resumed their normal schedule, she discovered that the situation had spiraled far beyond her worst predictions. Her initial assumption that she alone would bear the brunt of the hostility proved painfully naive – the entire Gryffindor House had become entangled in this increasingly complex web of tension and animosity.

The confrontation she dreaded most was with the Hufflepuffs, whose sense of betrayal ran particularly deep. But as fate would have it, their very first class that crisp Monday morning was Herbology, shared with the very house that felt most wronged by recent events.

The greenhouse’s usually pleasant atmosphere was transformed into something almost tangible in its awkwardness. The normally combined class had fractured into two distinct camps. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs now stood rigid and separate, refusing to even acknowledge each other’s existence.

The breaking point came when Justin Finch-Fletchley, his face twisted in poorly concealed malice, deliberately “lost control” of his Bouncing Bulb, sending it bowling directly into Hermione’s nose. The resulting explosion of laughter from the Hufflepuff section echoed off the greenhouse glass, making the sound seem even more mocking than intended.

Professor Sprout’s subsequent reprimand of Finch-Fletchley was notably half-hearted, delivered in such a lukewarm tone that it might as well have been a commendation of his behavior. Even more telling was how the usually fair-minded professor seemed to develop a sudden reluctance to call upon either Neville or Hermione during class discussions, despite their historically excellent participation.

Tuesday brought Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins, and while Hagrid’s imposing presence kept outright hostility at bay, the undercurrent of antagonism was impossible to miss. The Slytherin girls, led by Pansy Parkinson, formed tight clusters throughout the lesson, pointing and whispering. Each time Draco leaned in to whisper something in Pansy’s ear, her shrill laughter would pierce the air like a knife, her eyes never leaving Hermione’s place.

The ripple effects of this controversy extended far beyond Hogwarts, with both visiting schools making their displeasure known through increasingly dramatic gestures.

The students of Beauxbatons, led by their stunningly beautiful group of girls, had expressed their displeasure by boycotting the Great Hall entirely. After classes, they would hurry across the grounds like scattered birds, disappearing to their powder-blue carriage as if the very air of Hogwarts had become toxic.

Fred had discovered through his kitchen connections that the Beauxbatons students had arranged for house-elves to deliver their meals directly to their carriage, effectively creating their own private dining room away from the supposed treachery of Hogwarts.

The Durmstrang students were equally protective of their champion, Viktor Krum. Whenever Krum appeared in the Great Hall, he was surrounded by a phalanx of his fellow students, their dark expressions and rigid postures making it clear they expected trouble. Just as Harry’s protective instincts had kicked in regarding Hermione’s safety within the castle, Karkaroff’s paranoia about potential plots against Viktor had reached new heights.

“If they’re so bloody terrified, why don’t they just pack up their things and go home!” Harry burst out angrily on Wednesday morning, his voice carrying more than intended across the breakfast table as he gestured angrily toward the conspicuously empty Ravenclaw table where the Beauxbatons students usually sat.

“Please, Harry–” Hermione interjected, fighting to keep her voice steady and reasonable despite her own inner turmoil. “Their concerns aren’t entirely unreasonable. After all, whoever placed my name in the Goblet of Fire hasn’t been found. If their true intention was to bring shame upon Hogwarts, attacking their champions would be the best way.”

Harry’s forehead creased in that familiar way it did when he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the logical grounds to do so. His shoulders slumped in reluctant acknowledgment of Hermione’s point, the fight seeming to drain out of him. Across the table, Ron glanced up briefly, but upon catching Hermione’s observant gaze, he quickly returned his attention to his barely-touched breakfast.

The tense moment was broken by the familiar sound of beating wings as the morning mail arrived, hundreds of owls plunged from the enchanted ceiling in a graceful aerial ballet. A single envelope drifted down like an autumn leaf, landing precisely in front of Harry immediately lifting his dejected expression.

“It’s from Sirius!” Harry exclaimed, his entire demeanor brightening as he recognized the handwriting. He tore into the envelope with barely contained excitement, his eyes racing across the parchment. “Sirius wants to discuss the champion situation with us in person!”

Both Hermione and Ron leaned forward with interest as Harry laid the letter flat on the table, continuing his explanation with growing enthusiasm. “He says he can’t put everything in writing. He wants to meet face-to-face – it must be urgent because he’s asking us to come to Hogsmeade this Saturday. He’ll be waiting for us at the Three Broomsticks!”

“But this isn’t an official Hogsmeade weekend, is it?” Hermione pointed out, her practical nature asserting itself even as she carefully examined Sirius’s letter, her eyes scanning each word as if searching for hidden meanings.

Harry’s face lit up with a mischievous gleam. “Surely Professor Watson hasn’t managed to seal all the secret passages to Hogsmeade, has he?” His voice carried a note of barely contained excitement.

The prospect of seeing his godfather had injected new life into him; since the term’s beginning, their contact had been limited to brief letters. The fact that Sirius suggested meeting them in Hogsmeade on a non-designated weekend seemed to carry an implicit approval of their occasional rule-bending, something that clearly delighted Harry.

The arrival of Sirius’s letter had provided Harry with something he desperately needed – a sense of purpose and direction. The dark cloud that had been hovering over him for days seemed to lift, replaced by an almost palpable anticipation for the upcoming meeting.

Hermione couldn’t quite match Harry’s optimism. While she doubted Sirius could offer any immediate solutions to their current predicament, she recognized that at this point, even the smallest gesture of support felt like a precious gift. She was particularly touched by Sirius’s involvement, knowing full well how demanding his new position as an Auror at the Ministry had become and she was very grateful that he was willing to make a special trip for this matter.

Sirius’s supportive intervention had an almost magical effect on both Harry and Hermione’s spirits throughout the day. Even the sideways glances and whispered comments from other houses during their classes seemed to lose some of their sting, as if Sirius’s invisible presence served as a protective shield around them.

The afternoon brought a temporary separation as Hermione’s schedule diverged from theirs. While she headed off to her additional classes, Harry and Ron made their way down to the Great Hall together, though the familiar journey felt somehow different, laden with unspoken tension. Before dinner could properly begin, Harry excused himself for his daily training session on the grounds, a routine he had maintained with admirable discipline despite recent events.

When Harry returned half an hour later, accompanied by an equally exhausted Hermione, both of them glistening with sweat from their training, Ron’s absence from the Great Hall was immediately noticeable. The empty space where he usually sat seemed to draw Harry’s attention like a missing tooth.

“Have you noticed something’s not quite right with Ron lately?” Harry asked, his voice low and concerned as he dabbed at his forehead with a napkin, loosening his collar to cool off.

Hermione’s hand froze mid-motion as she was wiping her own face, her body language suddenly tense. Deliberately avoiding Harry’s searching gaze, she attempted to maintain a casual tone that wasn’t quite casual. “What exactly do you mean?”

Harry fell silent, clearly struggling to explain the subtle changes he’d observed in Ron’s behavior. His time had been overwhelmingly occupied with Hermione’s champion situation, but even through that fog of concern, he’d noticed something was amiss. His brow furrowed deeply as he mentally reviewed Ron’s recent behavior in the dormitory and during classes, trying to pin down exactly what felt wrong.

“He seems… different,” Harry finally managed, choosing his words carefully. “Like something’s eating at him. He barely talks anymore, at least not like he used to.”

Hermione’s response was to quickly shovel food into her mouth, hoping her obvious avoidance technique might discourage Harry’s line of questioning. But Harry’s steady gaze remained fixed on her, making it clear he wasn’t going to let this go without some kind of answer.

“He’s probably… just worried about everything too,” Hermione said vaguely, seizing her glass of pumpkin juice and taking an unnecessarily long drink, ignoring Harry who seemed unsatisfied with her response.

The evening’s routine continued as dinner concluded, but neither Harry nor Hermione made their way back to the Gryffindor common room, knowing they still had Professor Watson’s class to attend. The practical consideration of avoiding unnecessary trips up and down the castle’s numerous staircases kept them in the Great Hall, where they were joined by Neville and several girls from the Quidditch team, all of them rushing to complete last-minute homework assignments before class.

As the Great Hall gradually emptied, this small group of Gryffindors gathered their belongings and hurried upstairs together, their footsteps echoing through the corridors as they made their way to the Physical Education classroom.

The route was familiar by now, but tonight something was different. Even from a considerable distance, they could hear the sound of laughter floating down the corridor – not the usual kind of pre-class chatter, but something weirdly different, with Malfoy’s distinctive drawl clearly audible among the voices.

Harry’s expression darkened immediately, his good mood from Sirius’s letter instantly vanishing. His instinctive glance toward Hermione confirmed that she had reached the same conclusion he had – whatever awaited them in that classroom wasn’t going to be pleasant.

The moment the Gryffindors crossed the threshold, the laughter ceased as if cut off by a knife, replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press against their ears. The Slytherins stood in their usual clusters, but their expressions held something new – a collective look of malicious anticipation that made Harry’s stomach turn.

Pansy Parkinson, her pug-like face twisted into an expression of cruel delight, stepped forward from the group. “Hey!” she called out, her voice dripping with false sweetness as she deliberately thrust her chest forward, drawing attention to something pinned there. “What do you think of this, Granger?”

Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line, while Harry’s face drained of color as he finally saw what was displayed on the badges the Slytherins wore so proudly. In that moment, something inside him snapped. He stepped forward, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that carried more menace than any shout could have managed. “Take that stupid thing off, Parkinson, or I swear you’ll regret it!”

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