The wait stretched almost an hour. The Great Hall gradually emptied: students drifted away in groups, excitedly discussing the unexpected twist. The Durmstrang pupils left in orderly ranks, grim and silent; the Beauxbatons contingent fluttered off, quietly chattering in French.
Hermione shifted from foot to foot, feeling the cold from the stone floor seep through her shoe soles. Kieran stood perfectly still, leaning against the wall like a statue. His patience seemed boundless, and it faintly irritated Hermione, whose nerves were stretched taut as lute strings.
At last the side door creaked, and Harry appeared.
He looked exhausted. Shoulders slumped, glasses askew, face fixed in an expression of profound weariness mixed with bewilderment. He took a few steps, spotted them by the entrance and froze, clearly startled.
‘You’re here?’ His voice was hoarse. He glanced around, and Hermione saw hope flicker in his eyes before it died. ‘Where’s Ron?’
Hermione bit her lip, unsure how to soften the truth.
‘He… he went up to the tower, Harry. We decided to wait for you here.’
Harry nodded, and his face hardened. He understood.
‘Right,’ he said dully. ‘As expected.’
An awkward silence fell. Hermione felt she ought to say something, ought to ask the question that had tormented her all this hour. She knew the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.
‘Harry,’ she began cautiously, stepping closer. ‘Listen… you definitely didn’t put your name in? You didn’t ask any of the older students?’
The reaction was instantaneous. Harry exploded like an over-pressured cauldron.
‘Have you all ganged up on me?!’ he barked, flinging his arms wide. ‘First Dumbledore, then Crouch, then Snape, now you! I didn’t put my name in! I don’t know how it got there! I don’t want this Tournament! How many times do I have to say it before someone actually listens?!’
Hermione recoiled, startled by his fury. But then Kieran stepped between them.
‘Quiet, Potter,’ he said in that cool, level tone that somehow doused emotion. ‘Don’t waste your breath. We believe you.’
Harry broke off mid-shout, breathing hard. He looked from Hermione to Morgan.
‘You believe me?’
‘In general — yes,’ Kieran nodded. ‘You have neither motive nor skill to fool Dumbledore’s line. That’s obvious to anyone who can think. But the rest…’ He jerked his head towards the staircases. ‘They won’t care about logic. So don’t be surprised when it all comes crashing down on you now. Crowds love heroes, but they love scapegoats even more.’
Harry raked a hand through his hair, making it wilder than ever. The flare of anger passed quickly.
‘Just what I needed,’ he muttered, though Hermione heard relief in his voice. ‘Thanks. For waiting. Really.’
‘Shall we go?’ Hermione asked gently, touching his elbow. ‘Are you ready to head back to the common room?’
Harry gave a crooked smile.
‘Honestly? Not really. But sleeping in the corridor isn’t much of an option.’
They set off towards the marble staircase. They walked in silence. Hermione wanted to ask what had happened in the champions’ room, but seeing Harry’s hunched shoulders she decided questions could wait till morning. Right now he needed quiet and the knowledge that he wasn’t alone.
But the quiet ended the moment they reached the Fat Lady’s portrait.
‘Password?’ she asked, eyeing the trio curiously.
‘Balderdash,’ Harry said wearily.
The portrait swung open, and they were hit by a wave of light, warmth and deafening noise.
The Gryffindor common room was awake. It seemed the entire house had gathered. The moment Harry crossed the threshold dozens of heads turned, and a unified, ecstatic roar erupted.
‘There he is!’
‘Our champion!’
‘Harry, you did it!’
Hermione instinctively pressed closer to Kieran as the crowd surged towards them. The press of happy, shouting people felt suffocating, almost oppressive. Someone tugged Harry’s robes, someone slapped his back, someone thrust food into his hands. Fred and George, still sporting their beards, danced some wild jig on a table.
‘How did you do it, Harry?!’ Lee Jordan yelled. ‘That was brilliant!’
‘And Dumbledore’s face! Did you see his face?’
‘Tell us! We want to know the secret!’
Harry was engulfed. He looked like a cornered animal dazzled by flashbulbs.
‘I didn’t…’ he began, trying to shout over the din. ‘Listen, I didn’t do anything! I don’t know how—’
‘Oh come off it with the modesty!’ Seamus interrupted, beaming. ‘You’re our champion! The fourth one! We’ll wipe the floor with Hufflepuff!’
Hermione watched Harry search desperately for an escape route to the dormitory stairs, but the wall of bodies was impenetrable. She wanted to intervene, to push through, to shout at them to leave him alone, but her voice caught in her throat. Their joy was genuine, yet no less smothering for it.
Harry tried again to speak, to explain that it was a mistake, that it was dangerous, but confronted with dozens of shining eyes waiting for a miracle he suddenly deflated.
He raised a hand, forcing a crooked, strained smile.
‘Yeah… thanks,’ he called into the crowd, surrendering. ‘It was… tricky. I’m going to bed, all right? Really tired.’
The crowd roared approval, parting for their ‘hero’. Harry, avoiding Hermione’s and Kieran’s eyes, almost ran to the spiral staircase, fleeing from his own fame — which tonight felt heavier than any curse.