Early morning in the Gryffindor common room smelt of ash, old parchment and the wind howling through cracks in the walls. The fire had long since dulled to embers, and the only sound was the rustle of pages, unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn hush. Hermione sat curled in a corner, knees drawn up under a blanket. On her lap lay the hefty tome Dragon-Breeding for Pleasure and Profit, which she had smuggled from the library the previous day, straight after her talk with Ron.
She hadn’t slept all night. Every minute of waiting had stretched like an hour. Where was Harry? Why was he taking so long? Had he been caught?
Suddenly the air beside an empty armchair rippled, and Harry’s tousled head appeared from nowhere.
Hermione started, nearly dropping the book. Harry yanked off the Invisibility Cloak, crumpling it in shaking hands. He looked wild: eyes fever-bright, breath ragged, as though he had run all the way from Hagrid’s hut.
‘You’re back!’ she gasped, leaping up. ‘Well? Did you see them? Is it true—’
‘Later,’ Harry cut her off, glancing nervously towards the staircases to the dormitories. He couldn’t keep still; adrenaline poured off him. ‘Not here. Hermione, come on. We need to talk, but somewhere private…’
‘All right, of course,’ she said hurriedly, setting the book aside. ‘Let’s go.’
‘And fetch Morgan,’ Harry added, already heading for the portrait hole. ‘If he’s not asleep. Which he never is.’
Hermione froze.
‘Morgan? Harry, he’s only just back from his run — he’s in the showers! How am I supposed to call him?’
‘Knock, then!’ Harry waved a hand without turning. The portrait door was already closing behind him. ‘I’ll be at the bridge. Waiting for you!’
And he vanished into the corridor, leaving her alone in the middle of the common room with burning cheeks.
‘Simply marvellous,’ she muttered, feeling a mixture of irritation and panic. ‘Saviour of the wizarding world, and tact like a mountain troll. “Knock”, he says.’
She crept to the door leading to the boys’ showers. From inside came the sound of running water and clouds of steam scented with herbal soap. Hermione paused, gathering her courage. This was a flagrant breach of decency, but too much was at stake.
She knocked timidly. The water didn’t stop.
‘Kieran!’ she called in a loud whisper, feeling utterly ridiculous. ‘Kieran, are you in there?’
Silence. Only the splash of water on tiles.
Hermione drew a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, covered them with her hand for good measure and — praying no one else was there — cracked the door open. Warm, damp air hit her face.
‘Kieran!’ she called into the steam. ‘I’m not looking! Honestly, eyes closed! Harry’s back — he’s waiting for us on the bridge. Urgently!’
The water cut off. There came a rustle, the sound of a shower curtain being drawn.
‘I hear you, Hermione,’ Morgan’s voice answered with faint irony, quite close. ‘You don’t need to shout. And you’d better close the door before we’re caught. Give me two minutes.’
Hermione slammed the door with such speed one might have thought a Basilisk lurked behind it, then pressed her back to the wall, catching her breath. Her heart hammered in her throat. For a whole second she fought the childish, idiotic urge to peek at Kieran: a fleeting, powerful impulse she had to quash by fleeing the showers at a run. What was wrong with her? Sleepless nights were evidently wreaking havoc on her cognitive faculties and general sanity; she must make a note for future reference.
The morning on the wooden bridge was piercingly cold. Wind whistled through the beams, rocking the precarious structure over the drop, but Harry seemed oblivious. He paced the planks, waving his arms like a conductor leading a deranged orchestra.
Hermione clung to the railing, feeling her cheeks burn despite the icy gusts. She had almost spied on her childhood friend.
*Merlin, what am I even thinking?!* she mentally scolded herself, yanking her robes straight and adjusting her bag — which had never been crooked to begin with. She needed to focus. Dragons. Mortal danger. Harry. No showers.
‘Dragons!’ Harry almost shouted when they reached him. Calmness had deserted him like a shed skin. ‘Real, live dragons! Four of them! Hungarian Horntail, Hermione!’
He clutched his hair, making it wilder.
‘What am I supposed to do with a dragon? I’ve got a wand that shoots sparks; it’s got fire that melts rock! Who’s the genius who thought this was a suitable test for schoolchildren?! I haven’t got a heavy-calibre machine gun, damn it!’
Kieran, standing a little apart and leaning against a beam, gave a soft huff.
‘Now I see why Hermione burst into my shower,’ he remarked with a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. ‘Since you’re in this state, Potter, things really are dire.’
Harry froze mid-stride, eyes widening.
‘Seriously? You burst into the boys’ showers?’
‘He’s joking!’ Hermione said far too quickly, feeling heat flood her face. She smoothed her hair with a nervous gesture — though the wind promptly undid it. ‘Don’t listen to him! And anyway, stop getting distracted! We haven’t time for nonsense, Harry — we’ve got a dragon!’
She pulled out her quill, promptly dropped it, cursed, retrieved it and assumed her most businesslike expression, arms folded.
‘Right. Facts. What exactly did you see?’
Kieran nobly stopped smiling and returned to the subject.
‘I’ve no idea how to defeat a dragon,’ he admitted. ‘At Mahoutokoro we studied their anatomy, but practical experience… The only option is to drop something very heavy on it. A boulder, for instance. Or collapse the arena roof.’
‘We won’t be allowed to kill them,’ Harry shook his head and gave a nervous laugh, though he paced more slowly now. ‘I saw they were sitting on clutches. Eggs. Hagrid said the task will probably involve them. Retrieve something. Or get past them.’
‘So theft,’ Kieran nodded. ‘That changes things. If the goal is simply to take an object… Accio?’
‘Too simple,’ Hermione countered at once, relieved to switch to pure logic. This was her territory. ‘Dragon hide has colossal magical resistance. The spell might simply bounce off the dragon itself. And the object to be retrieved — an egg or similar — is almost certainly warded against summoning charms. Standard security procedure for the Tournament.’
‘Logical,’ Kieran agreed. He turned to Harry, assessing him. ‘Then it comes down to physics. From what I’ve heard about you, Potter, you have plenty of raw magical power. Adrenaline might give you an edge, but charging a dragon head-on is suicide. You need either invisibility or speed.’
‘Invisibility… unlikely,’ Harry hesitated, glancing briefly at his pocket. Hermione understood he didn’t want to mention the cloak in front of Kieran. ‘There’ll be crowds of spectators, judges. If I simply vanish it’ll look suspicious. And dragons, they say, can smell and hear heartbeats.’
‘Then speed,’ Kieran concluded. ‘You’re a Seeker. You know how to move fast?’
‘On a broom — yes,’ Harry snorted with despair. ‘On foot I’m rubbish. Dudley used to catch me if I didn’t vault a fence in time. And I won’t have a broom with me.’
Hermione froze. A switch clicked in her mind.
‘A broom!’ she breathed, seizing Harry’s sleeve. ‘Harry, of course! You need a broom!’
‘What?’ He looked at her doubtfully.
‘Hermione, are you listening? They won’t let me bring a broom into the arena. I’ve only got my wand.’
‘Is there a rule against it?’ she asked at once, frantically recalling the Tournament regulations. ‘It says: “The champion may use a wand.” But it doesn’t say he may not use a wand to summon equipment!’
‘You think?’ Harry asked, doubt lingering.
‘I’m certain!’ she said fervently. ‘It’s a loophole, but a legal one! You’re the best Seeker of the century, Harry! In the air you’ve got a chance. On the ground you’re just a target.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Kieran said thoughtfully. ‘But there’s a problem. The broom’s in the castle. The arena’s far away. Can we smuggle it in beforehand? Hide it in bushes near the arena?’
‘No,’ Hermione shook her head. ‘Too risky. Someone might find it, or the judges might check the perimeter. Harry has to summon it himself. Accio Firebolt.’
Kieran gave a sceptical huff.
‘Summon a broom from the castle to the stadium? That’s a huge distance, Hermione. Walls, doors… It requires immense concentration. If he fumbles, he’ll be left facing the dragon empty-handed. Not the most reliable plan.’
‘It’s better than nothing!’ Hermione snapped, adjusting her bag again though it had never slipped. ‘And we have time. Tuesday’s still a way off. We’ll practise. Harry, you can do this! You need to learn long-range summoning. We’ll find empty classrooms, increase the distance…’
Harry looked from Kieran to Hermione. Gradually the panic in his eyes gave way to determination.
‘Accio Firebolt…’ he murmured. ‘Well, at least I fly better than I run.’
He sighed, shivering in the wind, and looked at Hermione more calmly.
‘By the way…’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I saw Charlie Weasley there, at Hagrid’s. He was helping pen the Horntail. I realised it was Ron who told you about the dragons. He knew and warned me.’
Hermione gave a faint smile, enormous relief washing through her.
‘Yes. He was really worried, Harry.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Harry nodded. ‘Today.’
‘Excellent,’ Hermione said briskly, energy surging back. They had a plan. A goal. Now only execution remained. ‘Right, let’s go to breakfast. We need strength. Then to the library. We need everything on advanced summoning charms and the aerodynamics of dragon fire.’
‘Back to the library,’ Kieran remarked with a wry smile.
‘Naturally,’ Hermione snorted, but smiled back at him, finally releasing the tension of this mad morning. ‘While you two think about dropping boulders on dragons, someone has to do the actual work.’