0526 Attitude

0526 Attitude

Hermione's voice trembled slightly as she recounted to Harry every detail of what had transpired in that cramped, tension-filled room after they'd left the magnificently decorated Great Hall. The flickering torches casted dancing shadows across her pale face as she spoke, but what sent genuine shivers down Harry's spine wasn't her behavior—it was Professor Moody's deeply troubling speculation that she shared.

Moody had shared two equally disturbing possibilities: Either someone harbored such deep-seated, venomous hatred towards Hermione that they were willing to orchestrate her death through the tournament's dangerous tasks, or—perhaps even more sinister—someone was orchestrating a calculated plot to bring catastrophic misfortune to Hogwarts itself.

Their method was cunningly simple yet devastatingly effective: force the school to have two champions, thereby making Hogwarts a target of widespread hostility and isolation throughout the magical community. Given the tournament's historically lethal nature, they might not even need to implement any additional schemes to achieve their nefarious goals.

In short, they wanted Hermione dead.

"You absolutely cannot participate in this tournament!" Harry's emerald eyes blazed with an intensity that matched the surrounding torchlight, his voice echoed off the ancient stone walls as he shouted, barely containing his rage. "How dare they—HOW DARE THEY—allow you to participate when they know full well what the consequences could be!"

Hermione stood pressed against the frost-kissed castle wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if seeking comfort, her usual confident demeanor was replaced by an unsettling silence.

"I'll go to anyone—EVERYONE!" Harry continued, his voice rising with each word. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Watson, Dumbledore—they have to find some way to extract you from this nightmare. They can't simply stand idle and watch you march towards potential death!"

Perhaps it was the raw emotion in Hermione's retelling, or the unbridled fury in Harry's outburst, but Ron's face had turned ashen—clearly, he hadn't fully grasped the serious implications lurking beneath the surface of this seemingly prestigious event.

Ginny looked at Hermione with a gaze full of concern, though she felt compelled to challenge Harry's desperate statements.

"Harry, you have to understand—this isn't something you can simply change through sheer force of will, The professors have already discussed possible solution—nothing works—"

"THEN—!" Harry's eyes widened, his voice cracking as it rose even higher, but the words died in his throat as the crushing weight of helplessness descended upon him.

'What options remained? What could anyone possibly do?'

As Dumbledore had explained as per Hermione's retelling, destroying the Goblet of Fire would not only devastate the ancient tradition of the Triwizard Tournament but would also shatter the dreams of the other three innocent champions.

While Harry himself, wouldn't hesitate to reduce the Goblet to ashes, he knew with bitter certainty that he couldn't convince any of the professors to take such drastic action. Even his adventure-seeking classmates, who viewed the tournament through rose-tinted glasses, would recoil at such a suggestion.

"Perhaps—perhaps it won't be as dangerous as we fear," Ginny said, her voice wavering with worried optimism as she tried to soothe Harry's obvious distress. "After this shocking development, I'm certain Professor Watson will scrutinize every aspect of the tournament tasks with unprecedented rigor. He won't permit any further manipulation. Looking at it that way, it could be fair, couldn't it? We've all seen Hermione in Physical Education class—she's every bit as capable as Diggory. If he can handle whatever tasks lay ahead, surely Hermione can too—"

"But Professor Watson specifically emphasized—" Harry's frown deepened as he spoke, his mind racing. While Ginny's logic wasn't entirely flawed, an unshakeable sense of foreboding continued to gnaw at his heart. "The Triwizard Tournament isn't just about dueling skills and prowess—it tests every aspect of Champions' ability. Diggory and the other champions... they're the cream of the crop among the senior students. They must have mastered countless spells and techniques that we haven't even encountered in our studies yet."

The sheer thoughtfulness of Harry's analysis took Hermione by surprise—she found herself watching Harry feeling indescribably touched as his usually impulsive nature seemed to be replaced by careful consideration for her.

Ron stood facing Harry, though his words seemed directed at no one in particular. His attempt at a smile came across as forced and uncomfortable, creating an unsettling disconnect between his expression and his words. Confronted by the bewildered looks from Harry and Ginny, he shrugged with an air of forced casualness, as if stating something obvious.

"Everyone heard what Professor Watson announced earlier," he said, his voice carrying an unfamiliar edge. "The Triwizard Tournament will be broadcasted live across multiple magical societies throughout Europe, using the same monitoring method he used in the school before. This means that when the tournament begins, tens of thousands of wizards will witness your every move, Hermione. You might even surpass Lockhart in fame. And let's not forget the substantial prize money awaiting you after the tournament concludes. Professor Watson certainly won't resort to tricks with fake leprechaun gold like Ludo Bagman did."

The firelight casted deep shadows across Hermione's face, concealing the flash of hurt that crossed her facial features at Ron's words. The warmth of the flames did nothing to dispel the chill that had settled in her heart.

"What in Merlin's name are you on about?" Harry snapped, his irritation reaching a breaking point. "We're discussing the very real dangers Hermione's about to face, and trying to determine if Snape's behind this whole mess!"

Ron repeated his newly adopted shrugging gesture, the movement stiff and unnatural. "It'll work out fine, won't it? I mean, regarding the tournament tasks—nobody's going to die with Professor Watson and Dumbledore overseeing everything. If they decided to reinstate the tournament, they must be confident about safety measures. Maybe everyone's just trying to create dramatic tension, like in second year when Professor Watson made such a big show before having us deal with that Inferi—"

"I'm going to bed—" Hermione suddenly announced and pushed herself away from the wall with determined force, drew in a shaky breath, and fled before anyone could respond. By the time Harry and the others reacted, they only caught a glimpse of her bushy hair disappearing through the portrait hole into the common room.

The Gryffindor dormitory was still alive with celebration when they returned, the air was still thick with excitement over Hermione's selection as a champion. Neville sat perched on the edge of his bed, a half-empty bottle of butterbeer clutched in his hand, wearing a dopey grin that suggested he'd had several more before this one.

Harry isolated himself from the partying, throwing himself into the task of writing to Sirius with such intensity that his quill nearly tore through the parchment which also stirred up some complicated emotions—they hadn't seen each other since their heated argument during the summer holidays, though their subsequent letters had carefully danced around the conflict.

Determined to explain every detail of the situation, Harry wrote a letter that surpassed the length of any essay he'd ever written for his classes at Hogwarts.

After carefully folding the lengthy letter, Harry decided to visit the owlery at first light to find Hedwig. He sat at his desk, staring into the dense darkness beyond the window, listening to the distant roar of waves from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. His thoughts continually circled back to Hermione, worry gnawing at his heart.

The situation stirred strange emotions within Harry. Throughout their years at Hogwarts, he had arguably found himself in more dangerous situations than any other student. Usually, it was Hermione who provided level-headed advice and clever solutions. But now, the roles were reversed—Hermione was the one in danger. He had to find a way to help her, to be useful, to repay all the times she'd saved him with her quick thinking and vast knowledge.

'But how?'

Harry found himself wishing, not for the first time, that he possessed even a fraction of Hermione's brilliant intellect.

After tucking the letter in his robe pocket, Harry stood up with a lengthy yawn. The dormitory was still buzzing with energy—Seamus and Dean continued their enthusiastic celebration, while Neville had collapsed to sleep in his bed, the half-empty bottle of butterbeer having spilled all over his bedding without his knowledge.

The scene was quite amusing and Harry instinctively turned to share the moment with Ron.

But Ron lay motionless in his bed, facing the wall, his entire body hidden beneath his blanket.

"Well..." Harry muttered under his breath, mimicking Ron's earlier shrug as he started toward the washroom. After just two steps, however, he found himself turning back to look at Ron's bed. Something about the sight—his best friend's turned back and the weird silence—sent a wave of sadness washing over Harry's heart.

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