As Hermione and I headed up the marble staircases, I was careful to keep the toast tightly wrapped so it would stay warm. After all that had happened last night, Harry deserved some warm toast at the very least.
"Ash?" Hermione spoke up.
"Yeah?"
"Look... I know a lot has happened since the World Cup. I've been worried about you since these – I don't even know what to call them — blackouts — started happening. I'm not asking you to tell me everything about it, but I do hope that you've been trying to get help with it."
"I have had some help," I said. "From Trelawney, and from Madame Pomfrey just last night."
"Trelawney?"
"It was in Sirius' letter," I said. I paused for a bit, trying to decide how much I should tell her. "He... he thinks the dreams I have when I blackout are visions."
"Visions about what?" Hermione said, her eyes wide.
"I can't really remember." That was one thing I was going to lie about. "Just blurry faces. I think I saw a sword in there somewhere."
"A sword?"
"I know, right? What is this, the Middle Ages?" I smiled dryly at Hermione. "Anyway, Sirius told me to see Trelawney about them. She just recommended a continuation of the dream journal we did last year. Apparently writing it down allows a clearer look into the Inner Eye or whatever. Supposedly, I'll be able to focus more on the details if I write down the bigger picture."
"That sounds like a load of rubbish," Hermione grumbled.
"Yeah, but it's my best option for now, unless I want to go to Dumbledore – and I don't think it's that bad." Yet, I added mentally.
"But if the dream journal does work and you see something bad, you'll tell him, right?"
I frowned. "I don't know. Trying to prevent parts of the future always ends badly. I'm not saying I think Dumbledore will try to prevent it, but what if I See something bad happening to you or Ron or somebody and I tell Dumbledore and Dumbledore tells Harry and Harry goes into Impulsive Idiot Mode to try to stop that bad thing from happening but only makes it worse in doing so?"
"That's a good point," Hermione admitted. "Especially the Impulsive Idiot Mode. Did you come up with that yourself?"
"Yeah. I'm not wrong, though."
"No, you're not. Harry's default mode is always Impulsive Idiot in a crisis." Hermione sighed. "That's why I'm extremely worried about what's going to happen to him in the Triwizard Tournament."
"You won't tell anyone else about the visions, will you?" I asked. "I'm not prepared to discover I'm some sort of Oracle or whatever. We need to focus more on helping Harry now."
"I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to," Hermione promised. "But if I think something bad will happen to you, all bets are off."
"Fair enough," I agreed.
We arrived at the portrait hole and slipped inside. Halfway through, we ran into Harry.
"Hello," I said, holding up the stack of toast. "We brought you this."
"Want to go for a walk?" Hermione asked.
"Good idea," said Harry gratefully.
We went back downstairs, crossed the entrance hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall, and were soon heading across the lawn toward the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected darkly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and we kept moving, munching on the toast, as Harry told Hermione and I exactly what had happened after he'd left the Gryffindor table the night before.
"Well, of course we knew you hadn't entered yourself," Hermione said when he'd finished telling us about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name!"
"But the question is, who did put it in?" I wondered. "Moody's right, Harry... I seriously doubt any student could have done it. They wouldn't have been able to fool the Goblet, much less get over Dumbledore's —"
"Have you seen Ron?" Harry interrupted.
Hermione and I shared a look.
"We saw him at breakfast," I said.
"Does he still think I entered myself?"
"Well... no, I don't think so... not really," said Hermione awkwardly.
"What's that supposed to mean, 'not really'?"
I sighed. "Isn't it obvious? He's jealous."
"Jealous?" Harry said incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"
"Look," said Hermione patiently, "it's always you who gets all the attention, you know it is."
"We know it's not your fault," I added, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously.
"Right," Hermione agreed. "Yes, we know you don't ask for it... but — well — you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous — he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many..."
"Great," said Harry bitterly. "Really great." He threw his hands up.
"Good Witch Morrigan," I muttered. "Don't get yourself worked up." I'd forgotten about Harry's simultaneously amusing and aggravating Dramatic Idiot Mode. "It's okay for Ron to be —"
"Tell him from me I'll swap any time he wants. Tell him from me he's welcome to it... People gawping at my forehead everywhere I go..."
"Tell him yourself," Hermione and I said at the same time.
"That's the only way to make amends," Hermione added.
"I'm not running around after him trying to make him grow up!" Harry said, so loudly that several owls in a nearby tree took flight in alarm. "Maybe he'll believe I'm not enjoying myself once I've got my neck broken or — "
"That's not funny," I snapped. "That's not funny at all."
"Harry, I've been thinking," Hermione said. "You know what we've got to do, don't you? Straight away, the moment we get back to the castle?"
"Yeah, give Ron a good kick up the —"
"Write to Sirius. You've got to tell him what's happened."
"Hermione's right," I said. "Remember, in his last letter? He asked you to keep him posted on everything that's going on at Hogwarts. It's almost as if he expected something like this to happen."
"I brought some parchment and a quill out with me — " Hermione began.
"Come off it," said Harry, looking around to check that we couldn't be overheard, but the grounds were quite deserted. "He came back to the country just because my scar twinged. He'll probably come bursting right into the castle if I tell him someone's entered me in the Triwizard Tournament —"
"He'd want you to tell him," I said. "He's going to find out anyway."
"How?"
"Harry, this isn't going to be kept quiet," said Hermione, very seriously. "This tournament's famous, and you're famous. I'll be really surprised if there isn't anything in the Daily Prophet about you competing... You're already in half the books about You-Know-Who, you know... and Sirius would rather hear it from you, I know he would."
"Okay, okay, I'll write to him," said Harry, throwing his last piece of toast into the lake. We stood and watched it floating there for a moment, before a large tentacle rose out of the water and scooped it beneath the surface. Then we returned to the castle.
"Whose owl am I going to use?" Harry asked as we climbed the stairs. "He told me not to use Hedwig again."
I suggested, "Ask Ron if you can borrow —"
"I'm not asking Ron for anything," Harry said flatly.
"Well, borrow one of the school owls, then, anyone can use them." I shrugged. Then I remembered the letter I'd written to Luke and Annabeth and patted my pockets, searching for it. Finally, I found it and pulled it out. "Would you mind if I used Hedwig to deliver this?"
"Who's that for?" Harry asked.
I narrowed my eyes. "Luke."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
Hermione smirked. "Oh?"
"Don't even start," I sighed. "Let's just go."
We went up to the Owlery. Hermione gave Harry a piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink, then strolled around the long lines of perches, looking at all the different owls, while Harry sat down against a wall and wrote his letter.
"Finished," he told Hermione, getting to his feet and brushing straw off his robes. At this, Hedwig fluttered down onto his shoulder and held out her leg.
"I can't use you," Harry told her, looking around for the school owls. "I've got to use one of these. Can you help Ash instead?"
Hedwig gave an indignant hoot, but delivering my mail must've been better than delivering no mail, so she held out her leg for me to tie the parchment on. Hedwig then took off so suddenly that she cut into Harry's arm.
"First Ron, then you," Harry said angrily. "This isn't my fault."
When the barn owl Harry was using had left, we headed back down.
Things didn't get much better as everyone got used to the idea of Harry being the second school champion. Harry told me as we headed down for Care of Magical Creatures that he would have been looking forward to seeing Hagrid under normal circumstances, but Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins too — the first time he would come face-to-face with them since becoming champion.
I wasn't looking forward to it, either — if Malfoy got tired of poking at Harry for being a champion, he'd undoubtedly nag me about Half-Bloods.
Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.
"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt he's going to be around much longer... Half the Triwizard champions have died... how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."
Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt.
To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.
"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"
"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er - yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra precaution, like. Harry — you come here an' help me with this big one....
And so it was just me, struggling to walk my skrewt instead of letting it walk me, trying to avoid Malfoy's prying questions.
The skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colorless, they had developed a kind of thick, grayish, shiny armor. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs — but still without recognizable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong and very hard to control. Every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the skrewts' ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.
I left that class covered in soot, leaves, mud, and grass stains.
It didn't help that we had Double Potions later.
When Harry, Hermione, and I arrived at Snape's dungeon after lunch, we found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of their robes. For one wild moment I thought they were S.P.E.W. badges — then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:
SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY — THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!
"Oh," I muttered. It wasn't the greatest thing ever, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting.
"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. "And this isn't all they do - look!"
He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:
POTTER STINKS!
The Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry. He felt the heat rise in his face and neck.
"Oh very funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really witty."
"Yeah, you should make up your own jingle with a ragtime piano accompaniment," I said, rolling my eyes. "I bet you couldn't write it, though — you've probably got the musical abilities of a diseased rat."
"Heh," One of the Slytherin guys chuckled. I was pretty sure it was Blaise Zabini, who was the epitome of what I call a junior educated rich kid. Unlike Malfoy, he actually had a work ethic — and good grades. He was one of the few Slytherins who was not wearing a POTTER STINKS badge. Maybe his musical abilities were acceptable.
Malfoy and his crew all glanced at him.
"What?" Blaise spread his hands. "It's funny because it's true."
"Want one, McKeon? Or you, Granger?" said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. "I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want a Mudblood sliming it up."
Harry reached for his wand. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.
"Harry!" Hermione said warningly.
"Go on, then, Potter," Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. "Moody's not here to look after you now — do it, if you've got the guts —"
For a split second, they looked into each other's eyes, then, at exactly the same time, both acted.
"Funnunculus!" Harry yelled.
"Densaugeo!" screamed Malfoy.
"NO-WAIT-DON'T!" I blurted.
Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in midair, and ricocheted off at angles — Harry's hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy's hit Hermione. Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up — Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.
"Hermione!" I shouted, rushing to see what was wrong with her. Ron had also hurried forward. He reached to pull her hands away from her face.
It wasn't a pretty sight. Hermione's front teeth — already larger than average — were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin - panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.
"And what is all this noise about?" said a soft, deadly voice.
Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, "Explain."
"Potter attacked me, sir —"
"We attacked each other at the same time!" Harry shouted.
"— and he hit Goyle — look —"
Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi.
"Hospital wing, Goyle," Snape said calmly.
"Malfoy got Hermione!" Ron said. "Look!"
He forced Hermione to show Snape her teeth — she was doing her best to hide them with her hands, though this was difficult as they had now grown down past her collar. Pansy Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were doubled up with silent giggles, pointing at Hermione from behind Snape's back.
Snape looked coldly at Hermione, then said, "I see no difference."
Hermione let out a whimper; her eyes filled with tears, she turned on her heel and ran all the way up the corridor and out of sight.
All the offensive names Ron had taught me earlier when I was comforting Neville completely slipped my mind, so all I could think to call Snape before dashing after Hermione was "You ugly horned toad!"
As I ran after my friend, I heard Harry and Ron start shouting at Snape at the same time. It was probably lucky their voices echoed so much in the stone corridor, for in the confused din, it was impossible for him to hear exactly what they were calling him.