Chapter Text
She didnât mean to notice him.Â
When Headmaster Dumbledore announces that Hogwarts is hosting the Triwizard Tournament and students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons will be visiting the school to compete, Hermione canât help but be curious. Apparently, the event has been under discussion for the last two years, all the way back in Hermioneâs Fourth Year, but the negotiations had fallen apart due to ideological differences between Dumbledore and Headmaster Karkaroff.Â
Harry and Ron both say they donât care about the tournament, mostly out of bitterness over the age restriction limiting entries to Seventh Years, but when the doors fly open and the student delegations enter, everyone turns to stare.Â
The Beauxbatons students enter first, a flutter of airy blue. They are as French as can be, effortlessly elegant in their silk robes as they stride forward in unison behind their Headmistress, a towering woman with a sleek bob. But the poise fades as they begin shivering and a number of rapidly transfigured shawls and scarves appear as Headmistress Maxime is being welcomed by Dumbledore. As they huddle together tucking scarves around each other, they are suddenly rather charmingly relatable.
The Beauxbatons students have barely started finding seats for themselves when the doors of the Great Hall swing open again and the Durmstrang delegation enters.
Theyâre so different from Hogwarts and from Beauxbatons. As if theyâre from a different world entirely, as removed from Magical Britain as the Muggle world is from Hermione. Thereâs a coldness about the students filing in, a dark allure and intensity that is so foreign and interesting when contrasted with Hogwartsâ atmosphere of whimsy and cheerful oddness or even the elegance of Beauxbatons.Â
Hermione suspects itâs because Durmstrang is a Dark Arts school.Â
Sheâs read about the schools before, the little thatâs known given that the magical schools are excruciatingly secretive about their locations and the magic they teach. Beauxbatons is somewhere in the south of France, and although their location is unknown and some subjects secret, the Ministries of France and Britain often coordinate.Â
Durmstrang, on the other hand, operates alone and by their own rules and standards. Hermione isnât even sure which country the school is in. The one thing she does know is that they donât restrict themselves to solely learning defensive magic, they study the Dark Arts, not just theory, they use them. And itâs not only Northern European Dark Magic, unlike Beauxbatons and Hogwarts whose admissions are strictly national, Durmstrang accepts students throughout Europe.Â
Dark Wizards like Grindelwald studied magic at Durmstrang.
At the front of the delegation, nearly shoulder to shoulder with Headmaster Karkaroff, is a boy whoâs startlingly blond. Pale skin, even paler hair, and sharp features set with icy grey eyes. Everything about him stands out starkly against the fur-trimmed scarlet of his uniform. He stands out. Heâs self-assured and almost insolent. Unlike the rest of the Durmstrang students who look around the Great Hall with its enchanted ceiling with at least a degree of wonder, his eyes sweep across the room and the student body before him with an air of indifference thatâs almost forced. As if he refuses to be impressed by what he sees.Â
Hermione doesnât know why out of all the students in the crowd, heâs the one she notices first. Thereâs just something about him thatâs hard to look away from.
âBloody hell,â Ron says from beside her. âI think that blond tosser in the front is a Malfoy.â
She tears her eyes away to stare at Ron. âA who?â
He laughs and points at the blond boy. âA Malfoy. I dunno his first name, but heâs definitely got to be a Malfoy. Old pureblood family from here in Britain. Bastards, the lot of them. Always Slytherins here at Hogwarts. Heard his dad sent him to Durmstrang because he didnât want his son near any Muggle-borns.â
The offhand comment catches Hermione like an unexpected blow to the chest. Her lungs contract as if the windâs been knocked out of her as she looks back again across the Great Hall towards the advancing Durmstrang students, her sense of curious wonder as sharp and empty as a hunger pang.
Of course. Durmstrangâs final distinction. They accept magical students from any country throughout Europe, except the Muggle-borns.Â
Durmstrang is pureblood only.
She looks at Malfoy again with less fascination now, and he seems to notice her stare because he turns and his grey eyes lock with hers. Pureblood. Muggle-born. Somehow, she feels like he knows it instantly, that he can see it in her face, that in a world built upon lineage hierarchies that span centuries with a society woven of sociopolitical connections, that she does not belong.
She lifts her chin and refuses to drop her eyes or look away. Whoever this Malfoy may be, he isnât going to make her feel small.
One second. Two. Three. Four. He doesnât break eye contact and neither will she.
Another Durmstrang student bumps into Malfoy, who Hermione realises had stopped walking for their... staring contest? Malfoy stumbles and nearly trips, his concentration breaking as he catches himself, and he sneers as he straightens, glaring at the student behind him before shooting a black look towards Hermione, like itâs her fault.Â
She just lifts her chin higher, still not looking away.
More Durmstrang students file in, blocking him from view.
âI donât know why Dumbledore couldnât have put off the tournament for one more year,â Harry says for the umpteenth time, sulking in the Gryffindor Common Room once dinnerâs over and heâs setting up to play a game of wizards chess with Ron.
The Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students have returned to their respective ship and carriage but the castle is still buzzing with excitement from the day.Â
Hermione doesnât even look up from her essay, already quite familiar with Harryâs diatribe about why the Sixth Years should be allowed to compete. âChampions have died during the Triwizard Tournament, itâs a sensible rule. Just imagine if the Goblet chose a fourteen-year-old.â
Harry shakes his head, expression mulish. âIsnât the whole idea of the Goblet of Fire that it chooses the worthy champions? They should let the Goblet do its job and choose and not add a bunch of extra rules only allowing Seventh Years.â
Harry doesnât care that the only reason that the Triwizard Tournament has been resumed is because itâs now restricted to students who are legal adults. Heâs being forced to miss out on a chance at eternal glory by one year and he intends to make sure everyone knows how annoyed he is about it.
Hermione had thought he and Ron had finally stopped belabouring the issue, but seeing the students from the other schools has Hogwartsâ competitive spirit swirling again like a tempest. Despite Dumbledoreâs repeated reminders that the Triwizard Tournament is about unity, the schools have been separated from each other and isolated for over two hundred years. The students only see each other as potential opponents.
In Harry and Ronâs case, there seems to be something about that Durmstrang student, Malfoy, in particular, thatâs got them brassed off.Â
âAll Iâm saying is that if the Gobletâs as amazing as they say it is, I donât see why they canât just let it do its job. Let people who want to enter, enter.â Harry moves his knight forward and itâs promptly beaten to death by one of Ronâs pawns.
Hermione sighs, tired of being the voice of reason on the subject. âProbably because if someone dies, people arenât going to blame the Goblet, theyâll blame the school. Itâs a ridiculously dangerous tournament, Harry.â
Harry just looks at her with an expression of disappointed disgust, and then turns away from her, back to his game of chess with Ron.Â
Hermione looks back down at her essay without another word, her chest tightening.Â
Itâs fine. Harry and Ron are her best friends. This is how it is with friends. Theyâre not always supposed to see eye to eye on things. For them, rules are made to be broken.Â
Harry and Ron are both from Wizarding families, old Wizarding families. Theyâve known each other since they were in nappies; but since First Year, Hermioneâs been gradually included into what they jokingly call their trio.Â
It had actually started because she was trying to stop them from breaking rules. Instead, she got dragged along, and in the process concluded that if they were going to sneak out, at least she could make sure they didnât get caught or cost Gryffindor any points. Both Harry and Ron have always been better at getting into trouble than getting out of it.Â
Despite being Muggle-born, ever since First Year, Hermioneâs had a larger repertoire of spells and known more secrets and details about the castle than either of them had ever bothered to learn.Â
They need her. Itâs nice being needed.Â
Hermione was even invited to visit the Burrow in the summer before Fourth Year, and attended the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys. Sheâs met Harryâs parents at Kingâs Cross Station several times. Lily Potter is Muggle-born too, although she hasnât been back in the Muggle world in years and doesnât talk to her family there anymore.Â
A lot of the Muggle-borns drop out of Hogwarts after a few years. A boy in the year below Hermione named Colin Creevey left after the First Year because he got so lonely.Â
The magical world is often a lonely place for people without any Wizarding family. It isnât that people openly treat her differently than other witches with magic. At least not to her face. For a long time, Hermione thought she must just be doing something wrong, or imagining the way the conversations died when she joined, but as sheâs gotten older, sheâs begun to understand that it doesnât matter what she does or how good a student she is, or how carefully she studies Wizarding history and culture. She is an outsider. Being Muggle-born is the only thing that people see about her.
Of course, almost no one says that outright, but Hermione knows that in the past Muggle-borns were regarded as filthy and freaks of nature. The collections of classic fairy tales in the Hogwarts library are filled with precautionary stories about greedy disgusting Muggles craving magic. Witches and wizards burned at the stake after making the mistake of trusting Muggles. Of Muggles stealing wizardsâ magic and then foolishly destroying themselves by abusing their ill-gotten power.Â
Nowadays the attitudes are more subtle than that. No one goes to war about it the way they did occasionally in the past. Slurs and comparisons of Muggle-borns to animals are unacceptable. Instead, itâs an undercurrent.Â
People just avoid her. Her invitation to house parties or school events are always the ones that get lost in the post. Sheâs the last one partnered in class projects even though sheâs one of the best students in her year.Â
Itâs impossible not to notice all the ways sheâs carefully left out. The precision is almost surgical.
Of course, not everyoneâs like that. Thatâs what makes her lucky. She has friends. Harry and Ron both come from families that have made a point of flouting tradition and befriending and associating with Muggle-borns. They donât care that Hermione isnât like them.
Headmaster Dumbledore is also a staunch defender of Hogwartsâ policy of accepting Muggle-born students, opposing the regular attempts by the Ministry of Magic to have Muggle-borns be sent to their own school. However, at times, Dumbledoreâs support seems like itâs entirely ideological. He doesnât actually associate with Muggle-borns, he just defends the idea of them.Â
But even with Harry and Ronâs friendship, Hermione still feels as if no matter what she does, sheâs perpetually regarded as an interloper and it eats at her, some days more than others.Â
The Wizarding World is where she belongs, sheâll make things work. She has to. There isnât anywhere else to go. Because no matter how out of place she feels in the Magical World, it doesnât compare to the stifling discomfort of returning to the Muggle world where she never felt she belonged at all, even before she got her letter and realised why.Â
But ever since she started making serious plans about her life after Hogwarts, sheâs grown increasingly aware that she has to constantly fight to exist there.
Itâs not that Muggle-borns are specifically targeted for exclusion since thatâs illegal under a Ministry reform from back in the Fifties, instead, libraries and establishments and even entire schools are âpureblood onlyâ or have policies of only accepting new clients by private recommendation.
Hermione wonders sometimes what it would be like if she could pass as a pureblood just for a day; whether the world around her, which seems to keep her constantly locked out, might suddenly open.
During her Fifth Year career advice meeting Professor McGonagall gently explained that although Hermione was one of Hogwartsâ most advanced students and would undoubtedly do well in her exams and easily earn the prerequisite NEWTs, all the careers that she had expressed interest in required special letters of recommendation. Letters that didnât come from staff at Hogwarts but from tutors with specialised masteries who taught students privately during the summer.Â
During the summers, when Hermione was required to go back to the Muggle world where she was unable to legally use magic.Â
Hermione had sat in McGonagallâs office, gripping several pamphlets and absorbing the revelation that all her efforts for acceptance were once again, not enough. Even with a perfect academic record and all the prerequisite NEWTs, that wouldnât be enough to open the doors specifically built to ensure that people like Hermione stayed out.Â
Without at least one letter of recommendation, the job opportunities sheâd have wouldnât even require NEWTs. Her options will be service jobs, working as a sales clerk or in a restaurant, or possibly a position in the Ministry of Magicâs maintenance and cleaning department.Â
As she sat there, fighting back tears, McGonagall grew visibly discomforted and added quickly that there was still a way forward. If Hermione maintained her academic record and prefect position, sheâd be a candidate for Head Girl in her Seventh Year. Head students receive special letters of recommendation from the Headmaster of Hogwarts; a higher commendation than any tutor.
It's the only chance Hermione has and she is determined that no one will take it from her.Â
After the meeting with McGonagall, when she explained to Harry and Ron that sheâd be busier in order to be eligible for Head Girl, they were understanding but as Fifth Year progressed, they gradually started leaving her out of things more and more, only coming around when an essayâs due or when there are exams coming up.Â
The day after the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students arrive, Harry and Ron keep shuffling off, whispering between the two of them. She suspects theyâre planning something. She waits, hoping that eventually theyâll tell her, but when they get a package in the post, they slip away from breakfast without a word.Â
âWhat are you two planning?â She catches them that evening while on patrol, their bodies half-hidden under Harryâs cloak of invisibility in one of the hallways near the Great Hall.
Ron has the grace to look guilty, but Harryâs caught up in the scheme and proudly shows off the two pills in his hand. âAgeing pills, Fred and George made them for us. Should get us through the barrier around the Goblet.â
Hermione stares at the pills and feels a quick stab of hurt at being left out. Again. It feels like everything theyâve done this year, she only finds out about afterwards. If theyâd told her, she wouldnât have reported them, even though she probably should.Â
Sheâs certain there's no way an ageing pill will outsmart the precautions that Dumbledore has in place, so attempting to sneak past it is just a bit of good fun.Â
Sheâs missed the thrill of getting in and out of scrapes with them. She studies the pills and forces a smile, hoping that maybe if she goes along with this one, theyâll remember to include her the next time.Â
âYou should have told me, I would have ordered one too.âÂ
They just stare at her. Then Ron bursts out laughing as if itâs the funniest thing heâs ever heard.Â
âYou Hermione? As Hogwartsâ Triwizard champion.â Â
Of course, that wasnât what she meant, but the incredulity in Ronâs tone is cutting. Her stomach twists as he claps his hand over his mouth and keeps laughing. Itâs not even a mean laugh. Heâs not intending to be unkind, which makes it even worse. He and Harry are taking their entries seriously, but she is unimaginable to consider even as a contender. So much so that itâs funny to even think about it.
âCan you imagine if you got chosen? What would you even do, bore a chimaera to death by reading Hogwarts: A History to it?â Ron looks as if he might start crying with laughter at the thought and Harryâs laughing now too.Â
The blood slowly drains from her face, leaving her head almost hollow but she can hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She opens her mouth to retort, wanting to say sheâd be just as good a champion as either of them, but every word stays trapped in her throat because she thinks theyâd probably laugh at her even more if she says it.
âI just meant you didnât need to leave me out,â she says stiffly when they finally stop laughing, trying to hide her hurt.Â
âSorry, Hermione, the cloak only fits two nowadays,â Harry says, patting her on the shoulder. âYou said so yourself, the tournamentâs dangerous. Keep an eye out for us, in case a professor shows up. Alright?â
They pop the pills into their mouths and shuffle back under the cloak again. Leaving her in the hallways as they sneak into the Great Hall.Â
The pills donât work. Of course they donât.
Theyâre kicked back across the barrier before they can even slip their names into the Goblet. They head back to Gryffindor Tower with Hermione, howling with laughter over the facial hair theyâve somehow sprouted, trying to come up with excuses for it.
âSee?â Harry says, pointing to his face again as heâs heading up to the boys dorm with a beard and eyebrows so overgrown they nearly brush his cheekbones. âItâs a good thing you didnât try.â
Hermione doesnât say anything, but once theyâre gone she sits alone in front of the fireplace for a long time, staring at the ravenous flames and wondering if the life sheâs in pursuit of really is enough for her.Â
There are illicit bets running about who will be chosen as Hogwartsâ champion. The top contenders are Cormac McLaggen, an utterly boorish Gryffindor, and Cho Chang, a popular Ravenclaw who plays Quidditch.Â
The Beauxbatons champion is selected first. The Goblet turns an ominous scarlet as the name is spat from the flames, flying upwards into the enchanted sky overhead. Timothee Bisset. His classmates all clap wildly when Dumbledore reads his name out.
Then Durmstrang. The parchment flutters down into Dumbledoreâs hand, and even from her seat at Gryffindor table, Hermione catches a glimpse of the nameâs calligraphy flourish.Â
Draco Malfoy.Â
Durmstrang roars with delight.Â
Dumbledore seems displeased, but his disapproval is quickly masked as Malfoy stands, smirking and moves towards the front of the room.Â
The Goblet roars to life a third time. For Hogwarts.Â
Hermione watches, her pulse racing as a tiny slip of parchment, torn impulsively from the end of a scroll, shoots up and spirals down to fall into Dumbledoreâs hand. He unfurls it and then stands staring in silence at the name rather than immediately reading it aloud.
Finally, he looks up.Â
âThe champion for Hogwarts isâŚâ
He pauses for a moment.
âHermione Granger.â