Chapter Text
Hermione’s fists clenched, and her blood thundered. She could hear the fear in Narcissa’s voice, but she had to do this.
“Fine,” she said, voice like steel. “But let her go first.”
Suddenly Cho’s bubble floated upward, carried gently to the surface. Hermione didn’t turn back until she saw it breach, saw her safe. Then she faced the leader again, eyes blazing.
“Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a coven waiting for me.”
They swam back to the village in silence. The lake felt different now, it felt heavier and watchful, like even the water knew what was about to happen.
Draco was waiting near the centre of the village, where a few of the younger mermaids had kept him distracted with little bursts of light and soft conversation. He looked up the second Hermione appeared, and something in his face went taut, like a string pulled too tight.
“Hermione?” His voice cracked, his eyes already reading too much in hers.
She stopped just in front of him. “Close your eyes,” she said quietly. “And don’t interfere. No matter what you hear, no matter what you feel, don’t look.”
His hand shot out, gripping her wrist, hard. “What’s going on?”
“Cedric killed a mermaid.” The words burned in her throat, but she kept her voice steady. “I’m taking his punishment. It would kill him.”
Draco froze. His jaw clenched, his grip unrelenting. “And it might kill you.”
“It won’t.” She gave him a smile that almost worked. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
“If you die doing this,” he whispered, and his voice broke like glass, “my mother will never forgive you.”
Hermione let out something that might’ve been a laugh, thin and fragile, barely a sound at all.
“Then I’ll have to make sure I don’t die.”
She leaned in and kissed his forehead, her lips soft against his clammy skin. “That’s from your mother. In case I don’t get another chance.”
Then she pulled away, turned, and walked toward the centre of the village, her braid swaying, arms raised, and blood already pounding in her ears.
Cedric was still bound, though the ropes had slackened around him. A show of respect, because they knew Hermione was about to carry his pain, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t suffer.
She reached out and slid her magic into his mind like a whisper. A temporary tether.
‘You’ll feel every strike, but you won’t bleed. I won’t let it kill you.’
His eyes went wide, devastated. “Hermione—”
“Don’t.” Her voice didn’t shake. “You need to feel this. You need understand what you’ve done, so it never happens again.”
He swallowed and nodded, stricken into silence.
The Leviathan’s Tail shimmered into existence, coral and current braided into a whip, light molten and cruel.
Hermione steadied her breathing and focused her magic, then just before the first lash, Hermione did something she’d never dared before.
She severed herself from Narcissa. She cut off the warmth, the tether, the steady thrum of love that always held her together. Because Narcissa would know the extent of her pain, she may not feel it, but she would know. And Hermione couldn’t let her. Not this time.
The first lash hit like molten steel wrapped in ice. Her back arched, mouth tearing open on a scream that wasn’t words, wasn’t even human, just raw sound. Pain ripped through skin and magic and bone.
She forced her healing into it. She barely sealed the wound before the next strike fell.
Then again. And again.
By a hundred, she couldn’t scream anymore. The air was filled with heavy silence, broken only by the crack of the Leviathan’s Tail. Blood trailed slow ribbons around her, some wounds refusing to close, her magic sputtering and thin.
By one-fifty, her body shook uncontrollably, and her tears fell without sound, without choice, spilling from eyes that wouldn’t shut. In her head, Cedric sobbed, choking on horror and shame, but she still made him bear every second of it. He had to.
At two hundred, the whip landed across her stomach. Deep and final. Hermione swayed, barely upright, magic guttering low. But she had just enough to reach, blind and broken, for Draco, then for Cedric.
She gathered what was left of herself, dragged power from somewhere beyond exhaustion, and shoved it outward. One final push. One last spellshock that hurled them upward, through the lake, through the surface, and spitting them back onto shore in a tangled heap of limbs and soaked skin.
The moment Hermione’s feet hit sand she crumpled. Limbs folding, curls falling into her bloodied face, body giving out completely.
The world went dark. But before the black swallowed her, she felt something, no, someone, a surge across the severed bond. Fire. Fury. Love.
The Black sisters were coming for her and somehow, she knew she’d survive this.
O – o – o – o
Two days later Hermione woke to the sharp scent of antiseptic and the soft flutter of wings. Paper cranes, charmed cards, enchanted candies, gifts cluttered her bedside table, bobbing and whirring in celebration. Morning light spilled across the hospital wing, turning the whole mess into a shrine of sweets and spellwork.
Andromeda was slumped in a chair at her side, head propped on her hand, the other hand still wrapped loosely around Hermione’s wrist like she hadn’t let go all night.
Hermione blinked against the haze, throat dry, body aching down to the bone. Slowly, she curled her fingers, closing them over Andromeda’s.
The faint pressure jolted the older witch awake. She sat up, eyes wide, breath catching in her chest.
“You’re awake,” she whispered.
And then there wasn’t any space left between them.
Andromeda surged forward and kissed her, hungry, desperate, like she’d been drowning all night and finally breached the surface. Hermione made a small, broken sound into her mouth and kissed her back, clutching at her robes and dragging her closer.
Andromeda didn’t hesitate. She climbed right into the bed, and curved around Hermione, careful but fierce, like she had to feel every part of her still alive.
“You healed me,” Hermione rasped, voice frayed with exhaustion and memory.
“We all did,” Andromeda murmured, brushing her lips over Hermione’s temple. “I couldn’t have done it alone. You’d lost too much blood. Your heart—Hermione, your heart nearly stopped.”
She pulled back just far enough to meet her eyes. Andromeda’s were wet, shining, her composure stretched thin. “You can’t do something like that again. I couldn’t bear it. I wouldn’t survive losing you.”
Hermione reached up, touched her cheek, grounding them both. “You won’t have to,” she whispered.
And then she kissed her again, slow this time, deliberate, pouring everything words couldn’t touch into it. Andromeda trembled, melted, then answered with the same aching devotion.
When they finally broke apart, Hermione’s eyes fluttering shut with a content sigh of relief.
“I love you, Andi.”
The reply came instantly.
“I love you,” Andromeda said, her voice breaking in just the right place to make Hermione’s throat tighten.
The door creaked open. Neither of them moved, but both turned their heads.
Bellatrix and Narcissa swept in like storm fronts, all silk and sharp edges. For a heartbeat, they softened, the sight of their girls tangled together warming even their steel.
Then reality snapped back.
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. Bellatrix crossed her arms, simmering already.
“What in Salazar’s name happened down there?” Bellatrix demanded, voice sharp enough to shatter glass. “Narcissa refuses to tell us anything useful.”
Hermione shifted upright with a wince and gestured to the foot of the bed. They didn’t need to be asked twice. Narcissa perched like royalty, measuring every detail. Bellatrix dropped down hard, elbow on her knee, gaze pinned to Hermione.
Hermione leaned forward and pressed a kiss to each of their lips. Bellatrix smirked despite herself. Narcissa’s hand slid to Hermione’s ankle, firm and grounding.
Then Hermione told them.
“Cedric… killed a mermaid,” she said, raw and quiet. “It was an accident, he panicked, but the merfolk demanded retribution. Two hundred lashes. They wanted Cho in his place. It would’ve killed her. And I know their customs well enough to know that if she died before the punishment was finished, they would have demanded he finish it. He wouldn’t have survived it either.
She swallowed, jaw tight.
“I couldn’t let that happen. Not to Cho for something she didn’t do. Not even to Cedric. So, I took her place.”
Bellatrix’s eyes flared, pure rage and something wilder beneath it. Narcissa’s mouth thinned, fury honed sharp enough to cut.
“You cut me off,” Narcissa hissed, brittle and breaking.
Hermione didn’t flinch. “I know. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t let you feel that.”
Bellatrix leaned in, dangerous and amused all at once. “Well,” she drawled, slow grin spreading, “I’m sure you’ll think of a very creative way to make it up to us once you’re out of this bed.”
Hermione’s lips quirked. “Looking forward to it.”
Narcissa huffed softly, brushing a curl off Hermione’s brow with an elegant touch that didn’t quite hide her trembling fingers.
“Until then,” she said, “you’ll rest. And we’ll fill you in on everything you’ve managed to miss. You’ve caused quite the stir, love.”
“The Ministry’s frothing,” Bellatrix scoffed. “And your fan club has quadrupled.”
“Wonderful,” Hermione muttered, burrowing deeper into Andromeda’s arms.
“You’re alive,” Andromeda whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “That’s what matters.”
And for now, it was.
“So?” Hermione croaked, voice still rough with sleep and the aftertaste of healing magic. “What’s happened?”
Bellatrix moved to stand against the wall, arms crossed, eyes giving nothing away. Andromeda stayed close, perched at Hermione’s side, her thumb brushing over the pulse in Hermione’s wrist like she needed proof it was still there. Narcissa sat at the foot of the bed, every inch composed.
“Well,” Andromeda began carefully, “apparently… there was no rule against the hostage rescuing themselves.”
Hermione blinked. “What?”
“You technically didn’t break any rules,” Narcissa said, voice cool and sharp, but tight at the edges. “So, despite the spectacle, Fleur was awarded full points. She came first.”
Hermione gaped. “But I—”
Bellatrix cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t overthink it, kitten. It’s Hogwarts. They’ve never had a clue what they’re doing.”
Andromeda’s mouth twitched with the faintest smile. “Harry and Krum tied for second. Draco was released first, but Krum was the only one who actually finished the task as written. So, they gave him effort points.”
Hermione frowned. “And Cedric?”
Narcissa’s jaw tightened. “Last, as he should be. I’m surprised he’s allowed to continue.”
“It’s a magically binding contract; he has no choice without losing his magic,” Andromeda reminded her.
Hermione’s voice dropped. “How is he?”
“He’s at St. Mungo’s,” Andromeda said softly. “Magical shock. They think he’ll recover, but… it’ll take time.”
Hermione swallowed hard, guilt punching through her chest. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth. “Narcissa, Draco, he was there. He heard everything. I tried to shield him, I swear—”
“It’s alright,” Narcissa interrupted, gentler than Hermione expected. She moved closer, took Hermione’s hand, and kissed the back of it. “He’s shaken, yes. But alive. And you’re alive. That’s all he cares about. He’s been checking on you every day. He’s spent more time in that chair than his own bed. He’ll rest easier now that you’re awake.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever swim again,” Hermione muttered.
“Good,” Bellatrix said dryly, threading her fingers through Hermione’s curls. “Lakes are overrated.”
Hermione let out a shaky laugh, the ache in her chest easing just a fraction. But as she looked at them, really looked, the humour faded. The tired lines in Andromeda’s face. The fury hiding behind Narcissa’s poise. The way Bellatrix hadn’t stopped touching her since she woke. Something else was hanging in the air.
“What else?” Hermione asked quietly.
The sisters exchanged a look, quick, coded, one of those silent conversations that left her on edge.
Andromeda sighed. “You know the press was there.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course. Surprised Skeeter didn’t try to swim down with a quill.”
Narcissa’s lips twitched. “She did write an article.”
Hermione groaned. “Naturally.”
Andromeda added, voice careful, “She may have… exposed some things. About you. About us.”
Hermione froze. “What kinds of things?”
Bellatrix looked far too pleased. “Oh, just the usual. The coven. The forbidden sorcery. The magical soul-bonding.”
Hermione went pale.
Andromeda squeezed her hand. “It’s not as bad as it could be.”
“But it’s not good either,” Narcissa admitted. “Would you like to see it?”
Hermione took a steadying breath, squared her shoulders. “Yes.”
Narcissa crossed the room, smooth and deliberate, and plucked a folded Witch Weekly from Madam Pomfrey’s desk. She handed it over with a look equal parts warning and sympathy.
Before she unfolded it, Hermione glanced up at them. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “For the record, I don’t want to hide you. Any of you. We’re engaged. We’re family. Let them talk.”
Narcissa’s eyes softened, sharp edges melting. “You’re certain?”
Hermione’s mouth curled, firm and sure. “I’ve never been more certain in my life.”
Bellatrix leaned in, smirk tugging at her mouth, and let her hand trail slow and deliberate down Hermione’s thigh. “Still… being a dirty little secret was kind of fun.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, then opened the paper.
Hermione Granger-McGonagall and Her Dirty Mistresses
Scandal and seduction stir beneath the surface of the Triwizard Tournament as Hermione Granger-McGonagall, magical prodigy, is revealed to be more than meets the eye. Not just a student, but the only living sorceress. But the true shock? Her secret coven of lovers: the Black sisters. Bellatrix, Narcissa, and Andromeda—yes, those Blacks. What darkness does she dance with, and what spells does she weave to keep three of the most powerful women in Britain at her side?
Enchantress, Seductress, Saviour, or something more sinister?
Hermione’s magic rippled under her skin, heat building in her chest, and behind her eyes. The pages trembled in her hands, runes flickering and curling into ash.
“She’s calling me a dark enchantress,” Hermione whispered, voice cold. “Like I lured you all in. Like I corrupted you.”
“She’s jealous,” Bellatrix said simply, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “If you’d seduced her, she’d be printing wedding announcements.”
Andromeda slid her arms around Hermione’s waist, whispering against her skin. “Let them call you whatever they want. We know who you are, you’re ours.”
Hermione’s magic cracked through the air, but the sisters were ready. Narcissa pressed a palm to her chest, grounding her. Bellatrix curled around her from behind. Andromeda kissed her shoulder, her jaw, her temple, humming softly.
And Hermione let go. She let them hold her, let their magic settle hers.
O – o – o – o
When Hermione finally stepped out of the hospital wing, the castle felt louder. Not louder in noise, but louder in judgment. Whispers didn’t bother hiding anymore. They curled around corners, hissed between bookshelves, clung to her back like another layer of robes. Even the stares dragged longer than usual.
She didn’t flinch.
She’d expected this, the stares, the suspicion, the way Hogwarts seemed to hold its breath whenever she walked into a room. So, she walked like she always did when the ground turned hostile: chin held high, spine straight, every step measured like she was marching into battle.
The LeFey girls were waiting when she turned down the hall. They didn’t speak. They just fell into step at her side, promises of violence hidden behind elegant smiles. They didn’t let anyone get close. One flash of Daphne’s wand, one razor glare from Ginny, and rumours died on their tongues.
Hermione didn’t thank them. That wasn’t how this worked. But the tight pull in her chest, something sharp, something warm, was gratitude all the same.
And then there was Draco.
If the LeFey girls were her shield, Draco had made himself her blade. He’d declared, loudly and without shame, that he was now her “public relations warlord” and took to the role like it was a family inheritance.
“She saved half a bloody lake of idiots, you feral turnip,” he snapped at a sixth-year who whispered too loud as Hermione passed. “What’ve you done this week? Failed Charms and lowered the collective IQ of the school?”
Hermione had almost choked on laughter. Almost. His loyalty was ridiculous, vicious, and, Morgana help her, stupidly endearing.
As the final task crept closer, the castle shifted with it. Tension spread like mould, thick, sour, inevitable. It festered in the classrooms, curled into the tapestry threads, even haunted the edges of portraits. Students whispered about what waited in the maze. Professors slipped into closed-door meetings that lasted too long. The very stones seemed restless, as if the castle itself knew something ugly was on its way.
That was when Hermione decided not to wait for answers. She began to hunt them.
After curfew, she walked the halls soft as smoke. Listened at keyholes. Leaned against walls until shadows moved and voices spilled their secrets. Every scrap mattered. Every rumour, every unfinished sentence. She knew information was power, and she was greedy for it.
And luckily Bellatrix was greedier.
Where Hermione worked the cracks in the castle walls, Bellatrix sank into the dark veins beneath it. She drifted through Death Eater circles like smoke slipping under doors, pulling secrets out of clenched teeth, coaxing the worst of them into spilling what they should never have said. She chased whispers Hermione couldn’t reach, peeled monsters out of the dark and made them talk.
And then a few days before the final task, Bellatrix came back with fire. Hermione sat with Fleur in the ivy-draped alcove behind the LeFey courtyard, the two of them tucked into a pocket of calm the castle didn’t dare intrude on. Overhead, the sky bled into gold and violet, stars winking through as candles drifted lazily above their table. They flickered the way fragile moments always do, like they knew how temporary they were.
Fleur was laughing, head tilted, her hand brushing Hermione’s thigh. Something stupid had set her off, probably Hermione’s compulsive habit of tearing her bread into perfect little crescents before eating them. Fleur’s touch lingered longer than it needed to, her smile dimming into something quieter.
“It’s funny,” she murmured. “How we always end up here. Like nothing else exists.”
Hermione looked at her, the curve of her mouth, the soft gleam in her eyes, and for a second, it almost felt true.
But it wasn’t.
“It won’t be like this much longer,” she said softly.
Fleur’s smile slipped, her gaze dropping to the table. “I know. But I’m glad for tonight.”
And then the moment broke.
Bellatrix didn’t just enter the courtyard. She detonated in it. She came storming in with boots hitting stone like war drums, hair wild, leather coat trailing behind her like she’d stolen a storm and was dragging it in by the collar. She grinned, sharp and unapologetic.
“I knew snake-boy would come crawling. Not nearly clever enough to manage this on his own. Desperate little worm.”
The softness between Hermione and Fleur evaporated in an instant.
Hermione was already standing, eyes locking onto Bellatrix like gravity itself had shifted. “You found something.”
Bellatrix didn’t bother with an answer.
She walked past; Hermione caught her. Fingers dug into her waist, yanking her close, and then they collided, mouths crashing together like fire meeting petrol.
This wasn’t a kiss for public consumption. It was messy, fierce, claiming. Bellatrix melted into it like she’d been holding her breath all week. There was tension in it, hunger in it, and when they finally broke apart, Hermione exhaled slowly. “Sit. Are you hungry?”
Bellatrix arched a brow, lips curved wicked. “Hungry for what exactly?”
Hermione smirked, sharp but distracted. “Tell us what you found. Then we’ll decide.”
Bellatrix slid into the seat with unusual grace, one leg hooked over the other, eyes gleaming with danger and amusement.
“The trophy,” she drawled, like the word itself was poison. “It’s a portkey. Croach plans to enchant the other champions to make sure Potter gets there first. It will take him to a graveyard. Lucius will be waiting with what remains of the Dark Lord and everything needed for a resurrection party. Dress robes are optional.”
Fleur gasped, her wineglass rattling in her hand.
Hermione didn’t. She just leaned back and let out a low, unsurprised sigh. “I figured it was something like that. What did he want from you?”
“Enchanting the champions,” Bellatrix said, smug as ever. “Still the reigning queen of Unforgivables, in case you forgot.”
Hermione didn’t smile. Her fingers traced idle patterns against the tablecloth, mind already pulling strings into place.
“Fine,” she said. “Tell him you’ll do it. Let him think you’re all in. Put Krum under the Imperius, quiet, no theatrics. Keep him close, keep him useful.”
Bellatrix hummed. “Mm. Crouton-brained boy? Shouldn’t be hard.”
Hermione turned to Fleur. “You’ll act cursed too, but I’ll need you to help me map the maze and keep Cedric from making any more idiotic choices. No one dies if we can stop it.”
Fleur swallowed, then nodded. “D’accord.”
“And you?” Bellatrix asked, her voice softer now, stripped of the smirk.
Hermione’s gaze met hers. “I’ll go to the graveyard. If I’m fast, I can slip the Horcrux into his soul during the ritual and he won’t even notice.”
“And if it all goes sideways?” Bellatrix asked, no grin this time.
Hermione’s smile was crooked, worn thin. “Then you’ll come get me.”
Bellatrix stared, unreadable. Then she reached across the table, laced their fingers together, and squeezed.
“Always.”
A few hours later, the courtyard still hummed with the echo of Bellatrix’s storm, Fleur’s soft steadiness, and the weight of secrets traded under candlelight. Hermione knew she wouldn’t sleep. Not with her pulse still racing, not with the final task breathing down her neck. So, she slipped away. The LeFey girls didn’t try to stop her when grabbed her cloak. Luna arched a brow like she knew exactly where Hermione was heading, but she didn’t say a word.
The hospital wing was dim, lanterns low, shadows spilling long across the floor. Hermione eased the door open and slipped inside without a sound. She wasn’t supposed to be here, but she needed her.
Andromeda was awake, as though she’d been waiting. She always seemed to know. Her eyes softened, and her hand motioned towards an empty bed in quiet invitation.
Hermione crossed the floor and climbed into the narrow bed without hesitation. Then their mouths found each other before anything sensible could be said.
It wasn’t a gentle kiss. Hermione pressed her mouth hard to Andromeda’s, one hand fisted in her robes, the other cupping her jaw. Andromeda’s sigh cracked into a moan, her fingers tangling in Hermione’s curls, dragging her closer.
“Morgana, I’ve missed you,” Hermione breathed against her lips.
Andromeda answered by hauling her fully into her lap. The cot groaned but neither cared. Hermione straddled her thighs, grinding down, the pressure enough to draw matching gasps from both. Their kisses turned feverish, tongues tangling, teeth clashing, until Hermione broke away to bite down along her throat, marking her with reckless hunger.
“Careful someone might…” Andromeda whispered, though her voice shook.
“Don’t care, don’t want careful,” Hermione muttered against her skin as waved her hand to weave a notice me not charm into the air around them. Her hips rolled slow and deliberate, pulling another strangled sound from her.
Robes became obstacles. Hermione tugged impatiently, clumsy until Andromeda helped, shrugging fabric from her shoulders, baring warm skin to the low candlelight. Hermione’s hands roamed greedily, along her ribs, across her breasts, reverent and possessive both. Andromeda arched into her touch, gasping when Hermione’s mouth closed over her nipple, tongue teasing until she trembled.
“Yes,” Andromeda gasped, threading her fingers tighter in Hermione’s hair. “Don’t stop—”
Hermione didn’t. She kissed lower, open-mouthed and insistent, down her chest, her stomach, until Andromeda was shaking. The hospital wing was silent but for their ragged breaths, the creak of sheets, the sound of Andromeda’s voice breaking apart when Hermione pressed between her thighs.
She started slow, kissing soft skin, savouring every shiver, before sliding her tongue deep, steady. Andromeda’s cry split the quiet, body arching, hands clutching at Hermione’s hair. Hermione held her down, relentless, like she meant to carve this moment into memory, to drink her in until nothing else existed.
Andromeda tried to stifle her sounds with her hand, but Hermione caught her wrist, pinning it to the bed, forcing her to let go. To give herself over.
It didn’t take long. Andromeda’s thighs locked tight around her shoulders, her voice breaking as she came apart, shaking and undone. Hermione didn’t stop until Andromeda lay breathless, boneless in the sheets.
When Hermione finally lifted her head, her lips were swollen, chin damp, eyes dark with hunger. She climbed back up and kissed her deeply, letting Andromeda taste herself, sharing the heat of it.
“Your turn,” Andromeda rasped, and with sudden strength she flipped them, pinning Hermione to the bed. Her hands slid under Hermione’s robes, fingers finding slick heat, and Hermione’s answering cry echoed sharp against stone.
They moved together in a rush, mouths on skin, fingers thrusting, bodies rocking frantic until Hermione shattered with a sob, clinging to Andromeda like she’d fall apart if she let go.
After, they collapsed into the narrow bed, limbs tangled, skin damp, breathing hard. Hermione tucked her head into Andromeda’s shoulder, still trembling. Andromeda’s arms wrapped tight around her, as if she had no intention of letting go.
For that night, there was no maze. No graveyard. No war clawing at the edges.
Only this. Only them. Exactly what Hermione needed.
o – o – o – o
The afternoon of the final task the Room of Requirement opened to Hermione without hesitation. The place had remade itself into something between a war room and a very nervous bedroom. Candles burned low, shadows flickering across teetering stacks of spell books, abandoned teacups, and a giant sketch of the hedge maze tacked to the wall like a battle map.
Harry was already pacing, back and forth like a caged Niffler. He looked up when she entered, relief flashing across his face, then guilt swallowing it whole.
“Hermione,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do this.”
She raised a brow. “We’ve been over this.”
“I know. I just—if something happens to you—”
She crossed the space and set a steady hand on his shoulder. “Harry. This is bigger than you and me. And this time? We’re not playing defence. We end it before he gets the chance to come back to full power.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But please don’t die looking like me.”
Her smirk was quick, sharp. “Then I’ll just have to survive, for your reputation.”
Then with a wink she transformed. Her hair shrank into a messy black mop, and her eyes burned into that unmistakable green. Glasses slid into place as if conjured by fate itself. And suddenly, Harry was staring at Harry.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Draco strode in, long-legged and sharp, lip curled in permanent disdain. He took one look at them and froze.
“It’s still disorienting every time I see that.” He walked over and gave them both a hug not sure which one was her.
“Be safe.” He said to the air. Hermione squeezed his hand, and then she was gone, Harry Potter walking like he owned the world, stepping into a maze of monsters and enchantments with nothing but strategy, borrowed skin, and reckless hope.
The door shut soft behind her.
Inside, Draco turned to Harry.
“If she dies while looking like you,” he muttered darkly, “I’m going to develop a complex.”
Harry sighed. “I already have one.”
O – o – o – o
The maze loomed like a living thing.
Under the cold gaze of the stars and the too-bright shine of enchanted stadium lights, the hedge walls rippled faintly with power, impossibly tall and unnaturally still. The crowd was hushed, thousands of eyes fixed on the champions, but the silence felt more like a funeral than a tournament.
They stood at the entrance, waiting for the whistle.
Only… they weren’t all who they seemed.
Hermione, hidden inside Harry’s skin like borrowed armour, adjusted her glasses. Her whole body thrummed with restless energy, nerves wired too tight.
Krum stood beside her, posture too stiff, eyes too blank. Bellatrix’s Imperius was holding, delicate, exacting, merciless. He was a weapon now.
Across the way, Fleur tucked a strand of silver hair behind her ear, wand already raised. She gave Hermione—Harry—a subtle nod, but her gaze stayed fixed on Cedric Diggory, too close at her side, still jumpy and scared of his own shadow.
The whistle blew. Cedric screamed. The maze opened, and chaos bloomed.
Hermione sprinted forward as the hedges folded wide, then slammed shut behind her. The roar of the crowd vanished, swallowed instantly. Silence pressed in, thick and alive, broken only by the groan of shifting walls. Every few steps, the corridors bent, twisted, realigned, the path ahead never the same as the one behind.
The air was wrong in here. Heavy, enchanted, full of whispers. Voices she knew, her mother, Narcissa, Bellatrix, Andromeda, all calling her name, accusing, pleading. She clenched her jaw and ignored them.
The first trap came fast: roots bursting from the ground, coiling like ropes. She slashed them apart with a curse, never slowing her stride. A hex screamed through the dark, she spun, countered, and sent it slamming into the hedge where it fizzled out in a hiss.
Further on, the earth gave way beneath her, a pit yawning open. Hermione muttered a charm, floating across in one sharp breath, her robes snapping around her ankles as she landed on solid ground again.
And then came the monsters.
A blast-ended skrewt lurched from the hedge, tail glowing red-hot. Hermione stunned it before it could fully strike, then conjured a wall of water to smother the sparks. Steam rolled across her face, damp and suffocating.
A boggart slipped from the shadows, shifting instantly into herself, hands slick with Harry’s blood, smile feral. Hermione’s laugh was low and humourless as she flicked her wand.
‘Riddikulus’
It collapsed, scattering like dust. But the maze wasn’t done with her yet.
The next corridor shimmered, thick with illusion. For one heartbeat she stood in the LeFey courtyard again, Fleur’s hand brushing hers, candlelight warming her skin. It ached. Morgana, it ached. But she snarled, shoved raw magic forward, and the mirage burned away into ash.
Somewhere behind her, Cedric shouted Fleur’s name, panic threaded in his voice. Fleur was holding him back, just as they’d planned.
Somewhere else, the air shook with fire and thunder. Krum, his path chaos. Bellatrix whispering commands through the Imperius, pulling his strings like a marionette.
Hermione pressed on.
The hedges leaned inward now, branches clawing toward her. Something screamed, high and inhuman, from a nearby corridor. She didn’t look to see what it was. A spell lashed across her path, she blocked it without thinking, sparks scattering over her borrowed glasses.
And then, through two shifting walls, she saw it. The trophy, shining gold and humming with dark magic.
The portkey. The trap. Just waiting.
She reached through the Horcrux tether to Harry. This would be their last time communicating this way.
“Goodbye, Harry,” she whispered.
And then Hermione stepped forward. Her hand closed slowly around the cup, and then the world vanished.