After Mr. Granger uttered those words, a heavy silence descended upon Professor McGonagall's office. But it was swiftly broken when a certain girl wrenched herself free from her parents' embrace, defying her father's decision for the first time.
"I won't agree to this!" Hermione glared at her father, her fists clenched so tightly that her body trembled faintly from the effort.
"Hermione, this is for your safety!" Mr. Granger's expression was stern as he faced his daughter. "Normally, I let you have your way, but a competition with the risk of death? I absolutely forbid you to participate!"
"No! I have to compete!"
"You're delusional!"
Their voices grew louder, each one trying to outshout the other. Like bulls before a fight, they locked eyes, neither willing to yield an inch, their furious gazes clashing in the charged air.
"Dan… at least give Hermione a chance to explain," Mrs. Granger interjected, attempting to mediate. "And Hermione, you know how stubborn your father can be. Why must you push him like this?" She tried to coax both father and daughter to take a step back. Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall, seated behind Hermione, was utterly at a loss.
Though she was well into her seventies or eighties, McGonagall was a complete novice when it came to parenting. Her one brief marriage had been late in life, both she and her husband already past their prime, so the matter of raising children had never arisen. As a result, she was far less equipped to handle conflicts between parents and their offspring than Mrs. Granger, who, despite being in her thirties, seemed far more experienced.
Under his wife's soothing words, Mr. Granger finally managed to calm himself, albeit reluctantly. He looked at his daughter, standing defiantly before him and his wife, and spoke. "Fine. Tell me why you disagree with me. Why are you so determined to stay at Hogwarts and compete in this tournament, even at the risk of injury or death?"
Hermione opened her mouth, but as her father demanded her reasons, the first image that flashed in her mind was a boy with jet-black hair and vivid green eyes. Admit that she didn't want to leave Hogwarts because of Harry? In front of her parents and Professor McGonagall? The words stuck in her throat. But without a reason, how could she possibly convince her father?
Then it dawned on her. Her father's concern was simply that she'd be in danger during the tournament. But what if she could prove that the dangers posed by the competition were no threat to her at all?
"Dad, how about this?" Hermione proposed. "The first task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin. If my performance in the first task makes you think I'm in mortal danger, I'll go home with you and Mum without a word. But if I prove that the Triwizard Tournament isn't all that dangerous for me, you have to let me stay at Hogwarts and continue my studies!"
Mr. Granger considered his daughter's terms for a few seconds before turning to Professor McGonagall. "Professor McGonagall, how dangerous is this first task?"
McGonagall thought carefully about the task's proceedings before shaking her head. "The first task will be overseen by Professor Dumbledore himself. For someone like Dumbledore, rescuing a champion from… well, from them in time is a trivial matter. Not to mention, we've stationed several wizards around the arena. In truth, while the first task may look thrilling, the actual danger is practically nonexistent."
After weighing the matter carefully, Mr. Granger finally agreed to Hermione's proposal. Shortly after, he and his wife followed Professor McGonagall and Hermione to the Great Hall for lunch. There, through introductions from Harry and Ginny, they met Neville and Luna, who had just been discharged from the hospital wing.
Though it struck them as odd that the redheaded boy around Hermione's age was nowhere to be seen, the Grangers enjoyed a pleasant lunch overall. Mr. Granger marveled at length over the food that appeared magically on their plates, and the students around them, perhaps due to McGonagall's presence, refrained from mocking or sneering at Hermione—the "thief." Some distance from their peers was inevitable, but Mr. Granger, aware that Hermione had struggled to connect with classmates since primary school, wasn't overly concerned. Mrs. Granger, however, sighed softly and cast a few thoughtful glances at Harry and Neville—especially at Harry, who clearly shared a close bond with her daughter.
As Hermione and Harry showed the Grangers around the research institute, the couple was awestruck by the marvelous spatial magic and the impressive caliber of the faculty. Amid the wonder, they also felt an unexpected sense of familiarity. Unable to resist, Mr. Granger even joined a basketball game with some professors who spoke with thick northern accents.
With the Triwizard Tournament's first task looming that afternoon, the school buzzed with nervous excitement. After a hurried lunch, students and teachers began streaming out of the castle. The November wind carried the sharp scent of lake water, biting through layers of clothing. Patches of snow from a recent flurry still dotted the grass.
People trudged through the snow in small groups, heading toward the newly built stands near the dragon enclosure. Naturally, aside from the organizers and the four champions, no one knew what the first task entailed.
Harry and Hermione parted ways near the entrance to the arena. With her parents watching, Hermione felt too self-conscious to act overly familiar with Harry. She stepped closer, intending a polite hug, but before she could open her arms, Harry clapped her shoulder, said, "Good luck," and turned to lead the Grangers toward the spectator stands.
Hermione shot an indignant glare at Harry's retreating back before McGonagall ushered her toward a tent near the arena.
McGonagall herself seemed unusually flustered, perhaps rattled by Mr. Granger's earlier words in her office, but more likely due to her concern for the brown-haired girl walking beside her.
At the tent's entrance, McGonagall paused, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Now, don't be nervous," she said. "Keep a clear head. We've stationed wizards nearby—if anything goes wrong, they'll step in to manage the situation. Don't worry about underperforming; Professor Dumbledore and I will handle convincing your parents. Just focus on doing your best. No one thinks you're any less capable than the others… Are you all right?"
"I'll be fine, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said with a firm nod. Then, lifting the tent flap, she stepped inside.
Perhaps she'd arrived early, as neither Mr. Crouch nor Ludo Bagman was present. Fleur Delacour sat on a low wooden stool in the corner, looking far from her usual composed self. Her face was pale, her nerves evident. Beside her, Viktor Krum appeared even more brooding than usual, perched on a wooden crate with his arms crossed and his right leg jiggling incessantly. Cedric Diggory, meanwhile, paced restlessly in the center of the tent.
When Hermione entered, Cedric offered her a faint smile, while Krum attempted one as well, though his facial muscles seemed reluctant to cooperate.
A few minutes later, Ludo Bagman bustled in, wearing a slightly worn yellow Quidditch uniform. His face lit up when he saw Hermione. The portly middle-aged man strode toward the four champions, waving his arms cheerfully. "Everyone, relax! It's just a competition—no need to look so glum!"
"All right, now that you're all here, it's time to fill you in!" Bagman said with enthusiasm. "Once the audience is settled, I'll pass this sack around to each of you." He held up a purple silk bag and gave it a shake, eliciting a clinking sound from within. "You'll each draw a small model of the creature you'll face. They come in different… well, varieties, let's say. And now, I can tell you your task." Bagman grinned at the four young faces, none of which looked particularly pleased. "Your task is to retrieve the golden egg! And then…"
As Bagman explained the rules, the noise outside the tent grew louder. The audience chattered excitedly, their voices rising in anticipation, but inside the tent, it was as if Bagman were the only living soul.
Bagman glanced at the time, then untied the purple silk bag and held it out to Hermione. "Miss Granger?" he prompted, indicating she should draw first.
Hermione reached into the bag and pulled out a delicate, lifelike model of a black dragon, its tail bristling with spikes. Around its neck hung a tag marked with the number "four."
She stared at the miniature Hungarian Horntail in her hand. As she looked down, the tiny dragon spread its wings and bared its sharp teeth in a threatening display.
"Oh… bad luck, Miss Granger. You've drawn number four, the Hungarian Horntail," Bagman said with a regretful shake of his head. The other three champions visibly relaxed, relieved that Hermione had taken the most formidable dragon.
Next, Fleur drew the Welsh Green, followed by Cedric with the Swedish Short-Snout and Krum with the Chinese Fireball.
After a brief explanation, Bagman pulled Hermione aside outside the tent. "Now, Miss Granger," he said, glancing around furtively and lowering his voice, "considering you might be at a slight disadvantage compared to the other champions, if there's anything I can do to help…"
"No, thank you, Mr. Bagman," Hermione said firmly. "I can manage on my own."
"Are you sure you don't need my help?" Bagman pressed, his voice dropping even lower. "No one would know. I'd just give you a few small pointers…"
Bagman tried to persuade her further, but a whistle sounded outside, and realizing he needed to host the event, he scurried off.
As Hermione returned to the tent, she caught sight of Cedric heading out, his face pale. She patted his shoulder, intending to wish him luck, but the tense seventh-year nearly jumped out of his skin at her touch, stumbling forward.
Hermione settled onto a chair inside the tent. The roar of the crowd outside battered the ears of the three remaining champions, while Bagman's vivid, passionate commentary struck their hearts like hammer blows.
For the first time, Hermione sincerely wished the announcer were less enthusiastic. Judging by Fleur and Krum's expressions, they shared her sentiment.
Sixteen minutes later, a deafening cheer erupted from the crowd, nearly drowning out Bagman's voice. Cedric had evidently succeeded.
Fleur was next, but as she stood, trembling from head to toe, Hermione genuinely wondered if she'd make it to the arena in one piece.
After another uproar, Bagman announced Fleur's success. Then the whistle blew a third time. Krum rose but paused at the tent's entrance. Turning back, he looked at Hermione and flashed a grin.
"Good luck, Her-mi-o-nee."
The Durmstrang champion struggled to pronounce her name, mangling it slightly.
"Er… you too," Hermione replied, caught off guard.
Viktor Krum left, and soon the crowd's cheers surpassed even the previous rounds in volume. As expected, Bagman launched into his heart-pounding commentary.
"Absolutely daring!" Bagman bellowed, just as Hermione heard the dragon unleash a terrifying, earth-shattering roar. "He's showing extraordinary courage—oh, yes! He's got the golden egg!"
The crowd erupted into a tidal wave of applause, as if they were at the Quidditch World Cup. The cheers and clapping gradually faded, and then the fourth and final whistle sounded.
"And now, let's welcome Hogwarts' own Miss Granger to the arena!" Bagman's magically amplified voice echoed across the grounds. Hermione took a deep breath, set her belt on the chair, and gripped her wand. After a quick inspection by the staff outside, she passed through the trees, past hurrying medics, and through a gap in the arena's fence, stepping onto the rocky terrain.
At the far end of the arena, the massive Hungarian Horntail crouched over a clutch of eggs. Its wings were folded, and its orange-yellow eyes glared menacingly at the intruder. Behind it, its spiked tail lashed the ground, kicking up clouds of dust.
In the stands, countless faces stared down at her. Hermione's gaze swept over the crowd, some expressions kind, others hostile, searching for a familiar bespectacled face. Then she found it—beside Luna, whose hat roared like a lion, stood Harry and her parents, waving at her.
Hermione drew a deep breath and raised her wand.
"Accio belt!"
A long, shadowy object soared from the direction of the tent and deftly fastened itself around her waist.
"Here we go," she murmured. Her left hand brushed the crystal orb at the center of her belt, while her right hand lifted her wand.
A fifty-three-foot stone giant rose from the earth.
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