||Now It's Just Us||

Chapter 31 ||Flashback||

Professor Moody had just called Ron and Hermione to Dumbledore's office. Without Harry. It was a surprise because, well, usually Harry was the one who initiated getting into tough scrapes or breaking multitudes of rules. As they walked down the dimly lit hallways, Hermione began feeling nervous. Ron was, as always, oblivious. Moody's dull clunking and thunking followed them, and in a way, it felt sinister. Their footsteps echoed resonantly, giving the illusion of several people walking along even though it was only the three of them. Hermione was badgered by the constant urge to keep looking over her shoulder just to be sure nobody was following them.

On their way, they were joined by Cho Chang and a young girl with pale blond hair and alluring eyes, although she couldn't be more than eight or nine years old. The girl was dressed in plain blue still robes and was extraordinarily pretty.

"Move along, now," Moody growled from behind them. 

Cho fell into step beside Hermione nervously, and Hermione politely inclined her head in a way of greeting. Ron was behind her, and the other girl stayed aloof, and looked at them as though she was above them all and they were the scum of the earth. 

Something about the girl's countenance spoke volumes about her inflated ego. Maybe she was related to Fleur Delacour. Nobody spoke, the anticipation was too thick in the air for their brains to be functioning properly. Peeves came down the corridor at one point, humming and throwing dungbombs around. Moody had to threaten to call the Bloody Barron to get him to leave.

They reached the Griffin gargoyle, and Moody growled the password out. The gargoyle sprung to life, spinning upwards and out of sight. Hermione gingerly stepped onto the staircase after Ron. They rumbled on upwards. 

"Inside," Moody said, opening the door with one gnarled hand. Ron accidentally bumped into her on their way inside, and she glared at him. She was still mad at him for what he had done at the ball, even though she had forgiven him for it. They were like before now, but sometimes her buried anger resurfaced. 

"Ah, thank you Alastor," Dumbledore said serenely, smiling at all of them. He was seated at his table behind stacks of parchment and books. A stone basin filled with some swirling, opalescent threads was beside him, and Hermione knew exactly what that was. A pensieve. She had read about those recently. The old headmasters of Hogwarts were all snoozing in their frames, thoroughly uninterested in the newcomers. Some of the silver instruments around the room were whirring away, emitting puffs of smoke at irregular intervals.

"Whot are we 'ere for?" the Beauxbatons girl asked haughtily. 

"You must be Gabrielle Delacour," Dumbledore said, completely ignoring her rude tone. 

"Yes," she affirmed, lifting her chin high, indicating that she was proud of who she was.

So she was related to Fleur. That explained the snooty attitude.

"You all are aware that the second task is in a mere few hours?" Dumbledore asked, some of his serenity slipping away and giving way to a shred of worry. He popped a lemon drop in his mouth and held the jar out, but no one took any.

They all nodded in response to his question.

"I trust, by now, that you know what it is," Dumbledore continued. Everyone bar Cho nodded again. 

"The champions have figured out the golden egg clue, I have heard," Dumbledore said, giving Hermione a sideways glance, "they are required, by way of the Tournament, to search for and retrieve that which is dearest to them from the depths of the Black Lake."

He paused and looked meaningfully at all the four of them by turn, "And what is dearer to one than one's friends and family?"

Realisation dawned on Hermione, and some of the blood from her face drained.