Let The Dark In

2

She didn’t think she’d actually be selected. She didn’t think that out of everyone in Hogwarts, it was even possible.

When Hermione snuck back down to the Great Hall and slipped her name in, it hadn’t been because she thought she’d get chosen. It had been a way of proving something to herself: that she could enter. That she was the type of person who would – if given the opportunity.

In a different life, in a different world, maybe she could even be a hero. She’s more than just a Muggle-born, more than a walking encyclopaedia, more than the person good in a pinch the night before an exam. It was indignation and pride and determination all twisted up inside her like a maelstrom that drove Hermione across the Age Line to the Goblet.

She’d laid in bed afterwards, heart still racing, imagining scenarios where her name was announced and in each one, it was a triumph. A reset. In the process of being chosen, she became a new person in the eyes of the school. They were shocked and awed by her selection. They suddenly all saw her in a way that forced them to reckon with her existence whether they wanted to or not. Hermione Granger, Hogwarts’ Triwizard Champion.

In reality, when her name is called, the reactions from the school are not shock and awe but dumbfoundment and disbelief. As Hermione awkwardly stands up, there is no cheering the way there was when Bisset and Malfoy’s names were called. A faltering smatter of applause begins when she’s halfway across the room and haltingly spread as she walks towards the High Table. Every face she passes is filled with confusion. Even the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, unaware of who she is, can already tell there’s something wrong with the selection.

When she reaches the front of the Great Hall, Dumbledore studies her, his blue eyes without their usual twinkle.

“Miss Granger, please join the other Champions,” he says, gesturing towards the door to the right of the Head Table that Bisset and Malfoy have already disappeared through.

She glances back towards the house tables and finds a sea of bewildered faces.

She tilts up her chin and walks to the door, anxiety running down her spine as cold as ice.

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In less than a day, it becomes glaringly obvious: Hermione Granger is not the champion that Hogwarts wants.

“For the hundredth time, I didn’t trick the Cup,” she snaps at Ron when he implies it. Again. For the hundredth time. “I was chosen the same way everyone else was.”

“You weren’t supposed to enter,” Harry says loftily, apparently having decided to respect and value rules for the first time in his entire life.

She clenches her jaw and slams closed another history book that doesn’t provide her with any useful information about what kind of challenge might be expected in the First Task. In the orientation that occurred in the little antechamber beyond the Great Hall, the only information that the tournament coordinator, Ludo Bagman, provided was that the First Task was intended to test the champions’ ‘daring’.

She gives a deep sigh. “There was an  Age  Barrier around the Cup. I’ve been seventeen since last month. I walked through the barrier and put my name in like any other student, and the Goblet chose  me. ”

She scowls at them, already beginning to feel emotionally raw from the scrutiny and angry that absolutely no one is willing to consider that maybe she deserves to be selected. “God knows why, apparently. I can’t withdraw now even if I wanted to.” Her shoulders droop. “Just go away if you’re going to be like this.”