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And given the tournament's unique nature, he couldn't stay close to Harry at all times. If danger struck, there would be no getting there in time.
Fortunately, Dumbledore was quick-witted enough to arrange things — making Hermione a safety officer was the perfect cover for keeping Harry alive.
Had Snape been put forward himself, the other two headmasters would have objected furiously. But Hermione...
Suffice it to say, a reputation can be useful sometimes. Even a bad one.
Hermione spread her hands. "How should I know? Maybe it's a prank from some student who has it in for Harry. The Slytherins, for instance? They've always seemed to dislike him quite a bit."
Snape's expression darkened further. He fell silent.
He had to admit she had a point.
Slytherins who had it in for Harry were a dime a dozen.
Himself included.
Who knew if some audacious student had slipped Harry's name in through some covert method, just to see him humiliated, or killed.
"What if I take his place?" Hermione said suddenly.
"You can substitute for someone?" Snape let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Do you think the Triwizard Tournament is your family's personal affair, where you get to set the rules?"
Hermione nodded seriously. "It could be my family's affair. And I could set the rules."
Snape: "..."
Alright. Stop talking. That's genuinely terrifying.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Do give the other champions a fighting chance. They are champions, not sacrificial soldiers."
"Tsk." Hermione shrugged. "It's just a competition. With me there, nobody's dying."
"At worst, those pretty eyes of his might accidentally get poked out by something."
Snape's head snapped up. He was furious, and he let her see it, glaring at her with full, undisguised contempt.
This girl was doing it on purpose.
...
The next day, when Hermione walked into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, the entire room went quiet.
Every student turned to stare. Surprise. Disbelief.
Hadn't this big shot been absent for over half a year?
Was the sun rising from the west today?
Hermione ignored them and walked straight to her seat.
The shock faded. The murmuring resumed, and naturally the topic was last night, the Triwizard Tournament selection.
"I can't believe Potter became a champion..."
"He's only a fourth-year! How is that even possible?"
"Dumbledore's playing favorites, or Potter put his own name in..."
More than a few students were shooting Harry looks of open suspicion and displeasure, whispering about whether he had lied, whether he had found some underhanded way to enter despite the age restriction.
Hermione noticed Ron's mood was especially bad. Beyond low — it was closer to resentment.
He sat in the corner, silent and sullen, without so much as glancing in Harry's direction.
Hermione nudged Harry with her elbow. "What happened between you and Ron?"
In the original timeline, Ron had been upset too, but not like this.
Harry's face went a little helpless. "Ever since things between me and Malfoy... eased up, he's been this way."
Malfoy? Hermione's interest sharpened.
Harry sighed and explained.
"You know how it is. After everything we've been through, we've sort of saved each other at this point. We actually talked properly afterward and... he's not as bad as I thought. But Ron feels like I've betrayed him, and then this whole Triwizard Tournament thing on top of it..."
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. Hermione already understood.
Three years of Hermione's very firm disciplinary approach had done a number on Malfoy's personality. Strip away the prejudice, and he and Harry actually got on well enough.
Ron was jealous.
Part of it was the bitterness of feeling like his friend had been stolen. Part of it was something older and rawer, the Weasley family and the Malfoy family weren't just rivals. They were sworn enemies, with years of accumulated grievance on both sides.
I treat you like a brother, and you go and get friendly with my mortal enemy?
Hermione didn't say much. She was built for bigger things. Adolescent friction like this wasn't worth her energy.
Before long, a figure limped into the classroom, cane in hand, face mapped with scars, a magical eye rolling wildly in its socket. Several students flinched.
Alastor Moody introduced himself in a voice like gravel. His appearance was a sharp contrast to the gentle Professor Lupin, and it visibly unnerved a good portion of the class.
Brief introduction done, Moody got straight to the point.
"Today, we'll be covering... the Unforgivable Curses."
The moment he said it, something odd settled over the classroom.
Moody didn't notice the looks. He kept going. "Who can tell me — what are the three Unforgivable Curses?"
"I know!" A student's hand shot up. "The Cruciatus Curse! It inflicts extreme pain but leaves no physical marks!"
Moody's eye narrowed slightly. Surprised.
"Good. And the Imperius Curse?"
Another student jumped in immediately. "It gives complete control over another person's will. Makes them do anything!"
"And the last one..."
"Avada Kedavra!" Nearly the entire class said it at once. "Flash of green light. Instant death. Unblockable. Irreversible."
Moody: "..."
What.
He stared out at the eager, bright-eyed faces below him. Not frightened. Not solemn. Actually enthusiastic.
Where had they sent him? Was this still Hogwarts?
It looked more like Azkaban.
Every line he tried to deliver, every name he began to say, a student had it finished before he could. Name, effects, casting precautions, the lot. Perfect accuracy every time.
Moody was completely at a loss.
What had Dumbledore been doing with this school?
Was this Hogwarts now?
He tried again and again, and every time, the class finished his sentences for him.
Finally, a Gryffindor in the front row couldn't bear it any longer. The student leaned in and said quietly, "Professor... the Witch Lady covered all of this in Defense Against the Dark Arts two years ago. In detail. It was almost word for word what you're saying. She even had us actually... uh, observe the effects."
Moody looked out at the room. Everyone nodded.
Their expressions said the rest: You shameless old Auror. You lifted the Witch Lady's lesson plan wholesale and you're using it verbatim. You couldn't even be bothered to rearrange a sentence or two.
Moody's gaze drifted to the corner, to the girl sitting there perfectly calm, looking as if all of this had absolutely nothing to do with her.
He suddenly had the distinct feeling he had been living in this girl's shadow without ever knowing it.
A long silence followed. Then Moody gave a heavy, defeated wave of his hand.
"...Self-study. The rest of class."
Hermione paid no attention to whatever was happening on Moody's face. She turned to Harry instead. "When does the first task start?"
"A few more weeks," Harry said.
A few weeks. That was plenty.
Hermione made her calculations. She could head back to the Marvel side first and deal with the Orb situation before she needed to be here again.
After class, she returned. When she opened her eyes, she was already seated inside the cockpit of the Asgardian ship.
➤ Next: Ravagers — A Twist of Fate
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