Hermione, You Understand

Rita's face turned pale.

This was an utterly terrifying revelation.

More frightening than anything she had ever heard before.

In a panic, she transformed into a beetle and flew away, unwilling to linger in this horrifying place for even a moment longer. To her, the Gryffindor common room was far scarier than Azkaban!

"She left in such a hurry," Ron remarked with a hint of regret as he carefully set the sleeping Crookshanks down on a chair. "I was going to tell her something even more shocking."

"Rita's already at her limit," Hermione said, shaking her head. She reached out, grabbed Crookshanks by the scruff, and roughly picked him up. "If you told her that, she might stick her head straight into the fireplace."

"Her ability to handle pressure is really pathetic," Ron scoffed. "I wasn't even that panicked."

"She's not the third-best student at Hogwarts," Harry said, patting Ron on the shoulder.

Ron looked pleasantly surprised. "Harry, are you complimenting me?"

Harry and Hermione fell silent.

Apparently, staying up late really did lower one's IQ. They'd have to keep that in mind going forward.

They all went back to their dormitories to sleep.

By Friday night, Fred and George had procured another batch of drinks, claiming it was to make up for the subdued celebration earlier in the week. Since they'd had class the next day, they hadn't celebrated as thoroughly as they would've liked.

The golden egg was brought out again.

It made its way around the Gryffindors, each passing it with curiosity.

"This thing looks like it can open?" Fred said as he examined the seam on the egg, his tone cautious.

Harry nodded. "It's a magical artifact."

Fred immediately ignored George's eager expression and handed the egg back to Harry. "Then, Harry, open it up and let us see what's inside!"

"It's so heavy—it might actually be solid gold," Ron suggested, his excitement evident.

"It's a clue for the second task," Hermione said flatly, dashing Ron's and several other students' fantasies of it being gold. "You heard Harry mention it the other day."

"Maybe the clue itself is made of gold?" Ron muttered, still hopeful.

Harry pulled out his wand and gave the egg a gentle tap. The shell split open, revealing an empty interior.

But as soon as it opened, an ear-piercing, screeching wail erupted, echoing through the common room. It was far more grating than a banshee's scream, more like a thousand banshees screaming in unison.

Harry was quick to shut it.

The younger students were left pale-faced, and the older ones wore expressions of unease, staring at the egg as if it were cursed.

"It looks so fancy on the outside… but what kind of horrifying sound is inside?" one first-year murmured, frozen in shock.

Seamus, wide-eyed, speculated, "That sounded like a banshee. Harry, the next task must involve passing through a horde of banshees to steal some treasure they're guarding!"

"No!" Neville, looking equally pale, shook his head. "That was the sound of someone being tortured. Harry, you might have to endure some kind of punishment."

"That's ridiculous. Torture would harm the students," George said, placing a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder and speaking in a soothing tone. "But banshees? That might be accurate. They're no joke."

"Except Harry knows the Patronus Charm," Fred interjected. "Those things wouldn't last five seconds against a griffin's claw."

The Gryffindors burst into laughter, their mood instantly lightened.

But Hermione frowned, dismissing their theories. "That wasn't a banshee's scream. A banshee's wail is longer, more somber, and far more haunting."

"You've seen a banshee?" a skeptical older student asked.

Before Hermione could answer, Harry spoke up to clarify, "It wasn't a banshee. That was a merperson's call."

Merpeople?

The students looked confused.

Though they were aware that merpeople lived in the depths of the Black Lake, most had never given them much thought.

"Yes, I interacted with them frequently last year," Harry said with a nod.

Ron chimed in, "I've seen them too. During Christmas, when we went underwater with Sirius, we met the merpeople. They can speak."

"That's underwater," Harry explained further. "Above water, they can't speak—only emit that kind of sharp call."

"Merpeople don't usually leave the water, do they?" George asked cautiously.

Over the years, he and Fred had rarely seen merpeople surface, except on a few drunken nights when hazy memories recalled seeing ripples in the lake.

Harry stayed silent, not answering directly.

Under normal circumstances, merpeople wouldn't leave the water. But exceptional circumstances always arose, especially when one's magical experiments led to accidents involving the lake.

"We haven't learned Mermish," Hermione said worriedly, scanning the group. "Does anyone here speak Mermish?"

A second-year hesitantly raised his hand.

"You do?" Hermione asked, surprised. She hadn't expected any Gryffindor below their year to show such dedication to academics.

"No," the student stammered, shaking his head. "But Mr. Bagman said that the champions can't receive outside help—"

"Not if nobody finds out," Fred interrupted, slinging an arm over the boy's shoulder. "How did someone like you end up in Gryffindor? Since when do we have such rule-abiding students?"

Lee Jordan joined in, pinching the boy's cheek. "Looks like we'll need to teach you how to become a proper Gryffindor."

Hermione sighed in disappointment and glanced around at the older students.

George furrowed his brow. "Percy knows Mermish, but he's graduated. Should I write to him for help?"

"No need," Harry said. "It's simple."

With a flick of his wand, he transformed an empty bottle into a clear glass basin.

"Aguamenti."

Water surged from his wand, quickly filling the basin. Then, with another swish, he conjured three water ear-muffs connected to the basin. He placed one over his own ears and handed the other two to Hermione and Ron.

Finally, he dropped the golden egg into the basin and opened it.

Some students instinctively covered their ears, expecting the awful scream again.

But this time, no shrieking emerged. Instead, a soft, peculiar song filled the air.

Outside the water, the sound was faint, but through the ear-muffs, Harry, Hermione, and Ron could hear it clearly.

The mermaid's song was strange, its melody alien. It wasn't entirely unpleasant—just odd, slightly better than the ghost orchestra's music.

Thankfully, the song wasn't long. Once it looped back to the beginning, Harry quickly closed the egg and banished the water-filled basin with another flick of his wand.

"What did it say?" Fred asked eagerly.

Ron's expression turned odd, and he glanced toward the castle grounds.

Harry, his face blank, replied, "The second task requires me to dive into the Black Lake and retrieve what they've taken from me within an hour."

"The merpeople are bold," Ron remarked. "They're actually going to steal your stuff."

The other students shared Ron's surprise.

What nerve.

Hermione shook her head. "It's probably the Ministry, not the merpeople."

"Ah, even worse than merpeople," George said in mock amazement. "And the Ministry should know better than anyone what Harry's capable of."

Fred pinched the second-year boy's cheek again, amused. "Not even the Aurors could steal Harry's belongings."

"Not even the entire Auror Office," Seamus added, tilting his head proudly.

Harry nodded calmly. "I'm curious to see how they'll manage it."

In his mind, he began to calculate.

What could they take from him that was truly precious? His two swords? His potions and magical materials? His nearly-finished enchanted motorcycle?

The Ministry didn't know about the motorcycle.

Which meant they'd target the Sorting Hat?

The hat sat on the table, swaying its pointed tip as it hummed along to the mermaid's song. It suddenly had the brilliant idea of using the tune for next year's Sorting Ceremony—after all, a little change could be refreshing after a millennium of the same style.

Noticing Harry's gaze, the hat wiggled its tip excitedly. "Harry! Are you saying I'm your most precious treasure?"

Hermione's expression remained neutral. After all, it was just a hat.

"All my most valuable things are inside you," Harry replied. "So they'll likely come after you."

The Sorting Hat waved its tip dramatically. "This is when you should be saying nice things to comfort an old hat like me!"

"How can a young man not know sweet words? You're nearly fifteen! If you don't learn this skill, how will you woo girls in the future? Godric made the same mistake—"

Hermione's gaze turned dangerously sharp.

The hat froze, then loudly changed the subject. "Kids, let me tell you about Godric's first love!"

The Gryffindors eagerly gathered around.

Ron stayed behind, more interested in food than love stories. "I'm starting to think the second task might not even happen," he muttered.

Clearly, the "stealing treasures" part of the task was going to be a logistical nightmare.

Despite their concerns, the Gryffindors weren't worried about Harry. If anything, they eagerly anticipated the Ministry trying—and failing—to mess with him.

But the clash they hoped for never came.

The Ministry left Harry alone, and even Ludo Bagman seemed to have all but disappeared from Hogwarts.

Time flew, and December brought deep winter. Snow blanketed Hogwarts, piling up as if falling in two unbroken stretches: one from the start of the month to mid-month, and another from mid-month to the end.

In the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, Harry circled a red date on his calendar—Thursday, the week before Christmas.

That cryptic letter from Dumbledore's old flame had stayed on his mind.

Before Harry could approach Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall made an announcement in class.

Her stern face betrayed a flicker of amusement she couldn't quite suppress.

"Christmas is nearly upon us," she said. "But this year's holiday will be a little different.

"Because of the Triwizard Tournament, we'll be hosting a Yule Ball—a tradition of the Tournament and an excellent opportunity for the three schools to socialize."

"The ball is open to students in fourth year and above. If, however, you wish to invite someone younger, such as a third-year student, you may do so.

"That being said, I expect no first-years to appear."

The Gryffindors erupted into laughter.

McGonagall then paused, her eyes locking meaningfully on Hermione. "And, Mr. Potter, this next part is specifically for you.

"As the Hogwarts champion, and as Gryffindor's champion, you are required to bring a partner to the Yule Ball."

Hermione's face flushed as she caught McGonagall's subtle glance.

Harry, his expression blank, replied, "Professor, I'm only fourteen—fifteen in a few weeks. I'm far too young to think about marriage."

The Gryffindors burst into even louder laughter.

"No, not that kind of partner," McGonagall said with a smile, shaking her head. "I mean a dance partner for the Yule Ball."

"As a champion, you'll be expected to join the other champions in opening the first dance of the evening. So, you must find a partner by then."

"You have two weeks to decide."

"And if any of you believe you're suitable, you're welcome to ask Mr. Potter yourselves."

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Powerstones?

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