Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0520 Not Me

Hermione sat there, realizing that everyone in the Great Hall had turned to look at her. Of course, this wasn't entirely accurate; she wasn't unanimously known throughout the school, and there were quite a few students, particularly in other years, who had no idea who Hermione Granger was. But after a bout of whispered inquiries and pointed fingers, their gazes quickly found her by anchoring on the unmistakable figure of the famous Harry Potter seated beside her.

Hermione sat there, stunned into immobility. Her mouth hung slightly open, brown eyes now clouded with confusion and fear. Her thin frame trembled under the gaze of countless people, as if just waking from a deep sleep, when consciousness couldn't fully control the body yet.

The usual eruption of applause that had followed the announcement of the other champions was conspicuously absent. Instead, a low, growing buzzing began to spread through the hall, similar to a swarm of angry bees.

Some students, driven by curiosity or disbelief, even stood up from their seats, craning their necks to get a better look at the girl who had inexplicably become the fourth Triwizard champion. Through it all, Hermione remained frozen in her seat, as if she had been hit by a Petrificus Totalus charm.

At the high table, the staff's reactions were equally dramatic.

Professor McGonagall stood up from the high table and quickly walked to Professor Dumbledore's side. Her face had turned ashen, the color draining from her cheeks as she leaned in close, whispering urgently into the Headmaster's ear. Dumbledore listened intently, his long fingers steepled before him, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed this unexpected turn of events.

Ludo Bagman and Karkaroff, reacting with confusion and indignation respectively, also rose from their seats. They seemed to think that Professor Watson had made some sort of an ill-timed joke. They hurried around the table, and rushed to his side. Upon reaching him, they craned their necks left and right, to stare at the slip of paper he still held in his hand.

Time seemed to slow to an excruciating crawl, each second stretching out like hours in the atmosphere of mounting despair. Hermione's trembling intensified, Yet, paradoxically, this physical manifestation of her distress seemed to allow her to regain some semblance of control over her movements.

With agonizing slowness, she turned her head to look at Harry and Ron, her closest friends. Their reactions, she knew instinctively, would be the most important. Then, gathering her courage, she let her gaze sweep across every face at the Gryffindor table that was turned towards her. Suddenly, her eyes were filled with tears, turning the familiar faces of her housemates into watery, indistinct blurs.

Harry's face showed only bewilderment and confusion, his eyes wide behind his round glasses, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as he struggled to process what had just happened. In a way, his obvious shock was a comfort for her- at least he didn't seem angry or accusatory.

Ron's reaction, however, was far more difficult to bear. Hermione had never seen him look so unfamiliar. His face was contorted into fury, every freckle standing out bluntly against his reddening skin. He now glared at her with an intensity that made her flinch.

And the others - Fred and George Weasley, their usual mischievous grins were replaced by looks of utter disbelief; Ginny, her eyes were widened with shock - they were all looking at her as if they were seeing her for the first time, as if the Hermione they thought they knew had been replaced by a stranger.

Neville's round face was pale with surprise; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas both exchanged bewildered glances before turning back to stare at her; Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, their mouths were hanging open in identical expressions of shock - all of their eyes were full of confusion and disbelief.

But what Hermione found most unbearable were the looks from Parvati, Lavender, and Angelina. Hermione's gaze only lingered on their eyes for a moment before she had to look away, unable to bear the meaning in their stares.

In those brief seconds, she saw resentment, disbelief, and worst of all, the clear conviction that she was nothing more than a lucky fool who had somehow cheated her way into glory.

The weight of their judgment, the intense sense of betrayal emanating from her housemates, was too much to bear.

"I didn't—" Hermione's voice broke, a sob catching in her throat. The situation felt utterly desperate, spiraling out of control in a way she had never experienced before.

In that moment of crushing despair, Hermione's mind raced back to her first days at Hogwarts. She remembered vividly how she had maintained a facade of humility, studying to the point of exhaustion in an attempt to hide the deep-seated insecurity stemming from her Muggle background.

Those early efforts had indeed earned her the favor of many professors and the unwilling respect of some classmates, but the harsh truth was that most of her peers had either ignored her or even found her relentless pursuit of knowledge annoying. It had been Harry and Ron's friendship, their acceptance of her ways and their willingness to stand by her, that had rescued her from that initial state of bewildered helplessness.

And now, in this moment of crisis, it seemed they were all she could rely on. The thought both comforted and terrified her - what if they, too, turned away?

"I didn't—" Hermione repeated, her thin shoulders shaking violently with suppressed sobs. If they hadn't been in the Great Hall, if she hadn't been enduring the stares of so many people, Hermione might have broken down completely, dissolving into a flood of tears.

Just as she felt she might shatter under the pressure, a small miracle occurred.

Harry, his initial shock giving way to concern for Hermione, took a deep breath. His mind was still foggy with confusion, but his gaze towards her became firm and resolute. It was a look that said, without words, that he believed her, and that he would stand by her no matter what.

And Ron, despite his initial anger, seemed to be wrestling with his emotions. His mouth twitched slightly, the angry lines between his brows softening, though his eyes still flickered with uncertainty.

At the front of the hall, Karkaroff's eyes bored into the slip of paper in Bryan's hand, as if he could change its contents through sheer force of will.

Bryan, maintaining his composure in the face of the chaos around him, casually tossed the paper to Karkaroff. Then, he calmly stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the sea of faces before settling on the back half of the Gryffindor table. His voice, magically amplified, cut through the low buzz as he repeated,

"Hermione Granger, come. Go through that door."

But, Hermione remained frozen, unable to make her body obey the instruction.

"Go on—" Harry's voice was heavy with concern, tinged with a hint of annoyance - not at Hermione, but at the situation they found were in. He gently patted Hermione's arm, the contact seeming to jolt her back to reality. Her body gave a violent shudder, as if Harry's touch had been electrically charged.

"Go quickly, Hermione—" This urging came from Neville. The shock in his round eyes from earlier had disappeared, replaced by genuine concern for her. This silent support from some people finally gave Hermione a bit of courage.

With great effort, Hermione stood up, her movements shaky and uncertain. In her distress, she stepped on the hem of her robe, stumbling slightly. The small mishap seemed to symbolize her current state - off-balance, vulnerable, struggling to maintain her composure.

As she began her long walk to the front of the hall, Hermione still couldn't bring herself to look at the people at the nearby Hufflepuff table. She could feel their resentment radiating towards her in waves. Although most of the Gryffindors were looking at her with shock, compared to the Hufflepuffs, their gazes could almost be considered gentle.

Hermione knew why the Hufflepuffs were so hostile; their moment of success, their rare chance to shine, had been snatched away in an instant. It wasn't something that required much thought to understand their bitterness.

Hermione walked along the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, feeling as if this path was exceptionally long, the high table seeming eternally out of reach. Each step felt like a massive effort, her legs heavy as if she were wading through thick mud. She could feel hundreds, if not thousands, of eyes fixed upon her, each gaze like a spotlight, hot and taxing.

The buzzing of discussions grew louder, voices rising and falling in a cacophony of speculation and disbelief. It seemed like a full hour had passed, though in reality it was only a minute or two, before she finally reached Professor Watson's side.

Gathering what little courage she had left, Hermione forced herself to look up at Professor Watson. He was the only one she felt she could bear to observe at this moment.

To her immense relief, she found that he was indeed looking at her, but unlike her classmates, there was no shock in his expression. This wasn't entirely surprising; it seemed that nothing could ever truly catch Professor Watson off guard.

What comforted Hermione most was that he didn't seem to view her as a deceitful young witch trying to cheat her way to glory. He looked at her just as he always did, his gaze was calm and reassuring. More than that, his eyes even held a hint of concern. At this moment, Hermione was particularly sensitive to catching such emotions.

Perhaps it was this glimmer of concern that finally broke through Hermione's fragile composure. Her wobbly steps suddenly halted, and she cried out, her voice dense with unshed tears, "It wasn't me, Professor!"

"It's alright, Miss Granger—" Bryan said softly, patting Hermione's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. Then, turning his head towards Professor McGonagall, who was standing beside Dumbledore with her hand over her mouth, looking utterly distressed, he spoke in a steady voice that showed none of the tension of the moment,

"Professor McGonagall, I think Miss Granger needs some assistance. Would you mind accompanying her to the small room first?"

Professor McGonagall didn't hesitate for a moment. She immediately left Dumbledore's side, as she walked around the table and strode towards Hermione. For her part, Hermione had been bracing herself for a scolding. She knew how much Professor McGonagall cared about Gryffindor's reputation, and the moment the Goblet of Fire had spit out her name, both Gryffindor and Hogwarts had been placed in an awkward and potentially embarrassing position.

But when Professor McGonagall reached her, her words were unexpected in their gentleness. "Come along, Miss Granger," she said, putting an arm around Hermione's shoulders. Her voice was softer and kinder than Hermione had ever heard it.

With Professor McGonagall's guidance, Hermione quickly disappeared from everyone's sight, vanishing into the side room where the other champions waited. Bryan watched this young witch, who seemed destined to face trials beyond her years, walk away. Then, with a subtle shift in his demeanor, he turned to look at the staff table.

Dumbledore had risen to his feet, his bright blue eyes meeting Bryan's gaze. For a moment, a hint of coldness flickered in those usually twinkling orbs.

Most of the staff at the table still couldn't shake off their shock, though Professor Snape looked somewhat gleeful. Barty Crouch Sr., in stark contrast to the emotional turmoil around him, maintained his stern expression, as if what had just happened was of no concern to him whatsoever.

A soft "crack", audible only to those near the staff table, drew Bryan's attention to Madame Maxime. She was visibly struggling to contain her anger, her massive body was trembling with suppressed rage. The source of the sound became apparent as Bryan noticed the tabletop under her palm had cracked under the pressure of her grip.

Turning back to face the sea of young, confused faces before him, Bryan gestured towards the Goblet of Fire. Its blue-white flames were gradually extinguishing, fading away as if the task had drained its magical energy.

"As you have seen—" Bryan's voice carried easily across the hall, "The selection of champions has come to an end. Now, the Head Boy and Girl, and the prefects of each house, please lead your fellow students back to your dormitories promptly. I do not wish to see anyone wandering around the castle tonight, breaking school rules—"

His words were met with a surge of dissatisfied murmurs from the students. Many voices called out, demanding explanations, seeking answers to the unprecedented turn of events they had just witnessed but Bryan's figure, standing before the staff table, seemed to suddenly grow taller, becoming more imposing.

A heavy pressure, accompanied by a faint rolling thunder that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, swept out from him in all directions. The young witches and wizards fell silent one by one, their protests dying in their throats. Almost against their will, they began to rise from their seats, moving towards the entrance hall with an obedience that seemed born more of instinct than conscious decision.

Even those closest to Bryan, Karkaroff, his face contorted in fury, and Bagman, who had been practically bouncing with bizarre excitement, both felt the full force of the pressure emanating from Bryan's body. They shivered involuntarily, as if hit head-on by a particularly potent freezing charm.

As the last of the students marched out of the Great Hall, Bryan turned his attention to the remaining staff members.

"Come—" Bryan beckoned to Professor Karkaroff and the relevant staff at the high table, saying calmly. "Let's get this sorted out—"

With those words, Bryan turned and strode towards the side chamber where Hermione and the other champions waited.

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